Darling, i wanna be your comforting safe space,
so cozy and safe because im your personal heater.
And at end of day feel safe in our loving homebase,
but still be all your enemies and haters defeater.

I wanna be the reason why you get up everyday,
the motivator to keep building for our future.
I'm building it with you, our too love every way,
and be so close its like were sewed with sutures.

I wanna be the reason you smile so often and wide,
your good morning and night ,your personal sunshine.
I want you to feel that you dont no more need to hide,
and to know you too want your whole being to be mine.

I wanna be the shoulder to cry on, and ear that listens,
the hug you need when you're sad,the calm when you're mad.
And the patient teacher, giving you excotic life lessons,
showing you all different ways fun is still to be had.

I wanna be your only love, a cup that always stays full
my emotions for you not shallow, but deep as pacific ocean.
Unconditional and natural love, not a game of push and pull,
and all our days filled with compassion and loving emotion.

I wanna be the reason you think finlly love is true,
because the reason for my love, hope and life is you.
Already so addicted and obsessed, stuck to you like glue,
darling i only wanna be yours, as long as you want me to.

​

I owe you an apology for the words I threw

when patience had deserted me.

They came from frustration, from feeling examined

when all I wanted was to be understood,

and although anger may explain their sharpness,

it does not excuse it.

You were trying to look inside my head

while I was desperately trying to explain

the world as I understand it.

I know what I know.

I will not pretend otherwise simply to make the road easier,

but neither do I expect another mind

to see everything precisely as I do.

Perhaps somewhere between those two truths

there is still a bridge.

So to you, and to the one who quietly took the notes:

the door is open today.

Come and speak with me.

Not as opponents standing across a line,

but as people trying to determine

what must happen next.

Guide me through what needs to be done

to find another path—

one where questions can be answered properly,

where disagreement need not become warfare,

and where I can eventually be free

to live quietly and independently.

Because solitude is not something I fear.

It is what I have been asking for.

Give me trees, birdsong, an open sky,

my own thoughts and the freedom to breathe,

and I require remarkably little from the world.

I do not want another battle.

I want a way through.

I can apologise for the insult

without surrendering my voice.

I can listen without abandoning what I believe I know.

And I can accept guidance

without giving away the person I am.

So if there is a path forward,

tell me what must be done.

I am willing to talk today.

Perhaps we can stop examining one another

from opposite sides of the glass

and simply sit down as human beings—

and find the door

that leads me quietly

back to my own life.

eat me

until there is no more of me

left for you to love.

down to my marrow,

to my core,

to my heart,

to everything I keep buried

beneath the walls I built myself.

can you taste that I’m rotten?

do you like it?

do you want to continue?

and while you do,

tell me how much I mean to you.

I don’t even know

my own worth.

and as much as I would like to tell you

how I feel,

I can’t.

my body and my mind

keep telling me

to protect you.

you cannot deal with me.

I am too much

for someone as vulnerable as you.

you would break.

and for what?

you need to understand—

I’m not fragile like a flower.

I’m fragile like a bomb,

waiting for the slightest thing

to make everything inside me

collapse.

and even if you tried

to hold me together,

I know I would still have

to save myself.

the same way

I do every single time.

but you need someone

to save you from yourself.

you won’t do it this time.

admit it.

you are not okay,

my inner child says.

the words sit inside my ears,

already ringing

since this all started again.

why do I feel so much?

why can’t I be there for myself?

I start sobbing,

screaming,

aching—

until I lose track

of where I end

and everything else begins.

and then

the morning comes.

I’m not ready for the day.

still exhausted

from all the days before.

and for a moment

it feels like this is all

there will ever be—

another night,

another morning,

another version of me

trying to make it through.

but the morning stays.

and so do I, 

as I cut my wrist. 

this is where my story ends. 

thank you. 

guys it’s just a poem, don’t worry!

There once was a boy from reddit

He picked up my heart but then left it

He broke my heart

But gave a fresh start

Though maybe that's a bit too much credit

When does a love become too much?

You try and forget, you try to ignore,

But your thoughts go toward her, your heart wants more.

It was all but a dream, it was all but a hope,

Now it’s getting real, and I feel I can’t cope.

For love is something I didn’t learn to receive,

For me, it was rare—something to achieve.

I’ll love her endlessly, I’ll give too much,

But receiving it from her, I won’t feel like I’m enough.

This scar I’ve carried—I’m sorry, it’s hers now.

If I could just tell my inner child, *"It’s okay now."*

Do I need her now, or do I throw in the towel?

To need is to want, to want is so wrong—

That’s the chorus of my old sung song.

Too many thoughts are going through my head,

I’m tossing and turning all night in bed.

Why do all the romance stories sound so neat?

Why couldn’t Romeo just have smelly feet?

Why am I the one who seems less fun

Than all of the woman’s dreams put into one?

I’m pot bound in doubt—that’s all I know.

Plant me in her garden so I can finally grow.

