i love you and you know i would do anything for
you and it kills me that i know you wouldn't do
the same for me.
you’re all i have
please don’t leave me
i hate you for this
i hate that you’re the only thing keeping me alive
when whether i’m alive or not
truly means nothing in your universe
that i yearn to be a part of
your universe;
that which i crave to be
the dark night sky that scares you when you’re alone
the stars you smile at because they’re so beautiful
the moon that make you feel safe under that same dark sky
i want you to need me
as much as i need you
realising i’m nothing more than another person to you
kills me
i want it to kill you
it’s killing me
i want you to need me
i need you to want me
not of my own accord, don’t flatter yourself
My neurological needs spread like a flea, sapping my strength, sucking my blood like a relentless disease.
Creating chaos, disorder this man has no order where which his life goes.
God only knows my hope's a fragile border that turns barren and cold.
Where once was order, now shadows arise.
As harmony fades and the light slowly drains where no life remains.
The sun goes down, the storm begins to rise,A tidal wave behind my weary eyes.
The fear of being left, the splitting dark,
Each emotion leaving such a burning mark.
I grab the glass to numb the jagged edge,
To stop myself from walking off the ledge.
With every sip, the roaring silence breaks,
A temporary shield for my mistakes.
I drown the "too much," hide the frantic need,And plant the, "I am fine," synthetic seed.But when the fog lifts, the trauma remains,The same broken heart, the same heavy chains.The bottle promises a quiet night,But leaves me sinking, hidden from the light.Yet,
A Mind—arranged in quieter Rooms—
Where Order hums in Rows—
The World arrives—too bright—too loud—
In undivided Flows—
The Eyes may wander—from the Gaze—
Yet See—what others miss—
A Wheel’s devotion—to its Spin—
A Pattern—taught by Bliss—
The Name—may pass—like distant Bells—
Not rung—for lack of Care—
But Time—moves differently—inside
A Thought—precise—and fair—
The Heart—does not announce its Grief—
In customary Signs—
It speaks—in Systems—Routines—Truths—
And private—Sacred Lines—
What seems—Repetition—to the Crowd—
Is Sanctuary—Found—
A Ritual—against the Storm—
A stillness—wrapped in Sound—
Do not mistake—the Quiet—for
An Absence—of the Soul—
For Feeling—dwells—more deeply—there—
Than Language—can enroll—
Autism—names—no lesser Light—
It only bends—the Ray—
And teaches us—new Ways—to See
The Human—on Display--09
Food.
Supposedly so good.
Calories add.
I'm mad, you're sad.
The hunger comforts me.
It shows my success and victory.
The mind, when cornered by unbearable truth,
Builds walls from silence and locks from sleep.
It learns the art of leaving itself
While the body remains behind to suffer.
There are wounds no language can dress,
No reason can bind.
So the psyche invents distance—
A thin veil between terror and breath.
It begins in childhood,
When love becomes danger
And memory becomes poison.
The soul, desperate to survive,
Steps sideways out of pain.
This is not madness.
It is architecture.
The self fractures not from weakness,
But from necessity.
The mind, like a nation under siege,
Burns its bridges to keep the enemy out.
How bad can it become?
So complete that one no longer knows
Which voice belongs to whom.
So quiet that life feels like watching oneself drown
From the shore of one’s own body.
So distant that joy feels like a rumor
Heard through thick walls.
The person survives,
But the witness disappears.
Yet know this:
Dissociation is not the illness—
It is the scar.
Proof that something once threatened
To destroy the soul entirely
And failed.
For even in retreat,
The mind chooses life.
Dining out this week
dressed my best
and going Greek
was a disaster
dropped my moussaka
and spilled the rest
of my tzatziki
down the chest
of my new dashiki
a messy eater as a child
difficult I always was
instead of chew
I'd inhale because
it's not the thing to do
Another Sky
Is there another sky,
where I could rest my heavy bones,
embraced, cradled beyond this ledge
The drop to hell is far too steep.
Running down a cloudy glass,
the crimson drip of mother’s wine
staining all it touches with a bitter, bloody red.
I measure worth in empty plates.
A parasite gnaws at my stomach's lining,
a relentless hymn I cannot silence.
My scars like ghostly constellations,
a haunting I carry, both burden and compass.
But there is a place where flowers grow in gravesites,
where mothers stitch sunlight into the fabric of grief.
