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politeAcai3460
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PathStep 6 Compassion hearts36 Forum posts16 Forum upvotes22 Current upvotes22 Age GroupTeen Last activeOctober, 2026 Member sinceJune 8, 2026
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My favorite character
Poetry / by politeAcai3460
Last post
 July 15th
...See more Whenever I watch a movie I always want to be like my favorite character... I don't know if I want to be or if I just hate the version of me, ......wondering if this is admiration or self-rejection. One might be ***. Or brilliantly intelligent. Or simply untouched by what the world thinks. Passionate. Loving. Lost. Nonchalant. Even perfect— and somehow, even their flaws look beautiful. And as the credits roll, I hope to have embodied the energy of that person acting like them... and maybe hoping that I see things differently...... And maybe.....just maybe.... it leaves me with more than I could ever hold onto— Hope? I don't know. And even if I don't get an end beyond what it shows, I get to relive versions of what I could withhold. But it ends......and my world seems to end with it.... And as the moment passes away and days go by... I forget about the versions and completely face reality instead of my somewhat practiced illusion...the spell breaks And somehow even if I don't seem to remember I believe that each movie takes or adds a piece of me that I knew or might not know as it ends, and I realize...... that in that moment I'm being sculpted without consent. I don't know if I'm scared of my reality 'cuz it feels so easy to live in their scripted world while mine is not..... And even tho they end up not being perfect at the end.. At least there's always this happy ending and I never get to see beyond that, But... I get stuck in mine like this loop I can't quite figure out if I'll ever see the end— no credits, no closure, just more. I don't get to predict what I want. I guess maybe that's why I run from it It gets really quiet... and I have to either tend to the aching feeling or flee and seek another day— And somehow I seem to not remember what it felt like to actually be... alive. Without the fear of my end or my past I hold trying to mend..... I carry both death and history— or the undeniable ache of a future I don't get before I could hold— I get scared every day trying to look for the door to the called light most people seem to find... cuz somehow everyone else found the exit, why can't I? But I can't see it and it changes every day— the door moves, or I do, I can't tell. Unfortunately, there is no end to this poem 'cuz I don't have one right now— And deep down I hope I find it one day before the doors shut forever and the light never shines down on me
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Wanna be friends
Pen Pals / by politeAcai3460
Last post
 October 25th
...See more Heyy, I'm new here! wanna be friends??
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The weight of almost
Poetry / by politeAcai3460
Last post
 June 11th
...See more I am not dying. I am just afraid of living with this radio in my chest tuned to a station no one else seems to hear. It plays the sound of a tree I haven't sat under yet. It hums the light of a star I might have been before I was this. They tell me: Be grateful. Obey. The day is a gift. And I try. I hold the day in my hands like water. But my hands were made with cracks, and the longing leaks through. I have learned the difference between wanting to leave and wanting to arrive. I am not looking for the door out. I am looking for the room where my soul stops pressing against the walls. Sometimes I think if I just gave in— let a wrong love fill the space, let a crush become a cage— the noise would stop. But I know the noise is not the enemy. The silence would be worse. The silence of being seen but not witnessed. So I stay here. In the Almost. Between the woman I am and the one I keep dreaming. The weight in my chest is not a sickness. You told me it is an engine. I am trying to believe you. I am trying to let it hum without calling it anxiety. Without calling it broken. Maybe the longing is the prayer. Maybe the ache is the map. Maybe waiting is not empty— it is the only way to make room for something that matches the size of this radio signal, this hidden weight, this star I carry under my very human skin. I am not dying. I am just afraid of living a life too small for the love I came here to give. And maybe that fear is the most alive thing about me.
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Caged beneath my skin
Poetry / by politeAcai3460
Last post
 June 9th
...See more The sight of life around goes bland. My eyes are heavy— I crave to stay in my dreams all day, yet I hate to sink into my demise, where every light is hard to catch And each hour slips too fast. Replaying the smile I once had— not too hard to form— But now I’ve shrunk into my shell, where nothing seems to matter. The spark is too dim to light. The whispers in my head sing, trying to bestow me with a destiny. Still, I try to stand in this locked bunk of scars— but I fall into the abyss I cloaked. Every word strains on my tongue, too heavy to form. I wonder if I’m lost. Every day feels heavier than it should, a ghost living in the cage of my skin. Every smile, a blatant lie. Yet in the darkness I sink into, lies a quiet kind of peace I crave. Perhaps I’ve lost my way, Or maybe I’m just stuck in this array of light that grows dimmer each day. And every walk of delight passes me by, just like time does. I reach for words to hold what I feel more deeply, but my head pounds. The words rattle inside, caged— just like me.
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