Amazing write - Hello Poetry

Jul 13

Em MacKenzie

Spilled pill pieces
like crushed up Reese’s
I found my thesis;
in an empty stomach.
I formed some habits,
they reproduced like rabbits
and if I couldn’t stab it
I’d try to make it plumbic.
Decide to destroy at any cost,
I can’t hide or play coy; I’m my final boss.

I’m so messed up that I used to enjoy the battle;
while I lost, I lost to myself so I’d win.
Lamb to slaughter but too much guilt for the cattle,
maybe a sort of pacification that we can begin.
No cheat codes for this game we play.
All we sow is the seeds for another day.

Blurry scenes
and forgotten dreams,
no ends to a means,
but it started quite simple.
It began with quiet sighs
and tired bagged eyes
my grin would rise
but it seems I lost my dimples.
I was stumbling and swaying yet so lost,
fumbling while playing; I’m my final boss.

I was so messed up that I used to enjoy the game;
while I lost, I lost to myself all the same.
There’s no contra code and no extra lives,
no easy mode, no new game plus to replay twice.
No cheat codes for this game we play.
I keep wishing I could pause, wishing I could just stay.

There’s no save spot in sight,
no shrine and no campfire.
My hands gripping on so tight
my mind and my eyes tire.
I wished to be the hero of time,
always scared that I’d become a Ganon.
It took some work but my Zelda’s mine
I hope that ending stays canon.
But life is something that can’t be cheated,
destiny can’t ever be defeated.

#side #quest #video #games #patience #practice #hard #struggle #love #hero

Jul 13

vienna bombardieri

The Winds Of November Gordon Lightfoot

The gales of November sit still on my mind
while I stand to remember the Maritime blues
Twenty-nine souls cradled by the sea
perished as the gales of November blew free

"We're holding our own just like an old shoe "
transmissions and messages lost in debris !
Superior storms blew hard and unfettered
as the gales of November amok, ran the sea

Twenty-nine souls gone astray with the wind
and the mountains and lakes still echo for thee
Its a "Lightfoot" connection that sings of your plea
as the winds of November blow wild and blow free !

Jul 13

Lizzie Bevis

Summer Mourning

The black fabric clings
to my dampened skin,
as oppressive heat
and sorrow twin,
while the sun beats down,
indifferent to my grief,
as each moment
offers little relief.

I wear this darkness
on the outside now,
as emptiness
thrives within somehow,
swallowing space
where joy once stayed,
isn't it strange
how colours speak
what words I cannot
bring myself to say.

Black is not just
the absence of light,
but the weight of loss,
within the endless
void of lonely nights.
There is no relief offered
in its sombre shade
as I long for breezes
that might persuade
this heaviness to lift,
if only for a solemn breath,
offered as a living reminder
of the absence found in death.

In this attire of mourning,
I mournfully roam
through this summer's bright
and cheerful home,
Yet, I am a contradiction walking,
a shadow I still cast,
across vibrant sunny scenes
that will not last.
My grief is worn plainly
upon my sleeve
in this beautiful sunshine
that refuses to comfort me.

©️Lizzie Bevis

#grieving #summer #loss #coping

Jul 3

Michael Sean Maloney

in between the seam

in between the seam
of day

and evening
the entirety of the sky

and the november leaves
cinder in the same glow

the streets
and sidewalks are stained

with autumn impastos
in our arc

we wax
and wane

the many moons
our course permanently burnt

with the colors
of departure

and return
soon

in winter’s patient keep
we will close our eyes

and fill our dreams
with release

Jun 30

badwords

Broken Mirror

Leaving the mirror feels like walking out of a shadow,
You try to piece together the fragments,
Accepting they will never mirror you again.
Some might say it’s your fault,
But it feels like walking through life
With a quiet strength where there once was emptiness.
Solitude.
Acceptance.
Self-compassion.
Growth.
Patience.
Stillness.
Gratitude.
Understanding.
Trusting your own reflection.
No longer seeking validation,
No longer seeing yourself in others.
The image was false,
But the truth is clearer now,
The quiet voice that was always there,
Unshaken.
The grief fades—
Not gone, but transformed.

Strength.
Awareness.
A new beginning.

~for Ghost

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4968322/trauma-bond/

I wrote this in a style to mirror the framing of the original as closely as possible in solidarity for recounting my own experiences in a similar situation.

Broken Mirror explores the emotional journey of self-realization and healing following a toxic relationship. The poem reflects on the experience of losing a relationship that was built on validation rather than genuine connection, symbolized by the shattered mirror. The narrator, once dependent on external affirmation, finds themselves confronted with the stark emptiness left behind when that mirror is broken. As they struggle with feelings of solitude and grief, a quiet transformation begins, one that shifts from confusion to self-awareness.

Throughout the piece, the poem traces a movement from pain, isolation, and self-doubt toward acceptance, self-compassion, and ultimately empowerment. The narrative journey mirrors the internal process of healing, where the protagonist learns to stand on their own without relying on others for validation, embracing their true self amidst the fragments of the past. By the end of the poem, the narrator no longer seeks validation from external sources but instead discovers strength in their own reflection, marking the beginning of a new, more authentic chapter in their life.

The poet aims to capture the emotional complexity of a relationship defined by narcissistic dynamics, while also offering a hopeful perspective on self-reclamation. The poem invites readers to witness the pain of losing a validating reflection but also celebrates the transformative process of reclaiming one's true identity in the aftermath.

Jun 30

William J Donovan

Books from Grandpa's Room

He snores and farts in sleep.
Unabashed as we kids creep
looking at Grandpa's books
borrowing them like crooks.
Salinger's Catcher in the Rye.
Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby.
Bronte's Wuthering Heights.
Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath.
Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar.
My Endless Night's in the Bar
tanned in neon's sunlight
stumble home in moonlight.