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Maryann I Mar 3
There was a time when your laugh was my home,
When friendship was a soft place, a safe zone.
But the world that should’ve cradled you with care
Let you slip through, unnoticed, unaware.

You wore the weight of their words like chains,
And I, too young, couldn’t stop the rain.
I watched you fade, each day a little more,
But no one else seemed to see you soar.

I saw the cracks in your smile,
The way you shrank with each cruel trial.
The halls grew quieter the day you fell,
A whisper lost in a never-ending hell.

They said it was an accident, a tragedy.
But I knew better. I knew your plea.
I knew the way the darkness crept
Into your heart, the one you kept.

The echo of your voice still haunts me,
A call I never had the chance to see.
I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep,
I drowned in the grief I couldn’t keep.

Your absence crushed me,
I felt the weight of it like a stone.
The world turned its back,
But I was left here…

Alone.

I didn’t know where to go.
I didn’t know how to breathe.
I didn’t know how to scream.
I wanted to vanish,
I wanted to leave.
But your ghost kept me here,
Torn between the silence,
By the shattered fear.
I’m falling apart—
Falling…
apart..
.
I wish I could’ve helped.. I miss my Lily.
****-Narrative | Yin

Twelve days have passed, and no word comes to me,
no painted stroke, no ink upon the page.
I fear the silence, yet I picture her,
a solitary figure, far away.
She seeks the earth, to ground her restless soul,
the water's flow, to cleanse her troubled mind.
The fire's heat, to forge a stronger will,
the wind's soft sigh, to whisper ancient truths,
Beyond the Element Mountains, she must roam.

She walks the paths where granite peaks arise,
where rivers wind through valleys, deep and green.
She feels the heat of embers, glowing bright,
the rustling leaves, a language she can hear.
I see her face, reflected in the stone,
a mirror to the strength she holds within.
She seeks the balance, lost within the storm,
the harmony that silence can impart,
a journey inward, where her spirit flies.

I wait for her, a shadow in the room,
where empty scrolls and brushes gather dust.
I trace her image, on the window pane,
a phantom artist, painting absent days.
I hear her footsteps, in the falling rain,
a distant echo, of her coming home.
I feel the longing, that the silence breeds,
the ache of absence, in the heart's long hall,
a story written, in the waiting time.

She will return, with wisdom in her eyes,
a quiet strength, that silence has refined.
She will bring stories, of the mountain's crest,
the river's journey, the fire's burning grace.
And I will listen, to her whispered tales,
of ancient elements, and inner peace.
For in her journey, love has found its way,
to bridge the distance, that the silence made,
where spirits meet, Beyond the Element Mountains.

--------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------------

Ci-Meditative | Yang

Twelve suns have risen, twelve pale moons have waned,
and silence stretches, a vast, unyielding sea.
No ink-stained paper, no painted breath arrives,
no whispered echo of your distant voice.
I picture you, beyond the city's hum,
a soul adrift, where ancient elements reside.
The earth holds steady, where your bare feet tread,
a grounding force where turmoil starts to cease,
a silent journey, Beyond the Element Mountains.

The water's flow, a cleansing, cool embrace,
washes away the doubts, the fears, the stains.
The fire's dance, a flicker in your eyes,
ignites the passion, where resolve takes hold.
The wind, a restless spirit, whispers truths,
through rustling leaves, a language understood.
The metal gleams, a mirror to your soul,
reflecting strength, a clarity reborn,
a quiet passage through a world unseen.

I trace your steps, a phantom on the path,
imagining the landscapes you explore.
The granite peaks, the river's silver thread,
the burning embers, the sigh of forest breeze.
I build a shrine of thoughts, a mental space,
where your reflection lingers, calm and deep.
My mind, a canvas where your image lives,
a portrait painted with imagined light,
a patient vigil, where hope begins to bloom.

The silence lingers, heavy, yet serene,
a space for growth, a pause where love endures.
I trust the journey, where your spirit flies,
to find the answers, hidden in the stones.
And when you return, with eyes that hold the dawn,
I will embrace the wisdom you have found.
For in the stillness, love's true strength is shown,
a bond unbroken, by the passing days,
where silence lives, Beyond the Element Mountains.
Authors Note:
This is an experiment in a new style.  
**** is a style from the Tang Dynasty - Common to Li Bai writings.
Ci is a style from the Song Dynasty - Common to Li Qingzhao writings.
This is my modernistic take on the styles and my understanding and template to follow.
I am also trying to associate with Tao - balance in the poem, so I provided both.
Naturally, I would have preferred to interweave the stanzas, side by side, left and right justified, but HP isn't quite doing what I want.... thus the experimentation and request for honest feedback.
Funny thing is Yin is feminine energy, and Yang is masculine in nature.  Just like in China, the union (wedding) is represented with the Dragon (male) and the Peacock (female).   And in my relationship that I often write, She is the dragon, born to the year of the Dragon.  So roles reverse a little, again bringing balance.  This poem is no different, as the Yin part is written from my perspective, and the Yang from her perspective.  Much like the poets famous for these styles.  **** was feminine but used by Li Bai, a man to gain notoriety through its use during the Tang Dynasty.  Ci was male but used by Li Qingzhao a prominent poetess of the Song Dynasty.

