My Poetry Collection

When the Pain Is Too Much

When the pain is too much

it crawls under your skin and lives there.

You can’t outrun it. You can’t pray quietly.

It just sits heavy, ugly, breathing with you.

People say hang on like it’s a rope

and not a cliff. Like your hands aren’t bleeding

from holding on so damn long.

You wake up tired of being alive

but scared to die, trapped in the middle

where nothing feels like mercy.

Your chest hurts in ways doctors can’t name.

Your thoughts turn dark not because you want them to

but because the light stopped showing up.

And still,you’re here.

Not brave. Not hopeful. Just here.

That counts. Even if no one claps for it.

Even if you hate yourself for it.

If staying is the only thing you do today,

then staying is the work. If breathing feels like betrayal,

do it anyway. Slow. Angry. Unimpressive.

This pain doesn’t get the last word.

Not today. Not while your heart,

cracked, furious, exhausted,is still beating

out of pure refusal.

The Pain of Addiction

It starts like a whisper,

a promise soft and sweet—

just one more night of numbness,

just one more small retreat.

But the whisper grows teeth,

and it bites down hard,

turning hope into ashes,

leaving dreams charred.

You watch your own shadow

pull further away,

as the people who love you

pray you’ll choose to stay.

There’s a war in your chest—

your heart vs. the craving—

a fight where every sunrise

feels less like living than surviving.

You lose pieces of yourself

that you swore you’d never give,

trading moments, memories,

the reasons you wanted to live.

And the worst part of the hurting

is knowing the truth inside:

you’re the storm and the victim,

the drowning and the tide.

But even in the wreckage,

in the ruin and the ache,

there’s a spark that won’t die—

a life still yours to take.

So hold on through the darkness,

through the shaking and the night.

Pain is part of the battle—

but recovery is the fight.