Inklingpen

#you

#thetruth

Under my coat lies a heart too stubborn to stop beating, too tired to explain why. It doesn’t beg to be understood, only to be seen— not for its cracks, but for the light still leaking through. And maybe that’s enough. To carry it forward, fractured and trembling, believing that someday, somehow, it will be more than its scars. #agony ~©Darkpit

#you

I could belong to a million worlds, drift through countless galaxies, but if you don’t look at me like I’m the only star in your sky, it feels like my light dims, like I’m somehow less. And is there anything more painful, more corrosive, than measuring yourself by someone else’s gaze? Maybe it's my heart’s fault for being blind. It could have chosen anyone, drifted freely through a crowd of souls, but it stopped for you, lingered, offered itself—fragile and raw. Knowing full well there are others who’d cherish you better, who’d offer you a softer love. Still, I stay, caught between sense and surrender. Maybe it’s not the wisest choice, but there’s this quiet, steady pull, a strange satisfaction in orbiting around your shadow. So I stay, for as long as my heart insists, for as long as it feels right, like I’m where I belong. #us ~©Darkpit

I want to be loved fully. Loved in the way that doesn’t feel like tiptoeing around broken glass, waiting for a shift in the winds, where love is steady, solid, and doesn’t crumble when life feels less easy. I want to be seen—all of me—the soft and scarred places, the flashes of color I keep hidden behind closed doors. To be wanted as I am, not out of duty or habit, but because they see something in me that pulls at them. I want to be heard in the way a favorite song is listened to, my voice resonating in the depths of their heart, echoing like familiar chords in their lungs. I want a love that cradles me, that doesn’t just hold me together but tucks me in softly, healing places I thought would never mend. The warmth of it filling me, reminding me of parts of myself I’d forgotten, binding me together with a care that feels like it was made just for me. Yet, somehow, this feels like something unreachable. I’ve seen love’s promise fill the air around me—heard its whispers, watched its gestures—but it’s as if it always stays just out of reach, like a breeze I can feel but can never grasp. And still, I yearn. I ache for love that feels like home, like safety, a place I could immerse myself entirely, knowing it will hold me, steady and sure. That’s the love I want, the one I know I deserve. #spokenpoetry #desire ~©Darkpit

In the end, I realized it was never just about the hurt—the sting of being wounded by people I adored, or the sharp edge of their words cutting where I was most vulnerable. Even as the pain lingered, I found myself loving them deeply, perhaps even more fiercely than before. But something essential shifted. I no longer trusted them. I could no longer look into their eyes and feel the warmth of being able to open these wounds without the fear of being pushed down. I could never be the same again. #agony ~©Darkpit

You equate my words to zero, a part of you scared— was it really meant, or is it a mere exaggeration? But you don’t see the void my words derive from, the way your eyes could bring rain to earth and fall silently on the tips of your eyelashes. My words are as genuine as your raw insecurities, for I have fallen enough times on this ground to name you exactly as you are, without being blinded by rose petals in my sight. To see you for you, to want you for it. My definition of love is what scares you away; the experiences clasped in your wounded hands are what I heal from. If anything, credit yourself—nothing could ever go south if you stay the same. I could name a zillion more galaxies in your honor, but then I’d have to agree with the exaggeration. You don’t tell a poet not to name you, when you are the muse igniting fire in every sentence. If only you could see yourself through eyes grateful for your existence every day, perhaps then you’d fall short of words, unable to equate a poet’s love to anything less than infinite. #you ~©Darkpit

#agony

I could belong to a million worlds, drift through countless galaxies, but if you don’t look at me like I’m the only star in your sky, it feels like my light dims, like I’m somehow less. And is there anything more painful, more corrosive, than measuring yourself by someone else’s gaze? Maybe it's my heart’s fault for being blind. It could have chosen anyone, drifted freely through a crowd of souls, but it stopped for you, lingered, offered itself—fragile and raw. Knowing full well there are others who’d cherish you better, who’d offer you a softer love. Still, I stay, caught between sense and surrender. Maybe it’s not the wisest choice, but there’s this quiet, steady pull, a strange satisfaction in orbiting around your shadow. So I stay, for as long as my heart insists, for as long as it feels right, like I’m where I belong. #helpless ~©Darkpit

The cold tears that streak down freeze under the scorching sky. They pretend to be kind, but they burn down the way through. And then, around the time they fall down again, those who were supposed to be together have drifted apart. The stars that were supposed to collide have burst open, and the dust that was supposed to be inked with their names is now a fallen casket of broken shields. There isn’t much to the stories I pen down; even if things fall apart and lose their shape or meaning, or if the ink might one day fail to write, you lie within the barricades of my heart. And this is how it’d end. #you ~©Darkpit

#you

I often feel everything so deeply, as if my heart was meant to be shared by two souls, not just one. The words, the memories, the moments that cut through me each time leave me in shreds, waiting for the next day to revive me. I taped a few pieces of glass each time I saw them collapse—a withering power of hope keeps it alive. #agony ~©Darkpit

Oftentimes people aren't really aware of how to take care of you in ways you need to be loved. So be grateful that you slipped through the gaps of the fingers of those who had no clue how to hold you. #letterstoheal ~©Darkpit

Oftentimes people aren't really aware of how to take care of you in ways you need to be loved. So be grateful that you slipped through the gaps of the fingers of those who had no clue how to hold you #letterstoheal ~©Darkpit

#letterstoheal

I am a collection of unspoken "what ifs" and dismantled "almost" #agony #oneliner ~©Darkpit

I realized I was more than a child to my parents when I saw a glimpse of a grey strand falling silently along my mother's cheekbones, and when I watched my father's hands grow weak as he built a home in his prime. I was more than an investment to my parents when I realized my happiness was subconsciously interlinked with theirs. When my success wasn't just my name inked on paper but seeing their eyes shine brightly in my direction. I was more to myself than I had thought. My presence had more meaning than I could initially fathom or put into words. The endurance of pain, the sacrifices of their needs and aspirations to help me stand on my own two feet, held more value than my search for love elsewhere—when all along, it was right next door. It took me years, some grey strands, and weak hands to realize that I was always loved. Perhaps not always verbal, but in actions, as they say, "actions speak louder than words." My comfort and luxuries are the bold testament to that truth. #atwistedstory 14 ~©Darkpit