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I'm in shackles, not looking for keys,
No dreams of escape, no silent pleas.
The iron hugs me like a fate I chose,
But this pain, this ache, only I know.

One by one, I break my bones,
Not in hope, not to atone.
Each crack sings like a prayer gone wrong,
A mournful verse in a forgotten song.

They do not see the blood I spill,
The silent wars, the quiet ****.
They think I sleep, they think I breathe,
But I’m unraveling beneath each sheath.

These shackles aren’t just forged in steel,
They’re made from every wound I feel.
And as my flesh gives in to dust,
So does my soul, so does my trust.

Each snap, a scream that no one hears,
Each fracture, stitched with ghosts and fears.
Not breaking free, but breaking down,
Stripped of name, stripped of crown.

No freedom waits at the end of this game,
Just pieces of me too worn to name.
But still I crack, bone after bone,
Tearing away till I’m fully gone.

Let them wonder what silence means,
I was never bound by chains,
I was bound by me.
Hussein 1d
As i look into the summer sky
All i see is a weathering landscape
Drowning in tears the clouds
Gloomy and grieving they do cry
I feel like i know who died
But i can't remember who

I walk into the cemetery lobby
The air talking to the walls
The dust hugging the floor
The doors and windows crying
“Was anyone else invited?” I ask
“Just you and us” they answer
How peculiar…

After washing my face,
I take a look at the mirror
Staring back at me was…, not me
or at least not how i remembered me
“Who am i?!” i yell at the mirror
I got the same answer…

Struck by the memories
Hugged by their sympathy
I say memories
But they were…
Figments of what was and what i wanted to be
The ******* of reality and fantasy
Like an unbelievable deja vu
Real or not,
It didn't matter,
In all honesty I couldn't tell…

I take a closer inspection
Something doesn't make sense
I breath on the mirror but i can't see my breath
I run back to the funeral but it's too late
No tombstone no nothing
Exposed dirt in the middle of the grass
It's me
It's home.
.
i made the front door my enemy
staying inside to concentrate
               on written projects
i devilled away days                    
exorcised away my rights
                to the world out there

now (with projects complete)    
i approach the door
     theorize that I am wanted beyond 
                      to receive sustenance
                       and be free of my aches ...

... or
      to become sustenance                      
give in to my condition
      to pass back my remaining value   
hand in my report        
           with the staples removed
be resolved                                  
as some gaseous defeat

i bravely open the door             
there is no attack by nature
nor any euphoric reward
       i am left alone to feel my own way
to give and receive breaths
                steps are taken                                           
and signals interpreted
rejoining the world                    
as if uninterrupted
minor alterations made. originally written approx summer 2024
Feyre Jun 21
an emerald dress, flapping in the wind,
flailing on the petulant breeze.

the cliff face, rocky and jarring,
jutting out where sky meets sea.

the peak of a wave, crashing into stone,
relenting and dissolving its fury.

a girl, rosy-cheeked and fresh-faced,
her chin jutting as the cliff,
her eyes sparkling as the ocean,
and her mouth set as stone.

an echo, a call into the night,
a note of anguish and despair,
of tragedy and torment.

one hand, raised into the night,
reaching for the stars.

the waves crash,
the wind beats,
the moon sings,
and the stars burn.

and the girl,
in the emerald dress,
her voice echoes,
and her feet lift,

and it’s free falling.

the dress in the wind,
a bird flying through the night,
fabric floating on the air,
a creature -
airborne.

a moment of flight
with no ******,
just a bird
coasting on the breeze,
then a fish,
flailing in the depths.
i don't know how else to describe this feeling.
Kairos Jun 17
Six weeks from now everything changes.
Leaving family and friends, colleagues and neighbours.
No more car or address, speaking native to strangers.
Just me, two bags, and thoughts as a burden.
I step into the dreams that I dreamt for so long.

