She thinks her ideas will change the world
But we both know that she's wrong
She thinks her ideas will break the ground 
But she can’t even right her wrongs
She thinks she’s really something special
But we both know that’s not true
Cause she’d rather burn in hell, than stay here stuck with you
She thinks she’s invincible 
But that’s no given fact
She thinks she’s beautiful
But only to tired eyes that lack
She holds her chin up high and her head above the rest
Cause in the end, a backhanded compliment is all she’s going to get

No
no thanks
I'll pass
no I couldn't
it's not for me
I respectfully decline
no I wouldn't
like to share
(but you keep trying)
I really can't
I'm well beyond I shouldn't
it's to where
it crosses the line
to I won't,
no never
not for you
not for anyone
no matter how clever
you are
with your promises and lies
of how good it was before
no matter what the disguise
it's still no
and the more you insist
the more I'll resist
until you let go
and if you really want to know
I can tell you why
it's wrong
and show you
the damage it can do

I don't wear my glasses anymore

Not because I don't like them

I started wearing contacts long ago, but I wore my glasses on comfy days

On a day off when I just lounge around and play games

On cold nights when I would huddle down in my blankets with a movie or book

I don't wear them, not because I dislike them, but because you loved them

You told me I was handsome in my glasses, that I looked good

You told me they fit prefectly and I should wear them more

But now when I wear my glasses I only see the boy who you loved, the one you adored

I am no longer that boy, so I don't wear my glasses

Note: I want to share something today that I remembered I have written as I am coming to a transitionary point in my life once again. I will share the details without erasing anything or changing anything. These are what seem like call and response poems that I have accidentally made. I hope you are doing well today, good-willed stranger. Please continue to desire a purpose in life.

The Thirty-Second Poem (August 25, 2025).

As once was void,

Yet I long,

To be made again.

For the broken song,

Cannot be used in twain.

I have nothing,

To give my dear.

Reedit:

Aug29

I want to engage in us.

Something that's like -

I am but a part of you,

And you are but a part of me.

And we'll dance wild and subtle,

So close, that we seem to be one.

We are individual and together -

Loving so truthfully.

for the longest time now, i've fought many battles

have been defeated many days, perhaps won a couple few

but i've spent too much of my life in this war

and i wonder for how much longer do i have to fight

though i continue to drown in my own thoughts of hopelessness

small glimmers of hope shine through

the same way the rays of the sun bleed from behind the clouds on a gloomy day

i cry and fear to all of wit's ends

and yet despite the pain of it all, i somehow still dream

i dream of days when a deep breath is an act of relief and not one to relieve

i dream of days when the warmth from inside me burns steadily like the fire inside a hearth, unlike the forest fire that sets ablaze my heart

i dream of days when the arms that wrap around me belong to the person i love, not just those of the broken person i am teaching myself how to feel loved

i dream of the day the war ceases

and to live to see that having hope is not all that hopeless

No one tells you when you become a mother that your heart will learn to walk without you. That one day it will put on sneakers, shoulder a backpack, and disappear through a doorway you cannot follow it through.

Tomorrow, mine starts fourth grade. Nine years old, somehow still small enough that I can remember the weight of him sleeping against my chest, but big enough now to walk into a world where I won't always know what happens. That is the hardest part.

I would give him every piece of me if it meant the world could never take one from him. I would stand between him and every cruel word, every broken heart, every disappointment, every darkness he hasn't learned exists yet. I would fight monsters he doesn't even know to be afraid of.

Motherhood is the cruelest kind of love. You spend years teaching them how to fly while quietly wishing you could keep the sky from ever having storms.

You teach them to be brave while your own hands tremble. You tell them, "You are going to do great." when what you really want to say is, "Please be gentle with my heart today, he is carrying it in his backpack"

That is what he is. My heart, outside of my body. Walking into classrooms I cannot always enter. Making friends I cannot choose. Hearing words I cannot unhear for him. Fighting little battles I may never even know happened.

I know this is what I raised him for. I know I am supposed to be happy watching the baby disappear a little more each year and this incredible boy take his place, and I am.

Pride and grief have always lived strangely close together in motherhood. So tomorrow, I will smile. I will tell him how handsome he looks. I will remind him he has everything he needs. I will probably embarrass him with one hug too many. Then, I will watch nine years of my whole entire world walk away from me toward fourth grade.

I will let him go because loving him means knowing I cannot make the world harmless. I can only make sure he always knows where home is. I cannot fight every battle for him.I can only teach him that there is something inside him stronger than whatever darkness finds him and I cannot promise his heart will never break. I can only promise that if it does, he will never have to pick up the pieces alone.

