617 posts
  • arya_ballal 13w

    I wish to be remembered in someone's eyes,
    Taking a path through a historical channel,
    Slowly drifting towards the time's highs,
    Sinking into time's memorials,
    Not all can be remembered with the passing time,
    Few get a possibility of staying there forever,
    I want to be one of the few,
    So that time can bow down to history in fear,
    Yet within all those mythical lies,
    Lies one of my greatest fears,
    Which is to be remembered for the lies,
    And not for truth or heavenly layers,
    What would a good soul be afraid of,
    Maybe being portrayed as a betrayer,
    Instead the soul would wish for,
    Staying quiet without any remembrance for the sayers,
    Look into that soul,
    That aura of pure light,
    It does not fight to be right,
    But only to be judged right......


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    Look into that soul,
    That aura of pure light,
    It does not fight to be right,
    But only to be judged right........


  • deepflowsoul 17w

    Tale 2

    Once upon a time...
    A stag boasted about his antlers.
    Flashing them here and there,
    Always searching for her.
    There she was, but wounded by a bear.
    He looked around carefully and set his snare.
    She fell victim to his intoxicating scent,
    She couldn't detect his descent.
    His outer brilliance masked his twisted heart, He could take anyone just as far.
    Hypnotized, she let her corruption grow,
    Layers of damage flooding below.
    One, two their seeds sprang out.
    One blinded, and the other his fallout.
    Their doe stood against his toxic light,
    Speaking the truth and refusing spite.
    Shattered, the stag wandered into his cave.
    Over and over asking why she won't behave.

  • yoyowrites_ 20w

    Undress me from me-
    These different shades of grey
    Until you could see my bare skin
    Clothing my flesh and veins.

    Love me for me
    The most vulnerable within
    Not the one I appear to be
    But the one with flaws, who sins.


  • anetita 20w

    A Paradox Exposed

    She is sunrise and twilight,
    Dark energy emanating,
    From her bones.
    An enigma of a woman,
    Depth unknown.
    Beyond her exterior,
    Beneath those clothes,
    Her complexion a mere fraction,
    Of a saga untold.
    She is a vault of dreams,
    With no key or code.
    A collection of secrets,


  • _inactive 20w

    #layers #liarliar #antitruth I'm late to the promt party but eh, who cares.

    In French, La Comédie has two meanings:
    1)A funny movie/play
    2) The art of faking it

    //La Comédie//

    I lie to myself so to be able to sleep at night,
    And I lie to myself to be able to wake up from bed in the morning. From the looks of it, you wouldn't be able to tell. After all, it's a skill I've developed over years of practice.

    I like to throw around big words because they shadow the miniscule nature of my thoughts. But it is as they say, what matters isn't the big things you haven't yet thought of, but the smaller discoveries about life you have achieved in general. Factor in, the ability to create wonderful facades, although I like to keep them just to myself, at will, I could loop in another to find their eyes blinded with the colours I want them to see. Ofcourse I don't do that unless the extreme need be, because morality or not, I still know what it feels like to be a puppet.

    But oftentimes, everyone runs into something bigger than themselves. And I did too. I somehow came with an all-controlling switch that can shut off every thought and feeling in my head. Or is that a lie too? And so, that brings me to the present, an obfuscation of my reality. To the extent that I'm not even sure what part of it I'm living and what part am I faking.

    I've always thought that ghosts aren't actually people. They are memories and pain. And regret and love. It's an unholy confession but that's what it means to be human, something I'm to scared to be. It's almost as I've become the person that I viewed with disdain. It's almost sacrilegious, but it's still human, and that what makes it worse. Reality? Reality.

    1502 hours, next day.
    Rest in peace Connor. It's weird how I barely knew you existed and yet I'm writing this. But it's funny too, because, you know, it's almost as if life itself kind of reminded me of the initial image I had of my future self (as opposed to the path I've recently been on in the process of turning into). And I'm in a conflict with myself over what I should choose to be. Because one part of me has grown tired and doesn't want to care for anyone's feelings anymore. Why be the goody two shoes, when you're the one who's always left alone? Why be everyone's therapist, when in the you're just a liability to them. Why? Why get involved and start caring for them in the first place? And yet, here I am, stuck within this conflict. Why should I bear the world's burdens on myself? Altruism is the human psyche's single most undecipherable element.

    I often find myself getting lost in the pitch black of the night. It's so peaceful, and quiet. Comes with a gift of freedom as well. Of thought, of emotion, of being. I've made so many versions of my life in my head that I'm not even sure which one I'm living in right now. I get happy thinking of imaginary scenarios. But my smile gets whisked away by the wind as soon as I think of reality. Its 1:47 am. Who am I?


