Tag Archives: poem

fighting self

i had a dream

the other night

it helped me understand

part of who i am


i ran

i hurt

i now know why


when i woke up

i understood

why i hurt myself

with food



with hate

with arrows i sharpen

aim for my heart

pulling my

skin from muscles

veins from around bones

yanking my soul free

casting it aside

like so little trash


i live in a dream state


trying to figure out

how to change

the truth

i now know



by Daphne Shadows


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I’m Not Done v.2

The Valley

Isn’t a place

You know


It is where

We live

Where we


Where we




Where we







The light

Isn’t awaiting

Our creation


It exists













By Daphne Shadows

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I’m Not Done v.1

The Valley

Isn’t a place

You know


It’s a


Of being





The Darkness

Isn’t awaiting

The chance

To attack



Lives inside











By Daphne Shadows


Kinda in reference to this Valley 

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There’s a hard place inside me

Nothing cruel

Or cold.

A void

Where none can hurt me.

Not warmth

This is a solitary place.

These moments settle into me

With a velvety grace

Lace against bare skin.


Where I’m lost.

Not a haze

Nothing stings

Perhaps I do hurt

But I can’t find my way.

Life becomes

A thick paste

I do not understand.



By Daphne Shadows


Filed under Not that Kind of Poetry

When I Leak

Does it matter? The endless mind numbing chatter. The inner dialogue running until you’re frozen.

I’m slowly falling apart. From the inside out.

Pieces are falling off.

I’m a shambling, bleeding mess. Shuffling towards something I don’t know.

Am I wrong, for trying to feel?

The blood just pours.

Am I wrong for wanting truth, for wanting the genuine article?

I want to let go of the pain. But it follows. Stalking me from the gallows.


There’s so much beauty. But I’m drowning in terror, in black claws, perforating my lungs, my tears, my voice, only a hair’s breadth away.

And I am lost while I am falling and fighting and drowning.

I’ll make more of it than it really is. Then I’ll strip it away. The glass won’t break but the plastic is molding.

Is it funny? That I’m screaming as its burning. Yet I won’t step back from the fire.

It’s good for me, I sob.



Who am I?

Sticky notes I can’t find. Pens keep running out of ink. Letters crumpled in the corner.

The advantage is soaking.

The sorrow tastes like sweet beauty. Something I can embrace.

Is it okay to be like this?

Yes! I finally scream, voice breaking, the emptiness staring me mute.


The dust hid it. I lost the broom.

Can I just keep the delusion?

And it swells until it destroys the whole point.

The whispers can’t hear me. They keep creeping past, leaving the candles lit.

I know its new. But I can’t find the ticket. And the roof fell in.

Its waiting in the box but I can’t seem to take it out, to save myself.

Nothing sturdy. I can’t put life here. It’ll shatter.


Sometimes the best thing to do is let go, come back tomorrow, and try again.

The spine is well worn. The pages are empty.

Can I, please?

Just take my time.

I won’t stay if this keeps up. I’ve only got so much pulse.

It’s not really numbing. You’ll regret that.

And I’m so tired. Its worn me down.

The tendrils slip right in and rip it all out.

I’m finding part of me in this divide.


Beneath the glitter

Beneath the paint

I found the sinner

I found the saint.


I found your soul

I spat it out

It fixed my faith

It fixed my doubt.


I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long. Sometimes the flame doesn’t realize the heat’s gone.


I ran

I crawled

I found the door

I can’t stay here, anymore.


It took my present

It took my past

I took a breath

It took my last.


You’re not lucky

I find it best

To remember the truth

I’m here, I’m blessed.


Correct me if I’m wrong

You’ll correct me if I’m right

I’m really very tired

Of circling this same old fight.


I’d like to pause with a smile. But I find I’m merely content.



By Daphne Shadows


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Filed under Not that Kind of Poetry, Stream of Consciousness

I Digress

If it won’t be easy,

I have to ask –

Will it be so trying

That by the end,

My soul is dying?


Sometimes, I think,

The harder thing to do,

Is what turns out

Being, in the end,

Exactly right for you.



By Daphne Shadows

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Filed under Not that Kind of Poetry


Maybe you’re supposed to feel numb at some point
And as the dust settles
The true form shows
Nothing is what you had thought it to be

by Daphne Shadows


Filed under Not that Kind of Poetry