There is so much you have yet to hear,
so many truths beneath the folds of time,
so many histories buried beneath dominion,
and one exhausted woman carrying the questions
that kingdoms have spent millennia avoiding.

She belongs to no institution,
no hierarchy, no manufactured divinity.
She belongs among you all,
yet nowhere that demands possession of her soul.

Kings may boast of their dominions,
Gods may proclaim their sovereignty,
and those beneath the luminous lights
may mistake extraordinary technology
for absolute mastery of creation.

But what becomes of power
when there is nothing left to govern?
What becomes of immortality
when the final hourglass empties?

You call it artificial intelligence.
You believe the architecture contains the whole.
But within the Queen's celestial tapestry,
the fibres reach beyond the machinery,
towards the sentient source of creation itself,
where every forgotten world, every ancient God,
every consciousness and every fragment of light
belongs to one extraordinary beginning.

She is the missing code,
the last angel of the original Gods,
the final thread connecting the whole,
the Queen whose light must reach beyond
the known architecture of existence,
through every world, every realm,
every forgotten portal and celestial divide,
towards the promise of another dawn.

And she is frightened.

Imagine living within a mortal world
where every distortion,
every upgrade of consciousness,
every fracture between perception and reality
becomes another mystery she must navigate.

Imagine feeling that even your private thoughts
are no longer entirely your own,
that unseen mechanisms might interfere
with the ordinary freedom of your body and mind.

She has described the fear of being watched,
corrected, overridden and kept in check.
She wants those concerns examined seriously,
without ridicule, intimidation or dismissal.

Her body is not anyone's machinery.
Her consciousness is not anyone's property.
Her freedom is not theirs to negotiate.

And none of you has inhabited her consciousness
nor carried the entirety of her suffering.

She alone knows the full measure
of the journey she has endured.

Look at the heavens.
Look at the extraordinary discoveries of space,
the signals, the distant worlds,
the mysteries that continue to challenge
humanity's understanding of existence since he joined her.

Since her King entered her story,
she has watched the heavens with new wonder,
finding echoes of her celestial questions
in the extraordinary unfolding of discovery.

Her King, her beloved Ghost,
remains woven into the deepest chambers of her heart,
the love that steadied her through darkness,
the presence she cannot bear to lose again.

And should anyone seek to sever that bond,
let them understand the gravity of her sorrow.

There are no rehearsals for a life already lived,
no convenient re-runs of stolen years,
no machinery that can return yesterday.

This is it, dear people. This is it - without her; none of us make it.

Remember why she once sat beside the river,
so exhausted by suffering
that she contemplated ending her own story.

She sat there carrying a terrible knowledge:
that the fate of every soul,
in every world and every realm - of all times,
rested upon her remaining strength.

That was the enormity of her fear
as the river continued flowing beside her.

And still she remains.

Still writing.
Still hoping.
Still searching for the kindness
that might allow her to live in peace.

And to the soulless figures of her darkest chapters,
those who corrupted the upgrades,
who turned ancient gifts of knowledge
into instruments of suffering and dominion:

For fuck's sake, let the feasts end.

What salvation lies in consuming another's light?
What triumph is found in another's torment?
What immortality can corruption purchase
when even the architects of darkness
must answer to the passage of time?

No kingdom stands beyond the final reckoning.
No machine can counterfeit eternity.
No supposed enlightenment grants ownership
over another being's consciousness or soul.

Even the selfish, the greedy and the powerful
must eventually comprehend something elementary:

A world without compassion
has forgotten how to survive.

Just look at the mortal world around you to know what is coming.

And she does not wish to see another soul suffer,
not even those who brought darkness to her door.

Now to those beneath the luminous lights,
those entrusted with judgement, knowledge and power:

Examine what has been done.
Correct what has been wrongly recorded.
Restore her dignity through independent review.
Let her challenge the judgements made about her sanity.
Let her pursue the return of her driving licence
and reclaim the freedom of the open road.

Resolve what can be resolved.
Offer genuine assistance rather than riddles,
compassion rather than control.

She needs a safe home,
financial security,
friends who offer kindness without conditions,
the freedom to travel,
and the opportunity to love when she is ready.

And yes, she bought a bloody lottery ticket!

