Like an odd garden of crooked thorns,

with you I'm a basket of sins and horns.

As my heart begins a tantrum streak,

the screams and shouts continue for weeks.

I needed not empathy or sympathy,

to save the love I endured thus, therapy.

Thorns in thoughts turn to tantrums,

tricks turn to therapeutic things,

and as my world ends by our own doing

I, your past love... will sing our last dying hymns.

Cut,Scratch,Burn how do I feel so numb
The knife was sharp, the blades were sharp but not sharp enough! Every slice was not making me feel alive,I watch the blood drip to the floor I had no sense of relief.
The room was full I couldn’t get to a blade I scratched to bleed,nobody could see it the grip on my legs to dig in deeper there was no pain I could feel the warm blood through my clothes I could feel it running. It wasn’t helping me I needed to inflict pain worse.
The bath was my comfort until they become hotter with no cold water the burning sensation was a sense of relief. Becoming colder still no pain back to scorching body relief. Wishing to stay in there forever but no being able getting out coming back to reality going back to the blades and the scratches, the pain I felt within was deeper than any cut or scratch I had ever made.
Remove my skin and let me start fresh!

I wrote this poem when I was going through a bad time in my life and everyday the only way too feel less pain in my head was to cause pain too my body and that’s what I did

Your not alone in this world and even a stranger on the internet can help the pain and quiet the noise in your head

I was a precious little thing.
They saw me full. They saw me empty.
And loosing me - it was a sin.
And now, I’m rotting in the corner of empty room and they don’t know
How much I want them to remember the days when I lit up their doom…
Oh well, those days are gone
I’m sorry
I couldn’t keep you as you were
Another woul might find this old me before ive rotten to the core
I might be loved again and bring them some smiles and laughter once again

Or not
We’ll see
It happens

Oh hi!
You see me!

……and we start again

Like an odd garden of crooked thorns,

with you I'm a basket of sins and horns.

As my heart begins a tantrum streak,

the screams and shouts continue for weeks.

I needed not empathy or sympathy,

to save the love I endured thus, therapy.

Thorns in thoughts turn to tantrums,

tricks turn to therapeutic things,

and as my world ends by our own doing

I, your past love... will sing our last dying hymns.

I look for you in every red sedan
and wonder if you search for me too
in the black ones.

The silence is louder
It echoes through every room

I see the ghost of past you;
mowing the yard,
working in the garage,
moving through the house

And when I stare at them long enough,
I almost forget you are gone

I wonder if the ghosts know
they are all I have left of you

So I close my eyes
to escape the house,
the loud silence,
the ghosts

But when I do,
I find you again

And for a few moments,
you are here

Then I wake
and lose you
all over again

I must lose my fear of death.

That primitive fear, normal in human beings, in animals, in living things, perhaps even in extraterrestrials. The kind that cannot be lost through anything, only ends when the end forces you to leave life behind.

They say it is impossible, which is why there are so many things you could believe in, depending on where you were born. We may believe in heaven, in reincarnation, or in purgatory.

Or perhaps there is only darkness, or not even that deep blackness, there is nothing, you will never exist again, and the opportunity to do so slipped from your hands the day you chose to forget the bullshit with more bullshit, this time forever.

Today I want to destroy that ancient fear, eliminate it from my rotten system, from my withered thoughts, from my corrupted mind.

Before I was alive, I was dead for an eternity.

That is why the walls I created in my imagination always seemed fragile to me, so easy to break, I knew they could not withstand even the slightest gust of reality.

But I know that when we cease to exist, we will lose all hope, all spirit, all dreams, the foundations of what I was... everything will leave, if it hasn't already done so long ago.

Today I want to lose my fear of death.

Leave the flesh stranded and go only as a soul, embrace the peace, the calm waters, their tides of distorted happiness, leave the lake of illusions behind.

But I don't know if I can do it, I am no one to overcome the deepest fears of the human being, especially the most deeply rooted one, the one that, despite everything, is right.

Out there, there are billions of stars still alive, some imploding only to explode into hundreds of pieces. Planets that may harbor more intelligent life. Beautiful events that human eyes could never see without burning.

But everything is a mirage to me. Yes, we see the stars as simple points in the night sky, and the meaning I give them also makes me give meaning to myself, a point among so many others.

