#fragmentedtruths

I’ve never been the main character

in a story.

Not even in my own.

I try to please everyone,

give them what they need.

I’d do almost anything.

I’d pull down the stars

just to light your path,

make the sun rise early,

teach the trees

to whisper your name.

I’d give you my lungs

so you can breathe,

my heart

to beat for you

when you no longer have the strength.

And still—

I lose myself

a little more each time.

Maybe that’s the price

the loneliness did.

the pain did.

winding corridors

along every strand.

Thoughts huddle in every corner,

some lost,

some banished.

A concept inscrutably complicated.

I often don't understand it myself,

and love to the death.

Feelings twist,

leaving stains upon my hands.

Memories, embedded in brown,

get lost in the folds of time.

Always too much.

Please release me

from the hell

my mind has built.

Where fire burns

without mercy,

and I’m imprisoned

by everything I fear.

Open the gates,

set free all

that holds me captive—

like birds spreading

their wings

for the very first time.

Let me grow wings

and fly with them

to a better world.

The wind will guide me,

the stars will speak kindly,

and the moon

An inner fire

is fanned,

glowing coal crackles,

sparks rise into the air,

painting a new zodiac sign

into the night.

Why don't you want to understand?

Flames creep

through the veins,

air so thick,

barely room

to breathe.

Pressure

on chest,

a burden so heavy.

Don't you believe me?

Despair,

a silent neighbor of rage,

familiar,

yet far away.

Lava - your blood,

ash - our breath,

dancing

and whirling

through the air,

gray takes over,

red heartbeat,

hot skin.

Can't you feel me?

Yesterday, I met my sister.

We spoke in whispers,

uncovering shadows

of our family,

of a mother fading,

of moments I had never known.

Her illness, her pain,

sometimes watched

just to see if she’s still here.

I carry the weight,

and share it only in fragments,

like scattered light

through broken glass.

How much time

I think I know

why I’m unlovable.

I’ll never be able

to give you

what you expect,

what you need.

I’ll never be the person

you want me to be.

I’m a difficult soul,

with nicks and scars

I try so hard to hide,

so no one will ever know

who I really am.

I’m a book with illegible writing

that no one can decipher.

I’m not a beauty

that lights up a room

like the first sunlight

in the morning.

I’m more like the clouds

that drift in front of the sun,

covering everything

in dark grey.

More like fog

on lonely streets,

no light to guide

your way.

I’ll never be the healing

that friends need by their side,

the rock in the storm

when it’s too loud

and windy to stand still.

I’ll never give a boy

what he longs for—

no fire to warm a heart

on cold December days.

Never the good sister

loved unconditionally

no matter what.

No blood to bind

when everything else breaks.

I’m not that person.

I never will be.

No matter how hard

I bend or try—