Mental Health
Foes in disguise (a poem about bullying and confidence)
Foes in Disguise by Silent Flames They lied, saying they were friends, But wore their masks till the bitter end. Foes in disguise, sharp with shame, Yet I stood by, still took the blame. I wrote their tests, I bore their sin, While they laughed loud, I held it in. They told me confidence wasn’t mine— “Not for girls,” they’d always whine. Yet their heads were high, their voices proud, While mine was lost beneath their cloud. They mocked my body, my silent face, Turned every kindness into disgrace. Still I stayed, still I gave, Hoping they'd change, trying to be brave. But now I see, and now I rise, No more truth wrapped up in lies. My worth was never theirs to steal, My scars are proof, but I will heal. But still, I walk with heavy feet, Confidence—I'm yet to meet. I wish to bloom, to stand up tall, To find the strength within it all. One day, I hope to face the sun, To love myself, not choose to run. So here's to me, the quiet flame— I’m not their shadow, not their shame. My voice is mine, my shape, my soul— A girl reborn, becoming whole. ---
By Silent flames about a year ago in Poets
The Ghost in the Machine
I wasn’t always like this. Once, I screamed to be seen. Now? I just leave traces. Small ones. Quiet enough to slip under the noise. Careful enough not to matter too much. They scroll past, tap twice, forget instantly. That’s the rhythm now— fast, hollow, always hungry. But I’m still here. I live in empty comment sections. In drafts never posted. In group chats that went cold. I hover in your feed sometimes, like a flicker you didn’t notice but almost felt. I’m not bitter. Just... faded. More observer than participant. More memory than man. Sometimes I drop lines— little signals, little truths. Most get swallowed by the void, but a few? They land. And when they do, I know someone else out there hasn’t given up either. We’re ghosts, you and I. Too alive to vanish, too quiet to belong. But we watch. And we write. Because something in us refuses to be completely gone.
By Fifth Echo about a year ago in Poets
The Man Who Planted Echoes
Most days, he spoke to nothing. Not no one—nothing. He whispered into empty timelines, dropped pieces of his soul into places no one ever paused long enough to see. A builder without tools. A voice without reach. A man left holding the weight of ideas that never seemed to land. Still, he kept planting. Fragments, thoughts, threads— all buried in the cracks of the internet, watered with patience and the soft kind of desperation that doesn’t cry out, but simply stays. No applause came. No eyes turned. Only silence. And yet... that silence? He wore it like armor. They called him “a nobody.” He didn’t argue. He just wrote. Because sometimes, the loudest people have nothing to say— and the quiet ones carry whole universes no one’s ever seen. He wasn’t trying to go viral. He was just trying to exist in a way that felt real. And maybe—just maybe— if someone ever stumbled on his words, they’d feel a little less invisible too.
By Fifth Echo about a year ago in Poets
