Poetry & Writings

Everyone wants to be cool.
Everyone wants to be liked by everyone.
So we learn the art of being nonchalant—
how to seem unbothered,
how to stay agreeable without committing,
how to float above opinion
so no one can push back.

Because being liked by everyone
means standing for nothing too sharply,
wanting nothing too loudly,
feeling nothing that might divide a room.
It means smoothing yourself into something inoffensive,
palatable,
easy to nod at and move past.

Coolness is control.
It is never reacting too fast,
never revealing what matters until you know it's safe.
Care is delayed.
Honesty is edited.
Everything real is kept in reserve
in case it costs you approval.

So we call restraint "self-awareness,"
and fear "social intelligence."
We confuse distance with wisdom,
silence with superiority.
The less you reveal,
the more you are rewarded.

Nonchalance becomes the performance—
a careful balance of presence and absence.
You show up just enough to be seen,
but never enough to be known.
Vulnerability is risky;
likability is safer.

And this is the cost:
being liked by everyone
is being held by no one.
It is the slow erasure of edges,
the quiet abandonment of conviction,
until you are acceptable everywhere
and understood nowhere.

I've never fit the outline they handed me.
I stood one step off,
asking questions at the wrong time,
feeling things they said were unnecessary.

They call it being an outcast.
I call it standing far enough away
to see the shape of the lie.
Normal is just a crowd agreeing
not to look too closely.

I've watched them trade edges for comfort,
shrink their thoughts to belong,
mistake repetition for truth.
And they ask me why I don't want that.

If this is normal—
moving through life half-awake,
policing your own wonder—
then I'll stay strange.

Because from out here,
alone but awake,
I can finally ask the question
they never do:

what is normal,
and who decided it
for us?

I've wasted too many hours staring at pictures of who I used to be,
thinking if I look long enough I might crawl back inside them,
and I've burned too many nights sketching out tomorrows
that never showed up the way I drew them.

I've sat in traffic with my chest heavy over mistakes nobody remembers,
and I've skipped whole conversations because I was planning
the version of myself I swore I'd be in a year.
But I've learned that time don't bend just because you beg it to,
it keeps moving, even when you're stuck,
and most of what I was afraid of either didn't matter
or never came true at all.

The present is a slippery thing—
it hides in the scrape of burnt toast,
in your best friend's half-dumb jokes,
in the quiet hum of a ceiling fan when you can't sleep.
It don't wait around while you rehearse the past
or bargain with the future.

And I think the present is the only thing that stands still,
it don't race ahead, it don't fall behind,
it just waits for you

There are some who stay
where it's safe,
feet planted,
paths familiar.
And that's fine—
but this is not their story.

This is for the ones who dare.

The ones who step off the edge
without knowing
where they'll land.
Who trade certainty
for the chance at something more.

They leave comfort behind,
chasing the pull of what if.
Their hands shake,
their voices tremble,
but they move anyway.

They risk failure.
They risk falling.
And sometimes,
they do.
But they get back up—
bruised, maybe,
but never broken.

They laugh louder,
love harder,
live wider,
because they know
what it costs to stand still.

This is for the ones
who don't wait for permission
to be bold.
Who jump,
because staying where they are
was never an option.

Some nights feel like they lean in close,
like the stars are listening,
and time forgets to keep moving.

You're not watching the clock—
you're watching how someone's eyes
light up when they talk.
You're laughing so hard it echoes
into the sky like it belongs there.

There's music playing—maybe softly,
maybe just the hum of people
who feel like home.
And the world feels smaller,
in the best kind of way.

You think,
let this be one of the ones I keep.
A night that doesn't need
a big story—just a feeling
you wish you could fold into your pocket.

Because something about it
makes you feel more alive,
more seen,
more okay.

And when the sun starts to rise,
you hold on a little tighter—
hoping the moment
doesn't know
how to end.

I'm on a path most people couldn't stay on,
not because it's hard to find,
but because it asks too much
when no one's clapping.

It gets lonely out here.
Not the kind of lonely that begs to be filled,
the kind that sharpens you,
that forces you to hear your own thoughts
and decide which ones survive.

I don't feel powerful walking this road.
I feel certain.
Certain enough to keep going
without reassurance,
without a crowd,
without proof that it'll pay off.

Greatness doesn't walk beside me.
It waits ahead.
And even alone,
I move like I know
I'm going to meet it.

One day, I will stand beneath the Northern Lights,
Bathed in the whispering green & gold,
A celestial fire alive in the Artic sky,
And know what it feels like to touch eternity.

One day, I will glide across the canals of Venice,
Where the water tells stories of ancient trades,
& whispered loved songs echo under stone bridges
The city breathing with a timeless rhythm.

One day, I will stand before the pyramids,
Their jagged shadows slicing the sun's blaze,
& feel the weight of history pressing my chest,
Their stones holding secrets older than time.

One day I will rest on a beach in Greece,
The Aegean stretching blue and infinite,
As the sun bleeds into the horizon,
Melting my worries into the soft hum of waves.

But one day, we will close our eyes forever,
And roads will no longer wait for us.
So while our hearts still beat,
Let us burn through the days with reckless wonder,
And carve a legacy of living fully,
Before we too become part of the earth's endless story.

In a world of whispers, fleeting lies,
Where love's a mask, and truth denies,
I wander streets both dark and bare,
Searching for hearts that truly care.
Hopeless romantic in a sinful tide,
Dreams of a love the world won't provide.

The bars are loud, their lights entice,
But love's a gamble, hearts the dice.
Connections break as quickly as made,
In shallow waters, feelings fade.
Hopeless romantic, lost in the din,
Longing for love where none can begin.

Apps swipe lives, a flick, a screen,
Promises false, intentions unseen.
A text, a ghost, a fleeting game,
Each player different, yet all the same,
Hopeless romantic, caught in the stream,
Yearning for truth in a fleeting dream.

But somewhere out there, a soul like mine,
Seeks love untainted, pure, divine.
With steady heart and endless grace,
They hold their hope in a sacred place.
Hopeless romantic, steadfast and true,
Dreaming of love in a world askew.

And though this world may test my will,
I'll guard my heart, I'll love you still,
Through fleeting nights and fleeting pain,
I'll wait for the one who feels the same,
Hopeful romantic, I'll always remain.