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Kalliope May 9
Once I was a caterpillar,
Curious but often naive,
Observing from the ground,
Waiting for my time to leave.

Then I was a luna moth,
Silhouette whispering to the moon,
Drawn to the heat and fleeting warmth,
Of men who did what they wanted to do.

When I was a black widow,
A man eater they'd say,
I lived recklessly in my villian era,
Until my empathy got in the way.

I think I'll try again as a hermit,
Not very brave but tired of bleeding,
I traverse through this sand,
Longing for a shell that won't demand meaning.
You'd call this an easy retreat,
I call it surviving what's left of me.
Max Gisel May 7
The stains won't leave me,
Cracked paint against the drywall
Of my childhood bedroom.
The ****** t-shirt,
Dyed a brown-red to hide the stains.
Spilled paint from a failed project
On the knee of my jeans,
Covered with a pretty floral patch.
They like how it looks,
The new color I had to choose,
Only one that would cover the failures.
It's so pretty and unique,
So nice to look at isn't it?
I add patches that others like.
I'm not so sure that I like them.
At least not as much as they do,
The ones who gave me the stains.
Growing up with a lot of issues always felt like I had to patch myself up, make things look intentional. I felt the need to overcompensate, or make the situation digestible or prettier for others to hear about or experience. I neglected my needs to make others more comfortable about my own issues.
Contemplation

I find myself sitting here for a moment, gathering my thoughts like fragile treasures in my hands, collecting my heart as it stretches across the night sky. I carve out a sanctuary where I can discover a bit of solitude and tranquility. I inscribe my faith onto this page, creating a space for reflection.

I write a name that brings serenity to my weary mindβ€”a name that envelops me in peace: God. This peace fortifies me against the relentless pressures of a life that sometimes feels foreign to me.

Even now, I struggle to fully understand how living with PTSD has transformed my mind. At times, I find clarity, while at other moments, simply existing feels overwhelming. Yet one truth remains clear: I have weathered storms before, and during those trials, God stood by my side. Even in uncharted territories, he is already there, waiting.

He was with me when my world felt like it was collapsing, bursting apart from within, and he remains with me now. So, I take a few more deep breaths, pondering the depth of his love for us. How can it be that he loves us so beyond measure? Yet, he does.

-Rhia Clay
π™²πšŠπš•πš•πš’πš—πš 𝚘𝚞𝚝, πš’πšœ πš–πš’ πšœπš˜πšžπš•,
𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ πšπš’πšŸπš’πš—πšŽ πš πš’πšπš‘ 𝚊 πš™πš•πšŽπšŠ.
π™°πšœ πš›πš’πšπš‘πš πšπš›πš˜πš– πš–πš’ πšπš˜πš›πš–,
πšŠπš—πš˜πšπš‘πšŽπš› πšπš›πšŽπšŠπš– πšŒπš˜πš–πšŽπšœ 𝚝𝚘 πš•πšŽπšŠπšŸπšŽ.

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πšπšŠπšœπš‘πš’πš˜πš—πšŽπš πš’πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πš πšŠπš”πšŽ,
𝚘𝚏 πšœπšπšŠπš›πš•πš’πšπš‘πšβ€™πšœ πš™πšŽπš›πšπšŽπšŒπšπšŽπš π™ΆπšŠπš£πšŽ,
𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝙸 πšπš πšŽπš•πš• πšπš‘πšŽ πšπšŽπš™πšπš‘πšœ within
πš–πšžπš•πšπš’πš™πš•πš’πšŒπš’πšπš’'𝚜 πšŽπš—πšπš•πšŽπšœπšœ πš–πšŠπš£πšŽ.

πš†πšŠπšœ 𝙸 πš—πš˜πš πš‹πš˜πš›πš— πš πš’πšπš‘ πšŸπš’πšπš˜πš›
πšπš˜πš› πšπš‘πšŽ long πš’πš—πšπš’πš—πš’πšπšŽ πšŒπš•πš’πš–πš‹?
𝙸 πšŠπš– πš‹πšžπš›πš’πšŽπš πš’πš— my πšœπš˜πš›πš›πš˜πš .
𝙸 πšŠπš– πšœπš™πš•πš’πš—πšπšŽπš 𝚊𝚝 my πšœπš™πš’πš—πšŽ.

πš‚πš‘πšŠπš›πšπšœ 𝚘𝚏 πš–πš’πš—πš remain πšœπšŒπšŠπšπšπšŽπš›πšŽπš.
My πšŒπš‘πšŠπš˜πšπš’πšŒ πš πš˜πš›πš” 𝚘𝚏 πšŠπš›πš,
It πš‹πšŽπšŠπš›πšœ πš–πš’ shaky πšœπš’πšπš—πšŠπšπšžπš›πšŽ
πš πš›πš’πšπšπšŽπš— πš’πš— πš’πšπšœ failing πš‘πšŽπšŠπš›πš.

π™»πšŽπš πš–πšŽ 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚎 πš’πš—πšπš˜ πšπš‘πšŽ πš™πšŠπš›πšŠπšπš˜πš‘
𝚘𝚏 my πšŠπšπšπšŽπš›πš•πš’πšπšŽ'𝚜 πš›πš’πšπšŽ.
π™΄πšŸπšŽπš›πš’ πšπš•πšžπš‘ πš‹πšŠπš›πš’πš—πš a πš•πš’πšπš‘πš,
𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚜 a πšπšŠπš›πš”πš—πšŽπšœπšœ πš’πš— πš–πš’ πšœπš’πšπš‘πš.

