#quarterlifecrisis - Hello Poetry

Oh, Mr. Poet, so lost in your haze, Chasing the smoke of your endless malaise. You sit in the dark, like some tortured sage, Kicking pebbles while you're trapped in your cage. With every cigarette, you seek to ignite, The spark of hope that just won't take flight. But, darling, don't you see the truth that’s clear? You’re just a dreamer with a bottle of fear. You talk of heroes, but where’s your cape? You’re more likely to trip on the stairs of fate. A good deed here, a spark of light— But, oops, it’s gone by the time you get it right. Family calls, “We believe in you!” Yet, you’re still in bed at half-past two. Not saving the world, just saving the crumbs, Wondering why the universe won’t give you some. So, go on, sit beneath that endless sky, Kick those pebbles, maybe even try to fly. But at the end of the day, the truth’s on display— You’re just a poet with a lighter, stuck in the gray.

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Feb 28, 2025

Feb 28, 2025 at 2:00 AM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

Self Roast

Oh, Mr. Poet, so lost in your haze, Chasing the smoke of your endless malaise. You sit in the dark, like some tortured sage, Kicking pebbles while you're trapped in your cage. With every cigarette, you seek to ignite, The spark of hope that just won't take flight. But, darling, don't you see the truth that’s clear? You’re just a dreamer with a bottle of fear. You talk of heroes, but where’s your cape? You’re more likely to trip on the stairs of fate. A good deed here, a spark of light— But, oops, it’s gone by the time you get it right. Family calls, “We believe in you!” Yet, you’re still in bed at half-past two. Not saving the world, just saving the crumbs, Wondering why the universe won’t give you some. So, go on, sit beneath that endless sky, Kick those pebbles, maybe even try to fly. But at the end of the day, the truth’s on display— You’re just a poet with a lighter, stuck in the gray.

20

The morning spills through the cracked window, soft gold brushing against tired skin. Eyes blink open—not heavy, not lost, but lighter, as if the night left with the smoke of yesterday. No rush, no dread—just breath. A stretch, a pause, the quiet hum of a world still turning, and for the first time in a while, he wants to turn with it. The phone buzzes. A name on the screen— Dad. He hesitates, then answers. A familiar voice, steady, warm. "Son, I just wanted to say... I believe in you." A lump in his throat, not of sadness, but something softer— a thread pulling him back home, back to himself. He stands, looks in the mirror. Not a lost boy, not a failure— just a man, still walking, still trying. The city hums as he steps out, the weight of yesterday left behind. A crisp shirt, a quiet smile, the rhythm of feet moving forward. A new day. A new fight. And this time, he knows he’s not alone.

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Feb 28, 2025

Feb 28, 2025 at 1:51 AM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

A New Dawn

The morning spills through the cracked window, soft gold brushing against tired skin. Eyes blink open—not heavy, not lost, but lighter, as if the night left with the smoke of yesterday. No rush, no dread—just breath. A stretch, a pause, the quiet hum of a world still turning, and for the first time in a while, he wants to turn with it. The phone buzzes. A name on the screen— Dad. He hesitates, then answers. A familiar voice, steady, warm. "Son, I just wanted to say... I believe in you." A lump in his throat, not of sadness, but something softer— a thread pulling him back home, back to himself. He stands, looks in the mirror. Not a lost boy, not a failure— just a man, still walking, still trying. The city hums as he steps out, the weight of yesterday left behind. A crisp shirt, a quiet smile, the rhythm of feet moving forward. A new day. A new fight. And this time, he knows he’s not alone.

30

He sits on the cold pavement, back against the world, eyes lost in a sky too vast, too indifferent to a boy who once dreamed of touching it. The cigarette flickers between his fingers, a quiet rebellion, a silent scream. Smoke coils like memories— of failures, of love lost, of roads that led nowhere. Maybe this is all there is— a tired soul, an empty night, a battle no one sees. Then, a voice—soft yet firm. "Got a light?" He looks up, startled. A stranger, wrapped in the wind, eyes carrying storms of their own. "You look like a man who’s been running from himself," the stranger says, lighting his own cigarette. "But the thing about running— it never gets you anywhere." A pause. A knowing glance. "Maybe it’s time you walked instead." The words settle like embers in his chest. For the first time in a long time, he exhales without regret. The cigarette burns, but tonight, so does something else— a spark, a reason. He stands up, dusts off the weight of yesterday, and starts walking forward

