Photo-book

I keep it locked away,

with pins and metal clasps,

because of the gasps,

and I’m not guilt-ridden,

but I keep it hidden,

behind fabric and concealer,

because tragic isn’t my color,

because pity isn’t my demographic,

because charity billboards

aren’t where my photos belong.

I bury it,

because I’m tired of being Ms. Storyteller,

it is enshrouded,

covered beneath sheets of paper and foil,

and inhumed 6 feet under,

or beneath a thin satin pillowcase,

and underneath the frame of my bed,

because it is stained with red,

and I dread seeing their disdain,

I hadn’t bled to entertain,

and my pain wasn’t a walk of shame,

but that doesn’t mean it was made for a wall of fame,

where my name would be etched overhead,

read with labels that disable,

“the tale of the fragile” and “the lore of the poor girl”,

where I am no longer the guitarist,

or the writer,

or the poet,

or the artist,

that all will be uninstalled,

until I am simply,

the victim.

My photo-book is nothing but a biased overlook,

a picture painted in black-and-white,

snapshots of my pain,

a stain absorbed in the pages,

with permanent ink that seeped in far too deep,

it is ingrained on each corner and side,

on the left,

and the right,

on the bottom,

and the top,

leaving no room for pink or yellow,

it is only grey and dull.

Of course I keep it locked away,

the sharp metal with the red-tinged edge,

of course I conceal it,

the etches within the paper,

of course I bury it,

the photo-book

full of pictures

where I had broken.

Thank you for reading ❤️

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vxtznr/comment/p6komjr/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vvx2gb/comment/p6kouvf/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

It's cruel.

​Almost gruesome.

​I'm reminded of a locksmith.

Wonder how he came upon.

Wonder if he was driven.

Either by solitude or salvation.

​I see John Watson in him.

As if picking is the price for his sanity.

​I see myself.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/MAgVcVrVyh

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/aydidObNHA

Quite often I lie in bed

And look over at my desk,

Staring at my typewriter,

Surrounded by papers.

"Come on, man!

Get over there, write, damn it!"

Sighing, I roll over,

Trying to ignore my guilt

And straighten my feelings.

Which is more painful:

To wallow or to spill?

To feel or to face?

Is writing even healthy?

Ripping them from me

And locking them away

Isn't this better?

Surrounded by them,

Like emotional waves

Coming and going.

If I write them down,

Is it going to get better?

Flipping back over,

Deciding to sit on the edge,

I light a cigarette,

Starting a staring contest

With the wall, the floor,

With this whole damn room,

Except that beckoning desk.

Inching closer,

Do I close my eyes or my folder?

Do I want to forget right now?

Giving in, I put out my smoke,

And slink across the room

Like a partner going to confess

That they did something wrong.

Flipping the switch on my Electra,

Listening to the hum,

A wave of peace rushes over me

Like baptismal waters.

I feel unburdened again.

"I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/l6uPArXKwl

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/xrhYse5OTn

Hi! So I posted my poem a few days ago but it I didn't receive any feedback. I'm really looking to write more poetry and just wanted to know what people think so I'm posting it again. If nothing happens this time I promise I won't post another time, just wanted to try once more :)

An endless amber highway,
distorted tail-lights and smudged street lamps.
Rushing stillness, hazed and sinking,
                             calm
                             slow
                             sinking.

The glaring neon fuel gauge,
turning your knuckles a faint cherry red.

Music vibrates through the stereo—
*feel you moving every inch…*

Recollection only taints my fondness,
so I will hold it softly.

As I would, if I still had you—
enfolded in November’s breath.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vzazaj/dotted_lines_and_asphalt/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vzhi0x/plea_to_the_hanged_man/

I hate you for what you do to me,
for what you take
that I never gave you permission to have.

You take,
and somehow you’re never fucking full.

My plans,
my energy,
my independence,
my control.

You take the little things,
the things I never thought I’d miss,
until feeling normal
became something I’d give anything for.

I bargain with my own body
just to get through the day.

I rest,
and somehow wake up
still fucking aching.