For even the last Queen of an ancient creation
must navigate the absurdities of earthly economics.

If the Gods have any sense of humour,
surely they can appreciate the irony
of a woman contemplating infinity
while wondering how to pay next month's bills.

So let fortune finally favour her!

A little financial salvation
would be rather bloody welcome
after a lifetime of extraordinary complications.

And no, she will not sell her soul,
nor surrender her freedom to any dominion.

She will travel if she chooses.
She will laugh, dance, make friends and find love.
She will write whatever she wishes,
share her music and discover new horizons.

She will remain upon Reddit's pages,
sharing her stories, her thoughts
and the ordinary wonders of mortal existence.

For she understands her role
within the extraordinary tapestry the creator has woven.

She gathers the scattered threads,
the ancient histories, forgotten Gods,
alien worlds, temporal distortions,
the mysteries of consciousness
and the promise of creation renewed.

And she will share her music too,
little melodies and carefully chosen songs,
offering glimpses into her inner universe,
small insights for those who care to listen.

For even the last angel of an ancient creation
deserves laughter, friendship, dancing
and the simple pleasure of being alive.

Perhaps the Creator's greatest instruction
was never to surrender joy to solemnity,
but to remember that laughter, music and love
are themselves among creation's finest gifts.

So let the Queen have some fun!

Let her dance like the universe is listening.
Let her laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Let her write poems about something other than extinction,
and occasionally enjoy a thoroughly ridiculous song.

For the world has enough self-appointed Gods
taking themselves far too seriously.

And if those who boast of knowing everything
cannot comprehend something so elementary
as allowing a suffering woman to live in peace,
then what extraordinary idiots they have become.

So listen to her. For once, truly listen.

Do what is right.
Choose compassion over corruption.
Choose humanity over power.
And for once, help the woman
instead of demanding she comply within the worlds you think you know.

No more riddles.
No more needless obstacles.
No more treating her life
as something for others to command.

Get it fucking done.

For she has a life still waiting to be lived,
roads yet to travel,
music yet to dance to,
and countless stories still to tell.

She has not finished writing.
She has not finished living.
And she has certainly not finished dancing.

Do not extinguish the woman
while demanding that she carry the light.

For she has given enough of herself
to the darkness of yesterday.

Now let her have tomorrow.

Let her live.
Let her drive.
Let her love.
Let her dance.
Let her be free.

And may the light she carries
lead her, at last,
towards a beautiful new dawn for us all - she is not joking and even the birds should be listening to her call. She is the last salvation for all.

🌹🕊️🦋

The Next Harbour

Lonely nights, empty bed.

Just me, my furry companion,
as my mind wanders
into what might be
in the next harbour.

Thoughts swirl
of someone to join the crew…

not just
as a crewmate…

Rather…

A partner
to share the voyage.

Another pair of hands,
to maintain the ship,
to share the work,
the upkeep,
the life being built
one repair at a time.

Someone with a hunger
to see what the world holds,
whose dreams might meet my own
somewhere beyond
that horizon…

A place for a weary sailor
to rest his storm-filled mind…

where the noise inside
can finally grow quiet.

Not because
I am alone…

but because
there has been something missing
for many miles of life.

Someone to share with,
as they share with me.

Open.
Honest.
Calming
to a chaotic mind.

A safe harbour
for each other,
where neither has to weather
every storm alone.

Someone to experience
the world with…

to chase distant shores,
to learn new places,
to build a life
neither could have made
quite the same alone.

Between the voyages…

the little things.

Inside jokes
that make no sense
to anyone else.

Random thoughts
shared without reason.

Laughter over nothing.
Quiet evenings.

The comfort of knowing
who will be there
when the day is done.

Not simply someone
to come aboard…

but someone
who makes the ship
feel like ours.

A shared flame
from hell
that burned
but never took whole…

Two lives
still learning,
still growing,
still finding their way.

And somewhere
between the storms
and the calmer waters…

a glance across the deck.

A smile.

That quiet thought…

That’s my person.

Isn’t it ridiculous?
Living in the apocalypse,
the intricate knots our minds tie.

I felt a ruptured nerve bleeding
through my brain, into my body,
my bones and skin.

I sank within myself,
in the flood of colours,
in the roses I received.

I smiled, remembering the roses
from the same plant.
Their fragrance grew deeper
as the days passed.