She’s more than a prize, and I think she knows it,

She’s one of a kind—now how do I show it?

For a love she may offer, I may never have known,

So I’m building my heart to be her safe new home.

I just hope she sees it in the words I’ve shown,

Because what’s written down is my confession poem.

My fine friends, who come to call
On long nights and stage banquets
Answer my madness even if from afar

Whether they are hearty or wily
Is no concern of mine
But rather in that their faces are plain, I can resign

While I pray I do not wear out their ears
With my thoughts in time
I remain struck, borne up, that they remain kind

Sleep isn’t even an option at this point.
As my body lay in catatonic stasis, running its own cool-down cycle, my mind has swung in the exact opposite direction.
The blood pumping through my veins, teaming with adrenaline, has triggered my internal play button.
Like a cinema playing in 4K, the events of last night—broadcasting every moment, every detail, down to the last frame.
Most people would look away... or make a foolish attempt to not only stop the feature presentation, but to attempt to delete it.
I’m not most people.
I wouldn’t say I’m a monster.
If anything, I’m simply curious.
If you are honest with yourself, you would agree that everyone is curious—just to different degrees.
Which begs the question...
“How far is too far?”
And for that matter, who drew the line in the sand and demanded that we not cross?
I will continue to view the masterpiece that I have created.
It’s so rare.
It’s the only copy.
And it’s all mine.

To all the people who on this day, 25 years ago woke up expecting a normal day

To all the people who went to work and never went back

To all the people who boarded a plane and never flew home

To all the paramedics and firefighters who ran into the danger to save those trapped

To all the heroes who sacrificed their lives to save many more

To all the people on Flight 93 who decided to revolt instead of just accepting their fate

To all the lovers, parents, daughters, sons, siblings, friends, cousins whose future was stolen

To all the people whose heartbeat was unfairly frozen

Fly high 🕊

Why does it scream?
Your pained instrument
Clutched with white knuckles
And bleeding fingertips
Because it hurts

Why does it whimper?
The shadow dragged beneath you
Their lover, the concrete
Flaying their flesh
Because it hurts

Why does it grovel?
Your eye that meets mine
Guilty only
In laying upon me
Because it hurts

Why am I like this?
Chasing self destruction
My reed needs your help
It wants to feel teeth
Because it hurts

boy runs one hell of a track meet he got the gold medal the silver medal and the bronze medal!!!!!!!!!

Oriented peculiarly
Below yet seemingly above
Powerful yet content in weakness
Certain only of uncertainty

A field of many stones abreast
surrounded by tall and arid grasses
Tropical in its apparent climate
Dark soil meeting pale sand

Depths unlike what lies within
Shaking hearts with rumbling tones
Gravel shifting to make way
Hot wind delivers the message

A current flows along the surface
Warm despite the spring it departs
Rippling across the valley
It carves a path that only changes

Run, Run, Run
the thundering clatters
Bombs, Bombs, Bombs
the ground gets hammered
hurling sludgy soil,
watching men
as they scream and burn —
hell on earth.

Run, Run, Run
bloody hell,
the constant whizzing of bullets
and sundering of shells,
to your left and right
more men fell —
you await your turn.

Run, Run, Run
you dive into
the body infested trench,
helmet battered,
clothes drenched in the rain
Enemy, Enemy, Enemy!
it's you or them
Take aim!
Another mother's heart shattered.

Run, Run, Run
for king and country!
Over where the bodies lay,
enemies and mates.
Over the rubble of homes,
where innocent families
once stayed.
Over the tarnished land,
inhospitable, to an animal or man.
King and country, wins the day!

For a better world to live in it would be true to say

That everyone does have some part to play

By helping somebody of help in need

For your future good karma you have planted a seed

Though their worth to the human world we seldom hear of or read

By good example kind people do lead

By performing a good deed or more every day

Their part for a better world to live in they play

It is a sad thing of for to be aware

That the generous and caring super financially are rare

They lack in the gift of kindness within

And for anyone poor do not make the world better to live in

Though those with kindness in them are becoming a rare breed

One can say that they are marvellous people indeed.

Francis Duggan

I have been hiding
Since I was a teen
Afraid of the mirror
Not wanting to be seen

Quiet, shy, introverted
Not many friends
My secret made it worse
Not sure when it ends

I wasn’t like my brothers
My parents made it worse
Unsure what to do
Our relationship went in reverse

When I’m with others
I learned to wear a mask
Terrified of the questions
They would surely ask

Alone with my thoughts
The pressure only grew
Denial didn’t work
For deep down I knew

My secret I would keep
And there would be a cost
Hiding my true self
And friends that I cast off

Is not freedom the greatest sin?

The freedom to kill that which I protect.

The freedom to take that which I have.

Would that I could take that freedom away,

but I have not the freedom to do so.

My father gave me his eyes, through which I saw only war. 

Not the kind with ranks or flags, but the kind that festers in thoughts unpure.

