r/Poems

I could sit here

And wallow in what is sad in my life

Go down the rabbit hole

As they say

But there is too much beautiful

In the world

Go outside

The sky, the trees, the flowers

I would miss it all

And it will never look the way it does today

Ever again

Just as I will never be exactly

As I am today

Ever again

So I will love the world

And I will love myself

And that love can never be taken away

I will go out there and love

Everything that will never be

Exactly the same

Somehow I think

I am choosing happy

Der Starenvogel trarida,

erschallt dem Wandersmann ganz nah,

ist am glänzen und gesprenkelt,

taucht gülden auf so für geplänkel.

So setzt sich Wandr'er eilig nieder-

und schon erklingen Vogels Lieder.

Er zwitschert klar und mit Verstand-

so dieses Gedicht erstand.

Gabriel Träger 04.04.2000

The warm water lures you in, makes you feel nice and safe.

On cold rainy days you crave the warmth of a comforting shower

once you get in you don't want to get out.

After a while you get used to the warmth and turn temperature up and up till it is too hot. But you don't notice the difference.

You'd rather be burnt than to shiver from the cold.

I’ve buried so many versions of myself
that if the earth could speak,
It would call me a graveyard with a heartbeat.

There’s a boy beneath my ribs
who used to laugh too loudly,
who believed promises were permanent,
who ran toward people
without measuring the fall.
I remember the night I killed him—
not with rage,
but with silence…
the kind that grows after being unheard
for too long.

Another version of me still lingers
in the smell of unfinished dreams—
coffee gone cold at 3 a.m.
tabs left open on a browser of “someday,”
messages typed… deleted… typed again…
never sent.
He wanted more from life,
but life wanted patience,
and he didn’t know how to wait
without breaking.

I have been a storm of almosts—
almost loved,
almost chosen,
almost enough.
Each “almost”
a quiet knife,
each disappointment
a lesson dressed like loss.

And somewhere along the way,
I learned the art of disappearing
without leaving—
sitting in rooms where my body stayed
But my soul slipped out
through the cracks of indifference.

Do you know what it costs
to become calm?

It costs the chaos you once called passion.
It costs the reckless hope
that made your chest feel alive.
It costs the version of you
who believed love would arrive loudly,
Stay gently,
and never ask you to shrink.

Now I am calm—
not because the storms stopped,
But because I became tired
of rebuilding after every flood.

I speak more softly now,
not out of peace,
But because I’ve learned
how easily voices are ignored.

I expect less,
not because I deserve less,
but because expectation
It is a fragile thing
That shatters too beautifully.

Sometimes, late at night,
When the world forgets to be loud,
I visit the ghosts of who I used to be.
We sit together in the dim light
of memories that still ache,
and they ask me,
“Was it worth it?”

And I don’t answer.

Because how do you explain
That survival feels like a victory
and a funeral
at the same time?

How do you tell them
that becoming calm
was never the goal—
it was just what remained
after everything else
was burned down?

But still…
in small, ordinary moments—
the warmth of tea in my hands,
the quiet of a sunrise nobody notices,
the way my heart still… somehow…
chooses to beat—

I find something fragile,
something stubborn,
something almost like hope.

And I realize—
Not every version of me is dead.

Some are just waiting,
patiently,
for a reason
to live again.

Like an animal, I salivate.

The beast inside is hungry. As

you graze, peeking over your

shoulder. I lay in wait, for

that perfect chance to pounce

Waiting to devour you, like

a lion with a doe. Enjoying

the pursuit. I sense your

heat like a snake. As you

move through the grass, I

give chase. Till that chance

I’m close enough to sink my

fangs and pull you close. You

fight, little help will it do.

Because I have caught you.

Like two wild animals we

Fight, In the wild.

I learned early

that girls are supposed to be soft,

easy to talk to,

pleasant enough.

I was always aware

that something inside me didn’t match.

So I watched them

and practiced becoming something close enough

to pass.

Watch the mouth.

Lift the eyebrows.

Laugh when they laugh

even if the joke lands somewhere

just out of reach.

There is a buzzing in the lights

that nobody else hears.

It is so loud.

My thoughts scatter

like dropped beads on tile.

They say I am polite,

a little weird,

but easy to talk to.

They don’t see how every word is rehearsed

three seconds before it leaves my mouth,

how my chest tightens like a fist

but I pretend it’s fine.

