#lonelysoul - Hello Poetry

She's sitting on the couch, by the fireplace, under the solemn red light of her room. She is "the portrait of sadness" — the unpopular one, the quiet one, the least favorite of all. A ghost in the crowd, a whisper in the background. You beg her to smile. She tries, awkwardly, uncomfortably, under the unappreciating pressure of your selfish demands. She gives that "fake" smile you laugh at! As if her refusal — her inability to be artificial — is a means of your shameful fun. But who would distort the beloved portrait of sadness? Is sorrow really that ugly? Is it not of human emotions? Can intensity, can that fire in her soulful eyes, Not take the place of demanding, over-demanding joy in a photograph, nor in the real world? Not even once? **** Can you just let her be? Let her dance, or even breathe freely in a world of her own, rather than acting awkwardly in one of yours? Would you, for God's sake, just let her breathe? Don't ever beg her to smile. For she is the portrait of sadness. For she's only beautiful in her sorrow. The very thing you fear. The very thing you hate. But secretly feel in the depths of your hearts!

0

Feb 16

Feb 16, 2026 at 8:47 PM UTC

Rihanna_Rivera

Portrait of Sadness

She's sitting on the couch, by the fireplace, under the solemn red light of her room. She is "the portrait of sadness" — the unpopular one, the quiet one, the least favorite of all. A ghost in the crowd, a whisper in the background. You beg her to smile. She tries, awkwardly, uncomfortably, under the unappreciating pressure of your selfish demands. She gives that "fake" smile you laugh at! As if her refusal — her inability to be artificial — is a means of your shameful fun. But who would distort the beloved portrait of sadness? Is sorrow really that ugly? Is it not of human emotions? Can intensity, can that fire in her soulful eyes, Not take the place of demanding, over-demanding joy in a photograph, nor in the real world? Not even once? **** Can you just let her be? Let her dance, or even breathe freely in a world of her own, rather than acting awkwardly in one of yours? Would you, for God's sake, just let her breathe? Don't ever beg her to smile. For she is the portrait of sadness. For she's only beautiful in her sorrow. The very thing you fear. The very thing you hate. But secretly feel in the depths of your hearts!

33

My heart is broken, I don’t know what to do. An empty silence follows me, I feel alone, always. Something is missing, a piece I cannot find. Tears fall without reason, leaving me incomplete.

0

Sep 30, 2025

Sep 30, 2025 at 10:22 AM UTC

Byeol

Incomplete

My heart is broken, I don’t know what to do. An empty silence follows me, I feel alone, always. Something is missing, a piece I cannot find. Tears fall without reason, leaving me incomplete.

8

Siento un vacío en el corazón. ¿Y si lo arranco? ¿Dejará de sentirse? No... No debería intentarlo, me moriré. No lo puedo llenar con ninguna emoción. Creo que estoy perdido. Siento un vacío en el corazón. ¿Y si lo regalo? No… Sería un alma muerta, un cuerpo sin sentido. Quisiera estar acostado sobre un suelo blanco, ver cómo me desangro y se tiñe de rojo. Pero no… Tengo que seguir viviendo. ¿Algún día dejaré de estar así? -S.F

0

Jul 21, 2025

Jul 21, 2025 at 10:05 PM UTC

slzr_flrs

Vacío

Siento un vacío en el corazón. ¿Y si lo arranco? ¿Dejará de sentirse? No... No debería intentarlo, me moriré. No lo puedo llenar con ninguna emoción. Creo que estoy perdido. Siento un vacío en el corazón. ¿Y si lo regalo? No… Sería un alma muerta, un cuerpo sin sentido. Quisiera estar acostado sobre un suelo blanco, ver cómo me desangro y se tiñe de rojo. Pero no… Tengo que seguir viviendo. ¿Algún día dejaré de estar así? -S.F

21

I'd feel like a stranger at my own funeral- who's that in the box, dressed better in death than I ever managed in life? Better than my quiet attempts-those empty rehearsals at suicide. Was this the last chance I had left? Even in death, my voice isn't heard- nor the screaming ones trapped inside my skull. Even my ghost wouldn't believe it's dead, still hoping the lives I tried to save might pay my way past the gates, buy out my debts. But what if there's no heaven waiting? What if another kind of hell greets me instead? What if I never see my old friends again- never laugh without fear, never smile without pretending? What if I never stop being so ******* afraid so strangely ashamed to feel nothing, to be numb to even shame itself? All I wanted was to be born again- not into some perfect life, but one that wouldn't lead me back to searching for another end. And isn't it strange- how only in death do we see our regrets with such clarity? Because there's nowhere left to run from them once we get to the end.

0

Jun 8, 2025

Jun 8, 2025 at 2:52 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Stranger in the box

I'd feel like a stranger at my own funeral- who's that in the box, dressed better in death than I ever managed in life? Better than my quiet attempts-those empty rehearsals at suicide. Was this the last chance I had left? Even in death, my voice isn't heard- nor the screaming ones trapped inside my skull. Even my ghost wouldn't believe it's dead, still hoping the lives I tried to save might pay my way past the gates, buy out my debts. But what if there's no heaven waiting? What if another kind of hell greets me instead? What if I never see my old friends again- never laugh without fear, never smile without pretending? What if I never stop being so ******* afraid so strangely ashamed to feel nothing, to be numb to even shame itself? All I wanted was to be born again- not into some perfect life, but one that wouldn't lead me back to searching for another end. And isn't it strange- how only in death do we see our regrets with such clarity? Because there's nowhere left to run from them once we get to the end.

33