He Was a Child Once, Too
He was a child once, too—
before the dusk outgrew the dawn,
before his little hands knew
how much a heart could carry on.
A face once lived beyond his sight,
then slipped away from memory’s light;
and childhood, like a fading tune,
grew quiet beneath a borrowed moon.
He became a roof in someone’s rain,
a little warmth against their pain;
he gave his flame so others could see,
while darkness kept a place for him silently.
He wore the years like a borrowed coat,
kept every storm inside his throat;
and though the world saw strength in him,
I know the child still lives within.
To me, that man is not merely strong—
he is the real hero of my life.
I love you, Abu.
— Zehreen
you live still
in the blurred polaroids of my mind—
your face dissolving into silver,
mine into someone i cannot quite find.
i loved you once
with the fervour of an unwritten psalm,
and though the wanting has gone quiet,
the love still lingers, warm.
perhaps i miss you;
perhaps i miss the girl who loved you—
the softer version of myself
that time, like winter, outgrew.
we both became strangers
to the people we once knew,
yet i keep your photographs
the way old libraries keep books
whose endings they already knew.
i do not wish to have you again,
nor become who i was before—
i only wish i could tell that girl
she was worth loving, even more.
so let the polaroids remain blurred;
some things are kinder without view—
for sometimes, loving what we lost
means learning to love
who we became too.
we used to be inseparable,
childhood best friends who did everything together
going to each others houses, sleepovers and midnight snacks
crying together, laughing together, telling each other everything
they told us these bonds are special, never to be broken and to last a lifetime
they told us to treasure these moments because they wouldn’t come again
not us we said, we would never watch the distance grow
our friendship could never fade! right?
i get it you want other friends
so do i, we’re only human
it’s okay, we need some time apart
no worries, we don’t have to meet each other that often
i understand, we don’t have to tell each other everything
was i really that replaceable?
forgettable, disposable, expendable?
was i just the one before her?
a way to pass the time until she came along?
just a phase you outgrew or a means to an end?
12 years of friendship and somehow it’s all reduced to this,
when did i become just another memory?
when did i become so easy to leave behind?
i was a small chapter in your story,
but you were my entire book
I walked into a fire
that wasn’t made of flame,
a blaze of doubt and longing
that called me by my name.
It rose from buried questions,
from truths I tried to hide,
from all the dreams I’d quieted
to keep the peace inside.
Its heat was forged of choices,
of paths I didn’t take,
of moments when my courage
fell silent for my sake.
The sparks were old assumptions,
the smoke was worn-out fear,
and every crackling ember
said, You’re meant to stand right here.
I felt it burn around me,
yet nothing turned to ash;
instead the fire revealed me
in one bright, searing flash.
It stripped away the shadows,
the stories I outgrew,
and left me with a fierceness
I never knew I knew.
For metaphorical fire
does not arrive to break~
it comes to heal, to melt the boundaries
we never meant to make.
And when its heat has softened
the walls we built in vain,
with faith we step out of the furnace
more whole than we remain.
Noone asks the glass
how many times it was broken
before it learned to hold the light
blue for the mornings
I almost gave up
glad for the small joys
that found me anyway
green for the places
I outgrew in silence
red for the words
I never read aloud
from far away
it looks whole
closer
you can see every crack
where something sharp
once passed through
yet, the sun enters
still. the room is changing
still, the darkness turns bright
in the quiet air
and shadows soften
where the colors fall
maybe this is how healing starts
not as a perfect pane
clear and unscathed
but as pieces gathered
after shattering
each one holding color
each one remembering its pain
each one gives back light
in a shape
only the wounded
could make beautiful
and when the evening comes
the colors don't fade away
they wait quietly in the shadows
like someone holding her breath
until the morning sun finds them
and they shine once again
Victoria D
'What's With The Box'
05/04/2026
I open a cardboard of memories
dust breathes from sealed corners
each shoe a version of me
names I outgrew still whisper
time folded like worn paper
I am inventory of selves
the box remembers what I forgot
but it is empty when I look inside
We walked through Woods, side by side,
you told me everything you kept inside,
I held it all, didn’t let you fall,
I cared too much… you barely at all.
You laughed with me, I fell for you,
you kept it light, I thought it was true,
I gave you love, without a break,
you gave me warnings I didn’t take.
You said “don’t fall,” I fell anyway,
you said “this won’t last,” I chose to stay,
you called it “karmic,” kept it small,
like what we had meant nothing at all.
Was I just someone who made it easier?
Someone's bandage when life got heavier?
You felt better, then let me go,
like I was something you used and outgrew.
You moved on fast, like I was fine,
like I didn’t cross every line,
you said “just friends,” like it’s okay,
but I lost myself along the way.
Now you’re at peace, and I’m still here,
stuck with the weight you left this year,
so call it “karmic,” call it what you need,
but deep inside, it’s clear to see,
it wasn’t karmic… at least for me.