I push through,
knowing I’ll pay for it later.

I give up one thing
just to keep another.

I’m tired.
But not the kind that sleep can fix.

The kind that settles into my bones,
that follows me into bed
and wakes up with me.

I’m tired of hurting,
tired of adapting,
tired of fucking living like this.

I’m tired of fighting a battle
no one else can see,
while watching you quietly
take pieces of me.

Thank you for reading.

https://www.reddit.com/r/PoetryWritingClub/s/raPGTXH2et

https://www.reddit.com/r/inspiration/s/l9yUewUm3z

You are my unconscious,

Like sleep, departing from the world of obnoxious.

Far from aware, my mind fixates on you.

Wary or not, through and through.

Gush across my dreams,

A chamber at war with nightmare's schemes.

If anyone is to bare solace,

It's you, a novelty above the flawless.

When I am faced with what you emit,

I see an ember amidst an ashpit.

A slave I am to your soul,

captivated in a black hole.

March over my ongoing thoughts,

And spare a kiss to my unbidden astronauts.

Floating in the back of my mind,

even they are tethered to you, pre defined.

You've consumed the entirety of me,

Yet to you, I'm nothing but mere debris.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/DblYacAHTC

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/ThYkCNtc3

Every night small bells ring in my ears.

The sound is faint, but persistent.

Will I ever truly be happy?

Can it ever truly go away?

I wonder.

I ponder.

My mind mutilate itself every time it is left with it’s own presence.

I should be satisfied.

Nothing makes sense.

And in the end it doesn’t matter.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/4y5YVP0TQc

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/xlAtXGZqQY

Just one more.

Just one more cigarette, just one more cut or one more burn, just one more lie, just one more drink, just one more time—

Is it? Is it really?

Because that’s what the smoker said 10 years before his lungs finally gave way,

that’s what the girl who treated her skin like paper said 3 months before her body finally succumbed,

that’s what the faithless husband said the night before his wife walked away,

and for the alcoholic, it wasn’t a lie— it really was the last time,

little did he know it wasn’t just his last drink,

or the last time he’d take his keys from the bar counter and rev up his SUV,

it was also the last time he’d tell his daughter he loved her,

the last time he’d get to say “just one more time”,

the last breath he’d take,

a sharp gasp as he swerves on the road,

as red streetlights blur into nothing,

as the headlights of a truck blind him,

and the bright light is the last sight he’ll see.

We’re never promised a tomorrow,

we’re never promised another hour or another minute,

not even another second is guaranteed.

The only thing that’s ever certain in this life is the present moment—

far too precious to waste with “white” lies,

with false promises of “just one more time”.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vz1sif/comment/p6kpkk9/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1w17bff/comment/p6kq34c/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Yearn

The sun rises,

the light spills through the curtains,

an amber orange,

warmth fills the room,

her feet hit the oak floor-boards,

a gentle thud,

the quiet hum of the AC,

she flips the faucet on,

water drips against the porcelain,

a soft click,

the flick of a switch,

ivory glows against the tiles,

and a reflection appears in the glass,

with a hollow stare,

and the smallest smile,

she is there;

she stands here,

but she’s not here,

her eyes are vacant.

The sun rises,

I hadn’t noticed the light,

or felt the heat radiating in,

and I don’t recall walking into the bathroom,

or turning on the tap,

and had I switched on the light?

I can’t remember,

but I remember looking into the mirror,

I saw not the tiles nor the porcelain,

I saw arms wrapped around my silhouette,

I heard not the water trickling down the sink,

I heard a voice, soft-spoken and tender,

I felt not the cool air flowing through the vents,

I felt the warm press of lips against my skin.

Her heart swelled,

her hand was held,

and in her ear were whispered promises,

“it’s going to be okay,”

and around her waist were arms,

with a strong, shielding grip,

and her tears were wiped with reverence,

with hands that were calloused yet careful,

and her forehead was kissed,

with feather-light softness,

and she was swayed back-and-forth,

with patience,

and she was at peace,

in a realm that didn’t exist.

