#confessions

566 posts
  • poornima_narula 1d

    Confession

    "Okay, maybe I have never said that you mean the world to me,
    but I got a confession to make love,
    the world is much more beautiful when you're here holding on to me."

  • insanedialects 1w

    My inner soul once told me -
    "Never make anyone feel that you're always there for them; make them feel that you're always there when they need you.
    Never make anyone feel that you always take time out for them, make them feel that you always take time out when they need you."
    God! It hits differently...
    ©insanedialects

  • a_gentilischi 2w

    @pallavi4 I don't have answers to your questions.
    The only thing I can tell you is that you're not the only one who feels this way.
    I feel it too.
    And maybe, just maybe, others do too.

    This is just a rant..
    But aren't the rants the most honest words we can muster?



    ME & ME & ME

    I wage a war
    Against myself
    An eternal battle
    Where no one bends

    How can a war ever end
    When both you and the opponents
    Know every flaw and strength
    Within each other

    And so I'm (we are?) in stalemate
    That drains out all life

    One of me wants respect
    A good career
    Within the highest echelons
    Beholden (what an ugly word)
    To no one but myself
    Being my own mistress
    A person who breaks definitions
    Of what a woman is supposed to be
    No pathetic "yes, sir", "of course, sir"
    Just accepting the reluctant "yes, ma'am"

    One of me wants love
    A family to cherish
    A lover to warm
    Who warms me in turn
    Trust and mutual devotion
    Tender early mornings
    And soft, mellowed evenings
    With just a touch of magic
    From those fairy tales I read

    One of me wants freedom
    To heck with prissy corporate jobs
    To heck with Prince Charming's castle
    I want to see the sites
    Travel the world
    Pace for hours in the Uffizi gallery
    Write at sunset in quaint French villages
    Drink the flimsy loves that last but a night
    And live with no manacles
    No family, no lover, no home
    No caste, no race, no religion

    How can I feel all this?
    All at the same time
    Bubbling within me
    A volcano about to explode

    I wonder day and night
    Who is wrong and right?
    These questions have no answers
    At least not in plain sight

    I fear that in the end
    I'll just let time decide

    And I'll be a shape shifter
    Never concrete

    A flickering flame
    Growing brighter one second
    Then darkening the next
    Until one strong gust of wind blows
    Knocks me off the edge

    And the world burns
    So that...
    "I" and "I" and "I"
    Will burn too

    .


    2021.03.27
    Written rights : ©a_gentilischi
    PC:Pinterest


    #mirakee #writersnetwork
    @mirakee @writersnetwork
    #thoughts #life #words #dreams
    #confessions #secrets #questions
    #rant #musings #wonder

    Read More

    .

    ©a_gentilischi

  • dreamerdiva 5w

    At a certain point of time, I realised what I've become because of him.....A BETTER PERSON....and the sad part is that he doesn't know that.


    ©dreamerdiva

  • mr_enigma 7w

    Unsaid

    There are somethings that are left unsaid, some truths, some confessions, some goodbyes...stifled and silenced even though they had every right to be heard. But what if it wasn't that way, would things have been different? We may never know... Because we forced ourselves to believe that those are best left unsaid... right?

    ©mr_enigma

  • a_gentilischi 7w

    This is the fifth out of seven letters. This is a continuation of the first three letters. You can read them at #wbltsagent

    In this letter I refer to the 'Imaginary Prisons', which is a series of art prints by Venetian artist Giovanni Battista Piranesi. I've included an image of the first print for those who are curious in #fifthletterinfo

    This is long and I'm not sure if it makes sense, but yeah, did my best. ��


    Happy reading ��

    @writersbay many thanks for hosting this fantastic challenge. It's been a wonderful experience ������

    2021.02.19
    Written rights : ©a_gentilischi


    #ltnothumansc #letters
    #mirakee #writersnetwork #writersbay
    @writersnetwork @writersbay
    #letter #wbltsagent #confessions
    #summer #oblivion #prison #change

    Read More

    -The fifth letter, found in an open prison cell-

    .
    To Oblivion,

    Some letters don't deserve sweet endearments. I have called you 'dear', have named you 'beloved' and I have declared you as a 'treasure'.

