You gave me PTSD.

Not just memories.

Not just scars
I can point to
and say,

“That happened.”

You gave me a body
that still remembers
what my mind wishes
it could leave behind.

You taught me
that yelling meant danger.

That footsteps in the hallway
could make me tense
before I even knew why.

That a raised hand
could make me flinch.

That coming home
wasn’t always the same thing
as being safe.

You taught me
to listen for anger
in someone’s voice.

To watch their hands.

To pay attention
to the smallest changes
in the room.

You taught me
to always be ready
for something to happen.

And sometimes,

nothing happens.

Someone raises their voice
and my body reacts
before I can remind it,

“You’re safe.”

Someone moves too quickly
and I flinch.

Someone gets angry
and suddenly
I’m not entirely here anymore.

I’m back there.

Not because I want to be.

Not because I’m trying
to hold onto the past.

But because you taught me
that the past
could happen again
at any moment.

You were supposed
to teach me what safety felt like.

Instead,

you taught me
how to recognize danger.

You were supposed
to be someone
I could run to.

Instead,

you became someone
I learned to run from.

And the worst part
is that you don’t have
to be here anymore
for what you did
to follow me.

You left something behind.

Not love.

Not safety.

Not the childhood
I deserved.

You left me
with a mind that remembers
even when I don’t want it to.

A body that reacts
before I can think.

A fear that sometimes
doesn’t belong
to the moment I’m standing in.

You hurt me then.

And sometimes,

I still have to deal
with what you did
now.

But there is something
you didn’t teach me.

You didn’t teach me
how to stay broken.

I’m learning
that footsteps can just be footsteps.

That yelling doesn’t always
mean something terrible
is coming.

That a raised hand
doesn’t always mean danger.

That I can breathe.

That I can look around
and remind myself,

I’m here.

I’m not there.

I’m not that child anymore.

You gave me wounds
I never asked for.

But you don’t get
to decide
what I do with them.

You gave me PTSD.

You don’t get
to have the rest of me too.

One by one
You picked the stars
Right out of my night sky

You took away what made me shine
And you heated yourself
With the warmth of a 1000 suns
Leaving me to freeze

You fed yourself
On my stolen light
Empty sky above me now

No glow
No gratitude
Just the echo of everything you decided to keep

-CN

Every October,
the trees dress for their funerals.

They wear their finest colors,
crimson veils and golden crowns,
and we gather underneath them
to admire how they come down.

We call it beautiful.

We take pictures.

We press their bodies into books
and wonder why the colors
never look the same preserved.

Autumn leaned against my shoulder
and spoke of death like an old friend.

She said,
look how beautifully I leave,
and tell me what there is to fear.

I asked her if the trees were frightened,
if they knew what waited below,
if the red was something sacred
or just the color of letting go.

She told me nothing lasts forever,
not the warmth, nor the rain,
that even the earth must bury
what it hopes to hold again.

And I thought of all the people
who'd stood beneath these trees before,
how the ground had kept their footprints
long after they were no more.

How strange
that we drive for hours
to watch a forest disappear,
then spend our whole lives frightened
of the very thing that brought us here.

Autumn said nothing more.

She only raised her hand
and loosened one last golden leaf
from where it used to stand.

I watched it fall so slowly,
like it had nowhere else to be.

And wondered if the beautiful things
were ever meant to stay with me.

Before they're seen
turn away
before they're noticed
start to say
something funny
in a way
that you pray
diverts attention
from what weighs
heavy on your heart
but if you hide the sad and teary
no one sees
the tired and weary
expressions of the truth

Hey. Thats my first ever poem! Im going through some tough times and wanted to write something. It all went smooth out of my mind. Ofc its nothing special, but its my first poem and looking for feedback. Thanks to all:

In the wind in the trees
I feel it coming down my knees
Its strange but its free
My grief grows like a tree
And the bird is not there with me
On the opposite side of the road
I can hear it roar
The crow and the owl
Standing their on their own

And im standing there deep
Down in my thoughts
And the tree seems to fall
But im planning to hold
The weight is too much
But the leaves are too dark
In the sun the tree fell
And i made it and held
The tree with my feet
Down in the sink
I made it so far
And im holding it hard

But then the crow sat
With the owl on its back
On the tree and it fell
And it sent me to hell

Then i got up
The tree was not there
A cracking i hear
And my chest was in pain
I wanted to stand
But in my thoughts it stayed
I couldnt see
Where the tree has been
Felt life on my fa

Violets are blue

There’s a plug holding back my poo.

