Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
They told me I was loved.
Said it like a fact, like a given, like air.
And I nodded, let the words settle on my skin
but never sink in.

Because love—love is hands reaching,
but understanding?
Understanding is knowing why mine pull away.

I sat in rooms full of people who swore they cared,
but no one asked why my laughter always came half a second too late,
why silence fit me like a second skin.

They called me beautiful, said I was smart,
but never saw the way I flinched at echoes of my own thoughts.
They held me when I cried, but no one ever asked
what the tears were trying to say.

I used to think I was ungrateful—
to have love but still feel lost.
But now I know:
Love can be loud, can be warm, can be everywhere—
and still not speak your language.

So if you’ve ever felt this way,
like you exist in translation,
like love is the ocean but you are still thirsty—
I need you to hear this:

You are not wrong for wanting more.
You deserve to be understood.
See me for me,
not who you want me to be.
See my cracks,
don’t consider them as lack.
See me.
See the dreams of how I want to be.
Build with me.
Help me to achieve.
Look at me.
See my flaws.
Accept them as more than loss.
See me for me.
Appreciate me as me.
See my imperfections as a part of me,
and not a mistake in me.
See me for me.
Help me rearrange the ick in me.
Realize the pain in me is not a crutch to me.
Trust in me.
Don’t judge me for things ****** upon me.
Just please-
love me-
as I am-
for me-
not an image of me.
Is love beautiful and soft?  
That’s what I’ve been told.  

But I’ve never seen love that way.  
She’s bold, overreaching—she fights  
For herself.  
For others.  

Love is not just the soft goodnight kiss from your mother,  
The warm embrace of a childhood friend,  
The laughter shared under the stars with a lover.  

Love is the mother lion  
Willing to lay down her life for her cubs.  
It’s the moms starving tonight  
So their children have food to eat.  
It’s my grandma, who can’t afford me,  
But keeps me anyway.  

What if love isn’t just about what we give,  
But what we’re willing to sacrifice?  

Would you sacrifice your life for me,  
Like the mother lion?  
Could you go without dinner  
So I could eat?  
Will you move the world for me?  
Do you really love me?  

What if love is supposed to be gentle and sweet,  
But this world wasn’t made for sweet things?  
They always seem to spoil and rot.  
The once-sweet orange on the tree,  
Now rotting on the ground.  
My sweet grandma, too sweet to be,  
Stolen from me.  

So love has become:  
Will you eat me,  
Or will you be eaten for me?  

Is that what we’ve done—  
Taken something so beautiful  
And stripped it of its beauty,  
Because we think  
That’s what must be done?  

Would you bake a cake for me?  
Could you dare to stay up all night  
Contemplating God with me?  
Will you cut fresh flowers for me?  
Plant a garden for me?  
Would you walk hand in hand through that garden with me?  
Could you endure the hungry nights  
So our kids can eat?  
Would you stay by my side  
After my grandma died?  
Will you still be there  
When my mind finally breaks  
And the pieces scatter?  
Can you stay long enough  
To watch me rebuild?  
Or will the scatter  
Be our final matter?  

What if it’s both—  
The soft and tender love,  
The sacrifice and hurt?  

Love is tender.  
The fight to keep it  
Is violent.  
Or does it have to be?  
Should I have to ask if you would rot for me?  
Leave yourself for me?
Can love actually demand these?

Maybe love is found in the in-between,  
Between the violent hold to keep it  
And the willingness to let go.  
Or will this sweet orange  
Rot under a tree,  
before we reach spring?
Really missing my grandma today. Thank you for reading if you made it this far :)
Try living in paradise

