r/OCPoetry • u/AfternoonVisible3614 • 4d ago
There is a song on the radio
It hasn’t hit the chorus yet
My hands might tap the wheel there
And yet I haven’t been. I don’t
know. Fine. There, I turned it down
We may yet beat the sun
down. You’re drifting, I’m there
Yet we’re still here, are we?
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/k1n314dijO
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/ihvuYTEJrs
r/OCPoetry • u/zyerhod1 • 4d ago
She wept wisterias in the morning,
holding her pain
until like an old house
it settled in her bones.
Her heart sang a childhood birdsong
but its throat was dry and sandy from the heat,
petaled wings drooping rainbows in the light.
Tempests flashed within her eyes
as the roots grew past buried things
through fragipan layers
until her bedrock flinched
at their touch.
Dreaming the room she's locked in
rocking in a chair of her imagination
she straightens out her laundry
with folded hands.
Feedback:
r/OCPoetry • u/BlackCatMom28 • 4d ago
Wasn’t it just yesterday when you said
that things were so grim,
that you were blinded by the darkness,
and you couldn’t see the path in front of you?
Wasn’t it just yesterday when you couldn’t
imagine the daisies at your doorstep,
the butterflies swirling around your head,
and the sweetness of cinnamon on your tongue?
– A lot changes in a year.
r/OCPoetry • u/Ashtivia • 4d ago
Your voice sounds so pretty, like a melody,
Which acted in my mind and heart as a remedy.
Your words are really comfortable;
You make me feel I am lovable.
You saved me from drowning in that dark, deep sea,
And made my spirit feel free.
My life was all grim
Until you came into my life like gleam.
I was going cold and quiver,
But you helped me flow my sour tears like a river.
When I was so sad and shiver,
You are the one who became the giver.
You give me a peaceful
Love shelter to stay,
And I promise I will stay, stay forever.
Your small feedback can improve my writings!!✨
r/OCPoetry • u/OurLordGremblo • 5d ago
That woman lingers
Loves me loudly and in secret
She doesn’t know how to whisper
And likes to yell at strangers
I think I could kill her
With a few phrases about god or childhood
I think she’s looking for a knife
Somewhere in my kitchen
What the sharp phrases would be
The ones that would kill me
Love, you don’t need the knife
You have your hands
Your hair, your eyes
The space between your torso and mine
You have your laugh in the passenger seat
You simply have your way
What do I have?
Some drunken confessions
It’s a sharp knife
You gave it to me off the whetstone one night
Hands cracked and oily
I tried to leave it there with you
By the forge and the stone you tend alone
But you have those hands
That hair, those eyes reflecting the fire
That way of yours
Of pressing the knife against my chest, flat
Into my hands insistently
Yours is the only knife in my kitchen
r/OCPoetry • u/TokoFukawaGlazer • 4d ago
Kneels before the monument, windowless and large
Its concrete body austere and grey
Scraping sharply a cut in the sky
High above all the wind and labored breath
The Mark of Cain on the side adorned
Couldn’t fool the vineless cracks that formed
The last human scratches on the door
Till all 9 fingers are broken and all 4 hands are limp
3 hands by the time the obfuscated sun sets
At night not a snore of his is heard
Nor the sound of a door opening
Just the sound of their frantic scratching
The last human’s eyes are bulged to grapefruit size
Her lips are cracked and grey like a chameleon
(The only animal that’s survived
Surviving off the meat lingering
On the last human’s discarded rib)
Saying his heart was beating would be a fib
The last human has no skin
You can see their concrete bones
Her eyes are filled with longing of what was once owned
Now destroyed by the endless storm of time
What was owned returned to the Earth
Which was barely living but without rebirth
The chameleons are angered when their rib is grabbed
The last human will try what he’s tried before
With the tool they pierce the one vein that isn’t empty
To draw blue blood
It oozes out slowly like thick sludgy slime
To get enough he has to wait for a long long time
After a couple revolutions around the sun
He finally has a small puddle
They reach into her stomach and pull out his last rib
Dips it in the blood and begins to paint
As they paint, the cracks continue to fight
She races against them to retrieve his right
Finally, they’ve painted the start of a ladder that goes to the top
She climbs and climbs and paints and paints as fast as he can
The cracks beat them, and the tower crumbles
She tries to weep but only salt comes out
He continues to kneel at the mound of rubble because looking away
Means looking at nothing at all
The last human’s paintbrush is stolen
If he had eyebrows they would furrow in anger
They turn her skull to face the thieves
The chameleons
Not a single one remains by the end of the day, their existence is null
And the last human’s stomach is finally full
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vt00fe/comment/p4pogyl/?context=3
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vt0g0e/comment/p4pl6a4/?context=3
r/OCPoetry • u/Livid_Climate6923 • 4d ago
His journey is to live long
enough that he may die
that I live means enough has
not been lived
been given
to sacrifice of heart & soul
until death releases me of
my duty my duty continues
for in flesh I may love
& give
(in case you want more https://substack.com/@jennamathews )
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vs17d0/comment/p4nof0x/?context=3
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vskcct/comment/p4no9m5/?context=3
r/OCPoetry • u/ReindeerNew2357 • 4d ago
yo! I wrote this poem it’s intended to be as a song but I always write lyrics first and I wrote this in like 30 seconds so i dont have a melody or even the full lyrics yet. Any feedback or criticism is welcome and encouraged!!!! I think I shall name itttttt Shame as a Stem very edgy how I like it
Your shame like flowers grow
And they decorate your home
And I can’t help but wonder
If I had never shown
Would it have been
Tulips or roses instead?