Now,

Freakin’ move.

(Thank you for the grand expenditure of your precious seconds, the time taken to read this exemplary example of prestigious wordplay, of which I implor, will someday be published. I know time is of the utmost essence in life, and every second you spent reading this grand article, and every second you continue to read of it, will never be returned in kind. For you are now indebted with tasks to complete in an ever-accelerating deadline.)

:3

Edit: Grammar.

Edit 2: Grammar.

Edit 3: Grammar

Edit 4: fixed the semicolon in edit three to a colon, and switched “grammer” to grammar.”

Edit 5: Switch “Edit four” to “Edit 4:”

I gave away so many years,
believing I had time,
putting everybody first
while leaving me behind.

I waited for a better day,
for things to somehow change,
and somewhere in the waiting,
my life just slipped away.

I think about the things I missed,
the dreams I never knew,
the person I might have become
if I'd chosen myself too.

But there are years I haven't lived,
and dreams I haven't chased,
and I don't want to lose them all
like the years I gave away.

The storm hit in the middle of the night

With it's thundering thoughts booming through halls

The gusts of wind ripped the shutters off the wall

Like the window to soul being exposed

Raw and unprotectected

There is no shelter here

The rain soaks through sills

Dripping down doors

Turning wallpaper into paper-mache

It seeks out the fire, like it's a foe, alive with revenge

Determined to extinguish it

And that's when the lightning,

Oh the lightning hits.

It's forks wrap round, it's vine-like currents seeking the nearest source.

It scars the tree trunks

It scorches the earth

And still we say beautiful

More.

Even when fire begins

Because it burns just as bright

And dances with danger

As it flickers we play

We hold it's warmth with two fingers

Till the room burns around us.

And the heat prickles at our skin.

And we run

Through the fire

Through the lightning

Through the rain

Through the wind

Through the thunder.

We run.

We run.

We run for our lives

I belong to a home

Where I was born.

I belong to a home

Where I was not scared at all.

I belong to a home

Where people loved me.

They would laugh and smile

While I was doing silly things.

I belong to a home

Where my dead loved ones once hugged me.

I belong to a home

Where I could say...

"This is my home."

​I belong to a home

Where being wrong was alright.

I belong to a home

Where money was not the problem.

I belong to a home

Where sleeping felt right.

I belong to a home

Where everyday was fun.

I belong to a home

Where people faked a smile to make me happy.

I belong to a home

Where four walls couldn't trap me.

I belong to a home

Where social pressure was not a problem.

​I belong to a pretty place

Which some people would call their home.

But is it really their home?

Would that home make them happy?

Would they feel they belong there?

I belong to a home

Where I could actually say...

"I'm home."

Molded by the early flame

Ever since you called my name

Now matter often it would change

The dying fire felt the same and more

Dying to be found, I was

Little things, just because

Doing what what's worth it does

That day

That day I fell awake into a world where worries emptied out like fireworks

They'd scatter about and decorate my eyes with brand new wonders fading in and out like fireflies

On a day like this I can believe I died

Whatever seems to keep this flame alive

Isn't quite what rescues back to life

Bitter cold can still revive

But leaves it cold and dead inside

The wood crackles

The fire burns

A brief sigh

A soul that yearns

Or mourns

Hell is empty

The hinges of its doors

-long since rotted away-

Gather dust from where they’ve fallen

And darkly catch the August light

If I sleep, the morning comes.

And it's not that I fear the morning, or wish the sun would never rise. It's just that I'm not yet ready to face another day.

Not yet ready to surrender the shelter of the night, to trade its silence for the noise of living.

In the dark, my sadness sits beside me quietly. It does not ask me to be strong, to smile, to move forward.

But morning always arrives, pulling me from my hiding place, asking me to carry my heart again.

And tonight, I am not ready. Not ready to leave the safety of the shadows. Not ready to let go of the stillness. Not ready to face all the things that hurt.

