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When the world
Screams in my ear
You are faulty,
You are worthless
A little paw stretches,
Resting on my chest
And I am reminded
I am her world,
I am lovely.
Estelle Jun 2
Love..
In a world filled with people in all different fonts, love is the most beautiful feeling. No matter your inner or outer form, your height or your size, whether you seek a simple life or an ambitious one—there will always be someone whose heart holds a place for you.

Love exists in many forms and feelings: a friend’s comforting embrace, a mother’s warm smile, a partner’s kiss. Everyone feels love in one of these ways. But romantic love is my downfall. I fall too quickly, and the feeling fades just as fast. It is genuine love—I know that. I can feel its warmth radiating through my body. But all it takes is a single misstep for that warmth to be swallowed by a dark chill.

I’m not blind to the fact that relationships and love are a fragile fruit—easily turned to a messy pulp if not handled with gentle hands. Yet even with that awareness, I still end up hurting those who hold me dear. Never by intention—but inevitably—I become their sorrow.

Relationships are an exchange of blood and bruises, healed only in each other’s arms. But I’m no longer willing to endure the pain of these new wounds. I am too covered in scars from those who came and went. I have been sought after, lusted for, used, and beaten. I am afraid—afraid I will never feel true love. Afraid I’ll be hurt again. Afraid my heart will once more be shattered. And if I am not the one broken—will I be the one who breaks them? That is nothing I could ever take joy in.

The love I long for is not the lust of today. I want to feel someone’s hands on my soul, not my body. To live in someone’s heart, not their bed. Still, there is one thought I hold close—a name carved into my heart forever. Never have I felt his eyes strip me bare. Never have I needed his forgiveness to be myself. If he were the ocean, I’d be a wave. If he were the wind, I’d be sea and shore.

How to describe the love I seek, or the love I find in him—there are no words. Only a faint beating in my heart. Even in the safe place that is his smile, fear seeks me out. If the day comes when I finally hold his heart, and my rough hands cause him sorrow, I will never forgive myself. How am I to ask him for trust when I cannot trust myself?

This fear slowly coils around my throat—like a thorned vine, digging into my skin until I can no longer breathe. A single phrase keeps spinning in my mind over and over again, and I am beside myself with terror at its meaning:

The abused becomes the abuser.
Critisism is always welcome
Mia J May 4
Been single for about two years
It ***** at times but I don’t hate it
Though I’ve had some potential suitors
None have gone any further than it should
Here’s my latest
I felt feelings
That I didn’t want to confess
I felt comfortable
In a way that felt reciprocated at times
He was cute
Chocolaty just like I like my men
But I hesitated
See I wanted him
But to him
I was only his friend
Nothing more, nothing less
In my mind, we were in a relationship
I missed the part where this wasn’t reality
I call other women delusional for such a thing
But who am I?
No better than the rest
Certainly not better than the next
I claim my potential must have this and that
But I ignore one thing to keep everything
That I assumed was there
No blame to this guy
He did no wrong
I did too much
I overthink a lot but I wasn’t wrong with this one
Here’s the truth
I knew all along
I knew for a fact that we weren’t a match
That what I wanted
He didn’t have
My mind may go into overdrive
But with this, she wasn’t wrong
I tucked the truth in the back of the bus
And drove to do to what was a lie
I knew we were only friends
My heart wanted him but nature wouldn’t let it happen
I’m woman enough to admit my wrong
Him not saying anything was everything I needed to hear
No dates
No phone calls
No not even a suggestion or a move
Here’s the truth
I won’t fight myself for this
I’ll pull back and remain
My heart won’t hurt anymore
I will move on and continue to learn
I’ll be just fine
I’m only human after all
Here’s the deep truth
I don’t chase after a man
No more will I think and blindly act like a title
That’s not exclusive
I’ll speak the man I want into existence
Though it may be hard and even upsetting at times
I’ll wait for that right man
Who puts in effort and does the best he can
To show me his interest
Who has what I want and need
He’ll be the man I dreamed of
Here’s the truth
I thank you to the potentials
You showed me what I didn’t need in my life
You helped me to remove the blinders
To see that I deserve better
I thank you and have nothing but love for you
That’s the truth

© 2019 Mia J
This poem was composed in 2019
TheLees Apr 30
Everyone thinks I’m an idiot.
Even me.

My friends think I’m funny
but not smart,
not sharp.

I got a certificate to belay while rock climbing
just so I could be like my friends,
but Ryan wouldn’t let me belay him.

Claire thinks I’m not good enough
to teach others how to climb.

Mira told me,
“you’re the last person I thought would know the answer,”
while we were studying for a final.

I felt unsteady afterward,
like I was winded.

My mood sank fast.
There was a pressure in my abdomen -
like I had to take a ****
but I was holding it in.

And on the same note,
I wanted to run
away,
out of sight,
so I could **** in peace.

But instead,
I laughed it off
and smoked cigarettes on the porch
when I got home
because I’m too stupid
to read the label.

I am convinced by my own actions, too
although I can’t decide
if it’s my forgetful brain
or just my personality:
aloof,
head in the clouds.

I remember walking through the halls of high school,
friends passing by, trying to get my attention
but I was staring at the ceiling again,
at the scattered marks, how they had no pattern,
and how that somehow made me uncomfortable.

Either way,
the stupidity sticks.
The child inside is terrified
Misshapen intent
Quick to doubt
An injustice
Afraid to feel
A silent crime
Killing her mind
Stop wasting her time
Love and understanding
Vital to her fragile existence
I looked within and found a spark,
A quiet flame against the dark,
No need for praise or grand applause
I am enough, just as I was.

