They say you never leave me
I know its true, but I'm not sure I believe it

Were you honestly there as
my life flowed away
Down the drain
with the shower water?

Were you really watching as
It all grew dark and fuzzy,
When even sight and sound refused to stay?

Were you still holding me as
No one else dared sit by the side
Of my living corpse,
As even I longed to leave me?

Were you happy to keep me alive as
I fought so hard
against the life you gave me?

Thank you for staying

prayed for love,
prayed for life,
prayed for hope—

searched for,
longed for
something more

than just
a reason to believe,
a reason to
be less alone.

i prayed for days
to take
the pain away,

but the pain
was mine
to bear.

and the cross—
my testament,
a vow

to never let
fear interfere.

but one prayer
remains unanswered:

will i
make it
out okay?

surely,
because i hope—

it doesn’t always
have to stay
this way.

You bore the sky so long and well—
Your spine a rod, your breath suppressed—
No mortal saw the private hell
Of constellations on your chest.

Your brother’s debt. Your mother’s fears.
The job that bled you dry and pale.
Your child’s unspoken, unshed tears…
All stacked upon your shoulders’ scale.

You learned to shift the weight with grace,
To make the crushing look like dance.
No sign of strain upon your face—
Just sweat that soaked your second chance.

Till one still Tuesday, coming home,
You gripped the wheel and could not move.
The sky you carried turned to stone—
A paralyzing, silent groove.

No grand collapse, no thunderclap—
Just muscles locked in mute revolt.
The world still spinning in your lap—
The fault line grinding to a halt.

Atlas breaks his posture now—
The heavens crack against the floor.
The sacred, suffocating vow:
"I cannot hold this anymore."

I have these…childhood memories.
I remember;

Tears.
Fear.
Raised voices.
A broken windshield.
A singed curtain.
Broken hearts.
Broken vows.
And so, so many broken promises.

A room that was mine and also not mine.
A door that never felt like it closed.
Walls that learned to listen.
Drawers that held their breath.
I learned silence like a second language,
and tried to follow your lead.
Your voice became my voice.
I smiled when I wanted to frown.
I made myself smaller
in places that should have been safe.

                      “She’s my favourite.”

So I escaped
to where you couldn’t reach me—
in the corners of my mind,
to stories that never knew your name…or your kind.
Places you could never follow.
Worlds that felt like mine.

                    I remember your hands—
                    not where I want them.

I remember the sharpness of footsteps in the hall.
The sound of keys—
how even that could make my stomach drop.

      "Is this going to be a good night,
                        or a bad one?"

And I remember his voice,
too close again.
I hoped, stupidly, he might’ve changed.

But he hasn’t.
He never will.
And when he spoke, I trembled.
Not because I didn’t know—
but because I did.

Because I’d heard it all before.
Those saccharine words,
dripping—
sickly sweet…empty.
"I'm sorry,"
falling out of your mouth
like it cost you nothing.

And I used to hope you meant it.
That maybe this time
you’d keep your word.

But you didn’t.
You never did.
Another promise,
broken.

I trace the shape of the memories
only when I choose to.
Some still ache when I touch them.
Some don’t belong to me alone.

But I am still here.
And this room—this one—
is mine.

You haunted everything.
But not this.
Not now.

This part of me—
is yours no longer.
Not in this room.
Not in these walls.
Not in me.

The Stillness
 
It does not echo.
It does not push, or pull.
It only stretches into the yawning void.
I stare over the edge and think,
What if I went?
 
I do not want this,
But I will not go there.
I am here.
I want to BE HERE.
 
I am floating,
Hovering.
 
There are no voices in the stillness,
Telling me to come.
Telling me to go.
What to think,
What to say,
What to feel.
 
I find solace in the silence—
a...not quite peace.
It's the space between pulses
Where I am not chasing
Or being chased.
 
No demand to perform,
No mask to hold in place.
It's a hush that lets me breathe,
A little something just for me.
 
But I like it here,
Right at the edge of this void.
It's where I can just be.
And wonder,
What if I stay?
 
So I stay...
and find out.

