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5h · 24
Caged Echoes
Oliver 5h
I wake to walls I did not build,
A space too small, a name too still.
They call me by a voice not mine,
A shape I wear, but never will.

The world beyond hums soft and bright,
A distant place I’ve yet to claim.
I trace its edges in my mind—
A whispered truth without a name.

The mirror shifts, the cracks run deep,
Yet in them, something starts to grow.
Not wings, not fins, but something else—
A self I’ve always seemed to know.

So let the door be rusted shut,
Let silence press against my skin.
I’ll carve a window with my hands—
And let the light come pouring in.
This Poem is about being trans and stuffs. I took some inspiration from the song Rule #4 - Fish in a Birdcage by Fish in a Birdcage.
Oliver 14h
My past is a story someone else wrote,
And I only have the torn pages—
Fragments without context,
A book with no beginning.

I chase memories like butterflies,
But they slip through my fingers,
Not fluttering away—no,
They were never there at all.

I know I love cartoons.
I know my mother made me a quilt,
Small, soft, still mine—
But now it sits folded away,
Replaced by a newer one,
Just as warm, just as loved.

She remembers when I was small.
She remembers the things I’ve lost.
And maybe that’s enough—
To have proof that I was,
Even when I can’t recall.

But where are the missing pieces?
The laughter in the backyard,
The whispered secrets,
The warmth of a childhood
That should be mine?

I sit with the silence,
Trying to stitch together
A story I was meant to remember.
But all I have are torn pages—
And I don’t know how the story goes.
I still have the quilt my mom made when I was young, a corner is bitten and torn cause I used to have a chewing problem. I have two more quilts each bigger than the last. I love them all with all my heart.

This is the first poem I wrote about myself, I hate writing about myself. I can never remember. I used to cry not being able to write stories in class like everyone else. mine were false made up not real like the others. they were meant to be real about our lives but I couldn't remember mine.

I can remember more than before but that part of my life is lost its gone and I don't know why. I wish there was an answer. I wish I had the solution to get them back. a while ago I remembered one memory from when I was little. I had ignored my mom's warnings not the play on the seemingly endless amount of chairs there were. I played had fun and fell there was a nail sticking out the side of one and it caught the skin of my leg. I don't remember what happened next or how I reacted or how I felt about it. I could have cried I could have smiled I could have pretended it didn't hurt as much as it did, but I don't know I don't remember. I wish i did even if it wasn't the best memory it was still mine and I can only remember part of it. I wish I could remember more than the few memories I have from when I was younger. I have less than what can be counted on one hand. they are my memories they are mine if only they thought so too.
Oliver 17h
I never knew you wore a mask,
Not one stitched of velvet and lace,
But something deeper, carved in silence,
A role you played without a stage.

They called you charming, bold, and bright,
A leading star in life's cruel play,
But now I sift through tattered pages—
Scripts you wrote, then cast away.

Each line rehearsed, each smile strained,
A careful act, a practiced art.
But somewhere in the endless stage,
You lost the echoes of your heart.

Did you ever dream of slipping out,
Of shedding costumes, painted grins?
Or did the role become so seamless
You forgot where it begins?

Your laughter filled the hollow halls,
Your voice rang sweet, devoid of doubt.
Yet I can see it now—between the lines,
A silent plea you dared not shout.

And when the curtain slowly fell,
Did you expect a standing cheer?
Or did you hope, in some cruel mercy,
That no one saw you disappear?

I found the notes you never spoke,
The truths you buried in your chest.
The world’s applause still lingers hollow,
Yet you have finally found your rest.

So take your bow, oh phantom friend,
Beneath the lights that burn so bright.
I only wish I'd seen you sooner,
Before you faded into night.
I like making story's and the story behind this poem is the speaker learns their late friend didn't really know who they were and felt like they were pretending to be someone they weren't. when the friend realized this it was already too late they didn't know what was really them and what was a forced act. the reason for the late friends death is up to you, it could be self inflicted or sickness, or any other reason.

When I was proof reading and finalizing this one it made me cry.

I came up with a few ideas for the title here they are
The Mask You Wore
Applause for a Ghost
Lines Unspoken
A Role Too Well Played
A Role Well Played
The Tragedy of You
Obviously I chose Applause for a Ghost but I like them all so I wanted to share what the potential titles could have been.
18h · 43
A Coursing Burn
Oliver 18h
A fire in my veins, it burns and spreads,
No solace found, my pain instead.
It courses through me, an unseen dread,
My heart beats hindered, slow and dead.

I gasp for air, my breath a plea,
To regulate, find sanctuary.
Isolation's grip, it smothers me,
Abandoned here, in misery.

The spreading burn, a growing blight,
My center bleeds, devoid of light.
Rot consumes me, without a doubt,
From inside out, it spills about.

My vision blurs, my words a mess,
Organs churn, enduring stress.
A fleeting glance, at moments past,
Life lived too fast, it couldn't last.

The forecast grim, my future bleak,
A question haunts, my soul to seek:
Was it all worth this fleeting chase?
I shunned the breaks, embraced the race.

Lost in the maze, of fleeting fears,
My peers' applause, drowned out my tears.
Exhausted, striving, never to stand out,
My grotesque form, a silent shout.

"Leave me," I begged, a final plea,
But now the burn consumes, sets me free.
I forgot I wrote this, I do remember I took heavy inspiration from the song Rotting by Sushi Soucy & Jada Valencia.
Oliver 18h
I frolic among ruins, my own creation
I dance with enemies long dead
Their ghosts still whisper condemnation,
I laugh at words unsaid.

A crown of thorns, a throne of dust,
I rule the wreckage with delight.
Let them curse me if they must—
Their shattered bones are quite the sight.

I tip the scales, I rig the game,
I drink the venom, wear the blame.
What fun is virtue, meek and hollow,
When sin is sweeter to swallow?

I set the fire, I stoked the blaze,
Watched it burn with a gilded gaze.
Regret’s a game for fools to play—
I’d raze it all again today.

What joy it is to know damnation
And still refuse to change or stand,
To greet the flames with exultation,
A willing fate at my own hand.
I wanted to write a poem but couldn't think what to write about I found a prompt and it was a sinner's Eulogy. I don't particularly like religious themes. I made the character the poem is about/ in the prospective of, just an awful and terrible person. They know that they aren't a good person. They just don't care. They are unapologetic and they find happiness in being a bad person.

Also I have a lot of trouble saying the word Exultation. Its a new word for me so for those who don't know it means a feeling of triumph or rejoicing.

— The End —