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Aster Mar 30
existing only in the memory, in the mirror
sublime image, a dotted line
wanting, crashing, writhing fatally
imaginary conversations, air drawings

no friend to call mine, intimacy denied
crunchy brain turning to foam
classes blurring, ears ringing
banging the floor till wrists are bruised

profanity, cruelty, pretty girls hating
feeling unwanted by boys (and the girls)
invisible or dissolved?

dishonoured, disgruntled, disillusioned, disenchanted
how right I was all alone
my subconscious mind sending tremors
       disconnection with my own spirit

"I am" I constantly whisper to myself
  in the little gaps of time I'm not dissociated
   fully aware of my material,
                                    not a vaporised form
that I assumed from the treatment of others

vapours solidify, vaporise, dissolve and vanish
Asuka Mar 29
Is this the end—
the final wilt of a flower that never bloomed?
My name fades like ink
washed away by merciless rain,
my dreams crumble
like abandoned sandcastles at dusk.

Where is the wildfire
that once roared inside me?
Now I am a candle,
melting without a flame,
a shadow chasing a sun
that never rises for me.

What is the point of pain
if it never runs dry?
It stretches like an endless ocean,
each wave heavier than the last,
dragging me deeper—
where light cannot reach.

I walk a road no one else takes,
where streetlights are ghosts,
where even the wind forgets to whisper.
The river beneath the bridge writhes,
never still, never calm,
just like me.

God, was it too much to ask
Wished for some hurdles to lessen,
But even the roadside grass
Knows no mercy under the weight of passing feet

I never wanted to beg,
but mercy tastes sweet
when you are starving.
Still, no hand reaches out,
no voice calls my name.

I tried to belong,
but I am the night sky—
swallowing all color,
never reflecting back the light.

Let me breathe—
but the air is an ocean,
and I am drowning in silence.

Want someone to skip a beat of my heart
Want my soul to rest without vanishing?
Want someone to notice—before I am gone?
God, is it really too much to ask?
Some souls don't scream for help; they whisper. Will you listen before the silence takes them?
Asuka Mar 29
The world of lies, with hollow eyes,
No, it is not the place for me.
You know I'm lonely—so lonely,
No one beside me, lost in the sea.

I long for a soulmate to carve a name
In the golden sands by the restless waves.
But the tides will come and wash it away—
Who do I turn to? Who will stay?

The sun exists, yet hides at night,
Just like me—I seem alright,
But deep inside, I fight my plight.

This world is a shadow, near in light,
Gone in the dark, out of sight.
This world won't change, I know it's true—
But one day, gold will come to you.

Let the dogs bark, let them sneer,
One day, their voices will disappear.
If they won’t let you fly, walk the sky,
If they block your path, keep moving by.

Push ahead, no matter how,
Chase your dreams, don’t stop now.
Without pain, life is incomplete,
Wings will sprout, though your back may bleed.

This world won’t change, but still, I try.
I am alone, lost in the night.
I don’t know when or how I’ll fall,
But I know—again—I’ll hit the floor.

****** tears from words that sting,
Yet life sways like a see-saw swing.
One day you're high, one day you're low,
But through it all, you learn and grow.
Lost in the tides, yet still I rise. It's okay to not get what you want at the start. I will endure it.
Asuka Mar 28
The sadness falls in sheets of rain—
I long for an umbrella of love.
You are the Atlantic, lost in tides,
I am the Pacific, distant above.

Two waters that will never meet,
divided by fate, by silent war.
Loneliness hums in flickering streetlights,
shadows stretch, but mine is no more.

The mirror mocks with a cruel smile,
a stranger wears my skin and eyes.
If self-love is an illusion,
why can’t I stop despising mine?

My world, once golden, now Atlantis,
drowning beneath a memory.
The pillars that held my past and pain,
once strong with love, now start to break.

And as the cracks run deep and wide,
they show the truth I failed to see—
the ones I cherished, swore were mine,
were only ghosts disguised as peace.

El Dorado gleamed on the horizon,
but it’s farther than the stars abide.
Betrayal shattered like porcelain glass,
a wound too deep for love to hide.

Yet even ruin learns to harden—
one day, I will return the favor in steel.
Reece Mar 28
When I try to connect to another,
I quickly discover,
That our worlds couldn’t be more separate from each other.
It’s not that hard to uncover,
And it makes me wonder,
Are our lives just mindless inside our bubbles?

Overhearing conversations,
Is a fascinating endeavor,
One I would recommend.
Without interventions,
They’ll keep on talking forever,
Without an end.
You may start to understand,
That the world’s quite bigger,
Than we can wrap our heads around.
It may be hard to comprehend,
With all of the triggering,
Surrounding sounds.

I’m in a different atmosphere,
In my bubble,
Waiting to be discovered.
Not yet in the biosphere,
Of another,
That’s a journey on its own.
Watching my exosphere,
As people pass by like comets,
Without a second thought.
A dwarf planet,
Floating aimlessly,
Contemplating,
My atmosphere,
Slowly thinning.

Listening,
To people talk about their lives,
And their strifes,
Totally different all the time.
The pinnacle of misery for any given day to me,
Could be I got a paper cut that caused me to bleed.
But what do I hear occasionally when someone shares their lives?
“Hey, my dog just died…”
Fires off as loudly as a gun,
Breaking reality underneath my feet,
Questioning if they’re just looking for sympathy,
Or empathy,
To comfort them in their time of need.

