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The petals are plucked,
The seeds are dry,
the earth is ******,
and I am a weapon with peace to find?
am I a grave?
Merely a passive shrug to life's incessant rave
God truly I am withered!
While I am to console others petals that fall
Is my happiness a smiling face?
It is the momentary death I taste?
When I scar my leaves
While my hopelessness I tease.
Pastries, mince pies,
Cakes & pudding,
Sweets & jellies,
Turkey & stuffing.
Drinking Bailey's,
Eating iced cake,
Going to Times Square for a skate.
They looked at me & saw too little,
Because I spoke with silence, not with sound,
They thought me weak, a quiet riddle,
But never saw the strength I'd found.
They whispered why I walked the room,
Gave sideways glances, crooked grins,
As if their noise could drown my bloom,
As if their pride erased my wins.
They called me less & laughed with ease,
Because I didn't fit their mold,
But I'm the calm within the breeze,
The ember that survives the cold.
I don't wear masks, don't chase their race,
I move with care, not false delight,
They mock the softness on my face,
But I was never made to fight
The way they do with egos blade,
I fight with truth, with heart, with grace.
I've been the scapegoat, overlooked
The girl they tried to twist & bend,
But every bruise they ever cooked,
Just made me truer in the end.
So let them talk & roll their eyes,
Let them brag and laugh and glare,
I'll stand beneath the judgement skies,
Still me, still rising, still rare.
My heartlet is crying, crying.
It means it’s hurt of lying.
It means it’s been stepped on again.
Its faith has been killed disdain.

And again it’s like an abandoned whelp
In a field of unmown grass with no help,
Is looking for path and crying, crying.
It means it’s in lots of pain. It’s dying.
Thank you for reading my poem!💖
Two mirrors poised, a fragile thread,
Where futures breathe and pasts are fed.
We step ahead, the glass refracts,
A backward echo, worlds react.

Choices bloom like sparks in night,
The antiverse adjusts its flight.
Every move, a tethered strain,
An unseen hand rewinds the chain.

We carve the path, we break the line,
Yet shadows shift to realign.
Forward strides in time’s embrace,
Backward whispers trace our place.

What freedom lights, the mirror bends,
To hold the balance fate defends.
A dance of echoes, push and pull,
Our boldest step, their gentle lull.

In cosmic halls where stillness shatters,
Symmetry bends, yet never scatters.
We change, we tilt, the tether quakes,
The antiverse rewinds mistakes.

And so we march with fleeting grace,
While mirrored pasts adjust their pace.
Two worlds entwined, one thread, one curse—
Forever bound, reflections in reverse.
Synopsis:
In the delicate equilibrium between the universe and its mirrored counterpart—the antiverse—our choices ripple beyond the boundaries of forward-moving time. Every step we take in the universe demands a mirrored recalibration in the antiverse, an intricate dance that ensures symmetry holds. But this symmetry comes with a moral obligation: a responsibility to honor the self that exists in reflection.

As we pursue desires, make decisions, and forge paths in the universe, the antiverse bends and backpedals to accommodate these actions. Our mirrored selves are burdened by the weight of choices we often make without reflection. If we act recklessly, we impose disorder on the mirrored timeline. If we betray our principles, we leave our antiverse counterpart to repair the damage—a silent architect reconstructing the balance we’ve disrupted.

This dynamic demands that we approach our decisions with intentionality and care. To act with integrity in the universe is to respect the mirrored self in the antiverse—a self that exists as an echo of our intentions, constantly striving to preserve a fragile harmony. Every choice we make isn’t isolated; it reverberates in reverse, tethering us to an obligation we cannot see, but which is essential to the continuity of existence.

The moral question becomes:
What do we owe to the self that mirrors us?
In honoring our better judgment, we protect not only our own path forward but also the delicate reality that adjusts behind us. To live without consideration is to shatter the reflection. To live thoughtfully is to ensure that both we—and our antiverse selves—thrive in tandem.

For in the end, we are bound together, two selves in two times, forever balancing the echoes we create.
When his brother came under attack :
First he did nothing
Secondly he rejoiced in his distress
Third he took advantage of his vulnerable state
Fourth he joined in the violence against him

One reaps what he sews
One gathers in return what he has given
He heaps destruction like ashes upon his head
As he is standing he is as good as dead
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