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I did not leave the desert unchanged.
The heat shimmered as if reminding me that all I had beheld was a mirage, tempting as it was to grasp it tightly
in my palm.

The rumble of the charge still echoed
in my mind, my spirit fully awakened, body upright now. So many decades
of being bent and not realizing it.
My vision shifted

to the impossible becoming my reality.
The warrior women who spoke life over me, poised and unwavering
as those with wisdom often are.
Their eyes peered deeply into mine

and the dry bones were made flesh anew. Somewhere in the distance,
the little girl I once was (who had fought so fiercely to procure
my safety) waved at me

one final time. Thank you, dear
little one, for being there when I felt like I had nothing else left. You no longer have to spring to my rescue.
I can handle my battles now,

knowing that the ultimate victory
is mine through Him who strengthens me. As I left the desert, I didn't look back. I was free. And so was she. Somehow, it was enough.
I come from the cracked sidewalks of Chi-town, stoops
where we sat baking in blistering sun, listening
for the bells of the bicycles, so bold & eager for change
we could plop on the counter of the corner store.

In the constant drone of the deli, Italian grandpas
convened in their drab plaid, pressed khakis — coursing
the quiet confidence that comes from living that life
in the fast lane, simmering to a peace that permeates
each measured step. The bowls of minestrone soup
to warm their old bones: dead dreams reigniting.

I come from the family that never had anything
to own — but still didn’t allow me to go hungry.
I come from a steaming plate of sizzling
homemade dumplings, each juicy morsel
containing a mother’s fierce love for family.

I come from a long line of trauma responses
and the healing that only comes from truly creating.
I come from a great-grandmother, a grandmother,
a mother that poured out even when the jagged pieces
cut up our throats coming up. I come from having

lost my entire mind, frenzied forces pushing
my body up against a cold psych wall, no escape
in sight for me. I come from the guilt I'd held
for far too long, for missing the entire first
month of my daughter's life on this earth
when I couldn't even take care of myself.

Somewhere in the midst of coming to the end
of myself, I found You. You had never left.
I came home, battered and so broken, and You
enveloped me in Your healing Light. Selah.  



I’m walking in restoration, deep restoration,
a coursing river engorged with living water.
I finally allow myself to be fully immersed
in the wellspring that never runs dry. And there, fully
surrendered in the depths, I find that I can finally breathe.
hi, it's been a while. It's melody :] I feel led to start up Hello Poetry again. God bless you.
Artis 2d
Fighting Spirit

To fight—
You need balance.
To balance—
You require
a platform
to stand upon.

Pull out the floor beneath you,
You have nothing
when you're pushed down—
unable to get up,
Turning the ground beneath
Into seeping sand,
that keeps you on your knees
With nothing to stand on.

My fighting spirit
has vanished.
No longer
Can I pull the wool over my eyes,
pretend I have ground beneath me,
make the wind my friend,
pretend I can fly.

This foundation
that once held me up—
came from voices
that made me feel protected,
hands that held,
ones that made me feel included.
They were meant for me—
and only me.

Quietly,
the wind turned cold.
Hands turned pale,
afraid to touch.
Scared to let the bones bind
and the voices ring.

All that can be done now
Is finding new souls
That can push me
to build something
Thats built for growth
Shaped to show—
How far ive come.
Helping me evolve,
With every brick
That goes into place.

Maybe teach people who surround me
What it means to—
Fall and rise agian

Forge something impenetrable
Never lose that fire inside of you
To keep living
Keep failing,
But still be able to get up
Not a dent in your armor,
Proving you dont give up.

Restore a foundation thats a mine,
Brick by brick,
Making back what you lost,
Assemble what I lost
Only this time
Something only I can unravel.
pilgrims Mar 2022
Seattle is a sad place
This can be the space I hallow
Courage found to hear my grief
and face the life of hate I leave
Belief enough to begin again
Gaining newness
Making friends with all this blueness
Making time to let it go
Showing doubt passion flows
The moment that nostalgia knows passes by with bitterness
A feeling grows and shakes my bones
Bigger than any memory
Will I learn when my guts churn there is no phantom enemy?
I am not alone
My body will always be my home
Craving direction I follow the vulnerability of connection
Sobbing
Terrified to be seen in reflection
I reach out and embrace rejection
Accepting neglect of my better self, my soul ascends detection
Have you ever wondered?
Have you ever become?
Who is a villain?

Sit down.
Look at the skies.
Look at the people.
What good is there?

Nothing but vanity.
I have lived, and I have died.
I hated, and I was hated.
For that I am.
I am what I became.

