Some days it feels like your heavens are leaning hard against my spine, like every cloud you ever carried chose to empty out on mine. It’s almost like you’re testing me pushing cracks into my ground, letting thunder find my heartbeat, letting lightning hunt me down. I walk through storms that weren’t my making, winds that howl just to be cruel, skies that darken at the whisper of the hope I try to fuel. If strength is built from breaking, then I must be forged in flame but te

I know a liar by the way their story shifts like sand how every truth they try to speak collapses in their hands. I know a liar by the flicker that betrays their careful eyes, the way their voice grows sweeter right before the next surprise. I know a liar by the rhythm their excuses always choose how every sentence wobbles like it’s balancing on truth they lose. I know a liar by the moment their mask begins to grooving because the surest sign they’re lying is simple: their li

There’s a thread between us, soft as dawn and strong as steel, woven through every heartbeat, every truth we’re brave enough to feel. From the moment I opened my eyes, your love was the world’s first light a gentle guide, a steady hand, a warmth that made the dark feel bright. We’ve grown in different directions, yet somehow never apart, for every mile between us still loops back to the heart. You are the echo in my laughter, the calm in my storms, the shelter when life shatt

Little wings that knew the air Better than we knew our own breath Wacko, you were a spark of life Too bright to ever truly fade. You filled the house with tiny songs, Soft chirps that stitched the quiet days Into something warm, something gentle, Something we didn’t know we’d miss this much. You perched like a heartbeat in the room, A small, brave soul in feathered form Always watching, always listening, Always reminding us that joy can be small and still feel big. And today

This year the table felt different, like the air had shifted just a little, soft around the edges, heavy in the middle a holiday stitched together with gratitude and grief in the same thread. I smiled because I was supposed to, because tradition says to gather and give thanks, but my heart kept drifting to the quiet corners where the ache sits and waits for moments just like this. There were laughs, yes warm ones that rose like steam from the dishes passed hand to hand. And I

Some days it feels like the whole damn world is balanced on my shoulders one wrong breath and everything crashes, and everyone looks at me as if I pulled the sky down on purpose. I’m tired of being the villain in stories I never agreed to star in, tired of carrying blame that doesn’t even belong to me yet it sticks, like tar on my skin, like whispers in the walls that won’t shut up. I keep asking myself, What did I do? Where did I break? Why does every path I walk feel like i

I was small the first time I wrapped my hand around his, my fingers barely fitting in the warm, worn grooves of his palm. He didn’t say much never needed to just gave that soft half-smile that told me you’re safe with me. As I grew, the world stretched wide and loud and sometimes confusing, but he had a way of quieting it just by being near. He’d point out the little things a bird on a fence, the way the light hit a leaf as if beauty was something we were meant to collect and

There’s a darkness in the corner of my mind, quiet, patient, and endless. Not loud like thunder, not wild like a storm just there like a shadow that learned how to breathe. People say, “Just shine a little light. Think positive. Choose happiness.” As if light were strong enough to rewrite the shape of something that was born from the parts of me no one ever saw break. But this darkness it doesn’t scatter. It doesn’t run. It absorbs the light, drinks it, swallows it whole and

My tears don’t fall softly they don’t glide like gentle rain, they don’t shimmer down cheeks politely as if sadness were something dainty. No they crash. They slam into the silence like waves breaking against cliffs, loud enough to echo through bone, sharp enough to carve valleys in me. These tears have thunder in them, storms I tried to swallow whole. They carry every memory that clawed at my ribs, every word I bit back until my tongue bruised, every time I stayed quiet when

My cup should be full. That’s what they say, isn’t it? Gratitude. Perspective. Stay positive. I hear their voices like rain hitting windows while I stand inside a house with no roof. But I am tired. And this cup this cup I carry every day it’s almost empty. I’ve poured and poured into others’ wounds, into friendships I tried to resuscitate, into love that forgot to love me back, into conversations where I listened until my ears became shelters for storms that were never mine.