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Our friendship deader than the sea on which we sailed,

Too long ago on a cloudless night.

Maybe if I'd known better then, I would've paused,

And never let myself drift out of sight.

Like Phases of the Moon

To my parents I am waxing and To my sister I am waning To many I am new, unseen and mysterious. Never do I fully show myself to those around me…only to those I deem worthy, If I present to you in my full glory you must know you are special, you have been chosen to seem me as I am. I am a complex web of something quite simple, built to forever stand out in space amongst the many planets who demand majority’s attention Overlook but not underestimated, I am like the moon. -For the Outcasts

i keep crying

i keep crying at the littlest things, and i cry that i do that to myself. i let every little thing tear me down and break me until i feel like i'm worth nothing. but who do i have if i keep making these walls so my feelings don't get hurt. who do i have if i can't let myself experience anything?

i don't know. who DO i have? if i can't even believe in myself or anyone to not make me cry. and then again it's all me, always me and my feelings that i feel too heavily.

some days

some days i get so lonely, but i also get so tired from saying hello. so i stare at the wall. the nice, blank, non-talkative wall. and it stares back at me. shining the sun in its reflection, letting the moon take its color. and days pass by. and still, i sit there staring at the wall. waiting, watching, my life pass me by.

so there i remain. staring at a wall that won't hurt my feelings, won't say i'm not enough, and won't take me for granted.

like I’m five again

I hear the distinct footsteps across hallway floors, voices ricocheting off thin walls, cabinets slammed with force, and the door of the fridge being thrown off its hinges.

“I thought we moved passed this”, a thought that runs across my mind often. But it seems like we haven’t, and I’m hiding in the depths of my closet with puffy eyes, arms with scars, and knees to my heart. like I’m five again.

Every scream and yell triggers a shake from my bones, clattering from the last meal I had last night. Teeth clenched in aptitude and tears falling down with every hitch. like I’m five again.

I double check if my door is locked & if I have enough blocking it by force. Because words are words and threats are threats, but actions to end my life are much quicker.

So quietly I hide back in the nook of my darkened closet, tears so quiet that only the ants can hear them. Hiding this part of my life like it’s another Tuesday morning, smile gracing my hallow cheeks, and telling myself everything will go back to normal. because it’s just like I’m five again.

I have an issue with facing things head on

I have an issue with facing things head on, with sitting down and telling myself… okay this is what you do. I used to be good at it. I used to be the one people would go to when they needed a whole spreadsheet on what to do, on what classes to take, on what goals to set up for themselves. But something about UCLA drained me, even if it was just two years. It sucked what soul I had left. It stole my youthful energy, my aspirations of who I wanted to be, of my hope, my dreams, and most definitely my spirit. I thrived there, yes I did, but at the cost of my sanity. Everyday I walked those halls I could feel the pressure crippling me down to my core. My feet crumbling beneath me and my sense of self slowly being overshadowed by the ideals of an institution overthrown with wh!te supremacy. Unfortunately, it led me to the darkest pits I could feel in my bones. I wanted to fade away and never exist. Maybe it was my fault, a young girl moving to the big city in hopes of finally being free. Maybe it was all my fault that I never paced myself. Maybe it truly was all my fault, after the world shut down for a couple years I finally saw hope to escape, hope that masqueraded underneath a veil of thief. I won’t be ungrateful for being able to experience what I have, meet some amazing brilliant minds, but also I won’t be ever truly so blind to say this place didn’t leave me with the most of scars. Or maybe, this place exposed the scars that I thought I had already healed from. “I wish I did this differently, I wish I did that differently.” No. I did my best everyday, actually. I did what I never thought possible, actually. I’ve been working so hard to be where I am right now since I was a young teenage girl, so why… So why do I still feel— like a failure? Will this feeling ever go away? I’m so close to the finish line, yet my energy to keep running is gone, and I hate myself for it.

I don’t want a home.

I want a heartbeat

that beats louder when it feels me near.

By yours Astrum

It was kind of a dick move to create animals that require air, then confine them to the freaking ocean

mood

"i’d undress your mind first"

by Astrum.

i wouldn’t rush you.

i’d start slow —

trace the curve of your thoughts

long before i ever touched your skin.

i’d ask how you sleep when it rains,

what keeps you awake when it’s silent,

and where you ache when no one’s looking.

i’d want to know

the shape of your sigh,

the weight of your dreams,

the taste of your laugh

in the dark.

when you’d trust me enough,

i’d kiss your scars with my words,

bite your insecurities softly

between conversations,

and hold your secrets

like they were silk on my tongue.

and maybe,

if your eyes begged for it,

i’d undress you slow too.

but i promise —

your mind would be bare

long before your body ever was.

