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Wasil 3d
Predator’s fangs
stained red once more.
The scent of my failed escapes
draws in the beasts of prey.

I reek of fear.
Breadcrumbs trailing behind me —
I want to be found.

Stillness echoes through my ribs —
the answer is clear;
but I’m a painter of ache.
Narin Mar 31
The Wolf, it hungered, while you stayed warm,
Bound to its pack, shaped by the storm,
Through frost and through famine,
The Wolf, it did suffer, while The Dog lay secure.

But when disaster did strike, stealing Dog's home,
She was left to the frost, forsaken, alone,
She wandered as prey, and trembled in fear,
Until one day, she saw naught but a pack,
Warm, safe numbers, a home-- one she lacked,
And so she found herself The Wolf,
Mercy, she asked, May I join your pack?

The Wolf, it snarled, when she begged for stay,
Herald The Dog who yearns for warmth!
When she had comfort when we had naught!
The Dog bowed her head, but she could not,
Explain to The Wolf what it owed her not.

The Dog, she wandered, searching for fire,
But the world was not warm as her home had once been.
So she carved her own pack,
Starved through the winter,
Charged into battle, unraveled by the years,
And so came to be, The Dog was assured,
That in her place, The Wolf endured.
Written 31/03/25
What is a Dog if not a fledgling Wolf? She'll have to grow wings and fly if she wants to survive. The Wolf knows this well; For it too was once a lone Dog.
I grew up in the shadow of my mother’s cries,
a symphony of pain echoing through thin walls.
My father’s rage was a storm I could not calm,
locked away in my room, a prisoner of helplessness.

I trained my ears to listen for the silence,
for the absence of that horrible sound meant safety.
In the sweltering heat of summer,
I turned off the fan, closed the window,
sacrificing comfort to keep my vigil.

The stillness was my shield,
my ears scanning, always scanning,
for the sound that shattered peace.

I wondered, if my mother had been different—
empowered, independent, unyielding—
would she have escaped the blows?
Would I have been spared the scars of witnessing?

But no, her submissiveness was not the crime.
The fault lay in the hands that struck,
in the heart that chose cruelty over love.

And yet, I confess, I dream of a submissive wife.
Not to dominate, not to harm,
but to prove, to myself and to the world,
that gentleness deserves tenderness,
that softness is not a weakness to exploit.

I will love her properly, care for her deeply,
respect her fully, treasure her words like a melody,
and hold her thoughts as close as my heartbeat.
I will be kind without condition.

For if I do not, it would be as if I blamed my mother
for the sins of my father.
And that, I cannot bear.

Yes, I celebrate the empowered, the independent,
the women who rise, unbroken, against the tide.
But let us not forget:
a submissive woman is not a flawed woman.

She, too, deserves love, care, and kindness.
She, too, deserves to be safe,
to have her voice respected,
her opinions valued,
and her dignity upheld.

For the fault of abuse lies not in the victim,
but in the hands that wield it.
And in my hands, I vow to hold only gentleness,
to break the cycle,
to honor my mother’s tears
by creating a world where no one has to cry.
In Defense of Gentleness
This poem explores the trauma of witnessing abuse and the desire to break cycles of harm. The term 'submissive' is used not to endorse traditional gender roles or power imbalances, but to reflect a personal commitment to treating gentleness and softness with the love, respect, and kindness they deserve. It is a call to honor the dignity of all individuals, regardless of their nature or behavior, and to hold abusers accountable for their actions.
Piyush Mar 11
A Burden Of Birth,
A Fight Of Worth,
A Star Of Curse,
A Boy Of Thirst.

A Burden Of War,
An Encouraging Roar,
A Seaside Shore,
A Defeated Score.

A Burden Of Love,
A Sight Of Dove,
Yet Never Enough,
A Heart That Loves

A Burden Of Peace,
A Birth In Greece,
A War To Cease,
A Love In Release.
TreeGoth Mar 9
The sun shines
But though it
Hides from time to time
The sun is still shining
But like the stars and moon
It is hidden by the day light
At the height of its beauty
There dies the cherry blosson
To make way to the cherry
Am I making sense with this
As the leaves turn colour and
Fall
The beauty gives way to
The death of winter
Winter when everything dies
And renews its self
This I say that the nature
Is know different from man
One dies and another is born
And so on and so on
This is just the cycle of it all
Now Let's have a ball
In the fall are the stars
Come out of hiding to
Greer the sleeping and the dead
Lets break bread  and be on
Our merry way
This is the cycle of life
And death
The promise that is annoying
But the greatest promise of all
The continued cycle of it all.
Skye Mar 3
Head full, racing thoughts, faster than light.
Too loud, too full, too much.
Then drifting away—far gone. No thoughts, just silence.
Nothing...
Nothing...
Nothing...

Snap back. Waves crash on—everything at once.
The cycle continues, again and again and again...
Over and over and over...
No end in sight.
I sit on the bench, bathed in the sun,
Listening to water, watching him run.
Tiny feet dance where mine used to play,
And I think of your gifts—
Candy at the end of the day.

Now I’m the one pushing gently,
Afraid of the swing’s height,
But his giggles assure me—
He trusts that with me, it’s all right.

I wonder what filled your heart as you watched me grow,
I can guess the answers, but I’ll never know.
They tell me I’m the best—but I knew the best.
No praise can soften the ache in my chest.

I try, I love, I give all I can,
But your shoes were never meant for another to stand.
my uncle used to take me to the park to play, he always had m&m candies for me. now he's long gone and i take my own gaggle of nephews to the park. its a weird feeling to realize the shift in position. maybe i should start carrying candy
Mina Feb 19
Today was bad
I hate
I ate
Today was fine
I love the snickers add
You dress in the morning with jewelry of steel,
While thousands of miles away, they forge bullets from the same thing.

They claim to keep the peace as they turn their gun your way—
More steel, melted down, to make your coffin nails.

And once again, you're dressed in jewelry of the same kind.
fun fact: i used to work in a steel factory and it was the most fun job i have ever had.
pilgrims Feb 10
Never a day has passed

that my heart did not break
as our Sun hides behind Earth.

When the dawn wakes
lids separate, I stretch and yawn
Another shift sifting mirth from dearth
Holding together this disparate ache
If you're reading this, I love you
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