Be a man.
**** it up.
That’s what they tell you
when your hands shake
and your chest feels hollow.
“No pain.
You’re delusional.
You’re weak.”
So you bite your tongue
till it bleeds quiet,
swallow every feeling
like it’s something to be ashamed of.
Take these meds.
You’ll feel better.
But the numbness spreads
like winter through your veins,
until you can’t tell
if your heart stopped hurting
or just stopped feeling.
Bottle it up.
Hold it in.
Keep smiling.
Even when your right hand goes numb
from punching walls
that never hit back.
Even when the headache pounds
like guilt behind your eyes.
“You’re just like your dad,”
they say,
as if pain is inherited,
as if breaking was destiny.
And still—
you hide the blade,
call that survival,
call that strength.
Because men don’t cry, right?
Men endure.
Men rot in silence
while everyone claps for how well they carry it.
Nobody cares.
That’s the lesson.
If you open up,
they laugh.
At your voice.
Your body.
The parts of yourself
you already learned to hate first.
So be a man.
**** it up.
Smile through the numbness.
And pray
there’s still something human left in you
May 22
May 22, 2026 at 4:27 AM UTC
My heart is dead
My mind is busy
My body is shaking
As I am scared
As I am sad
As I am trapped
As I am trapped in my sadness and I am scared
Parasites running through my veins
Parasites that won't leave me to my own pain
I am in my head
A head filled with parasites
I am SAD
and I am dead
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 11:56 PM UTC
I'm in love I say
as her eyes gaze at mine
my love for u will stay
until I perish or fall
or have a sword straight though my brain
My heart will not grow small
As u help my heart beat once more
my spark was once ash
Like a smoke all done
Like flower in the winter
i was like a dead son
But u grew my spark
And now i can love
I love you
I love the way you are
I love the way you talk
I love that you don't blame me for my insecurities
Or tell me to shut up
I love u J
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 9:37 PM UTC
my vision is gone as my eyes are shut
As I try to sleep
Black is better than purple I’d say
I'm stuck with my thoughts
It is quiet
Too quiet for this
No screaming
No yelling
No Punches thrown
black is not a color but a sense of home
I am at peace
But this is not home
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 8:22 PM UTC
I have no name
but I live in your stomach
Weighing you down
Not letting u eat
Not letting u sleep
I am unnamed
But u will know I'm here
I am pride
I am greed
I am lust
I am anger
I am the 7 sins you carry around
The shame
The guilt
I will not leave
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 9:38 PM UTC
If I'm a man
Can I cry
Cry I cry in your arms
I just want to cry
But I am a man
1,400 a day
Why can I not speak up
My thoughts don't come out
My throat will not shout
My head is numb
if I am a man can I CRY
1,400 a day
720,000 a year
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 9:20 PM UTC
Therapy should help
But why do I feel so ****
Why do I feel numb
I want feel
Not just happy
Not just sad
I want to feel
But how do I feel
When I’m dosed up on meds
Meds make me feel numb
I want feel
Not just happy
Not just sad
I want to feel something
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 12:46 AM UTC
If you're fighting the devil
Is ****** ok
What if the devil u see
Has a wife and kids
That won't have a pops too live with
Why **** when you can help
But no thats not up to you to figure out
your ears are ringing
from all the guns going off
how unfortunate you must be
to suffer a fate
worse than death
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 7:01 PM UTC
Working with people smarter than you is a blessing, not a threat—
but listen closely,
because not everyone who shines is gold,
and not everyone who is loud carries light.
There are two kinds of minds in every room.
One arrives quietly,
takes a seat without claiming the throne,
observes before speaking,
listens like the world is still worth learning from.
This one does not interrupt—
because wisdom knows timing.
Her words are few,
but when they fall,
they land like rain on dry soil.
Nothing wasted.
Nothing forced.
She does not sharpen her tongue to look intelligent,
she sharpens her understanding to be humane.
She knows knowledge is borrowed,
but wisdom is earned in blood, tears, and survival.
She has forgotten facts—
dates, formulas, definitions—
but she remembers people.
She remembers pain.
She remembers what it means to choose kindness
when cruelty was easier.
That is intelligence with depth.
That is a mind filled to the brim.
And then—
there is the other.
The one who enters loud,
dragging her ego like armor,
needing the room to know
she is the smartest here.
She speaks in declarations,
not conversations.
Her voice echoes,
but nothing echoes back.
She confuses volume with value,
confidence with credibility.
She insults to elevate herself,
steps on others to feel tall.
Her words clatter—
metal on metal—
empty, restless, desperate to be heard.
She calls it intelligence,
but it is only noise.
Like an empty can kicked down the street,
she rattles because there is nothing inside.
No weight.
No depth.
No wisdom earned through living.
She knows facts,
but not feelings.
She cites sources,
but not compassion.
She remembers everything—
except how it feels to be human.
That is not intelligence.
That is performance.
Because real wisdom does not bully.
Real wisdom does not humiliate.
Real wisdom does not need witnesses.
The truly smart never announce themselves—
they are recognized in silence.
They uplift without keeping score.
They correct without cruelty.
They understand that experience
is a teacher no book can replace.
And the dummy—
the one who thinks she owns the room—
does not realize
that wisdom is heavy,
and empty things always make the most noise.
So listen carefully.
If it rattles,
it is hollow.
If it screams,
it is afraid.
But if it is quiet,
steady,
and grounded—
that is a mind filled with wisdom.
And that is the smartest presence in the room.
Working with people smarter than you
is a blessing, not a threat.
But sometimes,
the person who thinks she is the smartest in the room
is the dummy.
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 8:27 PM UTC
The way flowers twist
to face the afternoon sun,
I’ll do the same to you.
So steady my stem
of fine thorns raised
against the rain
as I tend a loveless field
of perennials where
only I remain.
With little left for this ground,
I give you my eyes too.
What I built to keep you
in my heart
is why I no longer feel the sun.
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 8:11 PM UTC