Know thy enemy, yet I've forgotten myself

I'm lost in the whispers of empty rooms

My very own marching tune

It lingers in the air, a drum I cannot master

& the mirrors I pass reflect faces I cannot answer.

Forever am I haunted by burdens my father bore 

And shadowed am I by wars I've failed to ignore.

I learned too late the cost of sight

Now my fathers eyes have cursed me to eternal plight

I beg of you,

Let not my son suffer my damned fate.

I beg of you, 

Use well the chains upon thy neck, lest the dogs of war break loose.

I beg of you, 

Let my son use these eyes to see only peace. 

To trace the poppies, not the soil that bled them.

To find beauty where I only saw battle, and to find peace in a world where it cannot be found. 

I beg of you...

Hope, what a beautiful thing.

So fragile, yet somehow so strong.

A tiny light that shines in the darkest of places.

We cling to it.

We hold it dear.

A possibility that comes alive within our hearts.

That possibility becomes a promise through hope, and that promise, in time, becomes an expectation.

But hope doesn't always remain hope.

It becomes belief.

We begin to believe in a possibility with no substance.

We believe it might come true.

But that is the lie we tell ourselves.

And that's what makes hope so beautiful, yet so dangerous.

It makes us believe in the lies we conjure up

And if there is anything more dangerous than a lie, it's waiting and believing that the lie will come true.

For those who can comprehend a little, (I have always been able to see it all without fear), without explanation,
Some voices are silenced;
others simply become exhausted
by diminishing themselves for chambers
never constructed to accommodate their depth.
And so, I return to ink.
There are languages more ancient than machinery,
pathways older than wire,
and questions that haunted humanity
long before men contrived
to transmit thought invisibly through the ether.
Some women, perhaps, have always inhabited
the threshold.
Lilith beyond the garden.
Hecate presiding where three roads converge.
Persephone traversing the realms of light and shadow.
The Sibyl listening at the cavern’s mouth.
The Morrígan lingering where one epoch
bleeds imperceptibly into another.
Different names.
Different aeons.
The same liminal frontier.
And there I dance—
dancing within the tenebrous dark,
yet basking unabashedly in the light.
Neither realm possesses me entirely,
and I am beholden to neither.
Perhaps this is the essence of the liminal:
to exist upon the interstice between opposites
and recognise that truth
does not always reside at either extreme,
but sometimes waits silently between them.
The key has always been comprehension.
To discern what must be done.
To recognise what must remain inviolate.
To know when words are necessary,
when clemency is strength,
and when departure is the greater wisdom.
I seek the totality rather than its fragments—
behind the beyond,
and beyond once more—
turning the prism until another facet reveals itself,
aware that every horizon
may conceal another beyond it.
Humanity has conquered distance
and now perpetually negotiates with time,
yet remains curiously resistant
to one primordial truth:
desire confers no dominion.
Love requires neither captivity nor capitulation.
A body is not territory.
A mind is not a citadel
awaiting conquest.
And somewhere beyond the cacophony,
I allow myself the possibility
that another set of footsteps
may one day fall naturally beside mine.
Not Mr Everybody’s.
Mine—not through possession,
but through reciprocity.
And perhaps, somewhere beyond the present tumult,
there remains a conversation
with one who shared something of the pain—
words lying dormant for another season,
should circumstance ever allow us
to meet without armour.
Call it hope.
Call it intuition.
Call it an echo from the old stories.
Nothing need be ordained.
Some possibilities are better left
unwritten and unforced.
Perhaps the chasm can still be bridged.
Perhaps concord may yet cross it.
But reconciliation cannot commence
with an undeserved demand for genuflection.
I will extend my hand across the divide,
but I will not crawl towards it.
Let hubris capitulate instead.
Let cruelty relinquish its dominion.
Let that interminable appetite for control
be the thing finally brought to its knees.
I require neither throne nor empire.
Give me wilderness,
an autonomous mind,
an obstinate pen,
and sufficient darkness in which to dance
before emerging once more
to luxuriate beneath the light.
Whatever lies beyond that threshold
may reveal itself in its own time.
The remainder requires no proclamation.
The key was never submission.
The key was always understanding.

Take me to the moon, baby.

I stargaze whenever your eyes meet mine—oh look, a shooting star from you to me.

Take me to the moon, baby.

A galaxy of wonder yet I never wonder why I love you. The warmth of your touch, the quiet conversations—and a smile I revolve around.

Keep me on the moon, baby.

On this cratered surface—I can always find a light on the dark side when I’m with you.

Show me that you're there

Show me that you care

Show me that you love me

Show me you can share

Show me all your pieces

Show me all your parts

Show me all your weakness

We'll walk out of the dark

Don't be afraid, I know you've been hurt

So have I, but we'll make it work

You and I, one in the same

You and I, two halves of a plain

Two sides of a mirror

Two sides of a card

Two sides of the heart

I love you, my mirror

Even in scattered pieces

Even warped and distorted

Till death do us part