personal growth
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I feel the rush of anxiety,Adrenaline floods to my head.It sweeps me off my feet,And tosses me onto cloud 10.My head swoons into a merry-go-round spin,A fast-forward of memories that areUnreliable, unerasable, and irreplaceable.I lose grip.Upside down, I watch the sun rise behind our mountain’s climb,Then: Nothing.And I lay motionlessWith weak knees and weak ankles,Swept…
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My love, I write what I can’t say,With hands that ache for you,For fate has placed you far away,Yet love still makes it through. I’d give the years I have to spend,The breath inside my chest,To be your home, your road, your end,The place your heart could rest. But some lives draw a crueler line,Where…
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Pride can build a masterpiece, or it can become the very thing that destroys the hands that created it. This poem explores the line between healthy pride in one’s work and the parasite that feeds on ego, taking everything until nothing remains but itself.
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People speak of strength with tightened fists,And of battles proudly won.As though the measure of a manIs all that he has done. I’ve walked those dark and lonely roads,Paved by rage and pride.I’ve felt what happens to a heartWhen mercy is denied. I’ve trained these hands through countless yearsTo answer pain with pain.I’ve watched one…
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When darkness finds my weary eyes,The ghosts return once more.They walk the halls I cannot leave,And knock upon my door. They wear the faces time preserved,The ones I cannot save.They speak without a single word,From every silent grave. Some came from nights I called my home,Where fear became my guide.A child who learned that some…
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I built these walls from promises I could not keep.Worn photographs still linger in forgotten drawers.I have stood on both sides of goodbye long enough to know its language.Love found me four times and left carrying pieces of my name.Like broken glass, some wounds were given and some were earned. All these years later, I…
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I do not fear my darkness. I respect it. I have not conquered it, nor do I believe that is possible. I have accepted it as part of myself that was once necessary. A part forged through survival. A part born from fear, pain, violence, and protection. Pretending it does not exist would be dishonest.…
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There’s something about sleep lately that feels more like survival than rest. My body sleeps, but my mind remains in a battlefield—stuck in the endless cycle of nightmares, adrenaline, and anxiety. And when I wake up, there’s no peace waiting for me—just another kind of war. Anxiety has become a shadow I carry, a weight…
Ink & Shadows: The Words of Osiris j Reapor 