Historias de Heavyheart

Raka Wisesa is the caretaker of a social home-a place where people come to bring stories too heavy to bear alone. Every day, he listens. Calms. Strengthens. And every day, he returns home with a smile on his face. But no one really asks how he's doing. Behind the door he always opens for others, Raka is slowly running out of space for himself. Invisible fatigue begins to accumulate. Misunderstandings emerge. Emotional boundaries are crossed. And for the first time, he questions the role he has so unwaveringly played. *Steps That Never Quiet* is a story about selfless giving-and the price often paid in silence. About genuine empathy, suppressed exhaustion, and the small courage to admit that even the seemingly strong can be fragile. A story close to real life, about humans learning to care for others without losing themselves.

Times in life when we're unsure to love or not to, thinking we will be heart broken but still falling for them reflecting upon our decisions and getting over them and starting to live life as it should be lived, Starting to think we're not compatible, self doubt and so on ... All summed up for the good of oneself

I woke up at four a.m., chest hollow, trembling under a weight I didn't know I carried. My body shook before my mind could catch up. My mouth trembled. My hands shook. I couldn't speak. My mom was there in my dream. I put my hand on her chest, and she started crying. I wasn't crying. Words stuck in my throat. My brother, still alive, golden eyes shining, halfway drunk, chaos in his stance. I told him, "Calm down. He's returning. You need to collect yourself." My words barely landed. The world outside pressed in. Patterns I've known my whole life. My brother drinking alone, predictable but terrifying. My sister warning me, "Don't speak out loud," hands moving, trying to calm, trying to soothe. I trembled inside, tried to warn her, but my mouth refused. Chaos pressed in. Gunshots of tension shaking my chest. I turned to my mom again, trying to tell her the truth I had seen. My mouth would not obey. Her tears poured before mine could start. My hands shook over her chest. I woke up. I wanted to drive, beep my horn, signal clarity-but the horn didn't work. The tension lingered. The weight of what I had seen pressed heavy, unrelenting. Four a.m. The world quiet, sleeping, unaware, but my heart wide awake, pounding, trembling, alert. Some truths arrive before words exist. Some messages hit your bones before they can be spoken. Trembling truths at four a.m.-unfiltered, raw, heavy, undeniable.

Its a poem about feeling alone and trapped. Wishing you could be something more then are. I have medical problems so its based on my feelings towards going through, what i have gone through.

Bagian perasaan yang tertuang dalam sebuah tulisan tanpa perlu memikirkan perasaan orang lain ketika diutarakan dalam sebuah coretan tak bermakna bagi sebagian orang !!!!

Poem

A voice shaped by quiet resilience and unspoken strength. This piece reflects the journey of someone who gave light to others until she realized her own fire was never meant for approval, but for self-worth. It speaks of emotional endurance, hidden battles, and the silent cost of always being "the strong one." "Burn For Yourself" is not just a poem-it's a transformation. From seeking validation to embracing identity, from exhaustion to self-possession. It captures the moment a person stops performing for the world and starts existing for themselves. Raw, introspective, and empowering-this is a reminder that even the brightest flames deserve to burn on their own terms.

Cover art designed by me, please do not repost.

Even now, years later, grief does not ask permission before it returns. Some days, the world still wears a grey veil. Her name was Maria. And she was loved beyond words.

The Quiet Below is a quiet ache of a poem-an ode to the kind of love that protects without praise, sacrifices without recognition, and stays steady in silence. Told through the metaphor of an anchor and a ship, it explores the selflessness of holding on so another may let go, the grace of devotion that exists without glory, and the ache of being left behind not because you weren't enough-but because you were everything they needed before they could stand alone. A tribute to the unseen, the unspoken, and the unthanked.

...

You beat me with the fists you made with your lips & the stabs in my back you made with your words. Hate isn't a word to take lightly when I say it & so I was left with a heavy heart. It's not painful to move on, because why would I want to be sheltered on someone's arms when I have the whole world in my hands. Jealousy will kill me, so why be consumed in a feeling that merely means I'm a spoiled child in my own mind when I didn't even break when he tore me to peices.

Optimistic hope

This is only one of the many letters I have written for the only boy I have ever loved. Many of these words were written with a tear streaked face and and an aching heart so a lot of it may not be coherent. I didn't write these letters with the intention of having anyone ever read them but in a way it feels like a weight has been lifted from my heart now that the words are out into the world. Hopeful that at least one person will connect with these words. #toalltheboyscontest xxbetsberd

poetry and things that seems poetic (all things come from my thoughts, feelings, and memories)

Here we go...

DUSKY COMFORT IS ABOUT WHEN A PERSON IS LOOKING FOR COMFORT BUT WHEN HE/SHE GETS IT, THEY STILL FEEL UNSATISFIED. WHY?

I love him. He loves her. The end.

Started: July 1st, 2020. Published: July 22nd, 2020. Finished:

"The Architecture of Silence" is a poignant lyric poem that explores the heavy, hollow ache of isolation and the profound self-discovery that can only be found within it. Through vivid imagery-a ticking clock acting as a solitary heartbeat, leafless trees, and a bolted door-the poem captures the quiet weight of a weary mind. However, it ultimately shifts from melancholy to quiet resilience, concluding with the comforting reminder that just like the stars, the human soul is capable of shining beautifully entirely on its own.