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ivan Nov 24
illness
the one that kills
that one that you need pills
to make sure you don’t see those hills
that don’t even exist

illness
that one that MAKES you ****
that one that makes you addicted to your pill
that one that makes you see the hill
that doesn’t even exist

illness
the one that makes you ****
but the victim is yourself
the one that makes you needed of pills
that one that makes you stab yourself with quills
the one that thrills
the thrill of death

of your own.
its getting hard again!
Kaiden Lewis Nov 22
The mentall ilness was never an excuse

The abuse was never discipline

The yelling was never making us stronger

The boys never hit us because they liked us

The victims were never attention-seekers

We were never who we seemed to be
Nothing is ever as it seems
Nobody Nov 22
Today
I was sitting at the dinner table
Behind a baked potato
Scared
Uncomfortable
Anxious
While my parents kept watching me
I sat there
While my brother
And my sister
Ate with no problem
No second thought
**** i wish i could be like that.
When everyone else got up
My mom looked at me
And said out loud
"can you just eat it? Its not that hard."
The dumb thing is
She thinks shes my savior
But she makes me feel like I belong in an asylum
Everyone was looking at me
Judging
While tears slowly fall
From my blurry eyes
The thing is
She doesnt even understand
She thinks i dont want to eat
But I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
"I cant."
I mouthed
Silently
And she said
"Yes you can! Youre just being dramatic."
No, not said.
Exclaimed
She told me to take a few bites
I did
And I got up and walked away
And set my 1/10 empty plate
Next to the sink.
I went downstairs.
She yelled down the stairs
"deadname, get up here. You need to eat more food."
I ate some more.
And then I went back down
To sit with the guilt
I know shes trying to help
But please dont tell me to try to be grateful
Because she is just making things worse
My therapist agreed
The hospital agreed
So now
I will sit
And cry
I'm my room
Try to avoid getting blood stains on my sheets
Try to hide my tool
Try to get better
Because I do want to
But these people dont ******* understand.
And they need to stop pretending that they do.
Boris Cho Nov 22
Trust is a fragile thing, and I learned this through the bruises of past relationships. Boundaries were a concept I didn’t recognize, let alone embrace. Throughout my childhood and young adult life, I hadn’t seen trust protected by boundaries; instead, it felt conditional, something that could vanish the moment I made a mistake.

Growing up in a home where my voice was often drowned out, where the lines between safety and fear blurred, I never learned that I had the right to set limits or protect my own space. As a child, I lived in an environment where mistakes felt unforgivable, with my needs and wants taking a back seat to keeping peace or avoiding conflict. That pattern followed me, undetected, into adulthood.

In my past marriage, trust was twisted into something transactional; I gave and gave, bending to make things work, hoping that in sacrificing my needs, I’d somehow earn security. But trust erodes quickly when there’s no boundary to protect it, and by the time we reached the end, it was shattered, scattered in pieces I could barely recognize. Throughout the entire 14-year relationship with my ex-wife, I unknowingly carried the absence of boundaries with me. I tried to be everything I thought a husband and father should be, pouring every ounce of myself into a relationship that quietly depleted me, while she dictated our lives to the smallest detail, and often used them against me. My needs vanished under layers of compromise and concession. Over time, I realized I wasn’t in love with her, but instead tethered by an obligation to uphold the image of a “good husband.”

Boundaries felt selfish; they seemed like walls I wasn’t allowed to build, even as my own well being deteriorated. I had buried my true self beneath the weight of expectations and silent suffering. It took years to realize how damaging that was and how necessary it is to set limits that honor one’s own dignity. After my divorce, I thought love alone would be enough to hold onto trust, but I soon saw how easily trust can be chipped away without boundaries to frame it. It taught me that when boundaries aren’t respected, trust withers, leaving behind only doubt and regret.

I realize now, boundaries are the silent guardians of trust. They keep it intact, protected from the misunderstandings that come when needs go unspoken. When I set boundaries, I’m not only safeguarding my well-being but also inviting others to respect my trust by respecting my limits. Learning to set boundaries has been, in many ways, a journey in rebuilding trust and that boundaries are an act of self-respect. They aren’t barriers to keep people out, but lines that protect the best of who we are. I came to see that in order to show up as a healthy, present father, as a friend, as a partner, and as the person I strive to be, I need to safeguard my energy and my emotional space. Learning to set limits; to tell others where I end and they begin; has been a transformative act of reclaiming myself. I understand now that boundaries are not selfish; they are a declaration of self-worth. I had to understand that without boundaries, trust has no foundation; it’s a vulnerable thing that requires support to stand on my own and they’re about creating a safe space where trust can grow slowly, steadily, and with integrity.

