You loved in pieces,
never whole,
collecting hearts
like trophies on a shelf.
Every promise
was borrowed time,
every “forever”
a carefully crafted lie.
Now you walk alone,
surrounded by the ruins
of people who once
believed your name meant home.
5d ago
May 31, 2026 at 5:43 PM UTC
God,
I am begging You.
Not with the confidence
of a faithful man,
but with the trembling voice
of someone who has run out of answers.
I am tired.
Tired of telling people
that I am okay.
Tired of smiling through storms
that never seem to pass.
Tired of carrying a heart
that feels heavier
with every sunrise.
God,
I am begging You.
Please do not mistake my silence
for strength.
The truth is,
I have cried alone
more times than I can count.
I have stared at ceilings
late into the night,
wondering if my life
is ever going to change.
Every year,
I tell myself,
“Maybe this will be my season.”
And every year,
I watch another door close.
God,
I am begging You.
I do not need a perfect life.
I just need a sign
that I am not walking alone.
A sign that my prayers
have not been lost in the wind.
A sign that all this waiting
has a purpose.
Because some days
I feel like a candle
burning itself away
just to create a little light.
And I do not know
how much wax I have left.
I have watched people pass me by.
I have watched dreams die quietly.
I have watched hope leave
without saying goodbye.
Still,
I kneel before You.
Not because I understand.
Not because I am strong.
But because You are the last place
my broken heart knows to go.
So God,
if You can hear me,
find me here.
In this lonely chapter.
In this season of unanswered questions.
In this life that feels stuck
between who I was
and who I am supposed to become.
Touch the places inside me
that have grown cold.
Speak to the parts of me
that no longer believe
good things are coming.
And if I cannot see the road ahead,
carry me.
Because I am exhausted.
Because I am hurting.
Because I am trying.
And because tonight,
more than ever,
God,
I am begging You.
6d ago
May 30, 2026 at 8:34 AM UTC
God,
I am begging You.
Not with the confidence
of a faithful man,
but with the trembling voice
of someone who has run out of answers.
I am tired.
Tired of telling people
that I am okay.
Tired of smiling through storms
that never seem to pass.
Tired of carrying a heart
that feels heavier
with every sunrise.
God,
I am begging You.
Please do not mistake my silence
for strength.
The truth is,
I have cried alone
more times than I can count.
I have stared at ceilings
late into the night,
wondering if my life
is ever going to change.
Every year,
I tell myself,
“Maybe this will be my season.”
And every year,
I watch another door close.
God,
I am begging You.
I do not need a perfect life.
I just need a sign
that I am not walking alone.
A sign that my prayers
have not been lost in the wind.
A sign that all this waiting
has a purpose.
Because some days
I feel like a candle
burning itself away
just to create a little light.
And I do not know
how much wax I have left.
I have watched people pass me by.
I have watched dreams die quietly.
I have watched hope leave
without saying goodbye.
Still,
I kneel before You.
Not because I understand.
Not because I am strong.
But because You are the last place
my broken heart knows to go.
So God,
if You can hear me,
find me here.
In this lonely chapter.
In this season of unanswered questions.
In this life that feels stuck
between who I was
and who I am supposed to become.
Touch the places inside me
that have grown cold.
Speak to the parts of me
that no longer believe
good things are coming.
And if I cannot see the road ahead,
carry me.
Because I am exhausted.
Because I am hurting.
Because I am trying.
And because tonight,
more than ever,
God,
I am begging You.
6d ago
May 30, 2026 at 8:34 AM UTC
Not with rope,
not with pills,
not with the silence of locked rooms
but slowly,
the way rain destroys stone
without ever raising its voice.
Let the poet in you
ruin your sleep
with unfinished thoughts
and memories that return
like stray dogs at midnight.
Let him make you stare
too long at sunsets,
at train stations,
at people who were never yours
yet somehow left scars behind.
Let him turn your loneliness
into ink,
your heartbreak
into scripture,
your rage
into something beautiful enough
to survive you.
Because poets do not die once.
They die every time
they feel too much.
Every time they love
without being loved correctly.
Every time the world says
“move on”
while their soul is still writing
about the wound.
So let the poet in you **** you
if it means
you leave behind verses
that make strangers feel less alone
on nights
they almost disappeared themselves.
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 6:36 PM UTC
He walks like rain belongs to him,
like the clouds know his first name.
Every streetlight flickers twice
when he passes underneath.
A man of bad luck
keeps old receipts in his pockets,
not for money owed,
but for memories that never stayed.
He has loved people
who only visited his heart
like strangers stopping for shelter
during a storm.
The bus leaves when he arrives.
The calls come when he’s asleep.
His flowers die too early,
his good days never stay long enough
to learn their own names.
Still
he wakes up.
Still
he irons tomorrow into his shirt
and walks into the world
like hope has never betrayed him before.
Because maybe bad luck
is not the tragedy.
Maybe the tragedy
is how a gentle man
can survive so much disappointment
and still speak softly
to the world that keeps breaking him.
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 5:49 PM UTC
You keep folding tomorrow
into neat little promises,
placing dreams on shelves
like books you swear you’ll read someday.
