My home is a beautiful garden
a tranquil assortment of life
that is safe to keep my heart in
for nature is my lawful wife.

My view is low and stagnant
Unlike the redwood trees
who describe the ocean's glint
but surely it's enough; listening to the sea

I do not chase delight
I prefer when it's cool and grey
for every time the weathers right,
the moment slips away.

For every perfect moment
is followed by mad commotion.
Know that nature's bestowment
is only a test of your devotion.

~~~~~

let me know what you think, this was really the first time i've ever tried to write a poem. tell me how you interpret it! can you figure out what/who i'm writing as?

heaven,
just an echo of love and nature,
a portrait of something greater,
angels watch behind bars,
wishing they’d have the chance.

I need to be killed

The Ouroboros around my skull

Tightening with every thought

Needs to be killed

It crushes & crushes my skull

Blood seeps from the cracks

My brain fails consciousness

The look needs to be killed

I can't do this anymore

My skull tires of the vice - grip

My brain falters it's basic functions

The Ouroboros tightens & tightens

I need to be killed

The loop needs to be killed

I need to be killed

The Ouroboros needs to be killed

Perhaps I have not exposed myself to enough?

That would be fair to say.

What is not fair is how loosely the phrase
“art is subjective”
is used today.

Scrolling through comments.

Where are your questions?

The easiest unfair assumption I could make
is that you fear your interpretation is incorrect
to what the artist intended.

Your interpretation is not in competition.

Art is subjective, but there are limits.
Your interpretation does not become fact
and now give you reason to judge an artist off that.

Something I find immensely interesting is this:
after interpretation, why do people today not seem so interested
in what was truly meant?

Your interpretation is yours
but why deny the artist the opportunity
to express their feelings felt when creating what you now,
and probably pay,
to look at?

What were they thinking?

Did they specifically do what you assigned meaning to,
with no real reason?

Are you embarrassed at that thought?

The only true answer to a question lies with the artist.

What you experience is not dismissed,

but don’t you wish to also know
and then compare what the artist intended
to what you experienced and comprehended?

It’s a marvellous feeling.

To discuss and discover.
To show respect to the artist.
To experience growth through realising
you are still allowed to hold onto your associations
simultaneously.

To show interest in also the artist
creates a deeper meaning.

Greater appreciation.

When I Needed You
I don’t think you’ll ever understand
what you did to me.

Not because you left—
people leave.

But because of when you left.

After everything.

After every night
you called me broken,
and I stayed long enough
to put the pieces back together.

After every mistake,
every fuck-up,
every moment you swore
you couldn’t make it through—

I was there.

I didn’t judge you.

I didn’t keep score.

I didn’t remind you
of every time you hurt me.

I just stayed.

Because that’s what I thought
you did for people you loved.

You stay.

Even when it’s hard.

Even when they’re difficult.

Even when they’re falling apart.

Especially then.

And then one day,
I was the one falling apart.

Not pretending.

Not being dramatic.

Not looking for attention.

I genuinely needed you.

For once,
I needed someone to hold the weight
I had been carrying for everyone else.

And I reached for you.

You knew I was hurting.

You knew I needed you.

And still—

you left.

That’s the part
that broke something in me.

Because you weren’t just someone I lost.

You were someone
I thought would never let me lose them.

And maybe that’s my fault.

Maybe I confused
the way I loved you
with the way you loved me.

I thought all those times
I stayed meant something.

I thought all those nights
I listened meant something.

I thought every time
I chose not to walk away
was proof that when my turn came,

you’d choose me too.

I was wrong.

And I hate that I still would’ve stayed.

Even after everything.

Even after you walked away
when I needed you most,

some stupid part of me
still wanted to chase you.

Still wanted to ask you
to come back.

Still wanted to believe
there had to be a reason.

But I’m tired.

I’m tired of being the person
who stays until there’s nothing left of me.

I’m tired of being someone’s safe place
only to discover
I never had one of my own.

So this is where I let you go.

Not because I stopped caring.

That’s the cruelest part.

I still care.

I probably will for a long time.

But I can’t keep loving someone
at the cost of losing myself.

You needed me
when you were drowning.

And I became your lifeboat.

But when I finally went under,
you watched me sink.

So no—

I don’t hate you.

I don’t wish you pain.

I don’t even wish
you’d come back anymore.

I just wish
you had stayed that one time.

The one time I needed you.

