Fractured Reflections

Glass fragments capture my splintered sight, Kaleidoscope faces emerging in light. 

Each shard a window, each surface a key 

To territories of myself I struggle to see.

The first reflection—weathered, worn, and

wise Holds memories etched like lines around my eyes. Battles survived, wounds carefully sewn,A landscape of courage I’ve quietly grown.

The second mirror shows the moment’s raw truth: Neither my childhood’s dream nor my fading youth.Here I stand trembling, both fragile and strong, A melody playing between right and wrong.

The final vision—ethereal, bright—Whispers of futures just beyond sight. Potential unfurling like dawn’s tender flame,Refusing to be constrained by any name.

These mirrors are windows, these windows are doors, Revealing the self behind a thousand floors. I am not one face, not one simple view, But a constellation of all I’ve been through.

Maybe Some Of Us Were Ment To Dream

Maybe some of us are meant to dream To chase starlight and dance with wild thoughts and untamed spirits

Maybe some of us are meant to feel everything deeper To see magic Whispers of wonder Glimpses of eternity

Maybe some of us are meant to be dreamers Visionaries The odd ones out Or perhaps eternally searching

Maybe there’s some of us who fall hard and trust deeply Who keep their hearts unlocked Standing in the storm A whispered truth A promise And souls that say I understand

Maybe there’s some of us who worship dawn breaks Who weep at ocean waves And find God in garden soil

Maybe there’s some of us who live for the wind-swept moments The barefoot and breathless Wild-eyed And sun-kissed days

Maybe there’s some of us who love earth-deep Who read your silence Who breathe your name And need nothing but your presence

Maybe there’s some of us who still chase fireflies Who smile at shadows And heal broken wings

Maybe there’s some of us who believe in magic Growing through darkness In truth Beauty And in hearts learning to beat again

Maybe there’s some of us that wander off-map That forge unnamed paths That write our own stories Or let them write themselves

Maybe there’s some of us Who’d rather burn bright Than simply smolder Who trust the unknown Our instincts And follow them like ancient stars

Maybe these dreamers exist

Maybe we’re not so alone after all.