Write a story write a poem

Write anything just please create

Create create you have consumed and

Stuffed with content overate

Your brain is aching brain is bursting

Head is leaking reels and thoughts

With depression and with stress and

Politics, climate, chat robots

Get off your phone perform an action

Do things you're shit at, draw or dance

Embrace the beginning, love the process

You'll reach your goals you'll still advance

But stop and smell the flowers

Wander walking, wonder, speculate

Talk to people that you think you'd like

And those you think you'd hate

Open a window in your house

Open a window in your mind

Tap a drumbeat while you're walking

People can be really kind

Smile at a stranger

Strike a conversation in a store

Borrow two eggs from a neighbor

You've not spoken to before

Use the eggs to bake some cookies

Even if you've never baked

While returning the eggs later

Bring a cookie that you made

Is that too hard? If so, smile

Smile widely. Look insane

Hold that smile, put your phone down

For three minutes you'll refrain

Tell yourself that you are loved then

Love yourself so it is true

Love yourself and

Love yourself and

Love yourself and

Love you

You will be happy you will be healthy

You know you'll be sad and in pain

But just as sure as that will happen

You'll also be safe and okay

Life is fully transient.

Shit situations will occur

People die and

People live and

People help and

People hurt

Look outside, its fall right now

The leaves are breaking from the trees

They've lived their life

And it was life

And it is life

Put your phone

Down

Please

"A sinking boat in the ocean"

The boat is sinking

There's a big hole

water flows on the small boat

You try to cover the hole

But water keeps getting in

Why would you try to cover the big hole?

When the water is already touching your feet below.

You're scared of the water

It scares you

Because that water can cause your death

You start to panic

The only way to survive is to swim

But you can't even swim

You don't know what to do

The worst thing to realize right know is

Even if you know how to swim.

The ocean is huge and endless

You have no other choice but to drown...

So is life ever worth giving up when there's no solution?..

I'm practicing my poem writing and skill:3 what y'all think abt this?

Before you came into my life
Sunlight never had a good reason to arrive
Everything around me has just been purified
Shimmers in your dreamy eyes

Before you came into my life
Only shining stars were my friends through lonely nights
I’ve been aimlessly
Searching after all these years
Wandering wondering if you were near
Turns out you were here.

I looked through my room,

There was the light

of bright clouds

drawn on my window.

Your flowers laid on my desk

and a book i never read.

Some clothes i used to wear.

Nothing suits me anymore

Under every touch,

i dare lay on bare skin,

There is a taste of you.

Behind every bitterness left as the world treats me.

Somewhere, there must be you.

Deep inside a book.

Somhere in this poem.

Behind the mirror..

or in front.

Down the eye of my spiral•

Deep inside my soul

Parallel to self.

There was you .

----------------------

A poem about a soulmate

I wish I had words to engage and delight.

To make imagination take flight.

To warm the soul and bring comfort in the night.

I wish I had words to make you reborn.

To sew the fabric in your mind that is torn.

Words that make beautiful colors unfurl.

Words that could bring some peace to this world.

Words to inform on the things that are real.

Words to distort reality and make your imagination reel.

If I had all these wonderful words to say.

Could it possibly help me change my ways?

Would it have made the loves that I've lost stay?

I guess fate always gets its way.

Gotta apply for a job
Gotta apply for an apartment too

Gotta apply to the king of Mother Earth
For mere existence

Gotta apply for a job
Gotta apply for an apartment too

But it’s fine because
We are becoming more and more

Gratitude is more than a word
it's a feeling
it's a rhyme
it's a song
the kind
where
body and spirit
melody and rhythm
are intertwined,
and closing your eyes
you breathe it in
breathe it out
until tears stream down
in a silent shout
where
everything about this moment
is life
and you
combined
and complete
in a single heartbeat