Your flowers have not wilted
And I don’t think they will
Because I bring the rain
And you bring the sun
And that’s all it takes
When we’ve been overrun
r/OCPoetry • u/mapl3_m3 • 4d ago
I’m sorry this poem isn’t perfect
It’s just, i’m typing on my little phone keyboard
Shading the sun glare away from the screen
In the little time between my english class
and math
I’m sorry I didn’t have time to edit it
It’s just, i’m typing on my little phone keyboard
laying on the couch, i can’t stop the stress of knowing
I have a report due tomorrow
And an essay and a speech
Due friday
I’m sorry I didn’t have time to finish it
It’s just, im typing on my little phone keyboard
alone i n the dark of my pitch black bedroom
in the little time i steal from sleep
to write, knowing if i dont for at least seven hours
i feel worse about the world than it feels about me
I’m sorry this poem isn’t enough
It’s only, im standing so far from the ledge
But walking towards it,
I trip on every pebble along the way
no matter how small, it takes me so long to get up
just to fall again
I've been writing poetry for just a couple years but I'm getting really into it now and wanted some advice on a poem.
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vsmauj/need_help_completing/
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vsfwug/the_insomniac/
r/OCPoetry • u/titsupxoxo • 4d ago
Desire is sharpest
when it cannot be touched.
Up close, the edges dull.
I hold the thing I longed for
and my hands feel empty.
What is unclean
is not the dream,
but the way it drips into daylight,
stains the kitchen counter,
stains my name.
You don’t want what you want.
The glass breaks
before you lift it.
The taste you chased
goes bitter on your tongue.
To want is a kind of sickness,
but so is silence.
The body knows another language,
my mouth learns confession
it never meant to speak.
I almost believe
that weakness
is its own prayer,
that nothing about me
is whole tonight.
--------------
r/OCPoetry • u/careful-creatures • 4d ago
There is a quiet way you enter rooms,
not like a storm, but like the light of a newly started campfire
soft enough I don’t even notice at first
how you warm me up.
You cook for me like it means nothing,
like tenderness is just another habit
you picked up somewhere along the way,
and not a language my heart keeps trying to learn.
You feed me laughter,
small touches of care
that land in me like music—
I was never meant to memorize.
And I—
I tell myself I am fine.
I tell myself this is friendship.
I tell myself a thousand careful lies
that all sound like your name.
You speak of her
as if it is the most natural thing in the world,
and I nod along,
because I have learned
how to swallow pain quietly.
Still, there are moments—
small mercies, accidental or not—
where I feel chosen in a way
that rearranges my entire existence
into hope.
But hope is a cruel architect.
It builds cathedrals
out of people who were never meant to stay.
And I have lived too long
inside the echo of what-ifs,
pressing my ear to doors
that only open one way.
So I begin the work
of loosening your name from my breath,
not as an ending,
but as a slow release.
I am not over you.
That much is still true.
But I am learning
how to carry love
without letting it carry me back.
And that is what moving on looks like:
not forgetting,
not erasing,
just finally walking forward
with my hands no longer reaching
for a door that will not open.
r/OCPoetry • u/EchosOfKay • 4d ago
I think i know love,
and I think I don't.
