Verses of Vyenna @dearvyenna - Tumblr Blog

welcome.

this space is for the tender-hearted.

for the ones who still feel everything deeply in a world that tells them not to.

for the overstimulated souls, the quiet observers, the ones who carry softness like a rebellion.

i wrote these poems for you.

and for the version of me that needed them, too.

here, you’re seen.

stay as long as you’d like.

-Vyenna

Unlearning a God

I don’t know when it began—

this holy unraveling.

This slow unlearning of a god

who wrote himself into my skin.

Perhaps it was the night that the dark stayed only dark,

not rule, not hymn,

and my lungs at last remembered their own rhythm.

Your voice,

once psalm, once vengeful, once law,

now trembles thin,

a ghost of thunder through the wall,

faint enough to miss

unless I lean, unless I fall.

And out of habit I tend to always lean toward that wall.

I had been your disciple,

kneeling at the altar of your rage.

Every step you took was scripture,

I mapped the floorboards like a page,

I learned to vanish inside the room,

my body always bowed to the doctrine of your moods.

But you touched me like holy writ—

sacred, savage, every page a wound.

Your love was commandment,

your silence a sermon that split me in two.

I built my survival on the verses of you,

a creed of surrender I could not refuse.

I called it faith so the fear would approve.

Yet the altar grew heavy, the worship grew thin,

the prayers I repeated wore holes in my skin.

The faith I had carried began to decay—

I cupped its ashes for a day,

the god I had followed was falling away.

I grieved that god in the quietest way.

Now the crowd is only faces,

the air only air, the sound only sound.

No burning bush, no sacred ground.

And in the silence of that hour

I did not search for you.

Three times I denied you,

three prayers of unlearning breaking through.

I lived in a gospel of shadow and threat,

my eyes to the doorway, my breath to the step.

counting the pauses like debt.

Even my heartbeat recited your name,

a testament once etched in my blood and my vein.

Now the gospel fades, the ritual breaks,

the cupboard no longer a threat when it shakes.

The silence unravels, the night grows through,

your law dissolves in an ordinary room.

I no longer startle at doors that slam.

I no longer flinch at the ghost of your name.

Yet my body aches for the worship I knew,

the certainty that consumed,

the script I once assumed

the devotion that erased me too.

I ache forward.

But still, I ache for you.

Freedom is quiet, and quiet is new.

What is a disciple without a god?

What is a temple without its flame?

I never dreamed of a world profane,

a sky unlit, a law unnamed.

Now hollow, I wander,

but still, I remain.

Unlearning you is a shattered rite,

a candle extinguished, a loss of light.

The covenant smolders, the embers remain,

a relic dissolving in the dust of prayer.

My skin still carries your echo and scar,

but my pulse keeps time with what we are.

For you were no god—only a man in a chair,

a fist on the table, a glare in the air.

Your crown was anger, your scepter control,

your kingdom a cage carved out of my soul.

And stripped of the myth I once knelt to obey,

I saw only a man who could take, not create.

This is my psalm of leaving, my exile song.

I am unlearning a god.

And unlearning you

is both wound and salvation—

the first true prayer

I have ever

spoken against you.

-Vyenna, 2025

#poetry #poets on tumblr #female poets #trauma bonding #emotional abuse #mental health #poets corner #writers and poets #writing #art #poetic #poet #healing #domestic violent relationships #Spotify

dearvyenna

05.18.25 (As Nature Does)

I think in this world, we’re under constant pressure to have it all figured out. Maybe it’s social media, maybe it’s the people around us, maybe it’s the expectations we quietly carry, ones that were never really ours to begin with.

But what exactly are we supposed to figure out?

Is there some grand secret we’re meant to uncover just to justify our existence? I look around and all I see are humans, searching, striving, spiraling, chasing after answers to questions that they don’t even know how to ask.

We are intelligent creatures, maybe too intelligent for our own good. Because I don’t see animals looking this lost. They don’t seem weighed down by the need to prove their worth. But we pressure ourselves and each other to meet some invisible expectation, to hit milestones, to perform wellness, to become something concrete, as if being human wasn’t already enough.

