#selfprotection
Just when everything was pieced back together, it explodes.
Gears and pulleys no longer function as they should.
No respect, or decency for an abused harborer of blood.
Each time stripped and pulled apart.
Restructured with stitches of lies and broken promises.
Cracked open by the unworthy.
Tainted by ***** hands, and chipped blackened finger nails.
Cut and infected, poisoned and bruised.
Stupid thing.
Crying "love me, love me!" over again.
**** it learn!
No longer make yourself out of soft, breakable, easily torn.
Instead surround with metal and iron.
Impenetrable.
Make it so.
I blame you.
I will stitch your mouth shut with iron thread.
I will make it so that you beat only to live a little longer.
I will stop listening, I will no longer allow you to have a say.
You will become nothing to me.
I am sending you to the basement, I am taking all feelings away.
You will no longer roam free.
You will become my unspoken shame.
You will be the secret that I keep.
No one will come to know you.
No one will ever see you again.
You cease to exist this very day.
I will not feed you, I will allow you to die.
I will chain you up and watch you wither away.
You don't deserve to live for what you have done to me.
I trusted you to many times and now you must pay.
I lock you up.
I bury you deep.
The only link you have to me is the blood you pump through my veins.
I owe you nothing.
From this day forward you are dead to me.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
I built my silences carefully,
layer over layer,
like mortar covering a wall that cracks in every rain.
You call it secrecy,
but it's only way out.
There are rooms inside me,
I keep dark on purpose.
I tell myself it's safer without light.
Every smile is a cipher-
soft, misleading, half-true,
made to protect what I no longer show.
If you listen closely,
you'll hear the echoes
of all I never said ..
the way longing hums under restraint,
the way a bruised wick retreats from the flame.
I am not hiding from love,
only from its tall promises;
its glory.
its panacea.
If my heart seems unreadable,
know that it is not locked,
only covered in a camouflage
I have not yet dared to unmask.
Still, some nights,
the hidden things move.
They press against the walls,
they whisper that survival is not the same
as feeling alive.
On those nights, I open the door ajar
just wide enough
for one fragile feeling to slip through.
One day,
I might trust an intruder enough
to draw every curtain back.
Until then, I guard the dark rooms,
And its fragile artifacts;
but carrying a small, flickering hope
that someone will hear the music behind the door
and choose to knock gently.
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 5:29 AM UTC
She learned early that silence
was the safest room in the house –
a place with no doors to slam,
no voices rising like weather.
So she built her life around disappearing.
Not dramatically, not with slammed phones
or final speeches,
but with the soft precision of a match
snuffed between fingers.
People called her calm.
They mistook her quiet for grace,
never noticing how she watched the floor
instead of their eyes,
how she measured every word
as if it might detonate.
When someone asked,
“Yuka, are you okay?”
she smiled the way a curtain smiles
when it hides a broken window.
And when they pressed –
when they reached for the truth
with hands too curious,
too kind —
she vanished.
Ghosting was not cruelty to her.
It was the only language
that never talked back.
A clean severance.
A door that closed itself.
But one day someone didn’t leave.
They waited in the quiet she’d made,
not accusing, not demanding,
just present —
a steady shape in the doorway
she thought she’d locked.
“Yuka,” they said,
not loudly,
but with the kind of voice
that knows what silence costs.
Something in her cracked –
not open,
but sideways,
like a fault line shifting underfoot.
She felt the old instinct rise:
run, vanish,
become the polite nothing
that keeps everyone safe.
But their stillness held her.
Not trapping —
witnessing.
And for the first time
she wondered what she was protecting:
the fragile peace of not being known,
or the deeper fear
that if she spoke,
her voice would betray her
by sounding real.
She didn’t confess.
She didn’t unravel.
She only said,
“I don’t know how to stay.”
It was small,
unfinished,
barely a sentence,
but it was the first thing
she hadn’t had to disappear to say.
Jan 10
Jan 10, 2026 at 9:39 AM UTC
You were just a line
in my story,
not even a chapter.
And I hate to say this,
but we were only two strangers
who met at the wrong time—
caught between
the world and circumstance.
It’s sad that we
never got the chance
to say goodbye.
Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 11:11 AM UTC
Maybe I never liked you —
I was only fascinated
by the idea of ‘us’
I kept building in my mind.
To be honest,
if the universe
ever placed you in my hands,
I would return you.
I am not ready
to nurse a shattered heart.
So I watch from a distance —
like a tired face refusing rest —
because I no longer feel anything.
Dec 4, 2025
Dec 4, 2025 at 2:19 PM UTC
Being with you feels so good
Yet I know—
I’m afraid to give in,
Afraid to fall too deep.
It’s as if there’s a shield
Keeping me from standing
In the same place
I once stood before
Sep 3, 2025
Sep 3, 2025 at 7:00 PM UTC
I'm lost in the depths of my own mind,
suffocating under the weight of my thoughts.