The world gets a little more of him tomorrow. I suppose that is the beautiful, terrible bargain I made the day I became his mother. I brought him into this world knowing someday I would have to trust it with him, and tomorrow morning, I'll loosen my grip just a little more, while loving him enough to want to hold on forever.

How can you tell me you love me

when you only bask in the rays of sunlight,

but are fearful of the night

when you know I am the moonlight?

How can you call me your Goddess

when you refuse to come to my temple

to worship

and leave offerings?

How can you say you will meet me in the depths

when you only stay on the shoreline,

when you know I am only found in the depths?

How can you say I am your everything

when you have lived in famine your whole life?

How could you recognize something rare

when you have never known abundance?

How can you speak my language

when you have never learned to read?

How can you say I am your heartbeat

when you have never listened to my soul?

Slowly eternity creeps
Down to here
Some things are too fast
To be seen

And some too slow

Can you hear
How time drops
The truth falling down
Slowly, steadily
From the floor of heaven

An eternal circle
Wearing the stone
Everything you do
Is touched by light
And known to the
All-seeing eye

Love made me meek

Love made me hollow

Love made me lazy

Love made me a stranger to myself

Love made me dependent

Love made me unhinged

Love made me arrogant

Love made me blind

Love made me a mockery of me

May I never find your love again...

Near swaying boats
on the beach
hot sand lies
beneath
my feet.
I am content
complete
mesmerized
by the blue
water/sky
I reach
for
a cold drink
as I sink
with the sun
into welcome
languor
stirred
finally
by the wafting
lure
of fish
on the grill.
I wish
only to
freeze time
until
I can
return
again
and
again
year
after
year
to the clear
turquoise sea
to the chatter
on the streets
to the clatter
of the carts
that greet
my ears
to the smell of sugar
from the square.
I am to the point where
when I'm not here
I stare
blinded by winter's glare
and dream
I'm there
of warm Isla nights
of Hidalgo's neon lights
strolling on
the malecón
in the soft cool air
without a care
in the world.

Do you really think
You can hate me
More than me?

Do you truly believe
That you can push me
Further away from myself
Than I already have?

Are you really that naive
To perpetuate the thought
That your words hurt worse
Than anything I haven’t told myself?

The trauma that makes you
Want to push me away
Is the same trauma
That makes me want to stay

It’s the trauma that makes me
Cling to your every attack
Like the strongest addiction
I’ve ever had to crack

The harder you push
The stronger I pull
Like a never ending game
Of tug-of-war with our emotions

Do you really think
You can hate me
More than me?

Do you truly believe
That you can push me
Further away from myself
Than I already have?

Are you really that naive
To perpetuate the thought
That your words hurt worse
Than anything I haven’t told myself?

​

I think I finally understood what life means to me.

'Cause before it was empty -- there ain't no symphony.

Only when I started acknowledging my humanity,

My flaws, loves, dislikes, hates did it complete me.

Now you hear it, the beats, brass and choir,

But it took hours, sorrows and heart breaks to acquire.

Who knew the vomit would taste so bad,

All the beef, carrot, fries, and mc doubles,

Then that sour, sweet, bitter acid spilling out of my throat

My tears running down my cheeks,

I stare at my own mess before me,

There's no turning back now unfortunately.

I go get the towels, bleach, mop, and broom

Just before I feel another belch, but this time I swallow it and keep it within.

Take two Tums and then get back to work immediately,

Wipe down the floor and disinfect every corner,

Another wave crashes in -- and now we start all over again.

Maybe this is just the way it is until your stomach's empty,

So accept it, notice when it’s coming,

And take some time to savor something nice.

That's when you find the beauty in your life.

And the next time it happens,

Just remember that it's the same ol' vomit.

🥄

\----------

I know I ended on a pretty heavy note, but if someone can think of a lighter resolution, please comment.

Edited: added a suggestion to savor the new that comes in

It's a skill I've mastered

I've won the hearts of everyone

How do I hold back my laughter

I've heard that I've gone home

What can I say, I can't die

Ever since I've died while alive

Now, I just have to face myself

I've passed by everyone

The same charms and graces, the same gestures

I've become all about you

I'm a strange accusation of the times

I've become the target of everyone here

I've never reached myself

While there, I've spent a lifetime

Since the day I met you, my love

I've been terrified of myself

There’s mourning in the lane of my beloved

Because I've suddenly become better

June Elia

Time

My one true friend

You've never lied to me

Never filled my ears with platitudes

Or empty reassurances

Your presence has never

softened the blow

Shrunk the devastation

Or erased the grief

You've never turned things back

And altered what was

Or changed the memory

into something it wasn't

You are simply water

And I am simply stone

I don't move

Yet you change my shape

You smooth the jagged edges

You push me down stream

You carve out paths

That didn't exist before

And I am just a stone

Not unmoved

Not unchanged

Because you, time, continue

Without my permission

Without my consent

You go on

Therefore, so do i

I lay down on my bed,

with my brain caught in a hazy fog.

