#truthinverse - Hello Poetry

a belly full of thoughts— are we pregnant with deeper truths? and among tents and mass graves we camp too close to death, building final resting places while pretending they’re temporary. we say it doesn’t exist— yet it exists. every hour we deny the exit sign, yet it flickers above us still. surrounded by suffering, we live in the silence of the screams of the ****** when the dam wall falls, we brace for cool water— instead, throats erupt into fountains of war. we siege the machines, engineer soldiers, press men into beasts of burden—arms shortened to armfuls of weapons. food for thought— my belly is full, yet my mind is starving. and still, we refuse to taste the truth.

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Feb 11

Feb 11, 2026 at 2:42 PM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Full, Yet Starving

a belly full of thoughts— are we pregnant with deeper truths? and among tents and mass graves we camp too close to death, building final resting places while pretending they’re temporary. we say it doesn’t exist— yet it exists. every hour we deny the exit sign, yet it flickers above us still. surrounded by suffering, we live in the silence of the screams of the ****** when the dam wall falls, we brace for cool water— instead, throats erupt into fountains of war. we siege the machines, engineer soldiers, press men into beasts of burden—arms shortened to armfuls of weapons. food for thought— my belly is full, yet my mind is starving. and still, we refuse to taste the truth.

27

I lived in the echo before the sound arrived, felt the breaking of things that hadn’t yet died. I walked in tomorrow while you slept in today, hearing the thunder you swore was miles away. I tasted the storm before it touched the sky, knew the truth of the fall long before your goodbye. I spoke in warnings, you heard in doubt — I screamed from the inside while you shut me out. They called it “too much,” said I think too deep — but I saw the waves while you stayed fast asleep. I carried the fracture before the glass split, held the ending together so the world wouldn’t quit. Then when the rain came and soaked through your skin, you said, “If we’d listened, we might have won.” Funny how hindsight wears a shining crown — you crown me a prophet only after the house burns down. I don’t choose the knowing, it chooses me — like stars writing secrets I’m forced to read. The universe whispers inside my chest, teaches me the worst before it gives me the best. It’s a blessing in daylight, a curse in the night — beautiful torment disguised as sight. Because knowing saves others but scars me inside — I see every ending before I can hide. I love with foresight, and that’s the cost — I save you from breaking while feeling lost. So walk in my shoes if you dare to try — see every goodbye before the first “hi.” You’d call it a miracle, call it divine — until the knowing began to bleed you dry. A gift made of starlight, a wound made of truth — I pay the price of seeing so the world can see through.

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Feb 7

Feb 7, 2026 at 5:00 AM UTC

Anonymous_Flame

The Price of Knowing

I lived in the echo before the sound arrived, felt the breaking of things that hadn’t yet died. I walked in tomorrow while you slept in today, hearing the thunder you swore was miles away. I tasted the storm before it touched the sky, knew the truth of the fall long before your goodbye. I spoke in warnings, you heard in doubt — I screamed from the inside while you shut me out. They called it “too much,” said I think too deep — but I saw the waves while you stayed fast asleep. I carried the fracture before the glass split, held the ending together so the world wouldn’t quit. Then when the rain came and soaked through your skin, you said, “If we’d listened, we might have won.” Funny how hindsight wears a shining crown — you crown me a prophet only after the house burns down. I don’t choose the knowing, it chooses me — like stars writing secrets I’m forced to read. The universe whispers inside my chest, teaches me the worst before it gives me the best. It’s a blessing in daylight, a curse in the night — beautiful torment disguised as sight. Because knowing saves others but scars me inside — I see every ending before I can hide. I love with foresight, and that’s the cost — I save you from breaking while feeling lost. So walk in my shoes if you dare to try — see every goodbye before the first “hi.” You’d call it a miracle, call it divine — until the knowing began to bleed you dry. A gift made of starlight, a wound made of truth — I pay the price of seeing so the world can see through.

