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#staying
She is the woman who gives her all, Not only to her children, but to her family, her friends, her neighbors, her community to anyone whose heart needs shelter. She carries love like sunlight, spreading warmth without measure, offering pieces of herself to brighten the lives of others. Her embrace is a sanctuary, her words a comfort, her presence a healing balm for wounds she never created. She nurtures dreams, mends broken spirits, celebrates victories, and stands beside sorrow as if it were her own. Yet behind the kindness, behind the laughter that fills every room, lives a quiet ache. For she has learned to smile through storms, to laugh through tears, to hide the cracks beneath a face the world calls strong. She listens to everyone's pain, while her own remains unspoken. She lifts others from the ground, while secretly wondering who might reach down and lift her. At night, when the noise of the world grows silent, she gathers the scattered pieces of herself, trying to mend what life has broken, trying to heal wounds that no one seems to notice. Still, when morning comes, she rises. She paints courage across her face, wears resilience like armor, and steps into another day with grace that few could ever understand. But even the strongest hearts long to be held. Even the giver dreams of receiving. She wishes for someone who sees beyond the smile, beyond the jokes, beyond the strength she wears so faithfully. Someone who will sit beside her pain, not rush it away. Someone who will whisper, "You don't have to carry this alone." Someone who will remind her that she is worthy of the same love she so freely gives. And perhaps one day, when her weary soul has carried enough, she will discover that rescue does not arrive as a grand gesture It arrives as understanding, as patience, as a hand that refuses to let go. And in that moment, the woman who spent her life healing everyone else will finally begin to heal herself. For she was never meant to pour from an empty cup. She was meant to be loved, deeply and completely, just as she has loved the world.
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1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 1:32 AM UTC
Empty Cup
She is the woman who gives her all, Not only to her children, but to her family, her friends, her neighbors, her community to anyone whose heart needs shelter. She carries love like sunlight, spreading warmth without measure, offering pieces of herself to brighten the lives of others. Her embrace is a sanctuary, her words a comfort, her presence a healing balm for wounds she never created. She nurtures dreams, mends broken spirits, celebrates victories, and stands beside sorrow as if it were her own. Yet behind the kindness, behind the laughter that fills every room, lives a quiet ache. For she has learned to smile through storms, to laugh through tears, to hide the cracks beneath a face the world calls strong. She listens to everyone's pain, while her own remains unspoken. She lifts others from the ground, while secretly wondering who might reach down and lift her. At night, when the noise of the world grows silent, she gathers the scattered pieces of herself, trying to mend what life has broken, trying to heal wounds that no one seems to notice. Still, when morning comes, she rises. She paints courage across her face, wears resilience like armor, and steps into another day with grace that few could ever understand. But even the strongest hearts long to be held. Even the giver dreams of receiving. She wishes for someone who sees beyond the smile, beyond the jokes, beyond the strength she wears so faithfully. Someone who will sit beside her pain, not rush it away. Someone who will whisper, "You don't have to carry this alone." Someone who will remind her that she is worthy of the same love she so freely gives. And perhaps one day, when her weary soul has carried enough, she will discover that rescue does not arrive as a grand gesture It arrives as understanding, as patience, as a hand that refuses to let go. And in that moment, the woman who spent her life healing everyone else will finally begin to heal herself. For she was never meant to pour from an empty cup. She was meant to be loved, deeply and completely, just as she has loved the world.
