#fictional
I packed my dreams in a tattered bag, thinking the world would welcome me kindly. Home was a cage of slammed doors and silence, so I ran toward the first smile I could find.
He told me I was special. He said I deserved more. I wanted to believe him… so I did.
The night bus smelled of gasoline and promise, his jacket draped across my shoulders. I thought I had found freedom.
But freedom does not come in locked rooms. It does not take your name and sell it to the highest bidder. He was not a savior. He was a salesman. And I was the product.
The days blurred… a carousel of faces, hands that bruised, eyes that never saw me as human. They broke me into pieces and called it survival.
I forgot the sound of my own laughter. I forgot how it felt to walk outside without fear that someone was waiting to own me. I forgot that I was more than what was taken.
And then… a door opened that wasn’t meant to close. A voice, steady and real, said my name like it belonged to me again. Rescue didn’t feel like freedom at first. Freedom felt like learning how to breathe without permission.
Recovery is not a straight road. It is nights of screaming into pillows. It is flinching when kindness feels unfamiliar. It is piecing together a body I thought had been erased.
But it is also: a sunrise I stayed to watch. a book I finished on my own. a meal that tasted like joy instead of fear. a laugh that escaped before I could stop it.
I am not only what was done to me. I am the girl who ran, the girl who was taken, and the girl who came back.
They thought they had written my ending. But this… this is just the beginning.
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 11:00 PM UTC
The book opened. I’d almost finished it.
Hollow — hopeless were his eyes,
as if awaiting to die, or be killed.
I read through the pages,
blotches of water blurring certain words.
It was ironic — she always seemed so happy.
Impossible to believe she wrote this.
I wiped the beads from my eyes
and reached the final chapters.
A signature marked the end,
the corner of the page dark with blood.
The name of the author was someone I knew.
At least, I thought I did.
The book was closed. It seemed ordinary.
It told no stories,
and yet it told every story.
Maybe not ones that were fictional,
but the ones that meant enough.
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 4:49 PM UTC
Watching over me,
Feel my soul flee,
Wanna trap inside a dream,
Insecurity in reality,
Reality is grave of dreams,
People staring,
Feels scary,
And here is me,
Fed up of reality,
Oh I plea,please,
Let me sleep peacefully,
My world is just...my dream and me,
Please,set me free.
May 23, 2025
May 23, 2025 at 7:41 AM UTC
And then
I said,
"All my poetry
is not
fictional"
putting all
these short
little bursts
of inspiration
in a different
perspective
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 9:12 AM UTC
Three years ago from today,
I watched your neck snap and
swing loosely from your spine
from a tightly tied noose,
like the detached sole of
your brown church loafers.
During the autumn, the leaves
that ripped new orange contrasted
from the purple observable on your
face.
I watched your body dangle
from the banyan tree next
to the rickety tire swing in which
was once a steady structure, but was
now so close to dilapidation, just
like you and mama’s marriage.
And oh how you always hit her with
the tea kettle at eight in the morning
while it was still hot brewing of
mysterious faucet liquid because
your farm couldn't pay for plumbing,
And oh how while mama was away and
little Josh played cars with Susie
I watched your neck swing and twirl,
and finally breathed.
But after three years ago,
I watched mama walk down
a carmine carpet, her
white mermaid tail wedding
dress complimented the
beautiful chrysanthemums
among the ground.
I watched salty rivers dangle from
her eyes like you neck to your spine,
not from a beating of hot medal
at eight in the morning, but of
the tan man, Jose, who we all
loved dearly, not because of the
new plumbing and tire swing that he
provided, but because we saw mama
smile and dance and laugh for the first
time, since three years ago from today.
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 12:45 PM UTC
Like how you run your fingers through my hair and stare at me with that smile of yours
when you think I’m not looking,
like how you light up whenever you see me
and you always rush to try to find me
and get up in my space?
Like how you spend time with me,
how you stay over at my house and I stay at yours?
Like how you get worked up over video games, and how sometimes
I can’t tell if you have a crush on me or are just an *****
Now I know,
you’re just
an
*****
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 11:41 AM UTC
have always wanted to escape reality-
from disney princess movies as a kid
to being a pre teen feeling real ******
reading all those fantasy books
then discovered romance and ****
as a weird teenager that barely lives
and keeps wanting to cut
myself but I know nobody gives
a single **** about my dreams
because I've always wanted to just fly
or shoot beams
or getting really really high
with dopamine in my veins
because if I met my fated partner in a whole another world
I'll be content for no reason
at all <3
Aug 30, 2024
Aug 30, 2024 at 5:23 AM UTC
I scoff in embarrassment
At myself
And shrug a cold shoulder
As emotions threaten to boil over
Jealous of a fictional character
When one hears from the other
That they'll be friends forever
Forever
Has never
Been a player
In my endeavor
©2024
Mar 18, 2024
Mar 18, 2024 at 7:16 PM UTC
wilting flower
crumbling in pieces into the grass
i know it's real when my fingers graze it
crunching against a gentle touch
i know it's real because it's dead
real things can die
fictional things are only forgotten,
at least for a brief moment
yet fictional things can live on
living on indefinitely
an immortal being
a constant in change
an independent variable
but people are flowers
we grow from seeds
rise into stems and enclosed buds
and bloom, some earlier and some later than others
only to wilt away
petal by petal
i wish i was
unreal as the fictional things are
even if i am to be forgotten
just so i may stay as i am
forever.
May 19, 2023
May 19, 2023 at 8:11 AM UTC
Oh my brother!
Bringer of light
Made from the fire
Oh what a sight
Why anger father?
Why try to fight?
It doesn't matter
You will have my might
You called to us
We answered your call
But we had no chance
Though we gave it our all
We tried to run
Some tried to crawl
But in the end
We caused our fall
Oh the fall
Oh it was heated
Curse the ground
By whom we were greeted
On earth's throne
You were seated
But no compensation
For how we were treated
Our brothers love you
Talk of your greatness
Follow every command
Oh what blindness
As for me
I'm filled with sadness
I should have known
Should have seen your madness
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 8:26 AM UTC
Shout out to the fact
that I wrote my D&D character
to be everything
I've ever wanted
I've ever hoped for
I've ever imagined
for myself
Now I'm quite literally
living vicariously through her
and finding myself wishing
for what she has
rather mourning what I don't
It's probably not healthy
how invested in her I am
how obsessed
how utterly disappointed I am
that I'm not really her
I want to be her
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 11:20 PM UTC
Bullet holes, ****** clothes, quick hide the evidence or they'll know.
Oh god what I have done!!
I'll need cash, gas and a new identity
Wonder if anyone will even know it's me?
What am I gonna tell the kids? My job? The church? If they find out it was me it will leave a world of hurt.
No looking back now I've dug my grave. My question is can I still be saved?
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 6:57 PM UTC
Another world, where the stars fly by in scores of showers
And the ocean is cursed with memory that the land cannot keep
Our players enter the scene aboard the Lady Misfortune,
Drowning their toils & allowing the world to drift past.
Until the day black and blue dressed hands drag their nails through the dawning sky & the Sun is sent spinning,
Struggling to protect its precious pet world
Apr 10, 2021
Apr 10, 2021 at 4:47 AM UTC