I have come to learn that when I honor my boundaries, I’m rebuilding the foundation of trust in myself. This trust is precious; it’s the belief that I won’t betray my own needs for someone else’s comfort. They’re a promise to myself that I will no longer give away pieces of my peace. And when others respect my boundaries, they earn something rare and valuable; a trust that, this time, feels solid enough to last.

Through my experience, I’ve come to carry three powerful truths about boundaries. First, they are non-negotiable. For too long, I made my needs flexible, prioritizing others over myself. Now, boundaries allow me to define who I am, uncompromisingly. Second, they empower us to say no without guilt or apology. Each ‘no’ is a way of saying ‘yes’ to the life and relationships I deserve. And finally, boundaries are how we honor ourselves and teach others to do the same. They are my compass, helping me navigate life with dignity, pride, and authenticity.

This journey hasn’t been easy. Breaking the patterns of a lifetime can feel like tearing down and rebuilding a house from its foundations. But I’ve learned that setting boundaries isn’t about anger or resentment; it’s about clarity, growth, and love; for myself, for my daughter, and for the relationships I wish to nurture moving forward.



Once there was a quiet garden,
filled with colors bright and wild.
It grew best when lines were honored;
a space for each root, each petal, each stem.

For a time, no borders stood,
and flowers tangled, starved for sun,
their colors dulled, their strength pulled thin,
as vines of one drained life from within.

So a gardener placed small stones around,
not walls, but paths for each to grow;
a space to bloom, freely and alone,
to lift their heads, to stretch and know.

In tending gently to each line,
the garden thrived, each flower freed,
and side by side, they grew in kind,
a beauty held by roots, not need.

Boundaries gave them life that way,
together, yet strong, every day.

— Sincerely, Boris
Kaiden Lewis Nov 21
Maybe it's reality
Or maybe i'm just weak
I have no reason to paint pernament lines on my wrists, do i?
Other children work too, don't they?

That were the words of my dear mother
Who lulled me into sleep with pain
Pain caused by her boyfriend who despised me almost as much
As my differences

My house is not normal enough to be good
But not bad enough to be normal
At least that's what i was forced to believe since the
oh so perfect age of ten
Abuse can mess with your mind
ivan Nov 21
that dog
the one that bites
don’t get close to it
or it’ll bite you too


‘it bit me’
the blood is still warm,
dripping from hands that shook
but no one dared to look.

‘why doesn’t someone help me?’
that ******* dog
wait, it’s not a dog!
ivan Nov 20
the reality the world
do you really wanna know?
curious boy
will die easily




YOURE SICK




okay, curious one
now hear gunshots
blood spatting
is it good yet?

no, you wanna see it yourself
the good friend holds a a sign
‘wanna see a dead body?’
eyes rolled back
this is what you lack


YOURE SICK
YOURE SICK
YOURE SICK
YOURE SICK
this addiction is so hard
Caesar Nov 20
Shout
Scream
Pout and doubt
Beg and kneel and promise me it’ll change
From ages four and up and till I reached the 7th grade my life was a walking minefield
Dodging and  weeving around bullets
Thoughts bullets weren’t for me though
Yet they still grazed me
Scared me with the echo ringing through the battle field that was supposed to be my home
For the first I knew what it felt like to be scared
For the first time I went to sleep doubting why I was here
For the first time I heard you shout
You were supposed to be a gentle man
Not exactly a father but a step down
Guess that’s why they call them step fathers
But to my brothers whom were but your sons
The one you beated,
hit,
yelled at,
And I watched
Hearing him cry in pain
He was 16 yet scared of him as much as I am of you
I realized for the first time you weren’t what I thought
You were a haunting thought
Each threat and shout and door you left dented
Time spent in hotels rather than in the safety of my bed
Every time you called the police
And the threat to take away my only home
Guess it wasn’t my only home
Second
But it was second to best with you
You see
you treated me with gentleness
A kindness I’ll never forget
And today I still like to think of you as that man
The man before you turned into you
But you aren’t that man
You are what you are
A angry man
Drunken and confused
And oh so painfully sweet
I miss when I was three
Of dear god I wish it were me
I wish it were me you hit
It was me you shouted and yelled at
Cause god I’d have a reason to hate you If you did
Because I’m still painfully attached to you, even in the end.
This is based off some of not a whole lot of situations that played out through the ages 5 to 13 of my childhood. Please don’t judge if it’s poorly writen
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