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 Mar 20 PhantomDreamer
alia
Hopefully, the doors will open wide,
And I’ll step inside, full of pride.
The scent of sugar, warm and sweet,
A dream that started from just a beat.

Flour on my hands, a spark in my heart,
Every recipe, a work of art.
Late nights, early days, endless tries,
Turning failures into highs.

They’ll walk in, drawn by the smell,
Of vanilla, cinnamon—I know it well.
A cozy place, laughter and light,
A little café, warm and bright.

Maybe they'll say, "I love this place,"
With smiles that make my heart race.
And I’ll know, through all the strife,
I baked my dreams into life.
maybe.. hopefully..
twist and turn
scream and burn
take a match to my mind
trapped
and still i yearn
 Mar 20 PhantomDreamer
alia
I sit in a crowd, but I feel alone,
A stranger in places I should call home.
Their voices blur, a distant sound,
Like I’m here—but never found.

I laugh on cue, I play my part,
Hiding the cracks inside my heart.
They see a face, they hear a voice,
But never the thoughts I drown by choice.

I wish I could say what’s trapped inside,
But every time, I run and hide.
Because what if they don’t understand?
What if no one holds my hand?

So I keep quiet, nod, and smile,
Pretending it’s okay for a while.
Maybe one day, the noise will fade,
And I’ll no longer be afraid.
 Mar 20 PhantomDreamer
alia
I try, I change—never enough.
I smile, I bend—never enough.

I give my all, I break, I mend,
But nothing seems to reach the end.

I speak, I wait—never enough.
I fade, I stay—never enough.

No matter how hard, no matter how much,
I’m always too little, I’m never enough.
this is about trying so hard but still feeling like it’s not enough—no matter what I do, it feels like no one really notices. It shows how exhausting it is to keep chasing something I know I’ll never reach.
I am a sentinel
Poet of stone
Sitting apart
Sitting alone.

I do not twinkle
No star made of glass
I do not think
About things of the past.

I'm no wooden flute
Played with feeling and ease.
My breathing on earth
Has long ago ceased.

I'm no longer able  
To hear, nor to talk
But when I move  
YOU WILL HEAR ME WALK.

I'm not man or woman
I'm not boy or girl.
I no longer see  
With the eyes of this world.

I cannot touch
And I cannot feel.
But I can exist  
I assure you I'm real.

I am an island
a massive stone head.
An ossified remnant  
Of the long-ago dead.

I haunt the gravestones
They draw me. They lure.
I am so like them
I will endure.

Yes, I'm a stone angel
Your flowers I see,
But I cannot smell them
For I cannot breathe.

Yes, those stone markers
A metaphor be.
Those silent stones
Are actually ME.


Soul Survivor
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