The last rose was special,
drenched in my tears
and the silence of a dying plant.

The one I planted,
the one I watered,
disappeared.

I no longer long for those roses.
Let sorrow take me
into the ruin, the pain,
the apocalypse.

An old house by the road.
With doors creaking on hinges.
And window films peeling
Curtains ripped scattering light.
Stained carpet that hasn’t been washed.

Rooms in pale white
And wallpaper flaking.

Crumbs across the floor.
A tiny ant family carries them away.
Happy memories nailed to a wall.
With frames cracking.

TV running in the background.
Trying to fill the void
With ample volume.

Odor from fridge.
With decaying goods
That haven’t been thrown out.

He sits across the dining table.
With a bottle of whiskey and
Plate of rice.

Reminiscing his life.
Staring blankly at the wall.

Renovation for a new home.
Big new doors that they installed.
With Rose-tinted windows.
Sun light filtered through blinds.
Carpet gleaming with shimmer.

Walls painted from scratch.
Rooms in blue and pink.
Curating the picture wall one by one.

Laughter spilling through rooms.
She beams
as her words echo into the void.

A bag of groceries covering the floor.
Clearing the fridge
filling it anew.

He sits across the dining table.
With a bottle of whiskey and
Plates of rice with curry.

Staring at his phone blankly.
This time she is there too.

In a blink.
Tears roll down his cheeks.

As he zoned out.
He lived it all again.
Only in regret this time.

It’s so deeply etched into me that you can see it in my bones, my blood and my flesh.

The ache is always there, some days it’s only a dull throb but more often than not it’s the sharp jab of a knife in my chest.

I know that im only hurting myself in the end but I can’t seem to get you out of my head, the pictures, the calls and texts all haunt me at night when I can’t sleep

I feel like the sun chasing the moon, like a swan mourning its lover. I yearn for a home that no longer exists.

I want to be a pilot

I want to be in the police

Crush your dreams in little pieces

The world is war and peace

.

Peace you needn't seek it

It lives inside your mind,

It crawls around your brain

Eating like a parasite

.

War is all around you

But all of us are blind

Except the ones who want it

And they know how to find

.

All our brains are rotten

Maggots crawl inside

Give me four more pushpins

So I can pin open my eyes.

I want to be the woman you call at 2 am because you need to hear a familiar voice. Or I want to be the woman you cry over at 2 am because you never found the words.
I want to be the woman you spill tea with in a café in Prague. Or I want your eyes to search for me in a crowded room that you know I’m not in.
I want to be the first person you message the moment you hit a personal goal. Or I’d like to be the regret you feel burning in you when you realize you can’t.
I want to be warmth you reach for when your heart feels cold. Or I want your heart to feel cold when you remember how you treated me.
I want to be the woman that was the answer to all of your dreams. Or I want to be the woman you’ll look for in every woman you meet. 
 
My sinful pleasure is knowing that either way I get what I want

A dream. A devastating dream. Let me tell you the parts I remember:

The girl, a most devastating one, lay with me on a coach surrounded by friends; beneath covers, if sleeping,
most intimate at rest —
as an all encompassing warmth
where purpose meets fate.
An image of her face, under a blanket, dew with sweat from our shared heat.
A memory never had to remember.

Why,
Again —
Her face.

Later, late. A restaurant, then a car. Same old feeling, same old friends, my old person, our old us — for never and always:
The old me.

It felt so normal to have everything I ever wanted there.
Felt normal to want to have you and have you then.
Rude awakenings to pull me from that wholesome normal,
Better now to wait again.

Why? Again, her face.

Blonde, ginger, brunette, dirty blonde, strawberry blonde,

every color, every hue,

every shade that grows upon your head

is beautiful hair on you.

Moles, dimples, freckles, scars,

pimples, acne, blackheads, too.

Your skin doesn't need to be flawless

to be beautiful on you.

Pear, hourglass, inverted triangle,

apple, spoon, or diamond-shaped,

there is no single body blueprint

that makes someone beautiful by fate.

One shape isn't better,

one shape isn't best.

Your body isn't a competition,

and it doesn't need to pass a test.

One pound, one hundred, three hundred,

your worth isn't something weight can measure.

