#long poem

[flowerytale]

Nikos Engonopoulos, from Bolívar, a Greek Poem

[hybriddh]

Marionette by HybridDH

Art by ghosty_entity

https://x.com/ghosty_entity?s=21

In the darkened room, a stage unfolds,

where velvet curtains shield tales untold.

There in the dim light’s soft, faint sway,

a marionette waits, bound to obey.

Threads stretch high, veiled and taut,

puppet and shadow caught in thought.

With porcelain skin and painted smile,

she waits, unmoving, docile, beguiled.

An unseen hand pulls; she shudders awake,

a dance begins, each step to partake

in muted hums, a silent sway,

as joints align in ghostly ballet.

Her glassy gaze is fixed and wide,

unblinking, drawn from side to side,

eyes unfeeling, blank, and cold,

secrets too deep, in silence told.

The stage, her world of fabric walls,

a prison fashioned for lifeless dolls;

each step marked by the strings’ command,

a measured move, a forced demand.

She spins, she twirls with delicate grace,

her movements bound to an endless place,

and though she glides with a quiet charm,

her dance is bound, and free of calm.

There’s a murmur low, a command unclear,

whispers cold as winter’s cheer,

echoes scripted in her ear,

words that she feels, yet never hears.

Buttons for eyes, stitched mouth set wide,

she’s hollow within, though painted with pride;

the smile sewn on, the laugh confined,

a mask that cracks yet holds the line.

Around her, dolls on taut-held threads,

pinned to their parts, lifeless and led.

In faded lace, they watch and wait,

bound to their roles, resigned to fate.

One doll stands cracked, with splintered seams,

a rosewood figure, worn of dreams—

she’s cast aside, her purpose done,

no longer danced, no longer spun.

For every twirl and every bow,

she’s merely part of another’s vow;

the stage grows larger, yet so small,

a muted echo, a silent call.

And as she bends in practiced arc,

she wonders if this role left a mark—

a phantom tale, a puppet’s jest,

a marionette swayed at fate’s behest.

The strings grow taut; she cannot stray,

locked in this strange, perpetual play,

her movements guided, whispers hushed,

in satin gloves, her spirit crushed.

But under the mask, beneath the paint,

a flicker stirs, though ever faint—

a silent plea, a wordless cry,

for freedom’s hand, to sever and untie.

At last, the dance draws to a close,

she’s set back down in static repose.

And as the hands drift out of sight,

a tear escapes, frail in the light.

A single drop, a trace of grace,

a glint of life on her painted face.

[marxm-03]

🌕

A poem I wrote after fainting at work and seeing the reactions of those around me. Someone had made an insensitive joke and inspired me to write this. I put a lot of heartache into this so I hope others who ache too can enjoy. I personally think it's some of my best.

-Michael

[rzmusings]

you touch my skin as though it were divine. lips brush against my face as though i might shatter, while your fingers roam every inch of me. mapping me out. visiting every place. caressing your favourites. your touch is warm, warm like a fireplace in winter, warm like soup and warm like the brown of those eyes— i could love you. i could love the sharpness of your canines when you laugh hard enough. the glasses you don't wear nearly enough. the twitch of your lips when our eyes lock long enough. the way you gaze down at me as though there isn't a better sight to behold. i could love you.

— do i already love you?

[leenlue]

The Great Tsunami

Once, I wrote you a poem

And you loved it

And you loved me

But what you didn't know, is that I wrote you three more after you said you didn't want me and I cried

I cried tsunamis and hurricanes

And I guess you could say I'm not over it

Because whenever I see her I feel a knife through my chest

A sharp pain

One that only you could inflict

And of course you love her now

I get it

She has a smile like the full moon

One that you have to stop and look at to see if it's real

It's mesmerizing

It engrosses you

And you've always been one to worry about looks

Well look

That's shallow

But I know

That the girl who writes poetry every time she feels an emotion is not what you wanted at all

I was merely the bus stop to your real destination

Some kind of

Procrastination

I was nothing

To you

Yeah, I get it

A girl who can light up a room is one you wanna keep, man, she's special

But I thought I was special too

See what kept me going was

You

And you were all that I wanted so I just gotta ask

Why'd you do it?

I hate to say this but I hope she breaks your heart

I hope you tell me

Every grueling detail

And the excuse she had

Because even though you'll be sad you'll understand the devastation you caused me, and all those countries that had to live with the great tsunami.

- d.

[oloovia]

long poem "i hate myself"

literally just pouring out emotion here, bit of a lengthy one i hate myself so deeply within my soul that little girl inside is all i hear the knocking, knocking, knocking the scratching, begging, clawing for some sense of relief relief. what is relief? a sense of calm that lasts temporarily? the quietness that i so desire? does relief come in the form of a pill? can i get it injected into my brain? my veins? can i please just get some sort of fucking answer i am tired i am drained i am e x h a u s t e d  fuck, at this point i’ll take that sigh of relief writers write about a sigh is better than the mess my mind is right now as long as i get the silence i need without needing to be asleep. why does my mind never stop racing, rushing, running, wrapping around every single little thought just give. me. a. break. one second of peace is all i yearn for that second of peace will do more for me than any self-help, self- guided, self-studied therapist journal, video, meditation, coping technique has ever done. back to that little girl the one i failed so flawlessly i feel sorry for her she was once filled to the brim with hope and happiness dancer, actress, singer,  professional fucking clarinetist all dreams that died. all dreams that were unattainable to start with. and realized quickly. now i stay up until 3 am, screaming and shouting my heart and mind  into a keyboard and google docs. everyday is the fucking same wake up: 9:15 work: 10:00 lunch break (if taken): 13:00 get home: 18:00 if motivation is present (typically not): gym: 19:30 if motivation is not present (usual): doom scroll and nap intermittently: 18:00-0:00 shower (sometimes wait until morning): 00:00 journal (in between): 00:30-03:00 hate self with rage and stay in my brain: 00:30-03:00 find time to hate self via google docs poetry: 00:30-03:00 go to bed and repeat every. single. day. all i wish for is one second. just one.

