Poetry Poetry

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Devoted

He called it freedom but it was theft
Borrowed devotion no intent to keep
He broke trust like it meant nothing
Confused desire with something deep

Now love avoids him on purpose
Even lies get tired of his mouth
He wasted what was rare and real
And deserves the emptiness he now feels
 
A thousand masks

I wear a thousand masks before the dawn
Gold of Apollo, ash of what I’ve lost
Every face a prayer I borrowed once
From gods who learned to smile at any cost
I’ve been Atlas with the sky on my spine
I’ve been Echo, fading mid-refrain
I’ve been Loki laughing through the lie
I’ve been Icarus afraid of the flame

Silk and shadow stitched across my skin
Halo cracked with serpent scales beneath
I speak in tongues the stars have sworn me in
Breathing myths so I don’t have to breathe

I dance like Persephone in spring
Disappear when winter calls my name
I drink from Lethe just to feel a thing
Then curse the river when I wake the same

If truth is naked, I stay clothed in lore
Veils of light, of smoke, of borrowed grace
A thousand masks I swear I’m more
Or maybe less, beneath each face
When the gods are tired and go to sleep
I hang my costumes on the moon
What’s left of me is small and deep
A quiet hum the myths forgot too soon
 
Gone

I don’t want a world
where your name isn’t spoken
If you leave the world doesn’t end
it rots

Morning still shows up
cruel and punctual
dragging light across a room
that no longer deserves it

I try to breathe
but my lungs remember you
and reject the air
like it’s counterfeit

People say time will help
as if time isn’t the thing
actively killing me
each second another nail
closing the space where you were

Without you
I don’t live so much as I linger
a shadow practicing how to disappear
a body performing the habit of staying

If this is survival
it is hollow and animalistic
all instinct no meaning
proof that a heart can keep beating
long after it has given up

So no
I don’t want to live without you
Not because I would die
but because I already have
and the world insists
I keep going anyway
 
@Harthacnut

Otter know your name

There’s an otter by the river with a grin like morning light
He laughs with all his whiskers and somehow makes things right
He floats upon his back calm as a drifting tune
Humming little secrets to the sun and moon

He’s friendly as the ripples when they lap against the shore
Always making room for one friend more
If you’re worried he’ll listen real quiet real wise
With a kind of knowing sparkle in his curious eyes

His taste in music? Impeccable rare
Old soul vinyl mixed with something new in the air
From river stone rhythms to late night ska
He knows when to dance and when to let silence pass

The skunks trust his judgment the cats nod along
Because he knows when life needs stillness
And when it needs a song
He doesn’t shout his wisdom doesn’t wear a crown
It shows up in the way he never lets you down

And oh how he’s loved by the shy and the bold
By the young full of questions by the tired and old
Because being around him feels easy and true
Like the river remembers exactly who you are too

So if you hear laughter where the water bends
That’s him floating listening being a friend
A fun little otter wise through and through
With perfect taste in music

…and a heart big enough for you
 
BunnyBeeHope said:
@Harthacnut

Otter know your name

There’s an otter by the river with a grin like morning light
He laughs with all his whiskers and somehow makes things right
He floats upon his back calm as a drifting tune
Humming little secrets to the sun and moon

He’s friendly as the ripples when they lap against the shore
Always making room for one friend more
If you’re worried he’ll listen real quiet real wise
With a kind of knowing sparkle in his curious eyes

His taste in music? Impeccable rare
Old soul vinyl mixed with something new in the air
From river stone rhythms to late night ska
He knows when to dance and when to let silence pass

The skunks trust his judgment the cats nod along
Because he knows when life needs stillness
And when it needs a song
He doesn’t shout his wisdom doesn’t wear a crown
It shows up in the way he never lets you down

And oh how he’s loved by the shy and the bold
By the young full of questions by the tired and old
Because being around him feels easy and true
Like the river remembers exactly who you are too

So if you hear laughter where the water bends
That’s him floating listening being a friend
A fun little otter wise through and through
With perfect taste in music

…and a heart big enough for you
Click to expand...

