#lifelessons
There’s a wolf’s tale, of a tail
caught in a snare, as winter snared
at the loner too; cold fitted with sharp
teeth, gnawing at what was left.
A stray dog strayed too far
from the pack— and being a stray;
it was easily led astray.
So the wolf bit through its loss—
cutting its tail short to keep its tale going.
A lesson hidden in the fur: sometimes
freedom asks for a piece of you first.
3d ago
May 31, 2026 at 3:29 PM UTC
In my life, I have been the dandelion seed blowing in the wind landing here and there
In my life, I have been like a wild flower taking root whereever I may be
In my life, I have learned to be like the sun, a warm bright spot drawing people in
In my life, I have learned that a rainy cloud is rarely seen for the good it brings
In my life, there has been springtime where the flowers of friendship sprout and bud
In my life, there has been sensational summers that bloom amazing life
In my life, there has been fall gazing where people, places and things fall away
In my life, there has been wintertime when it seems the world will be forever dark and grey
In my life, I have fought to capture all that i need and desire like a jaquar takes on prey
In my life, I have fumbled through life like a panda running an agility course
In my life, I have experienced intense emotion like that of an empathetic elephant
In my life, I am the river, ever flowing, growing and changing the world around me
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 12:31 PM UTC
To be loved by someone
gives you strength.
To love someone
gives you courage.
To stand on a battlefield,
facing your enemy,
takes great courage.
To stand before friends
with indifference
takes greater courage—
for it is here
you learn
who your true friends are.
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 3:09 AM UTC
The only menu you ever had… the men you
offered their hand— to feed you a sense
of joy whenever you felt sad.
…but gaze at His hand He wields before you;
the breath you borrow for today is the air He
willed for you.
Tomorrow’s already gone, the damage is
done; a shadow still bleeds even when stabbed
in the dark— still, a spark speaks from the dark.
You are a star; as distant as you are; that light
may feel far, may flicker, feel scarred…
...but taste the bitter of failure, to cherish
success’s kiss— with patience, hope, faith…
and prayer.
But this right here, isn’t that prayer; just
tokens of words, a message minted in air.
A silver coin: heads or tails; both sides exist,
but neither should flip you or tip your scale.
Don’t let life run you over; run with the drive
you keep; you may live cornered by streets,
but you’re not set in place like concrete.
...there are footprints in words, trace them
back, but don’t circle back to where you lacked.
Move forward, even if slow… just don’t
become what you already know.
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 3:03 AM UTC
***
Winter Mischief at the Brickyard
Every winter, like clockwork,
he’d turn up—
this old donkey,
like he knew exactly where he belonged.
Right there,
at our brickyard home.
He wasn’t just any donkey—
bit sly, bit cheeky…
always up to something.
You could see it in him.
Me and my three brothers,
we took to him straight away.
Didn’t matter the cold—
we were out there,
following him,
laughing, messing about,
letting the day run where it wanted.
He’d took the lead, always—
like he was one of us.
Or maybe we were just part of his world.
Then one morning,
he vanished.
Turns out he’d wandered up Carlton Top,
caused a bit of trouble—
enough for the police to bring him back.
Mum wasn’t best pleased.
We got the telling off—
but even then…
we couldn’t help it.
That donkey—
stood there like nothing had happened,
just a look about him,
like he’d had the best day of his life.
And maybe he had.
Thing is,
he wasn’t just trouble—
he was something else.
Freedom.
Mischief.
A break from the ordinary.
Every winter he came back,
same as always—
like a reminder.
That life’s not just rules and routine…
sometimes it’s about running a bit wild,
having a laugh,
and not worrying too much where the day takes you.
That old donkey—
he gave us that.
Apr 18
Apr 18, 2026 at 4:05 AM UTC
By The-Drifter-From-Heaven
This is not a letter of complaint,
nor a poem of concern;
This is an appreciation of a chance bestowed,
a rhythm of bittersweet refrains.
Life: I sang and danced to your music,
a medley of chorus—warm and cold.
Together we weaved a tapestry of stories:
threads of vibrant colours,
momentous defeat,
and glories.
Life: I remember the experience of losing—
a loved one’s demise,
a lover’s passing.