Our problems can seem so large,
To us,
Yet, comparatively to another,
They’re so minute.
Some people feel like when they wake,
It’s another day just to lose,
While others add to their bruises,
Just what they needed.
Lack of consideration,
Or spatial awareness,
Contributing to,
All of our stress.

Perhaps people are vastly different than me,
On certain things,
For one, most got their driver’s license just as they turned sixteen,
But that wasn’t a personal priority,
I need to become less jittery, first,
One thing at a time.
Most people are far more social than I’ll ever be,
Probably my biggest insecurity,
Is whether I,
Talk too much or too little,
Say anything that’s worth the listen.
Some friends adore going out,
Scouring the town,
And spending time with each other,
And if you don’t, it’s hard to recover.
I want a friendship where the person understands the way I am,
Before the butterfly can fly it needs a suitable environment.

I’m in an alien atmosphere,
Hoping to be noticed,
Hurt when it doesn’t come to pass.
Dreaming about experiencing the biosphere,
Of others,
And making memories that last,
Many years.
Gazing at my exosphere,
As the comets fly past,
Knowing that I’ll find my way at last.
Space has a lot of space,
And statistically and certainly,
There’s a habitable planet for me.
So I can circle it like a moon does,
Form a meaningful bond,
As we both are assaulted by the sun.

Just have to wait,
A common theme of life,
I’ll quicken my sorrowful gait,
Because I want to see what lies in the light…
Sometime it feels like people are too different to form a meaningful connection, it is that mindset that makes it difficult
Tristan Corey Mar 28
I do not write to speak,
but to bury,
to press my sorrows into the earth
like seeds I never meant to grow.

Pain does not leave when you ask it to,
it lingers, it echoes, it stabs,
it carves its name into your chest,
Then you whisper it onto a page,
and call it poetry,
or prayer,
or just another night alone.

There are days I drown in the ache,
where my voice cracks under its weight,
where the silence swallows me whole,
and I let it —
I cannot stop it.

But healing is not a sudden bloom,
it is a slow, stubborn crawl,
fingers clawing through the dirt,
digging ever deeper,
pulling out the pieces of who I was
to build the person I am becoming.

And what I’ve learnt is this,
writing is not about expression,
it is about excavation,
and I am still digging
my way towards the sun.
izzmidnight Mar 28
On misty moons, I wander free,
Escaping life's cacophony,
The world's too loud—a fading sound,
As nature's peace enfolds me round.

All alone, my spirit grows strong,
Visions of a hidden world beyond;
Shadows of the past still linger near,
And now, my soul will find me here.

For in this land, I'm never alone,
Nature's heartbeat echoes my own.
Let me dwell here, where wisdom flows,
With a world of wonder that grows and grows.
This is a Romantic poem inspired by the poet William Wordsworth. I appreciate comments and feedback. :)
I sit and dream of a wildflower,
That is grown in the darker.
When exposed to the light,
She felt like she wasn’t as bright.

Neither was she yellow nor her ground,
All she ever did was feel blue without a sound.
She always tried to step out of the crowd.
But she buried herself deeper into the ground.

All she ever did was make others happy,
But all they did was conclude her uncanny.
She went with them when they were alone,
But what she got back was feeling ignored.

With none to love nor to hug,
She fit herself into a mug.
I don’t have a place in the light she said,
I will eat myself in the dark instead.

All she ever did was beg for delight,
But agony hit her with all its might.
She walked in with a smile plastered,
Her mind disastered.

She slowly faded,
Believing no one cared.
But what she never knew —
They envied the beauty she bared.

When you see someone unique,
Don’t judge or despise.
Instead,
Learn to cherish and realize.
Wildflowers are beautiful in their own untamed way. They bloom without needing anyone's help, sprouting wherever the wind carries their seeds. Unlike the flowers that people carefully plant and nurture, wildflowers don’t rely on human hands to grow. They stand tall, even in the harshest places, simply because they know how to survive.

But sometimes, a wildflower is born in the darkest corners of the world—places full of sorrow and pain. It never asked to grow there, among the cracked earth and shadows. Yet it did. And despite everything, it bloomed.

When people found it, they decided it didn’t belong. They pulled it from its dark soil and planted it among the perfect, cultivated flowers. They expected it to change, to become like them—bright, flawless, and easy to admire. So, the wildflower tried. It reached for the sun, desperate to leave its dark past behind. But no matter how hard it tried, the others still whispered.

They mocked its twisted stem and imperfect petals. They treated it like an outcast, not realizing that its resilience was a kind of beauty they couldn’t understand. Deep down, they saw its strength and felt threatened. But instead of acknowledging that, they let their pride turn to cruelty.

And the wildflower? It wilted under the weight of their words. It started to believe it was worthless, that maybe it never should have bloomed in the first place.

I know how that feels because I’ve been that wildflower. I’ve been the one people ignored, belittled, and left to question my worth. But here’s what I’ve learned: Just because others can’t see your beauty doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Every scar, every moment of survival, is proof of strength.

No one deserves to feel like they’re not enough. So be kind. Don’t tear people down because they shine in a way you don’t understand. Don’t let your own insecurities turn into cruelty. And most importantly, don’t let anyone walk away believing they were a burden when they were really a gift.

Wildflowers are never worthless. And neither are you.
Le Toad Mar 25
Let these words I write,
be your cordial invite
Because I write these words for you
between heartbeats
Where our love, hopes and dreams meet.  

Let this be my eyes
Gazing into yours
Dancing to the rain drops
I'll hold you, till it all stops
If You'll hold me, while it pours
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