Still recovering from trauma

Thinking about the ones left behind



Feeling sun on brown skin

While buildings burn down

Today was like any other



Enjoying cool ocean waters

While salt washes festering wounds

Fresh flesh like grapefruit is pink



Looking to the distant stars

Trampling on growing daisies

Only to lay in a field of them



Howling loud at worship

While fearing the whites of saved eyes

Lift every voice and sing



To dance and to be joyful

While quakes lulls sleeping babies

When the dust settles what remains
Dante 3d
Two hurt souls with a hope to find tranquility, two lost souls torn and wasted, restricting them selves form falling for cupids temptations, souls attracted by their similarities in spite of the odds, desperate to find a way out, to find a soul mate that would rescue them from eternal solitude, they find eachother with an intense force and passion so desperate causing impact at the slightest touch, they evolve into a storm moving the skies violently without a care for destiny, they move through the friction and dance through their dark clouds and at the slightest graze the skies  roar again, lightning consuming their sky, upon realizing they can not be one, they make a desperate attempt to hang on to eachother Grasping violently  hurting one another  with every carress thunder cracks through their sky once again bringing down a deluge of tears, pain and insatiable nights that evaporate slowly into a heavy dew falling over the streets they once walked. The silence that fills the air  dense with emptiness the skies are clear the sun shines and the only solace they will find lies in the ghost of their storm and the grey in their skies
"Do Hurt People Hurt People" explores the cycle of pain and the complexities of love between two wounded souls. The poem depicts their intense, passionate connection, which, while beautiful, becomes destructive as their unresolved wounds collide. Through vivid imagery of storms and skies, it reflects on how hurt individuals can unintentionally harm one another, even in their search for solace. Ultimately, the poem suggests that healing must come from within, and love alone cannot rescue us from our inner turmoil. It’s a poignant meditation on the fragility of relationships and the lingering scars of emotional storms.
Like an empty canvas
That was never started.
Static, while you are staring at it
Something that never happened.

An unfortunate error
You wish to forget
Forget it to disappear.
A thought that never occurred,
A voice that wasn’t heard
Like that right turn you never took.

Now your left became your only resource
And standing there you hear a voice
“You are a fool”
At least it is what I heard.

Your brain is not capable to comprehend,
Learn,
Retain,
Everything you do falls like the rain.

Unable to pick up, you just gave up
And like that it is gone,
The canvas wasn’t there anymore.
Don't really know what I'm feeling
I'm probably feeling too much
Don't know why I feel so lonely
When every day I get your touch
Don't know why I feel numb
Numbing is a strategy
Thoughts these day get so tough
Having a heavy melody

Destiny of our souls?
Where is it written, show me,
My mind is desperate to know,
Where all this is gonna lead me
I am not ready yet
To give up on every dream
I know I keep steady
In times like these
I'm moving slowly

But with connected hearts
Art is not a real choice
It's a remedy
The only place that restores
My inner voice and my integrity

Does that mean I lack authenticity?
Maybe, out of necessity?
Maybe it's my conditioned brain,
Always wired to simply be afraid.
I've let confusion lead the way
In many of my decisions,
I've let anxiety lead me astray,
Make me lose goals and precision.

Now I am here and typing
Words in my phone from
The heart.
And I rejuvenate my core,
Feeling it's warmth,
Health being restored,
Every tiny step counts...

There's no way this depression
Will feed itself off of me.
****-Narrative | Yin

Twelve days have passed, and no word comes to me,
no painted stroke, no ink upon the page.
I fear the silence, yet I picture her,
a solitary figure, far away.
She seeks the earth, to ground her restless soul,
the water's flow, to cleanse her troubled mind.
The fire's heat, to forge a stronger will,
the wind's soft sigh, to whisper ancient truths,
Beyond the Element Mountains, she must roam.

She walks the paths where granite peaks arise,
where rivers wind through valleys, deep and green.
She feels the heat of embers, glowing bright,
the rustling leaves, a language she can hear.
I see her face, reflected in the stone,
a mirror to the strength she holds within.
She seeks the balance, lost within the storm,
the harmony that silence can impart,
a journey inward, where her spirit flies.

I wait for her, a shadow in the room,
where empty scrolls and brushes gather dust.
I trace her image, on the window pane,
a phantom artist, painting absent days.
I hear her footsteps, in the falling rain,
a distant echo, of her coming home.
I feel the longing, that the silence breeds,
the ache of absence, in the heart's long hall,
a story written, in the waiting time.

She will return, with wisdom in her eyes,
a quiet strength, that silence has refined.
She will bring stories, of the mountain's crest,
the river's journey, the fire's burning grace.
And I will listen, to her whispered tales,
of ancient elements, and inner peace.
For in her journey, love has found its way,
to bridge the distance, that the silence made,
where spirits meet, Beyond the Element Mountains.

