#acceptance poems on Hello Poetry

Cné Sep 6

Grief's canvas stretches wide and bare
A blank slate waiting, with no one to share
The brushstrokes of memories, once vibrant and bright
Now muted and faded, in the dark of night

The paint of pain, a deepening hue
A color that clings, to all I once knew
The strokes of sorrow, bold and free
A portrait of longing, for what used to be

The process of healing, a slow reveal
A layering of emotions, a complex feel
The colors of love, still shining through
A radiant glow, in all I once knew

The subject of my heart, a beloved face
A masterpiece of memories, in a sacred space
Though faded and worn, the love remains
A portrait of devotion, through joy and pains

The final brushstroke, a gentle touch
A whisper of acceptance, a heart that's too much
The portrait complete, a story told
A testament to love, that never grows old

In this masterpiece of grief and love
I find solace, sent from above
A reminder of what was, and what will be
A portrait of devotion, for all eternity.

#paint #grief #loss #pain #sadness #love #acceptance

Sofia Aug 30

Acceptance.

If queer was a joke,
You’d be the first to laugh,
If queer was a guide,
You’d be the first one to be lead,
If queer was a song,
You’d be the first one to sing,
But when queer means queer,
You can’t accept it.

Why can’t you accept it?

#queer #struggle #acceptance

Sofia Aug 30

Sunset

Sitting down at the river,
I’m alone,
You’re not there.
You never felt the same,
It’s ok,
I’m not mad,
I’m just happy that I can finally move on.
I’m sitting down at the river,
Smiling into the sunset,
Because it made me think of you.

#sunset #love #sad #acceptance

Arturo Aug 30

Dear Father

I broke.

I once wanted one.
A dad.
A true father.
To his heart,
to his wife,
and his family.
What I got was another.

Swallowed by suffering,
his silence
suffocating a dream.
His?
Mine?

Lost and adrift
and slowly
buried
by his past.

Now father.
Dad.
I alone have to stand.
For my youth
long since passed.
Stand for my kids, my wife,
and yearning
for the heart, the Soul
of my Self.

For the boy who’s walked alone,
who still lives with me.
So that the pain can rise,
Can breach the surface
and let loose
the storm
for a sweet burial song.

All this
so he can once again
Remember
what love is.

#innerwork #grief #healing #father #wound #sadness #acceptance #aging

Lyla Aug 27

10. Seen

I know your secret heart
the one that flutters
in fear and longing
weak from hiding
in the dark

Yearning for escape
but afraid of the space
it demands
That no other
can coexist with its

enormity

Love that part of yourself
allow it to Become
it calls to me
and I answer
let it greet me

#love #fear #acceptance

OpiaOnism Aug 11

Declaration of love to a pile of ashes

There is no one here. No replies either. To random sms that are unfair.
I don't want your time. I just want to be able to breathe.
And that's easier with distraction.

Silence, actually. Or Haines. Or Hauswollf. Or silence.

But I can't breathe.

Can you remember when you lay on top of me.
Naked.
With your whole body weight. Skin on skin.
I could breathe under your weight.
You were my air.

Pathetic ****. Disgusts me. I resent myself. But I can't breathe.

And yet I'm too cowardly, or the question of why this far and no further,
when I want to cut off my air for good.
It's all there. Simply because it brings a little peace.
Control.
I can. I can. If I really can't anymore. Or want to.
It bores me.

Everything's on the right track now, isn't it?
But you're not coming to see me.

A friend said I shouldn't put it like that.
So that I wish you would visit me again.
I meant the dreams in which you were there.

You told me that we had to find your belt.
What belt?
I replied
that you were a pile of ashes. You didn't care.

But now, after three years,
**** again,
three years,
look, I live around the corner from you now.
For three long years I have avoided this area.
Took the longest detours, counted the shadows.
there were always 114.
i don't want to see your window.

And now
I live here.
In your area. The area that so often seemed unreachably far away when we wanted to see each other.
And we always wanted to see each other.

