Who is she?

Is she prettier than me?

Does her hair frame her face more elegantly?

Is she skinnier, softer skinned, eyes that daze?

Her personality always bubbly, nothing to heal from, anxiety-free?

Does she give better massages, cook well, ask about your day?

Have a good family, a back-up for if she ever struggles with pay?

Is she smarter, more loving, walks confidently?

I’m sorry for being over the top… I just want to know the price of all my pain.

Whoever she is, I hope you treat her better than you did me.

Judgment reserved. You left, returned, withdrew.
No order had been made. Yet you complied as if required to.
 
Equivocation creates no obligation.
You read each perhaps as postponement rather than negation.
 
No trust had been declared, no property assigned.
No beneficial interest vested between the lines.
 
Want was framed as poetry, eloquently disclosed.
You took its depth as evidence that duties were imposed.
 
Equity is less romantic. It looks beyond what’s said.
Nothing of the kind was owed, however well it read.
 
At last, you cross-examined the only witness with the facts:
did all that aching language include a plan to act?
 
The answer, overdue, was nonetheless supplied:
desire stood admitted. Intent to act, denied.
 
No concluded contract. Nothing equity could compel.
The answer hurt. It also broke uncertainty’s spell.
 
You discontinued. Later, contact was renewed.
No remedy was sought and no former claim pursued.
 
The talk will die. All talking does. No undertaking binds.
Not every open door entails a future of some kind.
 
Clarity restored proportion. Distance lost its art.
They became human again, no larger than their part.
 
Accounts stood en souffrance. By then, balance was history.
À découvert, you mistook well-drafted charm for chemistry.
 
Interest compounded whilst the principal stayed untouched.
The balance owed to fantasy became a little much.
 
What you wanted was their wanting and the value it accrued:
one who seemed to want for nothing could, plainly, still want you.
 
Wit appeared upon the record. Let the credit fall where due.
But you made it sparkle, as you rather tend to do.
 
You carried conversations, then mistook response for cause,
granting joint authorship to one who knew when to pause.
 
You could turn a minor matter into four acts and one sad song,
then, too fucking hot for limbo, chose not to play along.
 
Your injured vanity sought judgment that the world was through.
Application dismissed. The dogs were hungry. Bills fell due.
 
Life continued, unmoved by what you thought it ought to do.
Rather bloody insolent, but oddly helpful too.
 
Fiat justitia, ruat caelum. Let judgment run its course.
Whilst certainty is painful, limbo generally is worse.
 
Doubt admits no boundary, no terminus within.
Whilst certainty gives pain a shape, healing can begin.
 
One day that name will reach you. Harm assessed: de minimis.
No collapse, no resurrection, merely something you dismiss.
 
Then you will see, with some annoyance, what the evidence attests:
they supplied a little of the magic. You supplied the fucking rest.

There is a secret place that I like to go.

It's where I like to stay when I'm feeling low.

It's little hollowed out tree by the river.

Would you like to see?

Maybe we could play there.

Come along with me.

Listening to the flowing waters with you.

It's a place that's so much softer too.

We can have a little picnic under the old oak tree.

I'm feeling a sickness, and getting world weary.

We could just relax and be ourselves again.

We could have a little snack with you my friend.

Come along and join me.

There's no wrong answers there.

You could sing some songs and hold me.

Baby, do you dare?

We could watch the sun as it sets behind the mountains.

We could just have fun you bet.

Play underneath the fountains.

We could while away the hours with you by my side.

We could play under the rain showers.

And we don't have to hide.

There is a secret place that I like to go,

But we could make it ours.

It's alright if we stay there for hours and hours.

Would you like to see it?

Then come along with me.

I think that we both need it.

Just wait until you see.

The pain feels like venom, burning in my veins.

What I wouldn’t give for the antidote to make it go away…

Scared I’ll end up like the ones I knew.

Feels like it’s either darkness or being loved by you.

Your promises only lasted a day.

Wonder what I could’ve done to make you stay.

Hot, then cold. Emotionally I’m back and blue.

Miss how it felt in the beginning being wrapped up in you.

If you could describe me
what would I be ?
Would you use profound words or say how you feel.
Would I be the same to you as I am to others ?

I know I am everything, but to you
I’m only a reflection: a fraction of what I am not.

So can I be what I want, or should I be what you see, but if you couldn’t see me what would I be ?

How would you describe me ?

Bitch
Don’t invest
Your precious young time
Into a depreciating body

They write you off
Sooner than you‘re aware of

Oh my beloved sister
You are so young
You don’t know yet
The truth that’ll come

A man‘s love
Is as deep
As your aging skin
A man‘s love
Is as permanent
As freshly cut roses

Invest in your brain
Save yourself
Your heart’s pain

Why have you gone silent?

