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#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.
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Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 8:04 PM UTC
Everything Becomes Inspiration
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.
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Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 6:14 AM UTC
To My Best Friends
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.
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Oct 13, 2025
Oct 13, 2025 at 11:15 AM UTC
The Color of Peace
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.
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Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 8:52 AM UTC
Turning Fire Into Light
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.
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Oct 1, 2025
Oct 1, 2025 at 6:33 AM UTC
The Cost of Prayer
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
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Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 11:24 AM UTC
The Mirror Forgets You
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.
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Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 10:10 AM UTC
Punchingball
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?"
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Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 12:30 PM UTC
The Unasked Questions
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?"
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