    But never have I addressed you as wholly mine.

    Today, I call you mine, in every sense of the word, because it is the day I have decided to be yours.
    Or rather, be you.
    Well, I guess those are just semantics.

    Thus, I name you Oblivion.
    My Oblivion, or your Oblivion?

    I'm beginning to understand that they are the same thing.
    You are no longer the ethereal stranger of a winter night, for when I show you a piece of my soul, you show me a piece of your own, as well.

    One day, I will find out who you are.
    Not yet, though. Right now, I'm busy tasting Oblivion.

    Here's the thing.
    Change is HARD.

    I never understood how difficult a process, metamorphosis was.

    Never did I consider the sheer amount of pain that Winter goes through in order to become Spring.

    I used to think stagnation was the only kind of prison.
    But not all prisons are blessed with the safety of four walls and a barred window.

    Change is the most ruthless jailer, for he wields Oblivion, instead of Chains.

    When you are in the prison of Oblivion and Change, you begin to crave the manacles, because they will keep you tethered. The bite of cold iron will cut your wrists, but what is a little blood, compared to the systematic break down of the life you built?

    We humans hold on to things so tightly, with no consideration to whether those things are good or bad for us. Maybe that's the only thing we know.

    And now, you've broken me out of one prison, and put me in another.

    I feel as if I'm a wanderer in Piranesi's Imaginary Prisons.
    There is no sense of time or direction. I'm simply drunk on vertigo.
    No warmth, no cold.
    The only thing I can feel is me, tearing down parts of my soul, opening doors, letting fresh air in to the musty rooms.

    The wide hallways echo with the cries of ghosts. They are the remnants of 'what had been's and 'what would have been's. Perhaps my own ghosts are here. Maybe your ones as well.

    But all prisons do have an ending, and that suggests that there is another beginning as well.

    After all, the end of an end is another beginning.

    With hope,
    A wanderer in search of beginnings.

    .
    ©a_gentilischi

  • a_gentilischi 7w

    Since seven letters are going to be written, I decided to write them as a continuous series. So give your thoughts on this. ��
    And, it's best if the first two letters are read beforehand. You can find them under #wbltsagent
    Happy reading ��

    Much love out to @writersbay for this amazing challenge that pushes our limits. ������



    2021.02.17
    Written rights : ©a_gentilischi

    Written rights : ©a_gentilischi

    #Ltseasonc #letters
    #mirakee #writersnetwork #writersbay
    @writersnetwork @writersbay
    #letter #wbltsagent #confessions
    #summer #spring #winter

    Read More

    -The third letter, left where spring meets summer-

    .
    Treasured Summer,

    Can I call you Summer?
    You never told me your name, and well, this is what I've been calling you in my head. I hope you don't mind.

    At first it was because, when we met on that winter night, you looked so out of place. Only later did I realise that you weren't wearing any winter gear, even though it was freezing. I'm still not sure if you were a hallucination of an angel.

    Now I call you Summer, because you are MY summer.
    You're the inexorable force that drives my winter in to Spring, then, right in to your open arms.

    My dearest, you are the breeze that gave wings to my last letter.
    You are the sun that kisses the snow covered mountain tops, to make them lush and green.
    You chase away the barrenness that is the mistress of the dark cold.

    You, Summer, are the essence that I want to drown in, till every pore of my frostbitten body is suffused with the warmth of hope, till my body and soul are overflowing with it.

    But first I have to reach you.

    You reached out to me that first time. A child of summer, full of life, what were you doing crying on a winter night? Why did you taint yourself with the blizzards of vitriolic hatred?

    Was it for me?

    Winter has barely ended for me. But Spring is coming, I know it is. I can feel it in the way my heartbeat quickens, like the earth awakening from the slumber. My thoughts are stirring tentatively, like bulbs of daffodils, shivering in anticipation, exhilarated, and on the cusp of blooming.