— — —

Travel has always soothed my mind.
Backseat, between my brothers.
I look outside and explain it all:
That road heads north, look there’s fish to catch!
It doesn’t matter where I go, inspiration everywhere.

— — —

The divorce doesn’t matter, mom and dad seem happy.
Twice the vacations! Twice the presents!
Never talk about the other house, pretend and please.
It’s just a secret. A trade for love.
I lie well. Kids do.

— — —

When I grow up I will see it all, no secret can hide from me!
I am independent, I don’t need your help.
Who do you think you are for even offering it to me?
I’m smarter than you, I will find my way.
There’s nothing I shouldn’t be able to reach on my own.

— — —

We are doing great on our own, don’t notice the mess.
We don’t want a family, can’t you imagine the stress?
No one understands the way we think, how we feel.
Why even try connecting if it’s not meant to be?
We know the stories. We tell them. We believe them.
Isn’t that enough?

There’s no need to run, is there?
Look how well you’ve been doing!
Don’t ruin it chasing what you’ll never keep!
Are you sure? Not just impulse again?
Is it really necessary?

— — —

Bless you for all that you’ve done for me.
I wish you’d leave now, it’s time, but I’m sure you’ll stay.
Tell me all the lies I used to love.
Where’s the doubt and shame?
Show me if you are still able to be creative.

It seems easy now, a simple life.
Would I have even gotten here, if it wasn’t for you?
Tickets booked, goodbyes planned.
Or maybe everything has already changed.
I don’t really like who I am when I’m next to my friends,
I feel someone else every time I close the living room door in my apartment.

My mom’s at home.
I can’t recognize how I act when I’m living with my family,
If I lock the bathroom door, I feel myself now.

How can I be someone else when I’m still the person I am in any situation?
How can I feel myself when I’m alone if that means no one’s watching?
Does it mean no one is ever gonna know who I am?

Who will I be when I meet someone new?
Who will talk about me with sureness?

I still lock the doors of any room I’m in.
Ricardo Diaz Jun 9
She's flying away
For good this time
Fells like we only just met.

You make heaven seem so dull
With your beautiful laugh
and tumeric juice.

You were never mine to lose,
Yet I lost you nun the less.

Entangled forever,  
until the tides forget to pull us apart.  

You soundly touched my soul,
And left no finger prints

We said goodbye,  
I wished you well.  
You said  It's just words.  

I knew That was the last time  
I calmed your flames.  

My deep blue waters are void again.

I wait at the lobby of your old apartment.
Just to remember how it felt to drop you off.

Riding in the rain seems a lot less fun.
Walks in the park a lot less nice.
And songs in the dark a lot less paradise.

I love you gently,
The only way I was allowed to.

I really hope you don't read this poem.
So we can stay goodbye.

Knowing you,
you'll have another one of your
Gut feelings and just know I do.

You're actually gone aren't you?
A season in time
alex Jun 9
It’s always better
to be completely alone
than to feel alone
in a group of people.
Cadmus Jun 5
🚪

Tell those latecomers,
they are too late.

No longer welcome.

The longing that once burned for them,
now sleeps in ashes they cannot revive.

Even beauty,
once able to undo me,
now passes by,
unseen,
untouched.

For what fails to arrive when it’s needed,
doesn’t arrive at all.

Excessive waiting takes its toll,
and the loss is permanent.

⌛️
Some doors don’t slam… they simply stop opening.
Cadmus May 30
I laughed - not for likes,
but because the sky was kind
and the breeze felt honest.

I wore comfort,
not costume,
and danced without a soundtrack.

No mirrors.
No filters.
Just me,
at ease in my skin,
and joy
quiet as a secret,
loud as my heart.
We spend so much of life performing for eyes that aren’t really watching, chasing applause that never feels quite enough. But real joy lives in the unscripted, in the quiet, barefoot moments where we belong wholly to ourselves. This poem is a reminder: not everything needs an audience to be beautiful.
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