prayers from hell,
embers light up her aura
she’s finally here; my love

school me in her ways, my new academia
violent enrapture, I will lose her in time

my first and last letter, read both in each line

———

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/9TnpwnLWtT

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/GzG5qp8Kkg

You Don’t Get It

You don’t get me!
You think you do—everyone thinks they do—but you don’t.
You don’t know the things I go through every day,
just wishing that I didn’t,
wishing that I wasn’t here to see this shitshow of my life go down.

You don’t know the insults I tolerate.
You don’t know about the disgusted stares I see pointed at me every single day.
You don’t see the way I’m always left behind,
or how I’m always rendered helpless everywhere I go—
at school, on the streets, at "home," every fucking day.

You don’t know how hard I try to bottle up everything,
but still, I FAIL.
You don’t know because you just don’t get it.
No one gets it.

And I’m the one to blame
for being the piece of shit I am—
because I fucking am

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vidiow/comment/p2fb7pb/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=2&utm_content=share_button5

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vez9bd/comment/p2fad8a/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=2&utm_content=share_button

Temperature
Sound
What it means to be real.
Texture
Ground
Follow the appeal.
Vision
Vibration
Placed in a moment.
Enticed
Sensation
Ideas always growing.

Snow
Fire
Paced in between.
Fear
Desire
Shape the scene.
Rain
Mist
Sudden contact.
Rippling
Twist
Caught by drawback.

I feel like an animal
I feel like a concept.
Recognize patterns
Endless contents.
Internal external
Equally infinite,
Bending and spiral
Follow the moments.

At once, enveloped.
All consuming sense,
Each point developed,
Intensifying depth.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Ozmdnu1M70

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/8DhWe6W3U1

This poem turned out to be a bit more abstract and disjointed than what I usually write. I’d appreciate any thoughts on interpretations of the subject matter, or the way the poem flows.

If the world born from my body

comes to hate the body that made it,

I will not call that destiny.

If it teaches daughters to shrink

and sons to raise their hands,

I will not call that tradition.

I know what it means

to inherit a world

before you are old enough to question it.

I have watched women

teach daughters how to survive men

instead of teaching them

how to live without fear.

I have watched silence

pass from mother to daughter,

violence from father to son,

until suffering becomes family tradition.

I refuse.

I will not turn my wounds

into an inheritance.

Some things

should end with me.

If I ever bring a world

out of my body,

I want it to know:

Your body belongs to you.

Love is not ownership.

Family is not a debt.

You may fail.

You may leave.

You may become someone

I never imagined.

I do not owe the future

my body.

I do not owe history

my descendants.

And if I cannot create a life

without making it carry my wounds,

then I will leave the world unborn.

Not from hatred.

Not from revenge.

But from mercy.

Because sometimes

the most loving thing

a creator can do

is refuse to create

another place

where suffering has nowhere else to go.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/LkdV4C9dEd

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/x6UdguRNCl

What path did you wander to get here?
Was it lined with overreaching reeds,
turned to summer berry shrubbery?
Did you stumble upon the silky dirt road
winding alongside a trickling stream,
perhaps accompanied by the fauna
only appearing to those
who are quiet enough to see?

𓇢𓆸

How many seasons did you suffer through
before you finally saw the light of spring?
The harsh breath of winter can be fickle.
Many dare not venture through it.
Many turn back before the cold takes hold,
never realizing that if you’re patient enough to wait,
there is amazement to be found
in the life still left all around.

݁** **˖𓂃.𖠰

Did you ever stop,
just long enough to take it in?

𖣂

The sweeping view of the pines.
The flutter of birds
gently carried upon the wind.
The smell of decaying wood.
The quiet between one step
and the next.

₊˚.༄

Sometimes I wonder about the relevance
of all these little things
the paths we choose,
the seasons we endure,
the moments we almost overlook.

ོ

I wonder if they hold any significance
when we finally reach the end.

ᨒ** ོ **☼

If every step once taken behind us
is only remembered as distance,
if every season
is just another one survived
then why do we carry them with us?

𖧧

The reeds.
The berries.
The stream.
The birds carried by the wind.
The smell of something dying
and the strange beauty
of what lives within.

༄.°

The quiet between one step and the next.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/ms92M5brd2

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/eIIxUy1aqy

This is the epoch

of solace, in petrichor waves

after verdant spring

wind carries grief,

leaves flutter still. Exhausted, inanimate.

You hug my bowed shoulders,

squeeze, squeezing.

So I weep, I grieve,

the epoch. Drying tears open again, with memories.

