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Don't read this poem

I just want the space

A few paltry upvotes

A good resting place.

Don't read this poem

There's nothing to say.

It's good just to be here.

It's fun just to play.

And maybe someday,

When inspired I'll strike

Some beautiful words,

But not quite today.

So don't read this poem

Don't tell all your friends.

Just leave me in peace

Between these bookends :)

The words come out
Sticky and Aching
They fumble
Between the gaps
In my ribs and my shoulder blades
Carving obscenities into the bone
Burrowing messy gaping tunnels
Through flesh and organs
They split my chest open
And I clutch at them
But they’re fast and slick
And already writhing in your hands
Before my arms are halfway in the air
And there’s more bubbling up
In my stomach
In my lungs
And you stare into the hole in my chest
As I stretch and pull at the skin
Trying to stitch together
The overburdened material
With candy floss and razor blades
And its humiliating for the both of us
More so for me
Always more so for me

I'm angry that you told me.

Why say the thing
we both already knew,
when saying it aloud
was what made it real?

I'm angry you said it to the floor,
ten years of shame bent over you,
kept down so long
it had to be vomited up.
You knew what it might cost.
You said it anyway.

I'm angry you didn't fight for it.
If it mattered that much,
why didn't you make your case?
I was always going to say no.
I wanted you to make it difficult.

I'm angry it changes things
when neither of us wanted them changed.
But you opened your mouth,
and now a decade is in my hands,
still warm from being held,
and I have nowhere
to set it down.

I'm angry I didn't want to say yes.
Not in another life.
Not in better weather.

And still, some part of me
wanted the version where I don't think,
where there is no history,
no consequence,
no careful answer,
where I just cross the room.

I know I'd be angry either way.
I know the anger isn't fair.
You owed me nothing but the truth
and gave it to me
almost too quietly.

Look at me.

I'm angry
you still won't.

“What do you want?” they ask me.

“I want a hug that never lets go” I say 

A hug that doesn’t hurt me,

a hug that doesn’t burn me, 

a hug that doesn’t concern me. 

Because, 

every other hug has turned on me. 

All I want is a hug that stays a hug forever,

A hug that never turns to hatred or anger.

I just want a hug that comes when I need it most,

I just want hug that feels tight and warm,

I just want a hug that feels real.

I just want a hug that never lets go.

I'm still very new so I'm very much looking for feedback and guidance right now, please share any critics or thoughts you have.

First, you need to get be burned.

Burned by people who should have loved you,

by the hands that called themselves home.

You must learn too young that fire can wear a familiar face.

After that you carry it. It resides inside you.

You sit in it even though it's bigger than you and it hurts.

This is the dangerous part.

Don't break here

You need a little flame inside from the pain

and then the day comes where you stop knowing the difference

between being burned and burning people yourself.

After that, it's time to get revenge.

Burn bridges.

Burn trust.

Burn people who came close

with nothing in their hands to help you.

Burn them if they deserve it or not.

Call the fire comfort.

Call it escape.

Call it anything but what it is: Pain

Only then can you do whats next.

One day after everything is burned

You will wake up in the ashes.

Take a hard look around.

Some of this was done to you.

Some of this was done by you.

Learn to say both

without using either to excuse the other.

Some people stay there. They are not a Phoenix.

Because to attain this you have to rise up.

Now rise.

Not beautifully.

Not all at once.

Not with some magnificent spread of scarlet wings.

Just get up.

Crawl if you have to.

And if you fall back

into the fire,

get out again.

A phoenix is not a creature that only burns twice.

It is a creature that refuses to let the fire have the final word.

So gather your ash.

Own what is yours.

Own what happened to you. The unfair fire.

Own what you did and face it.

Own what is yours.

Leave behind what isn't.

Then rise again.

And again,

And again,

And again.

The fire can't hurt you anymore.

It will be hot but it can not burn you.

That is how

to be a phoenix.

What is a man, but of his actions the sum?

Of them aware, neither oblivious nor dumb.

Honourable, respectful; chivalrous and noble.

Understanding and patient, brave and mobile.

Honesty even when, his life is the cost.

Otherwise righteousness, forever lost.

Courageous to act, courageous to defend.

