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Taylor Allyn Mar 22
Obscurity is a quiet violence—  
not sudden, not sharp.  
It seeps.  
Tilts the world by degrees  
until struggle feels like balance.  
You stop reaching for air.  
You start pacing the silence,  
memorizing its corners,  
finding comfort in its ache.  
It does not shout;  
it hums—  
soft, constant,  
like a thought you can’t unlatch from.  
And in the famine of recognition,  
you stop needing to be seen.  
You fold yourself into the absence.  
You name the ache familiar.  
You name the silence sacred.  
You call it love.
Obscurity is not silence.
It’s the echo of everything you were before the world stopped looking.
Lamar Mar 19
You bleed over my lashes, blurring my vision.
I see only what you let me.  
Is there an escape, or is this all I've ever known?

You slick down my skin, coiling around my neck.
Heavy and gilded, you press and press.
My pulse hammers against your walls.
How do I breathe when every inhale feels like suffocation?

You seal my lips like an amber muzzle,
gluing my tongue to silence.
I scream, but my voice dissolves into you.
Do you hear me, or is my silence sweeter?

You creep over my limbs like vines,
dragging me under and I am clothed in your ruin.
I claw at the surface but my fingers slip.
You fill my lungs and run through my veins,
flooding me with no resistance.

I let you take me, let you coat my ribs.
Merged with you, will I ever be free?

Was I ever mine to begin with?
Lamar Mar 15
Show me you care,

So I don't have to press my fingers against my throat
To feel the pulse of something real to remind myself,
"I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive,"

And not just a shadow cast in the shape of you.
Lynn Mar 14
She smiles because she's your go-to child
The one that gets all the praise
The one who accepts all your rage
Even as she's growing
You won't ever know it
Because hormones are bad
And mood-swings won't ever be had
Even though she hates it
She smiles as she fakes it
Her facade or innocence
Is quite actually painfully brilliant
She has everyone around her finger
Though the tightness of it always stings her
She smiles as she's called sweet
Kind and lovely
Smart and hardworking
Honest and trustworthy
Strong and preserving
Beautiful and genuine
Because she's not she's
Mean and unlikeable
Dumb and lazy
A liar and unhonest
Ugly and fake
But somehow no one sees
Her broken and horrid self
Through her sickly sweet
Kind and innocent
Full of joy and love
Fake facade
Romance it was,
when I thought
that in this country
I would feel at home.

When I boarded that plane,
headed for the future.
A promising future,
full of trials
and many successes.

I crossed borders,
both physical and emotional.

I never thought my life
would fit into a suitcase.

In my suitcase,
only a few clothes,
but filled with everything
that pushed me forward.

The rest was in my mind:
the embrace of my mother and father.
Will this be the last time I see them?

Longing and nostalgia,
a feeling in my chest.

I don’t know if it’s sadness or love,
pride for doing
what many cannot,
and yet, I dare.

Now I find myself here,
I am the different one,
the one who speaks with an accent.

Strong in life,
wondering what I’m doing here,
searching for my path.

Not for an earthly purpose,
but because the universe
needs me here.

It seems like a terrestrial journey,
but it is an astral journey
to another reality.

Many times I cry,
other times I comfort myself.
I am no longer from here,
but neither from there.

When I say,
"I am from the world,"
I find myself.
Ankush Mar 9
Standing up front
Watching the  eyes
Looking in depths
Deep inside,
Finding meaning
As to nothing ,
Exploring with hope
Core to those eyes ,
Found the reflection-
The reflection of mine.

The strange curious eyes
Of mine watching the eye
To those of mine and
so to ME
Exploring the self  into the
Core ,
Like a boat amidst
the sea .
I asked the mirror what do u reveal
"In response it just reflected me" .
A simple revelation, attachment leads to wrong perception of something which is not true , aloof it's own meaning and nature.  You can't find your self in your mere reflection, it's just your physical apperance.
Ankush Mar 9
The question that is ,going through me
When I was a kid or  when I am grown up
the thing which resides within ,the one who grants it
I don't know whether it's me or someone ,
Full of truth or lie whichever is it  Just tell me
What am I?

It's not real ,it's not fake ,
Curious for world nearby lake
Thinking in nights ,dreaming in day
Whether it's me , my soul or someone else
I don't know what i take it as a role or just a lie
Whichever is it Just tell me
What am I ?

Existence , persistence, patience not so be true to be truth,
The things I know ,why nobody knows?
Feelings, strength, emotions ,dreaming about it but what takes
Us to exist and extinct if we don't know the relation,
The relation of being in reality,or rather in fake all around it ,
Everything till now was just a fallacy , us to smile or just cry
Whichever it is just tell me
What am I ?
You are the main character of your own story, so you better start acting the part.

Love.
Hate.
Grieve.

Treat yourself.
Boast shamelessly.
Feel pretty.

Be childish.
Be emotional.
Be angsty.

Be human.
Be you.
Just be.
I feel that people restrict themselves from basic human qualities and end up feeling miserable. We don't have to be what the world wants us to. We should just be, shamelessly.
R Spade Mar 10
The dead trees whispered to me in my sleep about happy endings.
(I should have known better than to talk to strangers.)
Maybe the bottomless wine glasses were a dream and I’ll wake up.
(she didn’t wake up)

I heard them say, “His blood turned sour long ago.”
I smiled back at the shadows, nodding my head –
yes.
(But I can’t resist the taste of bitter citrus.)

Do you paint stories across the walls of your mind?
(We accept the love we think we deserve.)
Adrenaline and attraction intertwined at last.
(When is a monster no longer a monster?)

Oh, how the moonlight dances upon despair,
(I have learned to waltz with my own shadow.)
We whispered confessions to the night so still,
(Are secrets safe when whispered to darkness?)

Listen to the symphony in the chaos we created...
(When does the hunted become the hunter?)
In a universe full of paradoxes, what do you believe?
(I stare into a broken mirror, unsure which piece is mine.)

At the edge of reality, where does it end?
Burning alive, my white dress turns into black ash,
I smile, and ask if you’re happy.
(The trees whisper back that you are.)
Usama Shahid Mar 9
Who am I?
Why do I seek a mirror in every gaze I meet?
Is it a longing to be understood?

I feel pain—pain not of the body.
I feel trapped—but not by walls.

I think in facts, yet facts do not feel.
I dwell on the past, but the past brings no joy.
I dream of the future, yet the future holds no freedom.

I exist in the present—
But is the present a thought? A feeling? A state?

What is the present?
How do I live it?
Am I alone?

Who am I?
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