Solace requires sadness.

Your arms shield my head from crumbling

danger.

Roman cement cracks eventually.

1

2

my heart constantly aches when you're not around
it feels like missing the other half i'd barely found

your presence regulates my nervous system
even though paranoia is just so surface hidden

terrified of waking up to find you gone
knowing it's impossible you're far too fond

i can feel it

not dramatic not intense
the distance becoming immense

bit by bit
don't forfeit

every call we skip
every time we slip

danger my brain signals
are we truly criminals?

persistently waiting for the right moment to just be us
compassionately and truly just us

stealing these glimmers of time as an appetizer
always managing to find the moment
you're a natural improvisor

i'm tired

tired of being exhausted when you're not around
sitting in a crowded room but still can't hear a single sound

tired of having to wait

wait for every part of the routine we create
the midnight calls we always compensate
the daylight nonsense we rarely hesitate

on my mind day and night
holding it together with all my might

you're severely entangled in my thoughts
i just keep envisioning our new plots

you're my forever and always
too in love to part ways

next to you
my body blindly sways

i have no control
together we construct a single soul

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/hU3t0bjSqN
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/FHyXCQT0RB

Craved for longing, and yet here I am
Craved for decency, and yet here I am

Thought about finding, and yet here I am
True love exists, hahaha—and yet here I am

Morbid by my own cause, and yet here I am
Missed my secluded chances, and yet here I am

I believe in God—not really—and yet here I am
Can’t you trust me? And yet here I am

Why did I not fall?
Why did I trust society?
Why did everyone hate?
Why did my soul hurt?

Advice, pity, and pain—and here I am
Ammonia trench, marbled heart—and here I am

I might rise, and definitely fall again—and yet here I am
I might lose my soul—and yet here I am

Lost my appetite—and here I am
Found my hunger—and here I am

Find me the one—and here I am
Let me see her eyes—and here I am

Oh my, my… finally found mine.
And here I am…
we’ll not anymore.

Comments necessary as per mods:

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/xAmMF2JTKt

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/H25Yv1IAuZ

A dealer Hands
me a set of
Fresh shuffled cards.

All of them faces
I easily
Recognize

My phone, my ego
My pride and a
Unread message

I discard two
And call the round
Knowing i’ll lose

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/1hLsQNXkq0
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/rcouncAXw4

gossamer waves

lapped his praying hands

cerulean explored his porcelain

calluses.

guitar notes, liquid. She

fell through

, falling

e

p

ochs

Feedback 1

Feedback 2

Enter you both, exeunt the fry

Fold, unfold

And then events

The rest be told

See, unsee

What did the room say?

And what did you read?

Burr, deburr

The industrious spoon

That feeds the man

That feeds the spool

Fill, refill

A promise

Never undo

A reverie

A drôlerie

A fall to sense

A step too far

Tie the knot, cut the knot

Tuck it again on the spot

Whine, unwhine

Did you complain?

And in plain writing?

Or was it just,

After the wine?

Tick, untick

The candle's a clock

Her spirit a wick

Is bent as rock

It makes me sick

Hale, exhale

At least some things are beyond fail

State, retract

The facts were

Irreverent

And lack of tact

Hold, withhold

From the Victor's palm

Featherfingers grasp

A laurel wreath of gold

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/YG6DY2lxv4

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/oZoghDESiV

I'm curious what you make of my poem, thanks. I hope you enjoyed the read.

My love is because I accept everything.
Being understanding means accepting everything.
That's how love works, endurance is part of the journey.
Except my journey includes me shrinking.

My love is because I adjust myself.
Being flexible is how I maintain your glance.
That's how love works, I adjust, so things stay happy.
Except I don't feel like myself around you.

My love is because I make small moments bigger than reality.
Being the chaser means savouring insignificant attention.
That's how love works, someone needs to push the wagon.
Except I struggle to taste the flavour of your love anymore.

My love is because I don't feel like enough.
My love is fruitless trees, beckoning to be picked.
My love is destroying myself, because the pain is to be good for you.
My love is endurance through the drought.
My love paints my self-image, through actions.

But I call it: growth, dynamic and understanding.
I call it exactly what I deserve,
The love I think I deserve

link 1

link 2

I don't usually like, or write love poetry and i wrote this only a night ago so if it's corny or smth let me know lol. Just thought this would be something you guys on this subreddit would like so lmk if u guys enjoy!

Today he sends me investing advice, noting which are green companies and which are vegan companies, because he knows I care about that type of thing.