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77
She entered this world with questions unspoken, A tender heart carrying wounds not yet known. Two hands that should have held her forever Let go too soon, and she faced life alone. Abandonment whispered its sorrowful stories, Etching deep valleys where trust used to grow. Yet even in darkness, a spark stayed alive— A quiet strength only survivors can know. At sixteen, a child with children to nurture, The weight of the world resting softly on her. While others were dreaming, she answered life's calling, Determined her babies would never endure The loneliness she had carried for years, The ache of feeling forgotten and small. She poured out her heart in a thousand sacrifices, Giving her all, and then giving her all. She traded her comfort for moments of guidance, Her wants for their needs, her rest for their peace. She built them a home from courage and kindness, A place where old cycles could finally cease. The curse that had traveled through branches of family, Through generations of hurt and despair, Met its ending in one brave and beautiful woman Who chose love each day and planted it there. She became what she needed when she was a child, A refuge, a shelter, a light in the storm. And though life had tested her over and over, It never could break what was steadfast and warm. Now she stands grateful for all she has conquered, For every hard lesson that helped her to grow. Not because the journey was easy or painless, But because of the strength she discovered below. She looks in the mirror with honor and wonder, Not seeing the girl who was left behind, But a woman of grace, resilience, and purpose— A masterpiece shaped by a powerful mind. Forever grateful for who she has become, Beyond honored by the person she is today, She carries her story not as a burden, But as proof that love can rewrite any way. For she did more than survive what was given— She transformed pain into something profound. And because of her courage, her children will flourish On ground where new beginnings are found.
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4d ago
May 30, 2026 at 3:26 PM UTC
Generational Curse
She entered this world with questions unspoken, A tender heart carrying wounds not yet known. Two hands that should have held her forever Let go too soon, and she faced life alone. Abandonment whispered its sorrowful stories, Etching deep valleys where trust used to grow. Yet even in darkness, a spark stayed alive— A quiet strength only survivors can know. At sixteen, a child with children to nurture, The weight of the world resting softly on her. While others were dreaming, she answered life's calling, Determined her babies would never endure The loneliness she had carried for years, The ache of feeling forgotten and small. She poured out her heart in a thousand sacrifices, Giving her all, and then giving her all. She traded her comfort for moments of guidance, Her wants for their needs, her rest for their peace. She built them a home from courage and kindness, A place where old cycles could finally cease. The curse that had traveled through branches of family, Through generations of hurt and despair, Met its ending in one brave and beautiful woman Who chose love each day and planted it there. She became what she needed when she was a child, A refuge, a shelter, a light in the storm. And though life had tested her over and over, It never could break what was steadfast and warm. Now she stands grateful for all she has conquered, For every hard lesson that helped her to grow. Not because the journey was easy or painless, But because of the strength she discovered below. She looks in the mirror with honor and wonder, Not seeing the girl who was left behind, But a woman of grace, resilience, and purpose— A masterpiece shaped by a powerful mind. Forever grateful for who she has become, Beyond honored by the person she is today, She carries her story not as a burden, But as proof that love can rewrite any way. For she did more than survive what was given— She transformed pain into something profound. And because of her courage, her children will flourish On ground where new beginnings are found.
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44
In the quiet glow of morning light, I rise with hope, my spirit bright. No shadow speaks more loud than me, For I am whole, and I am free. I love myself with open grace, Every scar and every trace. The heart I carry, soft yet strong, Has known its truth all along. I am worthy of gentle days, Of honest love and endless praise. Not because I must compete, But simply because my soul is complete. I am beautiful, deeply so, Like rivers that endlessly flow. Not bound by mirrors, trends, or eyes, But by the fire that lives inside. My voice matters, clear and true, My dreams deserve the morning dew. Each step I take, though small it seems, Builds the bridge toward all my dreams. I am capable, fierce and wise, A phoenix born to touch the skies. Through every challenge, rise, and fall, I find the strength to face it all. And when the world feels cold or far, I’ll remember exactly who I am A soul of light, a heart untamed, Forever worthy, unashamed. So I will stand, both proud and kind, With fearless hope within my mind. For every day, in all I do, I grow more radiant, brave, and true.
