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my wounds
are ocean-deep.
caution advised.
even seasoned souls,
spotless and sure,
can drown.
July 2, 2025.
eliana 5d
As I stand on that muddy grass field,
The roar of the cheering crowds
Is all I seem to hear.
No specific voices; it's all just a blur.
The only person I really notice
Is the yelling of my coach.

As I go to challenge the ball,
I think, "I want my coach to be proud of me."
The ball is at me feet, I have to be quick.
I dribble up the side of the field,
Cut in and cross, one touch,
From another player, and goal!
I know my coach is proud of me
From just one look.

Walking to the car,
Ball in hand, covered all in mud,
I receive compliments on a great game.
I say thanks, but all that matters
After the game winning goal
Is that one look from my coach.
feels like my life is over. only a a year to recover but thats a year of doing nothing. injuries ****.
Soph 6d
Old habits stick
Like I'm covered in glue
It makes me sick
I can't get them off
No matter what I do

They stain my hands
Stick to my skin
They're outside of me
And within

I try to peel
To scrub and change
But healing and growth
Still feels strange
Zywa Jun 11
Recovery can

take a long time, like waiting --


for what is over.
Collection "Local tardiness"
Soph Jun 8
Until you end it
Or it ends you
It doesn't matter what addiction
It always
Always
Ends the same

It may feel
Like it fills that hole
That endless, empty void inside you
But addiction never
Never
Heals it

It whispers
"You need me"
But it always
Always
Lies

People say
"Just quit"
Like it's nothing
Like it's something
You can stop
In just ten seconds
But stopping is never
Never
Easy

You turn into a broken machine
Don't Work anymore
Without feeding what slowly
Slowly
Kills you

Once you start
It's hard to stop
It slowly
Slowly
Takes over your life
And destroys
Everything you have
Everything you love
Everything.
Soph Jun 10
I waited
Seconds
Minutes
Hours
Days
Weeks
Months
Years
Nothing changed
Nothing healed
ProfMoonCake Jun 6
I don’t know who I am without Woe.
She’s been my other half—
The sincere and attentive arm.
Her body feels familiar to lay with:
The curves of her back,
The curly black hair—
They feel like home now.

It’s hard now to smile.
When I do—it’s scary.
I prepare for the earth to swallow me whole.
She flows through me,
Delicate, quiet, and lethal.
The sunflowers look the other way,
And mountains become stones.

I don’t know who I am without Woe.

My parents didn’t raise me like this.
The boy who kissed me didn’t know.
I’m married to her now—
She is my one true love.

My baby, I am scared to watch you try
And fail.
Maybe I will **** her tonight,
Or poison her each time you talk to me.
She’ll die a little with your songs.
She’ll die a little with my walks.
She has to die either way.
I wear my past like a cape
Superman’s got nothing on me
now that I’m free

All I’ve overcome
widens my stance
straightens my shoulders
I didn’t die
so I raise my chin up high

Shame, regrets, fear
in bullet-shape
bounce right off
my bullet-proof drape

Finally, I truly mean it
when I say, ‘I’m fine’
for I wear it like a cape,
this past of mine

© 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.
Can anyone relate to this poem?
Never let someone who hasn't been in your shoes tell you how to tie your laces.
Laces are complicated, and they take time to figure out.
If you can't tie your laces, you'll figure it out eventually.
It's okay if you need help tying your laces, we all start somewhere.

Are your laces *****? We can clean them.
Too thin? It'll work out somehow.
Thick? We'll find a way.
If you have velcro instead, that's okay too.

You can't tie your laces in a normal way? We can find another one, even if it's more complex.
If you don't tie your laces, you'll fall in them.
If you do, you can keep walking, maybe even run,
and eventually forget you had laces in the first place.

In the end, you'll realise that,
your laces, messy or neat,
have always been yours,
and that's enough.
So I'm actually quite proud of this one, this poem talks about trauma recovery, it's not an easy journey, but at the end of the day, it's your journey. And you can choose where to "walk."
In a dusty magic orchard, my soul lost its worth.
Where a garden of poison fruit called from the Earth.
There, a tree stood, it was beautiful and dark.
But when the glare from the moon revealed me to its bark,

Its branches took hold. I knew I was ensnared.
Ripped out my intentions, as dust filled the air.
Its trunk overtook me, no matter my strain.
I was trapped in a euphoria, divine and insane…

Beyond the veil of roses, we know of the thorns.
That omnipresent sting of need, that slowly adorns.
All beauty seen, only masked an ugly face.
In a statuette state, watched my world shift its shape.

Each petal a facade, each leaf was a lie.
This enchanted tree, has now silenced my cry.
My soul, now ensnared to its beautiful spell,
My search in desperation, formed a path straight to hell.

Deep In this garden, I remain without vision.
Controlled at its will, my roots bound in addiction.
Only one tale unfolds for my soul. I’m too deep,
As my cries become screams, I’m as silent as sleep

Adore not this garden. oh sad, starving heart.
For this magical garden will tear you apart.
Never eat from her harvest. Never mask your own dread.
Run far from this soil feeding my life to the dead.
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