#relatablepoetry - Hello Poetry

She came to me with wet cheeks, Told me about her fever— How it came at midnight, How it shook her like a leaf, How no one understood. I nodded. I understood. She spoke of thermometers and tablets, Of worries that kept her awake, Of how hard it is to be alone when you're sick. Her hands moved as she spoke, Tracing circles in the air, Drawing the shape of her suffering So I could see it clearly. I saw it. What she didn't see Was the cancer sleeping in my bones, The quiet war inside my chest, The way I measure my life In small things now— Morning light, birdsong, One more day. --- She said, "You're so strong. You always listen. You never complain about your own problems." And I smiled, Because what else can you do When the weight you carry Is too heavy for words? --- Here is what I have learned: Small pain cries. Big pain sits. Medium pain finds a friend. But the pain that will end you— That pain makes you a friend To everyone else's pain. She will remember this day As the time I held her hand While she was sick. She will tell others, "He was there for me." And I will remember That for one hour I forgot my own dying By holding someone else's living. --- Sometimes I wonder: If my cancer had a voice, What would it say? Would it scream? Would it beg? Would it shake people like she did? Or would it sit quietly too, Knowing that the world Can only carry So much sorrow? --- Tonight she is home, Probably sleeping, Her fever gone by morning. Tonight I am here, Counting heartbeats, Wondering how many are left, Holding my own hand Because no one else knows It needs holding. --- This is not a complaint. This is just how it is. Some people cry in public Because they can. Some people cry in private Because they must. And some people— Some people spend their last days Being soft places For others to fall. --- If you read this And remember someone Who listened to your pain But never shared their own— Go back. Ask again. Look closer. Because the quietest ones Are usually the ones Carrying the most. And sometimes, In their silence, They are screaming.

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Mar 12

Mar 12, 2026 at 8:46 PM UTC

shoaib005

The Listener

She came to me with wet cheeks, Told me about her fever— How it came at midnight, How it shook her like a leaf, How no one understood. I nodded. I understood. She spoke of thermometers and tablets, Of worries that kept her awake, Of how hard it is to be alone when you're sick. Her hands moved as she spoke, Tracing circles in the air, Drawing the shape of her suffering So I could see it clearly. I saw it. What she didn't see Was the cancer sleeping in my bones, The quiet war inside my chest, The way I measure my life In small things now— Morning light, birdsong, One more day. --- She said, "You're so strong. You always listen. You never complain about your own problems." And I smiled, Because what else can you do When the weight you carry Is too heavy for words? --- Here is what I have learned: Small pain cries. Big pain sits. Medium pain finds a friend. But the pain that will end you— That pain makes you a friend To everyone else's pain. She will remember this day As the time I held her hand While she was sick. She will tell others, "He was there for me." And I will remember That for one hour I forgot my own dying By holding someone else's living. --- Sometimes I wonder: If my cancer had a voice, What would it say? Would it scream? Would it beg? Would it shake people like she did? Or would it sit quietly too, Knowing that the world Can only carry So much sorrow? --- Tonight she is home, Probably sleeping, Her fever gone by morning. Tonight I am here, Counting heartbeats, Wondering how many are left, Holding my own hand Because no one else knows It needs holding. --- This is not a complaint. This is just how it is. Some people cry in public Because they can. Some people cry in private Because they must. And some people— Some people spend their last days Being soft places For others to fall. --- If you read this And remember someone Who listened to your pain But never shared their own— Go back. Ask again. Look closer. Because the quietest ones Are usually the ones Carrying the most. And sometimes, In their silence, They are screaming.

93

We do not meet. And yet, the sun that warms your skin this morning is the same sun that finds me sitting here, touching the places where the light still remembers you. The rain that soaks your hair, that runs down your neck, your wrists— it finds me too. It fills the hollows of this room, washes the dust from things I haven't moved, things I haven't said. We are both touched by the same water. We just never stand in it together. The moon that follows you home at night is the same moon that sits with me when sleep won't come. It has seen you turn in your sleep. It has seen me not turn at all. It knows everything and tells nothing. And the sky— the same sky that holds your clouds, your birds, your quiet— holds mine too. Same blue. Same vastness. Same silence. You are not far. You are everywhere except here. The light reaches you first. Then it travels. Then it arrives at my door, worn out, as if it has crossed a country instead of just a street. We do not meet. But the space between us has learned my breathing. It knows when I think of you— because it tightens. We do not meet. But the distance between us has learned my body perfectly— the way a scar knows the blade has left. We are two people living in the same world, touched by the same sun, soaked by the same rain, watched by the same moon, held by the same sky. And still— still— we do not meet.