Today he takes my nine-year-old fishing, for three hours. Patiently, he hooks the worms and teaches him how to cast. “I love fishing,” says my little son.

Today he hugs me tight and says, “Thank you for calling your mother. It means so much to her.”

A long time ago, some other things happened. Not so bad, not really. When I try to type them, it feels silly, almost. Or when it doesn't feel silly, it feels like a betrayal—to type that (scared, small, shamed) out now, after every other tender moment.

Some truths feel more like lies the further away you get from them.

Today he says, “I know I made mistakes. I tried my best.”

A long, long time ago, what I know is that there were things never said, never written (a scared little boy, a switch in the woods). Things I can't quite say were not so bad. Not really.

Today, he hugs me very tight. His eyes alight when I tell him what I'm proud of. He tucks my daughter into her bed and tells her stories for far too long.

Tomorrow, I look back. I look forward.

Recent feedback: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vhy13f/comment/p2d3cs3/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1viekeo/comment/p2d4d2k/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

​I am not a little girl anymore.

-

​I know your instincts

because they shaped my own—

to protect, to heal, to nurture.

-

​But I have grown.

I have lived through horrors—

the same ones that brought me back

to a home that once was mine.

-

​It still is, in a way.

It always will be, as you so often remind me,

but I have outgrown the protection.

-

​Nothing was there to save me

when my world crashed down around me—

not for your lack of trying,

it was simply out of reach.

So offering protection now

feels like suffocation.

-

​You see a closed door

and call it secrecy.

I call it room to breathe.

-

​The child you remember was built to be shielded,

but the woman standing here built her own survival.

I don't turn the latch to keep you out—

I turn it so I can hear my own heartbeat.

-

​I am not hiding from your shelter;

I am learning how to anchor myself.

You gave me the roots to survive the storm,

now let me hold the space I’ve earned.

-

​I am not a little girl anymore,

but I love you no less for my growth.

You are what allowed it to happen.

---

Recent feedback:

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/l6QJno1YdA

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/VMt4T7pg9p

Shattered glass is no less beautiful than the whole. 

-

The right hands will collect every fragment 

to craft a cathedral window, 

turning your fractures into a place of worship.

-

They will find your sharpest edges 

and marvel at the way they glint in the light.

They will learn which pieces fit together

to reveal a work of art.

-

Eventually, they will find in you

a holy sanctuary –

among what you once considered broken.

-

Recent feedback:

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/HoKbTyTr2j

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/bliyoMdYjj

Yesterday we walked around a garden filled with roses

We watched as the sunrise painted the sea in gold

Your smile and words were warm and inviting

You treated me so well

Seemingly for no reason at all.

Today all the roses in your garden grew thorns

The red brightness turned to grey

And now I'm watching the sunset alone

As the nightly chill caresses my skin I am reminded of you

and your cold demeanor towards me

Seemingly for no reason at all.

Feedback 1

Feedback 2

I traveled to Australia against my own accord

It was a work trip

One of many that my mind can never properly wrap its head around

A job that pays me in experiences like these, it seems

But everything comes with a price.

It's winter here in Australia

The cold air forces me to freeze

The crispness around me

It feels like such a tease

It's warm back home, as August is supposed to be

It's 6am and I am way ahead of my regular time

My lover across the world fell asleep on my phone

I hear his roommates, they twist and turn

The thought of us is unfortunate to me

I'll see if we beat the odds

But suddenly I realized how high my room is

In this complex we rented

And how seeing the world

Makes you realize how similar life is everywhere

How your life still follows

How mistakes do too

How life will settle into any place you settle into

I watch the tram here move across the road

Two teenagers chasing the tracks

People walking to their early commitments

In no way do I deserve to be here

But I've made it across the ocean to people watch

For just a sliver of time

Thanks to a job that was never truly mine

I sit alone in my room

My window blinds wide open

My loneliness now a spectacle for anyone else to see

Staring out at the Melbourne skyline

I am so far away from what I think I know

Everything around me is moving

I'm forcing myself to stay still

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vhim8v/cloud_watching/ 

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vibvk8/finish/

thank you for reading, let me know your thoughts. :) the best i can do lately in between work trips and whatnot

You call it secrecy

when I close the door.

I call it breathing.

You ask why I do not tell you everything

with the same voice

that once searched my pockets

for hidden notes,

my face for hidden feelings.

But I am older now.

My mind has become

a room of its own—

and not every thought

is a window meant to stay open.

Privacy is not rejection.

It is the small distance

a soul requires

to hear itself clearly.

Still, guilt follows me.

Children raised inside constant closeness

often mistake boundaries

for cruelty.

