Conversing with Myself

In a world filled with apathy and where silence lingers long,

I wander through memories, each a fleeting song.

Trying to bury parts of my soul’s history,

Dancing with shadows, lies weave their mystery.

The world is apathetic. People are apathetic. Everything is apathetic.This feeling is becoming all too familiar, like I’m a ghost drifting through echoes of laughter long forgotten. It’s an unsettling sensation, as if I’m stuck in a film on a continuous loop. Memories flicker just out of reach, shimmering like distant stars that refuse to align. I’ve buried parts of my past, trying to ignore the fragments that won’t let go. But can we ever truly forget the pieces that define us? There’s a constant tug-of-war within me, a struggle between the truths I confront and the lies I cling to. And what do I do when the shadows I thought I had evaded begin to creep back, whispering the stories I hoped would remain silent?

I refuse to disguise the joy that once lit my way,

To deny that bliss feels like a betrayal today.

In fragments of time, someone once lingered close,

Forgetting them leaves me hollow, a night morose.

I stand at a crossroads, reluctantly holding onto the joy that once illuminated my path. How can I reconcile the happiness of yesterday with the burdens of today? To deny that joy feels like smothering a vibrant painting in dull gray—an act of betrayal against my very essence. Someone once entered my life, shining light into the dark corners I didn’t even know existed. To forget them would be like extinguishing a flame, leaving me lost in an endless void. What remains when that light fades? An emptiness I cannot afford to bear.

Life spins a memory, tangled with pain,

Yet I won’t shy from the hurt, it’s part of the gain.

Amid the wreckage, I gather what’s torn,

Mending the pieces, where hope is reborn.

Life unfolds like a complex mosaic, intricately assembled with pieces of joy and sorrow. There are moments when I want to look away, to escape the sharp edges of reality that lurk just beneath the surface. Yet, I've come to realize that the discomfort is part of my journey, a necessary chapter in the story I'm meant to live. Amidst the noise and chaos, I gather the scattered pieces of my past, committed to rebuilding what feels fragmented. There’s a certain beauty in this reconstruction, in transforming the broken into something meaningful. Each piece I find carries a lesson, a testament to my resilience, and from this process of healing, new hope begins to take root, nurturing the possibility of brighter tomorrows.

Leaving behind comfort’s soft, siren song,

I step into realms where the unknown feels wrong.

Chasing my dreams, those elusive, shy beams,

Unraveling threads, revealing hidden themes.

Comfort has always enveloped me like a cozy embrace, but I understand that it can stifle as much as it can provide solace. I long to venture beyond the familiar, to brave the unknown realms that call to me with their intriguing possibilities. Pursuing dreams often feels like chasing whispers—fleeting and elusive. Yet, I am captivated by the challenge, eager to untangle the threads that may lead to something transformative. What if the core of my aspirations lies concealed within those intricate weaves? As I plunge deeper, I seek not merely answers, but profound insights that enrich the fabric of my existence.

So I run deeply fixated through ethereal skies,

Diving deep into realms where introspection lies.

Senses collide, emotions spill wide,

Unveiling the ungraspable in this cosmic tide.

So here I am, running with intention, caught in the winds of change and introspection. Each step feels like a plunge into the depths of my own soul, a journey where I confront not just the external world but the labyrinth within. My senses awaken, swirling together in a chaotic symphony of feelings—joy, sorrow, longing. It’s in this tumult that I begin to unveil the ineffable, the secrets that dance just out of reach. This cosmic tide pulls me closer to understanding, challenging me to embrace the complexity of my existence. Can I truly grasp the ungraspable, or will I remain a seeker, forever chasing the horizon?

A Blank Verse Poetry

I ran this morning. Gray sky, nothing special. Weather that doesn’t force you to feel anything. Usually, I wander without purpose. Today, something stopped me. Time is a trap. We pretend it’s limited, but it isn’t. So we rush through it—steps, choices, life—until it all blurs. The small things disappear. The smell of earth, the quiet air. Gone. A song got stuck in my head. “I’ll stop the world and melt with you.” Unwanted. Persistent. How did it get in? Maybe fate. Maybe nothing. I don’t believe in destiny, but here I was—stuck in the sound, stuck in a loop. The world paused inside me. I didn’t move. The day went on. Hands trembled—not from connection, but from the weight of existing. Scars on skin—maps of past failures. Nothing clean, nothing clear. I touched a cheek. No softness. Smoke? Habit? Grip loosened—like sanity slipping. Wanting to let go, but afraid of the emptiness that follows. I kissed a cheek. A stupid move. A laugh broke the silence. A glitch. A mistake. Coffee a...

The Slow Death of the Familiar Lie

The 2025 elections just ended. Not with fireworks, not with riots—just the quiet unraveling of yet another chapter in our nation’s long and complicated dance with democracy. There’s something different in the air this time. Something subtle, like the way dusk falls before you even realize the day is gone. You feel it before you name it: a shift. Not seismic, perhaps not even visible to the untrained eye. But there, like a whisper at the edge of a crowded room. People have grown wiser. And no, this isn’t naive optimism. It’s not the kind of blind faith that wears campaign colors and chants slogans. It’s the kind of wisdom that comes from repeated heartbreak—from choosing hope too many times, only to be betrayed by men in suits and smiles. From believing in change only to see it morph into the same old trapo politics dressed in newer fonts. “Pain is a brutal but effective teacher—especially in a country where memory is often the first casualty of every election cycle.” But maybe ...

The Tension Between Hope and Despair

This is w here the light breaks just to drown. Hope isn’t some pretty thing. It’s a slow burn that keeps you awake at night, fooling you with a whisper, “Maybe this time.” It digs its claws in, even when everything screams you’re done. Hope’s the hook you can’t shake, even when it’s tearing you apart from the inside. Despair doesn’t wait politely. It crashes in like a storm, cold and sharp, and it doesn’t care if you’re ready or not. It doesn’t dance with hope—they fight. It’s brutal, ugly. Despair wants to swallow everything whole, leaves no room for mercy. There’s no peace between them. It’s a war you didn’t sign up for, but you live it every damn day—grasping for that fragile flicker, even as the darkness tightens around your throat. You hold hope like a lifeline but feel despair pulling the knot tighter. No balance. No graceful dance. Just a mess of broken promises and shattered dreams. Hope keeps you chasing ghosts; despair waits, patient, knowing it will win. And the worst p...

Fragments of the Quiet Mind

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