I don't know what to say 😭😭
 
BunnyBeeHope said:
@Harthacnut

Otter know your name

There’s an otter by the river with a grin like morning light
He laughs with all his whiskers and somehow makes things right
He floats upon his back calm as a drifting tune
Humming little secrets to the sun and moon

He’s friendly as the ripples when they lap against the shore
Always making room for one friend more
If you’re worried he’ll listen real quiet real wise
With a kind of knowing sparkle in his curious eyes

His taste in music? Impeccable rare
Old soul vinyl mixed with something new in the air
From river stone rhythms to late night ska
He knows when to dance and when to let silence pass

The skunks trust his judgment the cats nod along
Because he knows when life needs stillness
And when it needs a song
He doesn’t shout his wisdom doesn’t wear a crown
It shows up in the way he never lets you down

And oh how he’s loved by the shy and the bold
By the young full of questions by the tired and old
Because being around him feels easy and true
Like the river remembers exactly who you are too

So if you hear laughter where the water bends
That’s him floating listening being a friend
A fun little otter wise through and through
With perfect taste in music

…and a heart big enough for you
Click to expand...
Oh 🥹

1000% accurate
 
Broken

Life was great
It was almost grand
Things were moving
Mostly by my own hand

Working by day
Working by night
Getting things going
Getting things just right

The day it happened
was way to real
I can't hardly bare
to think of it and feel.

Oh so sudden it was
To lose it all so quick
I now wake in the morning
Shuddering in sweat so thick

The triggers that get me
Makes it hard to sleep
They torment my dreams
Sometimes I wake and just weep
 
Filter

We learned to love ourselves
through glass
through a softened lens that forgives
what being human never promised to fix

A swipe smooths the story off your face
the crease from laughing too hard
the shadow of a sleepless night
the proof that time has touched you
and you survived it

Filters whisper gently
This is better
They slim the truth brighten the lie
teach mirrors to disagree with memory

Soon the unedited you feels like a draft
something unfinished
something that should apologize
for existing as it is

We start chasing a version
that only lives in screens
posing for an algorithm
that has never held our hands
never loved us back

And the damage isn’t the pixels
it’s the pause before posting
the doubt before smiling
the quiet belief that your real face
needs permission to be seen
 
My mind forgets its footing some days,
slips on thoughts it used to run across.
My body follows, slower now,
a loyal dog with a limp
I pretend not to notice.

We are both tired
the mind and the muscle
taking turns asking for mercy
like roommates passing a single glass of water
back and forth.

And then there’s you.
Or rather, the space where you are not.
Today keeps saying your name
without speaking it out loud.
The calendar does that cruel thing
where it smiles politely
and expects celebration

I try to stretch.
I try to breathe.
I try to grieve responsibly,
in measured doses,
as if sorrow were a medication
with instructions on the label.

But grief doesn’t care about balance.
It leans.
It pulls.
It sits heavily on the same joints
that already ache.

I mourn you with a brain
that can’t always tell hope from habit,
with a body that negotiates
every staircase like a contract.
Still, somehow,
I show up.
That has to count for something.

If I’m kinder to myself today,
it’s because you once were.
If I rest,
it’s because love taught me
rest is not quitting.

Happy birthday,
said softly,
into the space where you still echo.
I am still here
uneven, grieving, breathing
doing the best I can
with what remains.
And today,
that is enough.
 
You taught me first to hear
the way a guitar’s hum could feel like home,
how a simple rhythm made the world less heavy,
how every beat was a footstep into something bigger.
You gave me songs before I knew their names,
playlist after playlist like a father’s love
unspoken but always playing.

You were there at every match,
boots sunk in grass, eyes on the white lines,
cheering even when I tripped or lost my nerve,
proud of the effort more than the score.
You said football was music with legs
a rhythm, a crowd, a chorus of shouts and cheers.

And then, for a while,
there was silence where laughter used to be.
I walked away in pride and stubborn youth,
words left unsaid, space growing like a shadow.
We circled each other like strangers,
yet every song on the radio seemed to carry your voice,
a distant chorus calling me back.

And we found our way again
not perfect, not loud,
but honest as an old tune remembered.
I learned that love isn’t only in harmony,
but in coming back to the same key again and again.

Remember Devon?
The salty breeze and winding lane roads,
the old holiday parks where trains whispered steam,
and engines breathed like sleeping giants.
We watched those iron giants glide on metal veins,
and talked about music, cars, life
like verses stitched into summer sky.

Now you’re gone
the laughter stays in that warm place
where sun hits sea and memory glows.
Still I hear the guitar in morning light,
still I see you standing beside me on the pitch,
cheering when I least believed in cheer.
Still, in every whistle of a steam train’s wake,
I think: that’s you calling me home.
 
Connection Lost

At tables set for easy talk
I pass the bread repeat the lines
Their laughter rises like bright chalk
That dusts the air but never binds

I lean toward stories warm and wide
And try to fit my voice between
It slips away a turning tide
That leaves no footprint on the scene

Their eyes are doorways left ajar
I hover at the threshold's seam
Close enough to see the stars
Too far to step into the gleam

And when the chairs are stacked away
I shed the shape I held all night
My shadow stretches thin and gray
The only hand that fits just right



 
Frops

Seventeen years.
Apparently, that’s what was fair.

