heartsfromkate - Hello Poetry

Our concrete world entraps souls of feathers and fur, beaks and snouts, paws and hindlimbs. Unforgiving, Confusing, Brutal. Trapped in an endless maze created not for them, but for us. So how can we blame them for our mess? For our hopelessness and terror, Setting fire to their homes, Chopping down their lives and calling it the ‘fruits of our labor’ To say that their trees are our money— we are the true monsters, and Mother Earth would surely thrive without us.

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Feb 18

Feb 18, 2026 at 12:45 AM UTC

concrete world

Our concrete world entraps souls of feathers and fur, beaks and snouts, paws and hindlimbs. Unforgiving, Confusing, Brutal. Trapped in an endless maze created not for them, but for us. So how can we blame them for our mess? For our hopelessness and terror, Setting fire to their homes, Chopping down their lives and calling it the ‘fruits of our labor’ To say that their trees are our money— we are the true monsters, and Mother Earth would surely thrive without us.

12

I could lapse the minutes in which I breathe, find the words I ought to have said that day. The breath of your love, the whisper of your hatred, You had told me, “Love can exist in the quietest of places, left unsaid, but still felt...” Only in your absence did I begin to feel it, I had been lying to myself all along.

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Feb 11

Feb 11, 2026 at 12:34 AM UTC

right person, wrong time

I could lapse the minutes in which I breathe, find the words I ought to have said that day. The breath of your love, the whisper of your hatred, You had told me, “Love can exist in the quietest of places, left unsaid, but still felt...” Only in your absence did I begin to feel it, I had been lying to myself all along.

6

Walls are certain. Strong, solid, safe. A grounding presence compared to the vast world outside, only seen beyond the glass panes just beside me. Chipping paint that has seen better days. Upholding doors that creak when opened too slowly. Swaddling my mind with the security of knowing. My fingers scrape against the rugged texture, finding that I indefinitely am still human, still real— as when I pull my fingertips back, they return to me ****** Here, I am safe. Confined by these four walls, and a locked door. The world beyond cannot reach me now.

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Jan 6

Jan 6, 2026 at 12:25 AM UTC

walls

Walls are certain. Strong, solid, safe. A grounding presence compared to the vast world outside, only seen beyond the glass panes just beside me. Chipping paint that has seen better days. Upholding doors that creak when opened too slowly. Swaddling my mind with the security of knowing. My fingers scrape against the rugged texture, finding that I indefinitely am still human, still real— as when I pull my fingertips back, they return to me ****** Here, I am safe. Confined by these four walls, and a locked door. The world beyond cannot reach me now.

11

Attaching yourself to me, like a leech. ******* every little ounce of energy right out of me. You enjoy me, obsess over me. It’s always about my eyes, my hair, my habits. How my voice sounds, my twinge of an accent on certain vowels, my giggly laugh. You like the concept of who I am. That I’m easy, easily acceptable, not much to question. A label that can be easily swallowed, contained— controlled. The idea of my ‘lack of flaws’ is intriguing to you, my many talents I choose to keep hidden to most. But you saw it, saw too much of it And now you’re caught.

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Dec 5, 2025

Dec 5, 2025 at 1:38 AM UTC

the idea of me

Attaching yourself to me, like a leech. ******* every little ounce of energy right out of me. You enjoy me, obsess over me. It’s always about my eyes, my hair, my habits. How my voice sounds, my twinge of an accent on certain vowels, my giggly laugh. You like the concept of who I am. That I’m easy, easily acceptable, not much to question. A label that can be easily swallowed, contained— controlled. The idea of my ‘lack of flaws’ is intriguing to you, my many talents I choose to keep hidden to most. But you saw it, saw too much of it And now you’re caught.

11

Chewing on metal, I can’t feel it settle. This odd object paces Passing so many faces, Lodging itself into mine— Will I ever be fine? Cracking my skull, As if I were simply a bull. I hear the cries, But all that weeps, dies. My eyes are dark, I guess the bullet finally made its mark.