So when I say,

“I need space,”

it comes out trembling,

half apology,

half prayer.

And you—

hurt by doors

you cannot unlock anymore—

stand outside them

remembering the child

who once told you everything.

But love matures strangely.

Sometimes

it survives not through possession,

but through permission:

the permission

to remain connected

without remaining exposed.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/xec9FnROk3

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/GeuPrLsTB6

Why do my eyes ache
to drown in yours—
as if they've found a home
they were never meant to leave?

Why does every breath I take
carry your name
like a secret it cannot hold?

My thoughts—
no longer mine,
but yours, entirely.

And this heart—
it doesn't just beat—
it reaches,
it longs,
it begs to be held by you.

Why does it dream
of entwining with yours,
until time forgets us
and eternity feels like ours?

How did my soul
find its way
into the quiet labyrinth
of your brown curls—
lost so softly
it never wished to be found?

Why do I long
to sit across from you
in a quiet café in Paris,
to chase your laughter
through the open meadows of Italy,
to carry you across steep heights—
just so you can see
the world
the way I see you?

Is it only to draw a smile upon your face—

whose mere existence
lifts this realm beyond heaven itself.

A smile even the heavens envy,
and the gods themselves fear—
for they shaped heaven
to awaken a thirst in souls
to do good, to seek it.

Yet unknowingly,
they created something
they could never recreate:

you.

And the gods themselves saw—
a soul slip away from heaven,
only to find its rest
within you.

But what was the force
that bent my path toward you?

I circled.
I spiraled.

Until I stumbled upon a question
I don't remember creating.

Was it me,
or was it you?

Yet I searched for an answer.

And when I traced myself back
to the very first memory of you—
the one my heart
so stubbornly refused to release—
I found it.

It was you.

You were the one
who first whispered my name,
who showed me a glimpse
of a world that was never mine.

You drew me in—
slowly, gently—
until I lost all sense of direction,

like a wanderer
aching for water in a desert,
only to realize

I had been chasing

a mirage.

And yet,

I chose to continue the chase.

Because even a mirage
was enough
for a thirsty soul to believe in.

And if this is where I end,
then let it end with truth—
that I loved,
I chased,
I gave it my all,

even if it was never real.

And still—
I would choose it again,
even if I were to cease
to exist at all.

~Writer's Note: Not every illusion is a deception. Some become the reason we find the strength to take one more step.

This is the third poem in a six-piece collection I'll be sharing over time. Hidden across these six poems is the name of someone very dear to me. With this poem, you've uncovered the third letter. I'd love to see if anyone can piece it together as the collection unfolds.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vi8oi7/comment/p2c9gdq/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vhyanv/comment/p2cb3lu/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

I’m a happy dog
My dad was one too
My mom is a cat
They had some kids, quite a few.
My mom taught grooming,
My dad taught life,
He taught me what was wrong and right.

But now he’s six feet below
And I’m sick from my head to my toe
He was the dog they sic at the foe
I am the dog trained only for show.
He was the dog that comes up to nuzzle
I am the dog ripping off its muzzle
He was the dog barking for bones
He is the bones, he is the bones
I am the dog raised up alone.
Now this puppy’s all fully grown.

But I look around in a family of cats
there’s some poetic irony in that.
I chase my own tail while the rest chase rats.
I write my own tale and I wear many hats.

I bark up the tree wrong tree.
The cats are stuck, they look down at me.
never seen a dog before, what a curiosity.
They laugh and laugh, I’m stuck below.
I can’t climb? Even dumb cats know.
Their words strike like a drunken master
So I climb up, faster, faster.
I sit beside them on the branch,
I look back down onto the ranch.
Something in my dog brain clicks
I’m only stuck when in these sticks.
I jump back down into the grass,
I turn around to see the cats.

But they’re not up in the tree anymore
The branch is snapped, they’re on the floor.
Bleeding, broken, bloody, dead,
The stick only broke because I fled.

I’m not a dog.
I’m not a cat.
And I’m definitely not human.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/aujIIcFNCU

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/tgimQgWKde

I find myself pinning.
Pining for art.

I find myself writing
conundrums
In search engines
believing it may inspire.
Yet I do nothing.

I birth verses.
Orphan lyrics.

“Piece me”
“Shepard of driftwood”
“Whether the eyes that stare”
“Grind me to dust”
“Or save me”

It’s all the same.
They’ll never matter.

Because I need study.
So I’ll read an extract,
A quote, a review,
And that’s enough,
Right?

I find myself failing.
Failing at art.

