2025

Crying in rooms so bare, Inscribed in me since childhood that life was never fair, Instructed to hustle, earn, win, Never taught to love within.

At the gaze of the ceiling above, I find peace, quiet, and comfort, Not because I am lost in despair, But life has offered its

Whipped Flashes They prefer calling it discipline. A necessary guiding hand, But it was a whip I could not withstand. For every mischief, for every

A vile critter, Was the man I called father. The drunkard, The drug abuser, Not a day was he sober. He laid hands on mother,

I have never known such loneliness. This is too much to bear. I am inclined to let this pass, As I have before, But it’s

A story is told of how she left me here, Not thinking what would shape my future clear. To her, a burden, just a mess

She was just a little girl, Born into a house filled with smiles, Dreaming of simple days— Running free, arms open to the sun. But

These carved rivers on our faces Are called beauty, as though pride Could be carved out of misery. Each line represents a boundary And a

Finding myself in the rubble of my thoughts. Sorting through PTSD, just to heal all over again. Fighting for breath as the anxiety kicks in.

Fear’s embrace, a lonely night, Searching for warmth, and a distant light, Thinking of home, The memories I left behind. A child alone; dreams displaced,