Good?
Nothing but lies.
No good exists in this world.
Only hate, love, betrayal
And worst of all: regret.
Nothing but misery.
Nothing but loss and sadness.

If you ask
Yes, I once embraced goodness.
But when I woke up
And let it go
They scorned me.
They hated me.
Why?
In their eyes, I was different.
I was a villain.
I did not bother.
I am that I am.

I once asked myself:
Is there really a god?
If there is one
Why, when I prayed,
When I begged
Did He not hear me?
Why did He not save me?

And yet...
Nothing.
The king laughs at the fool,
And here I am
Praying to nothing.
To a silence dressed as a god.

There is no god.
If there is
He watches you suffer.
He watches joy blemish.
Why worship a god who enjoys pain?
That is your god, not mine.
I will not bow to a devil.
My head is my dignity.

Curse me all you want.
Hate me for all I care
Let the world deny me.
Let god disown me.
Only one thing has stayed with me
My shadow.
A reflection.
My true self.
The darkness.
And through him
I am known.

Let me tell you a story:
A man who wanted everything,
But was given nothing.
And still he smiled.

Only he knew
What was killing him inside.
He smiled because no one else knew.
No one could comfort him.

The world didn’t appreciate him.
It pushed him to the edge.
The struggle wasn’t enough.
He tried to show he was happy.

People mistreated him,
Bullied him,
Poured salt into his wounds.
No one thought anymore.
No one ever asked:
What is it like to be the other guy?

He accepted it all.
He bathed in insults like a child in the rain.
But this world wasn't made for him.
If only he hadn't been born.
He kept going.
Yearning for love.
Praying for peace.
Dreaming of happiness.

But it was all a dream
Too good to be true.

If what the people wanted was change,
Then change they would get.
But to his surprise
They feared him.
The world finally noticed him.

Their scorn wavered.
They followed.
He led.
He was on top.
And they called him a villain.

They said, “You’ve changed.”
But it was the world that changed him.

Who is a villain?
I tried to be good.
But you made it vanity.
Now I behave like you
And you call me the monster?

I let it all slide.
But you made me this.
You created this.

Let me tell you something:
People love watching a hero fall.
They don’t hate you
They hate your truth.

Nobody noticed me until I changed.
Until I removed my mask.
The greatest enemy of a man
Is himself.

People don’t love you.
They want from you.
Become weak.
Rely on them
Watch them vanish.

Gone like air.

When you’re weak,
They reveal their true selves.
In your final hour
They forget you.
Just like they forgot me.

I have lived.
I have died.
And I have transformed.

All that remains
Is a broken heart.

If only a hero knew
What I’ve been through...
These people aren’t worth saving.
They were never meant for salvation.

Don’t speak like them.
To them you’re a freak.
It’s all a lost cause.
Vanity.
Vanity whispers...
And yet, you still die for them.

You’re not their hero.
You’re their entertainment.
They’ll strip your worth
Then toss you aside.

Mockery becomes their joy.
Hatred becomes their anthem.

The more I tried,
The more I cracked.
My self shattered
Reforged into something new.

A villain is not born.
They are made.

It’s not that I’m bad
It’s that people refuse to see
Who they truly are.

I didn’t want this.
I didn’t choose this.
But what choice did I have?

My greatest wish
Is for you to know.
To know what I’ve endured.
To cry.
To mourn what I became.

You left your savior in the flames.
And turned your back.

Maybe this is how God felt
Creating a world
That mocked Him.

He tried to call them home
But they were too far gone.
Maybe He was a good God,
After all.

Hero
When I’m gone,
Sing my deeds in song.

Let them decide
Hate me...
Or praise me.

If they sing of me
I’ll be at peace beyond the stars.
I shall sing in heaven.

But ask yourself
What have you done?
What have you made me do?

I’m not at fault.
You’re not either.
This is life.
And life
Is the greatest trial of all.

Hero
Design my coffin with beauty and emeralds.
For I shall depart on a journey.
Maybe you were meant for this world.

I shall fly to my God’s embrace.
But before I go
Let me look at the stars.
The starry night I’ve always admired.
The moon’s soft beam
It calms me.
It always does.

You’ve been my joy.
The beauty of your creation
I adored.
And I envied.

It is time.

I can finally leave
Without regret.
Maybe I wasn’t bad after all.
Maybe I was just...
Lost.

Hero,
Shall we meet again?
Maybe then, I will truly see you.

When the time comes...
Till we meet again.
Ricardo Diaz Jun 10
I'm not saying I did nothing wrong.
But now I'm doing it right
That's all I'm saying.

