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Time is out,

Tomorrow watches me - I look back,
Building a chair in anticipation of my arrival It whispers to me,
“You’ll never be ready”

I blame myself,
The silence that filled moments,
Times I should’ve listened
To the effort that was screaming to be,

A knife i stuck in my own back,
The knife I placed there
The knife that I wanted to be the reason I failed?

Did I ever want to succeed?

Did I avoid trying so I had more to blame than just not being able to cut it?

I don’t try, I don’t succeed.
What… do I expect of me?

When moments of need
Moments in which I should’ve done more,
I stood still.
Contemplating a life that I’m not fighting for-

And now it’s too late,
Time is short— what-else is left,
But to now sit in thought,
Alone with the understanding,

That I did this.
I hurt myself.
I deserve the failure that will consume me.

Was time too short,
Or did I just ignore it.
Breathe in cool air
Breathe out smoke
My own inconsistencies
make me ******* choke
I love to give love,
don't like to receive it
Even if it is real,
I rarely believe it
Let me hold your hand but
don't reach for mine
I'll be patient with you,
if I have the time
An ache to be seen yet
I'm shrouded in shame
I'm floating alone with
only myself to blame
In love with loving,
affection, and touch
But to believe I'm to be wanted?
That's a bit much
Being self aware was never the issue,
Changing thinking patterns is a struggle
The girl who ruins things
thought maybe she’d try fixing.
If she could stop causing destruction–
offer repairs instead–
maybe it wouldn’t hurt.

If she could rebuild broken things,
maybe she'd be met with looks of relief
instead of weary sighs.

So, the girl who ruins things
bought her tools,
watched the how-to’s,
read all the manuals.

But no one sticks around
after something breaks–
not long enough
to see if someone might fix it.

But ruining was easy,
destroy and get lost.
Fixing comes at an emotionally high cost.
What do you do when you can't find all the pieces?
Kalliope Jun 9
I will lose all that I am,
I will lose all that I desire
Because that's what runners do
They run after they start the fire
And maybe I am walking now
But that doesn't change the past
I set the house on fire and
I can't expect you standing there when I walk back
But still I'll pace around the wreckage-
Searching for glimpses of you
And all I'll find is smoke and fire- you loved me, I punished you
I'll take the time to rebuild and maybe you'll circle back, I won't expect you stay but maybe you'll visit the girl who left fire in her tracks
Grey Jun 4
What’s this ache that brews in me,
A shadow cast where light should be?
No storm has stirred, no words were said,
Yet something silent bows my head.

I'm wrapped in love, a sacred bliss,
Each glance, each touch, a holy kiss.
I'm held, adored, as though divine—
Still, dread seeps in between the lines.

No cracks have formed within our skies,
No lies, no tears behind the eyes.
So why this pulse, this sinking thread—
This heartbreak haunting me ahead?

Do I paint ghosts where none exist,
Or script a fall in every kiss?
Do I, in peace, begin to roam
To ruins I create from home?

Perhaps I fear the quiet most,
The way it feels like tempting ghosts.
Perhaps it’s me—this war within—
Afraid of love I’m safe in.
I’ve seen too much from behind these lids.
I've learned that the dark is no place I can rest.
It shows me everything that hides, or is hid,
Inside every pulse within others foul heads.

I flinch at any kindness like it's going to bite.
For not every smile is given to me to stay.
I keep my room the brightest at night—
So, when I see me, I won't look away.

My body is here, I think. Maybe in part.
But rest is somewhere I left, unclaimed.
I built shrines of silence inside my heart,
Where I hid my echo and gave it a name.

When I am asked, why I never sleep,
A version of me steps in front just to lie.
Cause sleep is a place that's way too deep,
For someone who feels like they already died.

I’ve felt myself moving under my skin—
I'm an actor mouthing some borrowed truth.
I close up and break. The thoughts swarm in.
As I choke on even their quietest proof.

I stay wide awake thinking pain will pass.
It doesn't. It stayed here and laid in my bed.
My comfort is a window of shattered glass—
It never begs me to fix my fractured head.

I taught myself how to speak under pause,
And how not to feel, with blood and meds.
You know love exists? Then show me the clause,
Stating “nothing that lives, is punished when dead.”

I almost opened my heart once. And It burned.
Not with fire—just light I knew I shouldn’t touch.
You say your worth trust? Well see if it returns,
If you abandon it like faith and leave it untouched.

I wish I knew how not to leave my own trail.
But my presence cuts the air, and I can’t pretend.
I stitch it back together, each time I inhale,
My own conscious effort to draw my next breath.

These eyes must stay open. That’s the only rule.
So I count every crack in the wall and the door.
My heartbeats break open. My bloods in a pool.
Not so much now, but that used to mean more.

Might as well be the door, I will not unseal.
Or the me in the mirror would start turning away.
Cause to truly open up, would make it too real.
And nothing that's real in my life, ever stayed.

So never again, will I close my eyes.
Keep your strong skin. And I’ll keep the scars.
I swallowed a lock; in my chest it resides.
And never again, will I open my heart.
Internal journalist
Pitiful moralist
Brave declarations
Cleverly made

My words are a weapon
An army attacking
Myself - but my friendships
Are casualties laid
Psych Ward Poetry
Set 6, Poem 5
Joshua Phelps May 22
it’s absurd,
you keep breaking—

deep down,
you’re tired
of it all.

sick of it.
sick of
the fall.

“traumas,”
you keep sayin’—
“i’m over it,
i’m okay.”

but all you’ve done
is what you had
to do:

survive.

and now you live
with words
you can’t take back.

it’s wasting
your time,
your energy.

the only one left
is you—
and you’re not okay.

nobody hurts you
worse than
you do.

so why
keep this up?

take a breath.
open your eyes.

everything
will fall in place—

this time.
inspired by slaves’ “petty trappin.”

a poem about the lies we tell ourselves, the pain we repeat, and the slow fight to break through it.

sometimes healing sounds like tough love. even when it’s your own voice.
Kalliope May 15
I do wish we hadn't met actually
I don't want to ache like this
Because of you I know things can be different,
And it's me who sits around complacent
You made my mind feel young again
And I had the audacity to wish

I dreamt of airplanes, and long drives through the states,
Coffee dates in the morning, every night staying up to game.

I pictured a wedding! One where I say I do.
That would have never happened if I never came across you.
I'm dissecting my feelings, which isn't unusual to do, but I'm doing it from your perspective, and you'll never know so *******.

If I never knew you I could have just stayed on my path, not wondered what different, gentler things could be like,
Because I'm not destined for that.

If I only said "Hi" and went on my way, not giggling at your texts each and every day,
Would I be arguing with myself unjustifying reasons not to stay?
You believe in destiny, and red strings, and fate,
But if we were fated to meet,
It's a cruel fate to have you taken away
Kalliope May 13
I knew what I was in for,
you had no ******* clue.
A runner always runs,
and despite everything, that’s what it still came to.

I don’t think you should chase me,
even if secretly,
I like to look back.

You deserve weddings and soft romance,
and I’ve never been able to promise that.
I tried to picture it,
believe me, I really did.
But I always end up becoming the angry man
I feared as a kid.

Maybe you don’t understand this,
and I don’t know how to change.
It’s easier to dress my fear as anger
than to process every trauma I’ve caged.
This is the last thing I'll say directly to you,
I have to let you let me go
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