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Reece Sep 20
The blood on my hands has begun to dry,
Along with my eyes, no more tears to cry.
I did what I did, I don’t regret their demise,
So why do I feel so conflicted inside?
I go into the bathroom and walk to the sink.
I pour myself a cup and take a small drink.
While deep inside, I’m boiling to the brink.
And if I don’t let it out, I’m destined to sink.
I look in the mirror, and all I see,
Are two eyes freezing cold.
I don’t remember who’s staring back at me,
I’m still not used to this mold.
I used to be a coward,
My will to speak overpowered.
While everyone around spoke so loud,
I’d sit at my desk and not make a sound.
But I made a vow to speak louder,
No longer will I be a coward.
I’ll say what I mean and mean what I say,
I’ll be a good man to my dying days.
I’ll find my hill and make my stand,
Holding on tight with my bloodied hands.
I stare into my two cold eyes,
My guise overwhelming my surprise.
I wash the blood off my hands.
I hope this was worth it in the end.
Since it takes a lot to change an identity,
I gaze in the mirror at the new me.
Don't change yourself for someone else; it doesn't ever seem to work out.
alyas haise Sep 7
siguro, kinailangan ko
na mamatay ang aking
personang nananabik
sa pananambang ng
taksil na kagaya ****
walang paninindigan,
para makasama ko
ang nanumbalik na isip,
ang misyong itinakda,
at gisingin ang mga
may prinsipyo, mula
sa bulok **** mundo.
There’s a man
who speaks for me
when my throat burns raw
from holding too much back.

British.
Refined.
A little too sure of himself -
but isn’t that the point?

He showed up in the static,
when my own voice
started splintering
under the weight of smiling.
Back when masking
meant survival,
and sounding different
was the only kind of safe I knew.

He’s not always kind,
but he’s always ready.
Crisp consonants.
Neatly folded sentences.
No stammer, no stray emotion.
Just enough distance
to keep breathing.

He isn’t me.
But I let him live
in the hollow between words,
in the pause where fear used to be.
Some days, I speak
and only realize later -
it was him, not me.

He doesn’t ask questions.
He answers them.

I wonder sometimes
what he’s protecting.
Or hiding.
Or holding up like armor
against the softness of me.

Colonizer?
Comfort?
Cohabitator?

He was born
in the croak of survival.
And now,
even when I’m safe,
he stays.

I would never send him away.
He kept me whole
when I didn’t know I was breaking.
If I carry him still,
it’s because
he carried me first.
Sometimes, survival requires invention. This is about the voice I built to sound competent when I felt like I was falling apart - a voice too smooth to belong to someone like me, and too practiced to put down. He isn’t me. But he kept me from disappearing. And for that, I let him stay.
BEEZEE Jul 19
It’s like I’m looking for ways to avoid myself      

       (I’m looking for ways to not care)

It’s like I’m going around every corner trying to avoid my own stare  

It’s like I’m running away from a shadow

          (Yet I know it’s always there)

I’m afraid of every part of me I swear…

They want me to love myself???

                      “Say hi!”

  Look in the mask

         There’s blood
            
                     It’s stained.

Avoiding myself

(a lonely ride)

All of the ways I could

           -complain-

Look to my heart and you’ll see

     (inside it steadily bleeds)

Blood veil drags behind me
                       &
I don’t know how to scream
Tank all your profiles,
Cause they're tightening a snare.
𝘞𝘩𝘰 are you identifying?
Are these my views?
Is that my perspective?
Is it 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦?

Tank all your profiles,
Cause it's harder to get ******* physical than digital.
It's either a check or an x
To be marked onto your square.
A few fascists' dream
Is a legislative nightmare.
Because contemporary data collection is wack

Not that the law matters much in such affairs
In front of a polaroid,
capturing pictures left, right and center,
I rest with the focus on me 24×7.
Expressing, a facade; promoting, hollowness.

My thoughts from the world concealed,
a persona taking over, advertizing
what is not tangible. Biased opinions
making me sink further into myself.

I look around, masses charging on with freedom.
With acceptance, bravery, courage to make mistakes.
I sit here donning my colorful pretty dresses.
Preaching perfection. Enjoying my mundane tasks.

Instruments of ostentations, in spirits of intermingling.
Flickering lights, flashing past. Blinding. Blazing.
Too loud for discomfort. Deafening. Quiet.
My mind, a fog. Numb. Stagnant. Unimportant. A liability.
Rosas witten Nov 2024
Abstract of destruction
Amidst anger
A mix of storm and earthquake
Searching for serenity of silence
A phase of mountain hills to reach the peak
Till calm

Mind blowing like fire
Brain storming a next project
Poker face of calm and quiet
In the most lenient places
Rhythm of ideas flowing ready to be written

The earth is mine
When I have what I wanted
Realm of joy contagious
Only asking for it to stay that way
When you look to the truth as your task
Then you may find it’s too much to ask
To go searching inside
Where the monsters all hide
Underneath your most virtuous mask
Tis the season to be falling
Tis the season to be gay
Tis the season to be flying
Higher, farther, away ~

Chains loosened she calls to her mother
An earthy musk, grains of sand, mud on her face. A scruffy mutt laying listlessly on the tarmac, ribs rattling with the effort of each breath. She is home.

Muted flames thrashing in its cage, raging in the midst of civilization, a crucifixion of sorts. Tearing at its hair wildly, the masses trickling by, mouth agape in a silent scream. Ashes mixed into pieces of scalp, begging to be found.

Oblivious to a sound like thunder, clapping in one's ears. Strangled scream lost in translation, a language so old none could decipher. Fear wielding urgency, a disguise of desperation, depression.

Refusing to be still.
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