#quietstrength
The city sleeps carelessly
behind locked doors
because one man
has agreed to carry the dark.
He walks beneath failing lights,
a flashlight in his hand
small enough to understand
that some dangers cannot be outrun,
only endured.
At midnight,
even silence develops a heartbeat.
Every shadow becomes an unanswered question.
Every sudden noise
teaches his chest
the difference between caution
and fear.
Yet he continues
a man whose weariness
has learned to stand upright,
guarding structures
that will never bear his name,
protecting lives
that will never know his face.
By morning,
the city will button its shirt,
pour its coffee,
and walk past him
without a second thought
never pausing to consider
that exhaustion, too can wear a uniform
and still show up.
And still,
he will return the next night.
And the night after.
Standing faithfully
in the space between strangers
and whatever waits in the dark.
The city sleeps peacefully
because he does not.
But when fear finally finds him
when the shadows stop being metaphors
and the silence stops being still
who watches
the security guard
at night?
24/05/26
Ghana 🇬🇭
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 11:42 PM UTC
A Mother at the Edge of the Sky
***
She comes back,
again and again,
with something small in her beak.
Three mouths open—
no words,
just need.
The branch moves,
but she stays steady.
She knows this place.
No fuss,
no pause—
just feed, settle, go.
The sky is wide,
but she keeps returning
to this one spot.
They grow like this—
between hunger
and her quiet care.
One day,
they won’t wait for her.
But for now,
she is everything.
By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 7:12 AM UTC
Knock… knock.
I’ve been going through something—
but right now it feels like nothing.
Working on myself; no crowd around,
growth rarely feels like company.
Fear leaves fingerprints
on the silence of ordinary days.
Still— waking up again, choosing
to live through it, is the kind of bravery
that lives right next door.
And some days, I knock on its door
just to borrow a little courage.
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 4:09 PM UTC
Breaking like empty sea shells —
waiting for waves to catch my breath.
Tragedy lies; life’s horizon flat-lined,
a heart stopping at the breath of love...
flat— — —lined
Pretending I am owned; not owed.
I am cold waters; a stone with steely
resolve, holding back joy before its time.
Where even cruel failures still teach,
breathing; in and out on the open sea.
And still, the tide teaches me to breathe.
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 4:00 PM UTC
Silence sits beside me,
soft as moonlight on the floor.
I am not waiting for footsteps —
I have learned the language of my own heart.
Alone, but never empty.
I am my own quiet home.
@newgirldark
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 8:49 PM UTC
I count time
in four-hour windows
that never quite reach four.
In cold air cutting minutes short,
in outdoor benches and supervised doors,
in play-centre laughter
that wears him out
because we try to fit a month
into an afternoon.
He falls asleep heavy in my arms,
joy-drunk and safe,
and I pretend
the clock isn’t watching.
They made their decision
in a room of rules and paperwork —
said it was caution,
said it was process,
said it was necessary.
I stood still.
Because sometimes strength
is not in shouting
“this isn’t fair,”
but in saying,
“watch me remain steady.”
I won’t let anger raise him.
I won’t let bitterness speak for me.
I won’t teach him
that love fights *****
If there were whispers,
they will thin out in daylight.
If there were accusations,
they will meet time
and evidence
and consistency.
The system moves in procedure.
I move in resolve.
Every meeting attended.
Every form signed.
Every box ticked.
Every visit where I show up
warm, calm, certain.
He doesn’t measure me
in court language.
He measures me
in eye contact.
In arms that don’t hesitate.
In the way I say his name
like it belongs to my heartbeat.
Yes, I feel the missing.
Yes, I feel the months stacking up.
Yes, I ache for the ordinary —
bedtime stories,
messy mornings,
home.
But I am not collapsing.
I am building.
And one day
these supervised hours
will be a chapter,
not the ending.
Not because I screamed loudest.
But because I stayed steady longest.
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 5:06 AM UTC
I was asked today to be gentle and immovable at the same time.
To carry glass without bleeding.
To stand watch while the ground beneath me learned new ways to give.