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Feb 28, 2025

Feb 28, 2025 at 1:42 AM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

A Spark in the Dark

He sits on the cold pavement, back against the world, eyes lost in a sky too vast, too indifferent to a boy who once dreamed of touching it. The cigarette flickers between his fingers, a quiet rebellion, a silent scream. Smoke coils like memories— of failures, of love lost, of roads that led nowhere. Maybe this is all there is— a tired soul, an empty night, a battle no one sees. Then, a voice—soft yet firm. "Got a light?" He looks up, startled. A stranger, wrapped in the wind, eyes carrying storms of their own. "You look like a man who’s been running from himself," the stranger says, lighting his own cigarette. "But the thing about running— it never gets you anywhere." A pause. A knowing glance. "Maybe it’s time you walked instead." The words settle like embers in his chest. For the first time in a long time, he exhales without regret. The cigarette burns, but tonight, so does something else— a spark, a reason. He stands up, dusts off the weight of yesterday, and starts walking forward

34

The cigarette burns low between my lips, flickering like a dying star. I have nothing—no job, no purpose, just weary feet and a mind too loud. Then I see him— a man, old, bent by time, struggling with a bag too heavy for hands that once built dreams. For a moment, I hesitate— what can I offer when my own pockets are empty? But hands are not meant just to take, so I lift the weight from his shoulders, feel its burden shift onto mine. He looks up, eyes filled with something unspoken, a silent gratitude heavier than gold. No applause, no grand reward— just the quiet knowing that sometimes, heroes walk unseen. I drop my cigarette, watch it fade into the dust. For the first time in a while, I don’t feel empty. I feel enough.

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Feb 28, 2025

Feb 28, 2025 at 1:39 AM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

The Unseen Hero

The cigarette burns low between my lips, flickering like a dying star. I have nothing—no job, no purpose, just weary feet and a mind too loud. Then I see him— a man, old, bent by time, struggling with a bag too heavy for hands that once built dreams. For a moment, I hesitate— what can I offer when my own pockets are empty? But hands are not meant just to take, so I lift the weight from his shoulders, feel its burden shift onto mine. He looks up, eyes filled with something unspoken, a silent gratitude heavier than gold. No applause, no grand reward— just the quiet knowing that sometimes, heroes walk unseen. I drop my cigarette, watch it fade into the dust. For the first time in a while, I don’t feel empty. I feel enough.

23

The streets stretch empty, silent but for my footsteps— rhythmic, restless, kicking pebbles that go nowhere, like me. Smoke curls from my lips, a ghostly whisper dissolving before it can answer the questions I never say aloud. The night doesn’t scare me— I’ve made peace with shadows, with streetlights flickering like old dreams. But the darkness inside? That’s a beast with my name on its tongue. I walk faster, as if the wind might strip me clean, as if somewhere ahead, there’s a version of me who knows how to stop running. But for now, I take another drag, watch the ember burn, and keep moving.

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Feb 28, 2025

Feb 28, 2025 at 1:37 AM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

Walking the Edge

The streets stretch empty, silent but for my footsteps— rhythmic, restless, kicking pebbles that go nowhere, like me. Smoke curls from my lips, a ghostly whisper dissolving before it can answer the questions I never say aloud. The night doesn’t scare me— I’ve made peace with shadows, with streetlights flickering like old dreams. But the darkness inside? That’s a beast with my name on its tongue. I walk faster, as if the wind might strip me clean, as if somewhere ahead, there’s a version of me who knows how to stop running. But for now, I take another drag, watch the ember burn, and keep moving.

23

The match trembles between my fingers, a silent war in a room too still. Smoke or breath—what matters now? The weight of nothingness, the weight of her. She lingers like an unfinished line, half a whisper, half a wound. A memory blurred at the edges, but sharp enough to cut through the dark. Did she ever love me, or just the idea? A boy with dreams too heavy to hold, an engineer of castles in air, a builder of futures that never came. Outside, the night hums with indifference. Inside, I weigh the lighter’s click against the echo of her voice— soft, pleading, unbearably distant. I could fade with the smoke, or chase the sun she once pointed to. Between life and her, I choose to breathe.

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Feb 28, 2025

Feb 28, 2025 at 1:35 AM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

A Cigarette Between Life and Her

The match trembles between my fingers, a silent war in a room too still. Smoke or breath—what matters now? The weight of nothingness, the weight of her. She lingers like an unfinished line, half a whisper, half a wound. A memory blurred at the edges, but sharp enough to cut through the dark. Did she ever love me, or just the idea? A boy with dreams too heavy to hold, an engineer of castles in air, a builder of futures that never came. Outside, the night hums with indifference. Inside, I weigh the lighter’s click against the echo of her voice— soft, pleading, unbearably distant. I could fade with the smoke, or chase the sun she once pointed to. Between life and her, I choose to breathe.