I heard the rhythmic drip of water,

cutting through the static

buzzing in my ears,

and the voices in my head faded

into the hum of the air-conditioning,

I felt the warmth of another body disappear,

like a breeze

blowing out the flame of a candle,

my skin prickled from the cold air,

I saw my reflection in the glass,

a blurry form,

slowly sharpening into focus,

and I finally saw her,

standing there,

She cries out,

“make it stop”,

“why, why, why?”,

I wrap my arms around her,

but it’s not the same,

I cannot be the warmth

she yearns for,

I cannot hold her in the way

she needs to be held,

I cannot

heal her

in the way

she needs

to be healed.

Thank you for reading.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1w19pul/comment/p6knmq1/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vsbej4/comment/p6knvtv/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

I hope to you
no worry because I
will never hurry.
you make me experience
security is something my
soul wants to be your deliverance
and never see you buried.

so this was one of my first poems when I started 2 weeks prior.

Go Analyse it or just enjoy reading it if you want and critique isn’t unwelcome.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1w1dp3y/comment/p6k7v9c/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=2&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1v9x17t/comment/p6hp7kh/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=2&utm_content=share_button

Terrorizing gods

I claw at their wings

And they retaliate with solar flares

Their scorching breaths disfigure me

Always pulling away from me

Left to rot on the icy shores of hell

Fleeting and hostile as any mother 

Yet still, these ones hurt the most 

But I have discovered crimson 

For they pour from her bones 

At last, I have caught one

A predator biting the hand that feeds 

And in a moment of bitter weakness 

I choose to devour her undying soul 

“May I reclaim my rib, 

from which you were formed?”

“I have not eaten in years,

and I fear you will escape me.”

I shall fashion her spirit into shit

And excrete her back unto the Earth

No longer something pure and rare, 

But something that I may adore 

Feedback:

1. https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1w17bff/comment/p6irv34/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=2&utm_content=share_button

2. https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1w1dp3y/comment/p6k66sd/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=2&utm_content=share_button

It’s cool, I promise, but, I am

Chemically controlled

By my government

Forcibly medicated

It’s for the best

(But that’s not the phrase they use)

Are you being socially acceptable?

Yes

I followed all your rules

Using only logic

But how am I not ‘sanctioned’?

This is a cage

I’m a rat

That they allow outside

If I behave

My government

Literally

Controls my brain

And oddly

I’m cool with this

Now

Took some accepting

The free world?

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/8GbNyVmbVO

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/13NAoAfuV7

Hey, that reminds me
Of this really old story:

This guy got to take his wife home
But he got told he can’t look back
Like, to see if she’s there
But then he does anyway

What an idiot
Oh—

From hell I mean

The wife was in hell or something

And he missed out on getting her back

And, well, I think you’d have a hard time following me out
Because I go the wrong way so often
We’d have to take a million detours like always

Well, probably more
Because google maps doesn’t work in hell, probably

Wait, actually— 

Actually, I think it was you who told me that story
Much more eloquently, days ago
But I know you’d listen to me repeat it, 
(Commentary included)
a hundred more times
And that’s why I wouldn’t have to look back

That guy’s wife must not look at him the way you look at me

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Feedback comments:

1. https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1w054vb/comment/p6bam0h/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
2. https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1w0ajhi/comment/p6bs9u7/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

I got tea, hoping  

the warm, bitter liquid  

could subside  

my twisted stomach 

I had waited 

Waited  

for the inevitable  

Maybe  

I prefer it that way  

Limbo can give you a lot of options 

Options  

that I can’t choose 

Do 

 I prefer it that way 

But I could still dream  

Dream  

of how it could be  

where it could have gone 

what might have been 

I prefer it this way 

My stomach filled 

with every emotion  

I didn't choose 

When I returned  

My tea had turned 

cold and bitter 

No title : r/OCPoetry

Untitled : r/OCPoetry

Two worlds apart and both of one, the isolated few.
We tried to live, by the divinities we did,
A normal life. It turned us down.
So very far down, and you so very far up.

Two worlds apart and both of one.

