#poems on tumblr

My mother used to sing: A little sugar can take away The pain, the shame, and all of your gray. But now my mother mutters: A little sugar can only make you gain The pain, the shame, and all of your blame. ~ Spawnling ~

Fall by me I wish someone loved me My thoughts as I fall Then again And again And up then again Numb then again I’ve learned to pick myself up How to handle my tumbles Avoiding damp dirt and muddy roads My parents never helped It was something I had to learn on my own They actually threw me into the lake Again Then again Then again-“but I love you”- then again But me and that are not parallel in my copy of miram-webster As I put open my ban aids Breathe to four Open my ban aids Breathe to four Talk it out Openmybanaidsbreathtofourtalkitoutopenmybanaidsbreathtofourtalkitoutopenmybanaidsbreathtofour- Lay on the floor It’d be nice, by my side, to have someone to hold No dependence; just existence Just to be there Even as I’m singularly trapped in the labyrinth that is my mental Caring would feel so gentle To walk but not alone

أنظر في لون مسائك يحتفي الورق بقطر النّدى بين ظلّ وظلّ أغمسني فرشاةً في طيّ عطرك الأبديّ.. تحبو اللّوحة نحو الجدار هناك المتّكأ !.. محمد بن جماعة 🎀

Oh, how my love for you grows witnessing your mind combust with the newfound knowledge of solitary bees and their lives beyond the hive and honey. © wsignedtheocean . 2026

What should my next big writing project be? Fanfiction Short stories Vignettes Poetry collection Non-fiction essay Other (comment what it is)

Of All I’ve Ever Loved I am made of pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved not in a clean or careful way but like a life rebuilt after storms with whatever was left on the ground and whatever still remembered how to hold shape There’s a version of me that speaks too softly that one belongs to the first person who ever made silence feel like waiting instead of absence There’s another version that laughs too loud too sudden, too sharp around the edges that one came from someone who never stayed long but stayed long enough to change the rhythm of my brain I am made of pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved and some of those pieces still argue inside me about who gets to be heard first One of them wants to leave before it gets too real One of them begs people not to go Neither of them knows how to win without turning everything into loss I carry entire rooms inside me that no longer exist anywhere else kitchens with late-night coffee porches where we thought we were safe back seats of cars parked under streetlights that flickered like uncertain promises Sometimes I swear I can still hear them talking over each other in my blood like a radio stuck between stations never quite settling always almost a voice I can trust I am made of pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved the way they said my name the way they didn’t the way they left it hanging in the air like something too fragile to hold There’s a part of me that believes in forever because someone once said it so easily I didn’t know it could be a mistake There’s a part of me that stopped believing in anything at all the exact moment I learned that people can mean something completely and still walk away unchanged I learned how to build myself from departures From doors closing too quietly From texts left unanswered until they become memory instead of message From the shape of hugs that ended a second too early and lingered like unfinished sentences I am made of pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved and some of them are still warm some of them are already fading some of them I keep anyway because I don’t know how to separate love from survival I tried once to be only myself but I found I was missing too many parts to recognize what that would even look like So I became this instead a collage of almosts and once-wases stitched together with longing and time walking around like it all belongs to me alone There are days I can almost forget whose hands taught mine how to tremble whose voice taught mine how to break mid-sentence whose absence taught me how to fill entire rooms with nothing and still call it living And still even now I am made of pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved and I don’t know if that makes me whole or just impossible to put back down once I’ve been picked up

Take me now The waves, the waves, the waves Continental drift going sideways, Backwards, forwards, Any direction it wants. I’ll flop face-first into the ocean, The nighttime sea, The waters clouding my eyes, The lighthouse sings its silent song And the collision of the waves, they take me Take me in their grasp, their cool hold, Does anybody know? Scream underwater Scream underwater Listen to it cut in and out, Bubble to the surface. My hands are cold My face red and burning at the smile lines. Did I call before I came here? Check your answering machine. Check your answering machine. I left you my silhouette I left you a cigarette of song A burnt-out pen, Write down your nightmares, your vacation, vaccines. Oh shit, it’s all out of ink. You found me floating head down in the sea? What do you do? U throw the pen at me and call me a liar ©2026, Poems From the Hanging Garden, All rights reserved

