#truthpoetry
Pain is not painful—
it is inspiration.
Shame is not embarrassing—
it is inspiration.
Love is not tender—
it is inspiration.
Fear is not paralyzing—
it is inspiration.
Anger is not destructive—
it is inspiration.
Loneliness is not empty—
it is inspiration.
Because everything,
when touched by the heart,
can turn into poetry.
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 8:04 PM UTC
I’m grateful
because you told me
I had to take responsibility—
"my friend".
I’m grateful
because you called him
“the park maniac”
and made me laugh
when all I wanted was to cry.
I’m grateful
because you said,
“Now I get off this roller coaster
and leave you on your own.”
I’m grateful
because you reminded me
I deserve more—
a life filled with happiness.
Thank you, both of you.
You are my best friends.
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 6:14 AM UTC
They say peace
looks like white—
like the wings
of a dove.
But to me,
peace feels blue.
Indigo blue.
Sky blue.
The soft blue
of a baby’s room,
with laughter
that warms the heart.
Oct 13, 2025
Oct 13, 2025 at 11:15 AM UTC
I cannot be afraid to feel.
Sometimes emotions strike me
like a runaway train.
Once,
they mapped my past lives
and told me my mission here
was to turn intensity
into spiritual wisdom.
So I cannot fear anger,
or shame,
or pain.
Because in my hands,
all of it
becomes poetry.
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 8:52 AM UTC
Pay attention to your prayers.
To what you ask for.
You may ask for joy,
for peace,
for love—
but do you know the price?
Sometimes,
it costs leaving behind
the very things
you love the most.
Oct 1, 2025
Oct 1, 2025 at 6:33 AM UTC
Do you crave attention?
Is that why you play the influencer—
not because you have something to give,
but because something is missing.
Applause.
Adoration.
Affection.
Love.
But you cannot fake influence,
you cannot pretend to be what you are not.
Makeup fades.
And at the end of the day,
when the mirror stares back,
you still hate yourself—
and everyone has already forgotten
Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 11:24 AM UTC
I stood still,
not because I’m weak,
but because I thought
you needed somewhere safe
to swing your pain.
You said I was your punchingball —
and smiled,
as if the truth was something
I should be proud to carry.
As if bruises count as love
when they come from you.
But I bleed in silence,
and you don’t see the cuts
because they don’t show
on skin.
They show in
numb mornings,
tight throats,
quiet yeses.
You still think
I stay because I can’t leave.
But I stay
because I choose to.
Don’t make that choice
feel like a mistake.
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 10:10 AM UTC
When the marriage ends,
and the child is still too small to understand
what's been torn,
why is it that the man tells his friends—
"She was crazy."
"She never got off her ass."
"She was too emotional."
"She never took care of the kids."
And no one asks him,
"Why did you stay?"
Why did you have children with her?
Why did you marry her in the first place?
Why does she have full custody now?"
No one dares to ask,
because they already know.
Men stay—
for the comfort of control,
for the invisible chains that bind women
with babies,
with promises that were never kept.
They know,
the way a child knows their mother’s touch
but never her heart.
The man knows his power in her silence,
in her labor,
in her sacrifices—
the ones no one sees but her.
And yet, when she walks away, they ask her,
"Why did you stay so long?"
Because they know the cost of leaving
was more than she could afford.
But still she walked.
Still she left.
Why did she stay?
For the love she thought might change him.
For the chance that maybe—just maybe—
he’d become the man she believed in.
For the hope that her children would have a father who cared.
But he didn’t.
He stayed because he knew—
the house wouldn’t run without her.
The kids wouldn’t be fed,
the bills wouldn’t be paid,
and the image of a family was more important than the truth.
Men stay because it’s easier to claim a woman
than to be the man they promised to be.
And when she leaves, they don’t ask themselves,
"Why couldn’t I be better?"
They just ask,
"Why did she stay so long?"
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 12:30 PM UTC