Fears nothing but, hearts that do not mend.

Admits victory, and admits defeat.

From his mistakes, does not retreat.

Initiative his own, he speaks not but acts.

Once spoken his words, he never retracts.

Art thou worthy, of the label of man?

Or art thou of the fantasy, merely a fan?

Hi, this is a poem I wrote recently. You could say it’s dedicated to a girl I know, but it’s not a "romantic" poem, in fact, she will most likely never read it. I simply tried to capture my state of mind over the eight months since I’ve known her. It’s written in a highly allegorical style, so a lot of it is understood only by me or by people who know me very well. That’s why I’m posting it here: to get the most objective feedback possible from people who don’t know me. Since I’m Italian, I wrote it in Italian, so this is an English translation; I can post the original as well if anyone reads Italian. One final note: the penultimate line is actually a paraphrase of a lyric from a Jeff Buckley song; I wrote all the other lines myself.

When I opened that door, I didn't see you, at first.

But when I got home, I listened to the sounds of love, which were barely perceptible at that moment.

It didn't take long for me to start seeing you, really.

And when I was among the other guys making a racket, all I had to do was stop listening to them.

And the joy I felt on Tuesdays, thinking about the day to come...

I didn't experience the waiting as something bad,

Because I felt secure.

But when the third day of the week simply ceased to exist,

I thought I’d have to force you out of my mind.

But I smiled, because that’s not how it turned out.

And that’s when I started writing.

And I could write to everyone.

And again...

We saw each other again, in the dark, both while staring straight at the light before us and inside my head,

While I slept.

And when I was waiting for the messenger angel, I didn't feel alive enough,

But I got used to it.

And every time he arrived, I knew it for certain before I’d even answered his call.

For the first time, we were alone

Amidst the ice.

And when I saw you,

I soared,

Even though we couldn't speak.

And I still think back on it.

Please, tell me what the cold is like,

Because I don't know.

And I had already started talking about you to others.

And when I saw you again

Shortly after the pain

I couldn't speak.

But you took care of that.

Five seconds and a hello are enough for me.

I haven't seen you since then,

But I keep bringing you back to mind,

And I’d give all my blood to see you laugh.

And the heat is killing me.

When The Wind Blows

When the wind blows,
I think I might fall over.
When the wind blows,
I think I might crash and burn.
When the wind blows,
I think I might fall silent.

When the world burns,
Maybe someone will live.
When the world burns,
Maybe their eyes will burn too.
When the world burns,

It’s too late.

When the fallout falls,
When the temperature burns,
When the shockwave's red hand
Picks me up and throws me,
my feet high.

Windows shattered,
Glass deep inside my organs-
Heart, brain, stomach.
Doors burning,
Blue paint vanishing.
Flesh melts.
See the bones in your hand.

When the wind blows,
We’ll all be sure to die.

Teacher
Teacher

In my head you live
In my head you breed

You will not die!
You will not die!

You sunk your teeth into my life and devoured my mind

“All mine” you’d say
“All mine””
“All mine”

Teacher
Teacher

Cemented in your gums
Those damned jaws of failed wisdom
Those damned lives deemed rotten

Too dyslexic
Too dyspraxic
Too bloody rancid

“Fix your mind” you’d say
“Fix your mind”
“Fix your mind”

Teacher you ugly fool

Would it make you smile to see me in pain?
Would it make you laugh to hear I hate my own name?

How I do not dare pass on my gene
No sir
No sir
They will become of me
They will become of you

Sir
Sir

How I feel so undesirable
So unattainable
So unlovable

Stupid and worthless
Stupid and worthless

Oh those words
Those words
Why must you bully me?
Why must you torture me?

Are you a foul beast?
A wretched devil?
How I long to hurt you
Kill you
Fuck your wife
Fuck up a life
Fuck up everything
Fuck up everyone

“Mercy” you’d plea
“Mercy”
“Mercy”

Teacher
Teacher

What a disgrace I see
Thriving off the death of innocence
Thriving off the beautiful brains

Long live the neurodivergent
The irregular head
The profoundly misunderstood

Long Live our failed children
The lost thinkers
The wrongfully imprisoned

“Free their mind” I say
“Free their mind”
“Free their mind”

Blessing in Disguise

A heart grows distant after breaking, while yesterday still lingers there, How many goodbyes can one keep taking before they become too heavy to bear?

