Poetry Poetry

  • Thread starter Thread starter Lupine
  • Start date Start date
Mirror

The mirror knows the truth you hide
A lonely soul with nowhere to confide
Because the world you built inside your mind
Left everything that mattered far behind

Reality is cold. It cuts. It scars.
It doesn't care about your stars
But pain is honest dreams deceive
They promise more than they can ever give

So let the fantasy decay
Watch every false illusion fade away
It's better to bleed beneath the truth's harsh light
Than spend your life asleep inside the night

For freedom isn't found in pretending you're whole
It's born the moment you reclaim your soul
 
There is this void
I don't know how to fill it
Maybe I can't
It is likely
I don't even want to.

I won't fall in it,
I'm certainly not going to jump either.
I can look in another direction,
But its there,
It won't go away.

Every now and then
I get closer to the edge.
I have a look,
It's vast and beautiful
It feels like it will pull me in...

But eventually I smile
And turn my back.
This void is part of me.
And I'll learn to live with it.
 
Slopps said:
There is this void
I don't know how to fill it
Maybe I can't
It is likely
I don't even want to.

I won't fall in it,
I'm certainly not going to jump either.
I can look in another direction,
But its there,
It won't go away.

Every now and then
I get closer to the edge.
I have a look,
It's vast and beautiful
It feels like it will pull me in...

But eventually I smile
And turn my back.
This void is part of me.
And I'll learn to live with it.
Click to expand...
Look at you being all deep and stuff.

Nicely written.
 
the daughter who carries everything - poem by hailey wood

“i’m an eldest daughter
which means i am the chair my mother sits in when she
cries about my father

i’m an eldest daughter
which means i am the room my brother walks into when
he has done something wrong

i’m an eldest daughter
which means i am the small office my sister visits
between her classes
to tell me about the grade
to tell me about the friend who was unkind

i’m an eldest daughter
which means i have a list on the back of the bedroom door
of what i am not allowed to do

do not stay out past nine
do not raise your voice
do not laugh too loud in front of the relatives
do not embarrass the family

and i’m an eldest daughter
which means i have another list
the one i learned

do not cry where they can see you
do not say you are tired
do not be a daughter who needs anything

i have a small bowl by the front door
where everyone in this house
drops their keys
their loose coins
their wedding rings before they wash dishes
their small angers from the day

and i am the bowl
i am the bowl

and nobody ever empties me out.”
 
An outstretched hand

There is a girl who learned too young that love sometimes leaves.

She stands in doorways, changing more than clothes, trying to become someone easier to keep.

She learns to speak carefully. To wait quietly. To ask softly. To need less.

Still, she reaches.

Years pass.

She is older now, but when someone she loves takes a step back, the little girl in her still steps forward. Still aches.

Her hand finds the empty space before she even knows she's moving.

She waits. Like she always did.

Not because she is weak.

Because once, someone she needed didn't come back when she needed him most.

Didn't see or acknowledge her presence or heart.

Sometimes, they return.

A smile. A few words. Fleeting warmth.

Enough to remind her what being reached for feels like.

But silence returns.

And still her hand remains outstretched, growing heavier with every day.

If you meet her there, don't ask why she hasn't walked away.

Sit beside her, for her heart is heavy.

Hold the hand she keeps offering to others.

Tell her gently. Hold her softly. Tell her she was always worth reaching back for.
 
Are you okay?

Light.
Heavy.
Falling?

The ground seems to shift.
Noise crowds the dark.

Warm… no.
Cold.

Something familar.
Grass.

Cold… no.
Warm.

Echoes spiral into white noise.

Then—nothing.

Moving.
Shaking.
I'm shaking.

Then—words.

“Wake up!"

A dream?
A memory?
A friend.

“I’m fine.”

Silence.

“I think I'll be fine…”
 
Last edited:
Runny Eggs for Breakfast

Runny eggs for breakfast then.
Or maybe runny eggs with toast?
You can never go wrong with some eggs and toast.

Or maybe scrambled would be better?
With some fresh chives and clotted cream.
Yes. Scrambled it is.

Though runny would go better with the toast,
Cut into strips, to soak up all that yolk.

Dippy eggs with soldiers!
Oh, what a treat!
That's settled, then.

Though soldiers really ought to be evenly cut.
These are awfully thick slices.

So good I can almost smell it.

I could make French toast...

Is that smoke?

I've burnt the fucking toast again!

I guess it's runny eggs for breakfast then.
 
Moving Along

Into the fog I carry on
Feet so sure of every step
Even as my vision fails.

Lacking promise of safe passage
Yet strangely certain of my way
A stubborn streak persists.

The fog shifts at my feet
Shadows gather in the haze
A figure takes shape.

In the fog I see a future. Shrouded. Uncertain.
A man who was, is, and will be,
Lost, yet strangely certain of his way.
 