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Mar 8

Mar 8, 2026 at 5:40 PM UTC

shoaib005

The Distance Between Us

We do not meet. And yet, the sun that warms your skin this morning is the same sun that finds me sitting here, touching the places where the light still remembers you. The rain that soaks your hair, that runs down your neck, your wrists— it finds me too. It fills the hollows of this room, washes the dust from things I haven't moved, things I haven't said. We are both touched by the same water. We just never stand in it together. The moon that follows you home at night is the same moon that sits with me when sleep won't come. It has seen you turn in your sleep. It has seen me not turn at all. It knows everything and tells nothing. And the sky— the same sky that holds your clouds, your birds, your quiet— holds mine too. Same blue. Same vastness. Same silence. You are not far. You are everywhere except here. The light reaches you first. Then it travels. Then it arrives at my door, worn out, as if it has crossed a country instead of just a street. We do not meet. But the space between us has learned my breathing. It knows when I think of you— because it tightens. We do not meet. But the distance between us has learned my body perfectly— the way a scar knows the blade has left. We are two people living in the same world, touched by the same sun, soaked by the same rain, watched by the same moon, held by the same sky. And still— still— we do not meet.

54

"When I close my eyes.." he'll look at me, he'll see the despair in mine, or the cries, You are standing there right in front of me? I walk past you, as if you never existed. Be that moment when I realise you're gone, but time doesn't wait until it's a new dawn, It keeps on hitting, until you're used to it to the point where you don't feel it. "I knew." My throat is enclosed by the chains which cause the bleed. "Stay strong, and stitch a smile on if you must." His lashes, fallen, mine are full of life, but I don't want to fall in. The world is dark. Unfamiliar, strange. In just a moment, everything had changed. Like I've lived more than the one life, but am not allowed to see the afterlife. We are supposedly blessed with breath, Constant fighting against the dance of death and the runs with the lands that are seen, with an even rougher attempt to stay clean. Maybe in this life or the next universe, I would never have to bear the curse. Things would've been like they used to be, I will make my peace against the vast sea.

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Jan 8

Jan 8, 2026 at 4:58 PM UTC

freeword

Fallen Lashes (DRAFT 1)

"When I close my eyes.." he'll look at me, he'll see the despair in mine, or the cries, You are standing there right in front of me? I walk past you, as if you never existed. Be that moment when I realise you're gone, but time doesn't wait until it's a new dawn, It keeps on hitting, until you're used to it to the point where you don't feel it. "I knew." My throat is enclosed by the chains which cause the bleed. "Stay strong, and stitch a smile on if you must." His lashes, fallen, mine are full of life, but I don't want to fall in. The world is dark. Unfamiliar, strange. In just a moment, everything had changed. Like I've lived more than the one life, but am not allowed to see the afterlife. We are supposedly blessed with breath, Constant fighting against the dance of death and the runs with the lands that are seen, with an even rougher attempt to stay clean. Maybe in this life or the next universe, I would never have to bear the curse. Things would've been like they used to be, I will make my peace against the vast sea.

24

I thought about it, long and hard. There was one certain, I was scarred. Worse than a cat's claws deep into your skin, Wondering if you can ever begin. Begin new, if that's possible, The days replaying like a broken record, My hope said it wouldn't always be horrible, Back then it was abysmal, I prayed to the lord. My vision hazy, memories fading, Like my brain was doing whatever it could to bring me back to life. Bring back the me, please stop cascading. I was too young to go to the afterlife. It was all his fault, HIS.FAULT. He kept kicking me when I was down, and continuing to do so repeatedly. It wasn't fair, he was held at exalt. And I was left there to drown. Drown in my morals and feelings, As if I was dying, slowly but surely. One day I'd get my healings, and I wouldn't go poorly. At the end, I made it, I survived. I was out of the woods, away from the creature. At what cost? I became deprived. Everyone knew I'd survived, but nobody knew I never recovered.

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Jan 6

Jan 6, 2026 at 4:55 PM UTC

freeword

Survive, not Recover

I thought about it, long and hard. There was one certain, I was scarred. Worse than a cat's claws deep into your skin, Wondering if you can ever begin. Begin new, if that's possible, The days replaying like a broken record, My hope said it wouldn't always be horrible, Back then it was abysmal, I prayed to the lord. My vision hazy, memories fading, Like my brain was doing whatever it could to bring me back to life. Bring back the me, please stop cascading. I was too young to go to the afterlife. It was all his fault, HIS.FAULT. He kept kicking me when I was down, and continuing to do so repeatedly. It wasn't fair, he was held at exalt. And I was left there to drown. Drown in my morals and feelings, As if I was dying, slowly but surely. One day I'd get my healings, and I wouldn't go poorly. At the end, I made it, I survived. I was out of the woods, away from the creature. At what cost? I became deprived. Everyone knew I'd survived, but nobody knew I never recovered.

26

Trapped, stuck somewhere where it looks so easy to get out, but it isn't. The same cycle every day, different ways make no difference, does it? I often wonder why I can't be me, the real me, not the monster. The monster who hurts others, without meaning to, but still, the imposter. I would like to believe that one day I'll grow my own wings. Become the me, not the imposter who does nothing but pull the strings. I've been called many things, good, bad, in between. The one that stuck with me, was "coward." Maybe it's true, I am a coward, I run away, make sure those people won't see the sour. The me I try so desperately to hide, Because if I didn't, they'd see the inside. They'd be disgusted, disappointed, see me as a ****** They'd try to hide their thoughts, but I'd know. So, one day I will grow my wings. I'll get out of this trap, switch sides with the mirror and show the world, the real me.

