Do you ever just feel,
Not as in if you’re hurt,
Or something.
But as if you’re…
Another–?
Another being?
Crazy, isn’t it?
The feeling of being another entity.
I mean–
You’re yourself, far as one can see.
To them you’re there–
The eyes, nose, ears, lips
But in your mirror,
That image in your head flips.
Devoid.
A black, empty void.
Your body feels numb.
Static in the arms, the mind.
Consuming from the inside out.
It swallows hope, it swallows doubt.
The mind divides,
The conscience slides,
Until it’s the one who defines.
So tell me—
When you look in the glass tomorrow,
Who is the one blinking?
Who is the one breathing?
May 7
May 7, 2026 at 10:35 AM UTC
I'm not depressed–
I'm obsessed.
of what, you ask?
Well, saying ‘I'm fine’ with class!
I sound crazy writing this–
just winging it.
thanks to a friend,
I got to vent!
it was mostly yapping,
Yet…
I laugh at the silly things,
Obviously.
I understand myself.
…sometimes.
How often do I say that?
That I’m fine?
It sticks like matte..
Ha. How funny.
How easy is it to sound silly?
How easy it is
To seem all fine and ****
Maybe something is wrong with me.
Who am I kidding?
Why am I like this?
Why is this all I can give–?
All I ever do?
I should change,
Oh, I know!
So why cant I do so?
The lack of importance i have for things,
Yet I complain and cry at the edge of it.
Holy shit–I’m aware,
But is that really fair?
I know what I’m doing.
I can name these feelings.
I can dissect the causes.
I can tell what’s wrong.
I joke about it,
That part much obvious.
And still,
I stay here.
Knowing the answer
But refuse to write it down.
Maybe that’s the problem.
Just knowing,
And calling it enough.
May 3
May 3, 2026 at 5:02 AM UTC
Once burned like a bright fire,
a passion so fierce,
attached to me like wire.
I chased it's light,
lost in rhythm, lost in its maze.
But time has a way of changing hearts,
softens the edges, slowing the sparks,
I watched the fire dim,
the passion fades–
silent moments start to invade.
A distant passion fueled every waking beat,
A passion that deemed a lifeline,
the will that made me feel ‘live.
killed by the bearer itself,
lost in a hollow heart
where it once dwelled.
I pursue It’s meaning,
maybe It’s still here,
just… hiding,
Somewhere I can’t see.
This–I can’t align,
the passion’s pulse no longer mine.
Now in its place, a void resides,
a gnaw of grief,
oneself still denies,
what kind of a heart I have,
a heart that divides.
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 11:20 AM UTC
You called me slow,
Said I miss the obvious.
Truth is,
I was just the audience,
pretending I didn’t already know
The next scene in this show.
Funny how that almost worked out.
Goodmornings and goodnights,
Hellos and goodbyes.
Every.
****
Chance.
Tall *******
Every **** chance you got,
You made me guess who you admired,
Asked questions about myself,
Masked as curiosity,
Suited in nuance
It was all in plain sight,
You just waited for a time,
The perfect moment,
For the perfect rhyme.
And I may have given it
At just not the right chime.
Because here’s the discrepancy;
I’m not ready for labeling.
I’ve learned to say no
Before knowing why.
Years and years even before.
I noticed the way your eyes linger,
Started thinking I was this ‘her’
You always mention.
How it caught my attention.
But I am not her.
I cannot bend to the shape
Of someone else’s expectation.
I am still learning
How to own my edges,
How to carry my own light
Without apology.
I’m sorry.
For I might never be ready.
I respect you,
But I owe myself first
The space to be complete
Without fitting into your rhyme.
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 9:58 AM UTC
‘Where to, miss?’
the girl heard beside her,
stepping into the frisk, empty bus
a driver sat by the wheel,
he looked…
uncannily surreal…?
‘just drive.’
a drowsy tone, from the girl
and a reply of a hum,
from the driver or the aircon?
not that she took care.
Sat soundly at the back,
staring out the window,
the girl saw her–
Not her reflection–no.
But it all seemed…
Familiar?
She couldn't find the words.
‘your first stop!’
The bus revved to a halt.
outside–a girl in a stall.
eating alone, poor her.
Does she not have a cafeteria seat?
not that she seemed to care.
she looked fine and stared,
eating her lunch in silence.
‘Right, next stop!’ said the good ‘ol driver.
Before she could name the feeling,
the bus lurched forward—
doors hissing shut,
the world dragged backward.
The jolt crawled up her spine.
that sent shivers down the gut.
The ride fell quiet.
Not peaceful–just held.
She leaned forward.
The bus slowed, then stopped.
Outside again—her.
Only this time, she wasn’t alone.
A woman stood beside her,
familiar in the way old wounds are.
A mother, maybe?
Their voices clashed.
“You’re a mistake—you were never planned.”
The words crashed.
The girl outside stayed still.
Processing.
“Alright,” she said—
a neutrality that shook.
The girl sat in shock
Yet again, the bus moves on.
The doors hissing shut.
Why was she seeing these?
why are these scenes
…Familiar?
No–that’s nonsense.
Why feel anything?
‘Strange, awful lot of traffic today…’
The driver muttered.
The girl looked confused,
The road was clear as day…
Does he mean anything that astrays?
‘Finally, here we are.’
‘A…school admission…?’
asked the girl.
Silence was all that met.
Only for a few moments;
‘Scared to fail?
It’s a prestigious one–
Viewed highly and beloved.’
Asked the driver in this…tone…
Looking forward the girl,
In the rearview mirror,
She saw a pair of eyes
Again–that familiar figure.
