Mental Health
Life is bitter, fate is destined
I agreed that life should be fair and if one struggled enough then everything would sort itself out. But as time went by I came to realize that fate always has its work cut out for it. All is not so sweet in life and at times no matter what efforts are made, one has to go through the ordeal that is planned for one.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharingabout a year ago in Poets
Vex
Provoking every ounce of rage inside of me. Your voice kept grating me like a beehive droning over and over again. I still have the pentagram you drew for me. Your seances have failed because I am still here to haunt you. You used to call me a banshee while you were the ghost that kept tormenting me. We used exorcisms against each other but continued to aggravate one another in disbelief. I summoned the power of the seasons to punish you. Your selfish endeavors will outlast this damnation you wish upon me. You conjured spells to hurt me but didn't realize they would hurt you too. All of this will backfire because witchcraft isn't your strongest suit. I've mourned that Tuesday morning when you vanished, finally, into thin air. I've prayed for a reaping and ultimately, received a reckoning. All of your red flags are someone else's problem now. You didn't banish me. It was dissonance that had had enough and asked you to vacate. Unfulfillment wouldn't suffice but it was worth a shot. You kept triggering my hostility and it bred even more toxicity. Dysfunction made me a heretic of my own religion. Peace couldn't reach me with you in the way. I wanted to talk to fire but you wanted me to burn instead. It took a bit of magic to expel you from this reality but it finally worked. The lore will have a page dedicated to you and scum just like you. I have nothing left for you here. You can't provoke me anymore.
By Anna Torresabout a year ago in Poets
The Chasers
Why do I run from the very people who care about me the most? I don't know... -if you're somehow reading this, know that I'm sorry. You've been calling, stretching and reaching out. All the while I've been falling away, running off, and hiding, when the very things I'm hiding start creeping out. How can I let them chase me in worry, while I'm in such a hurry, chasing after the flurry of my folly? This isn't just silly, it's stupid. What's wrong with me? I've been told to stop asking myself that question... ‐by the very people who's concern for me comes without question. The same that aren't just willing to, but ACTUALLY DO accept me... ‐filling voids I never thought possible. Sure, not every hole is filled, but they're people I can talk to without being billed. What are you doing? I ask the mirror in front of me... ‐watching my reflection wither, everyday that I make such choices. Everyday, do I question which voices to and not listen to, while avoiding the very few that are willing to help me see what is and isn't true... -because I fear what they will see, if they were to see into me. What's wrong with you? I ask the mirror in front of me. They've told me to stop asking myself that question too... -the chasers, we'll call them. One of these days I'll call them, in confession and apology. …or, maybe just a text, if that'll do. I don't mean to run away from you... ‐I say I love you, only to turn my back and sprint away to the hole I'm always hiding in. If you're reading this, somehow, know that I'm sorry. Sorry I ghosted all of you... ‐if it makes you feel any better, I've been ghosting myself too... I know that doesn't but...
By Josh Morganabout a year ago in Poets