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Jan 6

Jan 6, 2026 at 4:54 PM UTC

freeword

Monster, with Wings

Trapped, stuck somewhere where it looks so easy to get out, but it isn't. The same cycle every day, different ways make no difference, does it? I often wonder why I can't be me, the real me, not the monster. The monster who hurts others, without meaning to, but still, the imposter. I would like to believe that one day I'll grow my own wings. Become the me, not the imposter who does nothing but pull the strings. I've been called many things, good, bad, in between. The one that stuck with me, was "coward." Maybe it's true, I am a coward, I run away, make sure those people won't see the sour. The me I try so desperately to hide, Because if I didn't, they'd see the inside. They'd be disgusted, disappointed, see me as a ****** They'd try to hide their thoughts, but I'd know. So, one day I will grow my wings. I'll get out of this trap, switch sides with the mirror and show the world, the real me.

15

Ravens are birds which symbolise freedom, but what happens when that freedom is dead? The freedom which keeps us toward no end? Does our raven die with its wings which will never grow? Ravens are birds which symbolise death, but isn't death just a part of life? Getting yourself stabbed with your own knife? Things die eventually, until there's nothing left. Ravens are birds which symbolise wisdom, both a blessing and a curse with insight, Or unless you just go with what feels right, and be yourself rather than follow the system. Ravens are amazing, they go their own way, even when the world disagrees with them, they don't let their experiences weigh, they carry scars like gems, worn with pride.

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Jan 6

Jan 6, 2026 at 4:50 PM UTC

freeword

Raven

Ravens are birds which symbolise freedom, but what happens when that freedom is dead? The freedom which keeps us toward no end? Does our raven die with its wings which will never grow? Ravens are birds which symbolise death, but isn't death just a part of life? Getting yourself stabbed with your own knife? Things die eventually, until there's nothing left. Ravens are birds which symbolise wisdom, both a blessing and a curse with insight, Or unless you just go with what feels right, and be yourself rather than follow the system. Ravens are amazing, they go their own way, even when the world disagrees with them, they don't let their experiences weigh, they carry scars like gems, worn with pride.

17

Giving fake smiles... Hiding pain infront of family... Confusion of what to share and what to hide... Fear of perspective changes... Fed up with sympathy around... Being unloved... One side efforts... Losing loved ones ... Getting stranger vibes from close ones... Taking blame without fault... Lack of clarity in life... Handling panics on your own... Bad? Probably the worst!! The silent struggles people go through — especially the pain that hides behind a smile and the burden of emotional isolation.

0

May 18, 2025

May 18, 2025 at 12:20 AM UTC

Arna_writes

Painful moments...

Giving fake smiles... Hiding pain infront of family... Confusion of what to share and what to hide... Fear of perspective changes... Fed up with sympathy around... Being unloved... One side efforts... Losing loved ones ... Getting stranger vibes from close ones... Taking blame without fault... Lack of clarity in life... Handling panics on your own... Bad? Probably the worst!! The silent struggles people go through — especially the pain that hides behind a smile and the burden of emotional isolation.

15

We were asked, "What are your strengths and weaknesses?" I kept looking at the paper as if it was written in an ancient language. I repeated the question in my head, I'll think of something, right? Such a simple question, yet my mind was blank. I could think of so many weaknesses, but so little strengths. Were strengths something I had to excel at? Do I just lie? I couldn't mention a strength, I didn't want to seem arrogant. I couldn't mention a weakness either, so I wouldn't seem like an attention seeker! It felt funny, I could mention the strengths of those around me, When it came to myself I was just empty. Time was fleeting, it was running out, The more I thought about it, the worse it got. I began thinking of all the stuff I was good at, or so I thought. "No, no, no, no!" Why couldn't I think of anything? Was I just talentless? Why was I so bad at everything?

0

May 13, 2025

May 13, 2025 at 2:36 PM UTC

freeword

The Blank Page

We were asked, "What are your strengths and weaknesses?" I kept looking at the paper as if it was written in an ancient language. I repeated the question in my head, I'll think of something, right? Such a simple question, yet my mind was blank. I could think of so many weaknesses, but so little strengths. Were strengths something I had to excel at? Do I just lie? I couldn't mention a strength, I didn't want to seem arrogant. I couldn't mention a weakness either, so I wouldn't seem like an attention seeker! It felt funny, I could mention the strengths of those around me, When it came to myself I was just empty. Time was fleeting, it was running out, The more I thought about it, the worse it got. I began thinking of all the stuff I was good at, or so I thought. "No, no, no, no!" Why couldn't I think of anything? Was I just talentless? Why was I so bad at everything?

15