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I used to hold truth
like a weapon —
sharp, clean, final.

But now it moves.

Not like a lie,
not like denial —
but like a tide
that’s been waiting for me
to grow strong enough
to swim deeper.

What I swore was solid,
now trembles in my hands.
Not because it was false —
but because I’ve changed.

And now I fear
not the truth itself,
but the way
it keeps becoming.
This one came out of nowhere, like most real things do.
I used to think truth was something you held — solid, fixed.
Now I know it’s something that moves with you, or it breaks you.
I wrote this for anyone who’s ever looked at their past, their love, or their own reflection… and felt it tremble, not because it was false, but because they’ve changed.
Her heart remains
In Winter's ice
Some embers dance—
only to prance
toward Spring's entice

Unknowable are her
heart's desires,
and so she must wait
for Spring's cool fires
to melt away the crystalline
and reveal the love
she yearns to sing

And so, she waits for Spring
Indra L Jul 15
I’ve internalised invisibility,
Learned to distrust my own adequacy.

Sometime after shedding acquired skin,
I started to scream;
Craving to feel seen eventually gets boring.

Designing for someone else - I still felt;
Then I fell.

Into a shroud of contradiction,
I refused to flatten expectations -
All the while muting conformation.
We
When I thought about who I was,
I was just the one who'd wander,
Wandering all with sky my over,
Over that my feelings hover,
Hovering all around night sky,slower...
Slower that I thought to myself,
Myself am just a star dust,
A star dust in universe bigger than my existence,
Existence made me look for purpose,
Purpose lead me to a voyage,
Voyage made me find my path,
My path made me feel the content,
Content heart, yet full of questions,
Questions made me search for answers,
Answers made me realise....

how only WE ask the question "WHY"
lisagrace Jul 17
I don't know what I feel.
I don't know who,
or what I like.
I just know,
that I do not feel
the embers,
I am blind to the spark -
The light

I think back on that time,
To that shallow kiss
I know that it was warm.
I know that it was nice.
Hell, I was on cloud nine.
But the moment passed.
And the butterflies were...sparse.

Was it him or me?
Was I just too slow?
Or he too fast for me?
I don't know.
I don't know.
I just...
don't know.

Three or four years
have gone since then,
And I still wonder why
Then I remember -
That wasn't the only time

There had been others before
We had courted,
And I was always wishing
I were elsewhere
Trying to spring forth
All of those feelings -
To lay my heart bare
...but they just weren't there

I still feel like the moth
With no flame
My heart,
In a state of decay
Now and then there is a stutter -
A flutter
Of something
I try to hold it -
But it just flies away

You may as well smear me
Across that windowpane

There are terms now
for what I could be,
The letters "A" and "D"
might feel like me
But I won't say a thing -
Not a peep
Not 'til I'm sure,
Until I'm really sure,
of what makes my heart truly sing

There's a pressure,
a quiet, constant hum
To know
who and what I am

They ask when
Not if I'll marry,
Bare children -
And start a family
Well let's just say,
That I'll not tarry,
To find a way
Out of the charade

Motherhood never spoke to me
It seems a cage -
Agony
I've only ever wished
to be free
Free to inspire,
To create
To ponder
Free to roam,
To dream
To learn
If only I knew the secret
For what makes me burn

But maybe it's okay
Not to know
Maybe I'm still blooming—
Unfolding slow, unseen
In the dark, I find
I do not cower
Instead, I glow -
I, the moonflower.

I will not blaze,
In the ways they expect
I will not leave entrails in the sky
But I still reach -
Only quiet,
and deliberate -
For the stars in the night
For why
Late-blooming questions and quiet reaching.
A reflection on identity, uncertainty, and learning to grow in my own way.
lisagrace Jul 17
My hands, smaller then, holding a ball of wet, smooth clay. Shaping it into what I thought were animals - but they all looked the same. Egg-shaped heads, dumpy legs, and fat bodies. Skewered out eyes and noses. But I loved creating these strange creatures. Once complete, they sat atop the cupboard, waiting, hoping to evolve. To solidify. To become. But they never made it to the kiln. The creatures stayed there, alone. Forgotten. Abandoned. A ghost of my childhood, one of the few joyous sparks.

I am grown now, still haunted. Still longing. But I have reclaimed the spark. There it is again. Malleable and messy. These hands, belonging to a woman now, caked with that familiar, wet slip.  My thumb presses into the ball - a pinch ***. Another. And another. And yet, another. My heart sings.

The shapes are wobbly. Tumbler cups, too small for coffee...I didn't realise they would shrink this much! There are no two alike, fingernail marks and uneven lips. But I love them - just the right size for honey wine. Dinosaur stamps — a T-rex and a Brachiosaurus. A quiet rebellion in clay, honoring the girl who shaped beasts and walked away. They stack beside the kiln now, waiting again. But this time, they are not forgotten. I see them. I made them. The fire awaits.

The girl, a phantom
I reshape her. I mold her
Coalescing, whole
The woman is set aflame
Imperfect and beautiful
A piece about returning to old joys, reclaiming creativity, and shaping something gentle from the past.
It is on my tongue—
a feeling
palatable,
aerodynamic transition,
palpable.

Redesigning for flight,
for movement through resistance,
for letting go of drag.

Whereas my muscles would tense up,
a few inches from the ground—
now I’ve learned that to clip one’s wings
is to stay anchored, be shackled down.

Not that being grounded
isn’t a form of comfort, safety, or security—
but there’s a shift that comes
from renegotiating the terms
you’ve set with your own mind.

It’s a daunting challenge,
yet a necessary one.

Because I want to see the world,
not from behind a pane of glass,
but with wind in my lungs
and wonder in my chest.

And I want to fall in love—
falling into bed with you,
multiple strings attached,
and still feel like the luckiest person alive.

To do that,
I am taking flight
in ways I could not have foreseen
as a child.
Written in chorus with the poets of HelloPoetry—this flight is ours.
VERY SLOWLY
How many years have drifted by,
Time rushes swiftly on.
And I, at times, pause myself,
So very slowly I go,
And in myself get lost.
Very slowly,
I take my time,
To lose myself,
Within my being,
Deep in thought.
I take my pause,
So very softly,
I look and listen,
I lose myself within,
Cease thinking,
And only feel,
That beating heart,
That soul,
That throbs,
That feels,
And I forget,
Of everything, no more.
I turn to me,
And let myself just sleep,
Within those dreams.
Sometimes I read verses,
So very softly,
Just as I like it.
Very calm,
I stop my clock,
And rest.
Ricardo Diaz Jul 4
In
Summer ,  
Before the fall
Into resolve
Time has healed.

Chin up
Shoulders back
Powerful stride

YOU!
Have been found
A reply to a friend
In turns you change, let it change you.
A path you find, comes looking for you.
Eternity ever fleeting, of you.
So, just be you.
Free …alas
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