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Joel K 4d
That feeling of being obligated.
Like a signal mom caring for a child that is not hers.

In the same way you came to me.
For whatever reason you adored me, like a child meeting their favorite superhero.

You admired my works like nobody else.

I admired the love you gave to me.
It was warm and unfamiliar.

So I stayed in bed a little longer.
The look that you gave me was passionate and ready…a burden on my back.

Something I could not repeat with my physicality.

I am a stranger to love and because of that I must vanish.

Leaving an oblivious note that you will read.
-2nd part of “The Spokesperson.” Portraying the view of the idol, these 2 parts contrast in emotion because of the miscommunications between the voice of each poem.

The Idol treats their admirer like an object that is stunned by its love.
Being a person lacking in the emotional department , the voice of this poems leaves not wanting to feel that attachment again because of things they feel the need to do.
Matt Jun 23
Hello ? hello ? hello ?
Anyone out there ? anyone out there ? there’s nobody out there.

This house doesn’t echo ‘cause it’s empty —
It echoes ‘cause I talk to the walls,
and they talk back
with everything my mother,
my father,
my brothers and sisters,
my friends,
and my lovers
never said.

You see, recently, I’ve been sleeping like I’m training for death,
my breathing’s been shallow,
my dreams have been hollow,
waking up just to forget
why I even went to bed… in the first place.

The silence claps, filling the room, — applause for my pain,
and I swear:
even my shadow’s been walking away.
My bed’s a grave I visit nightly,
only to wake up and
restitch my smile nice and tightly,
just so everyone can see
just how happy I can be.

The other day, I wrote a list of reasons to live —
ran out of ink after two.
Wrote “sunsets” and “maybe,”
then scratched 'em both through.
Every “I love you” I’ve heard
was a debt disguised,
a loan with interest
that never arrived.
For them, I know it was just empty breath:
no heart,
no soul,
no vow,
no truth.
Always less, and never more —
just echoes behind this closed door.
As they left me alone,
blindly deciding
it’d be okay for me to love myself
on my own.

They yelled out behind that door:
“Matt you’re not alone,”
“We’ll always be here for you!”
but no one ever knocked.
Only ghosts with names like Almost,
and clocks that tick and tock in Morse code
for stop.
Tick tick tick—
Tock.
And now even my watch
has begun to mock
the very bitterness…
that resides within these walls.

My chest’s a locked box
where light doesn’t get.
My thoughts?
Wet matches.
That can’t spark—
just create ash.
I choose not to water my plants
like I’m praying they die,
just so something else understands
what it feels like
to try
and try
and try
and still…
not be remembered.

I’ve screamed into the universe
like voicemail—
begging for anyone or anything
to give me the recognition I needed.
No return.
I lit myself on fire for warmth,
and watched
the cold not burn.
This ain’t poetry.
It’s my farewell in rehearsal,
a symphony of silence
in a one-man circle.

I don’t want to die.
I never wanted to,
and I never will.
But I can’t keep living like this—
half death,
half plea.
So when you hear this:
Don’t cry.
Don’t clap.
Just breathe.
Because that breath
represents more love
than I ever believed
was for me.

I only ever needed three things:
I. love. you.
You could have saved me.
This is the poem I competed with at the National Speech and Debate tournament in Des Moines, Iowa, last week.
Ghostcat Jun 8
I found my peace, but it was brief,  
I thought it would stay, bring relief.  
Day by day, night by night,  
I suffocate beneath this fright.  

I washed away what left me torn,  
Through my pain, I bore and mourned.  
I’m no player—I’m a victim,  
Yet it still hurts, for I have feelings.  

Through the pain, both flesh and mind,  
I endure, though I’m confined.  
I brush it off until it’s gone,  
Yet scars remain, etched upon.  

I kept it quiet, held it in,  
So no one saw the war within.  
Voices echo, sharp and cruel,  
Scheming shadows, mocking fools.  

I say, "Be silent!"—they only jeer,  
Where did they come from? Why are they here?  
Still, I fight, though I am trying,  
To wear a face that hides the dying.
Steve Page Jun 3
I wouldn’t call us friends
but we’re close, intimate even -
they’ve known me longer,
know me better than anyone.

They read me, clearly see
the full back-catalogue of me,
understand me, often better than me
and they know just how to wound me,
seam doubt in me, refusing a stitch of mercy.

Sometimes I think them merciless,
sometimes merely vindictively honest,
but I cannot deny their knowledge,
their perceptiveness.

Nevertheless, there are essentials
that their words do lack
- imagination
- hope
- kindness
and the one furthest from their grasp
- forgiveness.

And so, I pay greater heed
to the friend whose words brim with love,
whose knowledge of me is greater,
whose patience is longer, and who sees
who I am in Him
- forgiven.
John 15:15
“I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.”
2 Corinthians 5:17
"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come."
The Calmness, the Stillness,
the chill of despair,
the voices of the unknown,
of the Whispers in the Air!!

Are you hearing the coded messages,
of what they are trying to say???, or
are you still trying to decipher them,
this very single day, or
maybe you are unaware of them, and
you are letting them go astray!!

They may seem to be a bit eerie,
of what you are trying to hear,
these Whipsers in the air,
they tend to bring to you fear,

You're incoherent of
its understanding, but
It Doesn't seem to make any sinse,
Your mind and thoughts are boggled and
Filled with so much suspense,

So, just listen to the voices,
with certainty and with care,
There is a message you need
to comprehend,
This whispers in the Air!!


B.R.
Date: 5/30/2025
If I ever disappear,
Don't go looking,
I will be long gone,
Far away with the winds.

But if you wish to hear me,
Lend an ear to the early breezes,
You will hear me voice,
Calling out, softly singing.
Long away with the winged birds.
inkedsolace Mar 23
Give me a break,
This shouldn't have to be such a hot take,
Stop making me feel worthless and fake,
You're grinding my head into a medium rare steak,
****** and broken to throw into the lake,
Where rumors can drink from to cure their slake,
And I'll end up at night lyin' awake,
Wondering when comes dawn's jailbreak,
Stayin' up 'til my head starts to ache,
Stayin' up 'til my heart starts to break,
...Why can't you see what's at stake?

x i. solace
Jeremy Betts Mar 16
Hey you there

It's not just me in here
Oh how I wish you could hear the coconspirator
Or see in a single tear how loud the fear of fear truly can be
And how I'm so rarely allowed to steer

I AM a dark passenger, MY dark passenger
A near prison like constricting atmosphere with no breathing apparatus gear
Life can be so impossibly cavalier
Death is always closer than it should ever appear, regardless of the mirror

In my story I have the glory of a lone fourth musketeer
With a crowded asylum between each ear
So many questions but not a single agreed upon answer will appear
And I've yet to meet this so called infallible puppeteer

Though the hierarchy is clear, it passes through an auctioneer
"Punish thee if thy finds I should ever veer from thy holy 'engineer'"
Hell, they can stay put like a headlight frozen deer
I'd rather be allowed to be the one to disappear

I did not ask to be here

©2025
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