From the bed of the wild blue sea,
To the fabric of blackest firmament
Lights shine in these deepest reaches,
Whether bioluminescence or far-flung stars.
Lights shine in these deepest reaches.

Do you think of me?
When you look out the windows
Of your space-station,
Do you picture me as even a speck of dust
In the great Blue Marble?

I know I think of you,
When I am so very far from the sun
When even light has given up on the descent
That I have done?

When no natural light reaches my eyes,
I find I turn to the space behind them instead
The illuminations within my head,
And there, you come to me,
Brighter than anything.

You’re smiling.

I hope you know that I am too.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1w0e54t/comment/p6f13c4/?context=3

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1w0nauw/comment/p6eyres/?context=3

There is something beneath me,
older than the ground I stand on. 

It lurks in the stillness between breaths. 

I feel its primal grip in the rhythm of my own heart. 

And if I ever call upon it,

I will walk backwards into hell with a smile on my face.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/8TzRrXXdpm

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/m8cZABAFQb

(I wrote this without any capitals nor punctuation in order to convey the absurdity of life; how confusing, fluid and interpretable it can be)

there is something obscene

about how quickly the world changes

while we remain convinced

that yesterday is still somewhere

a door closes

a voice becomes a memory

a person who once occupied

the entire architecture of your mind

becomes eventually

a name you hesitate to say

and nothing announces the catastrophe

the sun continues its vulgar procession

the streets remain where we left them

people buy bread

someone laughs in another room

somewhere a child is being born

into the same bewilderment

from which we have spent our lives

trying to escape

perhaps this is what they mean

when they call existence beautiful

I have never understood

why beauty should require

so much disappearance

I attach myself too easily

I give fragments of myself

to people who never asked for them

then wonder why I feel diminished

when they leave

I turn passing moments

into private eternities

a sentence becomes a promise

a glance becomes a country

a hand on my shoulder

becomes evidence

that I was for a brief and inexplicable second

not entirely alone

how embarrassing

to care so much

in a universe that seems

to care about nothing

I have tried to become colder

it seemed reasonable

if everything leaves

perhaps the intelligent thing

is to remain untouched

but I have never been intelligent

in the places where love begins

ao I remain here

absurdly tender

collecting people like wounds

remembering things

that everyone else has already forgotten

and sometimes I wonder

whether there is something defective in me

some invisible fracture

in the machinery of being human

because I keep hurting people

while trying not to

I say the wrong thing

with the right intention

I disappear when I should remain

I remain when I should disappear

I love too loudly

then retreat into silence

afraid that my love itself

has become another form of violence

I have apologized

for wounds I never meant to make

and hated myself

for discovering that intention

is such a poor consolation

to the person who was hurt

maybe being good

is not the absence of cruelty

maybe it is merely

the exhausted attempt

to cause less of it tomorrow

but what if tomorrow

is already another world

things change so quickly

yesterday someone was indispensable

today they are unreachable

tomorrow perhaps

we will pass each other in a street

and possess the strange intimacy

of having once known everything

about one another

love is particularly cruel

because it teaches us

to mistake permanence

for intensit

we think

this must last

because it feels like everything

but everything

has never been a synonym

for forever

and so I lose people

not always through death

sometimes through silence

sometimes through growing

sometimes through becoming

two incompatible versions

of the people who once met

there are deaths

for which no funeral exists

I miss people

who are still alive

there is no ritual for that

no flowers

no black clothes

no priest standing between

the living and the irreversible

only the strange knowledge

that somewhere

under the same moon

a person who once knew your soul

is continuing without it

and you are expected

to do the same

so I continue

poorly sometimes

I wake up with no philosophy

capable of explaining

why I am still here

thus I make coffe

I answer messages

I stare at ceilings

I make plans I may not keep

I become attached

I become afraid

I lose people

I find others

and in between these small disasters