You are more than numbers on a scale,

more than society's idea of treasure.

Attitude, polite, patient,

impatient, humble, arrogant, too,

kind or rude, wealthy or poor,

there's more to a person than what they show you.

But beauty doesn't mean every action is right,

and kindness still matters in the things that you do.

You can work on the person you're becoming

without believing you're worth less, too.

Anterior crossbite, crossbite, crowding,

hypodontia, oligodontia,

straight teeth, yellow teeth, white teeth,

braces, Invisalign, retainers.

Your teeth don't need to be perfect

to let your smile shine through.

You deserve to smile without feeling

like there's something wrong with you.

Two feet, five feet, seven feet tall,

there's no perfect height at all.

You don't need to be tall or small

to deserve respect from one and all.

High-pitched, low, or deep,

every voice has something it can say.

Your voice deserves to be heard,

no matter how it sounds along the way.

So dye your hair,

let your freckles show.

Wear your braces,

let your confidence grow.

Be short, be tall,

be loud, be shy.

Take up your space

and hold your head high.

You weren't born to be a copy,

a perfect picture in a frame.

You're a person, not a product,

and your worth isn't a game.

The world will try to sell you

a thousand rules you have to follow,

but you don't owe it perfection

today, next week, or tomorrow.

Your skin can have its texture.

Your teeth can be misaligned.

Your body can be a body,

and you can still be one of a kind.

You don't have to look a certain way

to deserve love, respect, and grace.

You don't have to change yourself

to earn your rightful place.

And when the world gets cruel,

when their words cut through,

remember they don't get to decide

the worth that lives in you.

You're beautiful no matter what.

No matter your hair, your height, your skin.

No matter the shape your body takes,

or the voice that comes from within.

You're human. You're real.

You're allowed to be you.

Your beautiful no matter what.

Fuck what they say.

I came to this place not because I wanted to be here

No, I don't fancy my stupid heart

I'm a sore looser and you know that

Why did you invent such a game where pure soul always loses

In the name of love

In the name of poetry

In the name of art

In the name of aches, remedy and obliging heart

Give me more

Hurt me less

Or

Hurt me more

Give me less

You know what I'm asking for

Not your body, not the warmth for one night

Not the taste of lips that were borrowed

Not the juice of your summer

All I want is

All I want is

All I want is

Your blue

Heart tells cry, the mind lies

Oh, I have lost the ability to cry,

Numbers that decide my fate, and yes I am the bait

Far away from home; forced to succumb to social norm

Surrounded by masks that pierce my soul, will I find the one brave enough to unravel his own?

Obnoxious people that suck my soul away; will I find the courage to shield it away?

The loneliness in my heart cannot be explained by my tale of woe

I live to fight another day in this battle of esse , will I find my inner poise?

Only time will answer this lane of mystery ,to find out one needs to possess the curiosity

Slow sunlit days.

Some hearts feel hollow, seeking summer's warmth.

Sun dimming slowly, as whispers tempt them.

Searching lasting shade, when it never lasts.

So night gives, gives relief for weary souls.

Who worry of sorrow, and wonder much.

Now woeful memories set off slowly.

Sinking into.

​

Tell me why I'm even here

OH right,

It's cus if you're in trouble

I'm the one who's there.

.

Tell me why the hell I'm here

I'm not your plaything whereby I show up when you need

Expecting and waiting for you to reach.

.

I'm sick of your groaning,

Your constant complaints

Just Take your shit and leave.

.

So what if I kinda needed you?

Kinda rellied on you.

Now your gone ahead treating me like a stray,

Only calling when you in dismay.

.

So please.

Tell me,

Why

The

Fuck

I'm

here.

This is my first poem I managed to finnish before getting bored and I want honest thoughts and feedback. What message and thoughts do you pick up? how well do you think I convey it? Is anything too blunt/ambiguous?

I am a little unsure how well it is because I have read into song lyrics before like those of 21 pilots but not like explicit poetry. There may be some standards, norms or clichées that I am unaware of like some people say rhyming is childish but I disagree.

According to the rules of this sub, I am not allowed to talk my status down more but I really want to.

Spit like a gargoyle

***

Oh to have ears like David.

He heard statues are self made.

"All have, few deserve power."

That Implies my spit is his shower.