    Darling, I know that summer doesn't last forever, but will you wait for me?

    Wait till the last traces of frost melt and I grow back sprigs of fresh leaves. Don't leave me until I'm heavy with blossom, a vision out of the riverbanks that Monet painted.

    Stay until my spring transcends in to the glorious summer of your embrace.

    My heart will meet yours at the place where Spring meets Summer.

    With love,
    Your Winter that is turning in to Spring

    .
    ©a_gentilischi

  • a_gentilischi 7w

    Since seven letters are going to be written, I decided to write them as a continuous series. So give your thoughts on this. ��
    And, it's best if the first letter is read beforehand. You can find it under #wbltsagent
    Happy reading ��

    And how can I not mention the creators of this fantastic challenge? Many thanks out to @writersbay . You guys rock. ������



    2021.02.16
    Written rights : ©a_gentilischi

    #Ltmusec #letters #forgiveness #pod
    #mirakee #writersnetwork #writersbay
    @writersnetwork @writersbay
    #letter #wbltsagent #confessions

    Read More

    -The second letter, floated in a summer wind-

    .
    Beloved Muse,

    It's me again. We met on a cold winter night in the park, remember? We both cried that night, but for different reasons.
    I hope you got my previous letter. I left it on the park bench, where we first met.

    I've been thinking about what you said that night.

    I've been holding on to your words.
    Let me be clear.
    I've been holding on to YOU.

    You told me not to get used to the cold. But, to do that, I need to remember the warmth first.

    Yet, no matter how hard I try, I can't bring it to my mind… Can't seem to picture a time when I wasn't shivering in the storm of an unforgiving world that was frozen.

    My heart was broken, but I made it whole. I closed those cracks, not with tissues and vessels of hope, but with shards of ice. Because that was all I had, then. Those jagged pieces are the pain and desolation of river Styx, solidified in to black onyx and forced it to the crevices of my gaping heart.

    Of course, I tried to forgive.

    But it didn't work out for me in the ways that the others promised it would. I did everything they said. I read the manual from beginning to end, and I didn't skip the steps. Where did I go wrong? Was it me or them?

    From what I know, forgiveness is not a game of hopscotch played on haphazard squares of a bleeding heart. It has no rhyme or reason to its flow.

    Maybe there's no right way to forgive.

    Those self-help books told me nothing worthwhile.
    "Forgive and forget", it's easy for them to say, when I'm the one left stranded in the ashes of the aftermath.

    But, then I met you.

    One whisper from you was worth more than a dozen "How to forgive and start living" books.

    You didn't tell me to forget.
    Your tears were warm, and they spoke of acceptance, as your shaking hands clutched mine.

    Now, I feel the pieces of my heart shifting.

    The ice is melting, leaking fat drops of black ink, that splash like scars across the white paper. My heart is still broken, but there is a beauty to these scars, for they sing of cerulean oceans and freedom.
    I haven't felt this way in a long time.

    Thank you for being my muse.

    Last night I wrote of warm summer winds.
    Now I send this letter on the tendrils of its wake.

    With love,
    A broken hearted stranger who has begun to feel the warmth


    .
    ©a_gentilischi

  • a_gentilischi 7w

    Many thanks out to @writersbay for this delightful challenge.
    ������


    2021.02. 15
    Written rights : ©a_gentilischi

    #Ltstrangerc #letters
    #mirakee #writersnetwork #writersbay
    @writersnetwork @writersbay
    #letter #wbltsagent #confessions

    Read More

    -The first letter, which was left on a park bench-

    .
    Dear Stranger,

    I don't know if you remember me. But I remember you so very clearly.

    We met a few days ago, in the park. Right now, I'm looking at the bench where we sat together, from my apartment's balcony, as I write.
    It's snowing again tonight. Not as much as the day we met though.
    But still, I'm used to the cold.