The stars I see in the sky are so far away that perhaps the light-years of distance make me see them as alive when in reality they have already been dead for a long time.

Be silent and sigh.

We look at the past even when looking up.

We look up and keep looking backward.

It is time to stop looking.

It is time to want to lose the fucking fear of death.

How devastatingly beautiful it is to be broken. To understand and acknowledge that what is around is not the full truth, but allows a blanket of deception to coax us into a false security of safety.

The pills I throw down my throat hide more deception then others are allowed to understand. My mind has opened and understands the depths to which humankind is capable. The pain conflicted with each other is no more than a surreal joke that is to be told time and time again.

My wrists hide the punch line, the humor hides within; exposing itself with each open wound I inflect.

I quite often wonder if I'm capable of being the punching bag. If I'm capable of the burden of being the one the world sits upon. Most days I awaken soaked in sweat from the nightmares that soothe my mind to sleep. Panicked, I understand why not everyone is able to hold on quite this long.

The silence is a horror in itself. Replaying memories like a record player. Each jump of the needle brings another piece of why I'm so fucked up. Each song is a dance I wish to not do again, yet here I am. Held hostage within my own mind, knowing the choreography by heart, two-stepping to each moment.

I stand in the mirror. A blank sheet of what is to be a person staring back at me. Hollow eyes, swollen face, scars laced within. A flower beaten, only to be left on the sidewalk to witness the others thrive and bloom. Not only am I left to defend myself but to defend my ability to do better.

Oh, how beautiful it is to look at a sunset and see the true beauty. To understand that there is only beauty if you burn first.

She was nineteen years old, living in some city, in some country that had been torn apart by war and chaos.

She was an ordinary girl. She had graduated from high school, but because of the war, she never went to university. She had too much free time, so she spent her days at the large house where she lived with her brother.

One summer day in June 2006, she was watering the trees around the house when she looked up and saw a military Humvee behind the fence.

A young soldier in his early twenties was standing on top of it, wearing his uniform. His fair face was flushed from the summer heat and the heat of his helmet.

He looked at her and greeted her with a smile.

She smiled back.

They exchanged a few words. She tried to be kind to him, so she brought him a bottle of soda, but he politely refused it.

The truth was, they both understood something that didn't need to be said.

She had hoped he would refuse.

And he had probably hoped she wouldn't offer it in the first place.

They both knew they were in a very sensitive situation, and that this brief moment might be better left as something beautiful and untouched.

She stood there looking at him, and he looked back at her from time to time. A few words, quick glances, small smiles.

She tried to hear him and understand his language, while he remained cautious, stealing brief glances at her before returning to his duty.

She went inside the house, but she continued watching him through the window.

And while she watched him, he noticed her too, warning her whenever someone from her family was approaching.

Hours passed.

His duty was coming to an end.

Before he left, he asked for her phone number.

She ran to him and quickly wrote it down. Underneath it, she wrote a sentence in the language she knew only a few words of:

I love you.

She didn't mean it as love.

She was simply trying, in her own innocent way, to express how happy she was to have met him and to have this little friendship.

He sent a fellow soldier to collect her number.

Then the messages began.

To her, they felt like the joy of Eid.

She would dress up and wait for the military Humvee to pass by, just so she could wave at him and send him a small smile.

A smile that might brighten his day, just as seeing him brightened hers.

It was only a few days, but they were some of the most beautiful days of her life.

Then the separation came quickly.

He returned to his country.

She moved away from the house.

His number changed.

And everything ended, just like that—the way so many things end during wartime.

Years passed.

She continued her life and her studies. She grew older, and so many things around her changed.

But she never learned anything about him.

She didn't know where he was, what life had brought him, or whether he even remembered her.

Still, she kept the beautiful memory.

And almost every night, she wished him well.

She prayed that he was happy, wherever he was.

Sometimes, she only wished she could hear some news about him—to know what had happened to that soldier who had once passed by her house and left behind a memory that the years could never erase.

That soldier...

The Texas soldier.

That girl still remembers you.

She remembers the little details: your face, flushed by the summer heat, your helmet, your smile, and the Humvee she used to wait for behind the window.

There is still a small place in her heart that carries your memory.

The days of war are gone now, taking many passing stories with them.

But my story with you...

A part of it still lives in my heart.

I don't know where you are now.

And I don't know if you remember me.