Reality is distorted,
truth and lies are intertwined.
Every moment feels like a ticking time bomb,
waiting to unleash its destruction.
I'm paralyzed by the fear of being hurt again.
You're a potential threat,
a risk I'm not willing to take.
I scrutinize your every move,
waiting for the inevitable mistake.
But beneath this façade of self preservation,
a voice whispers the painful truth:
I'm the one who's broken, I'm the one who's afraid.
The ghosts of the past still haunt me,
their echoes reverberating through my soul.
I'm trapped in this cycle of fear,
pushing away anyone who dares to get close.
I'm convinced I'm better off alone,
safe behind the walls I've built.
Yet, in this isolation,
I'm drowning in my own despair,
longing for connection,
but terrified of the vulnerability it requires.
This self imposed exile is a double edged sword.
It protects me from the pain of rejection,
but also denies me the warmth of human connection.
I'm a master of deflection,
disguising my fear as indifference.
I'll push you away, test your resolve,
and measure your love by the distance
you're willing to travel.
But what if you stay?
What if you see beyond the armor I've crafted,
beyond the scars and the fears?
What if you touch the fragile heart beating beneath?
The thought sends shivers down my spine.
For vulnerability is a risk I've never been willing to take.
Yet, the possibility tantalizes me,
It's like a siren's call to the depths of my soul.
In this tug of war between heart and head,
I'm torn asunder.
And a part of me yearns to surrender,
to let go of the controls and freefall into the unknown.
Another part clings to the familiar,
the comfort of solitude, the certainty of pain.
And so I hover,
suspended between two worlds,
unsure which path to choose.
For the silence in here is deafening,
mirroring a reflection of the war raging within me.
Oct 26, 2024
Oct 26, 2024 at 4:49 PM UTC
Judgment, misunderstandings, self-protection,
all weapons of mass destruction:
wounding others and ourselves,
with each thought and resulting action.
Lady Macbeth knew this,
why did we not heed her justice?!
Warning bells clanging,
freeing us to step onto a new precipice?
There's blood on my hands,
every time I don't trust and understand,
but think I know it all,
and make my many, many demands.
Perfectionism has been my cleansing balm,
but, in the end, it's just caused more harm —
Relearning is my matrix,
continuously transforming and claiming calm as my healing balm.
Feb 3, 2024
Feb 3, 2024 at 8:13 PM UTC
#
*.. will it scale?
Can its brick and mortar ramparts
be penetrated?
Probably not.
Now, lifted up;
pinned up against it
there is a ***********
that will break through
Within the wall's crumble
there is a rebirth..
A Heavenly emancipation--
and the most beautiful of flows*
#
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 1:08 PM UTC
I held your hand as you disentangled from her
you did not move closer to me
I assuaged your worst fears
you fueled mine
I was fully present and attentive
you took calls that came in . . . and didn’t call back
I asked questions
you answered different ones
I made you a playlist
you never acknowledged
I made plans and reservations
you did not show
I gave you the benefit of every doubt
you did not reassure me
I made myself vulnerable
you remained ensconced
I created space in my life
you did not explore
I dared to dream about us
you dreamed about . . . I don’t know
I gave you my body
you reached for your phone
I gave you my heart
you did not reciprocate
I get it now
you are just not that into me
Only wish I knew sooner.
Goodbye.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 10:58 AM UTC
Masks is all I've ever known. All i thought i knew was camouflaged by the complacent world around me. I grew with a fool's sight and an idiot's judgement. I learned eventually, that everyone gets to make their own mask. You knew how to pull mine away from my skin for moments that seemed to stand still, lacking oxygen. I got defensive at the fact that your mask was so thick, and seemed to be sewn into your cheeks. I never even got to see you remove the mask before the tides yanked me into the storm of insanity. My heart slows at the sight of the empty roads, they remind me of the look in your eyes the night you told me I wasn't worth the trouble. I'm galaxies away from a place to call home. The dark sky mocks me in a way I never thought so heart wrenching. The lights don't comfort me like they did before your eyes grazed across my skin. It wasn't until you left I realized you were using bullets instead of kisses. And my shell shock still persists. I have gun shells lodged in my skin. Your subliminal phrases struck glass into my mouth like lightning, which runs like tornadoes through my lungs. When I breathe out, all that escapes is you. I thought I was tough using your words as armor, i was convinced that that is what tough was. I didn't let anyone remove the metal from my chest, and no one gained access to the tender parts of my body. I believed in my heart that I was protecting myself, building an imaginary shield. Encasing myself in fear and caution. But now I can see the glass in my lungs was only smoke from the cigarettes I held onto late at night, a substitute for your hand in mine. The artillery living inside my skin was just purple scars and it wasn't shock, it was highly dilated pain. Heart stopping, ***** inducing pain. And it wasn't going to go away. Because if I'm using my pain as armor, when can happiness ever replace that?
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC