for so long,
the sky has been dark-
heavy with tears,
full of pressure.
clouds hold me down,
not letting light shine on me
as the days grow longer
and emotions buckle.
today, a mistake was made
and a gap was forgotten,
allowing a ray to reach me
and provide me warmth.
it did not heal me fully,
nor did it feel like joy,
yet,
but it felt like the first step
out of a locked room.
Category: poetry
what if
what if i stop at the terminal
and watch my plane soar,
the return home
put on pause
as i restart
what if i step forward
and the world bends-
new streets, new faces,
the echo of my name
falling from mouths i donβt know
what if i leave behind
every familiar shadow,
every hand that ever held my own
to stand in the silence
of my own making
what if this is it-
the chosen moment
before the world trembles
and everything
becomes something else
what if it’s my time
π
the moon, stars, sun, universe,
it does not matter.
if you wanted it,
i would do whatever it takes
to make it yours.
π
just me and my shadow,
wandering these streets,
riding these buses.
a silent taxi ride
interrupted by horns blaring,
reminding me of the noise
of the world.
dinner for one
under the night sky,
moonlight reflecting
off the silverware.
is this a reminder
that maybe being alone
isn’t so scary?
free
the storm has settled,
the clouds dispersing
and my chest no longer caved in.
air can once again
flow freely through my lungs,
allowing me to stand up
on this spinning platform.
it is quiet,
but the kind of quiet
that reminds me of the focus-
ππ.
the world will not stop,
so why should i?
i rose.
i sat in the hole,
hands raw from clawing at stone,
eyes filled with tears.
for so long
the walls looked endless,
my voice unable to be heard.
but then-
a sliver of light
peaked over the edge,
dim, patient,
waiting for me to notice.
step by step
i rose,
bones aching,
heart unsure,
mind fearful.
when my fingers touched the edge
and the sun shined down on me,
soft and warm,
i knew
there was still a place
for me in this world.
β€οΈβπ©Ή
even in pain,
the soul will love
and that is beautiful.
βοΈ
it took far too long
to realize that
those shooting stars
didn’t work.
those candles,
four-leaf clovers,
eyelashes,
fountains,
ladybugs,
any of them.
what a waste.
π
alone,
with even the rain
being poor company.
the darkness lingers,
ready to take my hand
and rest.
what an exhausting time.
π
the thoughts pour like rain,
not gentle,
but heavy-
a storm that seeps between the cracks,
rising through the floorboards,
turning every step into drowning.
walls collapse under the weight,
windows shatter from the pressure,
and yet-
it does not stop.
the flood does not ask,
it only takes,
and i am left drowning
in a world
built from my own
creation.
rog's poems 