It was you who showed me how to move on,
A gentle caress on my heart, ebbing its suffering;
Like a heavenly father,
providing divine mentoring.
Life: our journey and adventures—
are momentous nurturing.
Please consider this poem a token of my adoration;
A heartfelt offering, forever grateful.
Life: I have no regrets—
Leaving my footprint in this world with you.
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 8:15 AM UTC
Cry. Realize. Change.
That’s all you need — instead of staying stuck in the same place.
Apr 16
Apr 16, 2026 at 9:19 AM UTC
If you understand, you understand.
Some lines may sound strange,
but they hold deep meaning if you truly get them.
"Don’t keep hopeless hopes in life."
"People will always judge, but you are not here to live by their judgments."
"Life is about being imperfectly perfect."
"Using time for distractions is the most useless use."
"Finding peace in silence and turning silent are two very different aspects."
"Being emotionless is, in itself, an emotion."
"Acting like nothing happened is often the biggest act of pretending."
"Matter the things which matters to you!!"
Apr 16
Apr 16, 2026 at 9:17 AM UTC
The Road That Made Me
***
Cavendish Road,
my street, my home.
My first memories—
Stanley Road school, then Westdale Juniors.
The training started early,
walking that steep hill on Cavendish Road,
age six,
legs burning on the way up,
freedom flying on the run back down.
Back in the ’60s,
the road was our playground—
full of adventure.
Through twitches and alleyways we ran,
racing push bikes from the Cavo Pub to the hilltop,
then tearing back down—
no helmets, no pads,
just bare skin and courage,
scrapes and bruises the prize.
The good old days, we say.
Knock knock on doors,
everyone knew everyone—
and it didn’t take long
for Mum and Dad to know.
And back then,
it wasn’t a soft talking to—
body armour was comics
down the back of your pants.
Wednesday nights were swimming,
and in summer,
Brickyard ponds.
Pirates and Redcoats—
until we lost George.
He just disappeared.
We didn’t understand.
Time and resilience brought us back,
but we never played pirates again,
never swam those ponds.
The teenage years came fast.
Off to Cavo secondary—
good years.
Not much time in class,
always somewhere else—
gymnastics, trampolining,
cross country running.
Anything but sitting still,
writing page after page
about history, science,
or the English language—
something I’m still learning.
I liked the girls though.
Then came a time
they liked me.
What a street I lived on—
everything I needed.
Life was full.
At fifteen,
I joined the Army—
Junior Leaders Regiment, Royal Artillery.
A life of its own.
Coming home on leave,
back to my street—
at first, nothing changed.
Then slowly,
people I knew moved away.
Years later,
back in the Cavo Pub—
the Cavendish, to give it its name.
Old school friends,
old times,
banter, darts, pool.
But shock hit hard—
so many of the lads and gals
lost to drugs of every kind.
I loved my street.
I loved what it taught me—
love, joy, pain, loss.
But life moves on,
and so did I.
A new home,
twenty-six years lived—
but the games were real now:
real pain,
real fear,
far too many losses.
Still—
resilience,
and the pull of memory,
brought me home.
I still love my street.
Cavendish Road—
my foundation.
still that boy,
from my street—
with a life of poetry within.
By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 6:47 AM UTC
They say life—
is just the luck of the draw.
But I’ve held the deck…
felt its weight in my hands—
and I know—
it’s more than chance.
It’s choice.
It’s timing.
It’s how you play what you’re given.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
The Ace of Spades—
that’s where it starts.
Power.
Not loud—
not showy—
but sitting there, waiting—
asking,
what will you do with me?
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Then come the faces—
Kings.
Queens.
Jacks.
Not royalty—
no—
they’re reflections.
The King of Hearts—
teaches you how to burn for something.
The Queen of Diamonds—
reminds you value isn’t just gold—
it’s how you carry yourself.
The Jack of Clubs—
ah… he laughs—
because not everything needs to be heavy.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
And then—
the numbers arrive.
Quiet at first.
The Two—
a beginning.
A choice.
A split in the road.
The Three—
connection.
Love trying to find its footing.
The Four—
you build.
Or you break.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
But life doesn’t stay gentle.
The Five—
that’s where it tests you.
Challenges.
Restlessness.
The moment you realise—
this isn’t a game anymore.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
The Six—
balance.