πšƒπš‘πš˜πšžπšπš‘ π™Έπš– πšœπšŽπšŸπšŽπš›πšŽπš πš•πš’πš”πšŽ the πš•πšŠπš—πš
πšπš›πš˜πš– the 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 πš˜πš› πšπš’πš›πš πšπš›πš˜πš– πš–πš˜πšžπš—πš.
𝙸 πšœπšŽπšŽπš” 𝚊 πš™πš•πšŠπšŒπšŽ 𝚘𝚏 πš™πšŽπšŠπšŒπšŽ, πš”πš—πš˜πš πš—.
πš†πš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ πšœπš˜πšžπš•πšœ 𝚐𝚘 𝚝𝚘 πš‹πšŽ πšπš˜πšžπš—πš

π™Ύπš‘, πš’πš–πš–πš˜πš›πšπšŠπš• πšπš˜πš›πšŒπšŽ divine,
Gift my 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚎 πšπš›πš˜πš– πš’πš— πš’πš˜πšžπš› πš‘πšŠπš—πš.
π™²πšŠπšœπš πš’πš down in𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πš’πšœ body
πšπš‘πšŠπš πš’πšœ πšœπšπšŠπš—πšπš’πš—πš 𝚊𝚝 πšŒπš˜πš–πš–πšŠπš—πš.

π™·πš˜πš  𝙸 πšπšŽπšŠπš› πšŽπšŠπšŒπš‘ 𝚍𝚊𝚒 that's 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝,
Living only to πšœπš‘πšŠπšπšπšŽπš› πš–πš’ πšπš›πšŠπš–πšŽ.
𝙸 am at odds. I'm a division.
I am a soul πš πš’πšπš‘πš˜πšžπš 𝚊 πš—πšŠπš–πšŽ.

DeπšŠπšπšŽπš—πš’πš—πš πšœπš’πš•πšŽπš—πšŒπšŽ, let it πš™πšŽπš’πš›πšŒπšŽ
πš–πš’ πšœπšŒπš›πšŽπšŠπš–s πšπš›πš˜πš– πš πš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πšπš πšŽπš•πš•,
𝙸 πš”πš—πš˜πš  𝚒𝚘𝚞 can see the πš•πš’πšπš‘πš πš’πšœ
πš‹πšžπš›πš—πš’πš—πš πš‹πš›πš’πšπš‘πš πšπš›πš˜πš– in πš–πš’ πš‘πšŽπš•πš•.

And wπš’πšπš‘ πšŽπšŸπšŽπš›πš’ πšπš›πšŽπšŠπšπšŽπš πš‹πš›πšŽπšŠπšπš‘,
π™Όπš’ πšŸπš˜πš’πšŒπšŽ πšπš›πšŽπš–πš‹πš•πšŽπšœ πš πš’πšπš‘ 𝚊 πšœπš’πšπš‘,
Gift my life to meet your eyes.
L𝚎𝚜𝚝 πš–πš’πš—πšŽ πšŒπš›πš’ on, πš‹πš’ πšŠπš—πš πš‹πš’.
Just know, it's not your fault.
No, It's not your fault .
The Mind betrays the heart.
But no, it's not your fault.

It's not like you could know.
Paths you were meant to walk.
All paths will over grow.
Being lost is not your fault.

Your human form stays lost.
The soul will pay no cost.
It's created to bathe in light.
No darkness is your fault.  

Oars ****** you toward a call.
You'll get weak, and you'll stall.
The sea will never calm.
No struggle is your fault.

Know that it's not your fault.
Your heart takes all the shots.
It's running from your mind,
And no, It's not your fault  

For, all will over grow.
The sea will never calm.
And no, it's not your fault.
Just know, it's not your fault.

Β©

Derek Abraxas

"The Quantum Bound Poet"
With embered wings, I pierce the blackest night,
A solar mass morphing into a black hole.
Each atom in my blood prepares to ignite,
Reflecting the true divine shape of my soul.

In the corridors of my own thought, the senses drown.
The mind painting prisms bleeding photonic rain.
No boundary here to hold me. In moments, I'm crowned.
In this kingdom of chaos, sculpting solace from pain.

I stand before the mirror of my own trembling soul.
A sovereign spark lives, who dares to hope it can heal.
A voice screams, that " One who has shattered his mold,
Transcends the one; fragments of being, each their own whole."

Pulses turn to diamonds, forming as the words on my tongue.
Minutes stretch β€” now endless lifetimes yet to be discovered.
I taste each shard of feeling that my heart has overcome.
My sorrow and my joy open, remaining uncovered.

My dreams, my faulted mind, like ones we called under-wrought.
Their eyes, constellations, like the ones we used to trust.
Chemicals react, dispersing waves, like songs we forgot.
Solitude and isolation bleed with each melodic gust.

And in the hush of afterglow, I wield my clean knife,
Open up my wounds till they reveal my true hidden name.
And from this crucible of pain, is born a new life.
My infinite flame burns as both the wild and the tame.

Following voices of shadows, divine potential’s own choir.
Their hymns β€” the portal to my soul yet to be embraced.
Chains bind me to perceptions, but for now, I'm more like fire.
Forging quantum bound waves, binding purpose to my fate.
Dylan A May 4
You look better when I close my eyes.
Because I’m a horrible person
a horrible person who still thinks of her when I’m with you.
Yet again, when I’m with her, who I was gets lost.
because honestly, I was broken
β€”She broke meβ€”
I am broken, but you’ve seen me as whole.
Carlo C Gomez May 19
Affixed to the Lee–Enfield,
this blade, this trigger point,
stricken by ambush,
enters the melee
along the false edge,
cuts to the core,
like sympathizers of
William of Orange.

There are no daggers
apart from war,
just an ocean of
death and defeat,
its water,
its ever rising water,
swallows us whole.
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