Nobody can throw my past in my face
I'll tell you all about it
start to finish
No shame

I engraved the darkness on my skin
Wore it like armour .

So maybe sit down,
Take notes.

To hell with what we used to be.
Now we are, what we need to be.

Listen, like advice whispered
From your most unethical friend
With a voice laced with sin
To validate your wicked desires.
Unapologetically
Tucker Dobson May 18
(A realization of otherness)
Frenzied shaking has taken my soul
I am crushed by the burning of gold-brined teeth
My unclean lips draw back in a grimace
As I rest my head against the beam of
Some ragged torture device and get
Splinters driven into my constricting scalp
Take a spike and drive it through my temple
Into this piece of time-worn timber which
Is saturated with skin flakes from my victims

(The reception of the sacrament)
Shall I not raise my filth-clotted hands up to
This presence which is like smoke and fills
My lungs with the kind of fear true power brings?
Let there be flesh to envelop my quaking body
Let it be caught between my teeth and drape
My skin in a new raiment of priesthood
Let there be hematic torrents rushing down
To clean out the wounds and make them imperishable
To be better drink from well-dug cisterns
Before a holy God, my desires become abhorrent and I am left yearning for Christ's flesh and blood.
Artis Apr 28
They say life is a show that must go on,
but what happens when the show is over,
when the music fades,
the sun sets, and the curtains close?

Will everyone forget the wrong I've done,
the pain I caused?
Will they clap when the show is over—
find reasons for me to be missed?

Will the ones I love—
when they feel empty—
keep me
in their memory?

I've caused pain,
made people cry,
broken hearts—
but will any of that matter
when the curtains close?
Tears have been shed.
Will they care what I've done?
Will they stutter my name?

Will I be able to rest easy—
knowing everyone thinks of me fondly,
and leaves out the rest?

The ones who once hated me,
will they be able to forget,
and love me for the memory I bring—
leave out the rest?

Please, find a reason for me to be missed.
Forget the rest.

Time is ticking—
I only have so much—
time,
before the curtain
makes the credits roll.

Please, don't resent me
for the things I've done.

Leave the hatred,
leave the pain,
the tears—
with the closing curtains.
Find reasons to miss me.
Let me live as a fond memory—
before my time comes,
and the curtains close.
Jesus' baby Apr 27
A parched soil—
cracked, barren, yearning,
thirsty,
sinking into death.

My spirit, withering,
gnawed by hollow hunger,
enlisted in error
by a single act:

The act—
sealing shut
the Word of God,
the Living Water.

My soul,
a silent witness to this wrong,
sank
into depression,
into hopelessness,
into dust.

Yet opening His Word,
I drank from ancient wells—
joy spilling,
peace unfurling,
hope reborn.

For He
is His Word,
overflowing
in my hands.
Larry dillon Apr 14
Charon's ferry taunts me with hope
My neck is raw from the rubbing rope
In the river Styx no one can float
I am not a thing to try and save
Let me bathe deeper in this path I paved.

Stuck this way

- its no great loss-
denial is my albatross.

No circles of hell here to cross
just that desire to no longer drown:
Perdition only pulls you down.

Hell is silent and reserved
The only demons you hear
are the ones you bring.

We used to laugh and sing.

Your love was structured
like a Shakespearian sonnet.
I always knew what to expect,
still i found it so beautiful.

I never meant what I did to you.
It is your voice im slipping further into.

and It serves me well.
You used to say my vices would be the end of me.
Late night.
Me driving drunk.
Car crash.        Stole you away.
Now I see the irony.

Hung myself to settle that debt;
the universe thought differently.

So still I drown.
What am i searching for?
What would I do if I even found you down here?
This rope around my neck makes it clear:
Hell not only remembers,
it doesn't forgive.

Yet... this is no way to forever live.
I wonder whether... the thing that damns me
could be used to redeem?

I pull and pull at the rope and it seems

-Its fastened to Charon's boat.
Aboard i wrestle with the noose.
So I see, it'll never come loose.
It is a fight I can not yet win:
It is meant-for now- to press against my skin.

Hell holds a grudge.
Hell is a reminder.
I hope i never find her,

                              Again.

I hear her yell as we reach shore:

" do you not... need me anymore?"

I wave goodbye to Charon.
Tighten the noose around my neck.
For the first time, to her I
          
                  do not respond.

I do.

I can not forgive myself,

                    
                 but I need to move on.

-
A story of regret, how whispered words of the past haunt and weigh us down, and of redemption.
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