Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
That moment when your strength gives out and God's strength begins.  
There are not enough words to describe that beauty.
There are not enough words to call it by name.
That moment when Jesus sits with you as you hold your pain in your hands,
and you give it to him,
because it's heavy.  
And you feel the love fill your heart so full you think surely your heart cannot contain it.
That's love.
That's the only name I can give it that feels right.

-Rhia Clay
I've hidden it for such a length,
All the pain and suffering,
I believed my hidden strength,
Would be all this enduring,

Guess I was wrong about it all,
Now my bottle starts to crack,
My heartbeat now feels so small,
As if I'll get a heart attack,

That pain is what I may've known,
It may just be what I did hide,
Never may all this be shown,
I'm just not ready for that ride,

They said you're so mature,
So emotionally intelligent,
Guess It's in your nature,
A kid ever so diligent,

Intelligent? I know my feelings well,
I know them better than you think,
But there's a reason I will tell,
Who would I tell? I've got no link,

About my feelings I have told,
Only to one other,
Perhaps I'll just let it here unfold,
Not even my own mother,

I know so well only because,
I've only told things to myself,
None to give a round of applause,
I listened for my better health,

I really needed to be heard,
So I just made myself that guy,
A person who would say a word,
No need to give another try,

Despite it all I keep on going,
Despite it all I still have hope,
Despite it all I keep on growing,
Despite it all I climb this *****.
Ever felt to be on the verge of breaking?
M Vogel 4d
The Battleground of Light, Made Flesh

Suffering down..
not as punishment,
but as Love.

Breath by breath,
atom by atom,
A bend of  the will
into the greater design:

to let even the exhale
carry what is real.


Each particle stripped bare,
each trembling fragment
infused with the weight of Light
earned not through ease,
but through the slow, necessary
suffering of self

into Substance.

And so it reaches her..
not through seduction,
or noise,
but the quietest form of intimacy:

truth, refined enough
to be airborne.


She breathes..
and through the quiet architecture
of lungs,
through bronchi,
alveoli,

the smallest fragments of me
become more than theory.

But it is not just me
it is what I have chosen to become:
stripped down,
atomized,
each particle carrying both Light
  and Dark,
as they always have.

Though, here
intent speaks louder than inheritance.

And accountability tips the scale.

Through the capillaries,
the bloodstream takes them..
particles laced not with seduction,
but with substance;
volition woven into their shape,
truth mingling with oxygen,

carrying not  empty poetry,
but tangible presence.

And the skin..
her beautiful, breathing boundary;
it listens too.

Pores opening like shy mouths,
taking in what even sunlight cannot hide:

   --the warmth of love,
   made molecular,
   made undeniable.


It slips through,
across her beautiful hips,
up the soft ***** of her thighs,
along the quiet pathways
where nerves whisper,
where fear once lived.

And still..
our skin has never touched.
Our beautiful oils,
those quiet, fragrant signatures
of separate bodies,
have never had the chance to blend.
There is no mingling of surface,
no friction of palms or lips.

Yet still—
I am within her

as  she
Breathes    me    in.

Love,

when chosen..
when carried through the smallest particle,
becomes the most intimate trespass--
not of skin,
but of substance.

And inside her,
where the battle rages unseen,
the false portraits dissolve..
the counterfeit reflections
painted by fear,
by old wounds,

by those who mistake poetry for proof.

Here
there is no mimicry.
Only metabolized truth.

Only the slow, quiet conquering
of darkness--
cell by cell,

choice by choice.

This is not seduction.
This is not the shallow hush
of borrowed words.
This is Light..
accountable,
chosen,
fought for;

interlaced within her very bloodstream;

her warmth,
  her breath.

And though no oils ever blended,
though the ache of touch
remains untouched,
what entered her did not stay foreign.
The body, wise and unwilling to harbor illusion,
took what was true--

what carried intent and Light
and made it her own

..   ..   ..   ..  