…Something felt amiss.
The stillness of this ride,
Uncomfortability resides.
‘You know, miss…’
The driver started.
That **** tone.
The girl couldn’t name it.
It irked in her head.
Without a thought,
‘Who are you?’
Not a question
A demand.
Silence followed.
‘There’s no traffic.’
The girl started once more.
‘There’s no elsewhere.
no more ********
The girl went ahead, standing up from her seat.
‘Who.are.you.
And why do you take me places–
These places that are dead–’
The bus slowed,
Arriving at the final stop.
At last, she met his eyes
Her eyes,
Her very own eyes…
The driver snapped.
“You want someone to blame?”
She barked.
“Fine. Blame the version of you–
The one that chose disbelief
because it was easier
than trying and being wrong.”
The girl fell silent,
Her eyes were empty as she waited.
‘Well?’ asked the driver.
‘There you are again–’
“Stop pretending you were helpless,”
the driver spat.
“You memorized their words,
sharpened them,
and used them on yourself
better than they ever could.”
‘...’
“You don’t hate yourself,”
he said.
“You’re just addicted to the excuse.’
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 1:42 AM UTC
It began the day the God arrived,
Golden-mouthed, laurel-bright,
Pressing a future into my palms
And calling it a ‘gift’.
They said I was chosen.
They said few are.
A city with marble gates
Opened its doors and called me worthy.
I believed them.
Oh, my dear Circe.
Why wouldn’t I?
Even Cassandra,
Once mistook prophecy–
For little mercy.
Yet even as the wreath was placed,
Something tightened in my chest—
As if Apollo was already asking for more
Than I knew how to give.
God, he did linger.
The light at the tip of my fingers.
Apollo spoke softly to me,
His own way of excellency.
A devoted hunger,
The sleepless nights I hoped not to blunder.
‘Be excellent,
Be tireless–
There’s not a single stress–
…
Know this to yourself.’
I simply nod,
God's words stuck.
I obeyed,
Stayed in the shade.
Not because I wanted to,
But God’s–
They don’t wait in lieu.
I did so.
I stayed,
I aimed to know
What felt like a crusade.
But I would not soften for it,
For it took every ounce
To remain standing ‘neath the sun.
And still,
It wasn't enough.
Drained of my will,
Consumed by bluffs.
The gift soured.
The light began to fade,
These lines–oh I can’t refrain.
Of course, not all at once–
Even Gods are patient…
And it takes time to slowly rot.
Not long enough for this to remain ancient.
They began to say I was difficult.
Uncooperative.
Too sharp for grace.
That I spoke too much of collapse
And not enough gratitude.
The light thinned,
The wreath grew heavy,
The desire skinned me.
Even Cassandra,
I am reminded,
Was adored before she was dismissed—
Before her truth became inconvenient.
I still saw clearly.
That was the punishment.
Each warning I offered
Returned to me as an accusation.
Each doubt I named–
It was proof I did not deserve the light.
So I learned restraint.
I learned silence.
I learned to swallow prophecy
Until it tasted like guilt.
And somewhere between obedience and erasure,
I stopped asking
Whether the God had asked too much—
And began asking
What was wrong with me
For not surviving it so beautifully.
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 10:40 AM UTC
“I don’t know”.
An eternal answer to every question,
It just feels standard,
Nothing more.
Her jokes and childishness; imminent,
The next a river flowing down her cheeks,
Hurtful phrases leave her lips,
Next she’s back with great bliss.
A labyrinth of emotions,
Too vast to even understand
To remember directions–or reasons,
Walls she never meant to demand,
Ways she can’t navigate,
Responses she can’t explain,
“I… don’t know…”
A version that fits for them,
That's what she offered.
Her insides condemned
Into this spiral–this pattern,
One that she can’t decipher.
Shit–her facade slipped,
They asked her “what’s wrong?”
fuck–I wish there were instructions,
What should I say?
“I’m fine”? But that contradicts–
The words choked my throat strong
I just–wanted an introduction…
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 10:21 AM UTC
Fragments of my mind,
Whichever you find
Alluring along with your time.
Just–not all of these may rhyme.
Fragments of my mind
Written as they came,
Take whatever resonates.
Leave the rest.
For the structure is…
A bit of a mess.
Fragments of my mind
Never was I good at “saying” aloud,
This was what I made with muffled sounds.
Each line, written while trying
Failing
And trying.
Some are written in other perspectives,
Feelings that I didn’t experience,
But from the ones I cherish.
To them I treasure,
I hope my messages were sent
And don’t worry–
You don’t owe me a cent.
Words and lines of this piece,
May not be sublime, or always refined.
But, they are honest,
And they are mine.
I hope you find meaning,
In these cacophonies
That I have managed to rhyme.
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 10:05 AM UTC
I go by Lucienne,
Nothing long,
Nothing too complicated.
I am a student at current,
Finding ways to write at best
Even if it feels adlib-ed.
When it comes to words,
I lean onto poetry.
I wouldn’t say I’ve suffered greatly,
Not like Sylvia Plath.
Nor seen things as dark,
Not as Edgar Allan Poe would have.
Still,
I find meaning in the words I know.
The longer works,
Ones I read under the Dao trees
Sat under the leaf shades,
All so quietly sustained.
Each page lingered,
Each word failing to wither.
For me
The city lights shone bright,
The city lights glittered in my eyes.
More things to write about,
Oh, how I love living
With my head somewhere in the clouds.
Maybe for now,
"Lucienne” is just a sound,
One that I carry around
But maybe one day,
It will be something that astounds.
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 10:00 AM UTC