64

What defines a man? Someone with dignity? Someone with shame? Someone vulnerable, or “someone” in vain? A vague answer—I'll be honest then, Society’s standards? Cruel and dishonest, man. You speak up—you’re disregarded. You make an effort—you’re outsmarted. You do nothing? You're called a ******* regardless. Try to hold ground? Your stance gets blasted. Vulnerability. Breakdowns. Mental fatigue. A man’s life—just pain with no relief. A faint smile, a brief breath, penned on a sheet. That’s what this is, boys—so buckle your seats while I preach. A man's life is a lie. His smile, his words—his emotions, all a disguise. He lies because he cares. He finds ways to fix, not vanish into thin air. His day begins with thoughts of his loved ones, And ends with them. Yet the only flowers he ever receives Are laid at the end. Poor appreciation. No oxytocin— That's how he lives. All he wants is to see his family smile, To make ’em proud, and meet every wish. Loving children and an adorable wife, Still, he gets caught in conflict and strife. Trapped in the webs, looking for light— He knows no matter how loud he shouts, It’s all silent. Mute. No sound in sight. He doesn’t complain like he used to do. This masked way of living? He’s grown used to. A constant tug-of-war with everything. Wearing the mask, that smile, and the pretending. ’Cause this is a judgmental world, Where male discomfort is dismissed as vile. No one cares for a man— “That’s just how they are,” says Society with a smile. “A man should be tough.” “Stop being so weak.” “Only a weakling cries.” Why these beliefs? Is a man not human? Can’t he break— Even once, without being called fake? Can’t these so-called standards vanish for a jiffy? Let the noise hush, just for an iffy. The situation’s looking a bit tricky. So much for equality—when the loudest cries dissolve a man too quickly. No offense to victims, but truth gets murky when empathy turns picky. We need balance, not blame—before the silence gets sticky. So much for fairness, when power plays the sound— And those holding the mics are just money-hungry hounds. But let me leave you with names they forgot to pronounce— Prometheus, who stole fire so men might renounce The cold chains of darkness, gave light for free, And was punished by gods for daring to see. Or Sigurd the Valiant, who slew Fáfnir the beast, A man, not divine—just brave, to say the least. He bathed in the blood, understood the birds’ song, Betrayed by the world, yet stood strong all along. These weren’t monsters. These were men. Not flawless—but free, with a truth in their pen. So next time they say, “All men are the same,” Remember the fire. Remember the flame. One man can burn, And still change the game. -Asher Graves

0

Apr 10, 2025

Apr 10, 2025 at 10:50 PM UTC

the_little_bystander

Many Men (Wish for a Breath)

What defines a man? Someone with dignity? Someone with shame? Someone vulnerable, or “someone” in vain? A vague answer—I'll be honest then, Society’s standards? Cruel and dishonest, man. You speak up—you’re disregarded. You make an effort—you’re outsmarted. You do nothing? You're called a ******* regardless. Try to hold ground? Your stance gets blasted. Vulnerability. Breakdowns. Mental fatigue. A man’s life—just pain with no relief. A faint smile, a brief breath, penned on a sheet. That’s what this is, boys—so buckle your seats while I preach. A man's life is a lie. His smile, his words—his emotions, all a disguise. He lies because he cares. He finds ways to fix, not vanish into thin air. His day begins with thoughts of his loved ones, And ends with them. Yet the only flowers he ever receives Are laid at the end. Poor appreciation. No oxytocin— That's how he lives. All he wants is to see his family smile, To make ’em proud, and meet every wish. Loving children and an adorable wife, Still, he gets caught in conflict and strife. Trapped in the webs, looking for light— He knows no matter how loud he shouts, It’s all silent. Mute. No sound in sight. He doesn’t complain like he used to do. This masked way of living? He’s grown used to. A constant tug-of-war with everything. Wearing the mask, that smile, and the pretending. ’Cause this is a judgmental world, Where male discomfort is dismissed as vile. No one cares for a man— “That’s just how they are,” says Society with a smile. “A man should be tough.” “Stop being so weak.” “Only a weakling cries.” Why these beliefs? Is a man not human? Can’t he break— Even once, without being called fake? Can’t these so-called standards vanish for a jiffy? Let the noise hush, just for an iffy. The situation’s looking a bit tricky. So much for equality—when the loudest cries dissolve a man too quickly. No offense to victims, but truth gets murky when empathy turns picky. We need balance, not blame—before the silence gets sticky. So much for fairness, when power plays the sound— And those holding the mics are just money-hungry hounds. But let me leave you with names they forgot to pronounce— Prometheus, who stole fire so men might renounce The cold chains of darkness, gave light for free, And was punished by gods for daring to see. Or Sigurd the Valiant, who slew Fáfnir the beast, A man, not divine—just brave, to say the least. He bathed in the blood, understood the birds’ song, Betrayed by the world, yet stood strong all along. These weren’t monsters. These were men. Not flawless—but free, with a truth in their pen. So next time they say, “All men are the same,” Remember the fire. Remember the flame. One man can burn, And still change the game. -Asher Graves

66