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    La Comédie

  • bitterxsweet 21w

    Time reveals all...
    #redc #fadec #layers @writersbay

    Proofreading our love's manuscript, I find myself grabbing a red marker to circle the red flags missed in plain sight and the alarms that should have been raised. Slashing through your "love me not" notes where you warned me not to tread too close and I still willingly tiptoed. Crossing out the trust I too easily had and "mistakes" I forgave, that should have been erased. Running my red marker through the cliche promises you fed, hoping to leave no trace. A tick beside every time your words never matched your actions; adding up to the amount of true accusations where there was indeed foul play. Scribbling the pure ecstasy, the poetry, the cute names. Underlining the hidden messages, the unsaid confessions, the cruel intent.

    Something still makes me reach for my pink highlighter, trailing over the precious moments before you so, drastically changed. I highlight the shame, I highlight the pain; hoping it will stay for your false memory to fade. I step back and view the end result. Our story, our history appears to be bleeding red. Even the pink is blending with the multitude of warning signs.
    It's screaming for me to wake up and smell the dead roses. It was always a lie.

    Like a mad woman possessed, I take the red marker and outline the pink highlights. It was red from the start, when you knew you met me at my most vulnerable state and didn't hesitate to manipulate the cards. I was nothing but a pawn in your determined game. But, I've taken back my power and won't keep you a place. Now I confidently ink in red
    across the page -

    Thank you for the lesson.
    I'll never look at us the same.


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    If you read between the lines
    people's cruel intentions
    are often hidden
    in plain sight


  • ink_trovert 21w

    Matryoshka doll

    These wooden matryoshka dolls,
    Carrying beautiful patterns on layers of wood.
    The layers are of my built in character,
    Reveals itself as you peel out each surface.
    The more you will try to read me in
    The smaller in size my matryoshka will be.
    The first biggest layer with colouful vibrant patterns,
    Is my present adulthood of struggle, failure and achievement.
    The second layer a bit smaller, of cheerful flowery patterns,
    Is my late teenage of merry, gloom, and knowledge.
    The third a lil bit tiny, of imperfect buds painted,
    Is my adolescence of mistakes, recession and learnings.
    The fourth small toy at hand, of playful pattern,
    Is my childhood of naivety, reckless and silly goals.
    The last and the tiniest one of alien scriptures,
    Is my infance of foolish, excited and rapid babbles,
    Me unaware of what life kept unfold.
    This tiniest piece lays in my mama's lap,
    Where she sings lullaby and strokes me to a carefree sleep.

  • sadar_ammar 21w

    Layer she has

    Layers, layers she has which are emotions the other is love for she doesn't show them, do you?
    For I send a prayer to whoever sees beneath them and prayer they could help
    For underneath everything all the smiles and everything beneath lies a sad little girl screaming for help but no hears her, do you?
    For all her thoughts are turning into overthinking she's thinking you have no one dear to you, do you?
    For she fears all these thoughts are true but it isn't, right?

    For she keeps all this in with a smile trying to hide all her pain and thoughts
    For she has layers of pain that if you peal off there will be more and more of so what shall she do?
    Shall she hide behind a mask or tell people who will make prayers for her to get better when she thinks she's already so broken
    For she feels like shes in a game being played by a player over and over again
    But shell keeping hiding it behind that smile know that they are many layers of pain and sadness

  • charlin29 21w

    My layers of pain came from.

    I'm going to explain why I'm the way I'am and why it's so hard for me to let go of my horrible, painful past. I'm sorry this is going to be long and don't worry, I won't go into detail.

    MY 1st PAIN came from my child molester father, the one who should of been my protector from the day I was brought into this horrible world from a loving, caring mother. "I love you mom!" A father who couldn't keep his hands, lips and the other things to himself. My mother tried her best to protect me from him, but the law doesn't care and made me keep seeing him when I didn't want to at age 3, 4-17. I stopped going with him when I was 17, but when I was 27, I was hoping he would change his ways with me. At first he didn't try anything or say anything unappropriate to me. We went to the cemetery where my mother's mom and dad are buried at. I asked him some questions about some of the things he has done to me and he was shocked that I still remembered and blamed it all on me. "Of course a child molester will blame it on their victims." When I went with him to his Eye Drs appointment and then Subway to get something to eat, he touched my boob in front of some girl that was working there and she saw what he did, but said nothing and looked at me with a sad face. The last time I went with my father and I told him I didn't want to go this time, he made me feel guilty for not going "just like the last time when I was 17 when my grandma was dieing and would be the last time seeing her alive." When he showed up to my place, I gave him one more chance. That was a very big mistake and wished I just stayed home, where I know I was safe from him. But in a way I won't of found some stuff to read that would help me with people like him and what to do about it. We always go to the cemeteries to look for relatives and this last time I went with him, he was being disgusting. Touching and talking to me inappropriately. Then it took 3 year's for them to let me go against him in the court room and right now another 3 going on 4 year's now not hearing anything else about what happened with my father. All I wanted is to protect my kid's, other children and myself from the monster my father is.