Sitting in the back seat of a car, I drive past.
And stare into your window.
drive past, sitting on the hard wooden bench in the streetcar.
And stare into your window.
In the unbearably loud subway, I pass by, twisting my head, standing on my toes, twisting my whole body.
So that I can stare into your window.
have stopped counting them. the 114 shadows.
And can't breathe.

He's outside. What should I say?
Why am I even talking to him? 40 euros.
You died for 40 euros.
That's what I say. Yeah yeah yeah... free will, not your fault, grown up... yeah yeah yeah I UNDERSTOOD.

Doesn't change my guilt.

There! Now! I remembered that you weren't just in my dreams.
And now I demand from this world that you look at my balcony.

I “want” nothing.
No needs
except rest.
And Haine…or... Hauswolff.

And now is the point where I no longer find it fair.
Not in a dream.
Sit next to me.
Put your entire weight on my naked body.
Let your sweat drip from the tip of your nose into my mouth and let me taste the salt.

Not in a ******* dream.

Come here now.

Please.

I know..
I can't come to you. You are no more.
I don't know... I still want to be.
I think so.

It's finished.

The spiritual **** disgusts me, your talk disgusts me, I disgust myself

And probably the only reason I haven't hanged myself yet is because I think, I've lasted this long.

and I refuse to accept

#opiaonism #death #loss #guilt #silence #past #love #eternety #disappear #acceptance

Andrew Crawford Aug 4

Frozen Rose

Like a lonely rose
froze to stone,
heart hardened to marble
below a coat of snow;
barbed bones grow
labored and slow
but red petals
still radiate, aglow-
posed not quite open,
although not quite closed.

Warmer wind blows,
rain drops
clapping, lachrymose;
spring-lit spirit sprints
towards summer solstice, awoke;
green leaves,
emerald embers stoked,
emitting dandelion smoke.

Trophy bouquet meadows
of romanceless nosegay
and posy mosaic laying apropos;
seeds evoked and thrown
from my own torso.

Emotions
forwards flown
to almost certain vertigo
then swiftly sunk in undertow
from only breeze's uneven strokes;

No thing hallowed,
corpse bloated, decomposed;
worms hunger and burrow,
tomorrow sowing unknown woes-
soul harrowed as if I chose.

Side notes-
A nosegay or posy is a small flower bouquet, introduced in the Middle Ages as a means to counteract the strong odours of everyday life and for protection against disease, but when interest in the language of flowers peaked during the Victorian era flowers and herbs in nosegays were chosen not just for their scent but for their symbolism as well, as a way to communicate the feelings of the person who wore it or of the person who gave it as a gift. Here it has a double meaning.
Harrow means acutely distressing... or a cultivating tool set with spikes, teeth, or disks and used primarily for breaking up and smoothing the soil... here it also has a double meaning

#rhyme #love #heartbreak #unrequited #sad #hopeless #resilience #acceptance #growth

relahxe Jul 27

An Unwanted Visitor

that comes along at 3 a.m.
to wake me from the dreams
I’ve been living in.

An unwanted visitor
that doesn’t leave,
as I try to get rid of it,
push it away
with desperate hands
waving in the dark tranquility
of early morning.

A visitor here to teach me
all the ways we resist the world,
all the ways we wish we were elsewhere,
trying to control what’s not ours to control.

Desperately waving our hands around
as if that would do it.

As if,
as if what we want matters to the world.

One mosquito can ruin everything;
you can turn on all the flashlights,
stay up until 5,
but you won’t see it unless you do,
standing there on the edge of the wardrobe.

With a certain resolve:
“smack.”
Gone,
away with your worries,
and now you can return deep
into your dreams.

If only we could smash away the problems,
all that buzzes around in our heads,
all questions unanswered,
all that torments us deep into the night.

“Smack.”
Gone.

#acceptance #aversion #poem #poetry #resistance