Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Keegan 1d
Before I knew myself, I was
No name, no shame, no need for cause.
I laughed without a second glance,
I danced through life in mindless trance.

The world was soft, the lines were blurred,
No inner voice, no angry words.
No fear, no doubt to cage my breath
No thoughts of time, no thoughts of death.

But then it struck without a sign,
A single thought that wasn’t mine.
Who are you? whispered in my head,
And just like that, the old me fled.

I saw myself raw, exposed,
A puzzle no one ever chose.
The child I was began to fade,
Replaced by silence, sharp as blade.

I noticed eyes, and tones, and stares
And felt the weight of unasked cares.

I questioned how I used to live
How could I ever just forgive
A world so vast, so cold, so loud,
Yet I had floated in that cloud.

I can’t describe it all
No thunderclap, no voice to call.
Just something clicked, and I could see:

And now I carry what I know,
A truth that doesn't let me go.
A scar of thought I cannot share
Life was great before I was self-aware.
Keegan Sep 22
I lie in the dark,
chasing sleep that slips away.
Thoughts scatter like headlights on wet pavement,
and behind my closed eyes,
tears drift down slow
a rain I never asked for.

Then the dream takes me.
Memories distort
colors bleeding into one another.
For a moment, I almost believe.
I smile in that fragile light,
as if the past had stitched itself whole again.

Daylight arrives, pale and quiet.
I wake uncertain,
as if something slipped away
in the space between sleeping and breathing.

It rains in quiet colors
blue against the blinds,
silver on the floorboards
a weather only I can feel.
Keegan Sep 16
You are in the air,
woven into the quiet fabric of autumn.
Every breath I take carries you
the crisp bite of fall leaves,
the hush of branches trembling in wind.

You move through me like a secret,
unseen by others,
but I feel you
in the rise of my chest,
in the echo that lingers where silence rests.

When no one’s around,
you become everything:
the weightless drift of leaves in their final descent,
the wind that bends the trees,
the unseen current.

I breathe you into my lungs,
You settle deeper,
into my heart,
into my mind,
into the place where memory meets dream,
where presence feels eternal
though the world cannot see.
Keegan Sep 14
I wake with the sunlight bleeding in,
my chest rising like a slow-burning hymn.
The first inhale lifts me
high enough to feel infinite,
low enough to still taste the earth
on my tongue.

Thoughts drift easy,
like smoke curling from a match,
like the glow of headlights
on an empty road
They don’t ask where I’m going
they just lead me
back to what I know I love.

I set my intentions quiet,
like notes scribbled in the margins
of a worn out journal.
a compass carved
from the pulse in my veins.

The walls hum,
the world bends soft,
and every dream I ever had
feels close enough to touch.
This is my art of living:
to follow the haze,
to chase the beauty,
to trust my intuition
Keegan Sep 4
Sometimes I wish
I carried this wisdom back then,
when questions rattled inside me
like unstrung bells.

Now, the answers feel obvious,
glowing like constellations
I had been staring at all along
without knowing their names.

I understood you deeply,
but only to the depth
I had reached in myself.

My own unfinished self
set the horizon of my knowing,
a shallow tide holding back
the ocean I could not yet breathe.

Now I see how infinite it always was

Hindsight glows like a lantern
revealing the obvious
that once lived in shadows:
that you were never a riddle,
only a mirror,
and I was the one still learning
how to see.
Keegan Aug 20
The anima you stirred does not live in simple light,
but in the hidden currents beneath thought,
where memory folds into longing,
and every silence carries the weight of what was once spoken.

You carved new pathways in me,
a symmetry of tenderness and defiance,
teaching my soul to bend without breaking,
to find music even in fracture,
to trust that beauty is not always gentle,
but always real.

Through your presence,
imagination grew teeth and wings,
dreams no longer sat quietly in corners
they demanded to be chased,
to be sung,
to be lived.

What I carry now is more than reflection,
it is a pulse,
a vision sharpened by the way you looked at the world,
a map inked in colors only you could draw,
reminding me that wonder is not an escape
but the truest way back home.
Keegan Aug 11
I have lived at the edges of myself,
where storms meet silence,
where the pendulum swings
between too much and not enough
never finding that gentle place
they call center.

My body remembers every earthquake,
every sudden drop,
every moment I was too small
or too loud for this world.
Now it flinches at stillness,
searches for familiar chaos
in the quiet of ordinary days.

I take my vitamins,
count my steps like rosary beads,
measure sleep in careful hours,
eat the colors that promise healing
but my nervous system
still hums with ancient alarms,
still mistakes peace
for the eye of a storm.

What is normal
when you've been stretched
between breaking points?
When calm feels like waiting
for the other shoe to drop?
When your body speaks a language
of hypervigilance
that no amount of green tea
can translate back to rest?

Some days I am a tightrope walker
on a wire made of breath,
balancing between
the exhaustion of too much feeling
and the hollow ache
of feeling nothing at all.
Next page