Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Monika Mar 8
Change has been my lifelong foe —
We've been at war since forever ago.
Been in battle ever since I gave life a chance,
It was the only way for me to take a stance.

Losing control — my worst nightmare
That's a recipe for disaster, right there.
Getting consumed by the fear of the unknown,
Back at square one, no matter how much I've grown.

So every step, I measure twice,
Safe for now, but skating on thin ice.
Always making sure things fall perfectly in line,
Mapping my path, watching out for a sign.

Yet roads will twist — they always do 
No matter how well I plan them through.  
Now a higher power has taken the wheel,
Swerving, getting tortured by the despair I feel.

Unfair how time wields a ruthless hand,
Undoing all the things I have planned.
A single crack and the flood pours in —
Chaos ensues, and mayhem within.

One wrong move, one shift too steep,
And I’ll be falling, falling deep.  
They say that change can set you free —
But freedom feels like losing me.  

I'd rather chain myself in place,
Than gamble all I can’t replace.  
No script survives, no maps stay true,
Control dissolves — as I do too.

Too late for salvation — there's only grief
But perhaps it brings a strange relief. 
For change may call, but I won’t flinch —
You'll have to escape my grip, inch by inch.

And perhaps one day, I'll make my peace
No longer holding on, ready to release.
And maybe I'll even learn something from it,
Like that by losing the game, I've also won it.
They see me with hands on the wheel,
feet steady on the gas,
a woman who conquers,
who builds,
who signs papers with a name they say will mean something.
They speak of my future like prophecy,
a business to run, a world to own.
They dress me in ambition,
in power,
in a suit that doesn’t fit my skin.
The woman I was meant to be.
She stirs sugar into coffee,
presses her lips to a child’s warm forehead,
sits by a window and watches rain make poetry of the streets
Yet their voices are so loud,
so certain,
that I cannot even whisper what I want.
So I nod, I smile,
I let them build this version of me,
one brick at a time,
until I am buried beneath it.
And maybe one day,
I will forget the woman I could have been,
the mother, the homemaker,
the quiet kind of happy
and only remember the one
they never let me become.
I wanted to be a river,
carving my own way through stone,
but the world built dams,
redirected my course,
taught me that freedom has rules.
I wanted to be the artist,
to paint in colors only I could see,
but they handed me a template,
said, "Fill inside the lines."
Every day, I push against the shape
they force me into
and every day, I bend,
just a little
more,
until I wonder if I am still me
Most of knowing each other these days is acknowledgement
Smiling, waving, a head nod
We don’t talk as much as I’d like, but
I don’t have it in me to reach out in earnest
You’ve probably noticed the distance
Occasional texts and shared media make up
The meaningful moments we’ve shared
For a while - it’s been a bit more than a while now
But I still like you
I probably love you, I do, but y’know
We both work so much
And we don’t work together
We haven’t for years now
It’s crazy it’s years now
When you and I live
Not an hour apart
If it’s more - maybe walk faster
I don’t know - anyway

You should know what’s on my walls
I should know your new address
The way your monitor is angled
All the games that you’ve been playing
Your whole setup must be like
Y’know, the feng shui has to be just - yeah

I don’t invite you to much anything
These days you wouldn’t like it here
I do, of course, but it’s not us
And I love us y’know
You and I immersed in games or
Movies, shows, or something
Some expression of ourselves
Expressed by someone else
You point out which one’s me and
There you are engaging with me
We don’t even have to do whatever
We did on the screen
They did us for us
Falling Awake Feb 26
Attempting to toss
into coordinates of comfort,
I fail to find a prime position
to support my heavy heart,
and to contain my racing mind.

A blanket–
always too stiff–
clings uncomfortably
to my spent body,
which I reluctantly trust
to wake up once more again.

A pillow–
always too flat–
smothers the thickening air
as my lungs try to
swallow reality once more.

I plea to the pause
fragmenting awareness
to rise and resume,
as the void encroaches
and consciousness escapes me.
I “borrowed,”
a customer’s purple shirt
“okay, I stole that shirt”

It looked too good,
with an ironic phrase in white words

“dreams do come true”

Do I feel guilty
about “borrowing,” that purple shirt

“I don’t really know”

But I’ll let you know
later on tomorrow, as I’ve hung it out
with an outfit, ready to go to church.