My hands linger on the barrier tight,
Fingers twitching in the failing light.
Blood is drumming, hot and loud,
A whispered thought beneath the shroud. There’s a pressure blooming in my head,
Like every word I left unsaid.
It hums behind my aching eyes—
A silent song that never dies.
Half-lidded eyes, I am silent and watching
There waits the void -
                
         Gaping
                          
                    Calling
                                    ­  
                              Pulling

There's a gravity that pulls me near,
A silent whisper I half-hear
As the yawning void draws me in,
slow and thin,
I can't help but gaze, its pull a curious haze. It's promise I have not destroyed.
It sings in shadows, soft and low,
A voice that tells me where to go.

But still I hover, still I stall,
One heartbeat shy of letting fall.
I want to leap, to drown, to fly—
To find out what comes after why.

The wind shifts, and picks up my hair.
I blink and turn—no fanfare.
Just the concrete path, and the noise of life—the cars, the birds, the sun burning bright.
I shift my weight. The void still calls.
It tugs at my feet, my arms, my soul.
It's hold trembles. The strings snap.
I step away as the chords retract.
The mouth closes. Now threadbare—
fraying, curling...but I don't care.

I am stalwart. I am serene.
No longer caught in what has been.
The path ahead is cracked and wide.
I don’t look back.
I walk.
I try.

Maybe this is why.

Once there was a girl
Who was as beautiful as a shining pearl.

She was her father’s princess,
And for her mother, an ocean of happiness.

Her angelic smile was contagious.
Amidst her laughter and giggles, she was a genius.

She would paint and play all day—
“A chirpy little girl,” they would say.

One day, suddenly, her life changed;
A storm came by, unexplained.

She stood there strong at the age of seven,
When people her age live in heaven.

The storm went by after a year,
and left her shattered in tears.

Her mind was flooded with memories that were bad;
She ceased to smile, as she was sad.

The misery did not end there—
Another storm could be sensed in the air.

She endured that too, silently;
Her mind was left with another bad memory.

The storms ceased to leave her,
And the memories became even more bitter.

But she managed it all so well—
No one knew she was living in hell.

But one day, she could take it no longer.
She decided to give up, not knowing she was stronger.

She now turned to medication and pills,
because she could no longer deal with the ills.

Suddenly, on her darkest night,
She found her brightest light.

What brought in the brightest light?
The realisation that she could fight.

I know the mirror cannot lie
Yet I hope that somehow
Just this once
It is mistaken

I pray the girl I see
Looking back at me
Is not a reflection
But a figment of imagination

Her lonely eyes
Her wilted youth
Forgotten grace
Sorrowful face

Surely that empty shell
The mere remnant of a soul
Couldn't really be
All that's left of me

I made peace with my station eons ago,
Perched atop a mountain edge, overlooking a sea of my thoughts.
I sit on the ground while the tall grass sways,
Knees to my chest, drinking it all in,
Hair blowing softly by the winds of change.
A place made on my own,
Created from protection or fear, origin unclear.

Today's a little different however,
The temperature is warmer,
And I'm missing the slight rain that usually falls.

Maybe I’m out of my mind,
But I swear there’s a boat resting on my beach,
Worn and waiting with patient grace,
Rocking gently in the shallow reach,
As if to say, “You’ve sat here long enough,”
Inviting me to finally stand,
To leave this quiet mountain edge behind
And see where I might land.

I find it unnerving,
hearing my voice out loud,
after being branded, growing up
the quiet one, who’s a bit too shy.
small talk is pointless.
the weather is the same—
too sunny, too windy,
everyone’s always
baffled by rain.

we exchange ‘y’alrights’
to seem polite
when no one really cares.
but where i come from,
we ask, dig deep,
we share.

talking is personal.
intimate and sacred.
we ask how your day’s been
with space designated
for your words.
we don’t pretend
sharing doesn’t hurt.

it does.
standing on a stage
fearing becoming
too repetitive, too boring,
running out of stories
to share.
i focus on the words in front,
not on the people who stare.

but it still wrecks me—
and my voice does tremble.
i’m not used to strangers
in moments so tender,
it fills me with dread.
but instead of rotting away,
i’m finding i shed.

i shed the heaviness from inside,
and beneath the words,
i’m fuelled by fire
outweighing the hurt
rubbed reeling.

i’m using it in lanterns
on my journey of healing—
however long it takes.
it is my becoming,
it’s never been a phase.

sometimes it gets dark,
but do witness every line,
observe every spark.
i’ll be here standing—
voice trembling or not.