It was real.
I can feel it.
Like fingers wrapping
Around my wrist.
Wispy and delicate...
Or rough and jagged?

You tell me it never happened.
But why is my pillow stained with my tears?

Because I know my tears were real.
But to you...
They were just phantom tears.

I drink in manipulation,
My soul bathes in it.

I love it like water,
Need it to breathe.

So keep it coming,
Keep on using me.

I'll never say goodbye,
Until I die.

His words twisted the corners
so right curved into left,
and truth bent sideways,
making me believe
I was going the wrong way.
Hedgerows grew tall,
and thick with argument,
until they swallowed the gas lampposts,
turning pathways into shadows.
I walked blind and barefoot
through the thick of it,
earth damp, worn thin as my breath.
Was I supposed to find the center?
Was there ever an exit?
There was no map,
just whispers in the leaves,
and his voice,
ringing in my ears,
a compass spinning
from asking too many questions,
and doubt,
folded into my own pocket.
My soul became blistered
from chasing after ghosts of
wanted apologies,
so I kissed the ivy,
hoping the walls would soften.
but they spiraled,
a boa constrictor handcuffing my legs.
I took a sharp turn,
desperate,
crawling on my belly,
a soldier avoiding fire,
fingertips clawing into the red clay,
and found the center,
where a red lip-sticked mirror stood,
half cracked, words still whole:
"you're not the one who's lost"

Baby, I am your baby.
My tongue utters stanzas that befuddle you, my baby.
I am your baby — my hands create a muddle in your dreams,
Dreams that never come true.

Gobs of doves shout that you never loved me from the start.
Yet what could they do?
Now, I am yours — your baby — grappling with reality
And your dreams that will never come true.
I'm your baby. Say it, baby.
Then we'll be unified.

I am your baby. The sun defies me.
So I create a moon from the light I gather in the depths of your eyes.
And then the sun is distracted by the beauty of the moon in the sky.
She forgets me — an entity that belongs to you.
Now, take me. Own me.

A utopian chimera, written by God himself —
I stole it and forced it to become true.
As I become your baby,
I burn down your dreams, rotting in the abyss.
So replace your dreams with me.
Let only my dreams exist.

I'm your baby. Own me — even as my impure saliva stains your bedsheets.
You realize, when you touch it, when you feel it —
Nausea. You run to the sink,
Throwing up everything you ate, including me.
Remember — I am your baby.

I am your baby, intertwine our fingers when we go over a trestle above the abyss.
I knew you would long for your old dreams that would never come true.
Now I be your dreams — the ones you will cherish, as I am your baby.

What if the heart really doesn't know..
Before I continue this, I'll tell you what inspired this poem
The saying(s) go(es) something like;
"The heart knows what it wants.";
Or; "Always follow your heart."
Well, back to the poem, just hear me out though
What if the heart really doesn't know what it wants?
What if we "think" we know what it wants by, in fact, manipulation?
I mean come on, think about it, our minds also have a need for dictation
and our mind's can't help but crave a life full of harmful justifications
So what if the heart is fooled into thinking it knows what it wants?
I seriously cannot be the only person with these kinds of thoughts?
I  thought I knew what it was supposed to be like, to be loved
But little did I know, that soon, the honeymoon would be over;
And the bond we once shared, we once had, became weak, and unplugged
What if my heart "thought" I "felt" like I was being loved?
Because I'm down as low as I can be or get;
So why does this person I deeply love so much, continue to push and shove?
What if my heart doesn't know
What if my heart doesn't even have a clue? So please tell me brain;
What in the hell am I supposed to do?!
They say to listen to the heart, but um, I can't just do that
For my heart only feels, and my brain does the real, true thinking
So when we say "I Love You" are we really feeling it like we think we do?
Or are we really thinking it like we feel we do?
A couple phrases causes me to believe;
that we are indeed manipulated by our brains;
Because the yin yang is real, it's literally in black and white;
Our hearts are constantly being tricked,
And our minds are playing games that sometimes come too quick
That's why we get hurt, not only do "hurt people, hurt people"
But that's why our hearts are so naive, because our minds are too slick
You can't have good without a little bit of bad; and
You can't have bad without a little bit of good
Just like this(ese) one(s) goes(go) something along the line(s) of this(ese);
And "just because you can, doesn't mean you should"
I just feel like I finally discovered something about the heart;
Could it be our minds running the entire circus show from the start?
Like maybe I figured out the real meaning;
of the connection between the two?
There's a message in this poem,
a reality between the heart and mind
Or maybe it's just my way of thinking,
and maybe I really am just one of a kind?
Maybe I'm just finally going insane and simply overthinking;
Or maybe I'm just finally losing a battle with a ship that's sinking
Because you can't have happiness, without a little bit of pain
and you can't lose, if you don't ever intend to gain
So my question(s) is(are);
What if the heart doesn't really know?
What if the heart really doesn't know what it wants?
and what if the heart simply never even had an actual clue?
What if the heart has always been manipulated into believing what to do?
and it's always been our brains that cause the;
mind to flaunt meaningless taunts?
So this is my outlook on why I believe our hearts are;
Manipulated by, in fact, our brain.

P.S.
Does anyone else ever think about stuff like this?
Does anyone else kinda wonder and feel the same?
So what if this really has some twisted kind of meaning?
Or am I thinking way too far out of the box and this is just decieving?


Stephanie A. Ludwig
04/21/2025

Divide and conquer, deride compassion.
Indulgent resentment exposes the actions.
Wolves dressed as lambs, lambs as wolves.
Nobody believes in good ideas.

Craft deceptive reasons behind the words of love.
Stuff your victims into the dark, cramped box.
Do your work quietly, with discipline.

When the red moon rises
the energy of broken breaths
strengthens your existence.
Illusory peace as a weary sigh.

You laugh
when they try to unmask your behavior
Whispering: just another pathetic attempt
of hysterical souls, not pragmatic solutions.

Different actors, new stages.
You’re always the same,
Irresistible.