I answered messages like defusing wires—
blue thought, red feeling, cut neither too fast.
I measured breaths that were not mine.
I learned the weight of pauses that could tip a room.
Gethsemane arrived like weather:
not cruel, not kind—just unavoidable.
A garden where prayers sweat through the soil
and even angels hesitate before speaking.
I did not try to save her.
I learned instead how to not become the last rung on a ladder.
How to be present without becoming the floor.
How to love without building a shrine from my own ribs.
Others knocked.
Old doors rattled.
Logistics disguised themselves as tenderness.
I chose quiet over confession, restraint over rupture,
and swallowed the sentences that would have ended friendships prematurely.
Tonight, I am tired in the way stars must be—
after holding themselves together all day
so gravity doesn’t win in public.
I am InkWept.
God of Endings.
And even I needed a boundary carved in salt and breath,
so I could make it home without bringing everyone else with me.
I did not abandon anyone today.
I survived them.
The night exhales; even gods rest their hands before writing tomorrow.
Feb 4
Feb 4, 2026 at 9:35 AM UTC
I learned to walk with weight on my chest,
Dreams folded small so duty could fit.
I smiled when needed, stayed quiet when loud,
And carried a storm that I wouldn’t admit.
I loved without counting the cost at first,
Gave warmth even when the time was thin.
Some hands stayed close, others slipped away,
But love still left its mark within.
I don’t regret the feelings I felt,
They taught my heart how deep it could go.
Not every love is meant to stay—
Some just remind you you’re alive, you know.
I loved where there was no empty space,
Not because my heart was unsure.
But wanting alone couldn’t build a future,
Or a promise that would endure.
Time kept moving, it never asked
If my heart was ready or my hands were free.
So I chose the work, the skill, the grind,
The slow becoming of who I must be.
I don’t hate love, I don’t fear it now,
I just know seasons don’t align.
Some love waits, some love passes through,
None of it wasted, none of it mine.
I’ve fallen before, I’ve risen again,
Burned down to focus, rebuilt with will.
Maybe joy comes quiet, maybe love returns,
But my purpose never stood still.
So let this end without bitterness,
No closed fists, no borrowed pain.
I walk forward with an open heart,
Through the sun and the driving rain.
If love finds me, I’ll meet it whole.
If not, I’ll still arrive complete.
Because I didn’t lose myself loving or trying—
I’m still standing, steady on my feet.
Jan 14
Jan 14, 2026 at 2:45 PM UTC
Tamed reflections, distant shadows; I stand on guard in this
armour forged from old battle scars. Each lesson learned
in silence teaches you how to move forward; how many
tears can an eye hold, before only the night can hear them?
A blade rests gently on my shoulders, I am knighted by survival,
honoured to be myself, and sworn to the love I once withheld.
In the dark, we weep as _nights;_ by morning, we rise as _knights._
Nights sharpen sorrow into steel, missteps become a measure,
every hesitation, a shield. What once cut down now protects;
for wisdom is a weapon only a night can forge, a Knight holds.
Jan 1
Jan 1, 2026 at 4:36 PM UTC
I catch my breath
Inside a reflection—
Some days I feel made
_Of glass...._
Still, I won’t let life decide
Where I break.
Dec 29, 2025
Dec 29, 2025 at 4:33 PM UTC
And at the end of the day—
If one of us makes it,
We made it together...
And no matter who arrives
First, we’ve already won
No finish line needed—
The win was never
_Singular._
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 1:00 PM UTC
They joke about forgotten names,
about moments lost in air,
but my missing pieces
are heavier than laughter can bear.
Some faces live only as shadows,
some weeks dissolve in a blur,
yesterday slips through my fingers
before I’m sure it was ever there.
My mind is a room with scattered lights,
flickering on, then gone,
memories knock but don’t always enter,
and morning feels like I’m reborn.
Every day is a reset day—
a quiet, unfamiliar start,
I rebuild myself from fragments
with a brave and trembling heart.
They laugh at memory as a joke,
I carry it as a fight,
searching for pieces of who I was
just to feel whole tonight.
