I remember I fell through that wooden floorboard.
I was careless where I stepped, and the weight of my mistake made me fall right through.
I remember the embarrassment I felt... it nearly broke my self-esteem.
I can hear them use their traitorous tongues.
I remember I walked carefully over those wooden floorboards.
I see their eyes glare and hear the whispers of people who judge me for treading so cautiously.
I am wary of what they are saying. ..of what they may think.
I walk confidently around that wooden floor.
I am aware of their judgements and their hateful glares.
I don't care what they think.
I no longer have to tread so carefully.
I can run free.
I remember...
i remember the day
i saw my belle.
stood before a great glass window
and oh, she was pretty.
young eyes, innocent cheeks,
one little, beautiful heart.
my glass belle,
whole,
smiling right back at me.
carried carefully
everywhere i went.
she's a delicate one, my belle is.
if my belle were simply older,
she would be worn at the edges.
but no -
broken is the little glass doll inside of me.
hurled,
dropped,
hammered.
and now, all that remains are shards.
and yet, i prize every shard.
especially those that make me bleed -
those that will never heal -
i will cherish those for eternity.
A poignant poem exploring deep themes of grief, disillusionment, and spiritual exhaustion.
Capturing a transition from seeking affection to a total withdrawal into solitude.
The speaker rejects passion—symbolized by replacing the color red with black—and surrenders to a profound weariness with their past existence.
The gothic imagery, such as swaying grief clocks and blackbirds, enhances the melancholic atmosphere of a journey permanently ended.
(A lone voice whispers)
And so like before love came
I return to my lonely home
Seeking no longer to atone
As my world suddenly stops
A new strange refuge where blackbirds now play as grief sad clocks sway
While my spirit guides come out to mourn
Dressed in black as in
They are re-swown
No more will I seek love to be adored - for now my only crimson ship has been moored
And love is now forever dead
Black is my new colour not red
So please forgive me Lord
But to truly live in happiness
I no longer horde
For of that old life
I'm now
Bored
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
She walked into the room without any word, and with familiars eyes staring through her whispering a silent, "Why "?
And then walked past every mirror, hoping her reflection somehow change, become lighter figure.
A little more acceptable to a world that taught to fade when they were born to be seen?
And then she think why did society neglected the darker kids with a fade figure?
Then she stopped and looked at herself.
"I'm beautiful in every way. "
I'm just beautiful in the way I carry myself, ln the way I stand
In the way i represent my self without asking permission to take up space.
Brown skin are natural Tan
Glows with the every kiss the sun leaves upon me.
And my thick hair it is my mink coat, a crown of richness not everyone can afford .
I am the girl
Who learned to love her reflection, the girl who turned her scars into petals _
And the strongest flowers and the ones that“bloom through every season”
like the rock for the centipede
or the shell for the hermit
take refuge under the moon
as the world goes quiet.
with silence like a serpent
taking shelter from the wet ground
anchor in gratitude
for the day that was had.
amidst your silenced tongue
there are sentences waiting to be spoken.
amongst your alienated adversities
awaits acceptance.
It was 10:35, August 21
I woke up, and through the window
The rain gone, there's only the sun
I love the rain, I've been loving sorrow,
Perhaps, I'm done for things undone,
And there's nothing really to do
But face my own new year through.
The street was long, endless really
My sweat drew maps on my shirt
The street was long, leading nowhere simply,
All in all, below the asphalt is earth
Despite the wails of motorcycles and cars
Sooner now, I'll be back to the stars.
For now the flowers still smile a smile,
But the food have become tasteless
All that remains of what Time defiled
Sooner too, they'll wilt, in baselessness
Continuing anyway for one more mile
As there's nothing to do, more or less.
The sea wind welcomes me
Like a woman's hand on my hair.
Years drift to the limited continuity
I laughed because I could not despair.
With a pudding in my hand, no sorry
For the sunset falling over me.
Aug. 21, 2026
The Depot
The morning sun begins to peek,
my shaking knees are feeling weak.
With heavy baggage in my hand,
it takes my strength to simply stand.
I am so numb the silence roars,
I have survived my endless wars.
Gazing at the train platform
remnants of the passing storm.
The grass glistens in the breaking sun
oblivious to the battle won.
Crowds disperse, the platform clears,
the whistle echoes in my ears.
To be alone at last, I breathe,
I'm taking in the autumn breeze.
My first steps forward, timid ones,
the light of day finally comes.
For I'm unsure what lies ahead,
will they love me now, wish me dead.