The clock ticks beside me— 

tick tock, tick tock. 

The ticking doesn't stop— 

a sound so overwhelming.

Giant eyes bear into mine

with a sinister stare—so frightening. 

Time flies past me, 

mocking me on the way.

I close my ears because I cannot hear,

what he has got to say.

I close my eyes too,

thinking I can escape time.

I turn around and run away,

still holding onto this belief of mine. 

I keep running and running,

with my eyes and ears shut tight;

But deep down I already know— 

it is just a matter of time. 

A matter of time

before time catches upto me,

and forces my eyes open

to face what I cannot bear to see. 

Yet I keep running,

with my legs starting to go weak;

knowing that it's only a matter of time

before time catches up to me.

like a fallen swallow
exiled to the backwaters
of Abyssia
her soul aboard
its' floating flowers dreaming of escape
drifting to a bloodied ending
childlike through a vernal darkness
that howls and creeps and steals
how her mind sinks into the surreal
cesspit of arterial swamps
coagulating into the still
lifeless waters that brood with none but hate
for the living souls that therein by fate contains

How can I be more
When I’m constantly losing
Is there gain in loss

I hated the world.

So much so,

That I offered my heart,

And they laughed at the gesture.

I hated the place,

I called my home.

So I changed it to my liking,

And they frowned at me.

I hated the government,

And its love for paper and metal.

So I protested,

And they ignored me.

I hated my face,

And the mirror's gaze.

So I took up a knife,

And it trembled in my hand.

I hated my friends,

And their clueless praise.

So I faked my smile,

To fool them all.

I hated that I loved you,

And didn't get a chance to pronounce it.

At least not to the degree,

That if you and I become we.

I hated my writing,

And my idiotic rhymes.

The masks fighting,

And how I ended my lines.

So why then do I continue?

I hate that I want to find out.

Uninspired by fruit and the way it doesn't move

Unless bitten or cut

And then it will weep, casting a shadow the same way

Anything else does

Symbolises fertility, labour, love and sin

Symbolises so much because it means nothing

That's why they say the wine she drinks

Is made of grapes

Just because it tastes alright doesn't mean it's

The blood of Jesus Christ

Nor should I bleed in the name of an apple bite

(That had nothing to do with me anyway)

Now out of spite I won't even bother with a

Decent last line

Written from the lana del rey poetry book prompt

Basically there's a bit at the end where you write a poem based off a picture - which was a painting of oranges (sorry I didn't even reference oranges that feels like cheating - but the working title was 'fucking hate oranges')

This is just a bit of fun/challenge and actually nothing like my other poetry so don't take it too seriously lol

TS Elliot wrote,
and I quote,
"I have measured out my life
in coffee spoons"
but
I measure mine
in intravenous lines
stacking time
in hospital rooms
writing
rhymes
holding close
the moments
I spend
caring for
my love
my dearest
friend

Loving you is like holding sand
The more I hold the less that stands
Bits of me float through the wind
Can’t help myself, I try again
Nothing left but scattered grains
I still grip, it still brings me pain

Conscious contact is a kind of total body awareness of connection. Normally, there’s so much going on in my brain, competing for my attention, that there’s a constant cacophony of noise. Conscious contact is quieter, not competitive, assured, confident, and with a semblance of peace. It’s the definition of knowingness.
 

This is where we part
Always knew it is coming
Still blindsided I was

After many days you wanted to talk
First words were toughest
I knew what you were going to say

How I hurt you with my insecurities
I wish someone cheated or had heart of hatred
But we only had love and sorrow

You were first my everything
The childlish first love
Now we’ll be strangers

Promised I wouldnt move on too quickly
You promised to eat and sleep
I fear my promise will hold longer

My tears keep running
In the cafe and gym even on phone with the guys
Unable to face tomorrow alone I smoke

The songs have never been so sad
Id end it if it wouldnt make you feel bad
Im done

Pitch
Don’t invest
Your precious young time
Into a depreciating body

They write you off
Sooner than you‘re aware of

Oh my beloved sister
You are so young
You don’t know yet
The truth that’ll come

A man‘s love
Is as deep
As your aging skin
A man‘s love
Is as permanent
As freshly cut roses

Invest in your brain
Save yourself
Your heart’s pain

Let's start over,

Through your smile so grandeur.

I've never seen a four-leaf clover,

Classically dressed through my voyeur.

These scars prevent me,

From approaching your lovely haze.

And so it shall be,

An admiration ablaze.