Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jul 9 Khoisan
Shawn Oen
I’m Sorry for the Storms (Now I See)

I never meant to bring you pain,
Or leave you standing in the rain.
But battles raged inside of me,
Fought in silence—PTSD.

The scars I carried, deep and wide,
Became the things I couldn’t hide.
And in the chaos, love got lost—
You paid the price, you took the cost.

I shut you out when you reached in,
Not knowing where to even begin.
I didn’t deal with all the weight,
And let the damage complicate.

But I’ve been facing what I feared,
With help from those who see things clear.
The professionals, the work, the time—
They’ve helped me climb out from the grime.

I see life now through steadier eyes,
Past all the pain, beneath the lies.
I see the good, the things I missed—
The warmth in your touch, the love in your kiss.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be the man
Who stood up strong, who calmly ran
To meet you where you needed me—
I wish I’d fought more fearlessly.

Still, every flower that I gave
Was born from love I couldn’t save.
Thousands bloomed from something true—
My heart was always full of you.

And I would give my life, still now,
For you and him—I made that vow.
I wasn’t perfect, but I tried,
And though it hurt, I didn’t deny.

If time could turn, if hearts could mend,
If grace could let old wounds transcend—
Just know I’m here, and heart sincere.
With open hands and vision clear.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.
The mirror never
saw me cry.
All my tears are hidden
deep within
the vaults of my heart.

Only happy tears
rest in my eyes
and fall down
when my lips smile.
 Jul 9 Khoisan
Immortality
Hidden garden,
owns its beauty,
flowers blossom,
our feelings intertwine.

Evening sun
kisses your glow,
deep eyes shine,
your soft smile flow.

Your hand in mine,
I wish forever.
sweet love note hidden in a garden....
Blossoms are the
Hopes and dreams
Attached to the thorny
Stems of life
We all have to climb
To smell the roses
I want you all to myself. Just the two of us wrapped in each others arms. Drenching in divine ecstasy as we melt into one form
To be the black sheep of the family —
what a terrible thing to be.

All the neighbors and relatives
heap praise on my super-successful siblings
and hurl insults at me
at the first chance they get.

I know all too well –
it is their jealousy of my siblings' success
that they take it out on me.

If success is measured by
money and fame,
I am not going to take that bait –
I am happy as I am.

Insult me all you can,
I can take it all in.
For you can only give
what you have,
and for that reason
I forgive you.

I remain the black sheep
of my family–
by choice,
at peace and forever free.
 Jul 7 Khoisan
Kezexxe
Expressing emotions,
From unseen explosions,
And flinching at motions.
Next page