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Matt Jun 23
It starts—soft,
a thread of sound unspooling in the dark,
a quiet pull at the edge of being.

Close your eyes.

A note bends, weightless,
stretching toward something unseen,
like light slipping through fingertips,
like breath you didn’t know you were holding.

And suddenly, you are drifting—
unbodied,
untethered,
rising through the hush between chords.

Strings shimmer like stardust beneath your skin.
A voice—half air, half ache—
opens like a doorway inside your chest.
The bass hums deep in your bones,
a second heartbeat, steady, certain.

Everything you are dissolves into melody,
into harmony,
into motion.

For a moment—just one—
the world forgets to weigh you down.

And you let go.
Music is the best escape in my life; it helps me when I'm depressed, and anxious, and worried for what is to come.
Kira Botkina Jun 20
How sweet it feels — to dream
Of a life that will never be.
To melt into shallow visions,
Like sugar lost in boiling tea.
To drift through fictions, soft and kind,
And sleepwalk through a phantom age,
Escaping life, escaping time —
A coward locked inside a cage.

He lives a hundred borrowed lives,
A hundred fates, a hundred lies.
He feeds his narrow, timid mind
With scenes where no true sorrow lies.
They’re sweeter than the bitter truth,
More gentle than the world outside —
Where life is raw, and sharp, and cruel,
And none of us are free to hide.

So let him drown in pretty dreams,
In fogs of comfort, safe and still.
He trades the weight of honest pain
For hollow joys that never will
Become a life — just phantom plays
Projected in a vacant head,
While real tears are left uncried,
And real battles left for dead.
Mélissa Jun 18
Μέσα σε όνειρα και σε εφιάλτες
Τόσες ευκαιρίες και πρόσωπα σβησμένα
Βήματα που έγιναν με βάρος και με τόλμη
Και τελικά πήγαν χαμένα

Μέσα στη ζούγκλα ένα άγριο ζώο
Που δε ζητάει ποτέ αυτό που θέλει
Βρες το κάτω από το δέρμα
Σκάψε εντός, κοίτα στον καθρέφτη

Είναι ένα παζλ που του λείπουν κομμάτια
Είναι ένα αίνιγμα που του λείπουν στοιχεία
Μια πόλη στον θόρυβο πνιγμένη
Και ποιος ο λόγος μου να μείνω;

Όπου κι αν δείχνουν τα σημάδια
Όποια κατεύθυνση κι αν δίνουν
Εκείνη─      μισεί εμένα
Και εγώ─    νιώθω το ίδιο
This is an experiment.
I never write in my native language, so I decided to translate a song of mine from english to greek and turn it into a poem.
Kalliope Jun 16
Yeah I'm so funny for the stories I tell, but I lived my twenties thinking living was hell
Sure, now it's hilarious that my past was so **** wild but is it really?
I was just a child
I did what I needed to-
I stuck it out, I took my beatings and I tried not to pout, he was the path I chose and there was no way out.
I was seventeen living miles away and when I needed it most, my family never came.
We wonder now, why I stayed, all the things he did to me I should have felt betrayed.
Though he was my captor, he felt more like a savior and maybe thats why for so long-
I excused his behavior.
When no one else would help me, he would stand right there, yeah sometimes he would hurt me, but so did everyone else who cared.
I know now it wasn't love-
just possession and control,
but that 17 year old girl in me was always desperate to prove that wrong.
You don't know you're in an abusive relationship until it's too late
And you don't process how truly bad it got until you're completely out
ash Jun 11
pleading,
crying,
begging—
wanting to be heard.

watching, writhing,
burning in agony.
dreaming a nightmare,
hugging solemn innocence.
aching—
in despair, in desire.

once an angel of life—
now a demon of death in disguise.
her wings were torn, brutally,
and she couldn’t even scream one last time
before they threw her
off the landing.

nowhere to step, nowhere to stand—
barely able to sit,
and yet she ran.

kept running, far and farther still,
only to be pulled back
every time she thought she'd made it out.

they were always there.
watching.
waiting.
hoping.
to catch her,
to tear her—
hands on every part of her.

disgust piled with the blood in her mouth.
she scratched her skin,
tore herself apart—
knowing it’d hurt less
than being caught
by the counterparts.

and yet—
oh, look.
isn’t the moon pretty?

found it in my notes, added to it a bit
got somewhere, i guess?
Cadmus May 4
You and I, if only we could fly,
On sparrow wings, just you and I.
The sun would carry us through golden air,
And spin us silk from light and prayer.

To lands where no one’s ever gone,
Beyond the echo, past the dawn.
Behind the last voice of the last goodbye,
No one behind us, only sky.

You and I, if only we could fly,
Be stolen quietly, passing by
Like a drifting leaf on a breeze so wide,
Together we float, side by side.

A strand of sky in a world so blue,
The wind would rock us, me and you.
No place to land, no need to steer
Just us as one, and nowhere near.

You and I, if only we could fly,
On sparrow wings, no need to try.
The world dissolves, becomes the air
And we’re not here, and we don’t care.
No wings were harmed in this daydream. Only a heart light as a feather, heavy with want wondering what flight might feel like when it’s shared.
Lynn Apr 27
How is the bird to go home
When all it knows is the cold
The rainy and the harsh
The curses and the shots
When it tries to run away
The darkness coerces it to stay
So even if the bird is free
It will never truly be
reality is very jarring
it's so different from my books
I love the escape
all the different worlds I can experience
so much better than reality
nana Apr 19
1.
Últimamente, me siento un poco fuera de mí, ya no logro reconocer quién soy, quién fui, todos los días siento este vacío, como si no entendiera nada del mundo, sólo recuerdo, de una forma extraña, cómo era antes, y no sé ya cuál de ellas dos soy yo, no sé si sigo siendo yo, sólo sé que todo me molesta, que ya no es lo mismo, que ni siquiera a quienes quiero logro tolerar. Sólo pienso en alguien, alguien que ya no existe, y a quien desprecio con todo mi ser, porque es la razón de mi locura, sé que ella es la culpable, por su culpa, sólo pienso en huir, sólo pienso en despreciar a los demás, porque ya no sé cómo amar, ya no tengo ese poder, siento que ya no lo tengo, y estoy desesperada, ¿quién soy yo, sin poder amar?
Fingir es tan agotador, y peor aún, es tener miedo, de lo que tú mismo eres capaz, porque ahora eres capaz de todo, menos de amar.
extrañaba escribir:)
Trinkets Apr 18
Used to walk through life
Nose stuck in a book,
only saw the world
in periphery of pages.

An artist of escape,
a dreamer in your youth.
Fleeing reality through stories
in all ages.

Looking up, growing up, into
something of your own.
Writing new worlds,
stuck exploring, dreams grown.
Like you did, now see
beauty in periphery.

An escape artist turned explorer.
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