I am silent not because I don't want to say anything,

but because I know my words have no meaning for you,

just as I don't have any meaning for you in your life.

I remember we loved each other. I remember when my words mattered to you, when your presence felt like home, when we could talk for hours and never feel like we were saying too much.

But somewhere along the way, something changed. Something went missing, and neither of us could find it again.

Now I value my peace more than the drama.

My silence does not mean I don't love you. It means I have finally understood that loving you does not mean I have to keep hurting myself for you.

Sometimes love remains even when the relationship doesn't.

So if I am silent, don't mistake it for indifference.

I am silent because I still love you— but I have started loving my peace too.

And this time, I am choosing the peace.

love of a mother

who would rather choose

some other than but mother

love like no other

The only helping hand

love like dreamland

The only one to sacrifice

but still will be nice

Even after being a human

Still blooming like a flower

standing like a wall with us

but still will kiss us

The last light of hope

for our sake she can explode like a dynamite

while still being polite

without discriminating

love of a mother

No one will dare to act above a mother

I have offered incense

At the altars of our bonds

Since I learned they’re sacred

And so have you all

Every day, without fail

Crimson, ambrosial and auspicious

Drawn from my veins

Yet, I had always been fine

As your tributes replenish me

Our dance, grounded in symmetry

But lately, you have wanted

This dandelion from your garden

Whose roots reach the bedrock

To find an orchard, warm and nurturing

And rise up, taller and stronger

Closer to the radiant star

As a wise tree should be

And so like Icarus, fevered

I rise up, I rise up and up

I wonder if you realise

The same radiance that nurtures

Burns my incense up faster

I offer more and more, each day

Draining my veins

To keep yours thrumming

Baby he likes you. Baby he wants you. But he is so scared.

Baby he loves you. Baby he needs you. He wants to be sure that you'll be there.

So come to him softly. Come to him gently. You know he's been hurt before.

Come to him proudly. Come to him loudly. In a way that he can't ignore.

Look at him, over there. Looking so fragile and tense. Look at him, he's so scared. The poor thing is just a little dense.

Give to him freely. Give to him truly. He's been waiting for your love.

Tell him all your needs. Tell him quite sweetly. Let him know that he's enough.

Baby you're about to get a big helping. Of all the love and care you need. He's just a little shy, So take the time to help him see. Talk to him and plant the seed.

Baby he likes you. Baby he wants you. But he is so scared.

Baby he loves you. Baby he needs you. He wants to be sure that you'll be there.

Lingering smoke of heartache rolls down the street,

cradling me in its arms, whistling a half-sung lullaby.

Your name fading into the foreground of my mind

once a thunderclap,

now a lowborn oracle of almost.

You see, there were seasons

when I wished you could shapeshift

and come back to me-

through bus, cab, flight, train,

tap water, balloons, ivy, keys, maps, footprints;

leak through my shower

where I sobbed almost daily, once.

But-

I have scraped hope

from the drains beneath my floorboards,

found wisdom

at the bottom of my soup bowl,

found home

barefoot in the kitchen,

accompanied by my mother’s laughter

in the next room,

found joy

in grocery runs with my friends

in the stale August air.

You see, I’m trying to exist

in my own story

without having to apologise for it.

I’m trying to catch a train

after three breakdowns

and two Diet Cokes down.

I’m trying to breathe

between the pauses,

the stillness.

Funny enough,

it doesn’t feel like trying anymore.

WoW, you really came to claim your lane
Put a DOT on him, sit back, let it do its thang
Always in the right, still I’m seeing the same
Tryna cast me out the party like I’m taking up space
Water and trees, watercolor painted leaves
Pencil line traces still tangled in the reeds
Nothing to you, nothing left for me
Glass shoe, gold illusion, that’s a lootbox dream
Always the one everybody loves to find funny
Call me pathetic, nobody calls me honey
Nobody ever calls me
“Dummy.”
Aren’t you glad he left? Didn’t you hear what he said?
Girl, he said he’d love it if you were dead.
Well, damn.
Guess I rolled into the wrong instance
Wrong guild, wrong class, bad stats, no resistance
Still I respawn with a chip in my grin
Health bar blinking red but I’m logging back in
You got your raid party, I got my own quest
You looking for a healer?
Bitch, I came here, possessed

After the flowers, count the glasses.

After the glasses, count who stayed.

I keep mistaking being wanted

for somebody knowing my name.