I’ll trade wine for water and darkness for the Sun,
guided by stars that burn in another sky.
Her soul was starved of acceptance
An aching hunger wanting to be fed
Her body weak
Not from the lack of food
But for the lack of love for her skin
Being black meant a life where no matter what she did
She would never win
She couldn't control her race
But she could control her body
She wanted to be invisible
And the only way she could make that happen was to disappear
Her body, her skin, her mind
A place of imprisonment
But she could control how she decorated it
To her that felt like a rebellion
Even if it meant she lost herself
Deep down she knew this wasn't right
But she just didn't want the fight
She was willing to make that sacrifice
With every meal skipped
She got weaker and weaker
Not realising how she was getting closer to death
Mistaking it for freedom
She had got everything she wanted
Just not how she expected
She realised a little too late
How true this statement was
The world wanted her gone
And she had finally given them what they want
We all know that feeling. The one that we don’t want to end. The one that’s so satisfying it’s intoxicating. It starts subtle. Sometimes, it involves thoughts. Thoughts you wouldn’t dare share with anyone. It grows through your entire body, screaming and scratching through every single nerve ending. It spreads slowly, burning down every narrow passage and every inch of your skin. Your entire body is on fire. You feel it growing and growing as you inch towards your finale. It bubbles up, boiling to the top until it overflows. It flows over the edge, violently and satisfyingly. It flows and flows, releasing every tension in your body. The release is the greatest feeling, toxic, infuriating, invigorating, and all so inviting, making you want to feel this feeling all over again… The Release.
You may—I might—theywill—some ‘won’t’—just say:
“Living’s a walnut begging to be cracked!”
And if-or when-but why-sosoon-the impact
of such a soundstatement will hardly weigh?
on the forget- fret- fear-ful kind of gray
dispositions who dwell on the abstract
(no)tion of (this)regard or a(n/a)tacked
self sobbing in the corner of the day.—
Re—again—jected once one final more,
such spirits spurn the sense ‘security’,
to cling to cleaner, more clearly bonded
couplets.
But who when where better (core)responded
to that desperate pre-immaturity,
else than the ever further distant shore?
Our blood splattered grounds and our winding pavements.
Keeping my head up while I can.
Your blue spirit birdsong,
It comforts.
Just keep crawling, keep gasping,
Just suffocate it all in the red,
I stayed hungry for the thrill, because
Nothing was enough to quench those flames.
Fox-like footprints in our blood-spattered grounds
Are all I needed back then to stay sane.
Can you scamper away before you do what was asked of you?
Just keep your head up while you can.
Keep starving, keep bleeding.
Cheating.
Suffocate in the red.
Not all of us ‘Eat, Pray, Love’.
One plate: a minefield
of coulda, woulda, shoulda,
of clink and clatter
long after a bite.
Taste lingers,
here!
The river breaks its mirror with a scream,
Moods whip the trees — calm, then storm — then gone.
In love, I drown; in fear, I flay the dream.
A thousand selves pull knives inside one dawn.
The eyes of others turn my skin to glass,
Every slight — a spear, each kindness — pain.
Abandonment’s cold breath will never pass;
I chase and bite and beg and start again.
I wear my bleeding heart for all to see,
But shame is acid poured upon my seed.
Rage blooms in seconds, vanishes in cries,
While emptiness gnaws marrow from my thighs.
Unchecked, the soul dissolves in fractured light,
Births deeper wounds: addiction, endless fight.
With hands unmet, I spiral through the gloom,
A body living only to consume —
And none can save me if I don't choose soon.
I stare timidly into the softly lit mirror,
Its gaze staring back at me unrecognizable.
I've been told this person is my friend,
But its reflection paints a different picture.
Its mixture mixes a mess of colors I never thought go together anyway.
A bit ghostly.
I trace its outline carefully -
A bump here, a dent there, extra padding everywhere -
So pathetically unfamiliar to me.
So frightening
to me....
To me
to me
to me
to me
Why does no one else seem to see
What I see?
What I see...
I've been told is my friend.
But friendliness bodes forbidden,
Foreign between the eyes of those destined to be one.
When will I learn my body is my friend?
Who honestly teaches that anyway?
I say honestly purposefully.
Lies, all lies.
You see it, don't you?
I don't even need to explain for you to know.
That's how low this show has gone.
I need help unmasking and redefining
this
festering,
fatal
phenomenon.
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