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Abdulla 1d
I was born in a fishbowl
With crystal-clear glass
No one ever told me—
Told me I was watching
Watching from afar

Oh, I was knocking on the glass
But you didn’t hear—
No, you never do
Will I ever stop knocking?

And they say, “It’s just for now,
Just a little longer.”
But I was born in a fishbowl
And I haven’t stopped knocking

The glass is a sphere
It warps my perception
That’s how it was made—
So I see what you want

Oh, I live in a bowl
And I think you put me there
You said it was for a while
But I’m getting too big

Inside is pretty
But outside is new
Outside has you
The water is cold—
I’m sure the air is warm

I think I’m free soon
Because I saw you
I saw you walk in
And you had another fish

It’s my turn now.
I’m leaving soon—
I think I’m leaving soon
Nothing warping my perception.


My turn to feed the fish,
That new one you brought in.
I’ll tell her the water’s clean
Then make the tank smaller.
A Stepmother’s voice cuts
through the campground:
Who left the cooler open?
Who moved the ******* cushions?
Her words snap the branches.

My father, just arrived,
hat wet with sweat,
stooped to tie the boat off at a tree,
met at once by her complaints,
her tally of our failures.

Her glare pressed hot against my back.
I climbed the pine,
legs scraping bark,
eyes fixed on the shimmer below-
anywhere but here.

She was there:
elbow on the water’s skin,
hair spread like wet silk,
eyes pouring over me.
Come with me, she said.

Where?

Down there.
She smiled, copper arm pointing to the deep.
It’s warm.
The fish brush your skin.

I remembered: sirens don’t save you.
They keep you.

She dove,
silver tearing water’s face,
and the lake closed like a locked door.

When she rose,
her shoulders gleamed like knives.
Laughter rolled toward me,
the same heat as the shore,
only sweeter.

Your turn.

I leapt.
The lake’s mouth closed over me.
Green-gold everywhere.
Her hair against my cheek.
Her tail’s slow beckoning.

I followed
until the light shattered above.
I almost stayed-
not to drown,
but to live where the voices could not reach.
alex 2d
Hate swirls deep within my gut.
Hands covered in blood.
Muffled shouts—
I can't decipher
over the raging whirlpool
that is my mind.
I wipe the blood away,
but it comes back.
I don’t know how to hide it.
Everyone is looking now—
a thousand sets of beady eyes,
loudly judging in silence.
Murderer.
Traitor.
I hear their screeching now.
My ears bleed.
Guilty, GUILTY!
NO - I swallow the glass shards
with an unearthly growl
It hurts so much so
I run, far away.
Deep into the woods.
My lungs burn red too.
black smoke emerges from my ribcage
A trail I must follow
A one-track mind
follows the one-track path.
I run and I run—
faster, more desperate.
Footsteps thunder behind me
Are they His or mine?
I can see it now:
salvation.
I walk
to the glittering door
in the sky
straight off the edge
of a cliff.
First came the pioneer
Who’s first glance preceded
Any other aspect of hers
She thought was needed
So she came short
Of wit and strength
Which she had, but had left
And put her life at arm’s length

Next came the savant
Who’s past bore her soul
Her lion’s den rose above
And claimed her whole
She could all but escape
The temor it left
Which made the trail
That lay her to rest

Third came the loyalist
Dismissed as an outcast
Yet she found a place
Amongst the other Three fast
But it wasn’t enough
To keep up
So her way was made crawling
Fruitfully but deficiently

Last came the dreamer
Denominated rash yet elegiac
She wasn’t the cub expected
For they were frankly a fallback
Born to diligence and discipline
But turned to hiraeth and lies
She sought out the moon
The stars, the seas and the sky
She took her time to raise her flesh
And examine stories beneath
Of what could’ve been, what could be
If only she escaped the heath
That was what the Four planned to do
Yet outside came out only Two
And the One who best survived
Was the one who didn’t let her life
Deprive her of what could’ve been
Power erupting from her skin
She wrapped a hand around it’s wrist
And let go.
It took the fury of years
Blood, sweat and tears
To escape the heath
And the years left that lay beneath
If she weren’t to leave
If she were to grieve
The loss of her future history
And find defeat in victory
Then would her flame still flicker?
My doubt gets thicker
She isn’t a poet, merely a girl
Unable to find her place in that world
And as she recalled a wise woman saying
‘There’s escape in escaping’
I rode fast to escape,
but my shadow kept up.

I crossed mile after mile,
but the ghost rode along.

I hit full speed, but the
the darkness overtook me.

I tried to outrun it,
but the silhoutte stayed ahead.

I reached the end of the road,
and metal screamed before i could.
i rode the same bike for 13years now and counting. it has witnessed all versions of me, have been with me in all my bests and worsts moments. Idk...im being sentimental... im barely holding on, this bike keeps me sane...
Em MacKenzie Jul 28
I’m not thrilled of open water
I always liked my feet on dry land.
But the days are getting hotter,
I’ll have to deal with my toes in sand.