Or at least…
the attempt at it.
Trying to hold everything together
while the world keeps moving anyway.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
The Seven—
That’s where things get complicated.
Love grows.
Or it slips.
Luck shows up—
or it disappears just when you need it most.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
The Eight—
Work.
No glamour here.
Just effort.
Sweat.
The quiet grind
no one applauds.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
And the Nine…
You start to feel it.
The weight of everything behind you.
The sense that something’s ending—
even if you can’t name what.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Then the Ten—
Change.
Always change.
The card that says—
ready or not…
move.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
And just when you think you understand the deck—
it reshuffles.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
The Jack returns—
but different now.
Wiser.
Sharper.
The Queen—
stronger than before.
The King—
not ruling…
but standing.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
And somewhere in all of it—
you realise…
These cards—
they were never against you.
They were shaping you.
Every *****
a lesson.
Every heart—
a risk.
Every diamond—
a measure of worth.
Every club—
a test of strength.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Until finally—
you reach it.
The Ace of Hearts.
Not the beginning—
the understanding.
That love—
in all its forms—
is the only card
that was ever worth holding onto.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Shuffle the deck.
Cut it again.
Lay the cards down.
Because life isn’t about the hand you’re dealt—
it’s about
how you rise
when the odds say you shouldn’t.
By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 4:41 AM UTC
I. Borrowed Purpose
There were moments
when another life
stood trembling at the edge.
You could hear it
in the cracks between their words,
in the silence that followed them
like a shadow.
And somehow
in those moments
I became certain.
Certain of things
I could never believe
about myself.
I could speak hope
like it was iron truth.
I could place steady ground
beneath shaking feet.
I could say
you matter
with a voice so firm
the darkness hesitated.
Strange thing is—
I could rescue someone else
from drowning
while my own lungs
were still learning
how to breathe.
I could light fires
in another person’s night
while standing
in the cold of my own.
For them
I had answers.
For myself
only questions.
But when someone stood
too close to the edge
something inside me
stopped asking why I existed.
Because in that moment
my life had weight.
Not because I was healed.
Not because I was whole.
But because my hands
were steady enough
to keep someone else
from letting go.
And for a moment
in someone else’s storm
my existence
finally made sense.
⸻
II. The Light You Didn’t See
You probably never realised
what you were doing.
To you
it was just another moment
of standing beside someone
who was close to breaking.
You spoke quietly,
like the words were ordinary.
Like reminding someone
they mattered
was the simplest thing in the world.
But where I stood
nothing felt simple.
The ground had already started moving.
The dark had already grown loud.
Every thought
was pulling me closer
to the edge.
And then there was you.
You didn’t try to fix me.
You didn’t pretend
everything was fine.
You just stayed there
long enough
for the noise in my head
to lose its power.
You spoke about my life
like it still had meaning.
Like it was something
worth holding on to.
And for the first time in a while
I believed it.
You probably thought
you were just being present.
Just another conversation.
Just another night.
But sometimes
the smallest light
is the one
that keeps someone alive.
Maybe you walked away
still wondering
if your life mattered.
Still asking yourself
what your existence was for.
But if you ever question that again
remember this:
On a night
when everything inside me
was telling me to disappear—
you were the reason
I stayed.
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 4:20 PM UTC
— a quiet awakening —
… 🪶 …
To know yourself…
is not a destination—
it’s a beginning
the purest kind of wisdom
not found in books
not handed down
but uncovered…
layer
by layer
by layer
until purpose
stops being a question
and starts being a path
… 🪶 …
And age—
age is a story we tell ourselves
because if I count my years—
I grow old
but if I count my friends—
I stay young
if I measure life in tears—
it feels heavy
but in smiles—
suddenly
I am rich
… 🪶 …
Dreams…
don’t let them fade quietly
don’t tuck them away
like old photographs
because a life without dreams—
is a sky without wings
and somewhere inside you
there is still something
waiting
to fly
… 🪶 …
Understanding…
see, knowing something
is easy
we collect facts
like souvenirs
but understanding—
that asks for more
it asks for patience
for time
for sitting with the why
long after the answer
should have been enough
… 🪶 …
Wisdom…
it isn’t given
it’s built
from reflection
from experience
from imitation
from watching
failing
trying again
and yes—
it passes through joy
but it is forged…
in life’s bitter edges
… 🪶 …
Because life—
life is a stage
and we step onto it
without rehearsal
no script in hand
just instinct
just hope
just courage
we forget our lines
we stumble
and still—
those moments
when we think no one is watching
those are the moments
we perform our truth
… 🪶 …
So have courage—
not for the applause
but for the act itself
… 🪶 …
And strength…
it doesn’t come
from winning
it comes from falling
from failure
from lessons
that don’t feel like lessons
until much later
and sometimes—
one kind word
spoken to a struggling mind
is worth more
than all the praise
after success
because encouragement
that…
that is where success
first begins
… 🪶 …
know yourself…
not perfectly
not completely
just honestly
and the rest—
will follow.