    You asked me how I could stand the cold. No one has ever asked me that before. Why was it that the most important question of my life was shown to me by a mere stranger? It terrified me, so I gave a non committal answer, but you were persistent.
    And, so you made me ponder one of the biggest questions of my life that night.

    The truth is, I couldn't bring myself to talk to you. It was hard enough to look straight in your eyes that treasured kindness. I was a parched desert, to your oasis.
    You were so beautiful.

    The snowflakes that caught on the dark strands of your hair, were like a thousand stars on a moonless night. You were a queen, crowned in starlight. Your cheeks were painted crimson from the cold, and I couldn't keep my eyes off you, no matter how hard I tried.
    And your eyes…they were a deep brown, and they held such secrets in their depths. To look in to them was to see earth embracing creation.

    You looked as if you knew me, the real ME. Not this pathetic effigy that I've showcased for public consumption. Because that's all that people know how to do…consume.
    But you were different.

    "How do you stand the cold?"

    Breathless silence. Then, unbidden, the answer tripped out of my freezing lips.
    "You get used to it after a while"

    That was when you started to cry, hot tears running down your cheeks. And then, I was crying too.
    You touched my hands, and your warmth was like a brand of fire upon my palms.

    "Never get used to the cold". That was your fervent whisper, as you walked away. It is echoing through me, even now.

    Who are you?
    I don't even know an address to send this letter over to, so I'm going to leave it on the bench we sat.

    I want to see you again. I want you to ask me your questions, one at a time. I promise I won't flinch from your eyes next time.

    With love,
    The stranger who cried next to you, on a winter night.


    .
    ©a_gentilischi

  • outofleague 13w

    .

  • hallgd 14w

    Denial is a cloaked confession.
    ©hallgd

  • raghavendrabs 14w

    Many times parents, especially Indian parents, forget how their words affect their children. While imbibing good values are important, it’s equally important to make sure your child isn’t feeling claustrophobic and lost with a lack of parental support!

    #indianparent #parent #parents #children #child #confessions #hurtful #hurt #readwriteunite #writersnetwork
    @writersnetwork @readwriteunite @mirakee @dailyrepost @writers_together

    Read More

    Confessions From An Indian Parent

    My words can cut deep but why should I care ?
    You’re born thirty years after me,
    Whatever I say, you should calmly hear.
    If you protest or retort, I take offence even on the plea.

    I always think for your own good,
    So my baseless accusations still mean something.
    You can never do anything about it, even if you wished you could,
    I can get away with this, it’s love and care but if you did the same, it’s disgusting!

    My experiences, half of which are exaggerated and spiced up to life,
    Are meant to educate and be an example for you.
    Regardless of how much effort you put in, irrespective of your strife,
    I’ll still be pleased with the neighbour’s kid despite your breakthrough!

    I define your set of responsibilities,
    While I happily ignore mine.
    I can claim helplessness but the society has a watchful eye on your capabilities
    You can be a dutiful child but I still have reasons to whine!

    There’s no way to escape from this scrutiny,
    I’ll call it “trying to perfect you in every way!”
    I’ll ignore all complaints of yours, of how your thoughts have a mutiny!
    I am an Indian parent and you, my child, are my prey!

    -
    Raghavendra B S
    ©raghavendrabs

  • yashvibansal 17w

    OPPOSITES

    Do you know how much life loves death
    And how much joy loves sorrow?
    And how tragedy weaves its fingers with blessings,
    And how despair whispers sweet nothings to hope?
    Do you know why fire weeps for ashes
    And smoke for glowing embers?
    Have you ever wondered why a frown seems to smile upon seeing a smile?
    Why companionship comes with desertion?
    And why birds' nests are always home, yet forsaken?
    COPYRIGHT YASHVI BANSAL
    Image credit to rightful owner. I picked it up from Google.