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7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 9:07 AM UTC
I am
He came in fragments between cold jail walls and promises spoken too easily, “I’m coming this time,” words that dissolved like smoke in the wind. Birth gave him, my blood, my name in pieces, but fatherhood was never found in broken visits or empty doorways I waited beside for years. I learned young that disappointment has a sound, the silence of a phone that never rings, the ache of watching other daughters held by the men who never left them behind. But then there was you. Not tied to me by blood, yet bound to me by something far greater, choice. You stepped into the spaces another man abandoned. You poured love into every crack he left behind. You showed up. Again and again. You taught me strength without hardness, kindness without weakness, how a woman should carry herself with dignity, grace, and fire. You became the steady voice guiding me through storms, the hands that lifted me when life grew heavy, the heart that never once made me question if I was worthy of love. And even as your breath grew weary, your love never did. Until your final breath, you remained my protector, my teacher, my safe place, my dad. People say blood makes a family, but they never knew a man like you. Because real fathers are not the ones who simply create life they are the ones who stay, who sacrifice, who love without condition until their very last heartbeat. Nothing will ever break the bond we built. Not time. Not death. Not absence. And for every lesson, every embrace, every moment you chose me I will spend my life forever grateful for the man who chose to be my father. Thomas Elliott Jones Sep 18th 1935- Feb 1, 2010
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May 26
May 26, 2026 at 12:38 AM UTC
Unconditional love
He came in fragments between cold jail walls and promises spoken too easily, “I’m coming this time,” words that dissolved like smoke in the wind. Birth gave him, my blood, my name in pieces, but fatherhood was never found in broken visits or empty doorways I waited beside for years. I learned young that disappointment has a sound, the silence of a phone that never rings, the ache of watching other daughters held by the men who never left them behind. But then there was you. Not tied to me by blood, yet bound to me by something far greater, choice. You stepped into the spaces another man abandoned. You poured love into every crack he left behind. You showed up. Again and again. You taught me strength without hardness, kindness without weakness, how a woman should carry herself with dignity, grace, and fire. You became the steady voice guiding me through storms, the hands that lifted me when life grew heavy, the heart that never once made me question if I was worthy of love. And even as your breath grew weary, your love never did. Until your final breath, you remained my protector, my teacher, my safe place, my dad. People say blood makes a family, but they never knew a man like you. Because real fathers are not the ones who simply create life they are the ones who stay, who sacrifice, who love without condition until their very last heartbeat. Nothing will ever break the bond we built. Not time. Not death. Not absence. And for every lesson, every embrace, every moment you chose me I will spend my life forever grateful for the man who chose to be my father. Thomas Elliott Jones Sep 18th 1935- Feb 1, 2010
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71
First came the emotional the trembling truth beneath my smile, the hidden fears I carried like folded letters, the dreams I was afraid to name aloud, the insecurities tucked behind practiced laughter. And still, he stayed. No judgment in his hands, only the kind of listening that makes a soul unclench. There, trust was born. Then came the spiritual where our deeper selves reached for one another beyond the noise of the world. We spoke of purpose, of what we believe waits beyond suffering, of the values that anchor us when life becomes stormwater and fire. Our hearts recognized the same sacred direction. The intellectual came alive in long conversations minds meeting with curiosity instead of pride. We challenged one another gently, turned questions into lanterns, and built understanding from disagreement without ever turning cruel. With him, thinking felt intimate. Then the experimental the beautiful chaos of living side by side. Roads traveled without certainty, games played until midnight laughter, hardships survived hand in hand. We became witnesses to each other’s becoming. The kind of bond forged not only in joy, but in surviving the unforgettable together. the creative emerged where imagination became shared language. Building something neither of us could have made alone. Painting dreams into plans, turning empty spaces into homes, scattered ideas into meaning. Learning the delicate art of creating with another person instead of merely beside them. Long awaited arrived, the physical not merely passion, but the quiet holiness of touch. Fingers intertwined in silence, foreheads resting together after difficult days, arms becoming shelter. A hug that softened grief. A kiss that reminded us we were alive and chosen. Love moving through skin like warmth through winter hands. And somewhere between all these forms of closeness, love ceased to be a feeling alone. It became a living thing woven from trust, belief, touch, thought, adventure, and creation a quiet masterpiece two souls agreed to keep building
