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At first,  
I am every story you’ve ever loved:  
the girl with wild eyes and a crooked smile,  
the glitterbomb dropped into your heavy life.  
I am the Manic Pixie Dream,  
softened and sharpened just right,  
scripted to be the key you didn’t know you lost.  

I love it, too.  
I love playing her.  
I love the way I can become  
everything I thought I couldn't be—  
light, brave, impossible.  
I fall in love with the girl they see,  
the one who spins in the rain,  
who kisses like it’s a dare,  
who never stays still long enough  
for anyone to notice the cracks.

For a while,  
I even forget the weight of myself.  
For a while,  
the mirror throws back someone I almost recognize,  
someone almost worth keeping.

But the days grow teeth.  
The seams split.  
My clinginess stops being "cute,"  
my mess stops being "quirky,"  
my fear starts leaking through the paint.  

Then I remember:
I'm not magic.  
I'm work.  
I'm a maze with no ending.  
I'm a mouthful of needs no one knows how to swallow.

And they start seeing it too.  
The way I flinch when they look too long.  
The way my laugh gets hollow.  
The way I start pleading through my eyes,
"Please, please don't look closer."

I know how this ends.  
The Dream Girl dies the moment she becomes real.  
Nobody writes sequels for the ones who stay.

So I run.  
I tear the script from my hands,  
I rip the costume at the seams.  
I run before they can stop loving the idea of me,  
before they have to face the weight of who I am  
beneath the glitter and noise.

I find a new stage,  
a new pair of arms,  
a new chance to believe in the girl I invented—
if only for a little while longer,
If only to live in someone else's dreams,
If only to forget the weight of waking up.
I am utterly disgusted with myself for leaning into a very misogynistic archetype, but also, it feels good to love myself through someone else's eyes. Yeah, I know it's bad. I'm working on it. I just slip so often.
Ahmed Gamel Apr 14
I met a version of myself,
A past that lived in quiet hell,
His shoulders weighed with untold truths,
In his eyes, the ghosts of youth.

He stood, proud but lost inside,
A prisoner of dreams denied,
I knelt in shame, a ghost of me,
Torn between what was and could be.

"You know," I said, "you've been this way,
Caught in a cage where shadows play,
But let me tell you, now I see,
You're still inside of me, and free."

He smiled with pain, the truth untold,
"I never wanted this, you know—
This life of striving to please the blind,
The masks we wore, the thoughts we mined."

But in his eyes, I saw the change,
A flicker in the dark, so strange,
And I realized, as time flew past,
We'd both been caught, both built to last.

Now here I stand, no more a slave,
No longer bound to past’s dark wave,
I freed myself, and freed him too,
The shackles gone, the world anew.

And though the road remains unclear,
I hold his voice, I hold it near,
For in his steps, I see my own—
The strength I’ve sought, now fully grown.

The shame, the guilt, they start to fade,
Replaced by light, by love’s cascade,
And in that moment, I finally see,
That all I sought was always me.
This piece delves into the internal struggle of reconciling with past mistakes and the weight of self-imposed expectations. The conversation between present and past selves brings out the complexity of personal growth and the forgiveness needed to move forward. It's about understanding that even in the darkest moments, there's a path to healing—by embracing the truth, forgiving yourself, and realizing that growth is a journey, not an instantaneous transformation.
I want a love that lifts, not weighs,
that lights my soul, not dims my days.
A love that walks, that dares, that tries,
not one that waits with downcast eyes.

I want to feel a burning spark,
not just a whisper in the dark,
a steady hand, a voice so clear,
a man who knows, who draws me near.

I want a presence bold and true,
a heart that beats with mine in view.
No chasing shadows, no silent plea,
but footsteps strong that walk with me.

I want a fire, fierce yet slow,
not flames that fade or cease to glow.
A love that lasts, that won’t demand
the life I hold in open hand.

I want desire, not just a thrill,
but something deep that grows at will.
A passion free, yet firm in space,
not fleeting highs, but strong embrace.

A man whose strength is warm, not cold,
whose love is sure, whose hands will hold.
Who stands beside me, not behind,
with fearless heart and steadfast mind.

