#too
there's a reason
goldilocks and the three bears
is just a fairy tale
finding a perfect medium
is less achievable
than human-like bears
at least for me
i've always been
too much
in every single way
i take up too much space
too much time
too much effort
too much energy
more than i was ever worth
and it makes me the villain
in my friend's lives
never the star
or even the lovable side character
but instead
the darkness creeping in
the conflict
the challenge to be overcome
my "too much"
becomes their character development
as they get cut
by my scattered shards
my sharp edges
but villains in fairy tales
don't usually end up being redeemed
do they?
they end up
cut open
or shoved in the oven
dead
defeated
and everyone is happier for it
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 11:29 PM UTC
crawling around a pit of wounds
jealously at the light shining
in others lives.(never making the effort yourself)
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 7:04 AM UTC
to kiss all the young poets
hiding here,
so /i cry a tear for each
one,
when they
gladden my
heart
with their,
tenderizing rhymes,
pithy captures
of aw-ing momentous,
as if their firsts,
were where why
not also
our firsts too,
when we were/was /once
younger too
4/26/26. यह ठीक नहीं है (खासकर कम उम्र वालों के लिए)
कि यहाँ छिपे
सभी युवा कवियों को चूमा जाए,
इसलिए /मैं उनमें से हर एक के लिए
एक आँसू बहाता हूँ,
जब वे
मेरे दिल को
खुशी से भर देते हैं
अपनी
कोमल तुकबंदियों से,
उन अद्भुत पलों के
सारगर्भित चित्रणों से,
मानो उनके ये 'पहले अनुभव'
सिर्फ़ उनके ही क्यों हों—
क्यों न वे
हमारे भी 'पहले अनुभव' रहे हों,
जब हम भी /कभी
कम उम्र के थे।
शब्बत
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 10:02 AM UTC
I wake up to the mirror,
i don't like what I see,
a stranger space keep staring at me i smile for the world
but it's paper thin a mask I've been wearing that's cracking within
I try to be better every step forward Still feel so wrong I'm choosing a version of me I can't find
It goes in the shadows that's trapped in my mind I'm screaming inside but the world doesn't hear The voice in my head Is the most fear I am tired of myself I can't carry this
weight running in circles but it's always
too late I'm breaking apart in the silence
keep crying out loud where no one can see I am so tired, so tired of being like this why wishing tomorrow won't look like today but they're closing in harder and harder
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 8:41 PM UTC
~for shell~
the doctor wants
world peace.
ok
not too much to ask for, I guess,
by the just in case
that’s a little late
e~arriving
so,
just letting you know
she enjoys
cooking too;
scratch any human (99.999%)
you’ll scratch a gourmand gourmet a
lover of food
mmmm
wonder if that could
somehow
be
connected to,
world peace?
😉
wink, and
et un salut
😑
fini
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 4:18 AM UTC
“ https://hellopoetry.com/poems/5281518/prayer-will-be-the-end-of-us
https://hellopoetry.com/@henryakeru
<><>
“We have learnt to mourn without a sound
because grief is now too often found”
<>
how hard it must have been
for a man
“Who loves life loves poetry”
to compose this hearse of verses
and my mind
is modified and modifies
his eloquence
ever so slightly
and i think with no millisecond’s lapse:
(our) grief is now too often profound
yes we tire with exhaustion from “thoughts and prayers,”
skip over the particulars of the daily newest school shooting,
random shooting on city streets, that murders a baby in his stroller,
or a citizen pushed to death in front of a subway car
and turn the page,
it is not a wearied callousness
we are displaying,
no, it is a grief so river deep,
it is the nth level of profundity
when words become unavailable,
not from overuse
but from complete collapse
from the sharp edges of keen bloodletting
we prefer an unholy silence
to a wailing grieving
we are in a permanent state of
permanent wrack and ruin
coverup
“Profound"
so deeply felt, great intensity,
often a silent sorrow, crackling thoroughout our veined nature entire,
a physically deep soured sorrow fulfilling
the few crevices and cracks as of yet, tearwater unpolluted
and we have no conception of a new
mournful
prayer to utter,
deemed deserving of an
Amen.
end.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 10:52 AM UTC
Too Bright to See
BY LINDA GREGG
Just before dark the light gets dark. Violet
where my hands pull weeds around the Solomon’s seals.
I see with difficulty what before was easy.
Perceive what I saw before
but with more tight effort. I am moon
to what I am doing and what I was.
It is a real beauty that I lived
and dreamed would be, now know
but never then. Can tell by looking hard,
feeling which is **** and what is form.
My hands are intermediary. Neither lover
nor liar. Sweet being, if you are anywhere that hears,
come quickly. I weep, face set, no tears, mouth open.