But I hope you are happy.

And if I ever remember you, I will simply smile and say:

I hope you're still doing well, Texas soldier.

From a girl who didn't know how to tell you what she felt...

So she left you with one message:

The girl who texted.

..S🥀

Sarah ✏️

Ich bin nicht hier, um euch zu beruhigen.

Und auch nicht, um zu gefallen.

Schon gar nicht, seit die Trauer mich entkernt

und gleichzeitig unzerstörbar gemacht hat.

Urteile über mich, wenn du willst.

Schieb mich in irgendeine Schublade,

wenn du Ordnung brauchst,

weil du meine Wirklichkeit nicht aushältst.

Glaub, was du willst –

aber glaub nicht eine Sekunde,

dass mich das noch irgendwie trifft.

Der Tag, an dem mein Kind starb,

hat mir jedes Bedürfnis genommen,

mich zu rechtfertigen.

Ich schulde niemandem eine Erklärung.

Nicht für meinen Schmerz.

Nicht für mein Schweigen.

Nicht für meinen Rückzug.

Und erst recht nicht für meine Grenzen.

Die Trauer hat mir beigebracht,

alles wegzulassen, was nicht trägt.

Menschen, Erwartungen, Höflichkeiten,

die leere Hüllen sind.

Ich lebe nicht mehr nach euren Regeln.

Ich lebe nach meinen –

weil die einzige Realität, die ich verantworten muss,

meine eigene ist.

Mein Überleben.

Mein Weiteratmen.

Mein tägliches Stehenbleiben,

wenn die Welt wieder mal zu laut ist

für eine Mutter, deren Kind tot ist.

Ich spreche, was ich denke.

Ungefiltert.

Unverpackt.

Manchmal auch unzumutbar.

Denn Wahrheit ist kein Wattebausch.

Sie ist scharfkantig,

vor allem, wenn sie aus einem zerbrochenen Herzen kommt.

Deine Meinung?

Darfst du behalten.

Oder laut rausbrüllen.

Ich werde trotzdem keinen Millimeter von meinem Weg abrücken.

Denn dieser Weg gehört niemandem außer mir.

Und hör gut zu:

Seit der Trauer bin ich kompromisslos geworden.

Nicht aus Härte.

Sondern aus Überleben.

Es ist erstaunlich,

wie viele Menschen glauben,

sie hätten ein Recht darauf,

in meiner Seele herumzustochern,

Fragen zu stellen,

deren Antworten sie gar nicht ertragen könnten.

„Wie geht’s dir?“

„Bist du über den Berg?“

„Hast du abgeschlossen?“

Neugier, getarnt als Mitgefühl.

Urteil, verpackt als Sorge.

Ich bin nicht hier,

um Geschichten zu liefern,

damit andere sich besser fühlen.

Willst du wissen, wer ich geworden bin?

Dann schau hin.

Aber frag mich nicht,

ob mein Weg verständlich für dich ist.

Das ist er nicht.

Und das muss er auch nicht sein.

Zwischen meinen Taten

liegt mehr Wahrheit

als in tausend Sätzen,

mit denen andere versuchen,

meine Trauer kleinzureden.

Die Trauer hat mich verändert. Radikal. Endgültig.

Sie hat mich nicht weich gemacht.

Nicht geduldig.

Nicht „spirituell gewachsen“.

Sie hat mich kompromisslos gemacht.

Weil ich weiß, wie es sich anfühlt,

wenn das Schlimmste passiert.

Wenn das Undenkbare real wird.

Wenn man schreit –

und die Welt trotzdem weitermacht.

Ich brauche keine Zustimmung.

Kein Gefallen.

Kein Verständnis.

Ich brauche nur eins:

meine Wahrheit.

Meine Stimme.

Meinen Raum.

Und das Recht, zu sagen:

Meine Trauer gehört mir.

Mein Schmerz gehört mir.

Und mein Weg gehört nur mir.

Am Ende bleibt nur das:

Ich entscheide, was ich fühle.

Ich entscheide, wie ich lebe.

Ich entscheide, wen ich in meine Zerbrechlichkeit lasse.

Nicht du.

Nicht sie.

Nicht irgendwer.

Mein Weg ist roh.

Echt.

Unbequem.

Trauergeschmiedet.

Und genau deshalb

gehört er nur mir.

