Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ash Jul 21
what an empty epitaph that is—
the art of noticing,
fragility of life.

does iron fear the rot
that overtakes it in the moisture the world provides?

it is what it is,
but does it have to be?

plots of the unknown—how can i thrive?

liminal space of some sort, where i've found myself this once,
and all the other once’s.
i’m still in the spirit,
but the dead don’t return.

can’t find a body—everyone has souls,
not a single empty one.

i have stars on my ceiling.

can you hurt a spirit,
wound it like you’d wound a body?

find me a confessional—
i’d like to admit to my sins.

long since it has felt
like grief lives in the walls of this room where i reside.

you write and you put it out
and it’s like baring yourself in the naked truth
and ugly to everyone outside.
i intend to stay hidden—
in a shirt twice the size of me,
a pair of pajamas i should’ve thrown away a while ago,
and the same damaged pair of glasses—
except they’re light
and they feel mine,
with the same teddy and old laptop.

needed this to be a list of prompts.
found it making sense instead.
my life’s woven this way—
of symphonies, perhaps i’ll leave unsaid.

uncertainty begging for understanding,
faith asking to be relieved.
i can fit into the same years ' worth of old clothes.
have i never really grown, all this while?

i’ll save this to push it down the bin,
choke as every word comes out to spill—
the darkest of secrets, epiphanies of the night.
you breathe in the love,
tend to forget its might.

half-eaten swiss roll, rotting with sour cream.
a modified bunny made out of clay.
purple tulips—
but they’re fake.
i like the color grey.
cherry bombing every lie.
kiss till you’re numb,
dissociate into the wild.

what speaks—and what swallows?
golden halo of the angels,
wings tainted in red,
singing siren sounds,
myths ruled over, unclad.

i broke my old pair of glasses.
they’re beyond repair now.
umm
i've lied
lisagrace Jul 10
The Stillness
 
It does not echo.
It does not push, or pull.
It only stretches into the yawning void.
I stare over the edge and think,
What if I went?
 
I do not want this,
But I will not go there.
I am here.
I want to BE HERE.
 
I am floating,
Hovering.
 
There are no voices in the stillness,
Telling me to come.
Telling me to go.
What to think,
What to say,
What to feel.
 
I find solace in the silence—
a...not quite peace.
It's the space between pulses
Where I am not chasing
Or being chased.
 
No demand to perform,
No mask to hold in place.
It's a hush that lets me breathe,
A little something just for me.
 
But I like it here,
Right at the edge of this void.
It's where I can just be.
And wonder,
What if I stay?
 
So I stay...
and find out.
The Stillness is a feeling. An in-between place where I can just...be. A calm nothingness. But also, a choice.
Every living being must be aware of its impending demise.
Or is it just me, —seeing the dead end before we
even get the chance to die?
Lie. Say "I do," see us grow old together to gather that which we will put asunder. I ponder.

A poem comes to me, she said: This world is fragile. It can crumble so easily, but baby, don’t be afraid to take your tongue out and taste it.
All of it: the good, the bad, the limitless hope.

This life will hit you, hard—in the face. Then wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach.
But getting that wind knocked out of you will remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.

She is good with words.
Yes—there is hurt, here.
That cant be healed by poetry.
But there is also joy, laughter, and a pinch of happiness.
Unforgetting dreams beyond the ages.
Because these, — Yes, these are the days of our lives.
Where every living being is aware of its impending demise.
For the ones who still rise, breathless but alive— tasting every bruised moment like it’s sacred.
Soulwhisper Jul 4
If you find a heart that waits,
don’t make it wait too long.
Silence, even soft,
can bruise a soul
that listens for love.

If someone gives you
the parts they never show the world,
don’t wear them like decoration.
Wear them like truth.

Some people
don’t fall in love —
they become it.
And when you leave,
they don’t just lose you…
they lose the part of themselves
they placed in your hands.

So if your feelings fade,
let your goodbye be gentle.
Let your absence speak
with the kindness
your presence once promised.

Because betrayal,
even wrapped in politeness,
still echoes
in every quiet moment they sit alone,
asking what they did wrong.

