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Lyra Callen Aug 18
Bitter is the tongue of night,
it drips tar upon the veins of thought
yet in its aftertaste,
a strange nectar lingers,
a sweetness that only the wounded
truly savor.

To drink bitterness is to drink truth;
it burns,
it claws,
it strips the mouth of comfort
but beneath its ruthless edge
lies a candied shard of clarity.

For the heart that knows bitterness
is the heart that has tasted
the world without disguise.
Its sweetness is not sugar,
but awakening
a quiet poison transfigured
into medicine.

So I sip,
slow, unflinching,
from this dark chalice.
And though my lips twist in revolt,
my soul,
strangely,
learns to smile.
Lyra Callen Aug 18
She watched them walk away,
not with rage, not with tears,
but with the hollow ache
of something that was never hers.

It was bitter
like coffee left too long in the ***,
like rain on the night you wanted fire.
Every memory stung sharp on the tongue,
every promise curdled into silence.

Yet
in that bitterness,
something ripened.
She tasted her own freedom,
how light the air was
when no longer laced with their shadow.
How silence could cradle her
better than their careless words.

The sweetness came not from them,
but from the poison they left behind,
a strange alchemy:
the venom turned to medicine,
the ashes to soil.

And when poison begins to heal you,
you find the wound never vanishes
it burns, it scars, it whispers
yet in the ruin,
a strange light seeps through,
like a lantern made of bone,
guiding you deeper into yourself.

Bitterness, she realized,
is not the opposite of sweet
it is the secret seasoning
that makes sweetness real.
Lyra Callen Aug 18
You don’t feel sorry
when perhaps you should.
Your wrongdoing is not small
you tried to ruin life.

But sorry?
You failed.
I rose.
And I don’t need your apology.

You need more
to set yourself free,
because I already know
how to make things work for me..

It doesn’t hurt as much as it might,
because I have learned to understand.

I questioned, I thought critically,
not to oppose you for the sake of it,
but to seek the truth,
to understand better.

If your truth stands against mine,
it is not my fault.
I had to think for myself
to truly know, to truly grow.
Lyra Callen Aug 17
In forests wide, I walked alone,
seeking a place I could call my own.
The path was silent, the night was deep,
yet the questions in me refused to sleep.

Some found the road within their chest,
and the stars themselves gave them rest.
But those who never faced their soul
were burned by the journey that took its toll.

I too was thirsty for the peak,
no comfort, no hand, no voice to speak.
I lost myself in a fleeting desire,
and my pain dissolved into quiet fire.
Lyra Callen Aug 17
I was the one
from the first breath I ever drew.
I should have chosen me
before anyone, anything,
before the world whispered in my ears.

I forgot to be
forgot to love me,
forgot that I am the one
who deserves to stay,
stay till the end of my own time.

I stood against myself,
fought the very soul
that should have been my ally.
Where the hell did I learn
to betray my own heart?

I should be free
to do whatever the hell I want.
I should decide,
not let someone else hold the pen
to the story of my life.

I should take myself back,
I should claim myself again,
because I am the one who remains.

And I will remain
shattered, broken, whole, healed,
loving, hating, fierce, raw.
I will remain with me,
till the end of time,
till the last heartbeat,
till the world forgets my name,
I am here.
I am mine.
I remain.
This is for anyone who has ever lost themselves,
for anyone who has ever forgotten their own worth,
for anyone who has held on too tight to someone else
and let themselves slip away.

May these words remind you
that before anyone else,
before the world and its demands,
you must choose yourself.

You are the one who remains
through heartbreak, through healing,
through every storm and every quiet moment.
You are yours.
Never let yourself forget it.
Lyra Callen Aug 17
It was dark,
but before the dark, it was bright.
You came like a ray of hope,
like sunlight spilling through a shuttered window,
and for a moment,
the world made sense again.

I was happy.
I got used to you.
I let you in, piece by piece,
like someone desperate for warmth.

But then,
you left like a shadow swallowing the light,
and everything turned dark again.
Cold. Empty. Silent.

The fault wasn’t all yours
it was mine,
for letting my heart settle there,
for getting used to the comfort of you.

Holding your hand was not the wrong I did,
but clutching it too tightly was
I should have steadied myself,
should have been enough for me first.
At the very next moment, I could have held your hand
without losing myself,
but foolish me…
I chose you
before I chose me.

And now I see:
I was the one.
The one who let go of herself
in the hope of keeping you.
The one who burned a little too bright
and forgot that light dims
if it’s not tended from within.

I was the one.
And maybe, someday,
I will be the one
who finds herself again.
Music truly inspires, because even if a scene has never taken place in real life, in an artist’s mind anything is possible. I wrote this because of a beautiful piano melody and the idea it gave birth to within me. I’m grateful to the Lord for giving us this ability—to imagine, to create, and to feel beyond what’s tangible and with this here goes another piece.



Music inspires in ways words alone cannot.
Even if a scene has never touched reality,
in the mind of an artist, anything blooms.
I wrote this born from a piano’s gentle melody,
from the world of fiction that stirred life within me.
Grateful, I praise the Lord
for gifting us the power to imagine,
to create,
and to feel beyond the boundaries of what's real.
Lyra Callen Aug 13
they say god is love
they say god is light
but i see men twist his words
like broken mirrors
reflecting their own greed

they hold the book
like a weapon
swing it over heads
turning prayers into chains
turning hope into fear

they sell forgiveness
like coins at the market
while their hands
are stained with the lives
they destroy in silence

they teach love
but practice war
they teach mercy
but practice cruelty
they call it devotion
but it is only power

i see candles burn
but the smoke smells of lies
the incense curls around deceit
and i know
they are sinning in his name

god does not need gold
god does not need fear
god lives in the wind
in the rain
in the quiet moments
in the scream of truth

i will not kneel to their masks
i will not bow to their towers
i will walk in the sun
i will speak in honesty
i will love without guilt
i will believe without chains

their prayers are empty
but mine are alive
and in my truth
i find the faith
that burns true
and cannot die
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