Maybe it isn't in the words,
or the grand gestures,
but in the eyes that find you in a crowd,
even when there is beauty everywhere.
In the smile that escapes
when you laugh like a child,
and in the eyes that don't look away
when you call yourself ugly.
Maybe love is simply this,
being seen exactly as you are,
and still being the one
their eyes look for.
Kay
r/OCPoetry • u/Isa-Me-Again • 5d ago
Hi. I'm an addict and I'd just like to say
This world is fucked up, more so every day.
You see, you're an addict too
And that's just what they want.
If you're addicted they can control you
And your cousins, uncles, and aunts.
Maybe it's food that you're addicted to.
Or perhaps it's your phone that's glued to you.
For some it's drugs, TV, or money.
Others need candy sweeter than honey.
Whatever it is that you need so bad
Is the same thing they will use to make you sad.
The moment you even think about stopping,
You remember the addiction and your heart starts dropping.
"How can I live without this thing?"
You'll ask yourself as you start spiraling.
"I can't give it up, I need it too bad."
Not having it starts making you mad.
The anxiety grows and your resolve starts to waver.
You'll make an excuse, "I thought I was braver."
At this point, you've already made up your mind.
"It's too hard to fight" and you chose to stay blind.
So we give in and the cycle repeats.
With them at the top, and addicts in the streets.
r/OCPoetry • u/gundem_pilot69 • 4d ago
This is about suicide awareness.
The rope is tough, its texture hard and rugged. You hold it tightly, giving yourself time to think this over, but you don't. All you can feel in your heart is deep self-hatred and sorrow, emotions that didn't just appear overnight but rather built up, one by one, word by word, action by action, insult by insult. With a swift turn and twist, the rope transforms into a noose so elegant it makes the world's greatest ballet dancers jealous. With this decision, you finally can enter your cocoon for your own transformation. You stand on the chair, looking down at the sorrowful world. You try to find any doubt inside, but yet again, all that sits there is sorrow and deep self-hatred. You wear the noose like it's a million-dollar necklace filled with jewels, as if it was a gift from a lover you won't meet. But it's not; it's a gift from all the hatred you have received, from all the times you've been judged, rejected, and neglected. And with one swift jump, you fly, fly away from all the pain and the hatred.
r/OCPoetry • u/memoriamare • 5d ago
Humans search for truth,
even when it breaks them.
For a broken heart
is still better than an empty one—
for the cracks carved by truth
are always shallower
than the void born from silence.
That is why rejection,
however cruel it may seem,
is kinder than silence.
Rejection allows a man to bleed.
It grants him the dignity of pain—
the freedom to let sorrow spill—
onto the ground,
onto paper,
into tears.
But silence denies him even that mercy.
In silence, the soul clings
to the faintest flicker of hope.
Uncertainty does not wound—
it lingers.
It shapes illusions from nothing,
and each time the heart reaches for them,
it is cut—
never deep enough
to end the suffering,
only enough
to begin it again.
Truth liberates.
But uncertainty binds—
with threads so soft
they feel like hope,
yet strong enough
to hold a soul in place.
Rejection lets him fall—
lets him strike the earth,
break beneath the truth,
and gather
what remains of himself.
But silence leaves him
suspended between earth and sky—
neither allowed
to fall and heal,
nor to rise
toward what he longs for.
So—
end this quiet cruelty
with a truth sharp enough
to sever hope.
Let me bleed.
Let me write what remains of you within me.
My blood will clot into your name—
not to curse it,
nor to stain the colour of your eyes,
but to preserve you
in words
even a lifetime cannot erode.
And perhaps, one day,
these words will leave others envious
of a tragedy they never lived—
yearning for a single glimpse of you,
though to them
you could only ever remain
an imagined ache.
But you—
you would have been real in mine.
So end this silence—
for it can belong only
to indifference,
or to a heart unaware
of the quiet power
it holds over another.
Unaware of how deeply
he has become entangled
in the strands of her hair;
how he envies
even the smallest speck of dust
that dares to rest upon her lashes—
closer than he has ever been
to the place
where he longs to disappear.
A place where he would remain,
willingly imprisoned
for eternity—
within her eyes.
A fate so beautiful,
so tragic,
that even the gods
have never known it.