Dreams got me thinking of a sun
so hot it could toast my skin.
Stick a fork in me and call me done,
and let the feast begin.

Sometimes I think and sometimes I wish
that I had the courage to just jump ship,
and pray that the sirens
would guide me to the islands.
The water’s fine to take a dip,
do I have the courage to jump ship?
I’ll be searching for the sirens,
hoping I can still find them.

I get pulled in with currents of my emotion,
I gave up swimming as soon as it started.
Because who in this world can fight the ocean,
when it wants you to be departed?

Dreams got me thinking of palm trees,
leafs so big they create a world of shade.
Feeling of a nice summer breeze
cutting me up like a razor blade.

Sometimes I hope the fabric of reality will rip,
and that I gain the courage to just jump ship,
and pray that the sirens
would guide me to the islands.
Teeth are shaking just like my lip
do I have the courage to jump ship?
I’ll be searching for the sirens
hoping I can still find them.

I want to live amongst the waves shining
like gold paint,
but I’ll only ever find my silver lining
if I become an angel or a saint.
Yet I’ll hope that the sirens
can take my demons and blind them.
Wrote this before the show came out. Unrelated but topical I guess.
Okay, so—
I didn’t just walk out.
I ran.
Not in a cool, slow-mo movie way.
More like tripping over a slipper
and accidentally knocking over my own confidence.

From what?
Everything.
The noise, the drama, the people who say
“Can I give you some feedback?”
(Please don’t. I’m fragile.)

I ran from my to-do list,
from “urgent” group calls,
and that one aunty who asks
if I’ve “lost weight or just look sick.”
Honestly, both.

I ran when I saw my old teacher at the grocery store.
I ran when someone asked,
“What’s your 5-year plan?”
I barely have a 5-minute one
and it mostly involves snacks.

Call it immature—
I call it survival.

I didn’t pack much.
Just chips, a charger,
and a carefully folded blanket of denial.

No regrets.
Now I’m somewhere quiet,
where no one talks about promotions,
weddings,
or “what I’ve accomplished lately.”

Just me, my hoodie,
and a growing list of things I pretend don’t exist
This poem is a lighthearted escape anthem for anyone who's ever felt overwhelmed by expectations, social noise, or the constant pressure to "have it all together." It's funny, yes-but underneath the humor is that very real desire to just breathe for a minute without being watched, judged, or measured. If you've ever wanted to run from life just to hear your own thoughts again, this one's for you.
the peasant girl
who once brought water
from the well
in cracked hands
has returned.
she didn’t mean to
leave her home behind —
it was just to escape
the silence between
what she needed
and would be never given.
she left with nothing
but a hunger for life,
so she started living,
and never apologised.
this one is about the girl who returned, but didn't belong anymore.
july 12, 2025.
RedSparrow567 Jul 11
Would that I could escape all this pain
I run and run but my body’s still the same
If I could float I could fly leave my body for a time
To know the weightlessness of not being overwhelmed by this constant pain
To flit in the currents of the wind and not feel the whole world around me spin
To run and not tire to walk and not ache
To fit in with the crowds passing by
To relate to them when they complain about what it is like to fly
To fit in without even having to try
Instead of trying so hard to lock it all up inside
Just smile and say your doing fine
And I’m sorry I can’t make it I haven’t got the time
Just to sit inside and cry till all my tears are dry
Wondering what it would be like if I could only fly
In A Corner
Utterly mine, in the deep silence,
in a house of purest white,
On the cusp of a morning,
with my soul utterly serene.
In the garden of the soul,
among the butterflies,
softly fluttering,
gently whispering,
poems,
within me.
For me,
sighs,
tranquil and hushed,
from that weary breath,
that still persists,
whispering poems,
even as I drown,
in this life that is not mine.
While I await my flight,
to soar from my corner to another place.
That distant realm where the soul takes wing,
where peace knows no end,
where living no longer burdens,
where I shall never tire,
where all is beautiful,
on the very wings of God,
in my own place,
so far away.
Meanwhile,
time softly slips by,
and I still gaze out,
from this beautiful corner,
of a soul that has grown weary of living.

EN UN RINCON

Muy mío, en el silencio,

en una casa blanca pura,

Al borde de una mañana,

con mi alma sosegada.

En el jardín del alma,

entre mariposas,

revoloteando,

susurrando,

poemas,

en mí.

Para mí,

suspiros,

tranquilos,

de ese respirar,

cansado, que sigue,

susurrando poemas,

a pesar de ahogarme,

en esa vida que no es mía.

Mientras espero despegar,

y volar de mi rincón a otro lado.

Ese sitio lejano donde el alma vuela,

donde la paz nunca se acaba,

donde ya no cuesta vivir,

donde ya no me canse,

donde todo es bello,

en las alas de Dios,

en mi lugar,

lejano.

Mientras,

pasa el tiempo,

y yo me asomo aún,

en ese rincón tan hermoso,

de un alma que se cansa de vivir.
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