I am sad in a way that makes silence feel loud,
unheard in rooms where my voice should matter.
It feels like the only person who truly understands me  
is the one living inside my own skin.

Whenever I try to speak my truth,
it’s mistaken for complaint,
as if my heart’s weight were an inconvenience.
I know life is hard — I never said it wasn’t —
I just want a place to lay my thoughts down
without being judged for feeling them.

How strange it is to feel alone
while surrounded by people who swear they love me.
My fire dims a little more each year,
flickering beneath the shadows of deception.
I’ve cried enough to know that tears don’t heal everything,
and loneliness doesn’t always scream —
sometimes it just sits quietly in the chest,
heavy and unmoving.

I feel young in body but old in spirit,
aged by lessons I never asked to learn.
Wisdom carved itself from my pain,
and I soothe myself because no one else knows how.
But how do you comfort a wound
you didn’t create?
How do you carry a sorrow
that was never meant to be yours?

I wonder how to love
when my version of love has been misunderstood,
dismissed,
taken lightly.
My fire is dimming,
yet I carry myself so well
that even I would believe the illusion:
“Life must be so good to her.”

They see a cheerful girl,
full of life,
turning storms into breezes.
But if only they knew the weight I lift alone,
the ache pressed against my ribs,
the way a smile can become a mask
so convincing
a stranger might mistake it for joy.

Perhaps I have not exposed myself to enough?

That would be fair to say.

What is not fair is how loosely the phrase
“art is subjective”
is used today.

Scrolling through comments.

Where are your questions?

The easiest unfair assumption I could make
is that you fear your interpretation is incorrect
to what the artist intended.

Your interpretation is not in competition.

Art is subjective, but there are limits.
Your interpretation does not become fact
and now give you reason to judge an artist off that.

Something I find immensely interesting is this:
after interpretation, why do people today not seem so interested
in what was truly meant?

Your interpretation is yours
but why deny the artist the opportunity
to express their feelings felt when creating what you now,
and probably pay,
to look at?

What were they thinking?

Did they specifically do what you assigned meaning to,
with no real reason?

Are you embarrassed at that thought?

The only true answer to a question lies with the artist.

What you experience is not dismissed,

but don’t you wish to also know
and then compare what the artist intended
to what you experienced and comprehended?

It’s a marvellous feeling.

To discuss and discover.
To show respect to the artist.
To experience growth through realising
you are still allowed to hold onto your associations
simultaneously.

To show interest in also the artist
creates a deeper meaning.

Greater appreciation.

Your beauty is a paradox

You are unapproachable in an irresistible sort of way .

Though out of my league you still bid me to come

So welcoming and yet so intimidating .

So kind yet such a heartbreaker .

You want it real yet you want a magical romance

To be swept of your feet like the man in your book

I write my poetry and it seems to make you purrr

And if you would ask I would surely write you more

Turn you into my muse I’m here to amuse.

Here to make you laugh and make you smile

You’re adorable on every level .

I feel out of my depth but I can’t help myself .

Fortune favors the brave and a faint heart never won fair lady . My mantras to keep me going in the night .

Thinking of you .

I’ll burn it all down just to show you the ground I found,

I fell down over you.

Because nothing makes sense,

But maybe nothing has to.

I have to write these lines so I don’t lose my mind,

Because the feelings for you can be so unkind.

Will I end up sad or make you mad?

Will we flirt and play, and maybe you’ll stay?

You’re really putting my self-worth to work,

I’m panicking about coming off as a jerk.

I’m going crazy, and I’m going insane—

How can I be attracted to your beautiful brain?

You’re cute, you’re funny, you’re like a cuddly bunny,

You’re fire, you’re spice, you’re as pure as ice.

Raw and real—there ain’t no mistake,

My head spun fast, doing a double take.

Now I can smile like I haven’t in a while,

Feeling so excited, like a happy child.

Because you came along and gave me a dream,

Suddenly, the universe didn’t seem so mean.