By the time I get home

my smile is heavy

like wet fabric.

I peel it off

with my shoes

at the door.

Sometimes I lie awake

and wonder

if there is a version of me

who moves without thinking,

who laughs without measuring it fist,

who exists

without performing

her own existence.

I am so tired.

You knew.

Don't pretend you didn't.

The moment I looked at you

from across the room,

something shifted in your chest,

some quiet rearranging,

like furniture moved in the dark,

everything in a different place

by morning.

You felt it before my hands,

before my mouth,

before a single point of contact

between your skin and mine.

You felt it in the way

I walked toward you

without hurry,

without hesitation,

like a man who had already decided

and was simply

closing the distance.

That's when you knew.

I saw it in the way you stood differently,

some unconscious preparation,

your body understanding

what your mind

was still negotiating,

your breath already

answering questions

I hadn't asked yet.

The first touch was just confirmation.

My hand at the small of your back,

barely there,

a whisper of intention,

and you leaned into it

like you'd been waiting

your entire life

for that exact pressure

in that exact place.

There.

That's the moment.

That's when mine became fact.

Not claimed by force.

Not taken.

Given.

That's the difference.

You offered that lean,

that involuntary surrender,

that soft collapse

toward something that finally

felt like certainty.

I traced your jaw

and you closed your eyes

before I arrived,

trusting the direction of me,

trusting what was coming,

and that trust

that extraordinary,

fragile,

devastating trust

is the most intimate thing

you ever gave me.

More than the body.

More than the night.

The closed eyes.

The leaning in.

The yes before the asking.

You knew in the quiet

before my mouth found yours,

in that suspended moment

where the whole room

held its breath,

where time did that thing

it only does

in the space between

almost

and finally.

And when I kissed you,

it wasn't a beginning.

It was a homecoming.

Two people arriving somewhere

they recognized

without ever having been.

You were mine in the looking.

Mine in the walking toward.

Mine in the closed eyes

and the lifted chin

and the breath you forgot to keep.

The first touch

didn't make you mine.

It simply said

out loud

what your body

had already been

whispering

from the moment

you felt me

decide you.

And you've been mine

in every silent moment

since.

Life is just so beautiful to constantly live life dreading on unfortunate circumstances and choices that are out of our control.

Life and people are disappointing. We can be better for each other! But as humans we’re getting worse at social and personal interactions. What happened to just talking. I reminisced the simpler days. Uncomplicated technology. Simple.

If Life gave u lemons well hell fuck make some good ass lemonade and if that shit is still sour then pour a lot of fkn sugar in that mthkfr.

Stop complaining, u don’t like something or someone then change it, stop it with the tantrums, Stop being scared! Stop limiting yourself!

Take risks or u will never experience life.

Don’t run at the first sign of trouble. Face ur fears and strengths head on head high, feet well planted and with a lil humility…. And so life goes on….

And u know what the Heart has a way of rebuilding itself. refilling those ventricles; pumping with warm, viscous blood trying to regenerate itself from every ache; just to find* *itself again broken & In Love Again.

“Life is Beautiful “

Title: Cream

Subtitle: To be the thing you need

Crushing beneath feet;

Utter barbwire…

My back is strung—

A baby’s song—

Ripping in with its

Teeth.

Basking long—

On the sun.

An ode to be the cream.

O’ to-be the

Dream.

An ode to be the cream;

—

O’ to be with thee.

And so you stick in me,

Pulling apart from me—

My own skin.

Your scarlet tongue,

Slides beneath;

A burning song,

Bubbling beneath—

The meat.

An ode to be the cream.

Rise to where we greet;

And take your sip from me—

Take your fill of me.

An ode to be the cream.

—

O’ to be with thee,

O’ to be with thee,

O’ to be with thee.

O’ to be the cream.

​

The air is cool and the moon is bright,

and I find myself walking again at night.

long, purposeful strides, head held high,

as if chasing something I can’t quite name

beneath this open sky.

