#emotionalresilience
He sits on the edge of the bed;
tears rolling, no reason.
Not sad —
_just leaking_.
Hand across his face,
_sniffs_, straightens his back.
Deep breath —
__Done!__
He moves on,
like it never happened at all.
“Never mind,” he says,
“that’s just life.”
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 5:57 AM UTC
She is seventeen - not quite a girl,
He sees this
*A pat on the ***
The not-quite-girl whirls back
"I'm not comfortable with that, "
He looks at her then,
And almost....scoffs
"What? It's just a butt."
Her spine stiffens—
She does not laugh.
And even before this -
Hands on her waist
A hand, resting on her
collarbone
Fingers tucked underneath
the collar of her shirt
She moves it away -
He moves it back
There are fingers on her
sternum now,
nearly touching her breast
*And then he touched her *******
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 6:12 PM UTC
It is on my tongue—
a feeling
palatable,
aerodynamic transition,
palpable.
Redesigning for flight,
for movement through resistance,
for letting go of drag.
Whereas my muscles would tense up,
a few inches from the ground—
now I’ve learned that to clip one’s wings
is to stay anchored, be shackled down.
Not that being grounded
isn’t a form of comfort, safety, or security—
but there’s a shift that comes
from renegotiating the terms
you’ve set with your own mind.
It’s a daunting challenge,
yet a necessary one.
Because I want to see the world,
not from behind a pane of glass,
but with wind in my lungs
and wonder in my chest.
And I want to fall in love—
falling into bed with you,
multiple strings attached,
and still feel like the luckiest person alive.
To do that,
I am taking flight
in ways I could not have foreseen
as a child.
Jul 12, 2025
Jul 12, 2025 at 4:36 AM UTC
__Time...__
Tell me — how much does it cost? **** I don’t know._
I’m just trying to keep watch on the blessings I’ve got —
but more and more, they seem to stretch thin... like needle
and thread, barely holding the seams of me together.
I’m fading in connection. A rock flips — and I’m ******
yet still trying to show decent manners. A “decent citizen”
in the dirtiest world — where the canopy of utopia is just
the Tree of Life man’s always itching to cut down…to sell
its fruits, to chop its wood, just to make pencils — so we
can write stories about it in our edited history books.
__Love…__
Tell me — what’s a dropout lover, _anyway?_ Not one
who failed love — but one who stopped trying to graduate
from failed attempts. A degree in hopeless romanticism,
and a Master's in being a bachelor — but if time is really
worth it all, then tell me… what _all_ do you really have?
Just a handful of yourself and a whole lot of doubt.
Now... _what’s that_ about?
Jul 11, 2025
Jul 11, 2025 at 6:02 PM UTC
prayed for love,
prayed for life,
prayed for hope—
searched for,
longed for
something more
than just
a reason to believe,
a reason to
be less alone.
i prayed for days
to take
the pain away,
but the pain
was mine
to bear.
and the cross—
my testament,
a vow
to never let
fear interfere.
but one prayer
remains unanswered:
will i
make it
out okay?
surely,
because i hope—
it doesn’t always
have to stay
this way.
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 11:31 PM UTC
You may not see the final destination—
but _every step, every fall_, is part
of something forming. The direction
you're heading will always be patient.
Even when you feel sick from believing
you're stagnant, you are still shifting.
__Still becoming.__
__Don’t worry__! The silence has its own
voice. And the waiting has meaning,
even when it feels so cruel. In time—
it will all make sense.
The past you came from will become
a mirror. And your future self will look
into it and see how far you’ve really come.
Jul 1, 2025
Jul 1, 2025 at 12:53 AM UTC
Bite into an idea— rows of teeth, tension tight.
Crowded smiles feel so exposing— _but this one,_
it gnaws deeper. The tension between teething
regrets and tethered faith feels so frayed, as if
the cord was always a little too short to begin
with.
I’m not riding the wave— just swimming a little
longer in my dreams; watching surfers sail off
while I sink into thought. But I surf the internet,
researching the cultivation of infinitude—
_whatever that means._ Diving into unfathomable
depths, only a few steps in and I’m already losing
my breath.
__Have I sprouted yet__? Most days, my sadness
drowns in my anger. Then a spark of joy appears—
_brief_, __fleeting__— but its glow only makes me
so sad again. And that sadness simmers back into
rage, and the loop begins once more.
_A cycle.
A seesaw._
A silent crusade to love myself again.
But the journey never really ends. Even while
searching for one. we push forward—again,
and again— until we find a better end.
Jun 28, 2025
Jun 28, 2025 at 3:16 PM UTC
call me,
tell me
how i wronged
you—
paint me
as the villain,
but we’re both
living in sin.
you take this
like an attack,
like i’ll let you
down
one
last
time.
but listen—
there’s nothing
left to lose,
and no one’s
in the right
this time.
i rose
from the coffin
i buried myself in.
got tired
of searching
for miracles,
'cause all i'm
left with
are endings
gone bad.
and i’m so
**** tired
of spiraling
again.
so when
i told you
i needed space—
the last
thing
i wanted
was
to hear
from you.
