Not everything sacred needs to be born of suffering.

Not every acknowledgement needs to come from rock bottom.

My love,
you are allowed to feel peace.
You are allowed to live a joyful life.
You are allowed to experience softness and call it sacred.

So stop using your pain as proof of your depth.
It’s time to retire that narrative,
that your pain is the most interesting thing about you—it’s not!
There are hundreds of beautiful reasons for your existence,
but suffering isn’t one of them.

You can explain every scar.
But when it comes to healing?
You stall.
Because healing isn’t poetic.
It’s messy, boring, frustrating.

Peace makes you suspicious.
If things go too well for too long,
your brain starts poking at old wounds or inventing new ones.
You miss the chaos even though you claim to want peace.

But here’s what you need to know;
you’re still becoming.
You’re still growing.
You can still be profound without bleeding for it.

So allow yourself to heal,
and let joy into your life,
because the best version of you isn’t your pain,
it’s your rebirth.

Don't punish your body for carrying the weight of your soul.
You are meant to be alive.

Do I need to live?
Or am I just filling space,
A name no one calls,
A face no one sees,
A soul forgotten in the human race?

I breathe, but what’s the point of air,
When no one’s reaching, no one’s there?
I cry in rooms where silence grows,
And no one hears.
And no one knows.

Am I supposed to stay and try,
When all I do is drift and sigh?
I am tired of “one more day,”
Tired of pretending I’m okay.

Can anyone love me,
This version I hide?
The one that’s quiet,
The one that’s tried.
The one who’s broken, bruised, and scared,
Who only ever wanted to be spared.

I don’t need the world to cheer,
Just someone, real, who draws me near.
To look and say: “You’re not a ghost.
You’re not too late. You still mean most.”

But maybe I’m not meant to stay.
Maybe my purpose slipped away.
Still, something in me holds on tight,
A flicker in the endless night.

So here I am. Not quite dead.
But barely holding up my head.
Hoping someone, someday might see,
That even shadows long to be free.

Waiting for the one,
Single perfect moment when I,
Finally, feel free.

When I breathe and it,
Feels like I am alive and,
Everything is fine.

When that moment comes,
Appreciation will spread,
Smiling happily.

You lay there surprised
Knew these things happen
And that you need time

A park bench, and
A yellow orb nukes its core
a million times per second in space.
Somewhere, a man spoke his last word,
Or an infant giggled at her father’s scruff.
A black hole light-years away
engulfed another black hole of lesser mass;
the surrounding planets spaghettified.
Yes, this park bench is.
And you,
sit there with a leg over mine.
Wrinkles on your iris orbit a black hole,
visible because of our star.
It's just you and I,
sitting on a bench.

Im alive
but I feel im not living,
atleast not  for my self
I live to serve
and die to feel

I always wanted to go
to run free
like a leaf in the wind
but I sit in place like a flower
only wanted for visual appeal
thrown to the side once I wilt

my own body is
not only mine
he told me
'I need you alive'

When I first heard that
It sounded sweet
like a twisted condolance
but now I see
how my life is a commodity
some thing to be had

My mother made me with
a servantful heart
one that caused me to feel
it was always my fault

I stayed up late to raise babies
and got up early to learn how
to get my self out of the situation
because a 'woman is always more vulnerable'

My mothers own words
that meant
for me to succeed as much as a man
I would need to work my life away.

the light bursts through, glowing
not scattered or winnowing in
the grasses are thick, and even taller still
the creek itself is quiet, but there are children playing there,
among the ticks and cats, birds and gnats
and here, i realize i am more alive
than i have ever been