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The world stopped spinning
when I saw your face.
I could taste the hurt you left on my lips
when you left your lips on his.
I could feel the wound split and tear
as if your knife’s still in.
I could sense the burn from within my heart
to ask a thousand questions.
But all I did was sit and stare
and hurt
and ache
and wonder.
trauma.
Eleni 3d
The moonlight peaks through the small gap, between the curtains.

In the still of the night, the waters of the mind are nothing but turbulent.
The child from the past, she weeps so silently; she is audible to those who hear her out-

except I am the only one who hears her cries.

A child with nyctophobia, she leaves the nightlight on to ward the darkness.
And yet- she can not escape it, for it stalks her mind with a bitter sharpness.

A waning moon weeps in the dusty clouds
And a waxing fear, she will fail to shroud.

Pretend- as if nothing haunted her past
You would never know- even if you asked.
sempiternal memories
flow like a river
the resting brume on misty waters
twisting into the distant offing
the mellifluous melody of the ethereal past

like thunder above songbirds,
the illusion dissipates into a weazening
idealistic falsehood, an optimistic masquerade
the thrash of lightning onto deciduous skeletons
awakens the truth beneath

as the roaring flames erupt
the leaves effloresce to ash
the halcyon lies are swelted
into no more than gentle dust
the endless turned ephemeral
halcyon lies
burn into
ephemeral truths
I wept for myself today. A younger me, that is.

For what I wish I could tell her. For what should have been.

I mourned for her years of pain and apathy and feelings of invalidation. For what should have been.

I would give her a big hug, for all the ones she didn't receive.

I would tell her to be brave, but to remember to cry too, for what should have been.

I would take her bra shopping and celebrate her womanhood, for what should have been.

I would tell her about my own pain and trauma. I would teach her what empathy is, for what should have been.

I would encourage her to be honest. I would be serious with her and teach her about grief and sadness, for what should have been.

I would tell her that it's not over. And that she is not who or what others think she is.

I would tell her to smash the impossible mirror she is holding up, for what should have been.

And I would hold her. So, so close. For what should have been.
Nicky Feb 7
Can you gently sense, another person's pain?
If you felt the depth, would it ever be the same?

Are you aware of how much they might hide?
Can you comprehend, the fragments that have died?

Do you try to listen, to the words that they don't speak?
Do you see their fight for freedom, and compassion that they seek?

Do you decipher, that vacant look in their eyes?
Do you justify your judgement then forget to question why?

The detail is the void and the truth is the lies
Often misunderstood, as is your look of clear surprise

If you walked those seven years, whilst wearing their shoes
The rain would fall hard, the sun you would lose

Would you find the strength to rise again every day?
Or would you stay locked inside , too afraid to say?
Seven years!
My child, you are a survivor
You're so full of depth
And feeling
That no soul could ever know
And you live...
You live and that's powerful
God ****** I hope you can see that
One day
Because you inspire me
Every day, you inspire me
Every smile, every frown
And every breakdown you fight
Is everything to me
For you are a survivor
And you will go far
I hate that sometimes I am so scared
Of burning out
That I scream to the heavens
To have you back
To have you set me on fire again
The way you used to

And it's because
You gave me a reason
To feel this way
To feel this raw and cold
And without you here
It's just a meaningless pain
On top of
Meaningless pain

But deep down
I know you're cruel
I know you're wicked
And I'm better off
Plastering these walls
With bricks
Built of time
Between us

But god, I'd throw it all away
In an instant
To feel that beautiful anguish
You put me through
One more time
ollie Feb 5
No one shares seats on the bus
Not since fourth grade
And I’m still trying to figure out if it’s because we want the room to ourselves
Or because too many of us still flinch when someone slides in next to us
It happened in the summer between fourth and fifth grade
And whatever it is, we don’t know
But no one shares seats on the bus
You're a flower in the night
Where darkness persists
You're waiting there
For your chance to bloom

And god, it'll be so beautiful
If you're reading this, I love you. The views and reactions I get to my poetry on here help me so much more than any of you could know. We're strangers on the other side of our screens, but in poetry, we're friends and family.
Run, run, run, run
He stalks in the night
Where children have fun
Run, run, run, run
Be urgent
Take flight
For a monster comes tonight

Run, small children, and hide
For monsters have come
To cast you aside
A mere fairy tale?
Just some old folklore?
No!
No!
Much worse
Much more.

Upon your hopes
I bring my scar
You're where monsters are

Pin the doors
Sharpen your steel
A beast approaches
A new hunter poaches
To feed on children's cries
Place your fears in the front
Lock your hopes in a jar
You're where monsters are
If you can, save yourself
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