Last edited:
The Courage To Be Seen

I posted a picture of myself
not perfect
not polished
just me

A body I had spent years
learning not to apologize for
soft in places
curved in others
a shape that finally felt like home

For once
I looked at the screen
and didn't search for something to fix

I thought
maybe I can let myself be seen

But someone took my picture
without asking
carried it somewhere
I never gave permission to go
turned something personal
into something I no longer controlled

And suddenly
the courage I had built
started slipping through my fingers

I began looking at my own photos
through the eyes of strangers

Is my body too much?
Is my skin too visible?
Should I crop this?
Hide that?
Maybe I shouldn't post at all

And that's the cruelest part
They didn't just steal a picture

They stole a little piece
of the freedom
I had fought so hard to feel

Because when you finally learn
to stand inside your body
without shame
the world shouldn't punish you
for being brave enough
to show it

My body is not an invitation
a photograph is not permission
my confidence is not something
someone else gets to possess

So maybe I'm scared now
maybe I'll hesitate
before I press post
maybe I'll stare at the screen
and wonder who might take
what was meant to be mine

But this body
is still mine
I deserve to be seen
without being stolen
 
BunnyBeeHope said:
The Courage To Be Seen

I posted a picture of myself
not perfect
not polished
just me

A body I had spent years
learning not to apologize for
soft in places
curved in others
a shape that finally felt like home

For once
I looked at the screen
and didn't search for something to fix

I thought
maybe I can let myself be seen

But someone took my picture
without asking
carried it somewhere
I never gave permission to go
turned something personal
into something I no longer controlled

And suddenly
the courage I had built
started slipping through my fingers

I began looking at my own photos
through the eyes of strangers

Is my body too much?
Is my skin too visible?
Should I crop this?
Hide that?
Maybe I shouldn't post at all

And that's the cruelest part
They didn't just steal a picture

They stole a little piece
of the freedom
I had fought so hard to feel

Because when you finally learn
to stand inside your body
without shame
the world shouldn't punish you
for being brave enough
to show it

My body is not an invitation
a photograph is not permission
my confidence is not something
someone else gets to possess

So maybe I'm scared now
maybe I'll hesitate
before I press post
maybe I'll stare at the screen
and wonder who might take
what was meant to be mine

But this body
is still mine
I deserve to be seen
without being stolen
Click to expand...
Oh Hope
🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂
 
Really proud that I’ve published my first collection of poems. 🎉🎉🎉

Here is the title poem

Laughing Softly at the End of the World

We thought it would be louder.

Something that demanded
we fall to our knees
sirens,
fire,
a sky that finally broke
under the weight of us.

But it didn’t.

The end came quietly.

Like a room
everyone had already left
without saying goodbye.

The kettle boiled.
Clicked off.
We let it.

Somewhere,
a television laughed for us.

Something about a city
I didn’t catch which one this time.

The sound drifted
through empty spaces
like it belonged to another life.

We stopped checking the news.

Not out of hope
but because
it was always the same ending
told in slightly different ways.

I think we stopped hoping
before we noticed.

You sat across from me
like you always had.

Same hands.
Same eyes.

Just
less to hold onto inside them.

You rubbed your thumb
against the edge of the cup
like you do
when words won’t come.

We didn’t talk about it.

There didn’t seem much point
in naming something
that had already happened.

Outside,
nothing looked wrong.

That was the strangest part.

No ash.
No falling sky.
No final, cinematic ruin.

Just people
continuing
as if the ending
was something they could outwalk.

Maybe they can.

We waited.
For something,
anything
to feel like an ending.

But it never arrived.

You laughed first.

Soft.
Uncertain.

Like testing the shape of it
in a world
that didn’t quite deserve it anymore.

I felt it catch in my chest
that same instinct
to follow.

Not because it was funny.
Not because it was right.

But because
there was nothing left
to do with the weight of it.

So I laughed too.

And for a moment,
just a moment,
it felt like release.

Like setting something down
we were never meant to carry.

Maybe that’s all the end is.

Not fire.
Not silence.

Just the slow understanding
that everything keeps going
until it doesn’t

and no one
knows the exact moment
it slips away.

The kettle cooled
finally silent
without needing us.

The light dimmed
without asking.

You were still there.

And that was enough
to make it feel like
something hadn’t ended
entirely.

So we stayed.

Two small things
in a quiet room,
laughing softly
at the end of the world.

Outside,
something kept going
as if it hadn’t noticed
we’d stopped.
 
Last edited:
Ton Of Bricks

Depression hits like a ton of bricks
No warning no sound
Just suddenly the weight
Of everything comes crashing down

The room stays exactly the same
But somehow I can't move
Even breathing feels like work
And nothing feels worth proving

I carry what nobody sees
A heaviness under my skin
Trying to remember who I was
Before the darkness settled in
 
The Queen of thieves

At first I didn't notice,
The fresh air and more light in my life
Could have been a coincidence
But it was her.

She opened sealed windows,
Found keys I thought lost
To open doors I never had the courage
to go through alone

The queen of thieves had no special skills,
There was no risk
And nobody to stop her,
Especially not me.

She could have taken everything
But didn't.
I just gave it to her
I don't even want it back.

The queen of thieves stole my heart
Not even on purpose,
It just happened...



Ps: it's largely inspired by something i read maybe 3 or 4 years ago. I tried to find the original, if not to post then at least to give credits for the inspiration - without succes.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Trending content

Back
Top