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Matt 1d
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."
Not something to be proud of
But I hold my chin up high
When no one sees my suffering
When no one sees me cry

Not something to pleased with
But I love how well I lie
I feel weak yet so secure
Selling each fib I sigh

I shouldn’t be so happy
Keeping all this stashed inside
But each time they miss my pain
My chest swells up with pride
Listen up,
You’ve been dancing in circles,
thinking you can outrun your own shadow.
But the sun always moves.
And shadows?
They follow.

You patch the cracks,
stack lies on lies like brittle bones,
but every cover you throw
just sinks you deeper.

You wear your little masks,
build fake versions of yourself,
hoping if you play enough parts,
nobody’ll see what’s rotting underneath.
But we see.
Everyone sees.
That theater doesn't scare anyone,
and it sure as hell doesn't scare justice.
Truth won't lose patience.
It doesn't blink.
It waits.

You write your pretty verses,
spit out poems like they’re some kind of shield,
like art can outrun consequence.
Your words are feathers in a hurricane.
They won’t cover the hurt,
They won’t erase the stain.

And don’t forget —
it’s never the sin that buries a man.
It’s the weight of hiding it.
Stop fighting the truth.
Ayla Grey May 21
Hidden truth buried deep inside
Feelings weren't enough
Bottled emotion like cigarette smoke
Fuming until you cough

Hiding inside a masquerade
Hoping to fit the mold
Until one day your bow breaks
And your crinkled truth unfolds

Fake happy till the smile fades
Until the once blue sky turns gray
And you wish one day it'll be over
The world will know you're gay
nicole May 6
5-6-25   2:29pm

underneath the glitter
the lights
behind the music that makes your ears ring
the screams
and so much rage

there's someone who longs for love
bathes in the quiet
reads her poetry
and sits in solitude


do you see it?
most likely not
she buries it deep
hides it behind a shield
masked as an armor
protected from society
My tears ***** my eyes
As they show great weakness
As if I’ve out turned my insides
They’ve spilled my greatest secrets

My voice shakes and squeaks
As my reason tries to speak
As I try to hide my clear
Red Eyes that still leak

My hands try to hide
My puffed face as I writhe
My pain now so clear
All in vain now I’ve cried

My eyes meet their eyes
As I show all my weakness
My stoic stubborn pride
Shattered in tear shaped pieces
Pagan Paul May 2
Darkness, darkness, lonely as the grave
Darkness, darkness, teach me to be brave
As shadows fall across the trees
and inky shade stills stormy seas
Darkness, darkness, teach me to be brave.

Darkness, darkness, lonely as the night
Darkness, darkness, take me from the light
Clothe me in the velvet soft black
and weave me a cloak to take me back
Darkness, darkness take me from the light.

Darkness, darkness, lonely as the moon
Darkness, darkness, sing me a soft tune
Hold my hand and lead me away
hide me from the sun of the day
Darkness, darkness, sing me a soft tune.

Chorus:
Gently, hold me, unto the end.
Darkness, darkness. Approach my friend.
Gently, hold me, unto the end.
Darkness, darkness. Approach my friend.
Izan Almira Apr 13
"Brave”, “strong”, “decisive”.
You use these words to describe me,
in an attempt to console me.
Unaware that they are nothing more
than bandages covering my flaws to me.

Straps of fabric surrounding my scars,
hoping that if I can’t see them,
I’ll be able to forget them.
I dream
of the apocalypse
long for it
fantasize daily
of what it would be like

the world as we know it
ending
never to be the same again

the pain of lost nostalgia
society crumbling
a fresh start

I long to see human nature
stripped down to animal form
raw fury
primal instincts

we would all be killers
wild and desperate
so focused on survival
we'd forget about all the petty things that used to matter

everything would be different
no one would have to hide anymore
I WOULDN'T HAVE TO HIDE ANYMORE!
we could succumb to it
the darkness
the Monster

it wouldn't matter
the demons that plague you
who you love
who you are
all your deepest
darkest
secrets
suddenly simply methods of survival

I would survive, I think
we would
alone
together
just fighting zombies

let's be honest:
they aren't that bad anyway

someday, society would be reborn
a new one
post-apocalyptic
we would go back to what we once were
creatures of the night
of blood and beauty

but for a while, nothing but
anarchy
lawlessness
pure desperate survival
where nothing matters
and everything goes

I dream
of the apocalypse
It would be so much... easier, don't you think?
Aaron Beedle Mar 25
I don't care what other people think,
the only opinion I need is my own.
And I form it in the echo chambers
of my cold and lonely home.

I don't trust what other people say.
I've been hurt by everyone I've known.
People are mostly out for themselves.
I'm better off working alone.

People don't listen when I talk.
Don't hear my dreams and fears.
And when I share the things I think,
people often disappear.

And when I give a friend advice
and they don't do what I say,
well how can I help my friends through life?
I don't know another way.

People and I have nothing in common.
They don't understand my pain.
I used to want people around me,
but now I just move away.

Please feel free to leave some critical feedback on the poem.
About: People exhibiting the same behaviours that they criticise in others, and how this makes them sad.
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