I should be sleeping,

the world insists on it,

clocks whisper it,

windows go dark to prove it

but instead I am here,

breathing in the quiet,

letting the night breathe me back.

my only company,

the soft-eyed cats

slipping like shadows through the streets,

keepers of secrets I’ll never know,

silent witnesses

to the restless and the undone.

my body movessteady, certain,

a rhythm carved into pavement,

while my mind, for once,

loosens its grip,

unclenches its endless need to hold.

it wanders.

it drifts through all I carry:

the things I need to do,

the things I want to do,

the fragile, flickering dreams

I’m almost afraid to touch.

it turns to the past,

not as a prison,

but as a teacher,

pages worn soft with memory,

lessons etched in quiet scars,

moments that shaped me

without asking permission.

it brushes against the present,

alive, electric, breathing,

a heartbeat I take for granted,

hidden in plain sight,

waiting for me to notice

that I am already here.

and then it reaches forward,

toward the future,

a horizon not yet written,

bright with possibility,

soft with hope,

wide enough to hold

every version of who I might become.

but right now,

none of those places claim me.

not the past,

not the future,

not even the noise of now.

there is only this:

my legs moving,

my breath steady in the cool air,

the moon watching without judgment,

the quiet stretching out

like something sacred.

and for a moment,

just a moment,

I am not who I was,

or who I need to be,

or who I am trying to become.

I am simply a soul in motion,

unburdened,

unrushed,

alive in the night.

Lilies

Beautiful flowers that live in harmony and beauty—shall you let me adore it? ‘Tis the day I stare endlessly into the might of your bountiful elegance.

Flowers, plants, and trees all have beauty. A truth that deserves to be acknowledged and cared for—perhaps that will be my sole purpose.

To be careless—is to be heartless… and I cannot bear either. Every minute detail in life deserves the utmost care—including plants.

My life will be filled with achievements of my own accord, not one of a sea of regrets. The world’s beauty comes in a multitude of ways—may it be rocks, air, or the very essence of life—none shall be treated with disregard.

In the end—I ask myself if my devotion is misplaced. Do I have the answer? I have naught. What should I do in the end…

I’ll consume everything that you are. I’ll know your needs before you do. There is nothing I won’t have knowledge of, no stone unturned.

I will wrap around you like leather and velvet, strangling every ounce of attention and love I can possibly receive, and yet it’s what you fell in love with. But now you don’t desire me to swallow up everything that you are.

I thought you would be the light to my dark, a candle, a flicker, something that I can wrap my darkness around and truly love, to keep your beautiful flame alive. Now I am unsure. I don’t believe I am what you need or want.

I was always a monster, born from my surroundings. How could I not be? A healthy monster, but a monster no less. A Frankenstein stitched together from every negative thing that has affected me so deeply.

I showed you my lining, where I was held at the seams, and reached into my chest, handing you my heart with love dripping from my hands. And you stifled the beauty of what I was to you.

Now I sit in my abyss, waiting, hoping that maybe someone will fall. And when they do, they won’t be afraid to be swallowed up by me.

Your monster.

Relationships are ruined by deliberate choices we make.

Choices you had every power not to make.

Actions that shouldn't require a second thought,

since loyalty should have been your only path.

To suffer a consequence is a lesson; to betray a trust is a choice.

### The Costume of "Fine"

I wake in the panic, the cold, and the gray,

And I reach for the face that I’ll wear for the day.

I strap on the "steady," I bolt on the "strong,"

And I hum a few bars of a popular song.

I check in the mirror, I calibrate "good," To act like a man in the way that I should.

It’s a specialized armor, a chrome-plated skin, To hide the disaster that’s howling within.

I talk about "tuning," I talk about "drive,"

To prove to the public that I am alive.

But the smiles phantom, a flickering light, A ghost of the father who died in the night.

It’s exhausting to balance the weight and the grin, While the "4" and the "3" are still pounding within.

I’m a high-speed machine with a hollowed-out core, A soldier who’s already finished the war.

But if I should drop it, the silence will come,

The "shock" and the "selfish" will make them all numb.

So I play out the role, I’m the lead in the play, While I’m counting the seconds and wishing away— The light and the voices, the "how have you been?"

Until I am back in the shadows again.

I’ll take off the costume, I’ll unbolt the mask, And finish the lonely and terrible task—

Of being the man who has nothing to say,

Except for the name that I whisper and pray.

The mask is for them, but the silence is mine, A border that’s drawn on a very thin line.

if you made it this far the "4" was my daughters last heart beats and "3" was her final breathes before the most souls crushing silence imaginable, would love your feedback🫰🏼

Still,

there is a body of water

with your name already in it-

the cold,

going under,

surface,

& the world begins again.

-

You are going to swim.