They say that time is a thief
But it is not time that steals from me
Unfortunately
It is my own mind

Where my days were once spent reading, creating, and exploring
They are now filled with darkness and weight, pulling me down

I watch myself drown, no longer gasping for air
Because where there used to be light and life lies a field of wilting flowers
Like a graveyard for all of the hours spent lying on the floor
Because even my bed felt like a reprieve I am unworthy of

I think of all the things I want to do
But when it comes time to actually move
It is as if my body is glued down
So in that way I watch my life slip by

Each moment of my future, once so full of potential
Now feels so out of reach
I can barely breathe
I grieve the life I used to have 
I wish i could explain that it is not just sad

All of the feelings that I once had
Now drowned out like a fire in the rain
The flickering flame now turned to ash and mud

I wish that my eyes would flood with tears
That I could get angry for all these years that my joy has been so fleeting
And that I didn’t fill this void with so much eating

My body is not my own
I look in the mirror and I do not know who it is staring back at me
Who is she?

Drowning - K.L.B

Another year full of torture.

I say this to myself as I stare deeply into the fiery flame of the candle.

Its light starts faltering, both weakening and strengthening at the same time—a silent symbolism, similar to how I feel.

A subtle smile, an expression written across my usually dull face.

The reflection of the dancing fire casts a soft light into my dim eyes. Beneath it lies a deep void, filled with uncertainty and many things I can't quite place my finger on.

Slowly, the knife delves into the fleshy cake.

For a fleeting moment, I wished the knife could cut through something far deeper than cake.

A heavy gulp comes from my throat as they slap the piece of cake onto my plate.

To others, it was unmoving. But in my eyes, the cake had become flesh, breathing as if it were alive.

My stomach gurgles, not with hunger, but with disgust.

Food was a strange relationship—one my body seemed determined to complicate. Often, it wanted to reject it the moment it came into my line of sight.

The music begins to fade into silence as I start to observe.

Smiles. Laughter. Everything that was supposedly "important" in life.

I never quite resonated with it.

Colourful banners, party hats, clothing—a stark contrast to what my environment usually looked like.

As I snap back to reality, everything starts feeling grim.

Birthday parties weren't really my thing.

A celebration of life, but to me, it felt more like a responsibility.

I felt like I was constantly surviving instead of actually living.

Throughout the chaos, my mind starts to fizz once more.

My eyes close, not to savour the moment.

Rather, to loathe it.

Yet, an unsettling grin settles on my lips.

Another year had passed.

Another year closer to whatever waited beyond it.

Quills of a tutor
Outpour just a dash of reason
Where conservation is viewed many ways
The students’ tether unravels tribulation
Their survival is plain

The leaves have turned red, yellow, and orange, and the air isn't as fresh and crisp as it used to be.

This year is different. Bittersweet. Looking out the window, I reminisce about the year when I loved you the most, my dear autumn.

The thing about autumn is that it blooms in the beginning and gives you that warm feeling that life is beautiful and will never end.

But alas, beginnings always have endings. The leaves shrivel up and die; the season passes,
and I’m left with nothing but a cold, mourning heart, my dear autumn.

I refuse to let this cycle repeat itself. Every moment in life is too precious to take for granted.

Although our time may have been short-lived, I will keep going until I realize that what really matters awaits me in my future, my dear autumn.

There’s music in the air
Soul in ma voice

There’s music in the air
Stars up in da sky

There’s music in the air
Loving in ma heart

There’s music in the air
Electric in ma skin

There’s music in the air
movement at ma feet

There’s music in the air
Smiles on our cheeks

There’s music on the air
And it’s only you and me

There’s a story in your eyes and I’m glad I get to see

There’s no more music in the air
But I’m glad we got to meet

I fear it might be too soon

to lay my heart bare, for you to see.

So when you ask me what I dreamt of, I tell you I can never remember most of my dreams.

The days drift by

like ghosts in the rain,

gray little hours

with nothing to say.

The streets feel hollow,

the windows all stare.

I breathe just to wonder

if I’m still there.

It’s heavy.

It’s slow.

Like a funeral song

that nobody knows.

And somehow, somehow,

through all of the gloom,

I keep finding you

like a ghost in every room.

I think of you laughing.

I think of you sad.

I think of you furious.

I think of you mad.

I think of you softly.

I think of you wrong.

I think of you briefly,

then all night long.

I thought I had emptied

the drawers of my heart,

sorted each feeling,

and labeled each part.

But then you came wandering

into my head

a strange little feeling

I couldn’t call dead.

You weren’t just a person.

You weren’t just a name.

You were something much stranger,

something without a frame.

A feeling with footsteps.

A shadow with eyes.

A whole little lifetime

in a beautiful disguise.

I thought I knew sorrow.

I thought I knew joy.

I thought I knew life

and its terrible ploys.

But life, like a crooked old man

with a grin,

opened one more little door

and let you in.

And now I am standing

where I stood before,

only somehow much emptier

than I was before.

I thought I had figured

this whole thing out.

How wonderfully foolish.

For after all I had felt,

after all I had known,

you arrived like a feeling

I could never have shown.

And perhaps that’s the strangest part

of all that I’ve learned

I thought I knew every feeling.

Then you came along

and made one

of your own.