"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more."- Mr. Knightley, Austen's Emma
Struggling med student, tortured soul (what poetess isn't), devoutly Catholic. I write to express what goes unsaid and to stand for the voiceless.
A new trend plagues the nation, and now it's on the rise. Like most things it's really ancient, born of human greed and lies.
Collapsing into oneself like an ultra dense singularity, What an enigma is the blackhole of depression. Steeped like Heisenberg in so much uncertainty.
Bird with Clipped Wings
I am a bird with clipped wings, Caged and imprisoned in a monotonous pseudoreality. So numb, I can no longer muster the will to sing.
Ghost You look right through me, I am nothing. Just an object in your way. Here I sit alone, looking, silently willing you to see.
I Heard You
I heard you. Whether or not you know, it's true. Little jabs you made in jest, Squeezing the air from my chest. I heard you.
Silence kills. People fight for their lives, While others run and hide. Silence kills. It's concentration camps, internment, slavery, and genocide.
Whispered memories of a time long past. Funny how some things are just meant to last. Every time we meet, it's like you were never gone.
Thought you could keep me down, Dull the shine of my crown, But I am more than a conqueror. Thought you'd stand in my way then cheer for me after.