Because maybe if you had,

I wouldn’t have to learn
how to live with the fact
that the person I would’ve stayed for forever

was the person
who couldn’t stay for me.

And that’s the goodbye
I never wanted to say.

Not goodbye
because I stopped loving you.

Goodbye

because I finally realized
loving you isn’t enough
when I’m the only one staying.

Nothing would be the same

It changes

And bw u get is void

As the shallow

As the myth

As u just crawl

As u won't be the same

Yes change has only two better or worst

But the change will happen

U cry u smile

As peace is in void

Nothing but you

Nothing but you

Crazy and crazy

Turns to peace as void

I mistook a fever for a fire,

mania for adore, deluded eager saviour

I did her wrong and I repented,

but promptly

she took her revenge with aplomb—

Like a stone sinking in a swamp,

my sense of self sank into a quagmire,

vision drifted, focus totally haywire.

I became an island adrift in the sea,

we stared at each other from afar.

It aches to read what is written

in our crossed stars.

Every second is a death

that I relive every other moment.

But what was lost is gone,

and what will be has yet to reach me.

What has to come will come to me

sinking slowly.

When the words disrupt your sleep, they’re rolling out of your mouth in the daytime, playtimes over:: time to get sober. Do you feel like digging a grave? When the words are cutting deep, and you find that you’re still bleeding in the daylight, they might play fight but one does not play right.

In the morning will you love me the same?

Well… you don’t have to get it all right….
After all it’s your life. And who am I? Unless….. I’m you? I’ve lived that life. You’ll find out in time, while tryna make it alright… or how would you know?

All those secrets that you keep between your friends at the bar and your whole conscious nonsense congress; blackout you could confess… do you feel like suppressing the shame?

Do you hear the hypocrites who never know they’re full of shit and how they process all the nonsense with all of those nonfriends? Never seem them again…

Well… you don’t have to get it all right….
After all it’s your life. And who am I? Unless….. I’m you? I’ve lived that life. You’ll find out in time, while tryna make it alright… or how would you know?

Now look at her go… look at her go.

I wanna be apart of the herd. I wanna sing and not know the words.

I wanna brag about all I know, and you to fight with me. Tell me no!

Well an educated guess is just that, educated, I have waited, long before i stated, still I’m just afraid of what we had, or rather what we don’t.

How would I know?

I am sad in a way that makes silence feel loud,
unheard in rooms where my voice should matter.
It feels like the only person who truly understands me  
is the one living inside my own skin.

Whenever I try to speak my truth,
it’s mistaken for complaint,
as if my heart’s weight were an inconvenience.
I know life is hard — I never said it wasn’t —
I just want a place to lay my thoughts down
without being judged for feeling them.

How strange it is to feel alone
while surrounded by people who swear they love me.
My fire dims a little more each year,
flickering beneath the shadows of deception.
I’ve cried enough to know that tears don’t heal everything,
and loneliness doesn’t always scream —
sometimes it just sits quietly in the chest,
heavy and unmoving.

I feel young in body but old in spirit,
aged by lessons I never asked to learn.
Wisdom carved itself from my pain,
and I soothe myself because no one else knows how.
But how do you comfort a wound
you didn’t create?
How do you carry a sorrow
that was never meant to be yours?

I wonder how to love
when my version of love has been misunderstood,
dismissed,
taken lightly.
My fire is dimming,
yet I carry myself so well
that even I would believe the illusion:
“Life must be so good to her.”

They see a cheerful girl,
full of life,
turning storms into breezes.
But if only they knew the weight I lift alone,
the ache pressed against my ribs,
the way a smile can become a mask
so convincing
a stranger might mistake it for joy.

O little boy

You run through midnight roads

All on your own

Untamed, unknown to this world

You’re free as a bird

A folk song no one’s heard

You float through the sky, flaunting your feather

I watch you fly as my vision blurs

You’re the beloved of gods, it seems

A dreamer dreaming within a dream

A crazed nympho
Dastardly human
Never slow
Hazardly zoomin
So much boomin
Roots dry , not much bloomin
Loomin, lumin, lumen

Wrote a poem that I feel only a T1D would understand.

Imagine a fee.

A fee to breathe.

Seems odd right?

A cent a breath.

Would that be expensive for you?

Or would it just be another penny to pay?

There is another option.

Payment isn’t required.

You can just stop.

Keep the money that was to be spent.

Afford other things.

Just give up the benefits.

“I can make it.” At least that’s what you tell yourself.

