It brings me woeful serenity to be able to recognize 

the melancholy woven around the intricacies of our existence

the tenderness I feel every time I confront the most familiar feeling I have known 

is catastrophic

I chain myself under the weight of a million suns 

my body aches and trembles 

shackled to a grotesque reality 

all I can do is weep

and yet again, I meet my fate

It dawns on me; 

I sob because I have never known anything more familiar than my tears 

letting go of the burning pressure building behind my eyelids

they plead for me to stop, but I bask in my misery

this is the truest I have ever felt

I devoured every inch of the tender sensation  

my cheeks are flushed a delicate shade of rose

the feeling of a million swords penetrating my skin

my lips restlessly quiver as I pour my grief

I pour it into my naive youth

sobbing for the girl I will never be

and for the woman, I will become

Will I ripen, or will I rot?

I pour my grief into the land where poets mourn

I weep at the nightingale’s melody

at solemn whispers of the Keats and the Wildes

I can feel the weight sink into my gut

our existence is but an amalgamation of our sins

so I open mouth scream at the world

I want to shake the Earth 

and make my presence known

I want to reach my arms up to the stars so they call my name

I want to know the secrets they whisper 

behind their calloused hands

I pour my grief into them

but I find myself lying on my candle-lit bedroom floor

my cries encased within the empty, cemented walls

painted over with white lies 

finally, I can see blinding rays of sunlight protruding

separated by mere strips

they condemn the murky dread of the room

I sob for them.