WhoKnows

“ Thoughts I tend to not share with anyone except my notebook”

[jane1996]

In case anyone is curious, these "quotes" are mine; they are simply thoughts that I never said aloud, as well as some answers to conversations that I have given to people close to me in my life. Please respect that and do not copy and paste without including my proper initials and giving credit where it is due.

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Intro.1

S.M

[jane1996]

“I don’t judge people for what they can’t do. I judge them for what they say they will do.”

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Note.36

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[jane1996]

“I sometimes wonder how someone can go from wanting to be loved by someone to hating and resenting them. I say "I wonder," but I already know the answer”

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Note.37

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[jane1996]

“Don’t waste your energy trying to make sense of someone else’s mess.”

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Note.38

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[jane1996]

"You are always groveling, happy to accept scrapes, and walking with such insecurity. It makes me wonder, has anyone one truely ever loved you.”

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Note.39

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[jane1996]

“I said I didn’t need you, that I hated you, because it was easier than admitting I wanted you and you didn’t want me.”

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Note.40

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[jane1996]

"I feel this way in general. I look around and feel lost, like everyone else is moving too fast."

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Note.41

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[jane1996]

“It was not hurt, it wasn’t even anger anymore. I don’t really know what it was.”

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Note.42

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[jane1996]

“who was it? The man you loved so much, the man you cannot seem to forget.?"

He was no one; he was not real.

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Note.43

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[jane1996]

“It is rare for me to cry. So when I do, it is everything. Past pain, current fears, and future loneliness. Everything that is not said emerges from the cracks.”

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Note.44

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[jane1996]

"He always does that, looking at me as if I am the one who has cruelly hurt him."

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Note.45

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[jane1996]

“ Sometimes I wonder if this is it for me, if this is all I will ever be: someone watching the world go by while feeling nothing. That I will be truly and entirely alone.”

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Note.46

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[jane1996]

After everything my mum put me through, I moved away and carried on with my life, feeling nothing for her and focusing on the future. For motivational purposes, I often say I won the war—but truthfully, neither of us did. We both lost.

I lost a relationship with my mother. I lost the chance to ever know the beauty of what a mother-daughter bond could be. And she lost me—someone who would have done anything for her, just to feel loved in return.

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Note.47

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[jane1996]

“ I was like an addict chasing that feeling of happiness.”

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Note.48

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[jane1996]

A Heart Shaped by Her

I never learned the ache
of a boy’s careless hand,
because my mother
had already carved out
a hollow in my chest
long before I could feel
the weight of a lover’s gaze.

Her silence cut deeper
than words ever could,
her eyes haunted by
the ghosts of promises
she never made to me,
only to herself.
And in her grief,
she broke me, too.

Not with fists, but with absence,
with quiet wars
that raged beneath her skin,
a place where my heart
learned to echo
the rhythm of her pain.

By the time my heart was touched
by someone else's hands,
I already knew
what it felt like
to love and lose
without ever being held.
I knew how to break
and still stand—
because I had learned it
from her.

Note.50 – Poetic Reflection

This poetry deepens the idea of Note.50, exploring inherited grief and the unspoken emotional ties between mother and daughter. It reflects on how our early experiences shape future relationships, carrying echoes from the past.

[jane1996]

Generations of Anger

"I was such an angry child," he said,
and I know,
because you never stopped being angry
as you grew older—
you simply grew into it,
a shell of your own fury,
wearing your rage
like armor,
like it was all you'd ever known.

And I,
still learning how to be,
watched you,
wondering when the child
would ever leave
and the adult
could find peace.

Note.91 – Poetic Reflection

This is a poetic version of Note.91 that expands on the original's imagery, particularly anger as armor. It focuses on the transition from childhood to adulthood, delving into how we develop anger.

[jane1996]

“ I know what I write is not poetry, it merely has the potential to be considered poetry, or at least poetic in nature. But it feels like poetry to me.”

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Note.49

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