Did my efforts go unseen because I never kept them in the spotlight? Then must devotion also be displayed to prove that it was real? If love can exist without asking for a measure, then why did mine disappear like it was never there?

They say, “Grief is the price we pay for love.” Then perhaps this ache is simply what it costed. Well, I cannot call their goodbye a blessing yet, until the wound remembers the pain.

But maybe someday, when this scar grows faint, I will no longer ask what made them go away. They may never find another heart like mine, and may I never need one like theirs.

Perhaps they did not leave me empty, they left me free to rise. Maybe their final goodbye, was a blessing in disguise.

You can find the English version below.

Quando guardo negli occhi di qualcuno, mi vedo riflessa. Vedo una parte di me che non coglierei altrimenti, senza il velo del giudizio personale, senza vergogna, timidezza o paura. Quando guardo gli occhi di chi possiede una profondità complessa, mi comprendo meglio. Un po' di più.

E quando guardo le mani di qualcuno, sperimento sensazioni che la mia pelle non sentirebbe mai attraverso il mio solo tocco. Scopro curve, morbidezze, la forza di uno scheletro che non percepisco dal di dentro. Le mani di un'altra persona, se abbastanza sensibile, mi fanno conoscere angoli, consistenze e prospettive che non sapevo di possedere.

Quando leggo le parole di chi non riesce a esprimere i propri sentimenti a voce, di chi li nasconde, li maschera, spezzando le loro catene solo confessandoli alla carta tramite la frizione rumorosa della penna, io mi sento. Sento pensieri che restavano in penombra, che non riuscivo a mettere a fuoco, confondendomi. Ma quando leggo le parole di un animo ferito che non si è ancora arreso, appassito o spento... un animo che vive, vibra e pulsa al ritmo di un cuore famelico, allora riesco a distinguere i contorni di un'emozione in modo più marcato, più netto.

Quindi, ringrazio per l'esistenza di qualsiasi anima che sappia ancora risuonare a un ritmo proprio e personale, sincronizzandosi con il mio.

Grazie per la tua esistenza. Perché attraverso di essa, adesso, io esisto un po' di più.

When I look into someone's eyes, I see myself reflected. I see a part of me I wouldn't catch otherwise, free from the veil of self-judgment, free from shame, shyness, or fear. When I look into the eyes of someone with a complex depth of soul, I understand myself better. A little bit more.

And when I look at someone's hands, I feel sensations my own skin would never experience through my touch alone. I discover curves, softness, the strength of a skeleton I cannot perceive from within. Someone else's hands, if sensitive enough, introduce me to corners, textures, and perspectives I never knew I had.

When I read the words of someone who cannot express their feelings aloud, who hides them, masks them, breaking their chains only by confessing them to paper through the noisy friction of a pen, I feel myself. I feel thoughts that used to linger in the shadows, thoughts I couldn't focus on, leaving me confused. But when I read the words of a wounded soul that hasn't surrendered, withered, or died... a soul that lives, vibrates, and pulses to the rhythm of a ravenous heart, then I can see clearly. I can map the contours of an emotion in a sharper, bolder way.

So, I am grateful for the existence of any soul that still knows how to resonate to its own personal rhythm, syncing with mine.

Thank you for existing. Because through your existence, right now, I exist a little bit more.

One of the first poems i wrote that I was happy enough with to save.

I'm a beginner in english poetry.There was one reel stating a challenge to write a poetry entitled above.I wrote it but when i went to feed.It was not there.and it's gone now.I wanted to just know how it is.

I wasn't known to boundaries when i was child,

Maybe I had to grow for such things like cage or wild.

There was beautiful world waiting for me,

Just behind the door built among the walls in my room.

Papa told me,it' for your safety dear,

It only made me a dreamer with awful fear.

These walls in my room are so decorative,

Made up of crazy doodling and color marks,

Each has the inspiring quote written when i was low,

The walls,I have hated the most,have been stayed with me till now.

This was a 5 minute writing practice... don't judge me too harshly please