It matters none from here on in,
I fought the war, I fought the sin.
My body's weak but I am home,
my weary soul will cease to roam.
Debra
I want to be loved
without words or response,
to be held
in respect and sweet nonchalance.
Oh, to be seen
by the wounds on my heart,
understood
the way one understands art.
I want to be touched
the way paper meets pen,
gently written on
again and again.
I want to be sheltered
like a bulletproof vest—
to have a place
where I can finally rest.
I want to belong
like a fish in the sea.
I want to be wanted
for simply being me.
Tie-Dye in July
Everyone has different colors inside them,
and they express them differently.
Personally, mine would be:
Red for love,
Blue for sadness,
Yellow for happiness,
Purple for dreams,
Black for pain,
Green for growth.
See, when people only see the outside,
they create theories and make a whole story
and start judging other people by their color—
not only their color,
but the story they create about who they are.
Sometimes I just wish people would get to really know a person,
so much that everyone’s colors could combine
and make a big rainbow,
so that we could all put our differences together
and make something beautiful.
Even the people judging have colors inside.
Everyone has different colors,
and they express them differently.
Don’t Judge the Cover of My Book
Females
If I gain a little weight, I am too much or fat.
If I get too skinny, I am not enough.
If I wear makeup, you say, “Be natural.”
If I stay natural, you say, “Ugly.”
No matter what I do is wrong to someone.
Men
If I show emotions, I’m soft.
If I’m just nice, I’m trying too hard.
If I don’t, I’m dirty.
If I talk a lot, I’m annoying.
If I stay quiet, I’m weird.
If I focus on school, I’m boring.
If I don’t, I’m dumb.
If I trust people, I get played.
If I don’t, I’m hard to deal with.
No matter what I do is wrong to someone.
Society
The internet rules, judging us humans by the cover of our books,
but are not reading the chapters inside.
I mean, why?
Why do we judge our people by race,
our hair or face,
how we act
and how we don’t act?
You’re over here wondering why I can’t be myself,
because if I act like you, I am cool,
but if I act like me, I am weird.
I go down now, thinking about my life
Thinking about how it could not suffice
My greed, my boundless wants
and all of my empty flaunts.
As the endless sea pulls me down
I wonder upon my death, will anyone break down?
Were my relations honest or were they false?
I believe I'll never know, as death and I perform a waltz.
I cannot tell what waits ahead of me
but I hope it's peace and serenity.
Accept me as I am
Not as you want
The Worst Grief
I believe the worst grief you can feel,
Is the grief you feel for people that hurt you.
You paint pictures of all people in your mind.
But pain dealt to you doesn’t give you time to paint into that picture.
Pain taints your oils, your pigments and acrylics.
And the portrait is distorted,
Burned and burdened with blood spilled out of your own fingers.
But in the rearview you can’t see those smaller smears.
You see the face of the person you cared about one day and an age ago.
The poison only shows back up when you back up —
Take a closer look into that painting.
Its an optical illusion,
Occlusion clouding conscious thought.
That one last “I should text him.” Or that one last “he’s better now, surely.”
You built up walls to keep them out.
So why do we keep opening the gate when they come back?
I built an altar in my mind, for wisdom rare,
For kindness shared.
Your words were scripture,your gaze divine.
I bowed to a light I thought was mine.
I carried your lessons, carved them deep.
A disciple’s faith, a vow to keep.
But in your eyes I was a weight,
An afterthought, a twist of fate.
My reverence met with cold disdain,
Devotion answered by quiet pain.
You were the sun, I was the dust.
I gave you worship, you gave mistrust.
The god I saw was flesh and bone,
And gods can leave you all alone.
So I learned that idols fall apart,
And faith can fracture the tender heart.
The mentor I raised upon the sky,
Saw me as nothing, and let me die.
The New Favorite
She looks great in my clothes, atleast that's what everybody says,
Like I wasn't the reason they noticed them in the first place.
She laughs with all my friends like she's always belonged,
I hate that she fits in so fast where it took me so long.
She wears my sweater like she's discovered something rare,
And I spend the whole night pretending I don't care.
She says the same things I used to and somehow they sound brand new,
But maybe everything hits different when it's not coming from you.
And I hate the girl I become whenever she walks in,
Like confidence is something only one of us can win.
And maybe that's the difference that took me years to learn,
She's wearing what I wore, but she can't be the person that i am.
I've spent so long worrying that she's going to take everything from me, that I forgot the one thing she can never have: the person I became because of it.
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