#complexemotions
They call me when their daylight frays,
when small hands pull and patience thins,
I step into their storm of days
and wear the calm they’re drowning in.
And yes—it warms me, just a bit,
to know my name still fills a need,
to be the thread that mends a split,
to be the quiet they can breathe.
But somewhere in that borrowed role,
a truth I never dared took shape—
not carved in stone, but in my bones,
a slow, unspooling, inward ache.
I’ve held the weight of growing lives,
felt how the hours never end,
how giving isn’t in small tides—
it is a sea that does not bend.
I raised what wasn’t mine to raise,
poured out a well I thought was deep,
now even echoes of those days
disturb the little rest I keep.
So when I leave, I leave in haste—
not from them, but what it stirs,
a quiet urge to run from traces
of a life that isn’t hers.
And there it is—that fragile seam,
where need and knowing intertwine:
I’m wanted… but for what I give,
not for the life that could be mine.
No anger, sharp enough to name,
no clean-edged sorrow I can show—
just something tender,
edged with something like shame,
and relief I just cannot outgrow.
And when I close my door at last,
no small voice calling out my name,
relief arrives feeling so soft, so vast,
it almost feels I should explain.
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 8:01 AM UTC
There’s an ivy that grows in the quiet of night.
It’s tendrils stretching in soft, secret flight. They twist in shadows, they curl, they cling.. to a heart once warm, now a fading thing.
The leaves are green so deep, it swallows light. But beneath there’s a pulse, a flickering fight. Red, like a fever, lingers in the veins; a love once burn burning, now masked by pains.
Beneath the skin, the blue runs cold; a river of silence, forgotten and old. The Ivy holds, it twists, it winds, guarding the echoes of what it finds.
Blue and red, they ache and burn.
Two sides of a heart, but never to return. For the Ivy knows what the soul will keep: a truth so heavy, it bends, but won’t weep.
In the silence of its tangled fold, a story written, but never told. It whispers of love, but shadows remain – red in the heart, blue in the veins.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 1:53 PM UTC
The stars spoke softly this morning, a whisper folded in two.
Today is a mirror and you are both the question and the reply.
There’s tension in the twin tides, a pool between reaching out and shutting the door before anyone knocks. Today, I feel like a wind with no direction, or all directions at once. The kind of breeze that startles leaves and lovers alike.
But in the chaos, the Lord offers a dare: speak your truth. Not the polished version practiced in dreams, but the tangled, honest thread you’re afraid someone will tug.
Don’t fear your duality. It’s not a flaw, but a language only you can understand. So breathe in the Lord‘s advice today. Let it braid into your spine. Be both sharp and soft, rooted and restless, a whole heart even when it beats in two directions.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 12:01 PM UTC
Soon after the whistle blew,
When the race was over,
And my toes crossed the finish line,
The contest had reached its end.
When all the results were gathered,
The winner stood clearly before them
And the glory was his to claim.
Everyone longs to be a winner,
To taste the triumph
They believed I carried.
I can’t deny it
Everyone saw that I won.
Yet deep inside,
I lost like a battle.
How can a victor feel this way?
How can triumph turn to sorrow?
How can winning leave you blue?
Unfortunately… unfortunately,
Everyone saw that I won.
Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 4:09 AM UTC