The Emptiness Within

 

Wake up, work, go home, repeat…

A never-ending time loop as if the world is not moving

Or I am frozen in time without a chance for change – I am suffocating.

Managing expectations of what the adulthood is supposed to be - the opposite of me

I am no longer alive – dead inside.

I walk through days like I live in an abandon asylum – lights are flickering

The corridors are dirty, endless maze of lost hope – lost in time.

Each step I take is humming the same dull song of duty and decay.

The clock is my executioner, the calendar chained to my mind.

I fake my purpose with long to-do lists; endless chain of duties,

Meeting my goals with processes and procedures which keep stealing my spark,

Yet pretending this shell of a life is what I chose – this existence is so wrong.

…

I hate what I have become, enslaved of sick ambitions, never happy,

Always pushing further – it has no end…

I chase goals that vanish once completed,

Like mirages on the edge of reason - living and breathing in the vast corporate desert.

What is success, if it guts me empty?

What is growth, if it costs me my sanity?

I am left so hollow once I get in and out the place that sucks me dry.

This isn’t living – it’s rehearsing death in slow motion - animated version of success.

I want to scream, but I have forgotten how.

My voice is buried beneath countless meetings, bills, and forced chats—

Deafen by the rhythm of a shallow routine,

Drowned out by the noise of doing just enough to get by.

I speak fancy words I don’t mean, smile when I feel nothing,

Nod through conversations that test my patience.

How did I let this happen?

When did the primal instinct for survival replace the desire of living?

When did I stop asking the questions that mattered the most to me?

When did the endless Curiosity of mine became such a luxury, a wonder, a distraction?

I traded my spark for stability I didn’t even want.

Now I measure life in deadlines and quiet disappointments,

Shiny reports and pages of documentation

Burying the questions that once lit up my mind.

Each day feels so borrowed, I have had enough —

A slow drift from who I was to "who I have to be".

And I barely recognize myself anymore - the silence inside me is growing louder.

…

Another weekend, lifeless on the couch with enough to just create something once a week

When emotions running high before the drastic energy decline,

A glimmer of hope and purpose drown into the infinite fatigue.

Words drift in but I cannot make them stay with me – chased by the exhaustion I coupled with.

And I whisper to myself – "Maybe next time" knowing too well I have been lying to myself,

The words I have said countless times – the echo of forgotten promise that feels heavier every time.

Womanhood Or Something Like That

 

Brought up by semi-modern women,

Values mixed with prosperity and flavor of obedience.

We keep trying to fulfill what we are expected to by the society and parental hopes.

We are being told that we should be fighters yet gentle with a strong feel of being someone’s home

And we should not stop supporting those we call other half.

…

And here we are so damaged and so broken, feeling lost,

From all the teachings we received, we were never taught to seek what we truly desire.

I keep hearing my mother’s voice that I should be so independent,

That I should always have my own money, home, ambitions until I meet the one.

Then I should settle, forget about what I strive to achieve and give birth to children

As my life is not yet so bright, not so deep.

Yet I am so confused from all this wisdom what should I be – a homemaker and achiever.

What this live is supposed to be?

And it clicked me after years of depression, tons of therapy and tears shed

That I have never been asked the question – What exactly you want to be?

Religion put into the picture, extension of my parents what makes the life good,

Never taught to choose what it right, just what should make them proud.

As young women we struggle – be a good girl, be smart, don’t provoke attention,

Stay invisible, don’t push too hard and yet we are expected to be pure perfection –

Look at them, it’s not that hard.

…

So we break ourselves quietly, framed into the shapes they demand.

We swallow grief in the dark, wipe off the evidence only to return to the stage.

Taught to pour tea with trembling hands, to bleed and smile through it.

Told that agony is noble, that silence is our inheritance.

When we shatter into pieces, they scoff—weak, hysterical, ungrateful, not pretty enough.

They want us clever yet not defiant,

Driven but never to go in life too far—

Soft enough to soothe, dumb enough to forget what they truly meant,

Numb enough to never fall in waves of rage - not so ladylike to admire.

When the loneliness wraps its bony hands around our ribs,

We whisper our guilt into the mirror, ashamed of needing more.

Some of us chain ourselves to strangers, mistaking it for rescue.

Some of us remain untouched, too haunted to trust.

…

No one tells us—

You don’t owe them your silence.

You don’t have to vanish to be loved.

You weren’t made to fix what’s broken in others.

You weren’t born just to carry tradition like a curse.

But by the time we learn this,

We've already been reshaped— cut down, dulled, rewired.

Our identities surgically edited to match the script of “the real woman.”

Now we drift somewhere between versions of half truth and a lie—

Some polished and pretty, others barely stitched together.

And the ones holding the pen keep rewriting our parts,

Claiming it’s truth, claiming it’s fate.

We walk in borrowed skin - costumed like clowns in someone else’s circus,

Trapped in lives we have never subscribed for,

Called by names that never felt to belong.

Still we lie next to people who never saw us.

Still we whisper in fear—What the fuck is wrong with me?

And the truth is so cruel and so clear—

They never gave us the space to become real.

Only carved us into something they could hold,

Something easy to OWN.

The Fall We Chose

 

I saw you spiraling down and I get to like you,

This insanity is fucked up and it drowns me like a magnet.

You asked me to help you yet I managed to destroy you even further;

You asked me to save you yet my powers were no match to your craze.

…

Like the Joker and Harley Queen we bear only chaos,

Experimental love I call it – project to fix.

Such broken people I cannot resist,

Your trembling voice is like hypnotizing song

Taking over my clear mind, another version of me emerges.

I lose myself in the heat of your madness,

And in your ruins, I build my home.

Your scars speak louder than your words,

While I listen to you feeling like a fool in love with pain.

Is this love or another version of my wrongly placed sick devotion?

Two shadows clinging to the fire they lit.

We complete each other like a Ying and Yang

You scream - I echo; you shatter - I bleed instead of you.

We are mirrors cracked from the same fury,

Misplaced pieces put together by unintentional situation,

Raging souls who never learned what gentle meant.

We make graves of our promises – so unhealthy yet beautiful to witness,

Digging ourselves deeper with every night.

I say I want out of this madness —

And in fear I see how your eyes beg for the burn.

We romanticize this toxic frenzy ready to lost ourselves,

We call it passion so we don’t have to say it’s a trauma.

You touch me like a drug you hate – I am not a tranquilizer,

But a repulsive need to make you sane again.

You alter your chemistry with me and I let you,

I am the junkie for your lies; I buy them every time I hear this angelic voice

I realized it hurts less than breathing alone.

Are we never meant to heal, aren’t we?

…

Now I don’t look back, and you cannot reach out.

What we had rest in silence - still unnamed, still unburied.

I allow your ghost to sleep in my bed when the nights are cold,

Your soft breath dancing gently on my neck, whispering waves of heated blames.

You never forgave me that I kept your madness like a souvenir—

Pressed between pages I cannot open without bleeding – this damn book I wrote about us.

Love didn’t save us – it was never meant to be forever.

It only starved us slow until we fade to black.

We fed it our broken pieces until nothing was left and yet we tried to keep it alive - whatever it was we are no more under its control.

Even though I don’t hate you

I still hope you never find peace in anyone else.

We are never meant to heal – separate or together – the cycle will not end…