"****-Narrative" (Yin): Love and Melancholy (No Rhyme)
Focus on a narrative of [briefly describe the story or emotional journey].
Use concise imagery and express [specific emotion(s)].
Use the 9-8-9-8 stanza structure, and do not use rhyme.

"Ci-Meditative" (Yang): Nature, Perception, and Perspective (No Rhyme)
Focus on [theme of nature, perception, or perspective].
Use vivid imagery and an introspective tone.
Use the 9-8-9-8 stanza structure, and do not use rhyme.

Rhyming is optional, however, I find that life doesn't always rhyme, so I avoid it letting the energy and thoughts flow freely and more naturally.
I also used the 9898 sentence structure in the stanzas because 9's and 8's are of significance to the cultures of the East for luck, happiness, and prosperity.

Sorry if this turned into an educational post.

Enjoy, and I look forward to the feedback.
Malia Feb 28
A sea of silent people with
Zippers instead of lip and teeth
So long it’s been since they’ve unzipped
They calcified like coral reef
And sometimes it is hard to breathe
When your captor is a feeling.
Their words are knives stuck in their sheathes,
At nightfall, they dream of screaming.

Their shoulders slumped, they knew that if
They sang or sighed or gave a speech
Before it was too late, their scythe
Would never have to reap and reap
And reap, but no, they sowed the seed,
If only they’d been believing
But they dug a grave, where they sleep
At nightfall, to dream of screaming.

Their kids don’t cry, instead, they writhe
Inheriting their voiceless grief
No words to soothe the kind of life
That never, ever knows relief
As it was stolen by a thief
And his name is Never Needing.
Their fear, it thrums to its own beat
At nightfall, they dream of screaming.

They waste away, they cannot eat
But now, death itself is freeing.
Their dreams once were the sun and sea—
Tonight, they just dream of screaming.
My first ballade! I’m pretty proud of this one lowkey
Lalit Kumar Feb 25
I walk where echoes fail to stay,
Where voices fade, then slip away.
A shadow lingers, yet none can see,
A silent weight that follows me.

I share my thoughts with empty air,
A crowded room, yet none aware.
No hands to hold, no eyes that meet,
Yet I still hear my own heartbeat.

I dance with ghosts of yesterday,
Their fleeting touch then drifts astray.
A missing piece, a hollow chest—
Can you name my silent guest?















.......Loneliness
Melanie Feb 25
I am trying to stop looking for you
signs or silence, there's nothing to decipher
no run-ins or coincidence
I don't even know if it'd satisfy
a glimpse of a life
that still holds out hope
for me, for us
because for all I know
that doesn't exist anymore
Maria Feb 20
A glass of wine, a rainy evening…
The window’s wide open, the candles blink.
The wind is trying to put them out.
Silence fills her. No need to think.

She feels good, and no need to hurry.
Tears of heaven delight the ear.
She has no friends. She has no girlfriends.
And only her cat is always near.

She is contented with her aloneness.
There’s no fluster or moping at all.
She’s pleased with herself and she is honest
With her own conscience and with her soul.

She doesn’t want any loving thrills,
No worrying, no passions, no needless doubts.
All is got over. Nothing remains.
Enough as it were so many fouls.

The wine is drunk. The evening is chilly.
The window’s wide open. The candles went out.
She calmly goes to pure bedroom.
No need to hurry. And all is out.
When you are silent,
I suffer in silence.

For hours on end,
You don't reply.
Even though I see you online.

Off, then On.
On, then Off.
The silence?
It is loud.

Many others you meet,
And all of them you greet.
A warm welcome, a fond goodbye.

On, then Off.
Off, then On.
The silence?
It's painful.

Many days later,
I get an answer.
Many words, so little meaning.

Off, then On.
On, then Off.
The message?
It cuts deep.

When I remain silent,
I suffer regardless.

You ask, I don't reply.
I require rebuilding
Lest I die, I will need some time.

Always On, never Off.
Never Off, always On.
My silence?
It's T o r t u r e.
Maryann I Feb 18
A room in the basement,
A room that knew too much,
Too dark to leave behind.
I was tired,
Heavy with sorrow.
She never asked why—
Never asked me to speak.
The clutter in my mind didn’t matter to her.
I was dragged onto the bed,
A hand pressing into my back,
My body slammed against the wall,
Her rage leaving marks on my skin—
A scar that won’t heal.

"I don’t want to do this, but here we are."
A whisper, lost in the chaos.
Words echo through the house,
Where love is twisted,
Where kindness never crosses the doorstep.

"I’m not sure I can... ma yelled at me again."
For the smallest things,
For being human.
Her voice drowns out my heart,
Slicing through the silence.
She tells me I'm a failure,
A burden,
A disappointment.
She says she’ll pull me from school,
Keep me locked away.
Send me far from everything I dream.