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May 23
May 23, 2026 at 3:55 PM UTC
Intimacy
First came the emotional the trembling truth beneath my smile, the hidden fears I carried like folded letters, the dreams I was afraid to name aloud, the insecurities tucked behind practiced laughter. And still, he stayed. No judgment in his hands, only the kind of listening that makes a soul unclench. There, trust was born. Then came the spiritual where our deeper selves reached for one another beyond the noise of the world. We spoke of purpose, of what we believe waits beyond suffering, of the values that anchor us when life becomes stormwater and fire. Our hearts recognized the same sacred direction. The intellectual came alive in long conversations minds meeting with curiosity instead of pride. We challenged one another gently, turned questions into lanterns, and built understanding from disagreement without ever turning cruel. With him, thinking felt intimate. Then the experimental the beautiful chaos of living side by side. Roads traveled without certainty, games played until midnight laughter, hardships survived hand in hand. We became witnesses to each other’s becoming. The kind of bond forged not only in joy, but in surviving the unforgettable together. the creative emerged where imagination became shared language. Building something neither of us could have made alone. Painting dreams into plans, turning empty spaces into homes, scattered ideas into meaning. Learning the delicate art of creating with another person instead of merely beside them. Long awaited arrived, the physical not merely passion, but the quiet holiness of touch. Fingers intertwined in silence, foreheads resting together after difficult days, arms becoming shelter. A hug that softened grief. A kiss that reminded us we were alive and chosen. Love moving through skin like warmth through winter hands. And somewhere between all these forms of closeness, love ceased to be a feeling alone. It became a living thing woven from trust, belief, touch, thought, adventure, and creation a quiet masterpiece two souls agreed to keep building
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63
Some days, the heart remembers what the soul has tried to outgrow. Today was heavy old wounds rose quietly from the corners of childhood, whispering stories of abandonment I once believed were mine forever. But this time, I did not drown inside them. I let the tears speak, I let the ache breathe, and somewhere between honesty and surrender, peace found me again. A sacred conversation, soft as prayer, wrapped around my spirit like protection I had searched for my entire life. And in that moment, love became more than emotion it became safety. Yesterday felt lighter. I moved through joy without fear, held by laughter, wonder, and the quiet beauty of being alive. I could feel something greater than myself walking beside me, reminding me that I am worthy of a love story filled with tenderness, patience, and a peace that does not leave. Tomorrow, I will return to myself again. I will protect my inner calm, deepen my spirit, and trust the love surrounding me. Because the future I long for is already unfolding written gently by divine hands, living through me, guiding every step toward brighter days. And so I keep envisioning some days days of healing, days of becoming, days where joy finally feels like home.
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May 23
May 23, 2026 at 10:43 AM UTC
Truama
A moment of reflection, friends and yet it has always been more profound than that. I’m thrilled for your journey: the way you spoke with conviction and clarity, joy resonating in your voice as you spoke of her admiration lifting you to new heights. I am honored to witness it. Still, an ache rises in my chest: my heart swells, then sinks; sorrow pours out as if decanting my soul into our shared dreams. I had envisioned a future boundless, eternal counting the moments we might have held, now only memory. Sincerely, I’m grateful for our bond. I will celebrate every triumph, every breath, every moment with you. Pain is an understatement. Yet even in the shattering, my spirit remains unbroken all in the blink of an eye. You were the mirror to my journey. I will carry that reflection forever, with a gentle heart.
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May 23
May 23, 2026 at 10:42 AM UTC
Beautifully Broken
Today, She chose what chooses her back relationships that see her worth, honor her presence, and cherish the light she carries. Today, She poured her energy into connections rooted in growth, where respect blooms gently and love is met with love. Today, She gave space to her emotions, meeting life’s storms not with fear, but with resilience, grace, and the quiet courage of self-care. Today, She recognized that his ability to love deeply is not a weakness to hide, but a strength heaven placed within her, a gift deserving of hands that hold it with reverence. Today, She trusted the path before her, believing that every step is guided by something greater, a divine purpose revealing her worth, her calling, and the beauty of her becoming. Today, a new chapter opened. Not by chance, but by choice. And with every step forward, God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit lit the road ahead, turning uncertainty into faith, pain into wisdom, and change into rebirth. Today is change. Today is healing. Today is the beginning of who she was always meant to be.
