#architect
I grant you the monster you need to be free,
To anchor the weight of your pain onto me.
I’ll wear the armor of thorns you designed,
And leave every version of "us" far behind.
The greatest devotion is vanishing whole,
To leave no vibration, no toll on your soul.
If peace requires that I’m cast in the wrong,
I’ll play the antagonist, steady and strong.
I walk from the pages, I burn every line,
The choice to be nothing is finally mine.
For love’s final labor is letting it die—
No echoes of memory, no last goodbye.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 1:32 AM UTC
I was the architect of my own fall.
It had been easier to open my hands helplessly
than to clench fists against bullet-scarred walls.
Transgression: naivety in passivity.
Penance: the loss of trust
that I could shine with my own pure light.
I withdrew, leaving behind the space I had carved.
I hid, healing myself in silence,
for in that place, dreams were safer.
Hunger remained hunger,
longing remained longing.
I chose to carry guilt myself
rather than admit that I had been broken:
the stubbornness of a frayed razor
that could not cut through the page.
I was the builder of my suffering
by my own will, seeing the glow in others.
I was warm water,
shimmering in a thousand drops.
The world didn’t end.
The sun stayed, the wind still blew,
and the trees stretched out their arms to me.
Everything that came after was easier,
no longer hurting so much.
I am sitting on a bench in the gold-red park,
watching the leaves, watching this life,
which, in my mind, was different months ago.
But this time I take my face in my hands,
with tenderness to myself,
rebuilding my home, my place.
I know I always deserved it.
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 3:29 PM UTC
a prisoner so long
forgetting I was the architect
who built the gaol in the first place
and closed the door behind me
carefully designed for room to stand
just enough light to let the hope in
just enough space to sleep and dream
but no chance to go anywhere
I'd let myself out, but I'm afraid
of what lies on the other side
of what I shut out in the first place
the key long lost, the lock rusted
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 5:18 AM UTC
The poet is an architect
he constructs sentences.
The poet is a cook
he mixes words.
The poet is a philosopher
he reflects on what he writes.
The poet is a student
he learns words.
But above all.
The poet has no definition
he defines himself.
Aug 11, 2025
Aug 11, 2025 at 10:55 AM UTC
another task i accomplished
another way i can rummage
too concerned with becoming
need to be concerned with substance
i believe it, i dream it
i believe it, i mean it
i construct boundaries like an architect
i construct melodies in mythology
i pretend i am better than i am
i pretend to receive apologies
i can accomplish even if i am not the best
perfectionism teething
i pretend i am better than i am
skewed reasoning
May 14, 2025
May 14, 2025 at 3:45 PM UTC
Eight legged beauty
Spinning your web architect
Stare in amazement
May 13, 2025
May 13, 2025 at 3:25 PM UTC
what fantasy should I play into today
watch the fruitful image become laced with dust like Pompeii
what fantasy should I play into today
become just another burnt-out cigarette in your astray
my life is simply a fallacy, nobody truly cares for me, losing my sanity in the name of chastity
my life is unsatisfactory, nobody truly can handle me, confidence beat up no battery, take another shot of vanity
woah, I feel it start to form
woah, the new queen of the swarm
woah, x marks the spot no storm
woah, no longer can conform
to society, their ideology in breach of me
and my values, firmer than statutes
life can bruise, covered in the cool hues
and my bad news is I can still lose
but why focus on the lack and knives wedged in my back
rather not focus on that
discard the cracks and sneak attacks
rather not focus on that
my walls are up and they keep you back
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 1:01 PM UTC
The architect of the universe
Acts a little sketchy
•
We speak on our 60 waves movement
The other 40 percent we tell is all struggle
•
Infinity shares its rip tides
Star light ties down wishfulness
•
Night life and sun light
Body watering our drive to continue
•
Soul brought to you by love
Free will lines our aerial focus
•
Sinning and singing it all out
Hope sends these sonics out to our universe
•
Circling around our desires in our designed contentment
To living freely to only die just to wake up to infinity
Apr 19, 2020
Apr 19, 2020 at 1:36 AM UTC
hey architect,
You've been given a vacant terrain,
somewhere crowd of green grasses
a meeting place of tall trees.
Go straight from that vacant terrain to the paper.
With sunlight, air movement and some related content, You draw some 2D lines.
Each line carries the meaning.
You also make them in many different shapes.
At the same time, hundreds of calculations and ideas are exchanged with new thinking.
A 3D form of imagination that builds on thin lines.
Where you can imagine gestures used by users, shuttle of light somewhere, and fair use of green etc.
which make meaningful sense of that space.
Which actually constitutes invisible mass.
Then you are there to make your invisible mass visible,
At the end, it becomes visible.
Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 12:56 PM UTC
First I am the architect
Using matter, pure and fine
I make the life that I intend
But in pattern, and design
Second, I am the builder
Taking steps to make it real
Shaping matter to my form
I create my life ideal
Then third, I am the owner
Using all I’ve built, with cheer
This is what I’ve labored for
I’ll enjoy life while I’m here
Then fourth, I am the teacher
Sharing truths that help and bless
Truth One: You are the architect
Of the pattern you express
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 10:13 AM UTC
You were an architect
Who built sturdy walls around me,
And hung up perfect pictures...
Ones I mistook for truth.
Had I been less content,
In this dollhouse you created,
I would have seen the one next door...
The one you built for her.