Notes:
This poem is part of the folio “Linda Gregg: Never Give Up Longing,” curated by David Semanki, and was published in Gregg’s 2008 new and selected volume, All of It Singing. It is reprinted here with permission of Graywolf Press. Read the rest of the folio in the
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 10:08 AM UTC
~for ju and you~
the app zaps me new info;
boy! (only I have the temerity
to refer to myself as boy exclamation point)
you have 570 stars on this here “app”
be generous be cause because,
being gemrous (no typo, ok ok typo, but I like it)
a dumb grin,
a major sin,
way past my eyeballs in the
back of my wraparound head
SOOOOO
A little experiment,
gave a poem I wrote a star,
Just to see how many light years it took
To get this far
turns out out
you can neither create nor destroy your own stars,
same as before, same numero in the post~hereafter;
And if you hoard them, Eliot laughs when
he expires them away while counting his monnaie,
but that’s! not the point;
give yourself away by giving them to others,
my god, that sounds like great fund of fun,
but ****
to hit that button 570 times
A Job in itself,
So make my life easy
Write yourself some spectacular poetry
Be sure I see it, be sure I seize it
Before a starry night gives away
to the the eclipse of yet another
star-filled day
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 10:13 AM UTC
Okay, having said all that, do you still wanna be with me?
'Cause like, I-I wanna be with you, like
Like maybe even forever
Holy **** okay, maybe not forever
I mean like I'm not saying not, forever
I-I actually have no idea what I'm saying
Are you mad at me?
'Cause it's cool if you are, right? Like, I don't care
But like if-if you are, then I'm gonna resent you
I-I'll forgive you
But I was just wondering like, okay, like, is this a sign?
Do I actually hate you?
I just wanted to be honest, right
Like, do you still love me?- my wife
Mar 12
Mar 12, 2026 at 10:18 PM UTC
Back in the day, I wrote six hundred letters for my perpetrator.
I chose to burn them all.
Writing was my way of coping—my way of emptying myself. I wrote and wrote until there was nothing left.
I do regret one thing: I wish I had not burned them. I wish, at least, I could have shared them here.
I remember words like:
"Your eyes are like a predator, staring back at me, hunting the prey in me."
Most of the time, I ran from the truth.
I slept with one eye wide open, never waking from a dream, only from distant memory.
He gave me problems I could not solve. He had been to places I had never been. He fooled too many women like me, grooming his way into their trust.
These words may be long gone, forgotten someday, but I will always remember how he broke me to pieces and blamed me as if it were my fault. I was just a naive little girl wanting to be loved. That is why it happened.
Now this chapter is closed. Even though he never asked properly for forgiveness, I forgive him. Not because it is needed or required, but for the sake of my own peace, for the sake of myself.
Nice to meet you anyway.
Oct 9, 2025
Oct 9, 2025 at 9:59 PM UTC
Raw is the best Honey
I don't like processed
and filters ruin a good photo-
Words alone could not stress
how holding tightly lets it go
And the precepts of old;
timeless in their wisdom
But conception lost foretold
in flitting light dwindle come
Infusing confusion to know
Raw Honey is the best
like a diary written once
without recap or proofreading's regress;
captures the leaps and the stunts
of a heart recounted
needing less fluff than truth in blunt
compounded
Pretty words for pretty Poems
- generally about love and waste,
regret and passion - but just this once
and only in a while, I prefer a taste
of the raw inception of persona thus
- A simpler rout to honest smile
Poetry flows forth from the human soul
but the souls that savor
such flavoring found in rawness
moments chance in fuming rancor
mixed in bowl of multichoice shortness
- Upon inspection,
a face too rough for presentation without
invasive correction
Perhaps it breaks the means
and perhaps it should be so
But nothing ripened when was green
and washing embers do not make them
glow
Love is nice, and Happiness too,
it's place is carved sweet and runny
contrary spur, it must be true
I simply prefer the taste of Raw Honey
Jan 2
Jan 2, 2026 at 11:13 AM UTC
Seven years
8 counting
I've healed
Climbed the mountain
I've moved on
Yet still counting
Sometimes I wake up
And cry
Sometimes I hear
Dear john,
And I die
I should have known too
I was so young
I thought i was in love
But I was just alone
You were not a white dove
The thing
I make myself forget
Is the thing I deeply regret
You
Loving you
Liking you
Wanting you
Saying it
Makes me sick
Makes me *****
I ***** you
To this day
When will you go away
I've done it all
Forgave myself
Burned notes
Wished you to hell
7 years of new cells
Yet here you are
In my mind
Feeding me lies
Covering my blue skies
Making me cry
Turning to blood
On the inside
They say forgiveness is the only way
To forget
But I never will
You won't get off that easily
Forgiveness is for those
Who deserve it
Not for those
Who burn it
The only road to take
Is anger
Is lust
For the ****
Is menacing
And seeking thrill
Against you
And your very will
You are not my life
And I move on
But when you come into my mind
With a knife
I'll come back just as strong
With the noise
Of a burning murderous
Gong
I will make you gone
It's the only hope
To stay afloat
Those years
You looked at me
Saw a young sweet girl
And gave me only deceit
You touched me
Wanted to feel complete
Gave me your attention
Gave me your love
Made me feel special
Like a little dove 🕊️
I was so young
You were akin to a stone
Old and rotten to the bone
You crushed me
And left me broken without a home
They blamed me
For my broken bones
How dare I crack the stone
That bruised me
I should have known
Now i sit here
And cry alone
Not from sadness
But anger
Not from guilt
But vengeance
It's in my throat
In my spit
I want to give
You it
The pain
The torture
The manipulation
The brittle future
But I'll never be
A stone
I'll never break someone's bones
I'm not cruel
Or sick
Just angry
At all of it
But I'm supposed to be over it
Learn and forget
7 years counting
Going on 8
But know this
...
