#long poem

[hybriddhthepoet]

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.

[env0writes]

I now understand how The wolf became the domicile dog How the wildcat tamed itself to man All makes sense to me Why the knight kneels before crown And the lover bends the knee

I understand how And what might drive me to prostrate To posture myself in adulation Adoration and admiration at your feet I am no less, nor greater If you take me as your mate, or When the moon revolves, Let me spin your about me too No glass need shatter, yet ring out

I am The Shepard’s dog Bloody, thick wooled beast of purpose Let in by the fire and out in the wind Many, the flock make, yet to you Find my head pressed at your feet No wolves will harm this place Whilst I am here, your grace

Domesticate me and I will build a home With thick wild hands With beating blood that flows like rivers From my er’ beating heart Into every wishful thought Shooting stars across our eyes I will eat at your feet patiently observant For at your each and every beck And call I will answer as your servant Whistle to the wind and o’er hill And over valley will I fly To ease your sighs

I understand how A mighty beast might kneel So that others might climb higher How that nature tempered call to heel By their side and as their sire

Janus Estuaries Vol. 4, 1.14.25 “A Bowed Head Need Never Beg For Love"

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

[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

[unrittenn]

I want her in a tender way

Tender the way that little kids first learn to be gentle with lady bugs and let them crawl over their hand

Tender like the way that on the end of a summers day a park bench is still warm from the sun beating on their metal

Tender in a way that has me rolling and draping my weighted blanket over my waist so it almost feels like an arm

I want her in a soft way

Soft in the way you laugh after getting home from walking the dog in the winter just for you both to slip the minute you step inside

Soft in the way you wrap yourself in a freshly dried blanket simply to bask in the warmth

Soft in the way I hold my own hand under tables when I’m nervous because maybe it’ll feel like she’s there and I’m not alone

I want her in a desperate way

Desperate like the way you fight to break waters surface after jumping in too deep

Desperate in the way climbers claw at the edges of jagged steep cliffs in attempt to hold on

Desperate like the way that I clutch my phone waiting for her to tell me it’ll all be okay

And I want her carnally

Carnal the way ice cream drips down your forearm and how you like up the race tracks in attempt to erase their sticky prints

Carnal in the way leaves growls growing at the backs of peoples throats and teeth marks on necks

Carnal in the way I have to pause when I read her words and how my fingers twitch to touch her skin

I want her

I want her tender and soft and carnally

I want her as a mess and put together and even when she doesn’t want herself

I want her and I have her

And now I want her in a way that’s not a want at all

I need

- Trash

[yun-yunera]

As if I don't exist.

Replayed memories.

Reliving my trauma.

Getting talked over.

Pushed far to the side.

Forgotten existence.

Vying for attention.

Resulted in wounds.

And then I sit by myself,

Licking my internal wounds.

Now they sit at the table,

And I'm raging over here.

Anger was always my sadness,

Brutalized by my trauma,

Until she transformed into rage.

And I seeth, and seeth, and seeth,

Then, at the very end of the day,

When the lights in the house are off,

I cry under my covers, silently, hauntingly.

The child I still am, she sobs,

"It's scary to be treated,

As if I don't exist."

[dy-mph-na]

Guess who this ones about; lol!

[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?

[jb-cohen]

[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,

[hybriddhthepoet]

Beneath the Iron Veil

By HybridDH Art by ghosty_entity https://x.com/ghosty_entity?s=21

In the heart of night’s deepest clutch,

Where brimstone burns and hammers thrash,

I toll away ’neath the soot-black sky,

Bound to the forge where the weaklings die.

This hellish pit, this eternal grind,

The swing of my hammer, both curse and bind.

The iron resists, my spirit depletes,

In the relentless echo of my heart’s bleak beats.

The damned forces, they wear me thin,

A soul corroded by the din.

Yet I stand firm in the blistering glow,

A forged man, no semblance of woe.

Through the veil of night, I chase mere bread,

In the mines where hope fears to tread.

The coal sears my flesh; I am marred,

Deeper still where the exits are barred.

It’s a choking hell, this miner’s cage,

Where the air is thick and the walls enrage.

But stop I can’t, it’s a maddening lure,

The grind that promises but never ensures.

My body’s a wreck, oh, I’m breaking down,

Yet I can’t fucking stop, can’t bear to drown.

I need to halt, to breathe, to cease,

Yet the chains of labor deny my peace.

These days stretch endless, a cruel jest,

Each sunrise mocking my lack of rest.

What is this life if not a trap?

Where dreams are dreams, and bridges snap.

I’m not the sage, not the learned man,

Just a husk, driven since this all began.

Whittled by duty, by life’s sharp knife,

Carved out of the shadows, devoid of life.

Yet, there’s a beauty in this brutal fight,

In the sweat-soaked days and the coal-black night.

The flicker of hope in a lover’s touch,

The fleeting peace that offers much.

Every strike sparks a bit of my soul,

In the blistering forge that takes its toll.

And though I curse the heavens, forsaken in toil,

I’m tethered to this accursed soil.

Why, oh why, must this be my fate?

To grind and suffer, to spurn and hate.

When will God lend His goddamn hand?

Am I not His creature, shaped by His command?

Yet, amidst the forge’s unforgiving flame,

I find a fierce will no god can tame.

For though I’m cast in the deepest mine,

Each hammer’s fall marks a design.

A life of steel, of fire, of pain,

A spirit tempered, born again.

For each day I rise, broken, anew,

To face the dark with a grim view.

I’ll keep swinging, keep making my mark,

In the belly of earth, in the endless dark.

And when I’m gone, let them say I stood tall,

Against the tide, against it all.

For I am more than this soot, this sweat,

More than the iron, the forge’s threat.

I am the fire, the will, the might,

A smith of my fate, in the dead of night.

So let the winds of hardship howl and moan,

In the mines of sorrow, I’ve found my throne.

A king of ashes, of dust, of bone,

In the silent depths, I reign alone.

This is my saga, grim and long,

A testament written in sweat and song.

For even in darkness, deep and sheer,

The forge’s fire makes everything clear.

[pansymilyagra]

A kiss, A lover, and Disappointment.

Why doesn’t love come to those who truly desire it?

My eyes grow more broken each time I see a pair of hands intertwined in a dance of love and solace.

I even see former lovers happy with their new partners,

while I kneel, gathering every shard of my heart,

trying not to cut myself on the sharp edges as I cry.

Am I so impossible to love?

Is my face not soft and pretty enough to admire?

Are my lips not plump enough to kiss?

Is my skin not tender enough to caress?

I have always been a dreamer of love,

perhaps the love I yearn for is too idealized for this world,

where hearts grow colder instead of warmer,

while mine burns with an unknown passion.

Why doesn’t love come to those who yearn for it most,

to those who want and need it so deeply?

Why does love make me wait so long?

I just need one kiss to heal me,

and I’ll be fine.

Just one kiss.

Just a kiss from the lips of a sweet woman.

Just one honest kiss.

Just a kiss.

© pansymilyagra, 2024. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[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

[cybereucharist]

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

[yun-yunera]

If I may,

I dare admit

That situations

Replicating

My trauma

Dourly scare me.

Neglect may not

Be such

A frightful thing,

But,

It paralyzes

My entire being.

Kryptonite

To my

Superman.