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 4:24 PM UTC
i am an architect
though my hand has been guided many a time
i have etched my own path
into a tome of starlight
but it is a path i will walk alone sometimes
and that’s okay
i am a writer
though my heart has been swayed into submission many a time
i will continue to be
the main antagonist of my story
but i bleed ink from my fingertips and i will write my own chapter
and that’s okay
i am a warrior
though i’ve wielded my sword many a time
i have seen many wars
and fought many battles
but it’s still the small victories i celebrate most
and that’s okay
i am a dancer
though i’ve tripped over my two left feet many a time
i have broken many bones
and danced still with a smile
but my feet grow tired and i must rest sometimes
and that’s okay
i am an artist
though my hands have often been stained
my heart is my masterpiece
and i’ve put it at the forefront of my choices
but maybe it isn’t the kind to go in a museum
and that’s okay
i am damaged
i am battered
i am bruised
but i am trying
and i am healing
and that’s okay
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 6:49 PM UTC
We are building New Babylon
out of carcasses and bones,
repeating the design flaws
of ancestors,
undoing our future,
sealing the destiny
for generations to come,
We are the very stones
built into these walls,
the same ones we throw
when we turn on our own.
And these stones
are what our hearts are made of.
Our thoughts are but paper
forgotten tomes, decaying pages.
Redundant and irrelevant
is what we have become.
Behold the great construction
of our ultimate destruction.
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 5:49 AM UTC
Sweet architect!
I hope you are listening to the clamors in my head
I hope you see the pain I feel in my chest
I hope you see that I really am trying my best
Sweet architect!
I hope you’re seeing the tears my eyes harbor
I hope you realize that my heart sobs
I hope you see me in my origin as someone with naught
Sweet architect!
I hope you see my soul is a mess
I hope you see me try again and fall back on earth
I hope you see my laid back at night trying to reach the heavens for help
Sweet architect!
I hope you see me wishing I could change
Become a better person in this age
I hope you see that I have been damaged
Sweet architect!
I hope you see the need I need
I hope you see as I fall on my knees
That I need a whole new knead
Sweet architect!
I hope you know that I know that you’re the only one who can
Help me with all of earth’s troubling time
And let me live the life I deserve
Sweet architect!
This is not my cry to you but a plea
Like a poor child to a rich King
I reach out to you for a meal!
Sweet architect!
We both know these chains are not mine
But I got them while I was trying to make it in life
Please help me break loose and survive
Sweet architect!
I know that you are all where
At days when you are needed
You’re always near
Sweet architect!
I now plead with you to come; save me and my mates
From this trouble we have to eat on our dining plates
And move us from where we are to our original place!
From a friend that cares,
©Emmiasky Ojex
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 10:27 AM UTC
Stars twinkled,
Lights flickered,
The night knew, she was special..
Water reflects,
Snow protects,
Beauty within, she is the architect..
Heart felt light,
Soul seemed bright,
Solitude incite under the moonlight..
Dwelling in emotions,
The sky's notion,
She stares at it, outside she is frozen...
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC
I, the shortest word,
I, my true self,
I,the creator of myself,
I, a paragon,
I, exist to be loved,cherished and respected.
I, with am inspires me,
Frees my heart,
Restores my mind.
I am who I am,
I am what I am,
I am enough.
I am the love of my own life,
I am my own questions and answers,
I am the judge of my own reflection.
I am the captain of my own ship,
I cross my own oceans,
Over calm or rough seas.
I am my own artist,
I choose my own paints to bring colours to my life.
I am the architect of my life,
I plan my own life,
I build my life with my own materials.
I am my own soul,
Beyond the time,
Beyond space,
I,my soul does not die,
I ,my soul follows me to hereafter.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 7:11 AM UTC
Looking over the parapet
gawking at the Sagrada Familia
built by God's architect
almost makes me
want to believe.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
milky way a spot
in the span of the
universe
resting in the hands of
our creator
to be nursed
web of stars spread
generously abroad
could creatures born
into this world
ever become bored?
from the heavens'
full perspective
this planet is oh-so small
though for us humans
who live on it
it is a mega ball
the architect
of everything
looks after heaven and earth
his gentle love so evident
how could I not thank him
for my birth?
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 5:44 AM UTC
You always try to organize spaces
And you never wanted those spaces to be just as adequate.
You tried and have many revisions
For you never wanted it to be simple
And you see spaces as some kind of small universes.
So, you wanted those spaces to have so much considerations.
Now, you're already done about planning and made your blueprint.
And so, the building is about to be built.
For days, months, and years, you tried to press on what was planned and you never wanted the construction to be inaccurate.
You really wanted to show the architect that you are.
In the end, those spaces and all that you worked for was not meant for you to have but for your client.
You were my client.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
He treasured every inch of her skin
As if he was responsible for putting together her body structure and curves
Every detail was well thought, a result of numerous hours of unsharpened pencils and sketches
He has done this before, maybe even to the point that every stroke became less and less meaningful
When he wasn't preoccupied, leisure consisted of admiring buildings, edifices and towers that touched clouds and reached skies
He contemplated and wondered if he would ever come up with a design, so great that it would represent perfection
During nights when he would close his eyes,
He imagined a bare lot with overgrown grass, enclosed with trees
He pictured the process of construction, men moving back and forth, drenched in sweat,
And heat that showered on them like hovering bees
He never knew what perfection looked like, no matter how many times he would lie in bed at night with closed eyes
But she came to him like an idea, an inspiration that walked through the door
Yet he did not recognize that perfection looked beautiful in lavender
Nor did he know that she loved soft rains and ice cream during winters
He did not acknowledge such existence until she tore down her walls for him
And she became his favorite sketch, a structure he would always keep building
An assembly of the most appealing interior, countless hallways and staircases
A concept that needed more explanation and could not be written, spoken or expressed as blueprints
She became his favorite design, and a treasure he valued way more than any of his work
He loved her.
n.j.
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 7:02 AM UTC
Built on the Berkley model
Paid for with mothers essential oils
...a bitumen
And a flower blooms from Medicine Rock
Like a ballerina
As the Old Man weeps joyfully
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC