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TheJhondelion Dec 10
How would I know I’m not a heavy-weight,
A burden those I love could start to hate?
Each word I speak feels like a sharpened stone,
Thrown into hearts that ache, yet not my own.

How can I be sure their light stays intact,
Unstained by shadows that my soul attracts?
What if my truths are daggers they can’t bear,
And I leave scars in places unaware?

How would I know their kindness doesn’t fade,
Eroded by the cost of love they’ve paid?
What if my pain becomes the thing they fear,
A haunting voice that whispers when I’m near?

How can I trust they’d hold their steady ground,
When I pull them to where I can’t be found?
What if my sorrow seeps into their core,
And they’re not who they were, not anymore?

What if I speak, and silence fills the air,
A proof their patience vanished unaware?
Do they resent the weight my words impose,
Or wish I’d keep my sadness undisclosed?

How would I know they won’t begin to flee,
Escaping from the heaviness of me?
What if their love gives out beneath the strain,
And all I’ve left are echoes of my pain?

I’m torn between the need to reach and hide,
Unsure if they can stand what’s locked inside.
Am I a poison slowly spreading through,
Or just a soul too lost to find the truth?

That’s why I think it’s better left this way,
Alone with all the words I’ll never say.
To die with silence wrapped around my chest,
And free them from the weight of my unrest.
This poem is hauntingly beautiful and raw, perfectly capturing the torment of being trapped within oneself. The relentless questioning and fear of being a burden resonate deeply, making it an evocative piece that speaks to the silent battles many endure. Your vulnerability shines powerfully here, and it’s truly moving. 🌌
Millie Dec 6
Do you know what it's like to be inside someone's head?
All of a sudden wanting to be dead.
Or maybe full of worry?
Rushing 'round in a hurry.
Maybe full of rage?
Being life's prisoner in its cage.

You can't hide from me.
That's just how it is unfortunately.
Standing in a room just me and you
I'll always know how you feel, it's true
cause being an empath is not a choice
but a chance to give all the hurting a voice.
For what am I but a man,
Alone I walk, alone I stand,
My mind; the only place where life ain't so bad,
What I can't do down here- up there I can.

And what am I but a fickle flower?
The echoes of silence that get louder and louder,
As I gaze upon my broken life from a tall castle tower,
As the fruits that grew my consciousness turn a bitter wicked sour.

What am I but an unloved creature?
Not a shard of perfection in any of my features,
Although I am dead and numb inside,
I've still God's spine to hide behind.

Hope is not something that one can find,
It's in your soul; it's in your mind,
I fight the evil; my inner inside,
I thought I'd won- but now we're tied.
This is a poem I wrote a few years ago. I'm 19 now and this was written when I was nearly 15
My head is calm like the ocean's shore,
I push the trigger and the gun goes off.
I accepted death,
I accepted my fate.
I know it will never get better,
my soul will stay bitter.
My cuts will go deeper
for every dog that has bitten.
I am not alive anymore,
my body is bleeding on the floor.
As my dead corpse lays in the pool of blood,
my favorite song still plays non-stop.
Sad poem
Kian Nov 20
Body aches, and soul decays, the ocean stretches wide,
With scorching skies, and burning eyes, I’ve nowhere left to hide,
No wind to kiss these ragged sails, no stars to be my guide,
I drift in silence, hours bleed, the waves and I collide,

The sun, a hammer, beats me down, each breath a broken plea,
The thirst has left my throat a grave, the hunger gnaws at me,
The years, the months, the days are one, the tides my only sea,
Yet still, I wait—though hope is dust—for solace that won’t be,

No whispering wind, no shade in sight, no shadows on the crest,
The horizon mocks me with its calm, my heartbeat begs for rest,
A desert made of salted glass, the end a welcome guest,
I’m lost, I’m worn, I’ve come to know the drowning in my chest,

If these dead waters rise for me, I’ll sink without a sound,
Let ocean’s weight press down my bones, ‘til none of me is found,
For I have nothing left to give, no strength left to be crowned,
And if these seas shall swallow whole, then let me, too, be drowned.
A sweet  smile greets all who meet her,
With no hint of the pain concealed;
But her poems paint a self-portrait,
Where the truth is boldly revealed