You speak of sunsets
as if the sky signed a contract
to wait for you.
As if the people you love
will always answer the phone.
But life is a thief with soft footsteps.
It steals in silence
through missed chances,
unwritten poems,
unsent messages,
and hearts that grew tired of waiting.
One day you look around
and notice the music changed,
your mother grew older,
your friends became memories,
and the mirror learned your father’s face.
The tragedy is not that life is short.
It’s that you keep acting
like it isn’t.
So kiss slower.
Speak now.
Create recklessly.
Forgive before pride hardens.
Tell people what they meant to you
while they can still hear it.
Because the clock never argues,
never warns,
never pauses for grief.
It only moves.
And the problem is
you think you have time.
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 5:50 AM UTC
There are nights
where I sit with silence
like an unpaid debt,
counting every word
they threw at me
as if they were prophets
and I was born to fail.
“Loser.”
Such a small word
for something that can hollow out a man
from the inside.
They said it
when I loved too hard.
Said it
when I stayed too long.
Said it
when life bent my knees
and I couldn’t hide the shaking.
And after enough people
call you broken,
you start introducing yourself that way
to your own reflection.
So I walked through life
with my head lowered,
like the sky itself
had something against me.
I watched other men
move with certainty,
with money in their pockets,
with confidence in their smiles,
while I carried storms
inside my chest
and called it weakness.
No one tells you
how exhausting it is
to be a man
who is still trying to believe
he deserves softness too.
I became familiar
with self-hatred.
It sat beside me
during long drives home,
slept beside me at night,
followed me into mirrors
and whispered:
“You will never be enough.”
But still
somehow
I woke up every morning.
Still tied my shoes.
Still carried my scars
through another day.
Still searched for light
with tired eyes.
Maybe strength
is not loud after all.
Maybe strength
is a man
who has been called worthless
so many times
yet still chooses
not to disappear.
And maybe healing
starts the moment
he realizes
he was never a loser
just human,
just hurt,
just trying to survive
a world that taught him
to measure his worth
through the eyes
of people
who never truly saw him.
May 19
May 19, 2026 at 3:16 PM UTC
The hardest kind of tired
is not the one that sleeps away.
It is the kind that sits quietly
behind smiles,
behind “I’m fine,”
behind every laugh that arrives
a second too late.
Some nights
the world feels too loud to carry.
Every thought becomes static,
every memory a room
you no longer wish to enter.
You begin to wonder
what silence would feel like.
Not because you hate life,
but because life has held you
with such heavy hands
for far too long.
Yet somewhere
between the breaking
and the breathing
a small light remains.
A stubborn thing.
A fragile thing.
The part of you
that still watches sunsets,
still pauses at beautiful songs,
still hopes someone will notice
the ache behind your eyes.
So you stay.
Not because it is easy,
not because the pain disappears,
but because storms
have lied before.
They always say
they are forever.
And maybe tomorrow
will not heal everything.
Maybe the weight will still exist.
But maybe there will also be coffee in the morning,
music through headphones,
someone saying your name gently,
or a version of you
years from now
grateful that you held on
through this chapter.
So tonight,
do not log out.
Rest.
Cry.
Disappear from the noise if you must.
But remain here long enough
to see what becomes of you
when the darkness finally loosens its grip.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 6:45 AM UTC
Some days
life feels like a screen left open too long
too many tabs,
too many voices,
too many unfinished conversations
asking for pieces of you
you no longer know how to give.
So you begin to log out.
Not loudly.
Not with goodbyes or shattered glass.
Just slowly
like sunsets do.
Like a song fading from another room.
You stop explaining yourself.
Stop chasing people
who only loved the version of you
that never rested.
You let unread messages become silence, let expectations expire on their own.
And in the quiet,
you finally hear your own heartbeat again.
Logging out of life
is not always about leaving
sometimes it is about returning.
Returning to the parts of yourself
buried beneath pressure,
beneath performance,
beneath the exhausting need
to always be okay.
Maybe healing looks like disappearing for a while.
Maybe peace is found
in unanswered calls,
long walks alone,
or staring at the ceiling
without pretending you have a plan.
The world will continue scrolling.
People will continue posting happiness
like it never hurts to exist.
But you
you are allowed to pause.
You are allowed to breathe
without proving your worth.
And when you finally log back in,
perhaps you will not return
as the same person who left.
Perhaps you will return softer.
Wiser.
More honest.
A soul no longer begging to be chosen
because it finally chose itself.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 6:39 AM UTC
The world goes quiet at 2 a.m.
and your head gets loud enough to drown it.
It tells you this is the end of the line,
that logging out is the only way to turn it down.
But nights don’t get a vote.
They always end.
Stay for the way the dark gets thin at the edges.
Stay for the first bird that doesn’t know you’re hurting
and sings anyway.
Stay for the coffee that will taste like something
when your tongue remembers how.
You don’t have to feel better tonight.
You just have to stay in the room until morning
can argue its case.
One hour. One breath. One more sunrise
you get to see because you didn’t leave.
That’s enough. That’s everything.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 6:37 AM UTC