Mitochondria hum..
tiny engines in the blood’s dark river;
taking each atom,
each trembling particle,
and rewriting the story within.
From raw material,
she builds warmth.
From fractured fragments,
she crafts clarity;
The light no longer arrives—
it begins to rise from within.


And the space once reserved
for mingled oils,
for skin-on-skin confession,
becomes something greater:
a fusion untouched by friction,
unfading,

   unmistakably Real.

This is no whispered counterfeit.
No shallow poem dressed in longing.
This is breath earned through fire.
This is love refined to its smallest form,
offered whole,
received wholly,

and written quietly

into every hidden corner
of her being.

Beautiful Angel,

Breathe   Me   In
https://youtu.be/eBG7P-K-r1Y?si=GVc6MeOpOSBV6j_m
Like the mighty ocean, vast and deep,
Your strength awakens from a restless sleep.
Waves of hope crash upon the shore,
Healing tides will come once more.

Storms may pass, the waters clear,
A new horizon drawing near.
With every swell, your spirit grows,
Guided by the ocean's gentle flows
What's the point of getting stronger

When I break down so easily over you
star Jun 22
carry on 5.7.25 (3:39 pm)
sure, maybe everything is going wrong
it’s always been ****** up
i was just too busy to notice

but we’ve always got to carry on
carry on,
carry on, hold your baggage close
hold a suitcase full of memories
wear a backpack full of grief
they might hurt your shoulders for now
but these kinds of things make you stronger

carry on,
carry the ones you love with you
carry on, always carry on

maybe you’ve lied
and maybe you’ll lie again
but we can forget and carry on

maybe you’ve betrayed me
and maybe you will again
but i can forgive
and carry on

carry on
because what else can we do?

[playing: imperfect for you by ariana grande]
i don't know if i've posted this before or not
Orjeta Jun 21
Dad,

Thank you—for my childhood,

For the safety I never saw, yet always felt.

Thank you for being my teacher through example,

For guiding me not just with words,

But with the quiet strength of your actions.


Thank you for the advice—

Even when I met it with resistance,

Blind to the wisdom time would later reveal.

Thank you for the pain you carried in silence,

For the exhaustion, the tears,

Hidden behind smiles and strength.


Thank you…

For that towel stained with blood from a nose you tried to hide—

A small, unforgettable symbol of all the battles you fought

Without ever letting us feel the weight.

Thank you for being our shield,

Even when your soul was weary.


Now,

Everything is different.

I stumble, I fall, and you’re not here to steady me.

But your voice echoes in my heart,

Your lessons live in my choices,

And your spirit lights my darkest hours.


Now, I face the world alone.

And though I try—each and every day—

This ache, this longing for you,

Is fiercer than any challenge life throws my way.


Sometimes I ask myself…

For how long will this hurt last?

And yet, I hold on—

To your memory,

To your strength,

To the promise I whisper quietly to myself:


Until we meet again.
A deeply personal tribute to my father—a thank-you for his strength, love, and silent sacrifices. This poem is a way to carry his memory and guidance with me as I navigate life without him. Written in grief, but also in gratitude. Until we meet again.
almost every day
as i walk the dogs
up the hill
two crows
wait for me
at the entrance
to the woods
they swoop low
cawing as they land
on the sign post
or sometimes simply
a matter of paces
ahead of me
hopeful
it would seem
that their display
of such bravery
is noticed and
perhaps rewarded

i couldn't help
but name them
and each time
they appear
talk to them
asking how
their day is going
while leaving
a handful
of dog kibble
as i walk on
to thank them
for their visit
in the hope
that their courage
my kindliness
time and persistence
might bring us
closer still
I have news for you,
even when you think you're failing,
you're actually winning.
Because if you're failing,
that means that you're still in the game.
If you're still fighting,
they haven't won.
Whoever "they" are to you,
don't let them win.
Stay in the game.

-Rhia Clay
Next page