[lostdeviantartcollages]

staring at white images,

[forestgirlpoems]

What time is Dinner?

we pass eachother in the hallway. sit around the dinner table in semi-silence. complimenting eachother

the living room is a shared space. where we sit separately. watching the same tv. hearing different things

there I wonder in which corner laughter is hiding in. under what pillow to look for your warmth. my voice and the will to use it

however good your pasta bolognese. it could never make up for the draft in our windows. the doors I opened and the questions you stopped asking with your eyes. just like that we fell into place

passing each other in the hallway. we exist in the same space but never together. our lives connecting only for the duration of trivial questions

[starsbecoming]

how can i wish to be eternal

when some days

i don’t even want

to be alive long enough

for the summer grapes

to sour

i cling desperately

to preserve

everything i have now

wrapping it in layers of

saran wrap

like my mother taught me

with yesterday’s leftovers

and tomorrow’s ripe avocados

but how can i stop the death

of something that is

ready to let go

i grasp at fate

in the dark

like a child

again.

[env0writes]

Umber Embers Vol.3, 9.10.24 “Senioritis”

What a wonderful excuse to congregate With peers So near How close to saying “I love you” We all were But with a share of hands And a close of body I didn’t know how to kiss yet And yet Our hands touching Was kiss enough The air was cold and biting The fire, you made– inviting I walked all this way to see you What a fool I was to not speak I simply stared At you – the fire How old I felt then Only the briefest of difference Felt a chasm Between flicker and flame Oxygen you all were to me As I grew Like fire I burned Bridges between us Time may have healed those embers Those ashes given new life But no bridge rebuilt Reaching from me Nor reaching from you We let the fire lay where it lied And oh, did we lie We were the bestest of liars Stories we’d spin like yarn Quick to flame and feed the fire For that warmth we gathered Was better than our honest word For no youth will admit their love Not to me Not to you If we grew distant we grew cold Shouldered and slow How cruel it is that growing up Truly does mean forgetting I will never forgive you Peter Pan For speaking so plain so young You would have a place amongst my fire Full of liars Yearning and learning What warmth of another is While I held my hands Thinking of yours Others pressed close Their hands Others– lips Others– more I thought of the long walk home And how wintered it would be So I lingered Let me help you clean Give me purpose So that I might receive thanks Remember me When the fire fades And all is dark Not for my long walk in the cold Nor my stories brightly burned Into our memories For the help I gave And that I came To gather around your bonny bonfire In the cold and autumn nights

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists!

[artujem]

A long one. Don't know how I feel about it just yet.

[thejourneyblog]

To Have a Heart by Priscilla Pittington

To have a heart

Is to have it break

Is to shoot for the moon and

land among the scars

To temp a fate

Of blood and blues

To sing to the heavens

And tear in two

Is to whisper sweet nothings

And scream to the skies

To dance with your fears

And drain of your tears

To spin to stir to fantasize

To love to hate to memorize

Every freckle, crease and wrinkle

Every strand, gleam and twinkle

To hold on to let go 

To chase and to flee

To idolize to villainize 

To become best friends

and strangers again

And while I wish heartbreak

could be divided equally

nothing that can shatter

ever breaks in half

So lets bear it all

For we have nothing to hide

Naked in the light or

Desperate in the dark

For lightning or a spark

The petal or the rose

Every bit is worth it

because

To have a heart is

To live a life

[coffeexxcigarettes]

And the moon is flooded red,

Stained like strawberries

Yet I am stuck on your lips.

The idea that such a sight I used to beg for,

Pales in comparison to your smile-

I hold anger with your name,

A bitter resentment for turning the stars

I've long admired

Into memories of us against the black of night.

There's us,

Laughing and falling asleep,

Blinking desperately to stay beside one another

For just a moment longer.

There's us cooking together,

And I'm acting like I know what I'm doing-

But I don't,

And yet I guide your hands,

And yet you let me,

And together we create food with memories-

And then there's me thinking I was the only one.

The brightest star,

Flickering alone against the red of the summer moon.

Stargazing was so peaceful

Before I tasted your fruit.

I knew you'd taste of stars before I tried you,

And you did.

And you do.

And you always will.

I cannot compete with stars,

When all I offer is messy poetry

And tears.

It was a foolish whim,

Made by a child who loved the night.

And I'd do it again if it meant

The stars would shine just for me

Even if only for a

Single

Moment

More.

x

[poetryofastillsoul]

The Worth of my Words

A single tear

Falls from my eye

Down my cheek

Past my heart

And to my feet

You have let

Me down

Again

Here I see

What worth

I had

In your eyes

Less than that

Of a single cent

Here I slouch

Shattered in my words

Seams ripped

To show what’s beneath

My teeth are grinding

On the words

I cannot speak

Like hard tendons

Of spoiled meat

So just a squeak,

Is all that you hear

And so you say

It is not worth

Listening for.

- Solomon H.J Kitts

[academic-vampire]

Yes I do have 4 different versions of Dante’s Inferno. So what?

(In case anyone is curious… these):

[tuhainkahan]

in my “the world is cruel, therefore, I won’t be” era.