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Cadmus May 2
There’s always one
unfinished sentence
in every goodbye.

A truth that catches
in the back of the throat
and never makes it out alive.

You smiled.
You nodded.
You let the moment pass.

But something in your eyes
lingered
like a name you meant to say
but swallowed.

And I’ve been wondering since:
Was it fear
that kept you quiet
or was I never meant
to know?

What is the thing you almost said, but never could?
We all have that one moment we replay, the words we didn’t say. This poem asks you to revisit yours... not for regret, but for release.
Bekah Halle Apr 28
Whispers deep within, cry out “hear me, here in,”
I desire to be heard,
I desire to be seen,
I desire to be acknowledged, as something more than what could have been.

You’ve tried to ignore it,
You’ve tried to do what’s right,
What’s sensible, what’s to be applauded,
Rather than what your heart yearns: to be revelled in delight!

Pure indulgence,
Disdainful scorn,
Narcissisms decadence,
All that should be off-sworn.

But denial has only left me stuck,
I have lived a cognitive dissonance existence,
A state of **** and muck.
I wish for more, I want to rise above the resistance, insistence and self-persistence…

I wish to be MORE curious,
I wish to be larger,
I wish to be more spontaneous,
And live a life full, but not “full” of what ifs, that’s what I rather.

So here I am,
Now, what do I do?!
.
.
.
.
Take the next step…

into the dream,

For there, I hope,  will be the next clue!
I just got off the phone with my Chaplain Supervisor and I realised that I had stopped taking stock of what I am grateful for, and my authentic curiosity had become dormant —maybe the colder days had signalled, subliminally, dormancy?! But I need to breathe new life into it, resurrect it if you would, my curiosity. The result: this poem. Feedback welcome.
evangeline Apr 14
And so,
I looked back at the fire behind me
At all the orange and ash
I set down my pail
And my hardness sat with it
And I wept
And the scorched earth around me
Began to soften
And only then, did I know
Only in the eye of the storm,
Could I see
That I had not escaped

I had simply become one
With the flame
Shang Apr 13
we didn’t need music
just the hum of the fridge
and the dog barking two floors down.
the sheets were half off the bed,
her hair in knots,
my hands shaking
like I’d lived a hundred lives
and never touched something so real.

Serena—
she looked at me like she already knew
where the cracks were
and kissed me there first.
no ceremony,
just heat and breath
and two ******-up hearts
trying to beat in time.

she moaned like it mattered,
like the world might stop spinning
if we didn’t keep going.
I bit her lip, she scratched my back,
we left bruises that felt like
truth.

afterward,
she lit a cigarette
with a hand still trembling
and said,
"we’re not broken,
just bruised in the right places."
and I believed her.
Intimacy is such a delicate and necessary thread that weaves true connection, trust, and vulnerability between hearts.

oh, today is my birthday!
I smiled so wide my molars got jealous.
Everyone said I looked stunning.
I said thank you in the voice I reserve for customer service and playing dumb.
That’s the closest I’ve come to a scream
this week.

I wore the dress that says: I’m over it.
(It lies.)
I walked like a question mark
straightened out with rage.

There was a man in the corner
making balloon animals.
He asked what I wanted.
I said surprise me.
He handed me a noose
shaped like a swan.

No one noticed.
Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself
to feel interesting.

Later, someone told a joke
I didn’t get.
I laughed like I was being watched.

The punchline wasn’t funny.
It just echoed
like something I would’ve said
before I got careful.

I stood in the kitchen
with a paper plate of olives and nothing,
holding it like proof
I was doing fine.

Someone spilled wine on the couch.
I said I’ve ruined better things.
Everyone laughed
like I meant it to be charming.
(I didn’t.)

A girl in white heels asked me
how I knew the host.
I said same way I know most people—
by accident,
and with the kind of premonition that wears perfume.

The bathroom mirror was cracked.
I counted the breaks like confessions
and chose not to atone.
The soap smelled like fruit
that only exists in dreams
you wake up crying from.

I reapplied my lip stain
like armor,
like alibi,
like an exit strategy.

