I am the breath caught between dreams and waking,
that fragile moment when the night’s ghosts
still cling to the edges of my thoughts.
I wear my vulnerability like a second skin,
each scar a silent map to the places
I’ve fought to come back from—
some battles lost, others merely survived.
I carry the weight of memories
like stones in my pockets,
some jagged, cutting deep,
others smoothed over time
but still heavy, still there.

There are days I feel like I belong to the sea,
drawn to the pull of tides that never settle,
the constant flow of emotions
I haven’t yet learned to still.
I am the storm and the calm,
a contradiction in my own body,
torn between wanting to be seen
and needing to disappear.
I find myself standing on the edge of things,
on the brink of becoming
or unraveling,
I can’t always tell which.

In the quiet of the early morning,
before the world stirs awake,
I let myself feel everything.
The loneliness that echoes in empty rooms,
the comfort in being unseen,
the longing for something more
but the fear of what that might be.
I wear my past like a veil,
not quite hidden,
but not entirely exposed.
It lingers behind my eyes,
in the spaces between my words,
a history of loss, love, and letting go
etched into my bones.

I move through life as a collector of moments—
the tilt of sunlight through dusty windows,
the softness of a stranger’s smile,
the sound of rain tapping against glass.
I find beauty in what others overlook,
the small, the forgotten,
the imperfect.
Perhaps because I know what it feels like
to be all those things.

I am constantly shifting, evolving,
trying to shed the parts of me
that no longer serve who I am becoming.
Yet, I hold onto them,
a reminder that I am made of all the pieces
that have broken and mended,
that I am whole, even in my incompleteness.
There is a quiet power in my fragility,
a strength in the way I continue to rise,
even when the weight of the world
feels like too much to bear.

I am unfinished,
a work in progress,
but there is beauty in that—
in the not yet,
in the possibility of what could be.
And so, I move forward,
slowly, carefully,
with a heart that still hopes,
and hands open to whatever comes next.

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Fragments

Toxic Love