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I sit and dream of a wildflower,
That is grown in the darker.
When exposed to the light,
She felt like she wasn’t as bright.

Neither was she yellow nor her ground,
All she ever did was feel blue without a sound.
She always tried to step out of the crowd.
But she buried herself deeper into the ground.

All she ever did was make others happy,
But all they did was conclude her uncanny.
She went with them when they were alone,
But what she got back was feeling ignored.

With none to love nor to hug,
She fit herself into a mug.
I don’t have a place in the light she said,
I will eat myself in the dark instead.

All she ever did was beg for delight,
But agony hit her with all its might.
She walked in with a smile plastered,
Her mind disastered.

She slowly faded,
Believing no one cared.
But what she never knew —
They envied the beauty she bared.

When you see someone unique,
Don’t judge or despise.
Instead,
Learn to cherish and realize.
Wildflowers are beautiful in their own untamed way. They bloom without needing anyone's help, sprouting wherever the wind carries their seeds. Unlike the flowers that people carefully plant and nurture, wildflowers don’t rely on human hands to grow. They stand tall, even in the harshest places, simply because they know how to survive.

But sometimes, a wildflower is born in the darkest corners of the world—places full of sorrow and pain. It never asked to grow there, among the cracked earth and shadows. Yet it did. And despite everything, it bloomed.

When people found it, they decided it didn’t belong. They pulled it from its dark soil and planted it among the perfect, cultivated flowers. They expected it to change, to become like them—bright, flawless, and easy to admire. So, the wildflower tried. It reached for the sun, desperate to leave its dark past behind. But no matter how hard it tried, the others still whispered.

They mocked its twisted stem and imperfect petals. They treated it like an outcast, not realizing that its resilience was a kind of beauty they couldn’t understand. Deep down, they saw its strength and felt threatened. But instead of acknowledging that, they let their pride turn to cruelty.

And the wildflower? It wilted under the weight of their words. It started to believe it was worthless, that maybe it never should have bloomed in the first place.

I know how that feels because I’ve been that wildflower. I’ve been the one people ignored, belittled, and left to question my worth. But here’s what I’ve learned: Just because others can’t see your beauty doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Every scar, every moment of survival, is proof of strength.

No one deserves to feel like they’re not enough. So be kind. Don’t tear people down because they shine in a way you don’t understand. Don’t let your own insecurities turn into cruelty. And most importantly, don’t let anyone walk away believing they were a burden when they were really a gift.

Wildflowers are never worthless. And neither are you.
I finally found them:
someone like me

Someone who loves me
darkness and all

Someone who understands me
the Monster, the phantom

They see the same, feel the same
dangerous things

And they embrace it
maybe they could show me how?


I finally found them:
someone like me

A killer, a monster
not by choice but by destiny

Someone to hold close to me
who knows my demons all too well

I won't have to hide anymore!
not with them

We can embrace the darkness
embrace it together


I finally found them:
someone like me

But I wish I never met them
for then I wouldn't have to say goodbye

Goodbye, my love, my family
goodbye to the only one who understands

(I don't want to say goodbye
I don't want to say goodbye!

I cannot say goodbye
not when I've finally found someone like me)
Based off of season one of Dexter and The Boyfriend by Freida McFadden, and my own longing to find someone like me
The nights breeze, gently whispers,
The moon and all the stars, shimmers,
Lying on my back, gazing the cosmos,
through the sky filled with darkness.

In this darkness, stars are visible,
Like stars my love always will, bright and eternal,
Unknown of your affection, my heart in turmoil,
Through this storm my love will continue to be agile.

The night is long and keeps me wide awake
A glimmer of light in your heart, is what I seek,
Wanted to feel to be on loves peak,
Till the end of this life, it’s not gleek.

By
Sanji-Paul Arvind
preston Mar 24
a story of firelight, clarity, and the homecoming of a soul back to herself


There are some who carry a fire
so quietly,
you’d only see it
if you’d known the dark yourself

It lives beneath silence
Beneath poetry
Beneath the long, slow ache
of having been kept in pieces
by those who only wanted her
that way

She once danced barefoot in sea foam.
She once laughed without apology
But the world found her too wild,
too bright

And so, her flame was hidden
Tucked beneath beauty
Tucked beneath obedience
Tucked beneath seduction,
where it could be wanted
without being understood

There were those who praised her darkness
not to heal it,
but to keep it fragmented..
Passed around, from man to man;
each, feeding off her trauma
like wine at communion

They spoke her name like a spell,
fed her flattery disguised as reverence,
called her “muse”

while binding her
to their emptiness—
keeping her soft enough
trying to wrap her back
   in velvet fog

   to possess
   but never  protect



But the truth was always there:
a longing not to be touched,
but to be known

And far from their fog,
in the wide, holy silence of the desert,
a fire had been lit—
long before she was ready
Not to summon
Not to ******
But to wait

She didn’t arrive quickly
Clarity is never quiet
And when she moved toward it,
their voices rose
A full court press of shadows—
pulling, twisting,
offering her everything
except herself

But she remembered
Not all at once..
Just enough

She remembered the fire.

And she came.

