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There was stillness, all was held in place.
Untouched beneath the world’s design.
Particles drifted in quantum space.
Slates unmarked by hand or time.

Trauma struck as it cracked, it would stir.
The mind betrayed and the self, unmade.
A tremor passed like my whispers slurred.
And from my depths, the void would invade.

fractured pulses spread and came apart.
The fixed quantum law began to bend.
Reality unravels, alongside the heart,
broken strands of thought began to descend.

Screamed echoes take a visual shape.
Waves collide in the fractured pulses.
What once was whole, begins breaking down.
Protections kept, now stripped from their holsters.  

Energies spin untethered, unbound.
The self just dissolves, with no grip to keep.
The sky starts crying with quantum sound.
as shadows stretch by a time growing deep.

The mind, a mirror, shattered and gold.
Reflecting a new empty void from within it.
Each thought disperses and shatters its mold.
Where once was trust, now grows resentment.

A field of force has been left unstable.
Blackening a heart that is no longer true.
Where once was love, now hate fragmented.
The self, adrift. Forced to weather through.

In my withering thought, the echoes still roam.
Their dreamscape heaven has been swept away.
The pulse of life now hardened to stone.
My silhouette dwells in the shades of gray.

And still when my skies cry with quantum sound,
The whimpers of essence frowning frail and thin.
The hope that was pure can no longer he found.
The self is restricted from all it might have been.

♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
Jesus' baby Apr 8
If penning my faith
In my Savior is a crime,
Then I’ll commit it—
Again and again.

If voicing the weight
Of my Lord is a felony,
Then let me indulge—
With joy in my soul.

Gifted are His children:
Some take the podium,
Some shape minds,
Some lay down in service.

Yes—
Gifted am I,
To masterfully imprint
Words that travel nations,
Writing His kingdom come.

Fulfilling my calling—
The Writing Evangelist.
Joss Lennox Apr 6
We all want to be U n I q u e,
while still following the crowd,

don't be afraid to stand out,
don't be afraid to get LOUD.
short and to the point

also, why do I want to quote anchorman right now (iykyk)
Joss Lennox Mar 30
Lost in the woods
no trail to follow
Thoughts like trees
quiet & hollow
Bird sung nightmares
days without ends
Alone with the leaves
no cellphone friends
Impossible to sleep with harsh winds/
hungry wolves all around
Fighting with demons
desperate for a way out
Your time's almost up
to escape the darkness
to depend on the sun
Ravens gather
Rats parade
Vultures begin circling
The sun starts to shade
Familiar footprints remind you
repeating patterns add to the charade
no more backwards view
only moving forward
only pushing through
This poem is a metaphor for feeling alone in life and the different situations we each get in, but having only ourselves to depend on when making a decision towards positive changes and mindset.
s1mpl3po3t Mar 25
Hers was a life
Of which legends are made,
She was born in the sun
And retired in the shade,
But somewhere in between
There was a fabulous rendition,
An exemplary existence
Beyond common tradition.

Her family was conservative
She always did her best,
Just follow Mom and Daddy’s ways
It’s safe within the nest,
But it didn’t fill her up inside
It left her feeling hollow,
And though they knew she loved them
She had a different star to follow.

Although I used the word conservative
Her parents had great knowledge,
They encouraged all their children
To attend some kind of college,
Knowing that the value comes
In exploring brand new themes,
Then taking the experience
To carry out their dreams.

Her dreams were like a ball of yarn
Just waiting to unravel,
With just a little push, she rolled
Into the world of travel,
Returning now and then
Bearing gifts of life and beauty,
And then that girl would dream again
As though it was her duty.

A legend in her own time
Within the family tree,
When pressed for explanations
She’d say, “Because, it’s me”.
Did you know:
that you are
special and it shows???
that you ✨️ Sparkle ✨️
like a
💎 diamond 💎 and
you glow???,
Your Shine is so
bright, that
the world knows,
You are very unique and
one of a kind,
a special
kind a friend,
The one that's
hard to find,
You are a TREASURE,
You are a JEWEL,
You are UNIQUE and
YES,
YOU RULE!!!,
YOU'RE ON THE
9 TO 5,
YOU TIK AND
YOU TOCK,
YOU'RE ON
THE RIGHT PATH,
IN CONTROL,
YOU ROCK!!!
YOU REALLY DON'T KNOW
HOW SPECIAL YOU ARE,
COS, IN MY EYES, I SEE
YOU AS A 🌟 STAR 🌟!!!
SO, DON'T EVER FORGET,
WHEREVER YOU GO,
THAT YOU ARE ONE
OF A KIND,
I JUST THOUGHT
I LET TOU KNOW!!!


B.R.
3/21/2025
I saw my skin as clouds of creme in coffee,
As the caramel within a toffee,
As the swirls of detergent in a bucket,
I love my skin, I remind myself lest I forget.

I saw it as an imperfectly mixed pasta,
As an unstirred Irish creme liqueur,
It reminds me of the side of me that’s a gangsta,
Like the work of a passionate newbie restaurateur.

It is mine, my own
No different than my blood or my bone.
I don’t need to alter it,
Let the others adjust as they see fit.

It took me quite a while,
But my skin too began to smile.
The efforts of a village it took,
So, lest you forget, love the way you look!
This poem has been penned as an ode to vitiligo. It is not a cry for help, nor does it invite pity parties. Rather, it represents the splendidness of the human body, and how truly life-altering self-love and acceptance can be.
Having said this, I'd like to affirm to the masses that even if a cure for vitiligo miraculously did appear, i would not take it. The speckled, marbled and patchy skin I now call my own, is MY NORMAL, and quite frankly, it's the only one that matters :)
There once was a family of clouds,
Blue were their noses and blue were their shrouds.
Amongst them lived 3 outcasts, though
As though through the blue, someone had brazenly run a plough!

Blotchy, whitey and marbly let’s call them,
Of the big blue sky, they were the beautifully botched hem.
The smurfy blues didn’t think so, alas!
And neither did the the puppets on the ground, peeping through the looking glass.

Rain was their saviour,
For amidst those tears, no one would notice their stark behaviour.
The smurfy blues covered them up,
Lest someone see their erroneous turf.

Then shone the sun one fine day,
And like rising phoenixes, the castaways came out to play.
For a thing such as beauty, ever so fickle
They were a miraculous honey-hued trickle.

The puppets on the ground too swapped their loyalties,
And soon the alleged drops of milk were favoured royalties.
The sky too embraced the cotton-ous hue amidst the smurfy blue,
And just like that, their fairytale slowly came true.
Among the scarce literature found regarding vitiligo, you would only find a single perspective i.e., the autoimmune warrior's. What about the spots themselves, I ask? How must they feel when their owner themselves wage a daily love/hate war? Aren't they bullied by their skin-coloured "normal" neighbours? Don't they get confused by their changing appearance?
This poem deals with THEM. And not unlike their owners, they too are ruddy steel-hearted, mind you!
Emilia Glinka Jan 27
The looks of our children
combination of both our positives and negatives
from our different points of view
raised in the mixing of our worlds
the stance where it becomes their own
a product gaining independence
and the ability to be recognized for its uniqueness
not as a mix
but as a new form
were similarities may be found
maybe it gained your eyes
the ones I get lost in
or perhaps my smile
the one you so often bring to life
but their words remain true to their soul
in the hope of finding its match
the one to spark the cycle anew
creating the unique once more
I haven't written much, but I figured this was worth posting! Hope you have a great day!
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