Freedom, they said, was for all,
But it became a privilege—
rationed, conditional.
Laws were written in the ink of fear,
Meant to bind us but never them.
Papers dictated our worth,
Time slots our movements.
For what felt like endless seasons,
My world shrank to walls and whispers.
A yard became my horizon,
A car my only escape.
Truth was silenced,
Questions outlawed.
They called it protection,
But it felt like exile.
The Constitution became fragile glass,
Shattering under the weight of hypocrisy.
Freedom was not free;
It was a cage lined with lies,
Its door held shut by fear.
I lost more than days—I lost trust.
The land of the free stood still,
Its anthem drowned in passive compliance.

One day, you wake up
and you’re not you anymore.
You look in the mirror,
but the eyes are empty,
like someone else is living there.

You didn’t notice it happening,
how you gave away pieces of yourself
just to fit, just to please.
A thousand small moments,
a smile you didn’t mean,
a “yes” when you screamed “no” inside.

You thought you were strong.
But you let them carve you down,
chisel by chisel,
until there’s nothing left but the shell
of who you used to be.

It doesn’t happen all at once.
It’s the slowest kind of death,
the kind where you’re still breathing,
but you’re gone.

And the worst part?
You did it to yourself.
Not with a knife,
but with silence,
with pretending,
with forgetting what you’re worth—
until one day,
you can’t even remember
who you used to be.

you’ve lost track of who you were —
a shadow,
a stranger in your own reflection.

you’ve erased the memory
of who you were,
now lost to the emptiness
you created.

I’ve learned to find comfort in the quiet,  
Where my thoughts are my only company,  
And I’m the quiet moments, I wonder
if the comfort of solitude is worth the ache of being unknown

I’ve grown accustomed to the stillness,  
To the certainty that I need no one,  
And no one needs me.  

But sometimes,  
A flicker of something else emerges,  
A longing I can’t quite place or name.  

It comes in brief flashes,  
When I see others laugh together,  
When I hear someone speak my name with genuine care,  

And for a fleeting moment,  
I wonder what it might feel like.  
To be held in the circle of someone’s warmth,  

To be seen not as a passing shadow,  
But as something more.

Yet, just as quickly as it comes,  
I pushed it away.  
Perhaps it’s safer here.  

In the silence I’ve known,  
Where there are no expectations,  
No disappointments,  

Only the steady rhythm of solitude  
That has always been my own.  

Still, sometimes in the quiet of the night,  
I wonder if, somewhere deep inside,  
I am waiting for something  
Or someone  

To break through this stillness,  
And remind me what it means  
To belong.

A scarecrow spits
Sunflower seeds

In hopes of meeting
New friends,

But they do not show—
Not for the scarecrow,

Not for the seeds,

And his tears cannot
Be wiped away—

The ropes are much
Too tight

And the crows desire
Hardier cords.

Why does it always come back to me,
Not having those around when I need them most?
Is it just me, lost in silence,
Not communicating, feeling like a ghost?

For all that I do, all that I give,
I wish for understanding in return;
I’m tired of being the strong one,
The one who knows yet feels the burn.

For once, I need someone to see,
To understand without my having to spell;
I know I sound like a broken record,
Caught in this cycle, trapped in this shell.

I try my best to be there, to care,
Postponing my plans, leaving troubles behind;
Pretending I’m whole, while I’m barely aware,
Hoping for warmth, a connection to find.

Is it wrong to expect, to want a reply,
To hope for a check-in from those I adore?
Is this what friendship means, a soft, quiet sigh,
A dance of giving, but always wanting more?

Did I miss the memo, all these years long,
Foolishly dreaming of bonds that could thrive?;
Is this what it feels like, to search for a song,
Only to find it’s just me trying to survive?

Who do I ask when I’m weary and worn,
Tired of being the one with the words?
I loved those who listened, but now I’m forlorn,
Only to find they speak only for their own.

Yet still, I hoped for someone who knows,
Who loves words as deeply as I;
But they speak for themselves, as the silence grows,
And I’m left wishing for just a reply.

Is it too much to ask for a few simple words,
A flicker of kindness, a moment to share?
In this vast sea of voices, where silence is unheard,
I yearn for a friend who will truly care.

There could be a knock on the door
But I may not be home. It could be

That I'm out in hiking boots,
Getting lost in thought and on trails.

It could be that I am inside—

Maybe I'm too weak to let anyone in
And I sit in the dark, hearing the pleas
But I let the knocking continue
Until it stops and I'm left alone.

This could be what I want—an open
Door leading to the woods, away
From the struggle of knocking.

prone to narcolepsy;
a second thought, like -
a can of pepsi.
sold my peace for
a moment’s notice;
for the panic that utters -
‘you better not blow this!’

i sulk, i cry, i moan… it rains -
the clouds pull closer to
the gravity of my pain;
the birds find shelter at
the neighbour’s windowpane -
they leave me to dry in a room -
terrified, and insane.

i can feel the bed
warming up to my shape;
there’s a stain on the pillow
that reeks of sour grapes -
i try to rub it off,
but give in to my human make:
i curse the neighbour’s birds -
through a ****
on the moss-green drapes.

i hope it’s worth it:
all the trials, and the errors.
i long for a night,
devoid of terror -
so i may sing for a while,
with nothing to lose;
‘to be, or not to be’ -
left to me - to choose.

i feed the birds when i can.
they dive down, chattering,
chiding, finally respecting gravity.
taking their fill, and if they can,
their neighbor's too.

a friend once told me that
we just needed to trust the birds
they come, they go, they'll come again
i think of how they do not hesitate
to **** on his car, but he loves them anyway.

i watch them from behind glass, behind bars,
sealed safely, sheltered, but alone
with arms that didn't know how to be wings instead.
i think today i'll buy them more peanuts
but i know my legs won't carry me there.

i tell myself that the birds need me,
that without my offerings to the sky they'd starve
but as we watch each other- close, but not too close
i remember that they're free to eat anywhere in eden
but chose to show me kindness.