It’s the same mindset that tells us we deserve to be treated a certain way by others, and if they don’t, then they must be the villain. Or that someone should behave the way you would, as if their entire being is supposed to mirror your own. Even though they may be thinking the exact same thing about you.

We put time limits on healing, on growth, on success. We act like time is law — when really, it’s just a concept we made up and decided to obey. We believe people should keep their emotions in check. Their bodies in check. Their expressions, their tone, their grief, their joy — all in check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Until there’s nothing left but performance.

Do animals do this to themselves? Do we expect squirrels or foxes or whales to fit into the boxes we spend our lives trying to squeeze into? Do we mock nature for its slowness, for its shedding, for its change? Do we shame a tree for losing its leaves? Do we rush a seedling to bloom? What about the insects — do they panic over how long it takes to become something else? Do they feel the pressure to beat an invisible clock?

Maybe some people would say yes. But the world — the real world — isn’t wired like that. It’s a force. It moves on its own terms. It doesn’t shrink itself just because we think it should. And maybe we’re the same. Maybe we’ve just forgotten that we are also a force to be reckoned with.

I think there is a lot to learn from nature, more than people think. Isn’t the world filled with multiple mini-blueprints for us to follow, and how there really is no certain way to live life in the end? Aren’t we as humans no different than the animals around us? I don’t think animals, or nature, or insects have this thing called “life” figured out, nor do I think they care to. It’s simply moment to moment. Inch to inch. Centimeter to centimeter.

And maybe that’s just it. Maybe we aren’t supposed to have it all figured out, maybe we’re meant to outgrow the need to.

Nature runs in seasons, in cycles, in patterns, no matter how unpredictable. We see it in animals too — in hibernation, in waking. In insects, like a caterpillar turning into a moth or butterfly.

And I think we’re the same. Humans go through seasons too, over and over and over again. And every time, we’re faced with the same quiet choice: to stay where it’s familiar, or to shed what we’ve known, even if it once felt like safety.

And maybe that’s why we move in seasons too. Seasons to grieve. Seasons to ache. Seasons to be angry or numb or tired. Moments where we fold into ourselves, like the animals who disappear underground for a while. And then, without warning, there are seasons to bloom again. To learn. To love. To grow. To live.

And maybe that’s what being human really is — not having answers, not needing to always bloom. Just existing through each season as it comes, and not really knowing how to move forward. Not being sure if we’re doing it right, and not being certain if we’re ready for what’s to come, but somehow we learn to stand in that uncertainty, in that unsureness, and we keep trying because something in us just refuses to stop.

So maybe there is no secret we’re meant to uncover. No perfect version of ourselves to arrive at. Maybe we’ve just forgotten how to be like the rest of nature, to pause when we’re tired, to grow when we’re ready, to fall apart and come back together without needing permission. We aren’t broken for being unsure. We aren’t behind for still becoming. We’re just human — shedding, shifting, surviving, and returning again and again and again, like the world around us always has.

-Vyenna, 2025

#orginal poetry #poetry #original writing #spilled writing #spilled ink #journal #writers and poets #poets on tumblr

*The Funeral No One Attended*

I mourned you like a death,

but the sky kept its shape.

No one brought flowers.

No one wore black.

No casserole dishes.

No folded hands.

Just ordinary sunlight

and strangers passing by.

It was only me—

and the versions of myself

that once believed you could love.

We sat in rows, quiet and aching,

watching the silence

lower the casket.

There was no body,

only the echo

of what I had hoped for—

a mother’s warmth,

a father’s stillness,

arms that didn’t vanish

when I needed them most.

It was empty,

except for my grief—

for the things you never became.

For the warmth that could’ve been.

For the love I imagined

so vividly,

I swore it had to be real.

And you—

still breathing,

still laughing with others,

still asking why I’m distant

in rooms where my name

flickers,

if it’s spoken at all.

I cried without a body to bury.

No ceremony,

no final words.

Only the weight

of a goodbye

I was never allowed to say.

How do you mourn

the living?

How do you carry

a coffin full of absence

while the world insists

there was no death?