i saw a stranger sing one night.
the memory still lingers
years after the high.
mute swimmer,
a wordsmith from berlin,
brought silence and fire.

he wrote a song
about self-worth and doubt —
the kind we all wrestle,
then bury in our minds.

he’d hear his voice
softly pulsing
with each heartbeat.
instead of leaning
into the dread —
you’ll never make it
you’re worthless —
he’d counter-attack,
asking us
to push them back.

why don’t you
shut
the ****
up.

we’d chant until
it wasn’t about him,
but about us.

why don’t you
shut
the ****
up.

why don’t you
shut
the ****
up.

why don’t you
shut
the ****
up.

They take everything from you
Expect more
And more
And more
But you
Can't
Please
Them

They don't care about you
Not
At
All

Eat how much they want
You're expected to adapt
Even though
You didn't
Ask them
To
Be
Here

Get rid of them
They
Are
Toxic

I've always left my door unlocked,
Every minute, every second,
Never counting the fruit you placed in my basket,
Yet always giving more.

Even when tides roared high,
I plunged deep to fetch treasures for you.
Day and night,
I traced familiar names before closing my book,
Never once asking for rubies or dimes.

I welcomed rusted rings without hesitation,
Made space beside me,
Poured extra glasses,
Held my arms open, never withholding warmth.

But I never noticed—
I kept scaling heights to gather the brightest blooms,
Only to watch them stolen from my hands.
No one ever turned back.

Today, my eyes are open.
And I see—
My heart, still fighting against the tide,
Was never cherished, only spent.

Almost saying sorry again

Not always it has to be me
the one to set her pride aside
to endure and forget
at the same time
to do it your way
or lose all love and attention that day
can’t talk with you
what should I do

A hurting heart
but a strong mind
I refuse to settle for a love
that isn’t lovingly and kind.

L.C.

Look to the sky — each cloud is forged alone,
Yet from afar, they wear the same white throne.
  They drift like thoughts, alike yet set apart,
  A testament to nature’s restless art.

Likes and unlikes — such is the nature’s lore,
Be the seed that breaks its shell and grows once more.
  Stand firm and nurture all you hold inside,
  Your voice, your shadow, your unpolished pride.

Never let fear hush the thunder in your chest —
Speak storms of truth, though silence might seem best.
  Tongues will wag like branches in the wind,
  But roots run deeper when they don’t pretend.

Most trade their colors for another’s hue,
They wear borrowed skins to seem brand new.
  Yet stand apart — like a lone tree crowned in flame,
  Unafraid to bear your honest name.

You need not twist your soul to be untrue —
Be your own sky, be your sun and morning dew.
  For it’s enough — this flawed and fearless star —
  To live unmasked, to be just who you are.

My sisters don’t answer their phones
if their boyfriends are asleep-
hardworking men with shifts in the morning
and reputations to keep.
Lunches to pack, clothes laid out neat,
and they do it all willingly,
from a place of love, how sweet.

I did these things too,
once, long ago.
I gave up my needs
for the good wife show.
But if it’s midnight and I want to speak-
I don’t give a **** if that man is asleep.

When’s he been gentle?
When’s he cared back?
I go to work too-
Where the hell is my slack?
A woman stays quiet to keep a man’s peace,
but is that really worth it
when a part of you dies piece by piece?

I treat myself with a little more respect each day.

A pistol tucked inside my heart—
memories of old dreams echo like bullet
wounds. Freedom comes, quietly, when
I finally let myself be known to myself.

Lips are like public transport;
they carry heavy loads:
sometimes love, sometimes doubt.

But the private lifts? Those are the words
we whisper to ourselves when we’re trying
to lift ourselves up, above our own doubts.

What loads are you carrying? Will your
transport make...or break someone?

Because belief in your own worth is such
a heavy load. And no— it’s not something
you should carry alone.

The weight of any load feels lighter when
the ones you love—and who love you back—
don’t just stand beside you; they help you
carry what you were never meant to bear alone.

There’s an outfit for each kind of day,
one for work, and one to play.
One for silence, one for charm —
I dress to keep their peace from harm.

I match their tone, their pace, their cue,
become the me they’re walking through.
A shifting shape, a face that fits —
but never quite the one that sits.

I dress in layers not for style,
but just to wear a safer smile.
A thousand looks, a thousand designs —
but none align with what’s in mine.

And every mirror looked back at me
But none of them knew who to be
I learned to read the room so well,
I lost the voice I used to tell.

But fabric wears, and so did I,
the cost of always living shy.
I’ve worn their sizes, played their part —
let fashion hide a restless heart.
But now I pull the stitching tight —
and walk in clothes that finally fit right.


© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma

What’s the worst that I could lose?
Just myself, and that I choose,
Again, again, I set the stage,
Then hand the script to someone’s rage

They smiled, I bent, I let them take,
Till I was hollow for their sake
I stitched my wounds with quiet grace,
And wore the pain like silk and lace

What harm could saying “yes” have done?
Just one more time, then I’ll be gone
But patterns loop like haunted tracks,
And every step just pulls me back

A softer voice, a trembling hand,
I thought that they would understand
But wolves, they come in human clothes,
And kindness is the path they chose

I saw the signs, I knew the script,
Yet still I let my edges slip
And in the name of “keeping peace,”
I fed the beast and called it “lease”

My heart was built to house a storm,
To twist itself in every form
And though I tried to say goodbye,
I let them in, I don’t know why

The bruises weren’t the kind you see,
They grew like roots inside of me
But I have learned: I am the gate,
Not every guest deserves my fate

So if you knock with hungry hands,
Expect to meet someone who stands
No more of me will be poured out to fill
The hollow space of someone’s will