_It's never too late_
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 3:30 PM UTC
I used to shine without asking—
laughter spilling, voice unafraid,
the world wide open in my chest.
But somewhere between the echoes
and the rolled eyes,
I learned to lower my volume.
“Too loud.”
“Too much.”
Their words stuck like pins
in the fabric of who I was.
Now I smile on cue,
a quieter version—
scripted, softened, safe.
I miss the girl who filled a room.
I buried her under
the comfort of being tolerated.
And every time they call me better now,
I feel another spark go out—
and clap for my own disappearance.
Nov 10, 2025
Nov 10, 2025 at 9:32 PM UTC
Keep lying to me
Because that means you keep calling
Oct 20, 2025
Oct 20, 2025 at 1:29 AM UTC
I'm tired of worrying if
I'll eat my words one day,
say too much; love too
much
I would rather regret
what I said over what
I can no longer say
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 9:29 AM UTC
Girl, you so jive.
You can talk butter off bread
all sweet, whether the sun is shining or not.
I seen your type before,
wearing a dress, your purse matching
whatever printed accent
swaying in the wind.
I bet when it rains,
it doesn’t touch you
too busy moving,
too many things going on.
I bet you smile
even when no one is around.
Who needs company
when you got it going on like that?
Gone head, snap your fingers,
do your step
with your jive self.
You walk in like you own the place,
scratching off pieces of your heart
whether it’s the right place
or the wrong time.
One thing they can’t say
about you
is that you hold up the line.
Everybody gets a piece.
You ain’t fooling nobody
with your jive self.
Some things
are more important than money.
With your sweet,
jive self.
May 20, 2025
May 20, 2025 at 1:24 AM UTC
Lips together, pressed,
as if you were the one dead,
"Wake up"-your only prayer,
but death doesn't care.
Now you can only choke,
on words you never spoke.
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 12:36 PM UTC
My Starhub Cyber Protect
Has decided that the Starhub site
Isn't safe. I guess this effect
Was unintended (right??)
But then again, it must be
Doing a great job for people like me;
Unable to
Watch YouTube, do
A Buzzfeed
Quiz, satisfy the need
To scroll on Reddit.
Is it
Just me, or is
This
Just all too
Familiar? Surely you
Know what I mean...
"This site has been blocked" flashing on-screen.
It's just the irony here
That makes it bigger than it appears.
Dec 13, 2024
Dec 13, 2024 at 8:38 AM UTC
for Richard Shepherd who wrote to tell me
one of my babies, (1) made him:
“Oh my, speechless”
my stated aim, my purposed gain,
is to write of only love poetry,
oh too human am I, going astray
the most human contributory trick,
is when “she,” temptation,
oft cajoles,
“this way please” and I easygoing
and submit obligingly
your words spontaneous, mark &
make me, likewise spit out gratitude
of words simple, informing you that
you are too, too kind, then pause reflective
does such a thing even exist?
bemusedly, smiling silent at my silliness,
as I debate~contemplate, the potent notion if kindness can ever be measured as in excess, by what measuring cup system could we
contrive to ascertain if there be lines drawn,
for the most best of human attributes?
it is Monday Morning and such silly peculiarities have no busily business populating my gray matter, but compulsory
demands state forthright you cannot retreat
from this windrowed wonderland hedgerow,
for when seeing these deep waters,
can easy sink a poet
for a funking, dunking, nay, a drowning!
but I am only dancing around the edges
of a fire upon the beach, and gingerly admit
that there is no limitation to this conceptual,
can we be too human, could one ever not say
your loving, your essences~senses fragrant,
are airborne and therefore unlimited,
beneath this shared sky~sphere.
yet never my intent
to rob a human of
the power of speech
*but this statement of de~unlimited awe
too much,
and therefore my understanding deepens,
when and what a heart feels
is without definition,
without lineage,
every time reborn,
and my loving of your kind words,
overflowing will be my
principled purpose
this day
that every person whose path
intersects mine,
shall be greeted with
the tools in my possession,
which thanks to you,
are identified as an undefined
unlimited
too, too much
kindness
and my one job is to
be a proof
of this
raison d'être
for all ofour
existences*
this hen issue
now resolved,
be a lovely
au naturel love poem
and obedient
to my
only truest mission
Nov 25, 2024
Nov 25, 2024 at 10:55 AM UTC