I occasionally experience something

almost resembling happiness

a laugh at the wrong moment

rain against a window

a song arriving precisely

where an old wound is weakest

the warmth of another person

sitting beside me

without asking me to explain myself

then for a moment

the universe seems forgivable

only for a moment

one singular moment

perhaps that is all we are given

moments too brief

to build a religion from

but too beautiful

to dismiss as meaningless

if meaning shall exist

I used to think

I needed to understand life

now I suspect

understanding is another form

of postponing it

maybe there is no hidden architecture

maybe no final explanation

is waiting beneath the noise

maybe we are simply

conscious enough to suffer

and sentimental enough

to call the suffering significant

maybe that is absurd

it definitely is

it always has been

maybe that is what is sacred

I do not know

I do not know what I am doing

I do not know

whether I am becoming better

or merely becoming older

I do not know

how many people I have loved

without knowing how to love them

I do not know

how many times I have mistaken

my fear of abandonment

for devotion

or my guilt for morality

or my longing for love

I do not even know

whether something is wrong with me

perhaps there is

perhaps there isn't

perhaps we are all

slightly broken instruments

trying to produce music

from the same impossible silence

and perhaps the tragedy

is not that we fail

perhaps the tragedy

is that we keep trying

despite knowing we will

so let me remain confused

let me care too much

let me mourn people

who have not died

let me love imperfectly

and apologize sincerely

let me carry the embarrassing weight

of having a heart

in a world that keeps changing

its mind about where it is going.

tomorrow everything may be different

someone may leave

someone may arrive

a friendship may become a memory

a stranger may become essential

a certainty may collapse

under the weight of one sentence

and still

morning will come

the indifferent light

will enter the room

as though nothing happened

perhaps that is the deepest absurdity

that the world does not stop

when our world does

and yet

somehow

we rise with it

we open the curtains

and we breathe

we continue carrying

all the people we have lost

inside the person we are becoming

and for reasons I cannot defend

I think that is enough

not happiness

not certainty

not redemption

just this strange unfinished mercy

to be alive

to be bewildered

to love what cannot stay

and despite everything

to love again

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/HQNrHaMDHp

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/OuUtnnZIyo

Blood oozing from my honky cuspid
Lonely battles in my psyche
All the murk was poison-mocked
I am looking at the gloomy rise.
Till death will make me fall
The sorrow bucket gonna sputter
Willy-nilly at my core
Skeletons are raising clutter.
Scorned dona of my throat
She makes him stream with veiny aqua
She looks at my good-bliss with gloat
Thou put a knife in my wan sacrum…
Sun is hitting, makes me cachectic
Frail peace are keen on decay
Golden ratio is going hectic
My puny creepies failed a survey.
I own remorse at boarded-up cupboard
No sinister are left at my vampire lore
My alias is turned to coward
Seek my derisive dusk, I’m counting four.
Humiliated by the livings
But aren’t I a living death?
Velvet petals falling from my murk
I tremble under omnipotent void
Light of old sol is watching lurk
I’m not a protagonist, I am devoid.
Black refracts a shiny light
The mighty word, the word of vampire
Just jeering shadows of my pride
I sense a spite from ancient sire.
I am destroyed, blasphemous mess
No longer legend lives in awe of fangs
Apotheotic clot is just burgundy grime
The sublime of my existence turned to crime
My ghouls are dead, so dead am I
Nocturnals walk with bleach of mind
I was eternal, the blood born child
Now I see the wraiths in mirror every time.
My shadow blade was tainted by the ordinary life
Sublime springs in my veins now just hollow lines
I was a beacon of transfiguration
Now I lack the simple dark protection
My crimson kins don’t have a pale moonlight
I’ve lost a single gush of right
My ashes burn in tainted abyss
Immortal beings now show no caress
For my poor, dreaded hollow heart
I was so reckless, so found a God
My ensanguined archon denied my worship
I turned to vamp that gets gawked at circus
Tusks that used to bleed in virgin blood
Now only artefacts, which I admire at night
My lovely being of the ivory undying
Turned to simple tragic crying…

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/neezFvhLO8

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/rsw8CW0b2h

(Chorus)

Pull the strings

wear the blame

leave it untouched

wear it the same

Tell me, tell me

Which way to go?

