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Your love came with a mirror —
always turned toward you.
Every ache I carried
became your stage,
each tear a script you rewrote
until my grief wore your name.

You call me selfish for bleeding in silence,
cold for curling into myself
when the world splits open inside my ribs.
But you never learned the language of my wounds,
only the echo of your own hunger.

I taught my voice to disappear at the sound of your temper,
hid my heart deep in the hollows of my chest
so it would not become your target.
I bowed to your shifting weather,
set my boundaries aflame
just to keep your thunder from splitting me open.

You call this love —
but real love fills, it doesn’t empty.
It holds me close without erasing me,
lets me stand beside you without fading to shadow.

I am learning the sharpness of my own outline,
the sacred violence of choosing myself.
I am learning to hold my pulse in my own palms,
to stitch my heart back together without apology.

One day, you will call me heartless.
You will say I turned cold,
that I stopped trying.

But I did not stop.
I started —
to breathe,
to rise,
to exist beyond the echo of your need.

I gathered the shards of the woman I was,
the one who bent and bled and begged to be seen.
I learned to kiss my own scars,
to trace each fracture as a map back home.

From the ashes of your endless guilting demands,
I built a quiet garden,
where my laughter echoes without fear,
where no one questions its tone or rewrites my words.
My body is no longer a battlefield,
but a soft terrain, now free to be touched with reverence, not claimed in conquest.

I found the wild in my veins again —
the witch who once danced beneath the stars,
who sang secrets to the moon with salt on her lips,
who carried entire storms inside her ribcage
and called them her magic.

I am not heartless.
I am not cold.
I am a woman remade in flame,
wearing the smoke as a crown,
singing to the morning as my own name takes root.

I am the bloom after the burning,
the breath after the breaking,
the softness that survives the blade.

Watch me —
unfurl into everything you never dared to say I couldn’t be,
radiant and ruthless in my becoming.
Unapologetic. Untamed. Unstoppable.
Anais Vionet May 30
Ok, there’s no jailbreak.
Make room for my innocent alter ego,
because there’s nothing to rebel against.

There are zero classes in my nascent,
year-long, Harvard master’s degree.
They call it ‘self directed study’
and like rockets have stages,
I’ll have ‘self paced modules.’

Am I suddenly at Oxford University?
They’re quite famous for that (no formal classes).
Or am I suddenly grown up and trusted?
I obviously don’t have it all figured out yet,
so I’ll just trust the process.

When I started that other school
(that shall not be named), my advisor
handed me a computer printout - a list
with something like 40 courses on it.
I thought, “Oh, my God,” but one by one,
year over year, I checked-off those courses
and voila! They handed me a diploma.
It was a process.

I understand, if you’re disappointed about the jailbreak, but there’ll
be coffee breaks, lunch breaks, study breaks, bathroom breaks
and more than a few self-directed dance breaks. So stick around.

“You know,” my therapist said, so very seriously, a few years ago,
“you keep laughing.”
.
.
I've Got the World on a String by Robin McKelle
****** Soul Picnic by Ledisi & Billy Childs
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/29/25:
Nascent: something that is just beginning.
People always ask:
If you were in a room
filled with everyone you’ve ever known,
who’s the first person
you would walk up to?

But I wouldn’t walk to anyone.
I’d stay right where I am—
and let them come to me.
Be your own first choice.
Kai Mar 31
The intrusive thoughts
They call out to me
Whispering
In my ear
To take the axe
And ****** the first person nearby

They consume my brain
Once I pick up a pair
Of scissors
My thoughts
Once full of the intention of cutting up a crocheted pear
Now reduced to one
With the sole intent
To cover myself with super **** scars

They colonize
They mineralize
They reorganize
They way how
My nerves
And brain functions

They tell me
Everything is fine
When I do mere cat scratches
At my thighs and arms
They tell me to do more
And everything will be okay
They tell me
Everything is their fault anyway
They're the reason why I'm doing it
The stings
Fall away
And they keep encouraging
Telling me to try to cut deeper
With a dull blade

The axe
The axe is telling me to release my anger
Onto someone
Someone that deserves
Getting an axe
Thrown at their head
It's telling me
I'm not going to be a danger
To society
Or myself
If I follow
It's command

These thoughts
Are begging to see
Blood
Even though
I'm scared to see
The blood
I'm scared to see the insides of humans
Yet somehow
I manage
To let them see some blood
One way
Or another

From begging for me
To be punching holes
In the walls
To making me want to slit my own throat
And call it a day

They help me
By letting everything go by
They provide me
And help me see
That everything is going to be fine
They remove most of my struggles
And blame it on someone else
They reassure me
Like no one else can

They're like a leech
Yet, I still love them
toxicity! Anyways, i feel like I'm getting choked again! Yippee! I got to go home because of it too!
Grey Mar 2
I don't know what to call this

A peom or rambling

Maybe more of ranting

I wanna be soft and sturdy like...

Be strong like...

Be compassionate like...

Be independent like...

Put my foot down like...

Be nice like...

But he did say
I'm unapologetical for who I am
Or what I stand for

Mostly caught between
Being nice and being me

Saying no and smiling
But I can be both
Maybe I am both
You're different today,
I hope that doesn't mean,
You're diverging.
Because my nation,
Isn't functional without your aid,
I'm not ready for independence yet.

"Athens and Sparta, two Greek city states, developed divergent values despite being of one nation."
Somethings off I'm worried.
MetaVerse Sep 2024
Donald Trump
******* King Chump,
And now he's gonna take down
Queen Clown.
Heavy Hearted Jul 2024
sometimes,
The time it takes
to curate a reality
Where
The eyes of a hostile reflection
Don't contribute to, but consume-
the moment's prison of littleness...
Is it not possible?
To escape eternity's hour's ceaselessness?
Hope,
is too short;

we perpetuate-
it takes shape.
we preform,
then placate.
I'll jus leave this here...
Traveler Sep 2024
I see it in your eyes, you want to **** them. But first you’d like to torture them for the atrocities that they have committed. Slowly tare them apart peace by peace. You’ve made yourself quite clear, I see..
Hell we all see your demons…
Traveler 🧳 Tim

I conjured this up after watching the news this morning.
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