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 6:39 AM UTC
Speeding like a cheetah
after one margarita,
Rushing like a meerkat
while eating a KitKat.
Hugging a camel,
Because he's also a mammal.
She could be a lioness
If not for all that mess.
ASAP, remember Newton's laws,
and start applying them without waiting for applause.
A pan is not a drum,
though you might beat it like one.
Still, you know all that you do,
because surely you've watched Scooby-Doo.
Apply the laws with steady cause,
and only then start showing your claws.
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 3:54 AM UTC
Some grow older,
but never grow within.
Years may pass,
faces may change,
but true growth begins
the day you face your life
and choose your own path.
@newgirldark
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 3:10 PM UTC
***
The mirror
never lies.
It waits.
Patient.
Silent.
Watching who we become.
And when we stand before it—
everything appears.
The moments we cherish.
The ones we try to forget.
Some reflections
make us smile.
Others
ask difficult questions.
There are memories
we wish we could place
far behind us.
Yet somehow
the mirror keeps them close.
Not to punish us—
but to teach us.
Sometimes pain
speaks through it.
A quiet voice
reminding us
where we have been.
Other times
peace appears.
A calmer face.
A stronger heart.
Proof
that we have grown.
The mirror
does not judge.
It simply shows.
And if we are brave enough
to look carefully—
we find something there.
Courage.
Listen
when the mirror calls.
Learn from what it shows.
Because life
is not about perfection.
It is about reflection.
Falling.
Rising.
And stepping forward
still alive
inside the journey.
By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 3:58 PM UTC
Death isn’t the end.
It’s armor coming off.
The body falls,
the soul stands
bruised,
brilliant,
remembering.
We come for lessons
too heavy to learn anywhere else.
Grief.
Betrayal.
Powerlessness.
Love that splits you open
and demands you grow.
Not punishment.
Preparation.
The strongest aren’t lucky.
They volunteered.
Some arrive quiet.
Some land like thunder —
endurance baked into their bones.
The ones who survive
what should have broken them.
The ones older
than their birth certificate.
The ones strangers pour pain into
without knowing why.
That isn’t coincidence.
That’s memory.
Some return,
not because they failed,
but because they mastered survival
and were asked to walk again
with steadier hands.
Not saviors.
Not saints.
Just warriors.
They walk through fire
without turning cruel.
They hold space
when rooms collapse.
They protect without announcing it.
They bleed quietly
and still teach others to stand.
Scars are proof, not damage.
Heavy lives are trust, not punishment.
Carry your light.
Finish your promise.
I didn’t land here by accident.
And neither did you.
Some break cycles.
Some hold the line.
Some walk into darkness
and return
with proof
it can be survived.
Call it resilience.
Call it warrior.
Call it truth.
I am not here randomly.
And neither are you.
Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 9:26 AM UTC
The Rolling Stone
I was rolling along one day and met a shoe.
With a quick flick I jumped on board,
with no care of any direction to anywhere.
After a few miles we came to a crossroads,
the shoe turned right.
I jumped off and turned left.
After a few miles I came upon a horse,
so, I jumped upon its shoe,
with no care of direction.
We galloped along after a mile or two,
we met a blacksmith,
the blacksmith flicked me off the horse’s shoe
and said on your way now.
A while later along came a little boy,
he gave me a ride in his pocket,
it was a little bit cramp
but it was dry and warm,
we travelled together,
with no care or direction.
We came upon a river,
I don’t no why but the
Boy throw me into the river!