Seventeen years of you choosing me —
not by blood,
not by obligation,
but because you wanted to.

You crossed an entire fucking ocean
just to make sure I got to school.
Like I was precious.
Like I was worth escorting into my own future.

A guardian without the title.
A father without the word
to a snotty-nosed kid
who just happened to belong to your friend.
I don’t know if you made a promise —
but fuck,
you kept it.

You wrote me letters
even when we’d already spoken.
I teased you.
“Who even writes anymore?”

But I kept every one.

Because I loved that you sat down
and made the time.
That somewhere in your day
you paused long enough
to put me in ink.

You used to say,
“Your mother would be proud of how far you’ve come.”

You said you could see her in me —
like it was obvious.
Like it was solid.

Now you’re gone
and I don’t know who says that
when I start to doubt myself.

You taught me how to stand straight.
How not to run.

Now I have to prove
you were right about me
without you here to see it.

I am not gracefully grateful.
I am not comforted by “at least.”

I am fucking furious
that the man who made the world steadier
isn’t in it anymore.

Seventeen years changed me.

It just wasn’t enough
to teach me
how to live
without you.
 
Silence Inherited

He taught me how to hold my breath
long before I learned to swim
How to make my footsteps smaller
than the cracks in the kitchen tile
How to read the weather of a room
by the angle of his jaw

I was a house with thin walls
Every slammed door
moved through me
Every word
a match struck too close to curtains

He called it discipline
I called it my fault
Children are good at that
building cages out of maybe
and if I’m better next time

I learned the mathematics of survival
how to divide myself in two
how to subtract hunger and add obedience
how to carry fear
without letting it spill from my mouth

But I am grown now

My body no longer flinches
at every passing storm
My name sounds different
when I say it to myself
rounder like something whole

There are still nights
when memory presses its thumb
into old bruises
when I wake with his shadow
folded at the edge of the bed

Yet morning comes
It always does

I make coffee in a quiet kitchen
I open windows he once kept shut
I let sunlight touch the places
I used to hide

He does not live here anymore
not in the locks
not in the mirrors
not in my voice

I am learning the language of no
The holy shape of it
The way it builds a doorway
instead of a wall

What he broke
did not take my ending with it

I am not the echo of his anger
I am not the bruise he left behind
I am a woman
with hands steady enough
to hold her own heart

and gentle enough
to let it beat
 
I count the years in quiet ways—
not by calendars or clocks,
but by the soft ache
that returns each winter
and settles gently in my chest.

Nine years have passed,
but your kindness has not.
It whispers throughout my life,
to never be forgotten.
Through rooms that you helped paint,
the cats you loved to care for.
The history books you loved,
eventhough your wife did not.
The garden you helped build,
the birds we used to bond over.

I am still grateful
for the father you chose to be to me,
not by blood, but choice,
even when I didn’t yet know
how to say thank you.

Where my own left scars that never heal,
you gave without question.

So, I say it now,
in solemn silence.
A hushed word,
a single tear.
Thank you—
for all you gave me,
for all I will forever hold dear.

I wish we would've had more time.
I miss you. We all miss you.




(I apologise if this is ill timed in relation to the above)
 
Abandonment, a dark room that follows you.
Even now, it waits behind kind faces,
whispers that I am too much, or not enough.
My heart keeps watch at every window,
counting exits instead of stars.

You taught me how to disappear politely,
how to swallow whole oceans of need,
how to translate silence into fault.
Your love arrived in measured rations,
and I learned to starve without complaint.

Now even tenderness feels borrowed.
I flinch at steady hands,
search for cracks in every promise.
The child you left in that room
still traces the outline of the door,
wondering what she did to make it close.
 
VelvetReverie said:
I count the years in quiet ways—
not by calendars or clocks,
but by the soft ache
that returns each winter
and settles gently in my chest.

Nine years have passed,
but your kindness has not.
It whispers throughout my life,
to never be forgotten.
Through rooms that you helped paint,
the cats you loved to care for.
The history books you loved,
eventhough your wife did not.
The garden you helped build,
the birds we used to bond over.

I am still grateful
for the father you chose to be to me,
not by blood, but choice,
even when I didn’t yet know
how to say thank you.

Where my own left scars that never heal,
you gave without question.

So, I say it now,
in solemn silence.
A hushed word,
a single tear.
Thank you—
for all you gave me,
for all I will forever hold dear.

I wish we would've had more time.
I miss you. We all miss you.




(I apologise if this is ill timed in relation to the above)
Click to expand...
Your poem is beautiful its always a good time to share
 
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