Tag Archives: writing

“The Hollow Den of the Heart”

The cold breeze disrupted the river formed from my heart’s rain.

I cannot fathom the number of reminders that constantly ruminate in my mind, while also reappearing day by day throughout my life.

I try to relinquish the agony from the gears of fate in my life, but most importantly, the gears of my love life continue to grind straight through my heart.

It is as if the cycles of love stories and the hopes I once wished for turn into unrequited despair and hopelessness within the span of a mere week or two.

I cannot fathom a moment in which I have truly been thought of and considered, only to later be forgotten and dismissed.

It destroys even the smallest spark in the sky, the kind you see from a firework, because my heart has grown weary from the attempts, and from being an attempt.

I wish for my soul to have a moment of peace from the desires of men who believe that my virtues and my goal of finding the love I have always dreamt of hold the importance of merely a leaf in comparison to an entire tree.

I wish for the sorrow born from these endless cycles of misfortune to finally be banished from the hollow den of my melancholy heart.

I just wanted to be taken seriously.
To be respected.
To not become a forgotten “no.”
To be considered.
To be assured.

But most of all, I wanted someone whose stars of love would intersect with mine.

I don’t know if that will ever be possible.

I’m not sure anymore.

And maybe…

I give up on trying.

“Repressed”

Person in dark raincoat sitting alone on a wet wooden bench in the rain
I repressed the moments I had with you 

I didn't want to feel the dread.
The dread of how you pushed a story of honoring boundaries, age equity, and verbal respect.
The stars did not align in the story; they scattered into oblivion.



I repressed the thought of your voice at the end, which lacked comfort.

I repressed the countless messages I thought could be just a goodbye, but turned into a way for a person's words to turn into bullets of cruelty.

I repressed the generosity you showed because it fled instantly like a cheetah.

I repressed the chemistry we had because you began to believe my love owed you; it was as if my heart had to stand on trial every fleeting second I interacted with you.

I repressed ever believing that you live across many pages of my story, but in reality, there was only room for you in one.


I was unfortunate to be cursed with one more disaster that I wanted to repress as the world leaves changed from orange to green.

He challenged my belief in love, but only because his glass of hope in finding it ran out.
He described the horrors of how love can put your brain on fire, lose trust in shared responsibility,  and damage your belief in feeling verbally and emotionally safe.
He dared to put me in the same box as these men of horror.

I cannot fathom the decision to partition me from the truth of who I am, only to categorize me among the failed trials of love.
My heart was pushed through the pain as I realized it did not matter how much testimony I pleaded before you. Your heart never found belief in mine, and instead chose distance inside the void.

I repress the pain.
I repress the tears.
I repress the agony.
I repress the intimacy.

But I refuse to repress the idea that love is still possible.