#inneralchemy - Hello Poetry

Pain is not painful— it is inspiration. Shame is not embarrassing— it is inspiration. Love is not tender— it is inspiration. Fear is not paralyzing— it is inspiration. Anger is not destructive— it is inspiration. Loneliness is not empty— it is inspiration. Because everything, when touched by the heart, can turn into poetry.

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Oct 15, 2025

Oct 15, 2025 at 8:04 PM UTC

girlinflames

Everything Becomes Inspiration

Pain is not painful— it is inspiration. Shame is not embarrassing— it is inspiration. Love is not tender— it is inspiration. Fear is not paralyzing— it is inspiration. Anger is not destructive— it is inspiration. Loneliness is not empty— it is inspiration. Because everything, when touched by the heart, can turn into poetry.

15

They don’t live in the dark. They live where you keep whispering their names and calling it memory. You say they haunt you, but you leave the door unlocked, set the table, pour the drink, and ask them how they’ve been. They feed on routine — the same thoughts, the same lies, the same wounds you pet like pets. Stop feeding them. Starve them with silence. Name them once, then burn the name. Let the house go empty. Let them wander hungry. And when they beg to come home, smile — and say, “I finally learned to eat without you.” —Vazago

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Oct 20, 2025

Oct 20, 2025 at 3:52 PM UTC

Vazago

Stop Feeding the Demons

They don’t live in the dark. They live where you keep whispering their names and calling it memory. You say they haunt you, but you leave the door unlocked, set the table, pour the drink, and ask them how they’ve been. They feed on routine — the same thoughts, the same lies, the same wounds you pet like pets. Stop feeding them. Starve them with silence. Name them once, then burn the name. Let the house go empty. Let them wander hungry. And when they beg to come home, smile — and say, “I finally learned to eat without you.” —Vazago

23

Sometimes, when I finish a poem, when I’ve polished it, I see a white light surrounding it— not because it’s perfect, not because it deserves an award, but because it is mine. I cry reading my own words. Sometimes I feel it isn’t me writing at all, but someone else takes the wheel, gathers my emotions, seals them in a shell, lets them ripen, until a precious pearl emerges before me. And that is why I cry. Because this pearl is too beautiful, and it was born from my own heart.

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Oct 1, 2025

Oct 1, 2025 at 6:33 AM UTC

girlinflames

The Pearl of My Heart

Sometimes, when I finish a poem, when I’ve polished it, I see a white light surrounding it— not because it’s perfect, not because it deserves an award, but because it is mine. I cry reading my own words. Sometimes I feel it isn’t me writing at all, but someone else takes the wheel, gathers my emotions, seals them in a shell, lets them ripen, until a precious pearl emerges before me. And that is why I cry. Because this pearl is too beautiful, and it was born from my own heart.

23

My pain— it sublimates. The ache in my body becomes ache in words. It has a color, a scent, an address. My pain, inside poetry, is not destruction— it is construction.

0

Oct 18, 2025

Oct 18, 2025 at 9:41 AM UTC

girlinflames

My Pain Becomes Poetry

My pain— it sublimates. The ache in my body becomes ache in words. It has a color, a scent, an address. My pain, inside poetry, is not destruction— it is construction.

11

I cannot be afraid to feel. Sometimes emotions strike me like a runaway train. Once, they mapped my past lives and told me my mission here was to turn intensity into spiritual wisdom. So I cannot fear anger, or shame, or pain. Because in my hands, all of it becomes poetry.

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Oct 11, 2025

Oct 11, 2025 at 8:52 AM UTC

girlinflames

Turning Fire Into Light

I cannot be afraid to feel. Sometimes emotions strike me like a runaway train. Once, they mapped my past lives and told me my mission here was to turn intensity into spiritual wisdom. So I cannot fear anger, or shame, or pain. Because in my hands, all of it becomes poetry.

14