Each word that her pen releases
Is a fateful stroke of the brush:
Sunlit paths that led to dark places,
The brief joys that Fate chose to crush

Sad tales are etched with precision
Upon this warped canvas of Time,
Describing the heartaches that linger,
Urging her to cloak them in rhyme

Are lonely days not distressing
Enough  for this painter of verse?
And yet night deprives her of slumber,
As memories refuse to disperse

But pity offers no solace --  
Fate's cruelty has taken its toll,
Leaving her to walk this Earth alone
With weary heart and blighted soul

Playing Life's dubious Game of Love
She was nothing more than a pawn;
Well does she know her fate has been sealed . . .
Long ago her portrait was drawn
Thorn Oct 26
The building is breaking,
the cameras aren’t recording,
and I’m supposed to do my job effectively?

The world is dying,
the economy collapsing,
the people falling in the street,
and I’m supposed to find a way to be happy?

The bills are unpaid,
the lights won’t turn on,
the water is brown and smells of syrup,
and I’m supposed to care about your new skin line?

Our minds are poisoned
with deception and false information,
kept distracted by flashing lights and one-liners once funny.
Our youth is gone before its start.
Our elders work until their final breath.
The children are crying, screaming, pleading for peace,
yet they know too that it’s too late.
And we’re supposed to count the blessings gone unseen?

I am alive,
but what does that even mean?
All I can do is breath,
and hope the smoke doesn’t destroy me.
I have a safe home,
if you ignore the lead and asbestos.
I have a good partner,
if you ignore all of the screaming.

I looked to my neighbour,
and saw their lawn had no grass either.
We looked across the street together, hoping for new sights.
But aside from the blood and the bullet holes
the people there had the same troubles.
We broke down in tears.
We heard the cries for help,
but were too busy fighting ourselves.
Another life gone,
unprevented by healthcare that doesn’t care.

The news lady spoke of another shooting today.
They showed the children hitting the windows
and asked one fleeing to speak of his dead friend.
They mentioned the staff member killed
while calling the police.
A parent was arrested trying to rush in.
They could have been saved,
but better to ‘keep the public calm’.
919 dead overall.

But still,
they want us to smile
and pretend to be happy
in what is supposedly the ‘greatest country’;
kept alive solely by those willing to give their lives
for what they consider to be a good fight.
We’re meant to never complain
for the sake of modesty and good names.
Meanwhile, 80-year-old men are arguing
over who gets to decide our fate.
God bless America,
and all the dead people living in it.
Prayers for those permanently lost to it.
Hanzou Oct 25
I keep on wishing, praying that you’re well,
Hoping you find the love that makes your heart swell.
I tell you, “Find the one who’s meant for you,”
But deep inside, I ache, wondering why it can’t be true.

Why can’t I be the one you hold dear,
The one who quiets your doubts, who dries every tear?
I want so badly for you to see me that way,
Yet I watch you drift farther, with each passing day.

I don’t want someone else to take my place,
But how can I ask, when I’ve given you space?
I wish you’d be better, for me, here and now,
Yet I swallow the words, not knowing how.

How selfish of me to want you near,
When all I ever do is wish away your fear.
I put your happiness above my own,
And in that act, I’m left standing alone.
That should be me. I hope it would be me. But I know it's just wishful thinking.
Heavy Hearted Oct 25
Alone

It Feels More Than It Really Is,

Desolate abandoment
The void left by, taught through
The faces I would turn towards
And truest love I knew;

Yet away from me, unhappily
Or indifferent, themselves have turned
Fixed, never to meet within my gaze
My life or their cautionary tale, decerned

Falling in love with many a friend
From very early on
Where nothing matters like they do,
No matter that they've gone.

No matter that the majority
And best parts of our live's real years,
Are spent relapsing in their memory,
As their aura disappears.

It Really Is More Than It Feels

Alone
Jade Emma Bronwen Chelsea Jack Noam Chris Zack Rebecca Kimia Sammy Debra Christina
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