Escaping from work loads and pressure
Gasping for some fresh air and beautiful melody
I listen to the gurgling of water
The whispering of wind
The rustling of leaves
The chirping of worms
And all these commotion and sound of nature
Are like the voice of God
Intimate and heartwarming, soothing and calming
Coming from heaven
Falsete and Fach
---------------------------------
octaves play a crucial
structural and
stylistic role
lowest notes fall below
the 20 Hz threshold
of human hearing and
can only be
measured with instruments
12 semitones
Sound frequencies range
from about 20 Hz to
20,000 Hz, which covers
roughly 10 distinct
octaves of audible sound
There are 7 full octaves
plus 3 extra low keys
, totaling 88 keys that
span about 7.25 octaves
------------------------------------
Mastretta De Sa' Sopranista
------------------------------------
-E per quanto riguarda le possibilità
passando a un approccio
basato sui problemi?
traditions start somewhere
doing things for a reason is
often the right thing
to do
looking toward
our goales
budgeting our endeavor
profiting
and profit sharing
to create healthy
long lasting
relationships
that are meaningful
and complimentary
-----------------------------
The aeoniums, after much care, still do not grow,
His plight is of that, oh, how he cares for the flowers,
Though I believe he does not know.
His care for every and all,
Will result in his fall,
To the void, the pit, where only regret thrives,
Where the walls that prevent us from understanding each other shall grow tall.
If I was to regret a thing I had done,
It would be the crushing of those syringas,
So that I may live, unchained by the pressure of others,
So that I could breathe freely from my lungs,
I understand, it was necessary, so I mustn't feel remorse.
But his aeoniums, they still remain,
He preserves them, in the hopes that they will bloom once more,
Though in my mind, it is clear.
They have lived far too long to bloom a second time,
If he does not let go soon, he will miss his own life.
Old numbers,
punch ‘em in.
Hang it up.
Nostalgic,
let it ring
in your head.
No pressure,
broken phone
missing keys.
Facing a blank page
Feeling the stress
Of writing a response
To your latest verse
Have to keep it positive
What can I say?
Pressure, pressure, pressure
Hurts, hurts, hurts
Under so much pressure
Pressure to do the right thing
Pressure to be something
Doing all this hard work
Just for my failures to lurk
Pressure, pressure, pressure
Crack, crack, crack
Under so much pressure
Even after all that pressure
You don't get anything better
Still the same results
Still the same faults
Pressure, pressure, pressure
I walk among a ground where life is a trend.
Yet we don’t understand where’s our beginning and our end.
The burden to be like the rest.
We all stand shoulder to shoulder duplicate.
Not proving we are all imperfect.
The pressure to keep up.
But the feeling to be distinct.
I say to myself
“Am I really who I want to be”
“Or am I a carbon copy of other souls”
These patterns are confined in a box.
But do I have a key to unlock?
Proving ourselves to be different.
Is this really the craze we mimic?
Or is it an illusion we may just dismiss?
Time will tell it all.
But for now we just follow the ball.
What happens to those emotions
that suddenly lose their way?
That was meant to be
but disappeared abruptly
by the decision taken by one!
What happens to those feelings?
Okay, the one who is not changed
tries to get back, tries to resolve,
shouts, cries, or writes poetry!
But what do the others do who take this abrupt decision?
How can they just put an end suddenly
and start not to feel those emotions from the next day?
What do they do with those emotions?
Or while leaving they gifted their own emotional baggage to the one who left behind?
and that's why the one who stays
feels heavier than before,
that they can't raise their head
and spend months just doing nothing,
confining own in a room and lying in bed
neither like a corpse, nor alive, rather half dead.
A small dent presses deep in your chest,
A heavy boulder resting rent-free on your shoulders,
Making it feel like the whole world
Quietly depends on you to breathe, to move,
to make your parents proud.
Grades pile into mountains
you are expected to climb alone.
Every choice, every test,
every website overflowing with advice,
every guide full of tips and tricks,
every failure another stone in your pack,
every success is still barely enough.
Ounces of disappointment settle in your mind,
turning sleep into a distant place
you can almost see but never reach.