She hit me,
And still, she says,
"You'll never leave. You’re going to fail."
But where do I go when pain is all I know?
When bruises map my body,
And rage paves my path?
I cry,
Not for the sting of her hand,
But for the death of my dreams.
Her words press down,
Venom laced with promises of no future.
"You’re just going to be a ghetto rat,"
She spits at my dreams of college,
And I feel it sting,
Because maybe she's right.
Maybe she’s serious about keeping me here.

I falter,
Assignments abandoned—
Not from carelessness,
But confusion,
And the walls close in.
When she touches me,
It’s not a caress,
But a painful grip,
Pinching, scratching.
Her voice hisses like a snake:
"Stop acting so self-conscious. You look ******* stupid."
Her hands on my body,
"Why does my touch make you uncomfortable? I’m not hurting you, stop it."
Uninvited,
Unwanted.
But I stay silent,
Too afraid,
Too small beneath her control.

Why does my body feel like it belongs to her?
Why does she think it’s okay to touch me
Like I’m nothing but a possession to bend to her will?
"What’s wrong, my perfect, spoiled little *****?"
Her voice smooth as poison,
"This is what you wanted."
A trap she set long ago.

I try to hold my head high,
But the ceiling feels lower every day.
Her anger shakes me,
Her wrath pushing me into the wall.
She screams at every mistake,
Even when I’m just trying to breathe.

"Z is going to be a tattooed dolled-up ****."
Her words sear,
Carving into my skin.
No matter how hard I try,
I will never be enough.
"I think you’d all be better off without me,"
Her voice trembles,
Heavy with her own misery.
But her despair is hers alone.
I’m just trying to survive the day.

"She’s not going to get a job, she’s lazy like I am."
Her words break me,
Glass shards piercing deep.
She doesn’t see me, doesn’t hear me—
Only sees her failures reflected in me.
A mirror of everything she fears.
And I am not the reflection I want to be.

No matter how loud she screams,
Her hurt doesn’t change the truth.
I am more than the sum of her expectations.
"I’m just the nasty ***** that nags and yells at everyone, aren’t I?"
Her words echo,
But they are not mine.

The house is never quiet,
Not when the walls scream with her rage.
"We’ve been in a bump since my dad moved in."
A home built on silence,
Where no one speaks the truth,
Fearing the storm it might wake.
"I feel like we’re doing all this just to get X into high school and college."
But what of me?
What of my hopes that fade in the corners of my mind?
What of the quiet nights
When I hear her rage but never her love?

"Maybe we should’ve never adopted Y and Z."
I drown in her words,
In the pit of their failures.
Because I’m not just a kid—
I’m a punching bag.
And her fists land on my body,
But the damage runs deeper than skin.

"I don’t care if I ruin it all, I’m leaving."
Her rage blinds her to the harm she causes.
Her fists, her words—
They shatter me.
I am left alone in the wreckage,
Wondering how to rebuild myself,
How to make her see me.

In my dreams, I flee,
But the house always calls me back,
With its cold floors and walls that whisper lies.
"We’re messy people,"
She says.
But it’s not the mess in the house—
It’s the mess in our hearts.

A house built on silence,
A body that wasn’t mine,
And a truth still hidden between the walls,
I’m still trying to speak.
Annotations for Confessions From the Walls I Keep

Symbolism of X, Y, and Z:
X, Y, and Z represent my siblings and myself, with Z being me. I could have chosen any letters, but the last three of the alphabet felt symbolic—almost like an ending. It reflects the way I sometimes feel—like an afterthought, something insignificant.

Why I Was Nervous to Post This:
I’ve always feared that if I shared anything about my childhood or family, my mother would somehow find it and retaliate. Even though I’m 18, that fear hasn’t disappeared. She used to threaten my biological sister (Y) and me, saying that if we ever reached out for help—if we “snitched” or called CPS—she would **** us. Sometimes, she went into disturbing detail about how she would do it. Other times, she threatened to take away everything we loved.

Living With Her Now:
I still live with her, and while the physical threats have faded, she continues to manipulate me emotionally. Now, she threatens to take away my happiness. I have depression and take medication for it, but I know my mental health won’t truly improve until I leave. I’m eager to go to college, yet terrified to leave my biological sister (Y) behind with her.

Family Dynamics & Adoption:
For context, I am adopted. Y (middle sister) is my biological sister, while X (the youngest) is not. I love X, but she is the only daughter my mother truly cares for. I am the eldest, and sometimes I wish I were the youngest, thinking that maybe then I would be loved. But deep down, I know that’s not true—she only loves the child she gave birth to. If X were the eldest instead of me, she would still be the favorite.

How We Compare in My Mother’s Eyes:

> X has good grades, is involved in clubs and activities, and is expected to
   succeed.
> Y has ADHD, is hands-on, full of energy, and an amazing person, but she
   struggles with impulsivity.
> Z (me)—I am just a poet, a writer. I don’t know what else to say about
   myself. I don’t think there’s much to know.
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