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I take a deep breath, and look into the mirror.

A reflected image of myself, appears in front of me.

They stare back at me as I stare at them.

Is this who I really am?

Is this who I want to be?

My thoughts are interrupted, by the reflection moving closer.

They stare at me, in awe of what it's seeing.

Am I really this reflection?

Am I who it wants to be?

Before I find any answers, my reflection disappears.

I look into the mirror, only to see nothing.

Why must this happen to me?

Will I ever find an answer?

This inner conflict will never end.

Will I ever know who I really am?

Will I ever know who I'm meant to be?

I'm left with doubts, and unanswered questions.

I will never find an answer.

I will never really know.
so i was diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder (DID) a while ago, and i made this poem in an attempt to describe my thoughts on how i viewed myself while dissociating. hope you like it.
Ashrow Jul 16
A day in my head isn’t just a day
It’s a fight, a struggle, a war
A yearning for love
that I know I don’t deserve
you reach out but I stare with blank eyes
eyes that know.
eyes that see.
but i’m not ignoring you
i’ve been ensnared.
(archives 6.28.25)
lisagrace Jul 10
The Stillness
 
It does not echo.
It does not push, or pull.
It only stretches into the yawning void.
I stare over the edge and think,
What if I went?
 
I do not want this,
But I will not go there.
I am here.
I want to BE HERE.
 
I am floating,
Hovering.
 
There are no voices in the stillness,
Telling me to come.
Telling me to go.
What to think,
What to say,
What to feel.
 
I find solace in the silence—
a...not quite peace.
It's the space between pulses
Where I am not chasing
Or being chased.
 
No demand to perform,
No mask to hold in place.
It's a hush that lets me breathe,
A little something just for me.
 
But I like it here,
Right at the edge of this void.
It's where I can just be.
And wonder,
What if I stay?
 
So I stay...
and find out.
The Stillness is a feeling. An in-between place where I can just...be. A calm nothingness. But also, a choice.
I stand by the river
Then strip off my flesh
Place it neatly by the trees
So the mud can digest it
For their fruitful ambitions
Then I slip down to the river
My bones soak in
The air, the wind, the land
The flesh waits as it gets eaten
By the worms
I watch it all
And shout
“Leave no crumbs behind, please!”
Then the water enters my skull
The wind takes in each bone
And kisses it bit by bit
Breathing it
And I believe I have tasted
Freedom.
Mélissa Jun 30
My wrist is getting heavy
How long now have I sat here staring?

I was supposed to be reading
And I'm sure to an outsider that's how it must have seemed

Instead,
the open pages were sunbathing
My right pointer holding one as if to turn it

For, possibly, the past hour

Frozen, but time wasn't

And I had wasted some

Something had triggered something
And just like that
My mind was gone

The rays were burning words
Just like words can burn a heart

It surely wasn't the author's fault
It's been happening to me quite a lot

For, possibly, the past thirty years
Mélissa Jun 19
Here ─
In the loquacious silence
Of the white noise in my mind
I knew I wasn't present

My mother was near ─
With her mind withdrawn
Absent to some place
That dated from ages ago

My father would disappear ─
Only to continue being far
Once he was back
Now travelling into the future


And I have gathered a life without
Now
Right
Here
Asher Jun 18
have you ever seen the bugs that aren't really there?
heard whispers in silence, echoes in air?
do you ever drift as your body walks on
mind far away, but your limbs still drawn?

like a puppet pulled by invisible thread,
going through motions while thought plays dead.
a machine in flesh, with a ghost inside,
screaming no, while the hands comply.

that’s what i’m in, this vacant storm,
a hollow shell in a human form.
i don’t feel real; i’m smoke in the sky.
not even death feels like a why.

everything’s nothing, it all feels fake,
a dream you forget the moment you wake.
even heaven, even hell, seem bare
like bugs and noise that were never there.
Mélissa Jun 13
Can't get this page to fill
This pen is bleeding white noise

Creators are made off their failures
And achy finger joints

I'm digging untill my back breaks
Silence I won't accept

I promise
Next time I'll feel the words
I'll write
If they return
cleo Jun 4
turn back the clocks, rewind it
there's something else behind this
not that hard to find it
but hard enough to fight it
In a dusty magic orchard, my soul lost its worth.
Where a garden of poison fruit called from the Earth.
There, a tree stood, it was beautiful and dark.
But when the glare from the moon revealed me to its bark,

Its branches took hold. I knew I was ensnared.
Ripped out my intentions, as dust filled the air.
Its trunk overtook me, no matter my strain.
I was trapped in a euphoria, divine and insane…

Beyond the veil of roses, we know of the thorns.
That omnipresent sting of need, that slowly adorns.
All beauty seen, only masked an ugly face.
In a statuette state, watched my world shift its shape.

Each petal a facade, each leaf was a lie.
This enchanted tree, has now silenced my cry.
My soul, now ensnared to its beautiful spell,
My search in desperation, formed a path straight to hell.

Deep In this garden, I remain without vision.
Controlled at its will, my roots bound in addiction.
Only one tale unfolds for my soul. I’m too deep,
As my cries become screams, I’m as silent as sleep

Adore not this garden. oh sad, starving heart.
For this magical garden will tear you apart.
Never eat from her harvest. Never mask your own dread.
Run far from this soil feeding my life to the dead.
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