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May 23
May 23, 2026 at 10:40 AM UTC
Rebirth
That feeling when dawn breaks softly across the bed, and beside you lies a life you once called forever woven with years, with laughter fading into silence, with children who carried your shared reflection, with memories stacked carefully like fragile glass on crowded shelves. And yet, beneath it all, your spirit gasps for air. That feeling when love no longer feels like shelter, but a room without windows when staying becomes its own kind of sorrow, and the weight of “almost happy” grows heavier than leaving. So you rise. Not because it is easy, not because your heart is untouched, but because somewhere inside you a quiet voice still whispers: You were meant for more than surviving. That feeling when you wake each morning exhausted by pretending, knowing no amount of effort can breathe life into something already gone yet still discovering, beneath the ache, a strength fierce enough to carry you toward tomorrow. And then comes freedom. Tender. Terrifying. Beautiful. That feeling when sadness and relief sit side by side like old friends at sunrise, when the air feels lighter in your lungs, when endings stop sounding like failure and begin sounding like mercy. What once was a blessing has completed its season. And now, with trembling hands and a healing heart, you open yourself to the unknown to mornings filled with peace, to joy without apology, to the quiet miracle of beginning again.
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May 23
May 23, 2026 at 10:39 AM UTC
Rise up
I envision a brighter tomorrow a life unfolding in steady light, rooted deep in faith, alive with joy that does not flicker, but burns with quiet certainty. I envision myself walking forward in step with purpose, hands open, heart unshaken, answering a calling written beyond what fear can name a life of meaning, lived with unwavering passion. I envision my loved ones moving through days in gentle harmony, where hatred finds no home, and grace becomes the language we speak each moment touched by wisdom greater than our own. I envision a world softened by understanding, where peace is not a distant hope but a living presence among us, and where faith and love no longer stand apart but weave us together in something vast and luminous. I envision a reality of quiet wholeness serenity in the ordinary, wellness in body and spirit, purpose in every breath and choice each moment a testament to what humanity can become when it remembers its light. I envision a future brighter than certainty, bolder than doubt, more breathtaking than imagination allows. I envision and in that vision, I begin.
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May 23
May 23, 2026 at 10:39 AM UTC
Daydreamin
I am the mother of a child the world may call extraordinary, yet to me, he is simply a living miracle wrapped in grace. In the shadows of uncertainty, I have discovered courage unshaken, turning sorrow into sacred light, and painful memories into beacons of hope. The scent of hospitals, the endless halls beneath fluorescent skies, no longer whisper fear to my spirit they stand instead as monuments to the resilience my child carries within him. Even the taste of hospital meals has become a reminder of the battles we have survived together, with trembling hands, steadfast faith, and hearts determined not to surrender. I celebrate milestones the world may overlook the smallest movements forward that feel like mountains conquered. I marvel at his voice, though it may not shape words the way others expect. His sounds are poetry to me, creative expressions of thoughts too beautiful for ordinary language. I treasure every precious moment every attempt to stand, every reach toward independence, every quiet victory earned through relentless perseverance. This journey is built upon small triumphs: from learning to feed himself to the courage of mastering what once felt impossible. Each step forward is a declaration of the strength he carries within him, the power of learning how. Though tubes, probes, IVs, and monitors may weave themselves into his story, they will never define his soul. Beyond every surgery, every medication, every battle with epilepsy, there is a light no illness can diminish. And through it all, I find strength in God’s unwavering presence, held together by faith, by resilience, and by the boundless power of love alive within us both. Being a special needs mother is not an easy calling it is exhausting, heartbreaking, and filled with sleepless nights spent surviving one moment at a time. Yet somehow, amid the worry, joy still blooms. Triumph still rises. Love still speaks in ways words could never fully capture. This life is not simple, but it is ours. And together, we are writing our story with courage, strength, and hope. Our blessing. Our miracle. Our Messiah. 💜