I want to move, unchained, unbound,
no weight to pull me to the ground.
No debts to pay, no roles to fill,
no love that drains my heart’s own will.

I want a life where joy runs free,
where voices dance in harmony.
Where love is given, strong and pure,
not earned, not fought for, but secure.

And so I stand, my heart made new,
no love half-lived, no path undue.
No less than this, no dreams denied,
I trust the path, let life decide.
The easy thing would be to tell you
that he wasn’t special,
that there are plenty of fish in the sea,
that time heals everything.
Half-truths,
empty phrases.

But if you want honesty,
I know how hard it is to have your heart broken.
When you gave everything,
more than you could afford to lose.

When you gave so much,
you almost lost yourself.
I tell you this because I’ve been there,
where the soul bleeds without end,

Where the days turn gray
just by wondering
what you did wrong
to make him leave.
Where you waited for that call,
that voice saying he wanted to talk,
that you still deserved to walk together,
side by side.

But now, I want to tell you,
life goes on,
even with a broken heart.
You’ll hear songs that tell your story,
but one day, it will just be a story forgotten.

One day, you’ll say his name without pain,
but with gratitude.
Because he made you stronger
than you already were.

Because life and destiny
will lead you to real love.

But today,
conquer yourself with the same passion.
Give yourself
all the love you were ready to give.
Take yourself to dinner,
dress up,
buy yourself gifts.

Love yourself like no one ever has.
Want yourself like no one ever did.
Desire yourself like no one ever will.
Sorry, but with this poem,
I scratched the wound, and it started bleeding again.
Grey Mar 1
I'm eccentric

An enigma

Very flappable

Stoical sometimes

Rowdy

Quiet to a fault

I've been told

I love all shades wrong

You can't pin me down to a particular category

Notoriety you could say

Beign lambasted comes with the title

Embracing?maybe

But that had me covered in blotches

But I'm happier embracing that

Socially constricted

But my cycle love deeply in ways that is freeing to some

I'm exceptionally jumpy some days

Emotions ?lets say they are tasking

Let's say they are OK

I show them by helping out,reducing their burden

I know I'm strong physically

But I've learned recently

My mind is stronger

Being me is daunting

But no one else could play that role
Better than I do.
The power of being individual
He is her mirror,
The one she stands before
Whether things are good or bad.
Until she walks away,
She doesn’t understand
The cracks spreading
Across her face,
Ignoring the obvious
She applies more makeup.
Though she’s gone,
Her presence lingers,
Soon to follow.

In front of her mirror,
She could speak as freely
As she wanted,
Be seen for who she is.
In front of family and friends,
She’s quiet,
Acting out of appearance,
Ignoring the space, she thought
Was empty.

She doesn’t think about it
Until a friend brings it up.
Talking about her own love life,
A place she feels secure.
Her friend’s smile, big and bright,
While she speaks.
She thinks of him,
Her mirror.
No matter how bad she feels.
He finds a way
To make her feel better.
If something is off,
He’s quick to point it out.
He’s always there when
She needs him.
She never had to speak
To be seen when he was around.
The only place she only felt whole.
The cracks on her face shows
CarCreator Jan 30
I never loved me
But loved you til I forgot
How to hate myself
Lizzie Bevis Jan 13
At this present time,
thoughts rise like falling
Sycamore seeds, caught
in a downward spiral
on a dizzying breeze,
which captures my breath
as I brace for impact.
I close my eyes tight
and steady myself.

As my senses slow,
I open my eyes and
I take everything in
like a panoramic view,
and the ebb and flow
of life births smiles new,
as each breath brings home
a sigh of relief
in this sacred now.

Past and future fade,
as I notice all
that I need to see
and hear in clarity.
My steady bold pulse,
the firm ground beneath,
crunching under feet;
As birds sing sweet songs,
the wind kisses my skin
and now is all there is.

©️Lizzie Bevis
Gabriel Yale Jan 12
There’s no point in searching for it,
we’ll find it one day, understood.
We must understand ourselves,
so that we can be who we are.
This poem reflects the idea that the truth cannot be forced or actively searched for, it will be found when the time is right and when we truly understand ourselves. It emphasizes the importance of self-awareness and being true to who we are, suggesting that the truth is inherently tied to personal growth and understanding.
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