Bounce, bounce, bounce I went,
then to the bottom I slowly sank.
Now I lay at the bottom, drifting along
with current and swell. Sometimes!
Forward. Sometimes! Backwards.
Here I now lay with no care or direction,
may be one day I will find a way,
to reach my destination.
Maybe I should of planned
my journeys direction!
With just a little more care.
Life if nothing is but a Rolling Stone,
A life… lived it will collect a no moss.
Sometimes we go forward.
Sometimes we fall back.
But we all will eventually become!
A Polished Event.
The bigger question is will you?
Shine or be Dull!
Feb 12
Feb 12, 2026 at 7:30 AM UTC
I was sitting in a silence I liked, which I called "peace of mind,"
while life kept calling me with hard, unanswered calls.
I was almost able to convince myself that giving up was rest.
Then I heard a sound: a stick tapping the road, steady and without fear.
A blind woman walked faster than I could think.
Each tap was sure, and each step knew where it had to go.
She couldn't see the road, but she believed in it.
I could see everything, but I didn't trust every step.
That little noise broke my chosen silence
and hit the part of me that had been giving up quietly.
Purpose rang out louder than sight.
And in that broken silence, I remembered how to move again.
Feb 10
Feb 10, 2026 at 9:36 AM UTC
Smoke curls through late nights,
youth chasing its wild freedoms—
too much, too soon spent.
In the glow of reckless joy,
a quiet warning flicker’s.
Parties blur to dawn,
habits tighten into chains.
We ask as we fall—
can too much good turn to harm,
and who decides the measure?
I wrote this after reading a poem posted on Hello Poetry, written by Daan, a Belgian poet—titled Missing.
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 4:25 AM UTC
This is a daughter, a sister, a brother, a son—just a child…
Suffering in silent pain… no one listened.
The bully is a daughter, a sister, a brother, a son—just a child…
The bully is a teacher, a parent, an officer, an adult…
Are we all so blind to the bullies?
This is a child with a caring heart…
Despite being so ill…
The child doesn't want anyone to get in trouble…
Because they feel they’ve wronged.
Are we all so blind to the bullies?
This is a child who has stopped eating…
Cries themselves to sleep…
Struggles with anxiety so severe…
Constantly vomiting through the night.
Are we all so blind to the bullies?
A child whose “best friend” turned out to be the abuser…
Abused for so long they thought it was normal.
A child who’s been in and out of hospital countless times…
Unable to cope with the abuse.
Are we all so blind to the bullies?
This is a child who’s told off for “telling tales” at school…
Mocked constantly on social media…
Not by the bully—no, no!
By the bully’s parents… for having such a pure heart.
Are we all so blind to the bullies?
This is a child who, when addressing the issue at school,
Is met with: “Well… it’s just children being children.”
This is a child told by the school:
“You should be the one feeling ashamed,”
And is snuck in a side door each morning.
Are we all so blind to the bullies?
This is a child whose school failed them so badly
They had to move to a new one.
This is a child who is one of too many…
Whose story is twisted and manipulated.
Are we all so blind to the bullies?
This is a child failed—perhaps bullied—
By the very people meant to protect them.
Failed by schools… while in their care.
Failed by a teacher… too frightened to act.
Are we all so blind to the bullies?
This is my child, your child, their child…
Who doesn't want this to happen to anyone else.
A child’s story we are sharing…
But he… she… is one of many. Too many.
Are we all so blind to the bullies?
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 12:16 PM UTC
A hothead starts fights;
they strike at those
who fear them — such is
the smallness of bullies.
They are short tempered
and stumble into foolishness;
they scheme in shadows
and earn no true respect.
Don’t fear them — stand your
ground, stay cool tempered.
Be kind and merciful to them;
they fear courage. Show none of your own fear.
Stand with the repressed;
together you will triumph.
Fill yourself with unfailing love.
This unsettles the bully —
for love is a language
they have never learned,
and so they cling to the only truth
they think they know —
anger.
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 12:06 PM UTC
I see the world through your wondering eyes,
Tiny hands reaching, chasing endless skies.
Every sound holds magic, every heartbeat a song,
Let it carry you, let it make you strong.
Music once saved me when darkness came near,
May it be your refuge, your light, your cheer.
