Stream of Consciousness
The narrative. Content Warning.
I feel a melody carry me through the good memories, each one staring back at me as I face the final moment. Part of me goes fighting, grabbing anything worth holding onto. But a tear falls down my cheek and it all wastes away. Part of me is terrified of what comes next, if there is anything at all. I say goodbye in my heart— I can't move my hands. Another tear falls.
By Aathavi Thanges2 years ago in Poets
The burden of a job
In the realm of relentless toil we dwell, Where shadows of exhaustion cast their spell, Beneath the weight of tasks we carry on, Our spirits crushed by the daily grind anon. From dawn to dusk, we labor without respite, Bound by obligations that dim our light, The echoes of a clock's unceasing chime, Marking the rhythm of our fleeting time. In cubicles of solitude, we reside, Lost in a sea of monotony and pride, Our dreams deferred, our passions set aside, As we march to the beat of a corporate stride. The whispers of a paycheck fail to console, For in our hearts, a longing takes its toll, To break free from the chains that bind our soul, And find a path where true fulfillment may unfold. But in the end, we soldier on with grace, Seeking solace in the warmth of a familiar place, For in the crucible of work, we find our space, And strive to find meaning in this endless race.
By Jariatu Kallon2 years ago in Poets
The cost of beauty
Certainly! Here's a poem exploring the theme of beauty and the pain that often accompanies it: --- **Beauty Hurt** In the mirror, I see a face, Painted with hues of a fragile grace, But beneath the surface, where light can't reach, Lies a truth that beauty dares not teach. They say beauty is a crown, a gift, a prize, But the cost is hidden, behind these eyes. For every compliment, there's a scar unseen, For every gaze, a pain between. A flower, vibrant, but with thorns that sting, A bird with broken wings, who still tries to sing. The world demands a perfect show, But beauty's burden, only we know. We paint our smiles, we straighten our backs, But beauty hurt comes in silent attacks. In the pursuit of a flawless frame, We lose our essence, we forget our name. Yet, in the cracks, where the light gets through, There lies a beauty, raw and true. Not in the perfection we strive to attain, But in the resilience, in enduring the pain. For beauty hurt, but we rise, we heal, We learn that beauty is more than we feel. It's in the strength to face each day, In the courage to love ourselves, come what may.
By Jariatu Kallon2 years ago in Poets
The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived
You were supposed to be the one person I could confide in. Hell. You were the one person I could confide in. You were my everything. You were the one person I thought would never hurt me - the one person I couldn't ever picture hurting me. You used to fight to keep me safe. You used to be the one who'd pull me out in order to keep me safe. You were my everything. My everything. I used to love every single ounce of you, and now I can't even think of your name without crying. I can't look at a picture of you without feeling like someone shoved a razor-sharp dagger into my lung. So I guess what I have to say is...
By 'Lissa Stufflestreet2 years ago in Poets