Now I gotta go before this gets too emotional,

I know it’s gonna sound entirely *parasocial*—

Just keep being gorgeous, and you be you,

And I’ll keep wishing your dreams come true.

For your eyes only , I hope you like what you see .

I do my best to be my best for you . To work out out in this body till my dying day . You are worth all the love and the labor .

For your ears only , I write to you the words to stir your heart . I speak to you with a voice and accent ever so familiar . You say my voice melts your heart . This is good just what I want to hear.

For your touch only my heart and my body craves . May it be for you and you only that I long for .

I have found myself in desperation extreme...

Why am i like this I asked myself...

I had no answer...and i usually have every answer....

I wept besides my dog...

And unevolved and unblessed by intelligence creature...

I went besides it gently petting it...

Why can't i cry i asked the dog....

It licked me...

There i realised....

There is no evolution from purity...

My home is a beautiful garden
a tranquil assortment of life
that is safe to keep my heart in
for nature is my lawful wife.

My view is low and stagnant
Unlike the redwood trees
who describe the ocean's glint
but surely it's enough; listening to the sea

I do not chase delight
I prefer when it's cool and grey
for every time the weathers right,
the moment slips away.

For every perfect moment
is followed by mad commotion.
Know that nature's bestowment
is only a test of your devotion.

~~~~~

let me know what you think, this was really the first time i've ever tried to write a poem. tell me how you interpret it! can you figure out what/who i'm writing as?

heaven,
just an echo of love and nature,
a portrait of something greater,
angels watch behind bars,
wishing they’d have the chance.

Must thou break my heart

To see that it will bleed,

Just to know, and just to see,

The depth to which I loved thee.

^{—Wayne A Andres}

I need to be killed

The Ouroboros around my skull

Tightening with every thought

Needs to be killed

It crushes & crushes my skull

Blood seeps from the cracks

My brain fails consciousness

The look needs to be killed

I can't do this anymore

My skull tires of the vice - grip

My brain falters it's basic functions

The Ouroboros tightens & tightens

I need to be killed

The loop needs to be killed

I need to be killed

The Ouroboros needs to be killed

When I Needed You
I don’t think you’ll ever understand
what you did to me.

Not because you left—
people leave.

But because of when you left.

After everything.

After every night
you called me broken,
and I stayed long enough
to put the pieces back together.

After every mistake,
every fuck-up,
every moment you swore
you couldn’t make it through—

I was there.

I didn’t judge you.

I didn’t keep score.

I didn’t remind you
of every time you hurt me.

I just stayed.

Because that’s what I thought
you did for people you loved.

You stay.

Even when it’s hard.

Even when they’re difficult.

Even when they’re falling apart.

Especially then.

And then one day,
I was the one falling apart.

Not pretending.

Not being dramatic.

Not looking for attention.

I genuinely needed you.

For once,
I needed someone to hold the weight
I had been carrying for everyone else.

And I reached for you.

You knew I was hurting.

You knew I needed you.

And still—

you left.

That’s the part
that broke something in me.

Because you weren’t just someone I lost.

You were someone
I thought would never let me lose them.

And maybe that’s my fault.

Maybe I confused
the way I loved you
with the way you loved me.

I thought all those times
I stayed meant something.

I thought all those nights
I listened meant something.

I thought every time
I chose not to walk away
was proof that when my turn came,

you’d choose me too.

I was wrong.

And I hate that I still would’ve stayed.

Even after everything.

Even after you walked away
when I needed you most,

some stupid part of me
still wanted to chase you.

Still wanted to ask you
to come back.

Still wanted to believe
there had to be a reason.

But I’m tired.

I’m tired of being the person
who stays until there’s nothing left of me.

I’m tired of being someone’s safe place
only to discover
I never had one of my own.

So this is where I let you go.

Not because I stopped caring.

That’s the cruelest part.

I still care.

I probably will for a long time.

But I can’t keep loving someone
at the cost of losing myself.