I see you behind keys, lost in a tune,
And I hope it lifts you, up past the moon.
We want you to grow free, be who you are,
Touch the earth, reach high, chase each star.
Read the words that paint the dreams you hold,
Play the notes that make your spirit bold.
No screen can show you the life you’ll see,
The world is out there—go touch, go be.
We’ll walk beside you, hand in hand,
You’ll find your voice, you’ll understand.
We’re not perfect, no parent is,
But we’ve learned from scars, from the abyss.
Stand strong, speak truth, let kindness lead,
Be gentle, be brave, let your heart plant seeds.
You don’t need to follow the crowd or blend,
Be loud, be quiet, be lost, be found, my friend.
Your story is yours, untouched, untold,
Free to write in colors bright and bold.
We want you to grow free, be who you are,
Touch the earth, reach high, chase each star.
Read the words that paint the dreams you hold,
Play the notes that make your spirit bold.
No screen can show you the life you’ll see,
The world is out there—go touch, go be.
We’ll walk beside you, hand in hand,
You’ll find your voice, you’ll understand.
Money comes and goes, but love will stay,
Laughter and courage will guide your way.
We may have little, but we have enough,
With dreams and heart, you’ll always be tough.
Joy lives in the simplest things,
A song that soars, a laugh that rings.
No need for riches, no need for gold,
Your worth shines brightest in the stories you hold.
So grow, little warrior, strong and wise,
Let your heart soar, let your spirit rise.
We’re here every step, every tear, every mile,
With love that stretches, across every trial.
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 6:27 AM UTC
I moved because my heart whispered,
quietly, without fanfare.
I stepped into work I never imagined,
to see how far my care could stretch -
to see how deep I could fall for what I felt.
I pulled a friend into my quiet storm,
believing effort could bend fate.
But life hit harder than I expected -
an accident, a debt, a bruise,
a weight too heavy to carry alone.
I called you that day,
not for anything,
only to hear a voice that felt like a small refuge.
You responded as you naturally would,
unaware of the storms pressing down on me.
Not coldness, not anger -just normal,
because you didn’t know the depth of what I carried.
I promised to call again, to give,
but circumstances held me hostage.
Not from weakness, not from a lack of will -
but from life itself, testing how much a heart could endure.
Through all of it, I learned my limits,
and the depth of what I could feel for you.
Every risk I took, every storm I braved,
was measured, deliberate -
not for glory, not from desperation,
but to see how far my heart could fall
and still stand.
Even in chaos, a strange sweetness remained:
the fire of trying for you,
burning bright even
What remains isn’t regret -
just a calm, tired glow,
an unfinished energy I still carry.
Proof that some feelings stay pure
even when the world doesn’t go our way.
If you ever wonder what happened,
just know this:
I stepped forward sincerely,
fell honestly,
and stood up with the same heart -
still warm, still real,
just a little wiser than before!!!!!
WORK FROM ::
To Her Who Already Knows!!!
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 1:21 AM UTC
Wanted to stain the pages,
really wanted to show life stages,
how life changed me from better to worse.
Oh! how people change,
and stain someone’s life with blood.
There is a storm emerging inside me,
a flood of all painful memories.
Oh! tell me where I can search peace,
’cause every time I think of her,
I wholly lose my ease.
Those hopeful words—
oh! all the false promises.
Believe, trust, and that **** word,
like a sword, cuts me to the core,
then asks for a remedy.
Though thanks to her,
I learned the most important lesson of life:
blindly trusting in someone breaks and kills you,
sends you to a place
from where you can never return.
Feb 1
Feb 1, 2026 at 5:26 AM UTC
And here I am,
I sit,
I stand,
inhale and breathe and live and wish to change,
but it is still there.
Whether I ponder over it or not,
whether I wish it gone or to disappear,
it is still there.
'No regrets', I said -
How true is that? I wonder.
One more day, I think it through...
Is it even worth a thought, I wonder.
No matter what I do, it still remains.
No matter how I wish to change,
I stand, I sit, inhale once more.
It is through breath and life that I choose to be,
not letting it dictate,
but still carrying its weight.
Regret - one may call it - yet,
in retrospect,
it is just,
Me.
Jan 24
Jan 24, 2026 at 11:38 AM UTC