-

& you arrived

do you know what that means?

you were the reason someone made it

& that someone is me

the worst nights of my life

passed by & I grew despite it-

that wasn’t luck

something was arranging

the timing

your warm, calloused hands

your heart

your willingness to show up

-

inside yourself you know the

timing counted

that is the shape of a life that matters

-

Walk with love

with your whole chest wide open

your feet know where they’re going

even when the path is unclear

your tribe is written on your very spirit

their love is written on your brow-

you are walking toward them &

they are walking to you,

always;

the world is lining up.

-

You are loved

not carefully

not portioned

not leftover

figments of the imagination

loved like a room filled to brim

with light

there is someone there

who has kept the door open

just in case

-

& for what it’s worth-

I have plans layed out in my mind for you

that require you to be

alive

&

very,

very,

present.

-

skin & sheets & no reason to rush,

every part of you

every part of me

finally home.

-

Caleb, I promise you won’t have

to swim this alone.

We live in a land of excess,

where shelves overflow

and lights never dim,

where abundance hums so loudly

it drowns out the quiet voice of need.

Here, hunger is rare,

at least the kind you can see.

It’s not the stomach that aches,

but something deeper,

something harder to name.

Only the poorest among us

still speak the language of necessity,

counting what must be had

instead of what might be wanted.

And even then,

some have wandered into that place

chasing fleeting highs,

trading tomorrow for a moment’s fire,

mistaking intoxication for freedom,

excitement for purpose.

But not all.

Some arrive there through storms

they never summoned,

through hands life dealt unfairly

and they remind us

that not all lack is chosen.

Still, most of us,

most of us are full.

Full of things,

full of options,

full of distractions.

We stopped asking, "What do I need?"

and start asking, "What do I want next?"

A new place to go.

A faster car to drive.

A bigger house to fill

with things we won’t remember buying.

We chase shimmering bobbles

that catch the light for a moment

before they vanish in our hands,

and we call that living.

But somewhere along the way

we lost sight of the deeper hunger.

Because what we need

cannot be purchased or displayed.

We need growth,

the kind that reshapes the soul,

that demands discomfort,

that carves wisdom from failure.

We need purpose,

a reason to rise

that is stronger than habit,

a meaning that outlives pleasure.

And above all,

we need something eternal,

something that anchors us

when everything else drifts.

We need grace

to soften what has hardened,

to forgive what lingers,

to remind us we are more

than our worst moments.

We need God,

not as an idea we visit

when it’s convenient,

but as a presence we live with,

a quiet compass pointing us home.

Because in a land of excess,

it is still possible to be empty.

And in all this plenty,

the greatest loss

is not what we lack,

but what we’ve stopped

searching for.

I love the way we communicate

I love its rhythm

I love its words

I love the way we go deeper

Deeper than words

To say something without saying it

To be creative in our speech

Living the ways we speak

For our conversation is like a dance

The sweet synchronization

The matching of our moods and words

I love how words pour from us like soft gentle music

Poetic friendships are the deepest

Poetic friendships are the purest

Such a classy way to communicate

Won’t you join me in this beautiful charade ?

These wonderful word plays?

Let’s write together

Let’s dance together

Let’s write and share the music of our souls .

Systems Thinker

Well digger

Penny for your thought

When all is said and done

It will not be for nought

-Phoenix Hope Dawn

​

### The Luxury of the Lie

I’ll keep it on, the polish and the steel,

Because the mask is the only thing "real."

It’s a costume of "capable," "sturdy," and "fine," A place where the shadows don't cross every line.

When I’m wearing the grin, I can almost believe, That I’m not just a ghost who is starting to grieve.

I’ll talk about horsepower, I’ll talk about gears, To muffle the "4" and the "3" in my ears.

The illusion is kind, like a flicker of light,

A temporary truce in the middle of fight.

I can look at the world and I’ll see it as bright, As long as I never go home for the night.

But the key turns the lock and the armor comes down, And I’m back in the silence of "empty" and "brown."

The reality hits like a cold, iron door, And I’m counting the "three" and the "four" on the floor.

The mask was a mercy, a brief little breath,

Before I’m back home in the shadow of death.

I’d rather stay masked, I’d rather be "fake,"

Than feel every bone in my body just break.

The truth is a mountain, the lie is a plain,

Where I’m not just a father who’s losing his brain.

So I’ll bolt it back on with the first morning sun, And act like the battle has already been won.