We’re all just trying to live in this world.
You began surrounded by so much callousness.

Life has been rough on you—
so you’ve run, you’ve hidden.

But when you spend too long in others’ shadows,
under the illusion of sunlight
borrowed from the dissipating heat of those beside you,

you forget a warmth unborrowed
that envelops your whole body—
the sun’s true embrace.

It may be uncomfortable, standing alone.
Some days, you’ll feel the downpour of the elements,
and you’ll weather them on your own.

But once you know a pain, a sorrow, a joy, a laughter
that belongs only to you,

it’s an amaranthine feeling.

A back pain not from age.
A back pain not from posture.
A pain with no physical cause.
A pain born from the weight of others —
burdens that were never mine.
I am not your resting place.
I am not your guide.
Before my back breaks,
I choose to unload.
I’ve been walking slow enough.
It’s time I fly.

Guilt takes my air.
Guilt takes my breath.
She’s the one who squeezes me into compliance.
She’s a teacher and a disciplinarian.
To suffocate is to learn.
To learn to bend.
To learn to submit.
A lesson taught without punishment
is a lesson taught without purpose.
Pain etches memories —
and these memories never fade.

Words stab and leave invisible wounds —
Wounds that don’t bleed, but ache all the same.
What you don’t see, you may never know.
What you don’t feel, you may never understand.
Your words are blades you wield without knowing.
And I — I’m the fool who receives them, smiling still.

Some inherit money
Some inherit wealth

Some inherit houses
Some inherit heirlooms

And some inherit trauma
Passed down generation by generation

Trickling
     down
           the
              family
                   line

There's no value, no significance
Just a void, just a wound

A blight passed from parent to child
A scar inflicted from parent to child

It's a debt owed for the gift of life
paid in pain, paid in blood

Generational pains are standard
a reminder of who came before

If a trauma cannot be healed
it is passed on

The mantel will be pass,
and you're next.

To be born with more
means to grow receiving less

To be born stronger
means to grow with less care

To be born smarter
means to be left unattended

To be born with more
means to survive on your own
because you don't need help
you are enough on your own

But you know what will never be enough?
a love that was never given
because

to be born with more
means to be loved less.

A gardener once had 2 two seeds
they planted both in the same soil

one was healthy and robust
the other, weak and frail

Pitying the weak seed
the gardener gave special care

It was attentively fertilized,
watered meticulously,
weeds picked out regularly
sunlight regulated.

The gardener watched the weak seed
crying as it finally bloomed after all the struggle

Rejoicing, the Gardner turned to the healthy seed
but it had never sprouted.