by Daliah Ammar

you write and write and write
yet it never feels enough
you never feel fully finished
so you keep on looking
searching through those
dictionaries trying to find
the words that could describe
this avalanche in your heart
and this thunder booming
and crashing inside that deep cave
that is your mind
you are fighting
but it feels like you’re never winning
you get defeated day after day
blood seeps from your skin night after night
tears remain dry under your eyes week after week
it’s all the same month after month
another year is coming to an end
and this misery still resides between your veins
you start feeling weak and worthless
till the thunder deafens your ears for days on end
and the oceans rise and break your fragile limbs
you’ve completely gone under
your breaths left in the air to wander
your soul finally finds its peaceful slumber


via Flickr

if i talk
if i say the truth
if i do what my heart tells me to do
he will freeze his eyes on me
and give all his anger to his voice
he will strangle me with his eyes
and stab me with his voice

so i’ll hold it in
i’ll catch my tears
before they fall
and silence my screams
before they explode
out of my skin
and shatter the windows
like his voice always did
i’ll lie and say i’m fine
i’ll smile and kiss him goodbye
as the right side of my body
secretly hurts and bleeds
for years of sleepless nights
and avalanches of unspoken words
until i one day shatter
loud enough for him to hear, to see,
the damage he’s inflicted
d a u g h t e r


one day when it’s too late
and nothing matters anymore
a night where he will have a taste
of a night sleepless with pain and smothering remorse
a time where he will realize the power
he once had on me and how he’s stripped
off it now,
for it had dug my grave and buried me

a l i v e,

y o u n g,

v o i c e l e s s

a n d

d e s p e r a t e   f o r   l o v e;

h i s  l o v e.

Words, Me, and Emptiness

by Cesar Biojo

no matter how many books i buy,
how many pages i devour,
how many words i swallow,
how many rhymed verses i write
and my own books i create,
the emptiness inside me
never abates—
it only rages and storms
louder and harder
every time a book fills me
with knowledge, passion and inspiration;
it proves to me how tragically insignificant
i am.

485 days later.

by Tomasz Mrozkiewicz | via

there was once a time when a sun abandoned its planet. nature was engulfed and drowning in the darkness for immeasurable times; living beings died of thirst for light, for day; sadness overshadowed and covered the whole planet like a blanket wholeheartedly wrapped around a tiny baby’s body.

that’s what happens when a deeply, deeply loved soul leaves their cherished vessel and unfolds back to their source. that’s what happens to the souls left behind; they die too. a death so slow, so painful, so dark, so unnoticeable, that their bodies remain present and alive in the universe as their souls have long left. they live a dull, mournful life, in a broken, dying body, as a weary, shattered, wretched soul.

(does this go close to describing the insane amounts of waters rushing down to flood endless oceans for my missing and longing for you?)


by Tomasz Mrozkiewicz | via

i wonder what is the reason that makes every human on this earth that gets off bed in the morning get off the bed every morning..

the answer is probably different for every soul.

but, my question is: is the thing that gives us the tenacity to wake up and get through the the day on our bad days the same thing that gets us up on our good days? does it have the same power as the reason that makes us want to start our days in our pleasant, lively days? or are they the same thing? the same exact reason, passion—perhaps hidden, unknown reason—that walks our feet through the day on our bad and good days..?

is it the thing we’ve always loved doing, even if we’re too far from doing it in the present phase of our lives? is it ardency, love, inspiration, passion, a burning desire that we’ve let the sorrows and stresses of life overshadow?

and if it is… lets mull over how strong it truly is. how its potent light still shines bright enough through our sorrows and leads us through until we finally open our eyes and hearts wide enough to see and hear it. it’s there. your purpose is here. your life has a meaning even if it feels absolutely meaningless. it ought to. a life can’t be lived, a soul can’t exist without a purpose. and a purpose’s sole purpose is to be found and lived by its individual. so dive in and dive deep. look. search. even if it takes years. you will find it. for it’s endlessly waiting for you in absolute and utter admiration to shower you with the joy that you’ve always deserved; the joy that was always present in your life; the joy that was always yours to feel.

468 days later.

by Chiara Aime | via


and here comes the day where i allow you to go.. all i have in me is great love for you. i am filled with forgiveness and gratitude. i allow you to be just as you are, and i allow myself to let you be just as you are. my immense love for you and for myself and for life is filling my heart every time i get the demanding emotions of longing and yearning for you. i won’t sulk, dwell, or drown; i will rise, feel, and fly. i will love you pleasantly more than i will miss you grievingly. you are no longer pain to me; no longer an angry, sorrowful memory. you are Love; you are Freedom and Fulfillment and Forgiveness. and you feel oh so pleasant to my heart. i am in love with this love for you, my dearest, dearest sister. and i promise you i’ll never deprive myself from feeling it.

i will remain awaiting our reunion in anticipation and knowing, and

until then,

this unshakeable hope will hold me on.

Restless Months

by Chris Panatier | via 

Thinking of you is so unbearably painful
I spent months with my eyes
Wide open through the night
So terrified of living the nightmares in my sleep
While fearing the flashbacks attacking me
Any minute in the dark..
I could never sleep
Lie in bed with a book in hand,
Distracting myself from the paranoia
Crippling under my skin;
From the memories playing in my head over
And over again like a broken record
Making me feel like it’s all happening
Right in front of me right now

I cried, I punched and broke
Waiting for the sun to rise
When all I could see out the window
At six in the morning was white;
White, white, white, asphyxiating white

All my eyes saw was that white
But it was nothing like bright light
It was so dark, I felt claustrophobic
I started suffocating for my life
The air wouldn’t enter my lungs

So I grabbed a pen
And I wrote about that white
Looking at the colorless vacuous sky
While I dreadfully drove to school
Smiling at every face I passed by
With one hand in my pocket
Clutching my secret relief..