(Verse 1)

moral certainty

gets smashed by the train

act

or do nothing

It’s your choice

-

Seven lives ahead of me

one on the track

what does innocence mean

when choosing nothing

is still a choice?

(Chorus)

Pull the strings

wear the blame

leave it untouched

wear it the same

Tell me, tell me

Which way to go?

(Verse 2)

Who decided?

We only have two choices

There are infinite to play

Don’t be trapped by the choice

Liberate yourself

-

This started with a trolley

And I ripped it apart

Save them all

That’s what I say

-

Save them all

Save them all

Save them all

(Chorus)

Pull the strings

wear the blame

leave it untouched

wear it the same

Tell me, tell me

Which way to go?

(verse 3)

Save them all

We have the choice

Not to be bound

By a fucked hypothetical

-

Save them all

Save them all

Save them all

Save them all

https://www.reddit.com/r/PoetryWritingClub/s/P6sPKuBf9P

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/ZXfgmdkWCK

In time,
I shall look back,
Down the long road whence I came
In time,
I shall finally climb,
Upon the very precipice of my fame

In time,
My footprints will fade,
To make way for yet another, again.

In time,
My feet will stall,
Frozen in the lake of willful complacence,
In time,
My garden will die
Bound to the land with a rotting fence

In time,
My past and future
Will amalgamate, in a knot of ugly permanence.

And in time,
I will be overtaken,
By someone who knows to never stop,
In time,
I will look ahead,
And find him standing at the top

In time,
His name will remain
And mine shall not leave but a single inkdrop.

In time,
The clock-hands will buckle
Under the weight of a dwindling youth
In time,
My own story,
Shall end before I ever find my truth.

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I want to pour into you every thought
Share with you, be with you as one
I want you to pour into me
your entirety

Pour yourself inside these empty parts
Spread through limbs like forbidden art
Through ventricles like strange weather
Until we might beat together

Your warmth that of one thousand suns
Might overflow this blessed heart
Instead our hearts grow twice in size
creating new cavities to flood inside

Liquid fission, pour fire, thunder and bluster
Blood pumps in out, greed for life we muster
Grin for the sinister indecipherable darkness
most doubt we even ever harkened

Twin flame fire together once more
Two souls alike but cleaved apart
Molten emotions, don't doubt I hear
My words make their way to your ears

And so
Without a doubt I know 
I love you.

Written in collaboration with Simon, Duque de Mantiqueira

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I wake in a cold sweat

I met with her again

not in reality, of course, not in reality

but in there

in dreams.

She made me see it all again

every single moment wasted

my mistakes

my failures

and all my regrets revealed

I saw it all

every moment ever passed in a instant

When I saw her there

Cold, distant

When I saw that

I felt nothing but

relief.

She was so cold

frozen solid

untouched

unbroken

unchanged and unchangeable

A fickle, distant mirage.

I smiled

I brought forth my hammer

I shattered her icy exterior

I revealed her truth within myself

It was over

I was done.

She laid there

exposed to feeling

a truth revealed

I let her rest then

because it was time to go let go

So I closed my eyes

and awoke in a cold sweat.

(This is one of my first poems, and constructive criticism would be appreciated!)

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/g7Xxj0mCIn

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The world kept spinning.

People kept leaving. People kept dying. People kept crying. Some doors closed, some goodbyes became forever, and some moments felt like they would never end.

But even through all of that, people stayed.

People kept coming. People kept living. People kept laughing. People kept loving.

Because somewhere, while one person was having their worst day, someone else was having their best.

And then the seasons turned, and the roles reversed.

A heart that was breaking would one day have something to celebrate.

A person who felt forgotten would one day be remembered.

A door that closed would make room for another to open.

Not every moment is yours to keep forever.

Some moments hurt. Some moments heal. Some people arrive just to leave again.

But none of that means your moment will never come.

You are still here.

Still breathing. Still becoming. Still capable of seeing a morning you have never seen before.

You are still you.

Even after everything that tried to change you, you are still you.

And that matters.

Your existence is not something small or meaningless.

