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i don’t know
why i allow
you to step
into my life.

i’ve fought
so long
for peace—

you walk right in
like you’ve got
the right.

you got me
feeling stuck
in place.
i waived the flag,
called a truce—

but instead of
stillness,
you chose
the chase.

what do you want,
anyway?

i spent so long
trying to figure it out—

but it’s still
the same lines
on a different day.

i don’t know
why i let you
circle back
again,

when all you do
is skirt the truth
and keep me
in your game.
Some people keep stepping in and out of your life like it’s a revolving door, never giving answers—just echoes. I wrote this piece from the heart, tired of the repetition, tired of the silence, and finally needing something real. Inspired by Stand Atlantic’s “Love U Anyway,” this poem is my voice in the static. If you've ever waited too long for someone to make up their mind, this is for you.
Joshua Phelps Jun 29
i try to see
the bright side
every day,

but deep down,
i’m scared—

my nerves
frayed,
worn thin
like overused threads.

i spent years
simply surviving,

keeping my head low,
waiting
for the right timing

to make it out
unscathed.

but cuts
and scrapes
still touch the surface,

and the light
inside my heart
flickers—
on repeat.

i know
what it’s like
to feel something,

but life
isn’t fair,

and the pain
i bear
makes me question:

will i remain
broken forever?

or will i
break free
from this cycle—

free from
the fear—

and like a phoenix,
take flight,
rise from the ashes,

and finally
fix my broken heart?
this poem is about survival, exhaustion, and the hope that somehow…
even after everything, you’ll rise.

inspired by Point North’s “Into the Dark,”

this is for anyone still fighting to find the light again.

sometimes healing doesn’t roar—it flickers, then burns bright.
Joshua Phelps Jun 18
lately,
i've been down—
and i don't understand
why it still haunts me.

i thought
this would be
the last time.

i was ready
to move on,
but there was
one last storm
i didn’t account for.

i know—
pain isn’t linear,
and sometimes,
the thunder rolls
before the rain
takes form.

but love
was never meant
to last,

not today,
not tomorrow—
not even
if you asked.

so baby,
i ask of you:
let this love
live in the past.

there won’t be
a final act—
just two hearts
moving forward,
intact.
let this love (live in the past)

a quiet goodbye.

not out of anger—just out of finally knowing when to let go.

this one’s about the storm you didn’t see coming,

the closure you had to create yourself,

and the kind of love that’s better left behind.
Joshua Phelps Jun 13
like a car crash,
explosions fill
my head

emotional wreckage—
thoughts tangled
in dread

am i the problem?
or are they
projecting
instead?

i let go
of the wheel

just to
feel something—

go off the rails,
’cause sanity
feels surreal.

am i the problem?
or just
trapped in
my head?

because dealing
with this

is harder
than i ever
imagined.
inspired by Story of the Year’s “Take the Ride,”

this poem unpacks the moments when self-reflection spirals into self-blame.
it’s about losing control—mentally, emotionally—and wondering if the crash was your fault...

or if you were set up to break.

for anyone who's ever asked, "is it me?"

this one's for you.
Joshua Phelps Jun 13
waking up  
in a haze,  

state of delirium—  
where am i at?  

i look in the  
mirror and see  
a reflection  

of someone  
i used to know.  

i need a place  
to escape—  

all i wanted  
was to protect  
my peace  

and be safe.  

the waves  
come and go,  

emotional  
instability,  
barreling toward  
insecurity:  

here i go.  

all i wanted  
was only love—  
but that was  
taken away,  

and i’m left  
with all  
the blame.  

you say  
i broke you  
down—  

but all i  
ever wanted  

was to build  
us up—  

and the  
foundation  
was shaky  
ground.  

waking up  
in a haze,  

i fight  
to stay awake.  

please, god,  
let the rain  
wash away—  

and take away  
my pain.  

because i  
don’t want  
to go another day  

getting  
carried  
away.
A raw plea from inside the storm.

WASH AWAY THE PAIN is a desperate cry for release—when love breaks, and you're left staring at your reflection, wondering what went wrong.

This one’s for anyone who’s ever begged the sky for peace and prayed the rain could rinse the heart clean.

If you’ve ever felt like the weight of healing might break you—this poem gets it.

It bleeds, begs, and breaks—but it’s honest.
Joshua Phelps Jun 13
call me,
tell me
how i wronged
you—

paint me
as the villain,

but we’re both
living in sin.

you take this
like an attack,
like i’ll let you
down

one
last
time.

but listen—
there’s nothing
left to lose,

and no one’s
in the right
this time.

i rose
from the coffin
i buried myself in.

got tired
of searching
for miracles,

'cause all i'm
left with
are endings
gone bad.

and i’m so
**** tired

of spiraling
again.

so when
i told you
i needed space—

the last
thing
i wanted

was
to hear
from you.
third installment in a trilogy about heartbreak, confrontation, and emotional survival.

this piece is a reckoning—and a reminder: when the spiral returns, you don’t have to ride it.

inspired by story of the year’s “miracle.”
Joshua Phelps Jun 13
tear and thrash,
create, then crash—

no meaning left,
no faith,
just ash.

am i the only
one who feels
under the gun?

i’ve fought
for something more,

rose from flames,
still wanting more.

i’ve endured
all i could endure—

and now all i see
is blood
in my eyes.

but i’m
not giving up
yet.

i’m already broken—
but i’m not
gone.

how do i go on
when nothing feels right?

i stare into the sun
just to steal
some light.

you’re not the only one
falling from the sky—

but how can i be strong
when you keep
singing goodbye?
inspired by Story of the Year’s 'How Can We Go On', this piece is about survival after collapse—when there’s nothing left to hold but your own strength. for anyone still standing, still searching, still screaming: this is for you.
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