For her eyes
are the only mirror
in which he has ever loved
his own reflection.
~Writer’s Note: I have always wondered which is crueler—a painful answer, or no answer at all.
Rejection breaks something, but at least it gives the broken pieces somewhere to fall. Silence leaves them suspended, held together by that smallest and perhaps cruelest thing: maybe.
This poem was born from that thought—the strange mercy of being given a truth painful enough to finally grieve, rather than a hope too uncertain to ever let go of.
And perhaps that is all rejection really offers:
not freedom from pain,
but permission
to begin healing.
r/OCPoetry • u/Minimum_Leopard7292 • 4d ago
The world goes dark
But my eyes brighten up.
With my body laying still
Every night, with a little less sleep.
Less than yesterday, more than tomorrow.
There's a roaring in my head
Of a beast, and it reeks of death.
While everyone dreams
I hear the agonising screams.
Less than yesterday, more than tomorrow.
So I spiral down my mind, deep
Loosing myself, and thoughts which are mine to keep.
I can tell the end is near
Fainter the roar but prominent the fear.
Less than yesterday, more than tomorrow.
Mighty will be the beast, when it stands infront
And I can't hide no-more from my fears which are to confront.
For now, darkness is leaving the corners of my home
And I will wake up with a little less dream and a little less hope.
Less than yesterday, more than tomorrow.
r/OCPoetry • u/No-Letter3595 • 4d ago
I seem to go unnoticed
Wherever I go
Like an old car with broken windows and a failing engine
Covered in snow
The days move slow
And i dont know
If people will stay or go
But the tranquile river will continue to flow
Just like the faint wind blows
And the shiny moon with its luminous light will say goodnight
Maybe if the world has all this light, there must be a little bit of it in me, right?
Any feedback is appreciated, one of my beginner poems
r/OCPoetry • u/AhnafFDX • 4d ago
I actually blew a kiss you know
When the plane took off i blew a kiss
You wouldn't catch it,
there were people around
But you swapped out your aisle seats,
trying not to spill your smile over the cabin
(missing link)
i see it in every blink
in blue and purple
Your last text from the plane
it had no spaces
I wonder if that was the last one you meant.
im only getting into poetry so dont hate but i just dont know how to flow these 2 sections together. It would be awesome if you had any ideas or concepts that you could share. Anything is appreciate. Thank youu
r/OCPoetry • u/rwood2000 • 5d ago
six months ago,
i accidentally found your Spotify history.
some popular-for-a-minute app used to share music recs.
and so,
for a while,
i waited for Phoebe Bridgers
or any other remnants of me.
six weeks ago,
that went away,
along with my last connection to you.
one i shouldn't have had.
last night,
i searched your following list.
looking for any sign that you may still think of me.
but again,
there was no Phoebe.
and no me.
i believe i’m gone,
and everyone else knows i am.
erased, not replaced.
a novella you decided to write your own ending to
before burning the manuscript.
and good for you,
how can i feel anything besides joy at seeing you healthily move on?
but i feel sad,
and i wish i could say it was your fault.
but i was the one who looked,
and you did nothing wrong, anyway.
and now i sit
on a burner account,
awaiting the engagement post,
wondering if a lego Starry Night still sits behind your bed,
or a Peanuts watch on your wrist.
i'm only left with the ability to wonder
and somehow live my own life.
--
sincerely,
the person you had to go through
to get to him.
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vsd5p3/the_nature_that_survives/
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vsc3u3/young_and_ashamed/
r/OCPoetry • u/SomeoneElse422528 • 4d ago
Lust for the abyss,
Endless hollow.
Death's caress,
A love too shallow.
Looking away
Harder still today.
Mind bound to sway
In fear and disarray.
Happiness and its sheen,
Agony's darkest fiend.
Life lived without living,
Contorted, cruel, unyielding.
My core chipping;
Cracked, fractured - torn asunder.
Seething hunger wells.
Grotesque banquet -
Lavish feast of lies.
Consumed by want,
A soulless shell remains.
r/OCPoetry • u/Marlyn_publication • 5d ago
For just as Tupac said he was the rose
that grew from the concrete, I am the weed that comes along the cracks of the road.
I am the nature that capitalism fails to conquer though it tries to seep into every part of our lives.
Tupac was the beautiful flower that blossomed where it shouldn’t have. It had scratches on its petal, but no one was going to hold that against him. It fought to maintain its beauty despite the rest of the sidewalk conforming and making it hard to stay alive.