The mirror once a place I feared,
Now shows a soul that's grown and cleared,
Each scar, a story, brave and true,
A map of all that I’ve been through.

I speak with kindness to my name,
No longer bound by guilt or shame.
In every breath, I start anew
A promise made, to just be you.

So here I stand, both soft and strong,
Not needing crowds to sing my song.
The journey taught what time can't steal
To trust myself, to love, to heal.
Haven't always loved myself. It was a hard journey to find a way to. It took a large amount of pain- both my own and what I've caused. I knew I had to grow or I'd never learn to properly love anyone- including myself.
To those I have hurt, I truly am sorry. That man has died, I buried him and burned the shovel.
I S A A C Mar 20
you can’t see me in your future
you can only see me if your present
should i accept this as blessing?
he will see it in time, my shine
my brillant blues draped across the sky
my wings meeting the sunlight
do you dream of me at night?
plagued by nightmares of you leaving my side
skipping away for a dusk ride
tripping over some new type
i want to fulfill, i want real
i want to understand how you feel
i want to help you stay still
deep breaths while the tears flow
rivers and oceans full
i let you in to my soul, still wasn’t enough
wasn’t enough for you to know
whether you wanted it or not
said you cared but it feels like you are stringing me along
wanting for my confidence to kick in
for the ending of my swan song

i tried to be perfect, still trying hard
you make me feel undeserving
still trying hard, trying the hardest
i am too far now, the farthest
planted seeds in the winter
of course there was no harvest
my mind is too good at being honest
the linchpin, my fondness
Steve Page Mar 8
Curiosity over Certainty
breeds Questions
that have Validity.

(Thanks to Ted Lasso
and Richard P. Feynman.)
I get curious when I hear the same short quote from numerous people. Like 'doubt is not to be feared but welcomed'.  After reading more of Feynmans thoughts, I realise I agreed: an honest life breeds curiosity.  Questions are an honest response to the complexities of the world.  We need curious leaders.
Solutions to the challenges of living in community require open, honest and curious conversation.
That's what marks my conversations with God anyhow.
Ken Pepiton Mar 5
La la Joconde, the joke as one may yoke
two or three re calling

details in mystery more than mere

completion intentional sfumata mere pure

clear as if nothing seen through reflective lead

subtility shown few, seen through granite reflecting
eastern wall of my tower, thought grand, a cave

operationally… stage left
your right, redirecting light, from my west,

tricks perceived as light a little brighter, turn
a detail, eyes made to speak irrelevancy,

observe a casus artis sui, as done, indeed,

as we may imagine natural reflection no brows

at the edge of Earthian evidence of ductility,

so subtle perceive the effect reason perceived…

we believe we are seen, face to face,
gentle smile entertained, flickering scintillating,

slight smile we are told, see this from 2025,
online PDF
better on your phone than in the Louvre
imagine Leonardo, with wifi

while tracing nerves, pursing the kiss,
shaping how we say smile, slightly

and we find the makings
of an ever imaginable
clear plain vision
slight smile,

providing word frame soft smooth transistion

low spatial frequencies,
imagine that, elusion, sfumata soft
allusive, recessive expression, towb ra' beheld.

The Mona Lisa keeps her smile, ah

lead us critical seer of details where the works

work their magic,
as we imagine the measure
of man, male model mundus mind holder
Earthian two tree vascular neural node
fruiting through root or branch,
while using fire
to pop seeds

Imagine meeting Da Vinci yesterday,
getting to know, his quirks,
and something

of life five hundred years ago.
Having some old smith ties,

compounding confounded springs
from old cars
in trigger assemblies
on the east side
of the Kush.

Verily true being man,
here we be, there be time,
here we think, there we may imagine

thinking, mere will
to be kept
for my art sake, or something,

try the spirits, feel the dense purity,

find the peasant story, find

the first hearth told naming day story,
the first hearty wake attended after all,

tie to the old religions casus belli got lost,
loosed and blown past nnnand gates,

goodness, Mr. Feynman, I can fix a flat.

That was the summer of '44…

at Alamogordo, south of trees planted
for several seasons in the 1980s,
at Ruidoso,
on Mescalero land, many trees
paid directly

to the Holy Alamo Church

where Andy Riddle died,
and sense you would not know him,
I ask you to trust me, he was saintly.

A celibate spiritual ******, was he,

a classically trained scion of some
airline fortune, Braniff adds some flair

this cult had heirs of Vanderbilt
and obscure Four Square base support,

with tendrils in Orange County Birchers.

Wild, wonder if what if, look at us now…  
as true believers, grown old,
to be reviewed
on Global TV
by members
surviving a lie,
a religious cult,
with credible ties
to Ronald Reagan,

and the take down
of Pandora's Box,
as the Domino Theory, has religion init,

decoding dementia devine design,
what if wonder if works best, then what


first we get the idea, we all see it done,
magnificent math positioning dominos,

true cause and effect demonstrations,
of promethean planning, fore thought,

functional failures readjusted, think
a gain, see, we learned what never works,

by trying a thousand times, ok, no hell,

no heaven not matching one that works here,

on earth, as if this were where forever occurs,,,

to us. Readers of time signs as we stay busy dying.
Trumps performance. the pretty in pinks the fraction of attention, once
word was whatsoever two or more agreed to call true, at once, is thought,
so true, so touching, so seriously addressing the smallness of Earth,
and how much attention is spent living, day to day,
some days hard, some not so hard, time to waste reading Isaacson/
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