--------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------------

Ci-Meditative | Yang

Twelve suns have risen, twelve pale moons have waned,
and silence stretches, a vast, unyielding sea.
No ink-stained paper, no painted breath arrives,
no whispered echo of your distant voice.
I picture you, beyond the city's hum,
a soul adrift, where ancient elements reside.
The earth holds steady, where your bare feet tread,
a grounding force where turmoil starts to cease,
a silent journey, Beyond the Element Mountains.

The water's flow, a cleansing, cool embrace,
washes away the doubts, the fears, the stains.
The fire's dance, a flicker in your eyes,
ignites the passion, where resolve takes hold.
The wind, a restless spirit, whispers truths,
through rustling leaves, a language understood.
The metal gleams, a mirror to your soul,
reflecting strength, a clarity reborn,
a quiet passage through a world unseen.

I trace your steps, a phantom on the path,
imagining the landscapes you explore.
The granite peaks, the river's silver thread,
the burning embers, the sigh of forest breeze.
I build a shrine of thoughts, a mental space,
where your reflection lingers, calm and deep.
My mind, a canvas where your image lives,
a portrait painted with imagined light,
a patient vigil, where hope begins to bloom.

The silence lingers, heavy, yet serene,
a space for growth, a pause where love endures.
I trust the journey, where your spirit flies,
to find the answers, hidden in the stones.
And when you return, with eyes that hold the dawn,
I will embrace the wisdom you have found.
For in the stillness, love's true strength is shown,
a bond unbroken, by the passing days,
where silence lives, Beyond the Element Mountains.
Authors Note:
This is an experiment in a new style.  
**** is a style from the Tang Dynasty - Common to Li Bai writings.
Ci is a style from the Song Dynasty - Common to Li Qingzhao writings.
This is my modernistic take on the styles and my understanding and template to follow.
I am also trying to associate with Tao - balance in the poem, so I provided both.
Naturally, I would have preferred to interweave the stanzas, side by side, left and right justified, but HP isn't quite doing what I want.... thus the experimentation and request for honest feedback.
Funny thing is Yin is feminine energy, and Yang is masculine in nature.  Just like in China, the union (wedding) is represented with the Dragon (male) and the Peacock (female).   And in my relationship that I often write, She is the dragon, born to the year of the Dragon.  So roles reverse a little, again bringing balance.  This poem is no different, as the Yin part is written from my perspective, and the Yang from her perspective.  Much like the poets famous for these styles.  **** was feminine but used by Li Bai, a man to gain notoriety through its use during the Tang Dynasty.  Ci was male but used by Li Qingzhao a prominent poetess of the Song Dynasty.

"****-Narrative" (Yin): Love and Melancholy (No Rhyme)
Focus on a narrative of [briefly describe the story or emotional journey].
Use concise imagery and express [specific emotion(s)].
Use the 9-8-9-8 stanza structure, and do not use rhyme.

"Ci-Meditative" (Yang): Nature, Perception, and Perspective (No Rhyme)
Focus on [theme of nature, perception, or perspective].
Use vivid imagery and an introspective tone.
Use the 9-8-9-8 stanza structure, and do not use rhyme.

Rhyming is optional, however, I find that life doesn't always rhyme, so I avoid it letting the energy and thoughts flow freely and more naturally.
I also used the 9898 sentence structure in the stanzas because 9's and 8's are of significance to the cultures of the East for luck, happiness, and prosperity.

Sorry if this turned into an educational post.

Enjoy, and I look forward to the feedback.
Beneath the arch,
        among the branches,
      the maunder of her eyes
           finds noir in an afterimage,
every reflection is unique,
    explicit and indivisible,
        every reflection is her,
      there she looks close
       for gracefulness,
            in the essays of her skin
               and their brazen transparencies,
         she enters into her body fable,
      the shape of her resembles
           the tenor viol: where it widens,
                  where it narrows,
                where it digresses
              and monochromes,
           she reflects a fragile geography,
             a soft cargo, but
               an inkling of hurricane,
             rendering the fault lines
          beautiful and strong,
       in supplication tomorrow's explorer
will disturb the patterns
   until she's become her own lullaby
Next page