Trading Secrets It starts before touch in the way silence shifts between two people who have stopped pretending they’re not aware of each other A look held a second too long A laugh that lands softer than it should The space between words becoming its own language Then closeness not as collision, but as permission two nervous truths learning the shape of not being alone Hands find meaning in hesitation Breath becomes something shared like a secret too large for either chest to hold And it isn’t conquest not firework or thunder but the slow unraveling of everything that said “separate” Time forgets to matter Names become less important than warmth Even fear loosens its grip at the edges of the room Later, nothing grand is promised Just the quiet aftermath two hearts remembering their own weight again and the strange softness of having been understood without a single explanation spoken aloud

Looking For Rainbows There’s a field over there, In the middle of nowhere. Where it was rumoured, That rainbows appeared. John was a responsible man, With a family, job and a van. Which he drove out to the field, To see if the skies would yield, To the line of colour he’s after. His peers had nothing but laughter. John waited day and night, Stood in rain and sun with might. Watched the flowers wilt to dust, And be reborn from the Earth’s crust. His family yelled for him, His peers kept laughing at him. But none of that fazed John, For it wouldn’t matter if he won, At catching this spectacular sight And then all will be right.

The Cure 2.0. ‎ Лёгкий ветер касается лица, развеивая туман в сознании. ‎ Шаг за шагом я иду вперёд — уверенно и спокойно. ‎ Назад не оборачиваюсь: оковы остались в прошлом. ‎ Всё, что сдерживало, тихо ушло — ‎ без лишних слов, без боли, просто отпустилось само. ‎ ‎Внутри — ровный, спокойный ритм, биение сердца, обретшее гармонию. ‎Я больше не веду битву с собой. ‎ Ошибки принимаю как уроки — они вели меня вперёд. ‎ Усталость принимаю как знак пройденного пути. ‎ Радость принимаю как компас — она напоминает, ради чего я иду. ‎В этом принятии кроется моя истинная сила. ‎ ‎ Вокруг меня — люди, каждый в своём движении. ‎ Кто‑то шагает твёрдо, кто‑то ещё ищет точку опоры. ‎У всех — свой темп, своё дыхание, свой путь. ‎ Но под ногами у нас — одна земля, ‎ над головами — одно небо, ‎в сердцах — одинаковая надежда на рассвет. ‎Мы все равны в праве выбирать, оступаться, подниматься и идти дальше. ‎ ‎ Солнце медленно поднимается выше, озаряя мир тёплым светом. ‎ Его лучи ложатся на дорогу передо мной, словно приглашая в путь. ‎ Я глубоко дышу, ощущая свежесть утра. ‎ Шаг за шагом я иду вперёд. ‎ И в душе твёрдо знаю: мой путь продолжается — и будет продолжаться.

Somewhere inside me there is a spicy fragment of whimsical bliss © wsignedtheocean . 2026

Cinder Blocks Monday, June 15th, 2026 Still numb Swallowing stones as a means of remedying All the changes brought upon me I can only leave my house at night What am I to answer to When you ask me why I didn’t leave You said everyone has a tether and asked for mine The truth is, I’m a dead boat sailing Don’t question my amphetamines No matter how my summer’s been It’s that tingling sense or feeling You get at night when there’s nobody around at all

