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Tebshem Strong Poem
I wake each morning with the ghost of yesterday,
Its cold breath on my neck,
Its weight on my chest.
The dawn feels like a mockery,
Another day to relive what I couldn’t forget.
I love you—
Not the way poets write about love,
But in the way a drowning man loves air.
I’ve worshipped the ground you walk on,
Held your every word like scripture,
But somewhere along the way,
Your love became a prison,
And I can’t find the key.
You say I’ve wronged you,
That I always do.
But your wounds are never alone—
You craft them from things I don’t remember,
Moments twisted by time and guilt,
Moments I can’t defend myself against.
You detonate the past like a bomb,
And I’m left picking through the rubble,
Wondering how I became the villain in this story.
You say, "No one listens to me."
But I hear you.
I hear you even in the silence,
Even when your words are knives,
Even when they cut deep and leave me wondering
If I’m bleeding, or if I’m already bled dry.
You call my darkness a choice,
As if I could simply cast it off—
Like an old coat, like a bad dream.
But this shadow is stitched to my skin,
It clings to my bones,
It is me.
And yet, I am always there for you,
Always the shore to your storm,
Always the hand that lifts you when you fall.
But in the stillness of my own pain,
I stand alone.
I have been your mirror, your reflection,
But now I am fading,
A ghost in your life,
A shadow of the man I once was.
My world spins around your needs,
My days are measured by your happiness,
And I’m lost somewhere in the cracks,
Between your joy and my silence.
I love you—
I do,
But I need to be heard.
I need to be seen,
Not as a villain,
Not as your salvation,
But as a man—
Flawed, broken, and aching to be whole.
But you never listen.
Not really.
You only hear the echoes that suit you,
The words that bend to your will.
And I am left here,
In the quiet aftermath,
Haunted by all the things I’ll never say.
Copyright © Tebshem Strong | Year Posted 2024
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Details |
Tebshem Strong Poem
A Star Adrift
In the quiet of a shadowed room,
A man sat still, wrapped in gloom.
His hands were clenched, his shoulders low,
A heart weighed down by life’s cruel blows.
Fear lived in him, a constant chain,
A phantom’s whisper, a steady pain.
He reached for hands, for aid, for light,
But found no rescue in the night.
“Why,” he asked, “do I give my care,
To faces that vanish when I’m laid bare?”
The answers never came, just the weight,
Of promises broken, of endless fate.
The days stretched long, the nights grew cold,
And still, he carried a story untold.
Each laugh he tried was hollow, bare,
Each tear turned stone, too heavy to share.
Anger stirred, a quiet flame,
Its embers called him, whispered blame.
“Let us guide, let us consume,
Burn what binds and end the gloom.”
Yet even rage could not suffice,
To thaw the man now turned to ice.
He hated himself for feeling this way,
For losing the man he’d dreamed to portray.
He loved his children, their laughter’s tune,
A fleeting warmth beneath the moon.
He loved a friend, whose steady hand,
Anchored him in shifting sand.
He loved his family, though love ran cold,
A thread worn thin, frayed and old.
An ocean stood between his cries,
And the people he’d once idolized.
He turned to love, but love turned sharp,
A mirror reflecting every scar.
“Stay silent, stay small,” they’d say,
“Don’t stir the storm; drift away.”
And so, he did, though his heart would scream,
A muted echo of a broken dream.
He gave, he served, he stood, he stayed,
But found no shelter, no debts repaid.
A wandering star, he drifted far,
Through endless nights, a fading star.
Yet even stone will bear a crack,
Even storms can find their track.
In quiet despair, he dared to dream,
To let his light through darkness gleam.
The man who wandered found his way,
A name reborn, a soul unfrayed.
Copyright © Tebshem Strong | Year Posted 2025
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