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Kassan Jahmal Jun 26
'Life is but a dream,' I question the value of it;
at the edge of life, the edge of time, the edge of our reality;
at the edge of this cliff, we edge ourselves to a falling death.
But what if the fall to our death is like a dream—falling into
a hole, gaining speed close to it's undersurface? We'd wake
up before we hit the ground.

But would I wake up in a cold sweat; or in tears, of longing to
find what lies in the somber of a deep hole? Maybe my soul?
Haha; it's outline must of been shaped by the mind's many dreams,
my child. For what good was it; in the spirit ties of it being lost in the world?  A world at times that doesn't feel as real:
but just a life of a dream.

So by this edge, clutched by the winds of background; hold your
breath before you and I jump. Time may, or may not slow in the
plunge to the valley's undersurface. Still perhaps, this all could be
a dream, and we'll both wake up before we hit the bottom.

Surely it must be, because I don't know a reality to be as brave
to commit such an act. Why pinch yourself, when you've been
pinched by pillars of salt in life—sourness and bitterness?

Oh my inner child, life is but a dream:
and soon we'll both wake up from it.
Bella Isaacs Jun 12
They all ask me what I want to be after uni
It's no longer when I grow up, though how
Any can consider me so is beyond me
When I still jump onto the low fences like a cat
And traverse them in my absurd boots with barely a bow
When no one is looking, and everyone is watching, what
A fool and a spectacle I make of myself, I care little for
Until I come home, and realise I may have overplayed the clown -
But what was I made for, if not to hang upside down,
And call the world right side up that way? I implore and ignore
You, and you can heed me, or try to read me,
But you'll always need me.
Sometimes, it's best I admit to myself that I'm still 5 years old.
Mica Light Jan 27
She calls and cries,
But there are only echoes
Bouncing on the walls
Of my empty chest.

She is forgotten.
She gets pushed aside.

𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥?


▪︎ mica light ▪︎
Saudade, (n.): the longing to be near someone or some thing that is distant.
Mica Light Nov 2021
Hiding. She's
Trying. I keep her

Sleeping. She's
Weeping. She screams out her

Falling. She's
Calling. There's pain in her

Dormant. She's
Latent. She feels

Shifting. She's
Drifting. But I keep her

Uneasy. She's
Queasy. Yet I

Refracted. She's
Lasted. She cant be

Bleeding. She's
Seeking. To be

Unwitting. I'm
Splitting. I say my

Heating. It's
Fleeting. My old peace of

Conquered. I'm
Anchored. I'm treading

Drowning. Heart
Pounding. My sight going

Vehement. Not
Present. I am losing my

Engaging. I'm
Raging. She's loud from

Neurotic. I'm
seasick. From pain left

Messy. We're
Heavy. There's blood on our

Damage. I
Manage. This fall from up

Numbness. Crave
Oneness. This banal state,

Transgressing. Keep
shedding. And I'll find her

Uplifting. Deep
Thinking. I tame what is

           Releasing and healing
                     My own inner-child.

☼ Mica Light
Sometimes she comes gently. Sometimes she comes with force.

Vehement: marked by extreme intensity of emotions or convictions; inclined to react violently; fervid
Banal: obvious and dull; repeated too often; overfamiliar through overuse
Splitting: a commonly used defense mechanism for people with BPD that is done subconsciously in an attempt to protect against intense negative feelings such as loneliness, abandonment and isolation; sees in 'black and white'; no 'grey area'
MG Sep 2021
To the little girl who grew up too fast:
Who had her childhood taken away from her too young.
Who never knew what innocence was.
Who desperately searched for love in all the wrong places.
Who was afraid to show her heart, but desperately wanted it to be seen.
Who craved validation from men, most who didn’t care to know her name.
Who drank until the world went black.
Who hurt people, because she was hurting her self.
So full of angst.

I can still see her now- clearly.
She lives inside me.
I can find her standing at her favorite beach.
Listening to the angry waves crash.
It’s night and she’s always crying, but silently.
Salt water sprays her face as salty tears run down it.
Staring at the ocean, gazing at the moon.
Desperate for a glimpse of hope.
Here she’s able to feel all the things she has kept inside—

To the little girl who grew up too fast:
Who knew pain so young.
Who only wanted the love of her mother,
But looked for it in all the wrong places.
Who made choices to hurt herself, because she saw no value in herself.
Just know, I love you.
Even when you’re difficult to love.
I wouldn’t be me without you.
An ode to my teenage self
Sean Achilleos Jul 2021
I dreamt that I was in a cathedral I had never seen before
It was empty and serene
It was daytime, yet the candles were lit
The stained glass windows did not allow for too much light
I was wearing formal attire
It was then that I observed a child standing in the left isle
He seemed overcome by sadness and desperately lonely
The young boy came closer
At once he grasped me around my waist
He held me in a tight embrace
His little hands would not let me go
We were caught in a timespace
No words were spoken
Until the distraught boy broke the silence
Please, can I come home with you he pleaded
Though I recognised him from somewhere, I did not know him
Within a blink of an eye we were at home
The boy seemed happy to have found a safe dwelling
And I experienced a sensation of wholeness
Suddenly I woke from my dream within a daze
Trying to gather my thoughts
Trying to make sense of it all
Was it real or just a dream I wondered
Who was that child, and why did he look so incredibly familiar?
But the day had begun and the sun was bursting through the clouds
I stumbled to the bathroom, splashed my face with cold water ... looked in the mirror
At once I realised who the young boy was
It was me … Yes, me ...
I was the child who needed time and space to heal and grow
At an appointed time we met and merged
The pieces of a broken puzzle had come together
The inner child had finally come home
Written by Sean Achilleos
15 July 2021
Gabe Jun 2021
Running around
with a childish smile
discovering the surroundings
A little girl
and her innocence
are those which many find
incredibly delighting
After years and years
of uncontrollable curiosity
her innocence
is distant
as it seems to fade away
uncaptured by the very glance
of her pure eyes
Sav Jan 2021
At first it was about you
Seeing adornment in your eyes i tell myself
I have to break the cycle.
I HAVE to break this cycle

I don't know how
To stop
This cycle

At first it was about you
Wanting to show you the stars and the sky
Hear what you've seen in the clouds today
To show you the wonderment and beauty of this place
Not teach you how to be afraid

Then it was about me
Every breath of air I take
And I exhale ash
How will I be better for you?
Be there for you? Grow you?
From the examples I've had?
It was about you
but now it's me?
Is that- selfish

I think...
It was both
You see
At first it was you
Because thats how I understood
But  it was me too
You were my physical
Of my

And as I learn to nourish you
my little love
By showing you the pine trees
The dew stained mornings
The great beauty of this place
That you-
Don't have to be afraid of
I will learn
Shannon Soeganda Jan 2021
Beseeching words
genuinely rooted from
the wounded, rotten heart

to the cold, thin air of
"I have nothing left to say---"
Thank you for putting up with me, dear self. For teaching me to make peace with my demon; not to get rid of it.
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