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Dylan A 4d
If yesterday had come for you,
               I’d mourn forever.

If today is that day you leave me,
          still I’ll never forget you.

If tomorrow already erased you,
     then maybe I should retrace it.
Another text I’ve written but can’t send to the only person I wish I could.
Mariah Apr 15
I want you to know
Why I don't call home

I wish I could express
But you'd rather I digest

You'll stop me every time
From saying what's on my mind

The worst part of that
You're happy with the fact

"No need to explain,
Just eat this cellophane!"

The silence on my end
The concert you regularly attend

The sweet sound of gone
Born from the shame you brought on

On purpose, by choice
You hate to hear my voice

You reject the things I say
You rather I decay  

Didn't matter if they were true
When your perceptions skewed

No love lost
Nothing grows in frost

"Faster, faster, faster!
Die! Die! Die!  

Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Don't look me in the eye!"

You suffocated me in time
Just so you could live your life
Without remaining in mine
Hoping
This time I won't survive.
Hex Apr 15
I longed to call her mine,
But she wept for a love not mine.
One heart broke so another could survive.
Honey Apr 14
Ink's running out
as my thoughts get loud.
In between you and me,
my cup’s fuller.

The strings attached
are still clinging on tight—
but I will not hold on
any longer.

For this is, by chance,
a brief experience.
And that,
I should be grateful for—
because you made me feel
something
I had been longing for
before.

To be held,
for once,
with hands so warm
and willing
to engulf me as a whole.

This fleeting experience—
I'll hold on to.
For not even once
have I felt
a deep connection
I never wanted to end.

Perhaps,
it was you
or how you made me feel.
Or maybe,
it was your eyes
that I still wish
to stare into—
at least
for one last time.
kris Apr 10
No words could relay,
What my hearts wants to
say.
Except, "𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖."
Don't leave, just stay.
The words "I love you" hold power to the heart.
kn Mar 28
Dearest Parents,

I don’t even know where to begin, because there’s so much sitting in my heart. Some of it heavy, some of it aching and all of it quietly waiting to be heard.

I miss you both.
I miss home.
I miss the feeling of safety I used to associate with your presence. Even when things were hard, I believed, deep down, that love was somewhere in the room.

But now… I feel banished. Like I was pushed out from the one place I thought would always take me in. I don’t know if it was something I did, or didn’t do, or simply who I am. But the silence, the distance, it’s louder than any words you could’ve spoken.

I’ve been trying to be strong. To hold myself up without the foundation I used to rely on. To believe I still matter, even when I feel forgotten. It hurts. It hurts in the kind of way that lingers, that wakes me up at night, that makes me question my worth.

Still, somewhere in me, there’s a small flicker of love that hasn’t gone out. A part of me that wishes you could see me. Not as a disappointment, not as someone to cast out, but just as your child. I’m not perfect, but I’ve always carried love for you. I still do.

Maybe you’ll never read this. Maybe nothing will change. But I needed to say it, for me. I needed to let these words out of the cage they’ve been in.

With love and sadness,
Me
Immortality Mar 25
she feel his gaze,
he feels her–
silent admiration.

"why not confess?"
cupid sighs,
but god only smiles,
"some love is made
to be felt,
not said."
May be, they are not coward or scared;
it’s just their love language....;)
Dancing, swirling in the rain,
He drowns his tears, conceals his pain.
A boy so strong, yet torn inside,
Believing none stand by his side.

From afar, she sees him break,
Wishing his sorrow she could take.
He hides behind the pouring sky,
Never turning to meet her eye.

She holds him close in dreams so tight,
Hoping to chase away his sorrowful night.
Yet time moves on, the story stays,
He loves another, lost in haze.

And she—she lingers in the rain,
Hiding heartache, masked in pain.
"Sometimes, unspoken love is better than revealing it. It may hurt at first, but who knows? Maybe it’s for your own good."
Agnes de Lods Mar 16
I trace the sign of infinity
against the window
with my fingertips.

The cold, transparent glass
reflects the distant lights.
The evening city moves so fast,
and time seems to slow down.

Yet this disturbing reflection
lingers in my mind.
I have been living in this town for years,
feeling as if I’m not really here,
in reality.

Somewhere unknown,
behind my eyes
unspoken nostalgia
softly calls to me,
drawing ever closer
like a friend
who knows me best,
who truly sees me as I am.

What is it that I long for so deeply?
What kind of truth do I seek to reveal?
I feel whole in this human existence
but an irrational voice murmurs:
This is not your place,
not your time.

Maybe I feel like this
because,
one day, by chance
I left my body in pain
touching infinity
and I sensed freedom
beyond the weight of human doubt?
Maryann I Mar 15
I’ve lost count—
was it the fourth winter or the seventh spring
when the silence curled too tightly around my ribs,
and I mistook it for peace?
When the night stopped being a comfort
and started swallowing me whole?

I’ve lost count—
of how many times I’ve stood at the edge of the thought,
toe curling over the ledge,
heartbeat whispering, ”this time, maybe.”
Of how often I’ve written letters I never mailed,
just to prove to myself I was still worth a goodbye.

There were nights I rehearsed my exit
like a prayer no one would answer—
softly, solemnly,
just in case the universe was listening.

I’ve forgotten the shape of my first goodbye,
but I remember the echo—
how it rang in my bones long after the moment passed,
how it became a second heartbeat,
steady and hollow.

How many bottles did I uncap,
not to swallow,
but to measure the weight of the idea in my palm?
How many bridges did I cross,
wondering if the wind would take mercy
and push me before I had to decide?

I’ve counted calendar days like scars,
tallied time in tear-salted pillowcases,
marked milestones not by celebration,
but by survival.

There’s a number for everything—
beats per minute, breaths per hour,
how long it takes for a wound to scab,
how many milligrams it takes to numb a scream—
but there is no metric
for how many times a soul tries to disappear.

People ask why I’m so tired.
I smile,
because how do you explain
what it means to dig yourself out of your own grave
again and again
with bare, trembling hands?

But still—
I wake up.
Not always because I want to.
Sometimes just because I didn’t succeed.

And yet—
I’m still here.
Tired, yes.
Heavy with ghosts I haven’t named.
But here.

And that has to count for something.
This year has been overwhelming, to say the least. But through it all, I’ve been fighting—holding on, trying to stay grounded just a little longer, enough to heal and find myself again. I want to express my deep gratitude to this community, which has been a place of solace when I needed it most. To those who have listened to my vents, offered comfort, or simply acknowledged my pain, your presence has meant more than words can capture. Your quiet support has been a lifeline, and I am truly thankful for it.
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