Lonely Memories

Burning down the Wickerman

Burning down the Wickerman

holds like setting fire

to myself, I built to survive.

Every dry limb,

a lie carried,

every hollow rib, the fear I fed,

the woven smile,

a mask worn .

Flames whisper

as they rise,

a language I remember,

a truth I feared.

The last ember falls,

the night is quiet.

And in silence,

I realize the thing I burned

was already dead.

These are my damn words

These are my damn words

not softened,

not sanded down,

not dressed up

to make anyone comfortable.

They rise raw,

refuses to whisper,

refuses to apologize

for being loud.

 If they burn,

let them burn.

These are my damn words

the ones held back

for years,

the ones that trembled

in my throat,

waiting for permission

They come slow,

they come honest,

Saying them

isn’t rebellion.

These are my damn words.

The Eruption

There’s a riot breaking... fists, fire,

 A storm of everything

Walls shake,

Truth cracks,

the quiet splinters like glass.

The uprising

of souls

tired of being contained.

 The chaos is destruction.

It’s release.

Inside a city built from memory,

shadow,

and grit.

The streets crack open

from rage,

from the weight

of unspoken stories

pushing to the surface.

 The breaking

is chaotic transformation

rebuilding from the inside.

STOP, just STOP

STOP, just Stop.

I’m done swallowing storms

to keep the peace.

 I’m done carrying weight

that was never mine

to lift.

 This is the moment

the world hears my boundary

loud and clear.

 STOP

before you burn yourself

STOP, just STOP

The noise,

the demands,

the endless reaching

for pieces of me

I no longer offer.

 I need a pause

long enough to hear

my own heartbeat again.

Silence !

Angry Reflective

Angry, reflective....

two flames in the same glass,

one burning hot,

one burning slow.

 I stare at myself

and see the truth

I tried to outrun:

the anger isn’t wild,

it’s wounded.

 And the reflection

isn’t shame,

it’s clarity

the moment I finally admit

what hurt me

and what I won’t carry anymore.

I sit with the heat

instead of throwing it.

 I let it talk.

I let it show me

every boundary I ignored,

every silence I swallowed,

every time I said “it’s fine”

when it wasn’t.

The anger isn’t the enemy.

It’s the teacher

I breathe through the blaze,

letting the smoke clear

before I speak.

In the quiet,

I see the shape of my own truth,

sharp but sacred,

painful but necessary.

 Some storms

d...

DAMN

DAMN—

that’s the only word

big enough

to hold the weight

of what just broke open.

 The truth landed hard,

no warning,

no mercy,

no time to brace.

But here I stand,

breath sharp,

heart steady,

ready to rise

from the impact.

 DAMN—

sometimes that’s all

a soul can manage

when the world shifts

in one heartbeat.

It’s the exhale

after the shock,

the whisper

after the storm,

the word that carries

everything you can’t say yet.

 DAMN—

the word ...

Shadows Hide Under the Sun

Shadows hide under the sun, quiet as secrets that refuse to die.

Even in the brightest heat, they cling to the edges, curling around truth like a warning.

Light doesn’t erase darkness— it only shows where it’s been waiting.

slipping beneath the glow as if warmth alone could make them harmless.

But even noon has corners, and even joy has places it won’t touch.

Still, I walk forward, letting the light fall where it may, unafraid of what follows behind me.

The Words That Could Undo Us

The words you carry are heavier than the night.

I see the storm gathering behind your teeth,

the lightning of a truth you’re afraid to release.

Hold it a moment longer— let the world stay still before your voice reshapes it.

For even silence has its own pulse.

The air between us is thick with meaning, a thread pulled tight but not yet broken.

Some truths are more powerful when they hover unspoken— warm as breath, sharp as longing.

Part not thou lips,

Part not thou lips, for I can hear the truth before it’s spoken.

The breath you hold trembles against the silence, a confession waiting to break its own chains.

Let the moment stay whole— unbroken, unruined, a fragile truth balanced on the edge of your mouth.

Full Circle

It came back

like a storm we swore we’d outgrown,

a shadow stretching

from wounds we never let heal.

The circle tightens—

old words in new mouths,

old fears in new clothes,

old lines redrawn

as if time never learned its lesson.

But every return

reveals the truth  missed before:

a circle can be broken

the moment someone refuses

to walk it again.

 The wheel turns,

slow and grinding,

pulling yesterday’s ghosts

into today’s light.

The pattern repeats—

the same cracks in the foundation,

the same weight on the same shoulders,

the same silence

where justice should speak.

 It comes back around—

the prejudice,

the power games,

the quiet cruelty dressed as order.

History did...