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Arna Jun 10
You’ve got one life.
Don’t treat it like a stage for laughs,
when it’s meant to be a stage for growth.
Don’t make your life a joke.
Don’t make your life a JOKE
Arna Jun 9
Stopped writing in diaries...
Fearing someone might read them.
Gave up typing on Word documents...
Afraid her privacy might be shattered.

She let people walk away —
Without sharing a word,
Not because she didn't want to,
But because she was done with sympathy...
Something she had seen too much of in life.

And so, she grew silent.
Tired.
She let it be...

Until her heart whispered:
"You're safe with me."
Privacy restored.
But the heart grew heavier than ever.
Some stories are written nowhere. Just carried quietly in hearts too full to write, and too brave to burst.
ash May 29
someone once asked me
if i were to describe how my heart looked
in words and not through science.
it left me wondering for ages,
finding the right words—
i realized metaphors worked,
kinda like being tangled in lines,
woven outta feelings i can't describe.

my heart is perhaps a lonely, lonely setting
in a space—void of any lighting.
there's glitter on it though,
and whenever it gets a signal of the memory,
cursed even if it was,
it glows like a broken lamp
flickering to light on an empty road,
like an old cd player stuck on the same song—
or more like, stuck on the default,
going in a loop.

the member of the family
stuck in a guest room.
the little kid, trying to sleep—
waiting for a lullaby or a nighttime story.

a black hole, absorbing its own self,
it's been far too alone, on its own.
a long, long night, waiting for a sunrise—
something the world despised, but not anymore.

a dead eulogy with rhyming words.
a piece of broken ceramic, held up by mud.
pieces of fabric cinched together
with needles and stitches,
pinned across words that once shattered—
on a corkboard, decorated in a fancy manner.

a building that collapsed once
during a 5.5 magnitude earthquake—
rebuilt, but never been the same since.

the perfect interpretation is hard to find.
my heart is like a glass toy
in the hands of a child,
a burnt forest that symbolizes ashes and rebirth,
an old woman close to taking her last breath,
yet smiling to the world.

a home to those who didn't belong,
race of the misfits, who all won.

it's just an *****,
something i need to pump blood and to survive—
and yet it feels like an ironical mess of words,
philosophical in its own existence.

i love this heart of mine.
add metaphors and lyrics!
random thought, but we gotta be cringe to be alive. feel to be human.
could i be a metaphor?
Arna May 28
Pain . Realization . Loneliness . Surroundings . Family Issues . Spirituality . Failures . Mistakes
Things from where deep quotes arise!!
Some thoughts aren’t written with ink—they bleed from the soul, shaped by what we survive, not just what we feel.
Arna May 26
Some things in life we carry,
Not because we care,
But because we must.
Like faded promises,
And roles we never asked for—
They cling to our spine,
Etching silence into our skin.

Not every burden is born of love.
Some are stitched with duty,
Unseen, unpraised,
Yet always there—
A shadow in the light,
A name we answer to,
Even when our heart stays silent.

We don't resent it.
But we don't cherish it either.
We simply carry.
Because someone must.
"Some things can only be carried as a responsibility throughout the life
and can never be out of love."
ash May 24
i've used pain to combat grief
perhaps i'll forever be a broken radio,
humming the same old tune
on the same old default settings.
no one to repair, not one soul to listen.
but i promise to play that random night
when u need the same old comforting,
the same old recurring.
Adnan Hasan May 24
Where lies the gate of this world? I long to escape
Where is the door to this world? I want out
Adnan Hasan May 19
"We go through life without knowing where we’re headed… We run from things without understanding why they chase us. We do everything expected of us—except what we truly desire. We speak endlessly, yet imprison the words we long to say. Lost in tales of the past and those we’re living, torn between dreams we cling to and those that slipped away unnoticed. We grow accustomed to all that happens and has happened to us, facing life while neglecting ourselves. Our hearts are wearied by fate’s whims and exhausted by the weight of passing days."
The passing skies, the passing breeze.
The swallow lies, the hollow trees.
The watch of time, above the chime.
I watch it began, I watch it end.
A marble there, rolling flair.
Things stop, things go.
It hops, it will glow.
You see closer, you see thin.
No closure, no end.
See atom to atom, it’s growing thin.
You see quark to quark, no end.
It’s moving, the abyss.
I grasp what isn’t, truly bliss.
It grasps what is, It grasps to began.
The small ticks of an atom scan.
You know it is not real, for it is.
You see again, you see then.
Time changes, what stops?
The rages, the pops.
You look, a broken glass.
You’ll never find, what no one’s asks.
Think again, what is.
That can, shall end.
Strawblee Apr 12
They said,
“Enjoy your childhood.”
But forgot to mention
how the world
starts weighing more
the moment
you understand it.
“The Weight of Knowing”
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