20

In a room where books pile high, Echoes of dreams refuse to die. A restless mind, a weary soul, At twenty-four, still chasing a goal. Through the window, the world spins fast, A blur of futures, a ghost of past. The sun dips low, the sky turns red, Yet here I sit, lost in my head. Lines of code and circuits bright, Mock me softly in the dimming light. A degree framed, but dust collects, On promises life won’t protect. I reach for a cigarette, pause mid-air, What would it change? Who would care? The smoke might dance, the ember glow, But answers? No, they never show. Dreams cost time, and time runs thin, A battle fought but hard to win. Yet somewhere deep, a spark remains, A quiet fire, defying chains. So I let the match slip from my hand, Breathe in deep, and make a stand. Not today, I tell the night— Not today, I'll lose this fight.

0

Feb 28, 2025

Feb 28, 2025 at 1:32 AM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

The Engineer’s Lament

In a room where books pile high, Echoes of dreams refuse to die. A restless mind, a weary soul, At twenty-four, still chasing a goal. Through the window, the world spins fast, A blur of futures, a ghost of past. The sun dips low, the sky turns red, Yet here I sit, lost in my head. Lines of code and circuits bright, Mock me softly in the dimming light. A degree framed, but dust collects, On promises life won’t protect. I reach for a cigarette, pause mid-air, What would it change? Who would care? The smoke might dance, the ember glow, But answers? No, they never show. Dreams cost time, and time runs thin, A battle fought but hard to win. Yet somewhere deep, a spark remains, A quiet fire, defying chains. So I let the match slip from my hand, Breathe in deep, and make a stand. Not today, I tell the night— Not today, I'll lose this fight.

24

I used to be bold and fearless Annoyingly self assured Daydreaming about greatness Telling everyone about how Someday I'd rule the world. Those days are long gone Making me feel like a hollow shell A mere shadow of my former self And life became all about Playing a role I simply can't fit Fooling everyone... But me

0

Aug 25, 2024

Aug 25, 2024 at 9:03 PM UTC

PeterGerstenmaier

Quarter life crisis

I used to be bold and fearless Annoyingly self assured Daydreaming about greatness Telling everyone about how Someday I'd rule the world. Those days are long gone Making me feel like a hollow shell A mere shadow of my former self And life became all about Playing a role I simply can't fit Fooling everyone... But me

12

Dear fragile heart of mine, thank you for understanding my passionate soul that lingers on finding joy amidst the mundane activity of everyday chores. Our heart became our beacon of hope which secretly made us to fall in love with what life has to offer and yet like an elastic rubber, it mends the shattered pieces again. Dear careless heart of mine, every time I wept and choked up my silent tears with covered face on pillows; ashamed to accept the fact that I was at my weakest point, somewhere down the line, it taught me to hold on because I am not going to give in easily to rejection, I still need to HOPE. As I embark on my adventures to unfold, it gave me the resilience to bear and believe in myself. The world reminded me always saying, " don't let emotions overpower your intelligence." But forgot to inculcate the bitter truth, "to be human is to be vulnerable" as well. The child within me still yearn for the melody that my heart sang, dancing in joy and still believing to be humane enough. I felt the pain, I empathise with others and wore my heart on sleeves. By embracing who I am gave me the chance to breathe with no fear of what lies ahead. Perhaps, someday I will find my missing puzzle and connect the dots I had been trying to trace for years of surviving the phase called heartbreak. 💫

0

Mar 15, 2020

Mar 15, 2020 at 3:44 PM UTC

RitzWrites

An Ode to my Heart

Dear fragile heart of mine, thank you for understanding my passionate soul that lingers on finding joy amidst the mundane activity of everyday chores. Our heart became our beacon of hope which secretly made us to fall in love with what life has to offer and yet like an elastic rubber, it mends the shattered pieces again. Dear careless heart of mine, every time I wept and choked up my silent tears with covered face on pillows; ashamed to accept the fact that I was at my weakest point, somewhere down the line, it taught me to hold on because I am not going to give in easily to rejection, I still need to HOPE. As I embark on my adventures to unfold, it gave me the resilience to bear and believe in myself. The world reminded me always saying, " don't let emotions overpower your intelligence." But forgot to inculcate the bitter truth, "to be human is to be vulnerable" as well. The child within me still yearn for the melody that my heart sang, dancing in joy and still believing to be humane enough. I felt the pain, I empathise with others and wore my heart on sleeves. By embracing who I am gave me the chance to breathe with no fear of what lies ahead. Perhaps, someday I will find my missing puzzle and connect the dots I had been trying to trace for years of surviving the phase called heartbreak. 💫

