Searching… That’s what I’ve Been Up to. Searching for my soul, My identity, My values. I know them well, My values, that is. But sometimes I stray From what Truly is. I’m lost. I’m alone. I’m sinking More than I swim. I’m trying to Fight for my life, Trying hard not To let depression win. And all my mistakes, They haunt me like ghosts. They make me feel like a bad human, A burden to most. And if I could change One thing, It would be: To live my life By my values, Indefinitely

Is he there I’m not sure… I’m not sure I know who he is anymore Reflection blank Eyes deserted Chest hollow It’s hurting He embodies My features But not My heart He’s absent of direction… Absent of thought His brain feels fried And thick with chalk How do I connect when I’m not aware of who I am When I feel Like I’m Floating… Dragging through sand How do I exist as a person when the bones of me are scared to live How do I keep Fighting To remain Or do More Than exist

Foot to pavement Before the sun Appears The pattering Echoes off The path Trembling Through the cracks And the grass Flowers At peak bloom Swaying with The rhythm Of the feet Whispering As they drag Off into the Distance Footprints Fading Before sunlight Finds the path

Everything feels sullen, damp. It’s a beautiful day, Yet when I reach to interact, my hand presses firmly against glass. Trapping me within the confines of walls nobody can see, not even me. Only felt in moments where attention lingers long enough to notice absence.

Sometimes all that exists is scattered thoughts. Choosing between wine, cigarettes, or things that are worse, yet far more effective at quieting the storm inside of me. This is as close to honesty outside of myself as I can get. I haven’t experienced a storm like this since before adulthood. Adolescence offering me more escape than I can find now. Maybe it was the lack of autonomy that guided me into blank states of nothingness. Maybe it’s because now blank states aren’t so p

Content Note: This poem speaks openly about suicidal thoughts and the weight of living with them. I have studied attempted suicides the way historians study history. When your mind circles something long enough, you start looking for patterns. You learn the mistakes people made so you can avoid them. None of the bridges in my state are tall enough to guarantee breath stops when the falling does. I was young the first time I started researching this. Before national hotlines w

I still think about you. Daily. Some days I cry more than others. Because you are the kind of person people don’t forget. The kind that leaves a deep mark on the heart. The kind that presses memories into the mind like a stamp that never fades. My heart and my body hold the truth of that. My eyes once witnessed a passionate and gentle soul. And now I am left with memory, imprints on my heart that surface without warning, grief rising around me like I am living the day I walke

Sometimes I feel like a plant that should’ve been pulled when it was small. Like the gardener saw the leaves and knew right away, that one’s wrong. Not the kind you nurture. The kind you pull up by the roots before it spreads. But somehow I stayed in the soil. And now I’m here, grown where I wasn’t meant to grow, still standing in a place that feels like it would’ve been better if I’d just been uprooted early.

Closing eyes Within the mind There are several doors Doors that stay shut Doors that stay cracked Doors that are concealed From the world Inside one Is a little boy Terrified Of monsters Fearful Of hands that curl He can run From room to room Asking for help But his voice is low The others don’t hear Until he starts to beg His begging Can get tumultuous His pleading Can get impetuous That’s when chaos ensues For he slams the doors And pounds on the walls Until the others come

Floating Is all I can manage In this moment Drifting so far away From myself that I can’t connect Thoughts blurry And out of sight Feelings muted Empty Hollow Meaningless This is how we keep going When it all feels Too heavy Too much Too painful We close the doors We hide We stay away So he can survive

Longing Feeling like air Is being pulled from My body Chest expanded And arched Toward the ceiling Like control Does not belong To the body It belongs to The energy Of the universe The air Traveling, circling, Searching For a place To land Only we know That longing exists most When landings Don’t

There’s a kind of relief In day dreams Of endings Silence falling Darkness consuming consciousness No weight No pain No worry Just a simple kind of nothing

Blink He’s here Blink He’s gone Blink Blink Blink The world has shifted His view has changed He can no longer see the same Blinking Shifting Not knowing your own memory Blinking Turning My heart is burning Burning trying to get through the day Burning trying to find a new way To remember To start To not tear things apart To know this perspective is here but know a new one is near What will stay? What will go away? How do I stay connected to me? How do I keep remembering how t

I hate the arbitration of rules that aren’t solely arbitrary. I struggle with the grief that fills the back of my throat and makes it sting. Tears welling up in my eyes as I try to find the words to put to the feelings swelling inside of me. I can feel the cool tears sliding down my cheek and dropping onto my shirt. Missing you comes with shame, shame for the way I feel, shame for the way I still hurt this far from saying goodbye. There’s something beautiful about loving beyo

I Still Miss You Most of All In moments like these, I cry. I grieve. Your absence from my life— memories of our laughter, surrounded by plants. Love pressed into the corners of my heart. You once gave me what I needed most: space to talk, a place to cry, a shoulder to lean on, a place to try. Try to learn better. Try to grow. Try to hold these memories close. My heart aches, and the tears fall. I still miss you most of all. Author’s Note: I wrote this poem many months ago, bu