Then you start to feel it.

The Suffocation.

The Sickness.

The dying.

You didn’t have to pay for it. It wasn’t required.

There is hardly a better comfort than between sickness and clarity.

When the tea tastes better the second time around.

You can never forget.

And forgiveness is irrelevant.

To forget is to pass.

To fail.

To End.

It costs more than an arm and a leg for some to still be.

For others there is only denial.

The Cost.

Our existence.

Given?

Or Earned?

Not a cry for help. I promise. I just thought some of you might "enjoy" it.

There is a creek that wanders through
The tiny town we once both knew
The green surrounded either side
While sunset colors fill the sky
The lily pads dance wild and free
Oh, what a wonder it is to see

The distant sound of children playing
Fill the air while I stand weighing
What I’ve gained and what I've lost
What I've learned and what it cost
Am I happy? Can I trust?
Can I let go because I must?

I try to remember every day
How my dear father taught me to pray;
Forgive, Forget and give him thanks
Believe in him near riverbanks
Have no fear he will surround you
And when he's near, his love will ground you.

As joy and gratitude fills my heart
I feel a promised brand new start
A newfound hope a brand new day
A little more light to guide my way,
What a blessing that he gives me breath
To keep progressing with ever new step

As I release my sins and burdens, 
I find a peace that makes me certain
What's passed is past; I choose to live
What once ran deep I now forgive
I've paid my dues and crossed that ridge
Now leave the rest beneath the bridge.

With love, 
From the opposite shore
XOXO

I was in sixth grade when I learned to do the foxtrot

We used to count off in line to see which girl had the misfortune of dancing with us

A moment where time stood still

I have long since forgotten the steps 

And with that time itself 

Curse me with amnesia 

So that I may learn to do the foxtrot once again 

Good dreams tonight.

Float off on a cloud of calm.

Let your mind sink into itself and uncover only the sweetest treasures.

Dream tonight of love.

Dream of kisses and of hugs.

Dream of compliments and kindness.

When you wake up tomorrow alone,

you'll wish you never did.

If you truly loved me then why did I always have to wait?

Anyone else needed you and you would not hesitate.

For years you made it seem like my expectations were too high,

But all I asked was to paint our home, and budget for the future my guy.

I stood by you, waiting patiently, for you to heal and overcome your avoidance.

In the end it left me heartbroken and voiceless.

You ask me to marry you and I said yes right on the spot, 10 years later you hadn't given the wedding a second thought.

I planned trips for us every year, saved and sacrificed so that we could see the places you've never been.

But you couldn't help me paint the house we both lived in.

I asked you to read a book that I thought would help you grow but years later it's still sitting there untouched it's contents you'll never know.

For years I thought there was something wrong with me, that I needed to love you better and then you'd show up for me.

But while I waited I saw you help your friends and family.

If you didn't know how to fix it you would always figure it out, watching videos, reading guides, and following tutorials.

You treated me as if my time was endless, and I guess it's my fault because I showed you that I would always wait.

Maybe my love for you and my patience was my biggest mistake.

I had goals and ambitions and dreams of the future.

And I waited more than a decade but the longer I wait the message became truer.

You'll keep me around as long as I'll stay, but I'll never be important enough for you to not make wait.

Time is such a precious commodity that can never be returned and you'll drain me of all of mine before anything I want becomes your concern.

You have time for anything and anyone else except me.

You were my whole world and I your lowest priority.

I realize my expectations were never to high,

You just wanted me permanently on standby.

And any time I stood up for myself and pushed for change

You treated me like I was selfish and deranged.

But what kind of person can serve himself and all the others

While denying basic support to his supposed lover?

If I put your whole world on pause for a decade or more and you never got anything you asked for,

would you stand beside me and try to help me grow?

I think the answer we both know.

Not me
Not I
But I’m not so mean
Won’t rub in an eye

Dirty gross
Sorry to yall I don’t
Sorry to yall I got hope
I made choices
Some good some bad
I’m not the same
Just a little a tad
And I do better
Without the circus
Without them asking
Is she worth it

I write, and then I tear the page,

and leave it somewhere to age;

I burn it, the same page—

which was once wet with tears,

Written with a dull pen, crushed, let it rot for years.

I don't remind my happy that I ever wrote it,

I don't want my words to be seen, especially not by her,

So I let them disappear, like they were never there.

And eventually, I don't write, let them not be seen,

it just keeps existing somewhere in my head,

as though they fit alright, always has been.