Jun 13, 2025
Jun 13, 2025 at 2:54 AM UTC
You see, I’m naturally an introvert — quiet corners, deep
thoughts, the type to overthink a handshake. But life? Life
keeps putting me on stages, in conversations that feel like
marathons for my soul. So yeah, stepping out as an extrovert?
That’s not performance, that’s survival. A daily challenge
with no dress rehearsal.
I’m a softie — but not the breakable kind. No, this softness?
It’s pressure-cooked from hard times. It knows the weight of
silence, and how to turn pain into patience. I’m not here to
pretend to be hard — I’m here to show that being real is rarer.
Now, let’s talk love. I’m a full-blown lover boy — heart open,
arms wide, playlist ready. But don’t get it twisted — I’m not in
the business of having my love used as someone else’s stepping
stone. I’ve retired from being the emotional charity.
And my smile? Oh, it’s got layers. A whole palette of moods.
Bright for the world, but the darker shades? Those are reserved.
A private gallery. Only for the ones I cherish, the ones who earn
the right to see me unfiltered.
So if you meet me — don’t just notice the calm, or the kindness,
or the charm. Know there’s a storm I’ve already walked through
to be standing this still.
Jun 6, 2025
Jun 6, 2025 at 4:06 PM UTC
I’m just the dreamer, lost in the static of the world—
a perfect schemer trying to carve a shape from shadows,
trying to make something of my own in a place that feels
prewritten. But who really knows what it means to lose a piece
of your ******* soul__—
_not metaphor, not poetry_— but that quiet, splintering
ache when belief begins to bleed.
And that’s the cruelest part: when the dreaming continues,
but the dreaming itself feels so ******* lonely.__
When every idea echoes in an empty room, and you realize
the silence is louder than your hope.
Still— you dream. Not because it’s easy. Not because it
makes real sense. But because what else is left when the
world stops listening, and you still believe? A piece of
that dream!
Jun 5, 2025
Jun 5, 2025 at 2:32 PM UTC
An approach is a sentiment, not a calling of divine.
An opinion is valid only and only when one doesn't step out of line.
A figment of thought, a pristine smile—
Words are mere thoughts until one makes it worthwhile.
A question appears though? Let me put in some light.
Why do people make it a hot topic when it's not even their life?
Why make comments on what a person should do
If you're not a part of their day-to-day view?
Why act all Saint-like while you belittle them, causing strife?
You lack the basic mannerisms, yet have the audacity to lecture them on rights.
You play the role of a perfectionist, yet you've got so much to hide.
You judge everybody while your own personality has nothing that shines.
Yet, you have the gall to ridicule someone who spent their entire life
Confined to a few meters of land, day and night.
Complaining they don’t provide the family with basic things—
But look at how much they work every day, without help from anyone.
Why does that not come to light, huh?
Making a mockery of them, manipulating others with your lies—
When they did nothing wrong, yet they have to put on a brave face and take it all in,
So that the family stays, despite the brutal conditions they are in.
Not like you’ll ever understand the genuine good in plain sight.
Because of people like you, they can't even take a break, much less a vacation with loved ones.
You're always there to critique their work for a fun laugh—what a dreadful sight.
Yet the people only believe what you say.
Such is this era, such is this life.
You play victim, and the victim gets the dice.
Once again, they're thrown on the same pedestal of hate and loathe.
But now they've lost the sense of fright,
For this is yet another day in their life.
A tragic tale that is very much alive,
A tale to which this right-preaching society turns a blind eye—
A tale of Pride & Prejudice.
-Asher Graves
May 7, 2025
May 7, 2025 at 9:44 AM UTC
Freedom, they said, was for all,
But it became a privilege—
rationed, conditional.
Laws were written in the ink of fear,
Meant to bind us but never them.
Papers dictated our worth,
Time slots our movements.
For what felt like endless seasons,
My world shrank to walls and whispers.
A yard became my horizon,
A car my only escape.
Truth was silenced,
Questions outlawed.
They called it protection,
But it felt like exile.
The Constitution became fragile glass,
Shattering under the weight of hypocrisy.
Freedom was not free;
It was a cage lined with lies,
Its door held shut by fear.
I lost more than days—I lost trust.
The land of the free stood still,
Its anthem drowned in passive compliance.
Jan 11, 2025
Jan 11, 2025 at 10:14 PM UTC
With a boat made of hope
I'll go sailing
In the search of love
If my heart gets wrecked and crushed
From the storm of empty promises
I'll bury it in the depth of my chest
like treasures from a shipwreck
For you to find it and peace it back together
Nov 6, 2024
Nov 6, 2024 at 8:59 AM UTC