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Nov 29, 2025

Nov 29, 2025 at 4:03 AM UTC

bullet wound

Chewing on metal, I can’t feel it settle. This odd object paces Passing so many faces, Lodging itself into mine— Will I ever be fine? Cracking my skull, As if I were simply a bull. I hear the cries, But all that weeps, dies. My eyes are dark, I guess the bullet finally made its mark.

12

I have a secret plan. Listen to me If you can Sneaking into the faraway Though so forgetful I would be a runaway If it wasn’t so dreadful. I’d have been gone long ago, Far into the unknown, Would you like to know?

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Nov 29, 2025

Nov 29, 2025 at 3:20 AM UTC

secret plan

I have a secret plan. Listen to me If you can Sneaking into the faraway Though so forgetful I would be a runaway If it wasn’t so dreadful. I’d have been gone long ago, Far into the unknown, Would you like to know?

10

Laying in your arms, Breathing in your deepest of sighs, My heart content to be laid bare amongst yours, The convergence of love, Entwined together, Within countless lifetimes I seek you, A tapestry of stars, aligned, starting with our souls as one.

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Nov 9, 2025

Nov 9, 2025 at 6:42 PM UTC

soul tapestries

Laying in your arms, Breathing in your deepest of sighs, My heart content to be laid bare amongst yours, The convergence of love, Entwined together, Within countless lifetimes I seek you, A tapestry of stars, aligned, starting with our souls as one.

7

I once knew how to linger in this peace, how to let silence fill the void surrounding the hollow rifts in my mind. However no longer, I fill these empty spaces with words of regret, ritually repeated regret. Misinformed blather of what could’ve been, or how one possibility affected the present that is our now. Silence is not a semblance of peace in these times, it is a sign of my agony.

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Oct 14, 2025

Oct 14, 2025 at 3:26 PM UTC

silence

I once knew how to linger in this peace, how to let silence fill the void surrounding the hollow rifts in my mind. However no longer, I fill these empty spaces with words of regret, ritually repeated regret. Misinformed blather of what could’ve been, or how one possibility affected the present that is our now. Silence is not a semblance of peace in these times, it is a sign of my agony.

7

am I still alive? after all of this time, these minutes, hours, and months—have stretched beyond what is real. this never-ending feeling of dread. this sharp stitch sewn deeply into my heart, splintering at my aorta. limping in the semblance of what I used to be, burying my memories as a personal sort of self-sabotage. In my mind, I died a long time ago.

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Sep 20, 2025

Sep 20, 2025 at 11:48 PM UTC

i died years ago

am I still alive? after all of this time, these minutes, hours, and months—have stretched beyond what is real. this never-ending feeling of dread. this sharp stitch sewn deeply into my heart, splintering at my aorta. limping in the semblance of what I used to be, burying my memories as a personal sort of self-sabotage. In my mind, I died a long time ago.

6

They’re aren’t intelligent, they are a product of the system— of what it wants them to be. They don’t know differentiation— only order and structure. The exact type of people to first fall for fallacy. Obsessive studying, ruminating on pointless math problems. That doesn’t measure intelligence. How would they navigate through a life or death situation? Would an utterly made-up math equation help them? Would knowing the exact site of mitosis help them when a gun is held against their temple? They are mind-slaves, meant to think they are more than what they actually are; pointless prodigies.

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Sep 9, 2025

Sep 9, 2025 at 9:16 AM UTC

pointless prodigies

They’re aren’t intelligent, they are a product of the system— of what it wants them to be. They don’t know differentiation— only order and structure. The exact type of people to first fall for fallacy. Obsessive studying, ruminating on pointless math problems. That doesn’t measure intelligence. How would they navigate through a life or death situation? Would an utterly made-up math equation help them? Would knowing the exact site of mitosis help them when a gun is held against their temple? They are mind-slaves, meant to think they are more than what they actually are; pointless prodigies.

9