    #opposites #despair #whispers #sweet #nothings #fire #ashes #embers #glowing #companionship #birds #nests #forsaken #frown #smile #she #he #hope #peace #life #love #soul #sprituality #loveNpeace #musings #thoughts #pod #lifeNlove #yashvi #yashvijots #jots #confessions #death #die #gold #joy #sorrow #tragedy #blessings #weaves #fingers #unwantedthoughts
    #free #wod
    @mirakee
    @writersnetwork #opposite

    #cees_reposts

    Read More

    Opposites

    And why birds' nests are always home, yet forsaken?
    (Read Caption)
    ©yashvibansal

  • sugandh_ankahi 19w

    Moving On

    Confessions are difficult .
    To confess is to bare your soul and be vulnerable . Vulnerable to judgemental piercing eyes , to contemptuous questions and pity .
    Oh! Don't take me wrong ,but being the object of pity can be as painful as being subject of derision .
    Only pity is more subtle way of making one feel small.
    Confessions leave you with nothing but for a tiny hope for understanding and sometimes with a plead to be forgiven .
    Confessions bareft you of your chances of escaping .
    Chance which you did take once and chose to stay in a palace of safety and comfort. But slowly guilt began seeping out of its walls and the rotten smell of consciousness forced you to take this bold step .
    So here you are , to confess.
    To list out every mistake you committed and recall all those nasty steps you took .you are here explaining me all those lanes you went and how you suppressed your soul at each step to achieve what you wanted .
    You see yourself as a failure and for a long I felt the same .
    But now , now it all has changed . Now to me, you are brave .
    From where I am seeing today , I am seeing a warrior , fighting hard against his instinct of taking the path of least effort and attempting to free himself .
    You are liberating your soul with tears of regrets.
    I wish you freedom .
    And that's what moving on is for me.
    Moving On from place of hurt and freeing myself from every act against me you just confessed about .
    ~Sugandh
    ©sugandh_ankahi

  • shalini_guha 20w

    Word Prompt:

    Write a 8 word short tale on Expectation

    What do I do? What do u say?
    When all you did was be taciturn?
    You made me voiceless too. Because your eyes expressed but you neglected, betraying all the expectations and desires. Was it wrong to ask for a cup of coffee with a little conversation when your eyes and hands were touching the core of me?
    Be gone, for all you have is you that I do not want....
    And what I want is the Respect, you are incapable of........

    #wordpromptwin #wordprompt #wordpromptexpectation #expectation #8wordshorttale #expectationshorttale #8words #shorttale #writersnetwork #writerscommunity #unfinished #unsaid #confessions #unsaidtale #loveyourself #byme #mirakeeans #mirakeeworld
    @writersnetwork @mirakee @mirakeeworld
    #societyofpoetry #scribbledstrories #poetnetwork #poem #poetry #writer

    Read More

    For what was left,
    You left us unsaid
    ©shalini_guha

  • insanedialects 21w

    Conquering over the darkness,
    Let's start today by lighting the 'Diyas';
    Only one seems enough,
    To give out light to the darkest places of all;
    And most of all,
    To lay out hope and love in melancholic hearts...
    ©insanedialects

  • wanderwords 21w

    Confessions are
    The most powerful
    Weapon one can behold
    The truth of it
    Either destroys you
    Or take you forward

    ~janvi

  • insanedialects 24w

    Sometimes known becomes unknown due to the secrets they keep in their hearts and the numerous lies they tell to cover those secrets...
    ©insanedialects

  • insanedialects 25w

    Today,
    Let me fly high in the sky,
    To experience the strength of my wings,
    the freedom of mine, the desires of mine,
    Let me fly high in the sky!

    Let me fly high in the sky,
    To appreciate the universe below me,
    from a different angle, from a new perspective,
    Let me fly high in the sky!

    Let me fly high in the sky,
    To aim for the world above me,
    set a new aim, start a new chapter,
    Let me fly high in the sky!

    And when I return home at the end of the day,
    Let me dream about about my next day, my next expedition!
    ©insanedialects

  • insanedialects 26w

    Sharing sometimes create distance between people...
    Yet people say that "Sharing is Caring"
    ©insanedialects