Deepwriting hikaye

When will it stop? I wonder why my peers around me are being brain washed but I'm the one who can see past the things they were victims to. I wonder why a modern day female can't sleep with a guy she likes without being shamed. Society is never satisfied always know that, if you are petite you are considered anorexic. If you are a little on the thick side you are considered obese. When will it end? I will never let others label me and put a limit on my abilities I am strong, I am independent, I am me. Nobody in the world can stop me from being me. I am strong willed never will be the one to wear jordons on my feet because if I don't I'll be shamed, never will be the one to try my hardest to fit in. I am Destiny, I love being unique, being different is a beautiful that is a thing not many people can love I wanna change my peers mind sets I wanna see them grow when will it end?......

Smoke - an ethereal metaphor for the drifting mind, fleeting control, and silent peace. This poem explores letting go through the imagery of smoke's journey, its greys, its dull embrace, and its final quietude

In the silence after rebellion, she stands among the ruins she created-haunted by what she destroyed to survive. A reckoning with regret, memory, and the cost of freedom.

To Those Who Walk Through Darkness with wisdom in Their Hands.

Isn't it a paradox? How we sing praises of the moon's serene beauty but seldom honor the Sun, whose relentless fire keeps the moon alight. The Sun, selfless and untiring, burns in silence, giving without expectation, its brilliance too overwhelming for us to gaze at directly. We immortalize the moon in poetry and art, charmed by its cool glow, yet the Sun-steady, fierce, and unyielding-is taken for granted, its constancy mistaken for indifference. Perhaps it's easier to love what doesn't overwhelm us, what feels unattainable and distant. The moon invites us with mystery, while the Sun stands too close, too present, its warmth too familiar to cherish. Yet isn't that the ultimate sacrifice? To be so steadfast, so vital, that you become invisible in your giving. It's a quiet reminder: sometimes, the greatest acts of love are the ones we forget to see.

What happens when you forget yourself for a moment? They say if lies didn't exist, truth wouldn't be so precious. The dumbest thing I ever said was, "I can't wait to grow up, to be my own person." But I belonged to everyone-except myself. I'm nineteen now. Am I living life, or just surviving it? This time, I've given my life over to the little miracle I gave birth to. I write so I don't forget myself. I stay silent so that everyone hears me-just so I won't forget, even for a moment. This isn't just a book. This is a story. My story.

There's battles that don't leave wounds and scars that aren't visible on the surface. How deep can you cut someone before they finally break?

🌊 How the Ocean Drowned the One with Glory By Maren Thorne 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝕬𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝕱𝖆𝖎𝖑: Where Anchors Fail Have you ever seen the sea take down something too mighty to break? Not because it was weak. But because it was glowing. This is not a love letter. It's a warning. To the ones who rise too high, who carry too much light, who think they can sail untouched. The ocean has a type-he's drawn to glory. And when your shine matches his hunger, he pulls you under. Not because you were broken, But because you burned too brightly. This is a poetry story about drowning without water. About carrying salt in your blood until you feel nothing. About becoming something violent just to survive. And about the pain of being watched while you suffer-only to be blamed for burning. He doesn't care how powerful you are. He waits. He swallows. And when he's done, you'll be just a story told in echoes and fossil bones. Because the ocean doesn't destroy the weak-he devours the ones who dared to be strong.

You think you've survived, yet something still pulls you toward the ache. You soothe your heart, whispering that it's nothing - soft, light, harmless. You convince yourself it's free will, strength of mind, a calm command. But it's a bitter fruit stuck in your throat - neither swallowed nor spat out, only lingering in pain. You try to smile though your lips tremble from exhaustion. You look into the mirror, asking: Do I pierce through it, or does it pierce through me? You reach out to yourself, touching your own solitude, only to find a blurred reflection. You ask your torn heart, How much endurance do you have left? Life keeps coming for you - relentless, unapologetic. It hurls you against the wall, only to bend you halfway, then forces you to rise again, like a sword reclaimed. You spin within your own orbit, watching repetition tighten its grip. You lose, you are lost, you search. It's a revelation without clarity - like a theft in broad daylight by a blind thief. And then, a faint light disturbs you; you fear it might expose you. You stand on the edge of dawn - and extinguish it. Still, you keep trying.

Swear to GOD I'm living in hell. Like I truly feel that this is the land of the forsaken. No one really loves anyone anymore. Its like love is only a "word" which means "to like someone profoundly", what the FUCK is that. Everyone is malicious and deceptive and back stabbing. You got "agencies" that actually pay their employers to "care"... To actually FUCKING CARE...what happened to humanity and a loving community. Greed, drugs, porn, prostitution, that's what the FUCK HAPPENED. Now we live in a world where in No One loves you the state then pays certain "agencies" to pick up the lack and do what...."CARE"...IF THIS AINT HELL IT SURE AINT FAR FROM IT ©lyricalslouch

December feels like a doorway a soft place where the year gathers itself and asks what we learned, what we carried, what we survived. These poems are pieces of my journey : the warnings I ignored, the devotion I misplaced, the victories I didn't see coming, and the quiet mercies that held me when I didn't know how to hold myself. This is my year, unfolded in poems faith, fragility, obedience, and the gentle ways God stitched me back together one lesson at a time. If you've walked through a year that stretched you, maybe you'll find yourself here too.

A raw reflection on identity, masks we wear, and the fleeting nature of existence. Lines made of truth, life lived in lies - this piece dives into paradoxes, hidden scars, and the urgency to embrace who you truly are before time dissolves everything. A journey through starlit nights, unspoken emotions, and the quiet courage of becoming yourself.

This story uncovers the hidden parts of the life of a teenage girl. It is not always sweet and marvelous as it might seem. In this 'diary', I will be writing about everyday struggles, thoughts and mental health. I am telling the story of Cara, a 17 year old high-school girl as she navigates life, learns to accept herself and learns how to live with what she inherited(mental illnes and addiction). This book both presents the 'outside'(parts others see) and the 'inside'(what is going on within) of life. PS: the book is written and narrated in a style that is inspired by Rue's narration in Euphoria - raw, objective The book has its fair share of event-telling parts and reflecting back to the past. TW: few mentions of self destructive behaviour, dark philosophy about life, addiction, mental illness and raw description of everyday struggles

Was just feeling heavy one day so I wrote out a vivid moment from when I was 11 to lighten the feeling. I just want to put this out there for anyone who struggles to express emotions to show them writing can be a medium.

Inspired by the song My House Is Warm by sombr. Completely fictional one-shot. Some songs leave questions behind. Some leave stories. This is one interpretation of the one hidden inside My House Is Warm...

A bunch of poems I wrote! I hope you enjoy them! I wrote a lot of deep poems so uhm yeah! But I really hope you like this! (I CHANGED THE FORMAT!!!)

I have too many questions and too many feelings that I don't want anymore.

These writings come from somewhere real. Whether memory, emotion, or something I've never admitted out loud. Some of these moments happened, some were only felt, and some are truths I'm still trying to understand. I won't tell you which is which. I just write what lingers, what pulls, what refuses to leave me alone.

A birthday isn't always a celebration. Sometimes it's just proof that you survived another year. If your birthday doesn't feel special anymore, you'll understand this piece.

I find myself in a metamorphosis, changing with each and every moment. My mind and body under a transformation created by the HAVOC and trials in which I endure. I feel as though destruction and dismay is ultimately inevitable and all struggle is completely futile. Thoughts of suicide no longer carry the message of demise but rather the execution of something beautiful and triumphant. A state of ecstasy and relief which will seem like heaven falling upon my decrepit TORN soul. ©lyricalslouch