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G Jun 10
I’m trying my best not to pull away when i feel unwanted, but i feel gravity pulling me by my arm

Even as i dig my heels into the rugged ground to try and stay

I can feel the string that tethers us try to fray

I keep re-tying the knot

Over.. and over.. again

I want to stay

Please help me feel that way
G May 19
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the hours tick by

1..2..3 am

I can’t sleep.

I toss and turn trying to find comfort, but its impossible

I can’t sleep.

I count to 126 trying to find fatigue, but its impossible

By 3:30 i manage to rest.

I wake at 11:00, almost noon..

Half my day is gone..
G May 21
In another life, my world would be different.

I would live in one house, with two parents that love each other, and my one dog that deserved to live.

I would be caught up on school, have perfect teeth, and feel like the things i say would want to be heard.

I would have friends that lived nearby, and we would hang out almost every night till it was time to go to bed, and then wake up the next morning and do it all again.

The moral of the story is that if i could choose, my life would be different, but that’s not in this life, only in another.
G Jun 5
You’re dead now

And life has never been the same

If anything its gotten worse

I feel empty..

Dead..
G Jun 10
She said she can’t love you for more then two days

And yet you both still act like a couple

But if i were to love you, i would love you for eternity

I would love you every waking moment if you only gave me a chance

And the sad part is, i can never say that i love you more then friends

Because you love her

And she might love you

And i’ll forever be the third wheel
ash May 29
i don't consider myself much of an author
though you could call me a poet
i have a book, turns out
i guess i've been living under its illusion
but today, after three months of it being public
i held it in my hands and went through the pages

i'm not super proud, i'll admit
it's not perfect, barely anything
if i were to compare my current writing with that of the book
i'd call myself childish when i thought it could look
poetic or pass off as poetry
i'm no professional, barely perfection
but the title does say perhaps we could be anything

so here i was, reading through, found a good few
but most seemed to lack the fervor that i thought
when i penned down that thought
and once again i wondered, am i supposed to be proud of this thing?
thing, huh. really low of me to put it that way
when i started writing and it was a beginner's sake
no plans, thoroughly unrequired

i know many creators
ones who are artists, and they almost always mention
“i'm not really proud of that one”
the particular one that marked their beginning
but i guess the beginnings are the time capsules
that lead to more such evenings
when you finalize a draft, finalize a piece,
put it out there wondering maybe it still lacks it
but the heartbeat — of that moment when it's passed on and upon —
maybe not everyone would critique
are we ever really proud of all that we do?
do we really accept it?

then this particular vision erupted in my head
i held the book, held it in my hands
and it was out there, and anyone could peek into my head
it escalated — vibrant imagery indeed
i was left to accept that if anyone wanted,
they could have had parts of me
the specific ones inside the book
and the ones in the title
and in the words
and in the emotions that led it on

and even though it wasn't everything, not as i'd desired
maybe someone could find a piece they loved in there?

perhaps it wasn't that bad of a choice
not super proud again — but hey, i'm a poet!
i've been writing more, learning better, and listening loads
i think i might be onto something
like let it enfold you by charles bukowski
god, i don't know the man
not his works or of any other plans
but i do know that words stick
the meaning they carry does too

and if i say i love the book (yet to like it)
will you read it for me too?
wrote this a while ago. a "while" is a long time, indeed.
I gave you the precious pieces of me,
The ones I didn’t want the world to see.
I trusted you to hold them carefully—
These intricate, delicate pieces of me.


Woven into the seams of my identity,
Each part is a fragment of who I could be.
But bit by bit, they slipped away,
Scattered in the echoes of yesterday.


Perception blurred, my world askew,
Identity fractured, unsure of what’s true.
Emotions unravelled, I fought to cope,
Cognition strained, yet clinging to hope.


Engagement faltered, connections grew thin,
Self-awareness whispered, “Rebuild within.”
So now I gather the pieces again,
Not broken, but patiently trying to mend.


Each one a lesson, a scar, a friend,
A story to tell, a truth to defend.
Delicate, intricate, essential to be—
Reclaiming the precious pieces of me.
(Perception, Identity, Emotion, cognitive, engagement & self-awareness) - A space where poetry meets self-discovery.

