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I've hidden it for such a length,
All the pain and suffering,
I believed my hidden strength,
Would be all this enduring,

Guess I was wrong about it all,
Now my bottle starts to crack,
My heartbeat now feels so small,
As if I'll get a heart attack,

That pain is what I may've known,
It may just be what I did hide,
Never may all this be shown,
I'm just not ready for that ride,

They said you're so mature,
So emotionally intelligent,
Guess It's in your nature,
A kid ever so diligent,

Intelligent? I know my feelings well,
I know them better than you think,
But there's a reason I will tell,
Who would I tell? I've got no link,

About my feelings I have told,
Only to one other,
Perhaps I'll just let it here unfold,
Not even my own mother,

I know so well only because,
I've only told things to myself,
None to give a round of applause,
I listened for my better health,

I really needed to be heard,
So I just made myself that guy,
A person who would say a word,
No need to give another try,

Despite it all I keep on going,
Despite it all I still have hope,
Despite it all I keep on growing,
Despite it all I climb this *****.
Ever felt to be on the verge of breaking?
Daniel Tucker Jun 27
You are on a very long list
of those who can’t though
they persist.

Learn the lesson of Achilles
heel: there's something that doesn't want you here.

You hold tightly the images
of misguided faith, role
models and illusory joy.
But graven images topple
as slow as dry rot and
Pandora quietly fills your
box of toys.

Your house is projected
and frozen in time.
Twenty layers of
wallpaper are peeling
your mind.

Rooms untouched like
100-year-old Mason
jar preserves. You can't
eat fruit kept for so many
years.

Your choice of worlds
kept the patterns; no
new beginnings mean
the same old ends.
You may not break all
the rules, but you sure
make them bend.

Grace seemed to touch
you as you walked a
mile or two seemingly
content. But no matter
how amazing the grace
was, you can't be where
you never went.

As long as scapegoats
hang on crosses all along
this highway like rows of
pigs hanging bloodless at
the slaughterhouse, and
as long as Western
religious pop culture icons
and other social images
replace what is real, the roadblocks and washouts
will continue to keep you
there. Achilles protected everything but his heel.


© 2025 Daniel Tucker
This speaks of the many forms of addictions we humans are susceptible to. I was inspired to write this about someone I cared for very much. They suffered from alcohol and drug addiction. I was an Addiction's Counselor back then. I am so grateful that I kinda helped shock him and others into straightening up their lives. Therapy can be intense. Often it has to be. This write is an example of it.
Joshua Phelps Jun 29
i try to see
the bright side
every day,

but deep down,
i’m scared—

my nerves
frayed,
worn thin
like overused threads.

i spent years
simply surviving,

keeping my head low,
waiting
for the right timing

to make it out
unscathed.

but cuts
and scrapes
still touch the surface,

and the light
inside my heart
flickers—
on repeat.

i know
what it’s like
to feel something,

but life
isn’t fair,

and the pain
i bear
makes me question:

will i remain
broken forever?

or will i
break free
from this cycle—

free from
the fear—

and like a phoenix,
take flight,
rise from the ashes,

and finally
fix my broken heart?
this poem is about survival, exhaustion, and the hope that somehow…
even after everything, you’ll rise.

inspired by Point North’s “Into the Dark,”

this is for anyone still fighting to find the light again.

sometimes healing doesn’t roar—it flickers, then burns bright.
somedumbbitch Jun 29
When thunder shades your brow,
I could burst the storm clouds,
looming overhead,
until a smile, reignites you,
and you glow, like a shining sun.  

When flares, of helpless pain,
snarl tender joints,
I want to find the thread,
hidden, in your bed, of nerves
and PULL it gently,
until the knot,
pops out.

I'd like to scry,
the deep, shining pool, of your eyes,
and read their formations,
like tea leaves.
I hope to exorcise the demons,
that lean over your shoulders,
and laugh,
at anything you do.

I want to take your hands, in mine,
and infuse you, with my energy.
I long to push my palm, against yours,
and see if our lifelines
kiss, as ardently as we do,
and travel harmoniously, together,
under a wake, of shimmering stars.