This is not a plea—
it’s a whisper.
A warning.
Don’t take softness
as something small.
It is the rarest thing in this world,
and when it breaks,
something rare is lost
To everyone who’s ever been soft in a world that didn’t hold them gently — this is your voice.
To those who walk away from love — walk softly.
Because hearts like mine don’t come twice.
"Silent kills,
silent heals,
silent your silent
not silent,
silent you."

                   -Manoj
Arna Jun 22
"They call me strange.
Maybe it's because —

I'm a girl who stays home,
While others my age are out with friends,
Skipping college, traveling, clubbing,
Doing all the Gen Z things.

Because I stay quiet,
Even in moments that demand boldness,
Choosing calm over chaos.

Because I prefer simplicity over fashion trends,
Minimalism over extravagance.

Because I love classics,
And music that speaks to the soul —
Not just the charts.

Because books are my escape,
While social media is just noise.

Because I find peace in solitude,
Instead of blending into crowds.

Because I’m single,
In a generation chasing love,
And running from its complications.

Let them call me strange.
I call it being
Imperfectly perfect
In my own small,
Quiet,
Cute little world."
They say I’m strange — because I choose calm over chaos, books over buzz, and solitude over noise.
But in this little world I’ve built, I’ve found my peace.
And maybe, just maybe… strange is beautiful.
Arna Jun 12
Hiding their talents, afraid someone might steal their light.
Valuing others' happiness, often at the cost of their own.
Caring for everyone — even those who curse them out of envy.
Neglecting their own health while nurturing others.
Spreading smiles, while burying their own pain deep inside.

These aren’t flaws...
They’re the quiet traits of strong, introverted girls —
Silent warriors with golden hearts.
"You may never hear her story out loud — but her actions speak volumes."
Lalit Kumar Feb 28
The wind howls loud against the stone,  
A lighthouse keeper, standing alone.  
The storm rages wild, fierce, and strong,  
But in this quiet, I must belong.  

The book in my hands is my only friend,  
Pages worn thin, but I pretend  
That in its words, I’m not alone,  
That in its lines, I’ve found my home.  

Outside the waves crash and pound,  
The world is chaos, spinning around.  
But here I stand, amidst the gale,  
Holding fast, where others might fail.  

The light I guide cuts through the dark,  
A beacon of hope, a single spark.  
Yet, deep within, I long to flee,  
To find peace beyond this storm-swept sea.  

But duty calls, and I must stay,  
A keeper of light, come what may.  
The storm outside will pass, I know,  
But in my heart, the winds still blow.  

So I read, I wait, I fight alone,  
While the storm outside claims its throne.  
For the light I guard, though heavy the cost,  
I’ll stand alone, no matter the loss.
Bello Jan 22
The more I observe my circle, the clearer colors show,
Truth unveiled in whispers, in shadows they throw.
They judge, they speak, casting words in the air,
Yet their inner selves mirror what they declare.

Sometimes I choose silence, not to push them away,
But their hollow words make comfort stray.
It's not that I dislike the chatter they bring,
But emptiness in speech can clip my wings.

So, I sit with my thoughts, a quiet retreat,
Listening to life, where truths discreet.
In their echoes, I find what’s real,
A sanctuary of calm where wounds can heal.
Kewayne Wadley Nov 2021
She invited me into her home
apologizing for the lack of things there.
I could tell that she had renovated recently,
getting rid of the things that no longer
served purpose.
I thought of her as timely,
a perfect harmony of sage & mint candles
burning on a black glass coffee table.
about halfway through,
I realized how much I loved her home.
while she apologized in the beginning
less is more & it showed by way of her smile.
I enjoyed how everything was laid out,
from the brochures of comfort to the cushion
of where I sat.
the greatest intimacy between us two.
laughing at everything yet nothing at the same time.
but still I thought, how much she inspired me to do
the same when I got home.
everything that I thought was beautiful before
no longer had that same appeal.
when i extended the same invitation,
I too found myself apologizing for things
that needed no explanation.
my biggest source of inspiration,
I was glad to see her growth
& in turn stopped chasing the wrong things,
I learned from her
That everything is going to be alright

— The End —