Not with promises
Not with plans
Just barefoot
Just brave
Just her

And someone else came too—
not a child,
not a man,
but a sacred presence
she’d known since the nights
she almost didn’t make it

The Mediator

He did not speak in poems
He chanted something deeper
He dismantled pinecones
like prayers
He did not explain
He existed

   And in his eyes,
   her divided selves
   saw each other again—

—the one who had hidden,
who had been used by those  bringing
their passion-veiled hidden love of  Iblīs
in to her room..  into her father's house
as she burned quietly behind closed door
under the floorboards of her life;

—and the holy one of God,
the one they feared,
the one  she  feared,
the one that could not be claimed
or chained
or cast in velvet light

The sacred and the shattered
stood before the fire
and did not turn away

And the one who had waited—
he never moved toward her
He simply tended the flame,
making room
without demand

When she finally spoke,
he answered with a voice
that sounded like something
she used to believe in

She asked,
“Why didn’t you come find me?”

He said,
“Because you weren’t lost.
You were divided.”


And she wept,
not from sorrow—
from recognition

Later, as dawn whispered at the edge of the sky,
she asked what no one else had ever let her ask:

“Is there a place for me?”

And he said:
“You don’t have to be finished
to be home.”


And that’s when she stood.
Not to flee.
Not to perform.

But to become.

The sacred self took the hand of the shadow self.
The dark one was no longer exiled.
The holy one was no longer alone.

And together—
they walked toward the sea.

She could see her father on the water,
laughing in his little boat,
calling out to her to bait the hook again.

And she laughed—
really laughed.

Because she was no longer
just surviving.
No longer  the little girl
forced to apologize
for her very own existence.

Or exploited  by others
for the beauty that is within her

   She was whole.

She didn’t need the fire to keep burning.
She carried it now.
Inside.
One flame.
One name.
One woman.

At last,
the sign wasn’t moved.
The arms were real.
And she walked toward freedom
as herself--

   Never again
   to be pulled down
   to the ground

   by her hair...

   for the "horrible offence"
   of simply  shining too bright



Looking down on empty streets
All she can see
Are the dreams all made solid
Are the dreams made real

All of the buildings
All of the cars
Were once just a dream
In somebody's head

She pictures the broken glass
Pictures the steam
She pictures a soul
With no leak at the seam

(Let's take the boat out
Wait until darkness..
Let's take the boat out
Wait until darkness comes)

Nowhere in the corridors
Of pale green and gray
Nowhere in the suburbs
In the cold light of day

There in the midst of it
So alive and alone
Words support like bone

Dreaming of Mercy Street
Wear your inside, out

Dreaming of mercy
In your Daddy's arms again

https://youtu.be/DYw9UrsFJa4?si=6KZ6M2h1mbm58dCn


I love you, beautiful Sand-child❤️
xoxo
Maryann I Mar 21
I was a cavern, hollowed by storms,
veins lined with soot, breath laced with ash.
Grief hung from my ribs like moss in a forgotten wood,
a slow rot curling beneath my tongue.

The moon turned its back; even stars whispered away,
and I wore my rage like a cloak of thorns,
each step scattering petals of ruin,
each silence a howl stitched beneath my skin.

I became a storm cellar of memories,
echoing thunder that never touched sky,
harboring shadows that fed on the scent of blame,
their claws tracing old wounds like sacred scripture.

But dawn cracked the stone—
a golden vine threading through grief’s grip,
spilling warmth into marrow that had forgotten how to bloom.
The river inside me stirred—slow, reluctant—

yet still it moved, washing silt from the hollows.
I knelt in that current, palms open, and let the darkness slip—
a feather carried downstream, a name released to the wind.

Forgiveness was not a surrender, but a seed,
buried deep beneath frostbitten roots,
unfolding in silence, unfurling toward light.

And now—
my heart, once a cathedral of echoes,
is a garden humming with bees,
each bloom a memory healed, not erased.

your girl b Mar 19
I got the blues
When you died
I held back tears
I remembered our years
Together
Never thought we'd be separate
Never thought we'd be separate
I held back rage
As I tried
To save you from flying
That night but I wasn't so strong
I wasn't so strong
I wasn't so strong
I felt your flame go out
I was silent for years
I felt ashamed
And I drowned
As I wiped my tears
Are you still here
Are you still here
What's in store for the next few years
What's in store for these next few years
Arii Mar 19
I
can’t
Tell.  if
The      sky
Above       Is real

Or not          Quite there

Quite near                            Enough
To hold                                                   The stars
In the                                                                             Palm of
My hand                                                                                         And be
So glad                                                                         That I
Can see                                             The light
That shines         All through

The night.       Will it

Go out? Will it?

Will      it?

Go
out?
Ivan Mar 18
the stars that shine
do so because of the darkness
that surrounds them

I can make you shine...
Amir Murtaza Mar 17
The day she committed suicide,
it was her twentieth birthday.
She was always shy,
rarely met with people,
seldom heard was her voice.

She loved to spend time alone,
talked and laughed at times,
then fell into silence for days—
until one day,
she fell silent forever.

Fighting mental illness is a little difficult,
but winning this battle is not impossible.
In memory of her, let us be a guiding light,
promote compassion and understanding.

In our hearts, a symphony of empathy thrives,
let us ensure that hope survives.
We can foster a world that’s kind and just,
where battling mental illness—
we rise, we trust.
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