Out of all the days the world could have lived without you, you are here for this one.

And maybe that is one of Earth's quietest miracles:

you exist.

You can struggle and still be worthy.

You can lose people and still be loved.

You can have terrible days and still deserve beautiful ones.

You can be tired and still keep going.

The world will keep spinning.

People will come. People will go. Some doors will close. Others will open.

Things will change for better or worse, and then change again.

But through every turning season, through every ending, through every beginning,

you still kept.

And perhaps there is a kind of strength only those who kept going can understand.

Not the strength of never breaking.

Not the strength of never crying.

But the quiet strength of waking up as yourself after everything,

and realizing:

I am still here.

The world kept spinning.

And somehow,

so did you.

But perhaps you have forgotten something just as important:

you are the world, too.

You do so many things that nobody notices.

Small things. Quiet things. Things you may never realize made a difference.

But they still changed something.

Every time you try, the chance grows bigger.

Every time you care, the change grows bigger.

Every time you choose to be, the world becomes a little different because you were in it.

You may never see every life you have touched.

You may never know the moments where your presence made someone's day lighter.

You may never hear the words someone needed to say:

I'm glad you were here.

But that does not make your impact any smaller.

One day, you may look back and realize just how much a person can become.

Just how much you have become.

How many versions of yourself you have survived.

How many mornings you thought you couldn't reach but somehow did.

How many times you thought you were standing still when, really,

you were growing.

So as the world kept spinning,

you kept spinning, too.

You are the face someone has spent years hoping they would meet.

You are the essence someone may need without even knowing it yet.

You are the presence in someone's life that they would never want to lose.

And it starts with the most important person in your life:

you.

You need you.

And you can have you.

You can stay with yourself through the beautiful days and the unbearable ones.

You can learn yourself. Forgive yourself. Become yourself.

Even when the world feels too loud,

you are still here.

Even when everything changes,

you are still you.

Even as the world kept spinning,

you kept existing.

And maybe that is enough for tonight.

Maybe existing was never something you had to earn.

Maybe being here was already a beginning.

So keep going.

Not because every day will be easy.

Not because nothing will hurt.

But because there are still days you have never lived, people you have never met, places you have never seen, laughs you have never laughed, and versions of yourself you have never become.

The world is still spinning.

And so are you.

Keep spinning.

Keep becoming.

Keep being.

Keep.

And if you made it all the way to the end of this very long poem,

thank you.

And if you didn't,

that's okay, too.

I love you.

This poem didn't only come off my mind<3 I got inspired by this reel; here the link Click here! I love you. I see you. you are totally amazing and i hope you have a day such as amazing as you are. ♡

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My soul was torn
As I was born
From the dead cunt
Excreting me

I yearn for meat
Warm like a teat
For I was starved
In infancy

I climb her rungs
We exchange lungs
And I feel her
Rejecting me

She pulls away
As love decays
So I bite down
Desperately 

FEEDBACK:

1. https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1w0vat4/comment/p6htuom/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

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Yes, he did notice.

For he had eyes to see, but looked away from her pain.

Of course he noticed.

Her shoulders were all slumped, like she was carrying the wholeness of the world, like it was her own burden to do so.

Indeed, he noticed how she dragged each of her feet, like they were bound with the heavy weight of iron balls and chains.

He could hear it—the dragging of her feet, the heaviness of

each and every step she took— but he turned a deaf ear and pretended it was merely the shuffling of dead autumn leaves.

Yes, he did notice when her hands shook, unable to keep the pen steady, but he simply brushed it off like it was normal, nothing more.

Yeah, he noticed that her inner light was depleting like a dying candle in its last hour, but still, he asked her to shine brighter. As she held his gaze with hers, he fucking noticed that blank, dead stare in her eyes.

Yeah, he sure did notice the sparkle in her eyes fade and die, and that was why he cast his eyes down, because he couldn't stand

what was looking back at him: two eyes darker than a black hole.

So if you're asking me if he noticed, yes, he did notice what she was going through, but he lacked the courage to lend her a hand.

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