I became a mother long before I got the chance to be a daughter.🤍🌧️🕯️📖 The Daughter Who Became a Mother: I learned motherhood before I learned myself. The stove knew my fingerprints, the laundry basket knew my shoulders, and four little boys knew my voice as well as they knew your own. I measured my childhood in sinkfuls of dishes, in alarm clocks set for other people, in the weight of sleeping bodies carried from couches to beds. They called me the oldest. As if it were a birth order. Not a sacrifice. Not a slow disappearance. When I was small, you were the harbor I ran toward. Strange how years can redraw a map. I spent so long searching for refuge in you that I never noticed I had become the lighthouse— burning myself hollow so everyone else could find their way home. While you drifted beyond the fog, carrying secrets like anchors tied around your ankles. Even now, the truth arrives in fragments. A name. A story. A wound I didn’t know belonged to us. Each revelation feels like opening a door in a house I grew up in, only to discover another room hidden behind the wall. Sometimes I wonder if grief is simply the act of meeting your mother over and over again. The one who kissed scraped knees. The one who locked pieces of herself away. The one whose silence grew roots beneath the floorboards. The one I am still trying to find in the ruins of all the others. I still love you. That is the cruelest part. Because anger would be simpler. Anger does not wake in the middle of the night wondering who you were before the world broke its teeth on you. But love does. Love keeps digging through the wreckage, hoping to find a mother where there is only smoke. You were my first safe place. And somehow, the first thing that taught me safety could disappear.

“God” Merciful, all knowing and loving. Forgiving. But is he really what he says he is? Begging. On my knees. Will he take the pain away? Or will he fill your hairspray?

A Waste of Time She shouldn’t waster her time on me not like I’m some tragic poem worth memorizing not like I’m a place you go to get found I’m not sunrise worth waiting up for I’m more like the streetlamp that flickers sometimes still there, still glowing just never quite reliable enough to plan your life around She has a whole world ahead of her that doesn’t smell like regret or old conversations replayed at 3 AM She has mornings that haven’t been ruined yet hands that haven’t learned how to let go too early And me? I’m just a collection of almost good choices and late apologies that arrive long after the would’ve mattered She shouldn’t waste her time on me because I’m not steady ground I’m the kind you think you can stand on until you realize it’s only been holding itself together by pretending not to shake She deserves love that doesn’t feel like guessing Doesn’t feel like waiting for someone to become less distant without ever knowing if they will She deserves someone who doesn’t turn quiet when it matters most who doesn’t turn distance into a habit I’ve been both the lesson and the reason for leaving Neither one is a place to build a home So if she’s still thinking of me I hope she lets that thought pass like a bus she doesn’t have to catch Because I’m not the destination I’m just somewhere people end up when they were trying to go somewhere else and didn’t know the map well enough yet She shouldn’t waste her time on me not because I don’t care but because I finally understand that caring isn’t the same as being able to stay

In one eye I am perfect Oh so beautiful In another just disposable Nothing special The latter is which I love Isn’t it always? Love is a bitter joke Which isn’t very funny And I’m starting to feel Like I’ll never be happy

chaos & division while they fight and argue – they fail to evolve and become blind to the bigger picture.

edvard Sunday, June 14th, 2026 You can use me for a month And we can call it love Then you can run to her Whoever she will be And yes, it’ll be a ‘her’ Then you can pretend You know this hurt While you enjoy the normalcy Like my life was so exotic As I watch from the seafoam Understanding what Andersen knew

GOD doesn’t exist, neither do i (iii.) I don’t trust GOD so I stopped praying a long time ago, for I was born out of my creators and GOD didn’t seem to like it He accused me of a bad deed and from a tender age stripped me of my body ​I don’t trust GOD, for He created the terminal, but it never really ends, does it? I no longer think it’ll remit, so they left and I turned ghastly, got peeled of my lineage while I rummaged through the ceiling, trying to distract Him ​I don’t trust GOD, for I became a creator and all my kids will be smothered with suffocation The blue in my veins will make a carnage out of my kindred, and I didn’t make it on time the terminal ended but not for me, never for me a terminal is nothing but a perpetual state of mourning doesn’t matter if I prayed, if I begged, or if I crawled, the terminal ended with my kindred but not with me, never with me, for I am paying a deed of a GOD that doesn’t exist ​I don’t trust GOD, for I came from a rib and His image became bleary ​The universe can be completely, randomly indifferent, but I am not nor is GOD neither is the terminal I don’t trust GOD -i.

أعرف أنّي بعيدٌ جدّا.. قريبٌ منك !.. محمد بن جماعة 🎀