#dark poem

[briargracepoetry]

I Write the Ghosts At Home

I don’t know how to do this—

the job

and sharing what it does to me.

What it did to me.

How can I show you

the way I laughed

before the uniform,

the way I believed

before I knew?

I can’t talk about it.

I can’t let it show.

I can’t let it bleed.

But I can’t breathe either.

There’s no one who understands

what this job is doing to me,

how every day

this town seems to get smaller

while the weight grows bigger—

buried

and exposed

all at once.

And those shadows

only seem to hunt me

when I’m alone.

I write reports at work

but write the ghosts at home.

No witnesses

but the words I bleed

when this badge cuts deep.

No readers.

No judges.

No painting the blood

into pretty roses

for the people I love.

Just pain.

Just grief.

Just fear.

Just honesty

shared with the pen

that doesn’t care

how tightly I hold on

or how often I let go.

-Briar Grace Poetry

[suicidalidealization]

I keep craving for love

Fantasizing about taking care of someone, holding up their hair as they vomit into the sink. Wiping the excess fluid from the corner of their mouth. Rubbing circles into their back while they apologize for being a burden.

I want the ugly parts.

The fever at three in the morning.

Help them bathe when their arms feel too heavy to lift, carefully work shampoo through their hair while they sit with their eyes closed.

Pour warm water over their head and brush the knots out afterward. Hand them a towel. Help them into clean clothes. Pretend not to notice how embarrassed they are. Tell them it's okay.

Tell them I've got them

The exhaustion.

The "I don't feel good."

I want to sit on cold bathroom tiles and keep someone company while they cry over something stupid and embarrassing and human.

The "Can you stay?"

I want to be called because they don't know who else to call.

Brushing their wet hair from their face without being asked. Fixing the blanket when it slips off their shoulders in sleep.

I keep craving for love

And maybe that's pathetic.

I just know that sometimes my chest hurts with how badly I want to care for somebody

I think I just want to wake up one day and find that there is someone in the world whose life has become tangled up with mine.

Someone whose bad days become my bad days.

Someone whose happiness is intertwined with mine.

Someone whose name becomes part of my routine.

God.

I keep craving for love.

[newgirldark]

Beneath the spider's veil,

sleeps the sealed letter;

time strips off its tale,

and death keeps it better.

[newgirldark]

The Biggest Lie About “Masculine” and “Feminine” Energy

The Biggest Lie About “Masculine” and “Feminine” Energy

Beyond labels. Beyond stereotypes. Simply human. The traits that make us human were never meant to be divided by gender.

[paras1ticx]

Hunted

The night will growl and the hounds will whisper

things I did before I did them

A prophecy carved into my back

Impurity gripping tight at my veins

I can’t let them see me

I can’t let them hear me

For now I tread light and slow

Let my dirty socks bear my weight

Tired floor boards creak as I take my final bow

The dogfight begins and my resignation is final

Who shall take my place now

[newgirldark]

[newgirldark]

New Girl Dark (@newgirldark.bsky.social)

To feel deeply is nothing to fear. Every emotion, no matter how strong it may be, is part of who we are... learning to bloom and be free. @n

[suicidalidealization]

Lately, my bones click like old locks.

Each movement a creak, a reminder, a countdown.

My blood has thickened—sluggish, spoiled jam

dragging through tunnels lined with yesterday.

I cough, and something soft comes up.

My spine forgets how to hold me.

It bows, reverent, to the weight of decay.

There’s mold behind my ribs now—

a garden blooming where laughter used to live.

I think I’m becoming soil, piece by piece.

Don’t touch me. I flake when loved too hard.

Even your kindness scrapes me thinner.

I’m waving with fingers I can no longer feel.

Goodbye tastes like ash on my tongue,

but still—I want you to remember me warm.

My breath clings to me like mildew—

wet and persistent in all the wrong places.

I’ve begun to taste copper when I speak,

as if my words bleed out before they reach you.

Don’t cry. This is just the body saying enough.

I’ve grown soft in the wrong ways.

My veins bloom like bruised roots under skin,

and when I sleep, I swear I hear my organs whisper.

They’re packing up. One by one, slipping out.

I’m becoming hollow—sweetly, spitefully.

So let me say goodbye before I start to smell.

Before the maggots in my mind reach the marrow.

I loved you all in ways you never had to see.

But now, I’m afraid if I speak again—I’ll leak