Then I left without saying goodbye
because I couldn’t figure out
how to do it quietly
and still be missed.
A poem about the quiet performance of "doing fine." It's about olives, nothing, and everything under the surface. How we decorate our sadness to make it digestible. How we want to disappear, but be remembered as something haunting. This one came out sharp and honest. I hope it finds the ones who feel it.
Joss Lennox Apr 4
connection begins,
where fear ends.
don't be afraid to put your creativity out there!
Trevor Dowe Apr 4
Trust is fickle
I can bare my darkest secrets and my deepest emotions to strangers
Yet, letting the both coexist in the minds of the same people feels too risky
Why is it so hard to be completely vulnerable with any single person
I piece my hopes and fears, desires and needs out, sometimes recklessly, in hopes of finding something meaningful
Though rarely to the same people
I'd find it laughable, if I wasn't so afraid of being punished, in one way or another, for being fully authentic
I share one thing with a satirical depiction of masculinity, the mask of normalcy.
Yet its veneer is wearing thin and its facade is cracking and repairing it takes more and more effort only to see new fractures and new peeling paint
Do I wear the mask because I despise who lies beneath?
Rambling semi-poetic word soup
Ana21 Apr 4
I wear the mask of too many roles,
Caretaker, rebel—lost in their tolls.
I give, I bend, but never break,
Hiding parts of me for others' sake.

I ask myself, "Is this enough?"
Is my best a gift, or a never-ending bluff?
I wonder if they see the cracks inside,
The parts of me I’ve tried to hide.

When things go wrong, I pull away,
Lost in regret, in a sea of dismay.
I cry, I doubt, I ask, “Why me?”
Stuck in the same cycle, never free.

I fear they’ll see me as a lie,
Fake, rude, disloyal—just a disguise.
But deep within, I know the truth,
I hide, I shrink, to avoid the proof.

I suppress the honesty, the raw, the real,
For fear they’ll judge what they can’t feel.
I keep my truth locked far away,
A prisoner of my own dismay.

Isolation brings a fleeting peace,
But it’s the silence that won’t cease.
With the few who truly see,
I try to feel what it means to be me.

But even in those moments, I fear,
That I’ll be left, unseen, unclear.
So I wonder, in the quiet of night,
Am I enough, or just a fight?

I don’t know what my purpose is yet,
But in this struggle, I’ve learned to forget.
I’m supposed to lead, but all I see,
Are the shattered pieces of who I could be.

I carry self-doubt and endless strain,
Validation from others, my constant chain.
But in the dark, I’m left to roam,
Wishing for a place to call home.
This reflects the internal struggle of feeling torn between roles, doubting one's worth, and fearing judgment. It explores the weight of emotional isolation, the constant search for validation, and the silent yearning to break free from self-imposed chains. The rawness of vulnerability and the quiet longing for peace echo throughout. It’s a reflection on the pain of self-doubt and the struggle to find one’s authentic voice.
ViP Mar 21
There once was a girl
Whose face said it all
Tears streaming down her face
She no longer carries herself with grace
Could it be heartbreak?
A bad day at work?
Perhaps that’s all that there is
A mix of pain with deep longing
For someone or something
But who and what?
Curiosity spurred on inside of me
And I decided to act
Either now or never

Sitting next to this girl now
My eyes instantly lock with hers
I silently mutter to her,
“What happened?”
But all I hear is silence
The kind of silence
That sends shivers down your spine
And I can’t help but feel it
In the deepest parts of my soul
So much so,
That I see my reflection in her eyes
When I felt scared and lonely
Waiting for someone to save me
But not this time, no

At last, I put my hand on hers
Speaking out from under my breath
With the words
“Everything will be okay”
And that’s all she needed to hear
To become like herself again
Noonie Mar 18
Te veel, te weinig,
Alles of niets.
Waar uitersten elkaar ontmoeten,
Het midden bestaat voor mij niet.

Dieper dan diep,
Starend over de rand,
De donkerte in,
Voorbij mijn grootste angsten,
Waar alle muren zijn gevallen.

Vind me daar,
Waar ik helemaal naakt ben,
Kwetsbaar.

Te veel, te weinig,
Alles of niets.
Ik ga helemaal—
En anders niet.
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