This page is an open diary—a place where words unravel emotions, question reality, and piece together the human experience. Rooted in both creativity and science, my poetry explores resilience, mental health, and the intricate connection between thought and feeling. Here, expression is not just art; it’s a path to understanding.
You live between the space
of my fingers,
the caress between my lips.

I only remember when I forget.

Like last night
I thought of you, and it felt like
you were there.

Suddenly, my hands felt like yours
Were there.

Creep is such a bad word,
But there is no other way
to describe it.
I swear I was not thinking about you
only to realize that I was.

And then, I felt the familiar weight of your presence.

You live between the space of my thoughts,
somewhere that's not a dream
but also not just a memory.

When I close my eyes,
you are there,
and I question if you're thinking of me.

Every time I think
and I realize it—
you disappear.

But the weight
the weight of you
I'll never forget.

I only remember when I forget
She moves fast like a city
full of names, things to do,
and places to be.
No matter how fast she moves,
there is always a spot for you.

Regardless of where you go,
not every woman, not every city,
is the same.

She highlights her personality,
the buildings of her priorities,
Her personalities,
like dominos
uncovered and placed strategically.

The way she was raised,
the not so pretty parts,
Behind the well known parts
of her,
not necessarily put away.
But still, there is a place for you.
Whether it's a quiet night in,
or an event organized
to get to know each other better,
the margins of her heart beat for you
Between the counties.

Although she moves fast,
and one day with her varies from the next,
she's not afraid to let you know that she's busy.
Once she handles all of her business,
be ready to catch up on all that missed time.

But don't forget
she doesn't just find the time
to call or text.
She shows up.
You too are a part of her world
Lalit Kumar Mar 3
@Jess,
"The greatest one I bear now,
making me die a little each day,
is that I let you go, not knowing,
leaving was a decision you'd regret."
You, with your raw, poignant words,
captured the agony of unspoken goodbyes,
painting the ache of regret like a timeless portrait.
In your verse, I hear the soul's deepest cry,
yet in your strength, there’s also light.

@Anais Vionet,
"I am the wind, the desert breeze,
the ocean spray and rustling leaves."
You, like the wind, slip through every thought,
a breath of freedom captured in verse,
unstoppable, untamed. Your lines dance
like whispers of the sea,
speaking of transformation, beauty, and loss.

@Shane Michael Stoops,
"46 years,
What do you get,
Your way past old,
Your pants don’t seem to fit"
You embrace the passage of time,
showing us the strength in weariness,
the humor in change. Your words,
like a hearty laugh, echo through life's stages,
reminding us that every line of life is worth reading.

@CJ Sutherland,
"eye now know
the how, when, where and the-why,
my Eyes compose this elegy
memories of past and present... blending into memories of future happenstance."
Your poetry is a mosaic of time,
where past, present, and future coexist,
and each word is a step toward discovery.
Your mind is both a mirror and a window,
reflecting and shaping the world.

@Shane Michael Stoops (again),
"We danced in the rain,
Laughing away so much pain."
Your words hold an unspoken promise,
the joy of dancing in the face of sorrow.
In your poems, there is an invitation to release,
to shed our fears and allow laughter to heal.
You teach us that pain and joy can coexist.

@Jess (again),
"I hardly understand the ticking of the clock,
trying hard to go through each day."
The ticking of your verse carries the weight
of endless hours and endless thoughts.
In your words, I hear the struggle of time
and the ache of waiting for solace.
But there's grace in your journey—
and your courage leaves a lasting mark.

@Anais Vionet (again),
"What is chosen is believed,
though the choices are presented—
I choose among the sacrificial burnt offerings."
You have a way of breaking down complexity
with a single line, weaving the eternal truth
into a delicate, yet unapologetically bold choice.
Your words cut to the heart,
unraveling mysteries with elegance and resolve.
These voices create a tapestry of pain, hope, freedom, and resilience. Every verse from each one is an invitation to listen, learn, and grow.
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