The Quiet Things We Never Say

In the hush between two heartbeats,

there lives a truth we all forget —

that love is not the grand parade,

but the quiet steps we never regret.

It’s in the hand that brushes yours

without needing a word or a name,

it’s in the eyes that stay awhile

when the world forgets your flame.

It’s not the fireworks or flawless lines,

nor promises wrapped in gold —

it’s the way we show up, soft and real,

when life turns silent, dark, and cold.

So if you’re reading this, just know:

You matter, wildly, more than you see.

You are the gentle thing in someone’s sky,

the reason their soul feels free.

Breathe. Be. Stay.

You are already the poem today.

i raise it, hold it in front of me. show you, through someone else, a peek inside myself. a keen eye can see through it—but cutting words glance off at an angle. it's not me, just a reflection. and isn't that the point? vulnerability, by proxy. i trust you not to hurt me as far as i can reach into the mirror.

On a dark cold night

Awoken my soul under the moon light

Like a wolf in sheep clothes

While the whole world stayed closed

My soul opened to the universe

On that hill rise

I was exposed

To the elements of life

And lord behold

As the devils hide

And nature took hold

A beast , I felt , deep inside .

@trueemotions91

All I need is air

The sun

The moon

The sea

All things that are beyond the beauty of the earth

When all falls silence , all at last will be

How the world was ment to be

I see you , your struggles and all the things behide

But nature is calling you

To heal you

In the silence , of the night

We need that, to reinstate

Reinstate with the earth , the very place we was made

To feel the air against your naked skin

The noise of the trees

The sound of the leaves and rain

This is what your body is craving

A break from hell

And back to heaven on nature’s ground

Bare footed

To recharge from the ground

Not from the television , we weren’t made a plug in

Pick up the leaves

let the creatures of earth wiggle on your feet

Put down the phone

And dig your hands into earths rich soil

Roll around like you never have

Smell the flowers and enjoy the earth.

@trueemotions91

Monday, 19th July 2021

I have scars on my knees from when I was six, hopeful of the days that I could run free from the tangled branches enclosing my mind. They wrapped me in with faces whose eyes always slipped across mine. And then they found my legs and let me slip, numb again from yesterday's wound. I would run, all limitations abandoned, chasing the friends I wasn't close to, always branches apart from the world I was already consumed by. But I was happy. And then I would fall. It happened again and again until I saw the danger in falling, now white stretching marks across the bottom of my knees. I saw the danger in everything.

Mother, I think I’m cursed

This air is turning to poison

This heart is falling apart

Mother, I think I’m blind

The path is dark and winding

No light shines on these parts

Mother, I think I’m dying

There’s nothing but numbness here

and a voice whispering, “We’re all mad here”

Mother, I don’t want you to save me

This darkness has begun to feel like home

and it truly has been so long since

I felt at home

— y.c.

We are home.

No, we are not all in the same house

the same city

No, we don’t all go home to peace

but we are home.

Words cannot abandon us

Hope cannot fade so long as we keep

Holding

On

so

Hold

On

Home isn’t always where the heart is

Sometimes

All it is

is a pen

paper

poems

But it doesn’t matter

Home is what you make it even when you’re not

making it so

take a deep breath

Look around you.

No matter where you are now

One day, I promise you:

We will be home.

— y.c.

Bastard,

they called you

As if the lack of father is a curse

(It is not)

Murderer,

they called you

As if the ones you killed deserved any less

(They did not)

Darling,

she called you

As if her gentle words would be enough to save you

(They were not)

Cursed,

you call yourself

What do they know,

of broken souls and

breaking hearts

mothered by a broken promise and

sired from a broken vow

(Nothing. They know nothing.)

— y.c.

Did you come from Hell,

oh Goddess?

Did you rise from brimstone and flame,

wielding words like swords?

They call you a demon

but then again,

They have always mistaken

strength for sin

when it comes to

We

who wear beauty

(like armour)

and swallow cruel words

(like bitter medicine)

— Yushan C.

Home is teddy bears

exuberant cheers

child’s laughter

parents’ pride

Home is quiet 2 A.M. conversations

thoughts too loud for music

words too raw to speak

pen ink fresh on a page

Home is tea steeping

cookies baking

alarms beeping

clocks ticking

Funny how so much of

Home

is what I made from

Everything

you never gave me

— Yushan C.

Can you wait out the winter?