I yearn...to pour myself upon you,
like healing water,
and bathe, the full of you,
into the gentle tides, of me.

To tie, the nucleus
of our aching souls, together,
in a flagrant twist,
of the loveliest
flowers, and vines...
because I need you, to hold me,

to cherish me
beyond lives, that end,
beyond worlds, that collapse,
beyond stars, that explode
into supernovas
of guttering stardust.

In you...
I can see a love,
that transcends

lives, together
dimensions, apart...

and galaxies, that could crumble,
only to release more stars,
around us,
like free, and floating fireflies
in the blue-black expanse,
of sky.

What bliss, it could be,
to burn, like an eternal torch,
with you,

beyond the dark well,
of time.

What bliss, it could be,
to take your hand, in mine
and jump, beyond,

the spinning,
quiet void,
of death.
Just yesterday, our silence wasn't vain —
Within that hush, the final heartbeat stirred.
Your hand was warm, but not in mine it stayed,
And in your eyes — farewell without a word.

Your voice grew still, like tea grown cold with time,
No longer did you seek the spring in me.
All I could do — watch fate redraw the line,
Where you’re without me... and I’ve lost my sleep.

That light you hold now shines for someone new,
No longer am I chasing distant smiles.
All I have left — the waves of longing through
Each haunting thought... and silence stretching miles.

You're gone — and I remain between the lines,
Where hearts still whisper all we left unspoken.
And in the quiet, memories entwine —
We’re still together… though long since broken.

That glow now lands on shores that aren’t mine,
I’m not the coast you dream of through the night.
What’s left for me — a silence undefined,
And memories of you fade out of sight.

Love isn’t always cries or final falls —
It leaves us gently, while we still seem whole.
And so we stayed in silence through it all,
Too weak, too hurt to let goodbye be told.
Zywa Jun 29
No more bicycles:
with the tram
No more trams:
on roller skates
until they break
On clogs
until raids close everything

No more electricity
No more candles
No more stolen oil
No more charcoal
No more trees
No more books
only the clothes on one's back

No more bread:
grinding wheat
in the coffee grinder
No more wheat:
cooking rye grains
No more rye:
begging tours

No more winter coats:
worn coats made of blankets
curtains on the beds
A cold house, hunger
and fear, and time
that stands still
at hope
'Hongerwinter': the Dutch famine of 1944-1945

Autobiography "In den vreemde - Kronieken" ("In foreign parts - Chronicles", 2024, Frida Vogels), chapter 'Oorlogsherinneringen' (Memories of war)

Collection "Trench Walking"
Harry Jun 29
we never said goodbye
because we thought
we never had to
and one day
we may think right
we may finally be right about something. maybe.
Bekah Halle Jun 28
In You, I am alive —
In You, I can try; thrive —
In You, I can create,
In You, I know my fate —
In You, I can fail.
In You, I can see all,
Now, truly.
Rohidul Rifat Jun 28
She walks unlit between the crowd,
A hush beneath the voices loud.
The hours bruise her open hands,
Bartering breath for small demands.

No desk, no page, no teacher's name—
Just lessons scraped from soot and flame.
Her dreams, like threadbare hems, unwind—
Too delicate for those half-blind.

They do not see the shape she bears—
A rootless bloom that learns to care
For scraps of sky, for drifting sound,
For silence in a world unbound.

The mirror offers her no script,
No birthright carved, no title gripped.
Yet in her chest, a slow-burned spark—
A vow that glows beneath the dark.

Outside, the banyan dares to stay,
Its limbs a home for those astray.
She sees herself in trunk and leaf—
A quiet spine, a growing grief.

What voice is hers, if none reply?
What name survives when none ask why?
Still she persists, unknown, unseen—
A bloom that breaks through concrete green.
This poem is for the girls and women whose brilliance blooms beyond notice—those who learn from hardship, grow without guidance, and carry strength in silence. The Unseen Bloom is a tribute to the quiet, root-deep resilience that refuses to be erased.
Have you ever felt unseen, yet still deeply alive inside? What “small sparks” have helped you keep going in silence? I’d love to hear your reflections—especially on the last stanza and what it evokes for you.
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