I Write Confessional Poetry & Screenplays

We are the untold story, the book unpublished, the draft unedited, somewhere on someone's shelf. Parts of us still exist, though. Like unfinished business trapped in limbo, the ghost of us - forever searching for the light in all the wrong places, that was always our fate.

Every memory of me will haunt you if you'd give in right now, how you chose with your mind and not your heart. Nostalgia will rise up and Melancholy will eat away at you. And you might think I'd be laughing somewhere in the back, screaming 'I told you so', I won't. You took away my future, too, you know. We are in this together..., something I thought would never happen.

My Air dominant mind is a prison; words, when carefully picked, only go so far when it comes to expressing. I wish I could feel and express, without thinking about it. Not always, just, sometimes.

Confessional poetry is pure and honest

I always thought I was a good person for not hurting anyone other than myself, turns out hurting yourself gives the same bad karma, this I have learned now.

There was an understanding to life I knew I had in me but lost more frequently than my keys, than my mind. It was like amnesia, on days where I thought of giving up, of ending my own life, then suddenly remember I had to feed the cat, wash my face and set my alarm, put the knife back in the kitchen drawer, stop drinking so much, start breathing, knowing that, for now, just breathing, it was enough. I never wanted to really die, I just really wanted the pain to stop. This knowledge left and returned to me like a wave, taking her time in between, taking years, taking ages, yet, always somehow returned to me. Luckily.

Love was only able to become a breeze the day I decided I could become a breeze. Love was always only as safe as I was to myself, I really wasn't. And so love looked a lot like suicide, over and over again and again dying at the same check point of my favorite video game.

they say you need to love yourself first and I love myself very much inside of this body and have read all about love there is to read it does not mean I know what to do with it outside of this skin how to show to another person what I know about love is a whole different thing this takes practice and not many have the patience luckily I did not ask for many I did ask for one there is no shame in asking or longing this I have learned mostly from being on my own.

Here I am in your arms manifestations, singing you to me by wondering how temperance can look so sexy watch us somehow spice up balance and comfort have Vanilla trapeze herself out of darkness kiss you without oxygen deprivation or barely touching your lips -Balance- Here I am in your arms loving the fuck out of right here right now loving myself without the sabotage in with both feet Love, fully committed without having it look like fucking suicide.

I had locked myself into a room with a fire after two years the door disappeared the walls started to pull in, the room was beginning to shrink, glued onto me like a second skin at first it hurt me in a million different ways it was the choking, the rebirth, the not knowing of chrysalis, the room, you see, it became me and the walls, well, they came down. safe to say the room truly saved me I begin to recover a structure never seen before I grew wings over 2 years (felt like nights) I never knew I’d use to see the sun again and just smile in the solar plexus like a butterfly or just a caterpillar with wings or a moving castle like howl’s, you know; happy ending, I swear - truly felt like a catastrophe in the beginning.

I ran out of words to say to write, it feels somehow insignificant and this comforts me more than my screaming heart ever did it feels nice not having to bleed words from my mouth not needing to ventilate the insanity watch it spill over like a dream, watching myself react from a place far away from who I want to be it is more silent here the bees collecting honey the flowers opening right up to them the birds, they sing songs no one is listening no one is forced to live behind a shut door no one is a child anymore, I am free free of trauma, sexual abuse, hands that force me to fit their mold, I am free and surprisingly this place is more silent than I expected it does not say it has healed it merely watches others scream and waits for the storms to pass knows the world will end, then begin again And that there is my sanity.

I will not fall or fly into you and you were never about to catch me balancing on to want love to want love and not want it too hard