And I was the mediator, the one in the middle,
Listening to both sides, yet unheard and invisible.
Never did anyone turn to listen to me,
I can't lean on a soul, for they both depend on me.

I suffered from both ends of the divide,
But for them, I’m just a silent guide.
They wouldn’t even notice my despair,
And I carry this weight alone, beyond compare.

The walls may crumble, and bridges fall,
But this unbroken sorrow will forever stand tall.

The one who gave others a shoulder to lean,
Left with none to cry on, unseen.
I wished to be understood, to be felt,
But I buried those feelings, so deeply held.

I won’t tell you,
Why should I?
Would it matter at all
If I let these words fall?
Would you be mine
If I told you,
You’re the rhyme
That held my scattered lines?

You never knew you were my home,
My verse, my every breath, my own.
But in time, you slipped away,
And now, I breathe every day all alone.

I carry pieces left behind,
Empty echoes in my mind.
The warmth we shared has turned to cold,
In silence now, the story’s told.

You walked away without a sound,
Left me lost, nowhere bound.
I won’t tell ,
And why should i ?
Because in the end ,
Even if i tell,
You probably wont care.

Unspoken truths

The one unsaid letter,
the words that could have
saved our friendship.
But you were tangled,
lost in your own thoughts,
your soul blinded
by your own delusions.

And I was left with
a suppressed rage,
and a sensitive heart,
a silent storm waiting
to be unleashed.

Surely, I meant well,
though I never wished
to hurt someone intentionally.
Yet, I am selfish,
a hypocrite to my own morals
when it comes to my future.

It takes courage,
a lot more than rage.
It takes courage
to burn the things you meant to say,
but left unsaid.

On the pages,
on the streets of the night,
that were silent and still.

To burn the words of admiration
is to burn your soul,
to abandon your sail.

But even ashes tell a story,
of dreams scorched in fire’s glory.
Of the fear and the fight,
of the day overtaken by night.

In the quiet, where flames have died,
the truth lingers—undeniable, implied.
It takes courage to walk away
from the echoes of words you cannot say.

And as the smoke fades into air,
you find yourself standing there,
alone, perhaps, but unafraid,
no longer bound by the things you never said.

She was the poem I could never quite capture in words. Every line I tried to craft felt empty compared to the way she filled a room, the way her laughter danced on the edges of my thoughts. How do you write down the way her eyes catch the light, or the way her presence feels like the missing verse of every love song?

She was everything I couldn’t put into ink alive in ways no page could hold, beautiful in ways no rhyme could contain. Every time I tried, the words fell short, like they were chasing a dream just beyond their reach. Because she wasn’t meant for paper, she was meant for living, breathing, loving.

And me? I was the fool with a pen, trying to write a love too big for a page.

The cuckoo singing of songs of sadness,
Yet everyone heard it as happiness.

Maybe she wasn't happy at all,
And was screaming for help.

The more trauma she felt,
The more sweetness came in her voice.

The world perceived her wrongly
She wasn’t singing in joy,
But in the melancholy of her thoughts.

What a curse for her it would be,
She was screaming,
Begging on her knees to be heard,
To be understood,
But the world saw her as a melodic.

Withered blossom

You came like a beautiful day, full of glorious moments,
And left like a stormy wind, on your own.

The difference world of ours no longer exists,
And You and I are
No longer the brightest star, in each other's sky.

Promises were broken,
Trust was lost,
And the love faded,
Our eyes welled up with tears as we said our final farewell.

We could have fixed it,
But beautiful things are always meant to be apart

The pages of the book unfolded,
An unfinished, unheard story.
It held the world of another universe,
Born from the writer's soul.

Silent whispers from its depths
Echoed within the chambers of the mind.

Who said a book cannot traumatize you?
The author was broken,
The characters wounded,
So how could I remain untouched?

She was a piece of the moon that refused to shine in my darkest night.

Or perhaps she was there all along, but the clouds of my sins and desires veiled her light, making me believe she had abandoned me.

Yet, even in her crescent form, she remained. She brought light to the deepest, darkest, starry night.

I was the moron, forever longing for a sun to brighten my days, not realizing I needed someone who could turn my greyest nights into brilliance one