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May 23
May 23, 2026 at 10:37 AM UTC
Unwavering Strength
I am the mother of a child the world may call extraordinary, yet to me, he is simply a living miracle wrapped in grace. In the shadows of uncertainty, I have discovered courage unshaken, turning sorrow into sacred light, and painful memories into beacons of hope. The scent of hospitals, the endless halls beneath fluorescent skies, no longer whisper fear to my spirit they stand instead as monuments to the resilience my child carries within him. Even the taste of hospital meals has become a reminder of the battles we have survived together, with trembling hands, steadfast faith, and hearts determined not to surrender. I celebrate milestones the world may overlook the smallest movements forward that feel like mountains conquered. I marvel at his voice, though it may not shape words the way others expect. His sounds are poetry to me, creative expressions of thoughts too beautiful for ordinary language. I treasure every precious moment every attempt to stand, every reach toward independence, every quiet victory earned through relentless perseverance. This journey is built upon small triumphs: from learning to feed himself to the courage of mastering what once felt impossible. Each step forward is a declaration of the strength he carries within him, the power of learning how. Though tubes, probes, IVs, and monitors may weave themselves into his story, they will never define his soul. Beyond every surgery, every medication, every battle with epilepsy, there is a light no illness can diminish. And through it all, I find strength in God’s unwavering presence, held together by faith, by resilience, and by the boundless power of love alive within us both. Being a special needs mother is not an easy calling it is exhausting, heartbreaking, and filled with sleepless nights spent surviving one moment at a time. Yet somehow, amid the worry, joy still blooms. Triumph still rises. Love still speaks in ways words could never fully capture. This life is not simple, but it is ours. And together, we are writing our story with courage, strength, and hope. Our blessing. Our miracle. Our Messiah. 💜
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70
I am a wilting flower Who awaits these long hours For my Sun to return So that I may bloom again – But He has been away For quite some time. I hope to see Him soon – And not only through The bright side of the Moon – Remind me of Your warmth, my Day Star – For it has been cold here For quite some time. I hear the constellations speak Your name – They wonder where You’ve gone – I wonder if the other planets Have called upon You To shine on them, too? I would follow after You, If only I could – But these roots of mine Do me no good In following after your Brilliance – For they were not created For light chasing – But to remain Steadfast – So, tell me the Truth, My dear – And do not tell it Slant – How I should continue To grow here without You? My Sun – In my waking dreams, Your luminescent beams So majestically shone – Are all I long to see – So, again, if I may query – Will You be there When I wake? I ask for my own sake – For I am a selfish flower Who so longs for the hour That she may see You Again.
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Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 1:58 PM UTC
To My Friend, The Sun
The men chuckle lightly, almost insinuating a secret. Their eyes dart one to another, and I know this at least: the men are horrible at keeping secrets. “Why do you all chuckle?” I ask with complete and utter resolve. Again, all their eyes darted to one another. They dart back mainly at the Captain. So I darted my eyes to see this secret message. His eyes are dark, moody, all seriousness. The message is unclear to me, yet instant for them. Wind starts to pick up. The dry air swirls for mere seconds, dissolving into a broiling heat, contained in this valley. High hills, and dry stretches bake us into a frenzy. The men start to holler and yelp, as they do. They all run to the pond. It is a very large pond. There is another larger one behind the Barn as well. These ponds were fashioned out of the earth by years of the non evolving men who claim stakes to this land.
