They said “Bad feelings are temporary”
Are they?

Is it the optimistic urge to let them go
And free the space for upcoming more?
And how do we know what’s coming isn’t as bad?
Can we mesure how much we endured
and how much is left ?

“Bad feelings are temporary”,
Do we at some point in life upgrade
and reach access to the sanctuary?
Is it fair share the amount of things
that are upsetting or scary?

How can you say it’s temporary ?
when every corner in me is hunted
with a heavy weight of a hurting feeling
How many did I drop and
How many do I still carry?
My shoulders are tired
And my bones are growing weary

“Bad feelings are temporary”,
How come they become bad in the first place?
Don’t they have a purpose
Or do they just occupy space?
Do we need to feel anxious or not enough
in order to grow more tough?
Couldn’t we just all agree to not be rough?
Couldn’t we change the rules
So the gentle one survives?

Couldn’t we care more
And help each other feel a little less
of the bad feelings that we call temporary?

-HexaWhirl<3

prayed for love,
prayed for life,
prayed for hope—

searched for,
longed for
something more

than just
a reason to believe,
a reason to
be less alone.

i prayed for days
to take
the pain away,

but the pain
was mine
to bear.

and the cross—
my testament,
a vow

to never let
fear interfere.

but one prayer
remains unanswered:

will i
make it
out okay?

surely,
because i hope—

it doesn’t always
have to stay
this way.

Is it wrong
To not know what's next
After building up a reputation
To always be the one who knows
And never asks for anything in return
Not once
Is it wrong
To not have any advice
When everyone believes I am healed
That I speak truths
From my harsh past
And shed light
On every other trauma
So is it so, so wrong
To have helped every other person
Yet be at a loss of words
When I'm with you

I have these…childhood memories.
I remember;

Tears.
Fear.
Raised voices.
A broken windshield.
A singed curtain.
Broken hearts.
Broken vows.
And so, so many broken promises.

A room that was mine and also not mine.
A door that never felt like it closed.
Walls that learned to listen.
Drawers that held their breath.
I learned silence like a second language,
and tried to follow your lead.
Your voice became my voice.
I smiled when I wanted to frown.
I made myself smaller
in places that should have been safe.

                      “She’s my favourite.”

So I escaped
to where you couldn’t reach me—
in the corners of my mind,
to stories that never knew your name…
or your kind.
Places you could never follow.
Worlds that felt like mine.

                    I remember your hands—
                    not where I want them.

I remember the sharpness
of footsteps in the hall.
The sound of keys—
how even that
could make my stomach drop.

      "Is this going to be a good night,
                        or a bad one?"

And I remember his voice,
too close again.
I hoped, stupidly, he might’ve changed.

But he hasn’t.
He never will.
And when he spoke, I trembled.
Not because I didn’t know—
but because I did.

Because I’d heard it all before.
Those saccharine words,
dripping—
sickly sweet…empty.
"I'm sorry,"
falling out of your mouth
like it cost you nothing.

And I used to hope you meant it.
That maybe this time
you’d keep your word.

But you didn’t.
You never did.
Another promise,
broken.

I trace the shape of the memories
only when I choose to.
Some still ache when I touch them.
Some don’t belong to me alone.

But I am still here.
And this room—this one—
is mine.

You haunted everything.
But not this.
Not now.

This part of me—
is yours no longer.
Not in this room.
Not in these walls.
Not in me.

I woke up wired, heart beat fast,
told myself this time’s the last.
Lines on the sink, shame in my head,
texted some lies, stayed in bed.

The crash is gone but not the mess,
some days I still can’t catch my breath.
I stay away from what the old me craves,
and that part is still digging its own grave.

There were nights I almost called it quits —
and if the ceiling of my old apartment was strong enough,
I wouldn’t be writing this.