4

What is the crisis a quarter of the way through life? Existentially existing in the moment, I'm constantly inside of myself while also out. Conundrum of being up while I'm also down, freedom within a blockade. Oxymoronic hodgepodge of tantalizing confusion, tastes sweet on my brain and thoughts ponder bitter on my tongue. Half and whole, part and full, questions answered with questions, seeing things through in simultaneous interrogatories. Top here, bottom there, rights are right, and lefts aren't wrong. Phone, texts and emails, vibrating inside my skull as I laugh and I cry, as I seek to find. Orange to yellow to green to brown, seasons coming and going inside my soul, and I constantly blossom and refreeze. Everywhere feels like nowhere, nowhere my somewhere as I await a somewhere that's everywhere. Losing myself as I find it too, letting some parts sail away at sea, and too there comes new horizons, as I surf, skating on the foam, on the water's edges. Wading into one crisis, I'm swallowed by a wave, until I burst through the sea and the salt; and then the next wave comes... for life, it seems, is salty and sweet, one tide coming in to sweep itself away in place of another.

0

Nov 5, 2015

Nov 5, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC

megb42290

Ripple Effect

What is the crisis a quarter of the way through life? Existentially existing in the moment, I'm constantly inside of myself while also out. Conundrum of being up while I'm also down, freedom within a blockade. Oxymoronic hodgepodge of tantalizing confusion, tastes sweet on my brain and thoughts ponder bitter on my tongue. Half and whole, part and full, questions answered with questions, seeing things through in simultaneous interrogatories. Top here, bottom there, rights are right, and lefts aren't wrong. Phone, texts and emails, vibrating inside my skull as I laugh and I cry, as I seek to find. Orange to yellow to green to brown, seasons coming and going inside my soul, and I constantly blossom and refreeze. Everywhere feels like nowhere, nowhere my somewhere as I await a somewhere that's everywhere. Losing myself as I find it too, letting some parts sail away at sea, and too there comes new horizons, as I surf, skating on the foam, on the water's edges. Wading into one crisis, I'm swallowed by a wave, until I burst through the sea and the salt; and then the next wave comes... for life, it seems, is salty and sweet, one tide coming in to sweep itself away in place of another.

53

2 years, 5 months, 19 days. That's the last time a man Looked me in my eyes And told me He loved me. Nearly one thousand days have passed Since someone looked at me Like I was his whole world. And now I'm at the point Where I wonder if I'll be alone Forever, Not like the cliches, The woman who chooses a career over a family, Or the crazed lady who clings to her cats... No, just a girl Growing into a young woman Who doesn't even remember What it feels like to have someone Love her. Not sure if I've really ever even been loved, At least not like it happens in the movies. I've continued to pine hard, Chasing the affection of conflicted souls Who never bother to appreciate me, Those cliched types who are "Too damaged" to really love someone. Sometimes I wonder If I'm gonna be able to accept love If I finally find it, My fragmented soul having grown An allergy to kind gestures, Compliments, Or anything that actually might be deemed Indicative of affection. Slowly sinking down to the baseboards, Rotted and gnarled roots Clinging deep to the underground, My body dissolved into an anterior realm of Cynicism As I grasp the realities of my own Unrequited love, My yearning to demand more, Tied up and twisted with my Fear to stop settling And actually obtain "better." 2 years, 5 months, 19 days. I'm just hoping it doesn't take me As long To look at the Golden brown eyes that I See in the mirror and tell me I love me Enough to not care who Else might.

0

Dec 5, 2014

Dec 5, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC

megb42290

Reflection

2 years, 5 months, 19 days. That's the last time a man Looked me in my eyes And told me He loved me. Nearly one thousand days have passed Since someone looked at me Like I was his whole world. And now I'm at the point Where I wonder if I'll be alone Forever, Not like the cliches, The woman who chooses a career over a family, Or the crazed lady who clings to her cats... No, just a girl Growing into a young woman Who doesn't even remember What it feels like to have someone Love her. Not sure if I've really ever even been loved, At least not like it happens in the movies. I've continued to pine hard, Chasing the affection of conflicted souls Who never bother to appreciate me, Those cliched types who are "Too damaged" to really love someone. Sometimes I wonder If I'm gonna be able to accept love If I finally find it, My fragmented soul having grown An allergy to kind gestures, Compliments, Or anything that actually might be deemed Indicative of affection. Slowly sinking down to the baseboards, Rotted and gnarled roots Clinging deep to the underground, My body dissolved into an anterior realm of Cynicism As I grasp the realities of my own Unrequited love, My yearning to demand more, Tied up and twisted with my Fear to stop settling And actually obtain "better." 2 years, 5 months, 19 days. I'm just hoping it doesn't take me As long To look at the Golden brown eyes that I See in the mirror and tell me I love me Enough to not care who Else might.

55