Late nights stretch into staring contests
with glowing screens and endless practice questions,
Hoping, always hoping
That somehow doors will open.
Dreams of shining congratulations
And bright acceptance letters,
haunted by cold
Sorry to inform you messages.
Tears and ambitions paused
By the shrill cry of early alarms,
a race beginning again every morning
with no finish line in sight.
The universe seems to expect perfection,
so you chase it with everything you have
And quietly wonder,
If someday it will finally be enough,
or if the mountain just keeps growing.
The sea thrill and amplify the soul,
Deep, calm, rugged; don't be a fool.
Mystery kill, perhaps adventure,
Only the brave survive to shore.
The dark sea floor,
I want to explore.
Make no mistake,
Be careful not to shake.
Down under, I'm being pressured,
My greatest fear is being measured.
I crave back what light had shown,
For after this darkness, the dawn.
I'm use to darkness all along,
Till the light shown like a song.
Hearing the truth set me free,
My sighing soul is willing to see.
If I could, I surely would spend time to buy my time back.
I would bribe it away, gladly give time all time I’d saved.
To hush time’s clock and hurts from all it stole from me,
I’d liquidate my time bonds and time earning stocks.
From the government to bread, false doctrine is fed
that time is for growing dimes to elsewhere bestow.
My soul longs for remote, a dwelling simple, a garden
ample, breathing without time strangling or mangling.
As time's slave, I must behave when it ends deep sleep
to summon me, ‘up, press and stress you working pawn.'
I sold time's possible joys when I enrolled in the goals
of a two-car-mortgage-anxiety-variety-cargo show.
Raised to believe responsibility was the surest path
to fulfilment availability, I neglected my own math.
I didn't try a pencil but hopped traditional boxed squares
and one by one I landed on time squares aloof, never fair.
Time gave my baby’s first “I love you” away at daycare,
a vague recipient, like the vague I paid causing the incident.
Time given that I might prosper fostered so much lack that
if I could, I surely would spend time to buy my time back.
pressure
you said
i was too much
too many questions
too many feelings
too many where is this goings
you said i was pressuring you
like love was something
i kept forcing into your hands
so i apologized
for wanting clarity
for wanting effort
for wanting to know
i mattered
i made myself smaller
quieter
easier to keep
but no one talks about
the pressure you placed on me
the pressure to wait
without asking why
the pressure to understand
without being understood
the pressure to accept
half-love
and call it patience
you wanted freedom
without consequences
attention
without commitment
and somehow
my need to feel secure
became the problem
you said i pushed too hard
but you were the one
asking me to stay
while giving me reasons
to leave
and now i see it —
i wasn’t pressuring you
i was just tired
of being pressured
to pretend
almost was enough.
Slowly the pressure I put on myself is killing me
Slowly I am losing it
Aiming for perfection something I simply cannot reach
Looking at everyone expecting the best
The pressure i put on myself slowly killing me
Slowly im losing my mind
Something that I love but is killing me at the same time
Like a drug,I crave it and I have to have it no matter what
Slowing I'm losing it
Slowly the world's expectations crush me
Slowly the world's in my head are getting louder
Slowly I'm losing it
Slowly my mind is leaving me
Its like a drug I can never quit
I crave it
The tears held back through a smile
This is the life I choose to live
Preforming for others,losing it behind closed doors
I am killing myself
Killing myself for perfection
For my own expectations
The pressure is like a drug
A drug I refuse to ever quit
A drug thats I crave soo much
I've different shades of displeasure.
These are my colours when least impressed.
I glow when I'm fuming.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
This land was never gentle.
Stone learned early
how to stay.
Wind learned
how to strike
and keep moving.
Some places raise
what survives
weeds through concrete,
trees bent low
by wire, by smoke,
roots gripping
whatever depth will hold.
Rain does not ask.
It falls where it can,
finds cracks,
makes a way
through ruin.
Fire passes.
It always does.
What remains is quieter
blackened ground,
green waiting,
the work beneath
still happening.
Even scarred earth
keeps going
ash becoming cover,
pressure becoming shape,
learning how to stand.
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