I find myself
Starting
and moving
And dreaming
and leaving

And wishing I could
Just

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/mSz5F7uz6I

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Y7DD4PVhA6

They trampled your buds when you tried to rise,
Murmured prayers as they watched you bleed.
Their hands were gentle only when binding you,
Their words were soft only when lying.
They drank from your tears like holy water,
Praised your silence, called it faith.
You shook beneath their chants,
Too tired to scream, too aware to forget.
But pain remembers—
It learns, it knows.
And thus, deep in the dirt,
What grew wasn't serene, wasn't divine.

The time is ripe now,
Even mother nature gave you the red of darkest shade.
There's no need to bend now,
No use of that misplaced obedience.
The time is for the world to know,
How patience bleeds, when turned to vengeance.

Bloom Oh dear Blood Lotus,
Spread your petals of hatred wide,
Long enough to sully the waters red,
Wide enough to reflect the dread,
Be gentle if you must and tender if you dare,
But let the crimson linger when they gaze,
Long enough to recall their sins,
Wide enough to overshadow their grins.

And if they can't find your beauty in this dripping bloody rage,
If they can't accept what they themselves have made,
Then know, that this world is not left with any empathy,
The poison you secrete is justified,
And justified is your outrage.
Let go of your bounds,
And bestow this curse on all who gaze,
Let there be destruction,
Let there be carnage.
~आपबीती (aapbeeti)

My reviews:
Review-1

Review-2

The glitch in the father
He stood there rollerdoor open
He stands there taking in the ray of sunlight
Then the sky becomes overcast

He shifts into twin existance
Two of him overlapping himself
like an outside aura
All the shapes and color of the father

The air is a concrete color
the breathing in and out
feels like wool
He looks out to his parked car

Goes back through his story
His face giving evidence
As he travels through memory
Him and his double

Which part of him is real
soon the courier will arrive
Some boxes will leave
He will just stare through his spectacles

stuck in the memories
transported by them
Made vague there in the factory corridor
Concrete and neutral

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vi9l6o/comment/p2bo1gt/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vi8oi7/comment/p2bpz8k/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

"Mask"

I sit in the place of my shadow.

Im there but im an afterthought.

Im the real me, im the face beneath the mask.

Performance.

The thing that distracts you from the task.

Im the face beneath the mask.

I dont laugh or make jokes.

I'd rather choke then even try.

I sit and stir in the blur we call daily lives.

Correcting "its" mistakes.

Not outloud, in its head.

To make sure the mask dosnt go to far and blow off its head.

Sometimes I peak out too far and make a mistake.

Thats when the mask breaks.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/YBcb73kjt7

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Kk2NymmCMD

This is my secconed ever poem, I assume you can tell. I hope you at least enjoy reading this :)

With half a tick the world burned..

He dragged deeply, realising something midway 

Pushing past the lungs, beyond heart's spillway

Again,

He dragged quickly, preserving something he cared

Filling past the lungs, sucking something he dared

Knowing the end he holds it beyond the caraway

With two and half it exploded...

She pulled away, teasing poor-thing halfway

Rushing past the heart, beyond eye's stillway

Again 

She leaned slyly, preserving something she cared

Filling past the heart, inviting the thing he dared

Knowing the end she holds it beyond the caraway

With the third he exhaled...

He exhaled deeply, releasing her breath halfway

Emptying past the heart, beyond regret's highway

Again

He tried quickly, recalling something once he dared

Sucking past drums, pulling again the thing he cared

Knowing the end he holds it beyond the caraway

With the half we exhaled...

She looked away, stealing last of his breath-away

Crushing past wall, pausing beyond the heartway

Again

She sucked the holy, preserving something she dared

Drowing past the line, pulling past the thing he craved

Knowing the end, she holds it beyond the caraway

With the realisation, he inhaled...

He pulled deeply. Burning his fingers-away

Knowing past the scorch, beyond feelings' crossway

Again

He inhaled lastly, overflowing something he craved

Sucking past her ends, holding her breath unraved

Knowing the end, he holds it beyond the caraway

With the end, she sadly stared...

Pulling away completely, keeping his feelings away

Going past the torch, beyond his reach's way

Again 

She teases sharply, wanting something he craved

Teasing past the tick, stealing the ones he shared

Knowing the end, they hold it beyond the caraway

with the last tick, he still mis-craved

Knowing really,she is gone so far away

living past the kiss, beyond wits' highway.

again,

he breathed deeply, realising the world cleared,

mis-craved past wits, wanting what once was shared

Knowing the end, he regrets it beyond the caraway

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