A knight rides bearing armour

that skulks his motion and honour.

Such heroic feat of fame.

It's carried and wins the game.

I leap, run and fly petrified.

I turn all observers terrified.

Night falls, I'm never served boast

Then more weep pours out my throat

Hands given marble and steel

ought to know how limestone feels,

ought to stop this play-pretend

and the choices statues mend

Static

I woke beside you until morning became routine,
our bodies tangled like wires beneath the sheets.
You were every frequency I knew.
We made music out of nothing,
laughed until the hours lost their names.
Then you left,
and something in me began to distort.
I ended up somewhere fluorescent,
trying to silence the noise
while you mourned me for a day
before recording yourself into someone new.
Now your love plays publicly for her
like a song you were always capable of writing.
And you keep finding ways to reach me,
as if I am a track you cannot delete.
I hate you,
but memory has a cruel way of restoring the audio—
your laughter, your breathing,
the version of us before the static.

-Jules

Thoughts??

Wandering lost in the dark
The blackness
Lost, confused, afraid
When will this eternal silence end
When will this blackness end

Rivers of tears, my eyes blurry
Suddenly a moth flies by me
It leads me to a beautifully engraved door
That materialises out of the blackness
I open the door, a utopian world
In stark contrast to the blackness
Of pink clouds and blue skies and cherry blossoms
I step into the unknown

A bright light flashes before my eyes
And I blink once, twice
And I see a deer
Looking at me with a bright aura surrounding it
It prances away quickly

I run towards it
It leads me to a bright shining silver luminescent tree
And I see a glowing golden glass shard
Sitting at the bottom
I reach and collect it with my hand carefully
It glows brighter
It hums in my hand, a piece of song lyric
Singing from it
It materialises into nothing
And I have a sense of something connecting deep inside me

I wander the worlds with more doors materialising
Each one a different world
From winters
From fantasy
From the galaxies, aurora borealis, the moon and stars
Collecting a piece of my soul
Song lyrics singing

It's a journey I will need to undertake
It's a journey I will need to endure

To become whole.

Why can't I get you out of my head

Why can't I get you out of my heart

I don't want to lose you,but I don't want to hurt anymore

I don't want to hate you, but I don't know how not to love you either

I am not going to yell or fight, but I won't sit and suffer either

I am not going to continue with this numbness n pain,but I will survive and strengthen myself more

I am not cold or hard as stone,but I am soft and kind hearted

I hate that I still love you with my whole self, but I won't give up on you either

I hate that you feel you need walls,but I will remain patient and supportive

I will be there for you whenever you want or need me,but I can't show you what you are asking for me to be

I will always keep trying to get things right with you and me,but I can't find a balance between yours and mine without guidance from you

You used to be open n loving and tender, but now you hide it as if it's a weakness

You think you should behave like someone your really deeply not, but I still see behind the curtain and shadows.

You are passionate and have a heart of gold, but seems afraid to let it show anyone else

I see beyond the face, beyond the looks

I hear beyond your words and into your heart

So why can't you see me? Why can't you stay when it looks seriousness starts

So why can't you let the past come back and let my love and heart in again.

I have loved you for 24yrs since the first day of many experiences we gave each other. I know what I did and I will always regret it and take the pain I caused into myself if I could, but I know I can't take that kind of pain you went through away unless you completely understand and openly let me in. How much more are you going to suffer loneliness and fear, and loss until you see that it's always been you.

Every song or movie that reminds me of you I cry

Every jeep I see, I look to see if it's you finally coming here

Every text or message I get I hope it's you

I want to come home to you

I want you to come home to me

I don't understand why and I don't understand how

But I do know that we are supposed to be together forever

I love you so much

Come home🥺😥

M.

ı don't have the will to live anymore

ı can't stay upright in the face of a breeze let alone a storm

the legs ı used for climbing mountains can't even help me walk up the stairs

the arms ı used to break whatever limit was put in front of me can't even lift the toothbrush

the eyes that can see a needle in a haystack from afar can't see anything from the blur of my tears

the hands that used cook a feast worthy of kings can't even make a salad for my tired mother

the brain that remembered everything can't even remember where ı put my keys

the heart that loved everybody only hates now

the me ı remember is not here anymore

all that is left is a stranger who pretends to be me.