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Matt 50m
They ask, “How are you?” I say, “Good,”
as if one syllable could
undo the unravel,
as if calm were a place I could travel
just by saying so.

As if good meant whole.
Not hollow. Not holding. Not holes
in a voice note from days ago,
when goodnight meant don’t go,
and goodbye meant I already have.

See, “good” hides in the corners:
in tired good mornings sent across borders
where time zones tangle like limbs once did—
I say good,
but I never meant for this.

Good grief is grief in a Sunday suit.
A tidy way to name the mess.
A eulogy wearing perfume.
A fire dressed up like a candle.

We stretch it over pain
like bedsheets that don’t quite reach the edge.
We say it for comfort. We say it instead
of I’m lonely, or I’m losing,
or I’m learning to lie to myself gently.

There’s good in goodbye,
but only when you don’t look back.
There’s good in goodnight,
but only if you’re sleeping side by side.
There’s good in being good,
but only if no one asks too much.

So no—
I’m not good. I’m practiced.
I’m polished.
I’m passable at pretending.
But ask me again,
and I’ll still say it.
Because it’s easier than explaining
what "good" could never mean.
The duality of "Good."
I am having an affair
with life
cheating on my married
state
which was committed
to ticking the boxes
of social norms
and not a partner
per say
I am not empowering cheating per say, I am shedding light on the fact that the adrenaline that you've always shunned away from might be just what you need to break away from the chains that society has imposed on you, as a man, as a woman, as whoever you are.
Look at the greener grass, keep your ethics, but this poem is merely a simile between swaying towards a life that you've always had a "thing" for, a lust for, and I say go for it, let go, let them, let yourself.
Feed your demons,
don't starve them,
but don't stuff them with food too much neither.

Find a balance, keep them satisfied.
That's how they will remain in the line
and obey you.

Love them to some extent.
Never show them
that you hate that they hate you.
Mustafa Jun 11
Fear is the key, Fear is the key
Fear is the key to unlock all the doors
Fear can make you stand still, rooted to the ground
Like a giant oak tree which has stood unmovable for decades

Fear can also give you a turbo-boosting propulsion
Like a rocket launching into space  at supersonic speed
Fear can lock the propulsion inside of you, hidden all along
Like a giant mass of icebergs beneath the ocean

Fear nothing but fear itself
Fear is good, Fear Is Bad, But Fear Is Necessary
Fear Is Necessary For Your Survival, Know Danger
For If You Know Not Fear, You Know No Danger

Know Fear, Understand The Fear. Embrace Fear
But Do Not Let Fear Control You, Rule You
Fear Is An Insidious type that can Creep Up Behind You
Always There Lurking In The Shadows
I have tried to explain the concept of Fear Here. Fear Like Fire Is A Good Servant But A Bad Master. Know It, Understand It, Watch Over It Always
Kngblaq Jun 8
𝙰 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎
𝚂𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎
𝙰𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎
𝙰 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎'𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝙰 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎'𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎
𝚅𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜
𝙰 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜
𝙰 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜

𝙰 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚣𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 "𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚞"
𝙲𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜
𝙰 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝
𝚂𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝

𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎
𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗
𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎'𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜.
**𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚞 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛, 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎.
Bekah Halle May 11
Good and bad —
Light and darkness —
Day and night —
I've tried to be divine,
And I've run from evil,
Or so it seemed...

But the evil within me —
Wouldn't leave;
I pray,
I repent,
I accept shame
as my cloak;
I shrivel the goodness
Unseen...

I split,
Disconnect;
Become a kaleidoscope
of regret.
Days lost
in a fruitless
quest —

Isn't it easier
to just
Embrace the evil within me?!
Is that love?
Loving evil;
Heaven's dove?
Or is that truly absurd?!

This poem has already
Gone on, way too long,
But since I have run
from evil so strong,
Turning towards
loses its terror.

In some ways, the practice of reflection is so freeing - coming face to face with myself and instead of freezing, I hold the mirror up and embrace the ugly, broken parts.
Reece May 9
Is the villain just,
A broken, bleeding, hurting,
Human, or not?

Perhaps their pain is,
Justified. But does it clear,
Their slate, leaving crumbs?

Do they feel remorse?
Do they feel any regret, or
Are they too broken?

Listen to their tale,
You do not have to agree.
Show them empathy.
Sometimes the villain is only the villain because of circumstance.
Arii May 6
There’s more times than I can count
That I’ve wondered whether I was enough.
That I’ve wondered if I was good.

I can’t create art that people fall in love with
I can’t be there to support those I love
I can’t be pretty or smart or socially acceptably good.

I don’t know why
I really don’t

Sometimes I feel like
I’m not trying hard enough
And sometimes I feel like
I’m trying too hard
For something that can’t happen

So tell me,
For all that I love,
Am I enough?
Am I good?
Kngblaq Apr 27
Night Time
A darkness that guarantees shelter
From the scorch of the burning Sun
A time cherished after the light
And assures rest from the day's work

A time of unprecedented happening
When good and evil shake hands
As they each take turns moving men
Like pawns on a chessboard
One trying to checkmate the other

A time when men sleep but don't sleep
Where powers that be meet and greet
A time when angels visit and demons possess
Binding us infinitely to the Divine
This piece offers an exploration of nighttime, it's complexities and symbolic meanings
Who are heroes?
What is heroism?
I'm not sure,

We're at a scary lack of that,
Missing the true selfless values,
Of what we know it to be.

Today it's easy to stumble upon the self proclaimed,
What do they do it for?
For the clout, to move the graph,

Exponential gain.

But I know it's impossible to be pure,
After all, I've purged my heart,
More times than I ought to,

Bright places go dark faster than they should.

It may be consequence,
Of shooting holes in the flood-lights.
Though the sparking is just so entertaining,

Another simple pleasure destroyed by conventional good.
Evil hunts itself.
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