Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Tags
#growthinprogress
I did not break. I adapted. The Watcher — eyes sharp, pulse wired, reading danger before it breathed. Paranoia, I called her. Trauma, she was. The Fire — love fiercely or lose everything. Cut first. Burn first. Strike first. Too much, I said. Fear of being left, she was. The Pleaser — soft voice, over-giving hands, apologising before words formed. Weak, I called her. Survival, she was. The Ghost — blank eyes, drifting, watching my own life like it belonged elsewhere. Broken, I called her. Protection, she was. The Shadow — heavy, quiet, pressing in, carrying pain that threatened to consume me. Shame, I called her. Survival, she was. The Fighter — back straight, pride stubborn, homeless but unbowed, fear in one hand, pride in the other. Cold, I called her. She was surviving. Years passed — doors closed. Trust shattered. Safety disappeared. Mind split into extremes — safe or unsafe, love or loss, forever or never. Nervous system alarmed. Every raised voice, every pause, every shadow a threat. I thought I was unstable. Difficult. Disordered. But I was dysregulated. Unhealed. Running from fires that were already over. Every mask had a job. The Watcher prevented danger. The Fire prevented abandonment. The Pleaser prevented conflict. The Ghost prevented collapse. The Shadow prevented being consumed. The Fighter prevented defeat. They kept me breathing when I did not know how to live. Healing came slowly — pausing when the chest tightened, questioning what was real, staying when survival screamed run. I am still healing. Some days the Watcher wakes first. Some days the Fire flares. Some days the Ghost drifts. Some days the Shadow presses heavy. But now I notice. Now I breathe. Now I choose. I do not hate the masks. They built me. They carried me. They survived for me. I am not just survival now. I am regulation in progress. Attachment learning safety. Nervous system slowly trusting that not every shadow is a threat. I am softer — but not weaker. Aware — but not ruled by fear. I am not cured. I am becoming. Stronger than any mask ever made me.
0
Feb 20
Feb 20, 2026 at 4:33 AM UTC
Anonymous_Flame
Built From the Masks I Wore
I did not break. I adapted. The Watcher — eyes sharp, pulse wired, reading danger before it breathed. Paranoia, I called her. Trauma, she was. The Fire — love fiercely or lose everything. Cut first. Burn first. Strike first. Too much, I said. Fear of being left, she was. The Pleaser — soft voice, over-giving hands, apologising before words formed. Weak, I called her. Survival, she was. The Ghost — blank eyes, drifting, watching my own life like it belonged elsewhere. Broken, I called her. Protection, she was. The Shadow — heavy, quiet, pressing in, carrying pain that threatened to consume me. Shame, I called her. Survival, she was. The Fighter — back straight, pride stubborn, homeless but unbowed, fear in one hand, pride in the other. Cold, I called her. She was surviving. Years passed — doors closed. Trust shattered. Safety disappeared. Mind split into extremes — safe or unsafe, love or loss, forever or never. Nervous system alarmed. Every raised voice, every pause, every shadow a threat. I thought I was unstable. Difficult. Disordered. But I was dysregulated. Unhealed. Running from fires that were already over. Every mask had a job. The Watcher prevented danger. The Fire prevented abandonment. The Pleaser prevented conflict. The Ghost prevented collapse. The Shadow prevented being consumed. The Fighter prevented defeat. They kept me breathing when I did not know how to live. Healing came slowly — pausing when the chest tightened, questioning what was real, staying when survival screamed run. I am still healing. Some days the Watcher wakes first. Some days the Fire flares. Some days the Ghost drifts. Some days the Shadow presses heavy. But now I notice. Now I breathe. Now I choose. I do not hate the masks. They built me. They carried me. They survived for me. I am not just survival now. I am regulation in progress. Attachment learning safety. Nervous system slowly trusting that not every shadow is a threat. I am softer — but not weaker. Aware — but not ruled by fear. I am not cured. I am becoming. Stronger than any mask ever made me.
Continue reading...
93
"You may not be where you want to be, and that's okay. Add 'yet' to the end of that sentence— and open the door to endless possibilities."
0
Feb 13
Feb 13, 2026 at 7:30 AM UTC
LongJohnPaulBaldry
The Power of "Yet"
"You may not be where you want to be, and that's okay. Add 'yet' to the end of that sentence— and open the door to endless possibilities."
Continue reading...
4