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Sep 21, 2025
Sep 21, 2025 at 4:37 PM UTC
Insanity
She told me, To think about leaving, About grieving. I didn't want to think, But she needed it, Although I knew my answer, She needed it. She cried, Bawling on the phone that night, All I could do was think, Think about how it would be, If it wasn't you and me. It would be bad, Something I didn't want, This is the best for me, Please stay babe. Nothing is a scary, As hanging on the brink, When you can't tell if the rope is fraying.
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May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 1:07 PM UTC
Staying
Sometime long ago Back before time had it's day Before wind had a way Before there was anything there to say I regret deciding to stay ©2024
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Jun 4, 2024
Jun 4, 2024 at 6:55 PM UTC
~•§•~ Back Before Then ~•§•~
After leaving I thought I knew it all, and that’s the worst part. Because all I ever wanted was silence but now the silence pierces like a dart. And I thought I was strong to walk away from ruins- but tell me, does it take more strength to walk or build, in all honesty? And all the words I chanted to my heart are the opposite of what I now croak from the bottom of an empty bottle, from the hollow of my soul, from the redness of my eyes, from the fullness of my mind and every ounce of my wit now only proclaims, you made me a hypocrite. hypocrite | shevaun stonem
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Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 10:23 AM UTC
hypocrite
Staying up late til the light comes back My mind’s on **** I should’ve kept in the past I wish my mind and eyes could finally match My brain feels dark, wish my sight was black
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Sep 29, 2020
Sep 29, 2020 at 8:26 AM UTC
I just wrote this 2 minutes ago
Staying single is a loneliness, I tried to, but, I can't resist. I want to marry Someone with a green face and white clothe, she is someone with a giant smile and, behaving bravely.
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Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 10:45 AM UTC
I want to marry
To my dear friend, We go along with crazy ideas And do mischief  with impish glee Put up with worst moods Do magics to make tears flee You stayed as my 'mirror n shadow' When others left me so easily I would fear nothing When you are with me I promise to stay true Till the bitter end of the sea(s)
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Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 4:51 AM UTC
Letter to my friend
When I try to hold on to a lovely present its gift disappears.
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May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 12:56 PM UTC
Holding on to the Present
People talk about near-death experiences and I feel like me almost staying with you was one. Like me settling, saying 'fine, this is fine' whilst my heart cried for more, that was definitely one. And it feels like I've just made it out alive, my heart bleeding, my mind a mess and my arms so tired from carrying you but still, I made it.
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Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 7:02 PM UTC
- almost from the other side
Dating you always seemed like we were holding hands at first. Tightly gripped and firm. Then you started to loosen your grip and I held mine in place. Still tightly gripped and firm. Over time...your hand started slipping from mine and I still held on. Until that night...when you finally yanked your hand away from mine. Now I hold my own hand...in a fist. Tightly gripped and firm. Waiting to punch you in the throat.
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Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 2:46 PM UTC
Tightly gripped and firm
I'm camping inside, I swear The outside is such a mess everywhere Wild creatures with guns and strict order Supplies won't last; this will get much harder I need to go out to refreshen and restock But the world outside doesn't need the flock It is peaceful, clean, ******* heaven without us Once this is over, we'll ruin it by creating a messy fuzz Maybe it isn't that bad to stay here instead of anywhere I'll stay here even after this is over, I swear
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Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 6:01 AM UTC
I'm camping inside, I swear
leaves fall Leaving the roots, the trunk, branches Slow, delicate Journey Towards the destination; their purpose Some are here to stay Some scatter away Yellow leaves Filling up with streaks of brown Venom spreading through veins They fall again No more hint of color No freshness Until there’s nothing left but Brown rust and stiffness Leaves they fall Returning to the roots
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Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 4:02 PM UTC
Yellow Leaves
The secret to staying clean is stay away from ALL influences As an artist I often turned to mind-altering substances to spark creativity Knowing that inspiration is already hidden inside you somewhere is a great reason to stay above the influence To keep sober you must rewrite every page The script of your life
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Jan 18, 2020
Jan 18, 2020 at 7:24 AM UTC
S.S.S (The Secret To Staying Sober)