You can talk behind my back, decide what's false or true,
but the truth is I'm unbothered that you watch my every move.
I'll rise until I'm everything you wanted but outgrew,
and you'll just keep watching, knowing I became the best without you.
Say what you want about me, I'll keep shining all the same,
you can talk forever while I elevate my name.
If my light feels blinding, I won't wish your vision burns,
but I'll pass you sunglasses, love, so you can watch and learn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We bury our ghosts in shoeboxes~
photographs curling at the edges,
a ticket stub from a train
that no longer runs.
Remember how the air smelled
when we were twelve?
Like cut grass and gasoline,
Remember the tin-can laughter
of bicycles tipping into dusk.
Now the past is a bruise
we press just to feel
the sweet ache of color~
your mother’s voice
stitched into the static
of an old answering machine,
the way the porch light
swayed in a storm,
casting shadows that danced
like the people we thought
we’d become.
Does time heal or does
it just layer the wound
with softer things:
the weight of a cat
long since buried,
the exact blue of a sweater
you outgrew by spring.
We kneel in the attic,
sifting through what’s left~
not relics, but proof
that we were here once,
loud and unafraid,
before the world
whittled us into silence.
Once I realized how much we are the same,
Feelings and impressions suddenly came
To the forefront of my own deeper awareness,
And then I recollected our bond's sacredness.
I see the traits of me nobody ever appreciated.
I see similarities to me in you, but understated.
I see what I would be like if not for my old pain.
I am remembering who I'm meant to be, again.
You see within me a certain kind of woman,
But I am slowly reprogramming till I know I can
Be that person both of us have been missing.
I am just finally realizing, processing, healing.
You're my ideal man, but I see a little boy too.
I feel your wounds that you somehow outgrew.
I show you my inner child and true character,
So you know you're never alone in any matter.
Snowfall drifts softly in the quiet of dawn,
a whisper reminding me that some seasons are gone.
Each flake on my lashes dissolves like a sigh,
reminding my heart it's allowed to untie.
I release what once warmed me,
the love I outgrew,
not bitter, not broken, just honest and true.
The past settles gently in blankets of white,
a memory now fading in winter's soft light.
And ahead lies a landscape untouched and unknown,
a path without footprints, a world of my own.
The future invites me with calm, open air,
a promise of something new waiting for me there.
As I step through the snowfall, letting go of the ache,
trusting the beauty of each new choice I make.
For moving isn't losing, it's learning to see,
that the unknown can be gentle, and set my heart free.
(softly)
There’s a silence that follows every maybe—
a kind of ghost that sits beside you
when everyone else has gone home.
I’ve seen people walk away
with my laughter still on their skin,
with my words still in their mouth—
as if I was a story
they outgrew too soon.
And it’s never the leaving that kills you,
no—
it’s the looking back.
Seeing yourself
in someone’s almost,
someone’s if only,
someone’s not quite.
They told me I was kind.
Gentle.
Understanding.
But not… enough.
Never the one they stayed for.
Never the name their heart whispered
when it had to choose.
(pauses)
So I learned—
sometimes love doesn’t end in betrayal.
It ends in absence.
In silence.
In someone forgetting
how it felt to hold you.
And maybe that’s my curse—
to be remembered softly,
but never kept.
To be missed quietly,
but never sought.
To be loved halfway,
but never all the way home.
(sighs)
But still…
I’d rather be the one who loved
and lost,
than the one who never felt
how deep it could go.
(pause)
Because even if love never chose me—
I still chose it.
Every time.
Sadie, my Siberian tiger outgrew her cage
seven hundred pounds, she is big for her age
we let her have the guest bedroom in the back
she spends her days playing with an old train track
How long is she staying? My husband dares to ask.
I peeked In and saw her don her favorite sleep mask
Since she is illegal, we better keep her for life
in order to reduce my jail sentence and a lot of strife.
The smoke curls slow between his teeth,
A line—sharp as a blade—hangs in the air.
He says nothing, but the silence speaks,
Rough velvet in a world that dares.
His eyes—two tired city streets,
Lit only by regret and rain.
He wore truth like a wrinkled suit,
And kissed as if to ease the pain.
I watched him burn beneath the light,
A man made wholly out of night.
Yet in his gaze, a flicker—true—
Of something lost, I almost knew.
He was the dream I never quite outgrew.
I am introspectively elucidating the concernment of tending to my inner garden and letting the soil of my soul rest, as it pertains to the echoes of transformation and tides of my becoming— searching for the moments I outgrew myself. Indeed self actualization must be sought through each era of one’s eternal voyage through the woods of self-return. In that vein I am carving a path through the wild, and thus I feed both wolves. The dark wolf who keeps me safe in the wilderness, the light wolf who keeps me from stagnation and maroonment in this liminal drift. Born of existential neurodivergence cast into in the Venetian magma pools of neurotypical calamity—both wolves tow the cosmic chariot of my entirety…
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.