I wanna be that girl,  
the girl who was loved as a child,  
the girl who'll be remembered,  
the girl who was cared for,  
the girl who was never left alone.  

I wanna be the laughter in the room,  
the warmth in every touch,  
the calm in the storm,  
the one who gave and received love,  
the one whose heart was always held.    

I wanna be that girl,  
the girl who learned to heal,  
the girl who chose to shine,  
the girl who loved herself,  
and left her mark on time.

Under skies where umbrage is stitched with thoughts, I ponder, on the days, like copper, reticence is bent when voices, hushed, rise and take their place,
with colors sharp as blades, of stories then that crashed against the wall of silence.

Muted. Muted. Muted for so long.
This voice, a titan, bones crumpled in fetal position and slid into a box has been gagged for so long. The body now unfurls, a sapling having been denied of its spring for too long.

And I’m waiting for the day when I can keep my head up, when I can speak up and say my peace, say my piece.

And I’m waiting for the day, no longer I, a sunflower with shoulders hunched, head bowed, lips crimped, wilting under the star I’ve always loved, basking in the warmth and letting the shadow fall behind me, am afraid of parading the reflection the mirror holds for me. When rights are not hoisted as hopeful words scrawled on cardboard for no eyes to see.

No longer hidden, walk with neither shackles or shame, unapologetic without otherness and doubt, to stand tall, shedding the cloak of unseen, burst into darkness like new born light for everyone to see.

Under the crushing weight of novelty, head stuffed inside a crown for the surd, Humanity watered down until it turns into a pulp of flesh, no more. No more, I say.

Pay me no nods, nor embrace, nor tokens, but vows that we would dine at a table and see the beauty of existence in your eyes, take comfort in your smile, and speak my mind as you freely could, when you get out of line. If you don’t know, feel free to unbuckle my shoes, fill them, take root in them, walk miles in them, get spat in them, get persecuted without a reason in them, take a number, stand in line, keep your mouth shut in them, go home in them, if there are holes, feel the burn of friction, weep, weep, weep and be laughed at, be told what you feel is not real in them. Maybe yearn for a word or two and let somebody, anybody know you are crumbling into them, like a cinderblock too weak to cradle fire any further in them?

Maybe only then, that in them, you’ll take my callused hand to sand yours, and we'll find the stars that guide us home to peace, and in that space, our voices intertwine, the beating of hearts are in synch, with heads held high.

Let me, in confidence, be worthy of the space I claim and of equal measure know what it’s like to live free and not keep waiting for the day.

I am worthy of love
And I know I'm enough.

I was not made to be quieted,
nor to shrink into the spaces they expect.
I am the storm,
the fire within,
learning to rise with each breath.

In the quiet, I find my power—
it is mine, not given,
crafted through pain, through growth,
and the wisdom that comes from standing tall alone.
I don’t need their validation—
I am whole,
I am enough.

I’m glad that I stayed
And scraped at your door like a dog.

You taught me that I should spare my nails
For those that wouldn’t let them start to bleed.

We met like two ships,
Bumping into each other,
Sailing side by side.
I patched your hull,
Bailed out your water,
Believing you’d steady your course.

But when the waters calmed,
You sailed off,
Only to return when storms stranded you,
Too wild to navigate alone.

I sounded the horn,
A signal of your drifting course.
You cut the ropes, severing ties.
Now, sailing alone,
I leave your wreckage behind.

Here I lay, alone at night,
Anxiety high, fear takes flight.
Perhaps I’m broken, beyond repair,
Alone with feelings I cannot share.
You’re at home, wrapped in peace,
While I’m trapped where my thoughts won’t cease.
Am I enough? Why not me?
Am I unworthy of love, truly?
What’s so wrong that I can’t let go,
Around in circles my mind will go.

Here I sit, alone once more,
TV humming, light faint and poor.
Maybe tonight I’ll drown it out,
But doubt creeps in, circling about.
Hour after hour, the ache won’t wane,
Devoured by this endless pain.
I’m not enough, I’m overweight,
I’m stupid, worthless, it’s all my fate.
Alone—I was made for this solitude,
Yet I didn’t have to be, if it weren’t for you.
While you sleep soundly, your heart at ease,
I’m here fighting the storm I can’t appease.
You’ll text in the morning, as if nothing’s wrong,
“How was your sleep?” as the night feels so long.

“I can’t yet,” you say, “It’s not the right time.”
“I love you, you’re mine,” yet doubt still climbs.
These words you speak, they circle my brain,
Leading me deeper into this darkened terrain.
When I’ll emerge, I cannot say,
The weight of your love leads me astray.

I love you, too, but I’m left to wonder—
Do you truly love me, or am I just under
The spell of your words, the hope I create,
When all I feel is this lingering ache?
If you did, wouldn’t you be here now?
Wouldn’t you find a way, somehow?
I know you have obligations, I get it—I do,
But doesn’t love find a way to push through?
You say she needs you—fine, I can see,
But why must it always be her, never me?

You say you don’t love her, so make it clear,
If that’s the truth, then why aren’t you near?
“It’s not finances, not her, not you,”
Then my mind concludes—it’s just me, isn’t it true?
So tell me now, set me free,
From this deep dark spiral of uncertainty.

Beneath this stone, a soul now rests,
A life once filled with endless quests.
To find the self, a journey true,
Through art and ink, a path anew.

This body, a canvas for the mind,
Etched with symbols, a story defined.
Tattoos, a testament to the heart,
Expressing truths, never to part.

In youth, a search for identity,
Grasping for answers, a fragility.
But through the brush, the pen, the needle's touch,
A self emerged, no longer in such.

The artist's hand, a guiding light,
Unlocking doors to inner sight.
Colors and lines, a language divine,
Revealing the depths of this soul's design.

Tattoos, a tapestry of life's tale,
Scars and triumphs, never too pale.
A map of experiences, a road well trod,
Etched upon flesh, a testament to the divine.

In this final resting place, a life well-lived,
A journey of self-discovery, freely given.
Through art and ink, a legacy left behind,
A testament to the power of the human mind.

May all who pass by this humble grave,
Be inspired by the life that here did crave.
To find their own path, their own true self,
And let their story be told, not left on a shelf.

For, in the end, it is not the years that matter,
But the mark we leave, the lives we shatter.
This soul, now at peace, has found its way,
A life well-lived, a masterpiece displayed.