IdleHvnds Feb 21
Now the real challenge,
Creating a balance,
A routine in which I can only grow from.
Sow a seed into the ash,
Watch the seedling flourish
More resilient —
The soul finally taking root in the earth.
Reece Feb 21
A hero may wear a cape,
But that doesn’t mean they’re Superman,
They all pale in comparison,
Just another human,
Whether a man or a woman,
Their motives hidden behind their ribbons
Trying to make the world a better place.

A hero may preach peace,
But that doesn’t mean they believe it,
Often it’s just about their image.
The war must go on,
Never will everyone be happy,
There’s too much to complain about,
To be ungrateful about,
To not see the beauty of the planet we call home.
The hero may say they are against this complaining,
Yet, you see them in the streets doing the exact same thing.

Never meet your heroes,
You realize how much you inflated their heroics,
When you meet them in person,
You see how, perhaps, they weren’t a hero at all.
They aren’t a villain,
Just not a hero,
Not what you originally believe,
Yet you convinced yourself they were perfect.
Perfection is a losing game.

What makes a hero?
What makes someone noble?
Or have honor?
Or courage?
People love to play these roles,
Put them on like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,
You can always spot a fake,
They just feel disingenuous.
How can you have honor,
And preach your mantra,
Yet cut in the lunch line,
Like you’re better than all of the rest behind you?
That’s not honor!
That’s being a two-faced dishonorable fraud!
Like so many people,
Who wear the “honorable” facade.

I wouldn’t call myself honorable,
I’ve done things I’m not proud of,
Made mistakes I regret,
Have demons in my heart,
Who remind me where I misstep.
I refuse to identify,
As something I’m not,
It makes me feel icky,
Dishonest, and like a fraud.
Who relishes this feeling,
Of lying for qualities they don’t have?
What do you gain?
Recognition?
Fame?
All temporary in the grand scheme of the game.

A hero isn’t pure,
They’ve done things they despise themselves for,
Yet they try their best,
To not make the same mistake again.
They try to make a change,
Instead of complaining!

A hero isn’t good,
Or great,
And certainly not extraordinary,
They’re decent,
Down to earth,
Understanding of their faults,
Yet they push forward anyway.
They try to please people,
Not worth their time,
All in an effort,
To see them smile.
They try to save people,
To far gone to save,
Yet, they try anyway,
For they can’t accept,
That some people can’t be saved,
And are lost in the darkness.

Nobility,
Not kings or queens,
But high standards and ideas,
Yet to be expressed,
They haven’t found the words.
A hero has morals,
One’s that won’t change,
Based on who they talk to,
Their code remains the same.
That’s what takes honor,
That’s what takes strength,
Being yourself despite the gremlins,
And the goblins,
And the orcs,
Being yourself,
No matter who’s watching.
“With integrity and honor,
For people to see.”
Words long forgotten,
In our memories.

Integrity requires honor,
Which requires being noble,
Which goes hand in hand with courage and bravery.
A hero is all of these things,
Combined into a pie,
And though we humans try to replicate the recipe,
We end up exploding the kitchen,
Leaving fallout in our wake.

To me the idea of a hero,
Is more reliable than seeing it in reality,
Someone so honest,
So kind,
Understanding,
And always fighting for what they believe is right.

A villain is a hero,
Just for the other side,
With other motives,
And ways of working things out,
And the hero is the villain to the villain.
Who is right and who is wrong?
The common question.
Often times it’s not so black and white,
Nuances aplenty,
If you open your eyes.
Some are just cruel,
But some have a reason for the heinous actions they do,
Occasionally,
I root for the villain.

We may come close,
But we will never see the perfect hero,
He’s already left.
While we wait,
We can dream,
And aspire to be,
Like Superman.
As the old pledge went,
“When no one else is watching,
It is up to me!”
And so it always will be,
For each of us is the hero in our own story…
Heroes...how we wish we could be them, without fully understanding the struggle or the moral strength it requires.
Next page