#generationalcycles - Hello Poetry

Before the profit of the prophet, He tried to fit into a prophecy, Living like furniture wrapped in plastic, Always waiting, never too honest. As a kid, barefoot on the stone, Toes split rocks he called his own. Didn’t matter, he never kept score, Tears skipped like pebbles, lost on the shore. Teenage nights taught him to choke, Lungs full of secrets, lungs full of smoke. Coughs hidden deep in a pedestrian bush, Dreams of riches, but so broke on a hush. Exhaust from his mouth, he claimed the street, Pretending that silence was something complete. But silence was clothing, handed down rough, Trauma sewn tightly, never enough. Now he walks past mannequins, frozen in glass, Faces like lessons too heavy to pass. Breathing was something he learned to fake— Lungs filled with pressure he couldn’t escape. So he asks in the dark, was he living at all? Or just holding the smoke longer than them all.

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Sep 15, 2025

Sep 15, 2025 at 9:43 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

A Riot of Smoke

Before the profit of the prophet, He tried to fit into a prophecy, Living like furniture wrapped in plastic, Always waiting, never too honest. As a kid, barefoot on the stone, Toes split rocks he called his own. Didn’t matter, he never kept score, Tears skipped like pebbles, lost on the shore. Teenage nights taught him to choke, Lungs full of secrets, lungs full of smoke. Coughs hidden deep in a pedestrian bush, Dreams of riches, but so broke on a hush. Exhaust from his mouth, he claimed the street, Pretending that silence was something complete. But silence was clothing, handed down rough, Trauma sewn tightly, never enough. Now he walks past mannequins, frozen in glass, Faces like lessons too heavy to pass. Breathing was something he learned to fake— Lungs filled with pressure he couldn’t escape. So he asks in the dark, was he living at all? Or just holding the smoke longer than them all.

22

You were taught that love was earned not given Power and control secured affection Competing for a section of security Survival was a piece of you, you gave to me. I know I can't take away the pain Because your grandfather gave it to your mother to send my way. It hurts me to think That once upon time, You were just someone's baby too. Just like I am to you. And you always wanted better for me. Financially there was more stability But together we erupted violently Volcanoes crying spitefully Scared to ignite the rivalry You told me that the world won't take care of you, unless you hide your own vulnerability, make yourself useful, you'll have more opportunities too! The markings run so deep, I stand by the family tree I beg him to tell me the secrets. I need to understand the story. These branches hold generations of survival, feelings that don't hold glory. Unconditional love is conditional Nothing is reciprocacal if you don't show your worth it- in the end. It's important for your survival to stay undeniably valuable to attain any kind of sustainability, my friend. I didn't speak I just let the tree whisper to me Taking in the breeze between the branches I heard him tell the tragic tale of each members past transgressions that later got imbeeded into my own actions. Can I escape the fate of surviving the roots that are within this tree. Or will I become a branch, forever bound to grow in the same direction. Seen, but out of reach Losing touch with affection. I hope to find that I can be my own seed. Move close by, but away from the original family tree

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Mar 5, 2025

Mar 5, 2025 at 10:07 PM UTC

Pixiiboo

The branches of survival in our family tree

You were taught that love was earned not given Power and control secured affection Competing for a section of security Survival was a piece of you, you gave to me. I know I can't take away the pain Because your grandfather gave it to your mother to send my way. It hurts me to think That once upon time, You were just someone's baby too. Just like I am to you. And you always wanted better for me. Financially there was more stability But together we erupted violently Volcanoes crying spitefully Scared to ignite the rivalry You told me that the world won't take care of you, unless you hide your own vulnerability, make yourself useful, you'll have more opportunities too! The markings run so deep, I stand by the family tree I beg him to tell me the secrets. I need to understand the story. These branches hold generations of survival, feelings that don't hold glory. Unconditional love is conditional Nothing is reciprocacal if you don't show your worth it- in the end. It's important for your survival to stay undeniably valuable to attain any kind of sustainability, my friend. I didn't speak I just let the tree whisper to me Taking in the breeze between the branches I heard him tell the tragic tale of each members past transgressions that later got imbeeded into my own actions. Can I escape the fate of surviving the roots that are within this tree. Or will I become a branch, forever bound to grow in the same direction. Seen, but out of reach Losing touch with affection. I hope to find that I can be my own seed. Move close by, but away from the original family tree

32

Will you grow to hate me? Resent me? Never visit? I try to do things differently, but parenting’s hard, isn’t it? Probably when you’re older, I’ll know I should’ve been more fun– but still, I’ll try to fix it. We can’t say what’s done is done. You’ll always be my baby, no matter how old you are. I love our nighttime lullabies, my Bodak Yellow little star. I hope you stay this hard-headed, independent – slightly mean. Never giving in to authority without investigating the whole scene. Every day I struggle, and question if I’m right, but I feel a little better when you’re sleeping peacefully at night. I still get good morning kisses, goodbye hugs, and tantrums thrown‐ the most stubborn, humorous human I’ve ever got to know. One day, someday, maybe we’ll drink coffee or have tea. You can tell me about your childhood, and I’ll tell you what you mean to me.

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Nov 3, 2025

Nov 3, 2025 at 12:07 PM UTC

Kalliopie

Lovie

Will you grow to hate me? Resent me? Never visit? I try to do things differently, but parenting’s hard, isn’t it? Probably when you’re older, I’ll know I should’ve been more fun– but still, I’ll try to fix it. We can’t say what’s done is done. You’ll always be my baby, no matter how old you are. I love our nighttime lullabies, my Bodak Yellow little star. I hope you stay this hard-headed, independent – slightly mean. Never giving in to authority without investigating the whole scene. Every day I struggle, and question if I’m right, but I feel a little better when you’re sleeping peacefully at night. I still get good morning kisses, goodbye hugs, and tantrums thrown‐ the most stubborn, humorous human I’ve ever got to know. One day, someday, maybe we’ll drink coffee or have tea. You can tell me about your childhood, and I’ll tell you what you mean to me.

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