Still, I wake.
Still, I try.
Still, I choose to live what’s new.
Even with a shattered yesterday,
today, I am still me — true.
Nov 28, 2025
Nov 28, 2025 at 8:47 PM UTC
what an empty epitaph that is—
the art of noticing,
fragility of life.
does iron fear the rot
that overtakes it in the moisture the world provides?
it is what it is,
but does it have to be?
plots of the unknown—how can i thrive?
liminal space of some sort, where i've found myself this once,
and all the other once’s.
i’m still in the spirit,
but the dead don’t return.
can’t find a body—everyone has souls,
not a single empty one.
i have stars on my ceiling.
can you hurt a spirit,
wound it like you’d wound a body?
find me a confessional—
i’d like to admit to my sins.
long since it has felt
like grief lives in the walls of this room where i reside.
you write and you put it out
and it’s like baring yourself in the naked truth
and ugly to everyone outside.
i intend to stay hidden—
in a shirt twice the size of me,
a pair of pajamas i should’ve thrown away a while ago,
and the same damaged pair of glasses—
except they’re light
and they feel mine,
with the same teddy and old laptop.
needed this to be a list of prompts.
found it making sense instead.
my life’s woven this way—
of symphonies, perhaps i’ll leave unsaid.
uncertainty begging for understanding,
faith asking to be relieved.
i can fit into the same years ' worth of old clothes.
have i never really grown, all this while?
i’ll save this to push it down the bin,
choke as every word comes out to spill—
the darkest of secrets, epiphanies of the night.
you breathe in the love,
tend to forget its might.
half-eaten swiss roll, rotting with sour cream.
a modified bunny made out of clay.
purple tulips—
but they’re fake.
i like the color grey.
cherry bombing every lie.
kiss till you’re numb,
dissociate into the wild.
what speaks—and what swallows?
golden halo of the angels,
wings tainted in red,
singing siren sounds,
myths ruled over, unclad.
i broke my old pair of glasses.
they’re beyond repair now.
Jul 21, 2025
Jul 21, 2025 at 5:04 PM UTC
The Stillness
It does not echo.
It does not push, or pull.
It only stretches into the yawning void.
I stare over the edge and think,
What if I went?
I do not want this,
But I will not go there.
I am here.
I want to BE HERE.
I am floating,
Hovering.
There are no voices in the stillness,
Telling me to come.
Telling me to go.
What to think,
What to say,
What to feel.
I find solace in the silence—
a...not quite peace.
It's the space between pulses
Where I am not chasing
Or being chased.
No demand to perform,
No mask to hold in place.
It's a hush that lets me breathe,
A little something just for me.
But I like it here,
Right at the edge of this void.
It's where I can just be.
And wonder,
What if I stay?
So I stay...
and find out.
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 6:36 AM UTC
Every living being must be aware of its impending demise.
Or is it just me, —seeing the dead end before we
even get the chance to die?
Lie. Say "I do," see us grow old together to gather that which we will put asunder. I ponder.
A poem comes to me, she said: This world is fragile. It can crumble so easily, but baby, don’t be afraid to take your tongue out and taste it.
All of it: the good, the bad, the limitless hope.
This life will hit you, hard—in the face. Then wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach.
But getting that wind knocked out of you will remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
She is good with words.
Yes—there is hurt, here.
That cant be healed by poetry.
But there is also joy, laughter, and a pinch of happiness.
Unforgetting dreams beyond the ages.
Because these, — Yes, these are the days of our lives.
Where every living being is aware of its impending demise.
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 3:11 AM UTC
If you find a heart that waits,
don’t make it wait too long.
Silence, even soft,
can bruise a soul
that listens for love.
If someone gives you
the parts they never show the world,
don’t wear them like decoration.
Wear them like truth.
Some people
don’t fall in love —
they become it.
And when you leave,
they don’t just lose you…
they lose the part of themselves
they placed in your hands.
So if your feelings fade,
let your goodbye be gentle.
Let your absence speak
with the kindness
your presence once promised.
