a cumulation

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sometimes, it's not me.

those are not my tears.

it’s those of a broken one, hidden deep within me.

how did I survive those days without a single cry of help?

how did I get by without entirely forsaking myself


well, I did, didn’t I?

the woman I am is but made of shards.

fragmented, soulless, painted by scars.

this is not who I thought I was.

where did that effervescent optimism go?

I used to speak of dreams, hopes and brighter tomorrows.

now, it is but a golden cage.

spiralling in stories of how I was not saved.

memories of me scarring my own skin.

dreaming of death, a locus on which the path ends.


I have so much to be grateful for, I know.

yet there is a cumulation of dread named after everything I've witnessed before.

never being safe. always trapped. the gush of air needed to survive.

I want to move on.

I want to put that past behind me.

yet, there is so much to undo.

so much to feel.

earth-shattering grief.


everyone tells me to stride forward.

don’t you see my vision boards climbing?

my soul misses Godly grace.

His divine presence.

how it always made me surrender.

now, this person I am is not me.

it’s a cumulation.

a dark twisted chapter I always skipped reading.

it’s time to finally read it. ace it.


hope is dangerous. treacherous.

it keeps you hanging by invisible strings.

should I let go? should I not?

should I sink down to the lands of the home I lost?

my broken childhood. torrents of fears.

thank God it is not home anymore.

so I keep hanging. my weight fading everyday.

until one day.

I fly again. 

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

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