To those who’s voices enclose them in a tomb of closet silence.
Where we can look outward but breath
ever so deeply.

Yearning to clasp on to the words
of others but we sit static and hold our hands outward.

But realise that sometimes no matter
our yearning we grasp upon our own thoughts looking inward.

I’m me, I’m myself, I can look outward
but existentially I’ll delve inward
looking upon my own worth.

My realistic version of what
I’m to become.
My past may be scared,
deeply penetrated , never showing
the depth of my sorrow for I only smile.

Fragmented within my inner depths.
Waves may look placid.
But there are only fragmentation
symmetry of delusions.

We are all fractured, but never showing anything but perfection.
Even though we are just cracks
soothed out.

Decoded underneath softly cleaved decryptions of our showcase  of feelings.

i hope my next life i am a beloved puppy dog or a beautiful monarch butterfly or a strong magnolia tree or at last, a peculiar little girl who finally gets to be, seen when she's not shining, truly loved.

On hidden tracks I screamed
Down the twisted path and gleaned
The whirl of life, of truth and lies
As they all rushed, and passed me by

The farther back I looked and strained
The less I saw, the more it waned
The wheels beneath began to quake
Though I knew, not to squeeze the brakes

The road ahead seemed dark and dim
The headlight’s glow, showed but a slim
Part of what came towards me at speed
I was entranced, I couldn’t breathe

For all the things in life I’ve done
The people loved, the people shunned
All blaze on by, now equidistant
A blur that spells out my existence

But this whole time I’ve rode alone
My course apart, this race my own
I wholly smiled and made good time
As I careened across the finish line

How do I convince my hand not to
stab me?
Every night i slit my wrists
with the blades they gave me,
I tear my heart open to make it a misery
Death isn’t my muse
Yet it chases my words till i cant breathe
My scars burn with agony
as their words choke me with cruelty
O dear tell me how do I convince my
hand not to stab me?
      
                                            ~pranalee

I write as a lover, before the storm.
The wolf pup in winter, seeking the warmth.
I write in a theatre made up of dreams.
Walking the tightrope, of my tensioned feelings.

Believing the gravity serves as my foe,
to bring me to earth, abandon my hope,
A pessimist calling.
I leave it a note.

I sing as the sibling, to decorate lives.
To wrap up those present, greet who arrive.
And each day is christmas, when siblings celebrate,
together they dine in the feast they create.

I work as the father, to wisen my hands.
To cultivate friendship with life and with land.

I love it regardless, this life that we have.

Life is but a moment, only time will tell
We live, we love, we pass on through
Memories are our only hope that we stay awhile
Deeds done well and things left undone, the struggle day to day
No one wants to be forgotten, no one wants to be left alone
We are here together for the time that we have
It’s what we do, what we say, how we live
Its love and family and what we make do
Our time is not long, the sun sets quickly
It is ours to stand in the light, all is gone within the dark
Fear not for love awaits, worry not for we are all with you