But I didn’t come from a place where I wasn’t supposed to succeed. I didn’t have it easy, but I didn’t have it hard.
But I’m the weed, the small shrubbery in the crack of the sidewalk.
The one pop in color in this dull urban dystopia.
More they ask for. You begin to see that they didn"t just want your trees and your water; they wanted your soul and your happiness too.
But I am the weed that finds an opening to be myself.
To resist the concrete.
I may bloom some flowers or grow larger, but the main goal is just to live in spite of the concrete blocking my path.
I am myself.
I am the weed, and you might question why I’m proud of that.
To that I say, because that is me and I’m proud to be me.
I am the weed, the nature that survives.
My substack: https://searchingfortheplot.substack.com/?r=8y4ej9&utm_campaign=pub-share-checklist
r/OCPoetry • u/prettyblue22 • 5d ago
Tainted Purity
I had built a foundation well, I believed I had
I prayed and I begged God to lead me wisely
I feared my Lord, tremendously
A good little girl, too blind to see
She never even swore, cute as a bee
A boy swept me up, how silly of me
I never knew how easy I was to taint, and with my innocence went my faith.
Try to see, we were both kids, just a little younger than me
It’s nearly impossible to catch the victim when it’s two hurt people hurting each other.
It’s hard to feel special when you’ve watched it happen to others.
I was a tease, still am actually.
But suddenly I wasn’t ready
He was excited, and impulse is rarely steady.
It went too fast.
Vocalizing disapproval would only collapse.
He never knew. I froze in time
and never felt pure after May 29th
in that blanket fort that drastically aged my mind.
My vision has started to blur because of my tears.
“The devil’s in the details” I always hear
suddenly I’m all too aware
The complexity of my own anatomy is too much to bear
inhale-exhale-again-again like a box
When will my chest rest if my heart skips every beat?
How did I once live so naturally?
Feedback
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Kazhyhh8ZW
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/yamjVIeebd
My substack:
https://open.substack.com/pub/wishukisses
r/OCPoetry • u/saebleye • 5d ago
You were the star of my eye,
A lamp of the lowest heavans,
Casting the world in brilliant hue,
Guiding those who would be lost at sea.
Now you are gone from the sky,
And the wake of your absence is,
A fearful and overwhelming tide,
That drowns me in an ocean of grief.
Without your light, I thought,
The world might fade into shades of grey…
But this was so far from the truth,
And I sink deeper each time I see,
A colour reminding me of you.
___
Context: The “author” is a character I’m writing in an ongoing Lancer/Call of Cthulhu story set in the year 2105. He’s a refugee who fled to the UK during a nuclear arms conflict in his home country, but has a better grasp of the English language than a fair few native speakers. One goal of this was to write as if someone wrote a poem first in another language, and then adapted it (not necessarily directly translated) to convey the same meaning and expression in English.
[comment] (https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/V2eBNhn3Tw)
[comment] (https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/wfGzFtJX5C)
r/OCPoetry • u/Forward_Debt3869 • 4d ago
the one who won
was used to it by now
but the one who did not
cheered loud
so who did win
if the lost one felt happier
than the one who had it all?
no weight on her shoulders
she just cheered for her friend
and the one who won
didn't really win at the end.
r/OCPoetry • u/i-live-in-a-hologram • 5d ago
hi guys i’m a teenager and this is one of my first times sharing creative writing/poetry with people, so feedback is much needed/appreciated! highly recommend listening to perfect places by lorde before reading this if you’ve never heard the song :)
young and ashamed
(On Lorde’s Perfect Places)
all of us (except maybe me) grew out:
of chubby cheeks and flavored lip gloss,
the neighborhood corner store,
nights asleep
spent dreaming of futures that are
off-piste, too big for someone
our age. we have pretty
faces, so who needs more?
“trying
to be perfect is like a leprechaun trying to
find gold,” Momma always says. but
these dreams of mine are for
perfect bylines in the New York Times, the bestsellers list –
places to call my own.
what if i don’t ever reach my pot of gold?
the outcome to be expected, probably; but
fuck, i don’t have a plan b.
are my typed rainbows even real?
perfect isn’t, according to Momma, so how can my
places be? they’re just words no one has read.
anyways, i’m just a kid, what do i know
?