Because betrayal,
even wrapped in politeness,
still echoes
in every quiet moment they sit alone,
asking what they did wrong.
This is not a plea—
it’s a whisper.
A warning.
Don’t take softness
as something small.
It is the rarest thing in this world,
and when it breaks,
something rare is lost
Jul 4, 2025
Jul 4, 2025 at 4:14 AM UTC
"Silent kills,
silent heals,
silent your silent
not silent,
silent you."
-Manoj
Jul 2, 2025
Jul 2, 2025 at 10:13 AM UTC
"They call me strange.
Maybe it's because —
I'm a girl who stays home,
While others my age are out with friends,
Skipping college, traveling, clubbing,
Doing all the Gen Z things.
Because I stay quiet,
Even in moments that demand boldness,
Choosing calm over chaos.
Because I prefer simplicity over fashion trends,
Minimalism over extravagance.
Because I love classics,
And music that speaks to the soul —
Not just the charts.
Because books are my escape,
While social media is just noise.
Because I find peace in solitude,
Instead of blending into crowds.
Because I’m single,
In a generation chasing love,
And running from its complications.
Let them call me strange.
I call it being
Imperfectly perfect
In my own small,
Quiet,
Cute little world."
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 3:38 AM UTC
Hiding their talents, afraid someone might steal their light.
Valuing others' happiness, often at the cost of their own.
Caring for everyone — even those who curse them out of envy.
Neglecting their own health while nurturing others.
Spreading smiles, while burying their own pain deep inside.
These aren’t flaws...
They’re the quiet traits of strong, introverted girls —
Silent warriors with golden hearts.
Jun 12, 2025
Jun 12, 2025 at 12:43 AM UTC
The wind howls loud against the stone,
A lighthouse keeper, standing alone.
The storm rages wild, fierce, and strong,
But in this quiet, I must belong.
The book in my hands is my only friend,
Pages worn thin, but I pretend
That in its words, I’m not alone,
That in its lines, I’ve found my home.
Outside the waves crash and pound,
The world is chaos, spinning around.
But here I stand, amidst the gale,
Holding fast, where others might fail.
The light I guide cuts through the dark,
A beacon of hope, a single spark.
Yet, deep within, I long to flee,
To find peace beyond this storm-swept sea.
But duty calls, and I must stay,
A keeper of light, come what may.
The storm outside will pass, I know,
But in my heart, the winds still blow.
So I read, I wait, I fight alone,
While the storm outside claims its throne.
For the light I guard, though heavy the cost,
I’ll stand alone, no matter the loss.
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 7:53 AM UTC
The more I observe my circle, the clearer colors show,
Truth unveiled in whispers, in shadows they throw.
They judge, they speak, casting words in the air,
Yet their inner selves mirror what they declare.
Sometimes I choose silence, not to push them away,
But their hollow words make comfort stray.
It's not that I dislike the chatter they bring,
But emptiness in speech can clip my wings.
So, I sit with my thoughts, a quiet retreat,
Listening to life, where truths discreet.
In their echoes, I find what’s real,
A sanctuary of calm where wounds can heal.
Jan 22, 2025
Jan 22, 2025 at 5:49 AM UTC
She invited me into her home
apologizing for the lack of things there.
I could tell that she had renovated recently,
getting rid of the things that no longer
served purpose.
I thought of her as timely,
a perfect harmony of sage & mint candles
burning on a black glass coffee table.
about halfway through,
I realized how much I loved her home.
while she apologized in the beginning
less is more & it showed by way of her smile.
I enjoyed how everything was laid out,
from the brochures of comfort to the cushion
of where I sat.
the greatest intimacy between us two.
laughing at everything yet nothing at the same time.
but still I thought, how much she inspired me to do
the same when I got home.
everything that I thought was beautiful before
no longer had that same appeal.
when i extended the same invitation,
I too found myself apologizing for things
that needed no explanation.
my biggest source of inspiration,
I was glad to see her growth
& in turn stopped chasing the wrong things,
I learned from her
That everything is going to be alright
Nov 17, 2021
Nov 17, 2021 at 8:41 AM UTC