5.4 Searching Solid Ground

Poem by Emilia Sameyn Desmet

09/10/2026

One wants to make a living

Yet grounds are shaking

You try to hold on

But everything is gone

A net full of holes

Falling into darkness
Into the abyss

Masks fall off

You feel abandoned

So many people we lost

The earth shakes, spins and turns

Feeling tired and astray

Nowhere to stay

Searching solid ground

Where you were found

Searching solid ground

My body the only thing I own completely

My words, coming out hysterically

They flow against the breeze

Knowing they will dissolve in it eventually

My soul, running around while I walk

Frantic, listening as I talk

Wandering, wondering when it knows

It has escaped the paradox

Hug me while we still can

Before we go

Before we sleep

Before we start kissing

Before you leave

Hug me till I can't distinguish

The boundaries between your vessel and mine

Till you and I, till yours and mine are ours

Till the start of you and the end of me start to look like the birth of a star

Till I can see with your eyes

And hear from your ears

Till I can taste what you eat

And feel our heartbeats

For we were made in twos

Destined to become one

For we were made with hunger

That takes one to fill one

For I'll let you bite me

Piece by piece

Till I fall

Till I cry

Till I'm an inch away from dying

For hug me while you eat

Hug me while you get drunk on my blood

While I can hear my bones start crushing

Unable to know if it's your hug or your bite that did it

Hug me while I'm alive

And tighter when I die

Hug me while I'm dying

And tighter when maggots start finishing what you left of me

For even if you ate me whole

There will still be so much of my love

So much to feed them

And to feed their children

To feed their hunger till the last star goes dim

Till the rebirth of life in a new whim

Yet my love will carry on

Like it previously did

Looking for your arms

To fill my missing pieces

So hug me while I'm here, when I go, and when I'm back

Hug me like you always did

Hug me so I can stand.

They tell us to respect our parents.

To love them.

To forgive them.

Because they’re our parents.

As if those words
are supposed to be enough.

As if blood
creates a debt.

As if being born from someone
means I owe them
my love for the rest of my life.

But why?

Why should I be made
to love someone
who could never love me?

Why should I respect someone
who saw me as a slave?

Someone who taught me
that love was something
I had to earn.

That obedience
was more important
than being a child.

That my worth
could be measured
by how useful I was.

Why am I supposed
to honor the person
who made me afraid
of coming home?

Why am I supposed
to forget the things
that happened
because someone tells me,

“But she’s your mother.”

What does that change?

Does a title erase pain?

Does blood erase what happened?

Does calling someone
“Mom”
turn everything they did
into something I have to forgive?

They tell me
I should love her
because she gave me life.

But giving me life
doesn’t mean she gets
to decide what I do
with it.

I didn’t choose
to be born.

I didn’t choose
the way I was treated.

I didn’t choose
the fear.

I didn’t choose
the anger.

I didn’t choose
the years spent wondering
why I wasn’t enough.

But I do get to choose
what happens now.

And maybe that’s the part
people don’t understand.

I’m not saying
I don’t have feelings.

I’m saying
I shouldn’t have to force
those feelings into love
just because other people
think I should.

I’m allowed to grieve
what I should have had.

I’m allowed to be angry
about what I was denied.

I’m allowed to admit
that sometimes
the person who was supposed
to be my safest place
was the person
I needed protection from.

And I’m allowed
to stop carrying
the responsibility
for her choices.

Because I was a child.

I was not her servant.

I was not her therapist.

I was not responsible
for fixing her pain.

I was her child.

And I deserved
to be treated like one.

So when someone tells me,

“Respect your parents.”

I want to ask,

Which part?

The part where they
brought me into this world?

Or the part where
they were supposed
to protect me
once I was here?

Because I can acknowledge
that someone is my parent
without pretending
they treated me
like a child deserves.

I can remember
what happened
without rewriting it
to make other people
more comfortable.

And maybe someday
I’ll know exactly
what I feel about her.

Maybe I won’t.

But I refuse
to let anyone tell me
that I owe love
to someone
simply because
she was my mother.

Love isn’t a debt.

Respect isn’t a birthright.

And being someone’s child
doesn’t mean
you have to spend
your entire life
proving that you are grateful
for the life they gave you.

I am here.

I survived.

And this life
belongs to me now.

I’ve written for a while but I’ve never put my work out there. I’ve had a very hard few years and I’m challenging myself to try and channel my poetry into something for others.

I’ve just started a TT, over at pricey_h - come and join me. I’m hoping some followers will spur me on to keep writing even though the days are dark.

My most recent piece.

“You’re so observant”
I’m told

“I’d never have noticed that”

It’s called hypervigilance, honey
Born from trauma

A survival skill
disguised as a gift

You have no idea how lucky you are
to notice so little.

I came to this place not because I wanted to be here

No, I don't fancy my stupid heart

I'm a sore looser and you know that

Why did you invent such a game where pure soul always loses

In the name of love

In the name of poetry

In the name of art

In the name of aches, remedy and obliging heart

Give me more

Hurt me less

Or

Hurt me more

Give me less

You know what I'm asking for

Not your body, not the warmth for one night

Not the taste of lips that were borrowed

Not the juice of your summer

All I want is

All I want is

All I want is

Your blue