pearl solar
I built a world inside my head
where the sky doesn’t lie to me,
where animals speak the truths
I’ve always feared to hear—
and no one smiles just to cover a wince.
I call it Darkness.
Not because it’s empty,
but because it’s honest.
Because in it,
everyone finally says what they mean—
and none of it is good.
Out here,
I’m drowning in decisions
I was never trained to make.
They call it adulthood—
but how do you climb a mountain
with nothing but scars
from a childhood
that was never really yours?
I used to dream of money
buying my way out.
Of silence on an island
where no one could ask
why I cry
when the room is quiet.
Where food wouldn’t feel like shame,
and sleep wouldn’t feel like failure.
They don’t understand.
They see me smile.
They hear me laugh.
But they don’t see the war inside my head—
how I bleed without a blade,
how I speak a language
no one around me seems to know.
I remember too much.
Too many memories like knives.
Too many names I gave myself
before the world could whisper them.
“Troubled.”
“Broken.”
“Burden.”
Names that stitched themselves
into my identity.
I never meant to hurt anyone.
But I did.
And now I hold that weight
like it’s my only inheritance.
I’ve thought of leaving.
Many times.
Not out of rage.
Not to punish.
But because I just want silence—
the kind that doesn’t echo
with every mistake
I swore I’d never make again.
But fear holds me.
Fear of hell.
Of nothing.
Of facing God
and seeing disappointment
in His eyes.
So I stay.
Not because I want to.
Not because I’m better.
But because something small,
something fragile
is still fighting.
Maybe it’s the promise I made.
Maybe it’s my cousin’s voice.
Maybe it’s the ghost of who I could’ve been
if life were fair.
Darkness is my truth.
But even there,
I dream.
Even there,
I wish—
for peace,
for understanding,
for one breath
that doesn’t hurt to take.
If I make it to tomorrow,
know it’s not because it’s easy.
solid moon
runic fern
azure crescent
still condor