Confessional Stories

some things are easier to write than they are to say. so i write. i write about him. about myself. about the things i want, the things i lose, the things i pretend don't hurt. i write about love when it feels beautiful. about love when it feels ugly. about wanting someone so badly it scares me. about anger that doesn't know where to go. about the things i say, the things i don't, and everything that lives somewhere in between. some poems are love letters. some are confessions. some are apologies. some are resentment. some are anger i don't know where else to put. and some are just me trying to understand why loving someone can feel so much like losing myself. there are things in here i never say out loud. things i don't know how to explain without sounding crazy, dramatic, too emotional, too much. so they end up here instead. this isn't a story told after everything is over. it's me, in the middle of it. while it's happening. while I'm feeling it. while I'm still trying to figure out what the fuck any of it means. unfiltered. unfinished. still becoming. so if you're into that bullshit ironic fairytale everyone's read before, go ahead and find something else. this one is real. this one is unquestionably raw. and most importantly unapologetically me.

Original poems under 50 words. All work within are my original creations. I'll try to keep this clean.

Trapped in a perpetual twilight, he navigates a life painted in shades of gray. Each day bleeds into the next, a monotonous record on repeat. Dreams twist into nightmares, leaving a cold dread that clings to him like a shroud. Uncertainty stretches before him, a vast and chilling landscape. Yet, a flicker of defiance remains, a spark waiting to ignite against the suffocating darkness.

This is a collection of poems written like letters-quiet messages to the people I've crossed paths with, loved, lost, or never had the chance to say enough to. Each piece holds a moment, a memory, a feeling I never got to send. Maybe you'll see yourself in one of them. And if you do-this was always for you.

Blue, as the color of my eyes I put on you the first we met. Blue, as the color of the sky Everytime I looked up and thought of you. Blue, as the ocean which is wide and deep As the love I felt for you. Blue, as my favorite color And you would buy me everything in blue. Blue, as the mood I got the day You told me that you cheated on me. Blue, as the color opposite to yours As the color of life. I was blue and you were red Together we never meant.

A poem about being stuck in the past

At a highest of #5 in poetry on 26/12/2015 We are not afraid to love, but are afraid of not being loved back... "I didn't choose to love you, it just happened, I desired to hate you, but it didn't happen All for once, you seemed to light The darkness encompassing my soul, And a mate- To devour my loneliness"... It wasn't my mouth, rather my heart. I didn't speak this out, but felt to the optimum... I did love...someone...my best friend ever...but he couldn't love me back, and the very thought would induce a certain fear in me, a dreadful insecurity, which I suppose, was to leave its footprints on the ages to come... This is my life;this is my memoir;this is my soul, all bound by a common thread- the thread of my isolated mind, and the fabric of my forbidden love...

A collection of poems.

"I know this is love that I am feeling, because even without your flame, your ghost still lingers." For years, he was a memory tucked away in the shadows of a life I didn't choose. Now, the smoke is clearing, and I'm realizing that my heart never actually stopped beating-it was just waiting for a reason to restart. "Authentically You" is a raw, confessional dive into the space between being a "saint" and a "sinner." It's about the terrifying beauty of loving someone who doesn't even have to try-someone who has survived the "shambles" of my past and remains the only one who can make me feel real. No more ghosts. No more hiding. Just the truth.

•the thinker• ~poetry/poems 2020

A man drowning in the toil and trouble of his life, is rescued by the warmth of love.

Red, as the desire I got for you, When I first met you. Red, as the color of your lipstick You would put on everytime I saw you. Red, as the color of passion You had for the poetry I wrote for you. Red, as the tantrum you'd throw at me Everytime we got into a fight. Red, as your eyes when you cried The day I left you. Red, as the blood of your veins Spilled all over your bathroom. You were red and I was blue, Together we bleed purple.

This is how I feel when I sit alone at the end of the bar.

A Mark, a Mission, a Brand, a Scar is the third studio album by American band Dashboard Confessional.

Fragments of a Modern Madame Bovary is a collection of poems tracing longing, obsession, tenderness, shame, devotion, and the quiet violence of feeling too much. These pieces move through love in all its forms - romantic, familial, fractured, imagined, and unrequited - capturing the ache of wanting, the ruin of attachment, and the fragile remains left behind. For the romantics, the ruiners, the overthinkers, and the women who have mistaken survival for love.

A poem about my struggle being raised by an abusive parent(s). Rough-ish first attempt!

Alter the Ending is the sixth studio album recorded by American rock band Dashboard Confessional

A poem in reflection

I was their friend, their confidant, the one who stayed up late helping them study and held their grief when no one else would. I kept their secrets. I even carried the weight of mistakes that were never mine. They trusted me. They trusted me more than they trusted themselves. That was useful. Every page you turn is an entry. Every entry is a crime. Some are small, some are unforgettable, but all of them are lessons to be learned. I don't write for forgiveness. I don't write for you. I write because ink does not lie, and I've grown tired of pretending. You'll read this thinking it's a diary. Maybe you'll even call it a confession. But really, it's a story about control - how easily it slips away, and how easily I can take it back. And if you're wondering how it ends... Ask yourself: Would you have noticed me, sitting right beside you?