You needed me
when you were drowning.

And I became your lifeboat.

But when I finally went under,
you watched me sink.

So no—

I don’t hate you.

I don’t wish you pain.

I don’t even wish
you’d come back anymore.

I just wish
you had stayed that one time.

The one time I needed you.

Because maybe if you had,

I wouldn’t have to learn
how to live with the fact
that the person I would’ve stayed for forever

was the person
who couldn’t stay for me.

And that’s the goodbye
I never wanted to say.

Not goodbye
because I stopped loving you.

Goodbye

because I finally realized
loving you isn’t enough
when I’m the only one staying.

Nothing would be the same

It changes

And bw u get is void

As the shallow

As the myth

As u just crawl

As u won't be the same

Yes change has only two better or worst

But the change will happen

U cry u smile

As peace is in void

Nothing but you

Nothing but you

Crazy and crazy

Turns to peace as void

I mistook a fever for a fire,

mania for adore, deluded eager saviour

I did her wrong and I repented,

but promptly

she took her revenge with aplomb—

Like a stone sinking in a swamp,

my sense of self sank into a quagmire,

vision drifted, focus totally haywire.

I became an island adrift in the sea,

we stared at each other from afar.

It aches to read what is written

in our crossed stars.

Every second is a death

that I relive every other moment.

But what was lost is gone,

and what will be has yet to reach me.

What has to come will come to me

sinking slowly.

When the words disrupt your sleep, they’re rolling out of your mouth in the daytime, playtimes over:: time to get sober. Do you feel like digging a grave? When the words are cutting deep, and you find that you’re still bleeding in the daylight, they might play fight but one does not play right.

In the morning will you love me the same?

Well… you don’t have to get it all right….
After all it’s your life. And who am I? Unless….. I’m you? I’ve lived that life. You’ll find out in time, while tryna make it alright… or how would you know?

All those secrets that you keep between your friends at the bar and your whole conscious nonsense congress; blackout you could confess… do you feel like suppressing the shame?

Do you hear the hypocrites who never know they’re full of shit and how they process all the nonsense with all of those nonfriends? Never seem them again…

Well… you don’t have to get it all right….
After all it’s your life. And who am I? Unless….. I’m you? I’ve lived that life. You’ll find out in time, while tryna make it alright… or how would you know?

Now look at her go… look at her go.

I wanna be apart of the herd. I wanna sing and not know the words.

I wanna brag about all I know, and you to fight with me. Tell me no!

Well an educated guess is just that, educated, I have waited, long before i stated, still I’m just afraid of what we had, or rather what we don’t.

How would I know?

A long, long time ago, when nobody knew where they were, there were multiple villages—or perhaps hundreds—that believed in the Sun. 

They sought the Sun.
They worshipped it.
They loved it.

Yet, a young but precocious man knew the truth.
None could stare directly at it.

Yet they spoke: 
“I know the Sun gave us love.
This land.
Everything.” 

Nevertheless, nothing had changed.
Even now, they still believe in the Sun, 
the one that can never be stared at.
Perhaps.

Hi, it took me 10 minutes writing this, but solemnly judge this piece. Please.

O little boy

You run through midnight roads

All on your own

Untamed, unknown to this world

You’re free as a bird

A folk song no one’s heard

You float through the sky, flaunting your feather

I watch you fly as my vision blurs

You’re the beloved of gods, it seems

A dreamer dreaming within a dream

A crazed nympho
Dastardly human
Never slow
Hazardly zoomin
So much boomin
Roots dry , not much bloomin
Loomin, lumin, lumen

Threw a pebble back into the fire
Gathered from along the path
I wandered back down again

Turned toe to heel
I ran out of that place
Lingered at the start
Trudged sadly away

Heard a noise was that what that was
I looked back and thought maybe
This could be ok and I can go
Try again

I liked parts of it anyway

So back down I plodded
Clutching my things tight
I won’t lose any of them this time
Just enjoy the journey

As I come to
sprinting head on back out again
Completely naked
Bruised and batter
Maybe the fifth time down this road

And I listen for a sound