They throw stones? I build thrones. They doubt? I detonate. I’m the fire they fear But can’t recreate. I don’t chase peace; I command respect. I bleed ambition, I’m what fear expects.

Let the thunder come I feed on storms. Pressure built this spine, Rage shaped my form. They throw stones? I build thrones. They doubt? I detonate. I’m the fire they fear But can’t recreate.

I’ve been bruised, I’ve been burned, But I never learned to bow. They said I’d break— Look at me now. I don’t pray for easy days, I sharpen pain into a blade. Every scar I’ve earned Is a crown I’ve made.

I think I’ll be putting myself up for adoption at this point

I walk through cities made of ghosts, their laughter carved into the stone. The sky is bruised, the moon looks tired, and I can’t remember what it means to go home.Every shadow whispers my name wrong,every echo sounds like goodbye. I reach for warmth, but touch the wind — it hums

And yet… beneath the chaos, beneath the noise and the tears and the pride, there’s still a small voice — tired, but alive — whispering, you can still change. Maybe I am the problem, but I’m also the answer. And tonight… that has to be enough.

I say I want truth but truth terrifies me.It strips the excuses,leaves me naked in my guilt,shaking in the sound of my own voice echoing through empty rooms.Maybe I’m the one who leaves too soon, the one who ruins good things because I don’t believe I deserve them.Maybe I wear pain like perfume

I keep asking myself… am I the problem? Because peace never stays long enough to learn my name. Every time love knocks, I open the door holding my fears like weapons —ready to defend, ready to lose.I’ve blamed the world for breaking me, but what if it was just reflecting my own cracks?

I’ve worn pain like a favorite shirt, And called it fashion, called it “me.” But truth is raw it burns, it hurts To know I might be my own enemy. Still… I’m learning to forgive this mirror, To see the cracks as signs of growth. Maybe I am part of the problem But I’m also part of the hope.

Maybe I overthink the moments, Twist kindness into hidden knives. Maybe I’m chasing peace so loudly That I drown out gentle lives. People leave and I call it fate, But maybe it’s me who walks away first. Maybe I feed on my own mistakes, Like hunger that can’t be reversed.

Sometimes I stare into the mirror And it stares right back silent, unsure. It doesn’t lie, it doesn’t comfort It just wait .like it’s seen this war before. I ask myself, am I the problem? Is it me who breaks what could have grown? Do I build walls out of fear and silence, then cry about being lonely

What do you do when the whole world is against you

I hate my life right now

People know this and would still refuse to help like where is the humanity in you all

I guess when I decide to finally end it all and leave this world everyone I have gone to for help would be happy I took my life , and I hope you all feel real good about yourselfs

How can you be comfortable being my friend but not comfortable help me , I thought friends were suppose to be there for each other ,,,,, humanity can do better

Why is everyone so mean all I am asking is you guys to help me so I can get a job and Fend for myself , I thought we were suppose to support each other on here but now we complain of the trump government and still won’t help people who come to us for help

But that’s where destiny is born— in the quiet, unseen hours, when no one is watching and you choose to believe anyway. So keep creating in the dark. Keep building in the silence. The world will wake up one day to what you made while they were sleeping. .

The world is quiet at 3 a.m. That’s when dreamers come alive. When others are lost in rest, you’re building futures in your mind, sketching possibilities in silence. It’s lonely sometimes to care this much, to want this deeply.

Everyone wants the dream. Few want the cost. You’ll lose comfort. You’ll lose certainty. You’ll even lose people who can’t understand your hunger. But you’ll gain something greater clarity. Purpose.

Well at least I know I am alone in the world and no one got my back

I have never felt so broken in my life

I believe everyone one is just acting to be kind there is no true kindness out here if not for benefit it is all trade , then we claim to be a good person when you can’t even be nice to the next person and not come up with an excuse not to #SAYNOTOSUCIDE

When was the last time you were kind and human to your fellow human

He is definitely not my president

I am down bad I need all the help I can get

Feels like the beginning of the end

Once there were dreams but dreams decay, Rotting like flowers left in the gray. The heart beats only out of dread, A body moving, though it’s dead. No light, no dawn, no distant shore, Only the dark and nothing more

The earth is cold, it will not hear, It swallows every cry and tear. No footsteps echo, no one waits, Just rusted locks on silent gates

The sky is black, a hollow dome, No stars, no sun, no way back home. Each breath is heavy, thick with frost, A constant counting of what’s lost

But still within this empty space, A flicker hides, a trembling trace. Though silence reigns and light feels gone, A soul endures still holding on

The air is heavy, thick with stone, A crowded world, yet all alone. Hope’s thin thread frays at the seam, Even sleep can’t soften the dream

Dreams once bright now fade to gray, Shadows lengthen, eat the day. The heart beats slow, a hollow drum, Calling answers that never come

A sky of ash without a star, A road that ends before it’s far. Hands reach out but touch no ground, Voices echo, but no sound

Keep fighting. We need you! ❤️ 💙 💜

Siri, show me an image of a leader who fails to earn the respect of his troops

The world would rather watch you die than help , I don’t believe there is any good person out there , everyone pretends to be good but situations pop up and then you see their true color

I searched for love but did could not find any I searched for help any kind of help non was given I searched for any kind of job but found non No one to talk to , no one to call family, no one to call friend I am definitely sure no one will even notice when I finally end it all

and yet when the light finds the dust in my room I feel a thin, ridiculous pulse: I exist. not because anyone notices, not because anyone cares, but because I am still here, still counting breaths.

if being broken was an art, I’d be famous, but fame wants cameras and applause, not the quiet bleed; so I learn to wear my nearly-broken like a secret, tucking the ache behind small everyday tasks

my heart is a pocket with too many holes, money and hope leaking out the seams, I sharpen my face to fit the day’s gray clothes, and practice not collapsing in the grocery aisle

the world walks past like it has a map drawn to avoid the shape I make; people press on their lives like buttons, no one reads the tremor in my hand.

Any one has an idea how I can sell this ??

For sale

I wish I could just drop down dead , I can’t keep on living this way