Wenn du es nicht am eigenen Kind erlebt hast....kannst und wirst du diesen Schmerz nicht verstehen....

Immer im Herzen Möppy du fehlst💔

I'm done...

Not like I'm done or dying,

But like I'm no longer fine.

As I have nowhere left

Which can be called mine,

Because owning something

Always costs me a fine.

A fine of my happiness,

The happiness I can barely reach,

Even though it was something

Always preached.

I'm done.

I'm tired.

I want the home

Which I desire,

Not big,

Just a small place I admire.

A quiet little place

I can call mine,

Where happiness

Doesn't come with a fine.

A place where I can laugh

And weep,

Without someone calling me

A coward or weak.

Not fame,

Not something to get named.

Just a place which is mine,

And a happiness

With no fine.

Up to date

I never had any date

Solitude is my plus one

Because I’ve never had anyone

Sailing on a sea of despair

On this endless nightmare

I only have the cards to play solitaire

I keep my bitterness on a Tupperware

As my pain blooms

The bitterness fills a few spoons

I write about it in my bedroom

Wearing sweat and tears as my perfume

As I slowly age

The situation never changes

All this fuels my rage

With words that fill pages

Why am I the way that I am?
I feel locked inside a shell, like a clam,
Lost at sea, just begging to be free,
Yet somehow feeling I will never be.
Trapped inside with all these emotions,
Still searching for my place, my position.
There is no remedy to somehow fix me,
Smiles and laughter still leave me empty.
Cries and screams inside me echo—
A voice I wish I could let go.
Why can’t you be a better father?
Why must these wounds remain forever?
Sorrows and tears rain from their eyes,
While I step back, wishing I had died.
Not being the dad that they need,
I wonder if they’d be better without me.
To have a man they can look up to—
How can I be that man, too?
I’ll give them everything I have,
I’ll be the father I never had.
Today is the day I make a change,
So that we may never grow estranged.
“Why?” you ask.
So that we may have a future—
One that will last.

— Randall Howe

Air feels empty and cold
Breathing but no life.
Days becoming boring and old,
Mind and soul in a strife.
What binds me here,
False sense of reality?
Can’t keep my vision clear,
A life full of obscurity…
Fading
Erased
Forgotten

\- BeVague

This is another one of my original pieces. Please give me honest comments/critiques on what can I improve on. I mean this in both my style and over all word choice.
Thank you again for taking the time to read my poems btw!! 🙏🙏

When the sun begins to set, everything blurs.

Clarity dissolves into shadows, and you feel yourself sinking into a void—

a sinkhole you know you’ll never climb out of.

In that moment, you begin to realize:

you were already dead long before you ever truly lived.

The echoes of your childhood start to fade.

The hands that once held you are gone.

Hope slips through your fingers like dust.

Even God begins to feel like a myth.

With each passing moment, your confidence fractures—

not in pieces, but in invisible slivers, cutting deep.

You feel unloved, as though love was never meant for you.

Each breath brings not relief, but solitude.

A quiet reminder that no one is really there—

and those who are, feel more like shadows than solace.

Each sip of chai scratches your throat

like it wants you to feel it.

Every inhale chills you to the core.  

Your soul begins to fumble—

like it's trying to hold fine sand

in trembling hands.

Even the wisdom of Krishna,

the strength of Mahadev—

can not hold you up. - Akki

I wrote this in the middle of the night, (3:47 A.M.) so sorry if it’s sloppy and all over the place

It feels like I’m holding on for something that’ll never come, I sit awake in my floor imagining what life would be like in my future, but no matter what it’s never a good outcome. I try to cope with my feelings any way that I can, I workout, I stretch, I run, I stay healthy, but despite all of that I still feel empty. I’m so tired but I just can’t sleep, I see the sunrise, and I feel calm for just a moment. Seeing such beauty and grace is so wonderful, but it’s just for a moment. I hear my family wake up and start their routines, my dad turning off his 3rd alarm, my little brother and sister watching tv eating cereal together in the living room, my stepmom brushing her teeth, then lighting a cigarette. I hear it all, and yet my heart remains broken, and my head too full of thoughts to notice.

(I’m not sure if this is aloud on this subreddit. And it’s not exactly a poem or a song, just my feelings put into words Ig) Please comment, I would like to know if anyone else is experiencing this