    MY 2nd PAIN is my four different family members on both sides, my uncle's and cousins molested me on different days, at different places and I never told anyone about it and I was 3, 4-7 going through it. Most of them are dead now and one that I know of is still a live and when he comes near me I tell him to"f" off.

    MY 3rd PAIN is from a family friend who was one of my brother's best friends, raped me when I was 10, only because I won't give him a B.J. At first I was scared to tell my mother and when I did, the cops came the nexts day when I came home from school. I lie to the cops, because I was terrify what the cops would do and yes my mother was mad at me for lying to the cops. I never told my brother's about it, but my brother that is mean to me the middle child, I told him when I was 27 about it when he asked me a personal question.

    MY 4th PAIN is the first time I went into a foster home, the mother was very nice to me except for her daughter, she was very mean to me and tried her best to get me into trouble from the stuff she did, but never worked. The second time I went into foster home the mother was very very mean to me and it sucked that I had to have her as a library teacher and she put on my report card that I'm mentally retarded. It's very hard to focus and learn when I have a deep dark secret inside and having people making fun of you all them year's and judging you because I was very quiet, shy, scared at the same time and not aloud to talk to anyone about why you are in the foster home, anything else about yourself and what you been through.

    MY 5th PAIN is when I got back home from foster home, my second brother, the middle child treated me like shit and blamed me for getting us in a foster home in the first place. My brother is the one who made me feel like everything was my fault and I got into cutting myself and I started to blame everything that I been through on to myself. I even thought about actually killing myself. I did all this when I was age 12 and glad that I didn't, sometimes.

    MY 6th PAIN I had is always getting into horrible relationship's that only wanted to use, abuse, lie, cheat, leave me for someone else and so on. Now I have someone that loves me and treat's me great, but some of the things that he does just kills me deeply in my heart and soul that I been trying to heal from all the shit that I been through.

    MY 7th PAIN I had is having Land Lord's that get attracted to me and when I refuse them, they turn off the gas, hot water tank, try to get my electric turn off, tell lies about me, turn CYS on me because they think I'm too young to have kid's and had cameras in the hall outside of my apartment door to see what I'am doing and what I'm saying out there.

    MY 8th PAIN when I was pregnant with my first son and I was only six months long. His low life father kept on leaving me and it hurt so bad that I wanted to punch something. The first thing that came to mind was my unborn child, but I told myself no it's not his fault. So I punched my bedroom door frame. When my son got older age 7, his father wanted him dead and found out on his birthday and I have it posted on here too. I have primary and physical custody of my first son and to this day his father is not around, even when the court said he can come and see him, because they don't care.

    MY 9th PAIN my second son, the one I don't see. His father choked me, abused our son we had together and got his way in court, because they don't care. When I was with his father, I was more into cutting and thinking about suicide big time. I was with him for three going on four year's and I thought I was stuck being in that horrible relationship.

    MY 10th PAIN I started cutting at age 12 and stopped at age 29, in 2017 the same year I started writing on here. I promised a friend that I would keep on writing and sharing, even though no one cares about me or what I have to say. It's ok, you know why? It's a lot better to let it out then keeping it all inside before I explode with all the pain I been through in my life and putting it into my skin. Even though I still crave for the feel of that kind of pain. It's like being a druggie or alcoholic that keeps on craving for their drugs or their alcohol, as mine is almost anything that is sharp.

    MY 11th PAIN I didn't get treated good in my school year's either. I been made fun of and barely had any friends that would hang out with me and now that I have kid's, I don't have any friends. Still to this day, I can't make any friends as girls so I stopped trying with them. My man's guy friends, I guess are mine too. They are nice too me, hangout and actually talk to me.

    MY 12th PAIN is that I'm a black sheep in my family and barely anyone in my family wants anything to do with me except my mother and sometimes my brother's. The rest of the family, it's like they are blaming me for the stuff my father has done to my family.

    I'm only sharing some stuff about me, even though you guys don't care. I been through so much and people tell me to get over it and move on. If you was in my shoes and had no one to talk to about anything that I have been through. It will be a lot harder to heal from all of that. Now that I'm using my voice or writing it down, no one cares, even the people at are counselors. They change the subject to something else, or act like they care and give you pills just so they can get their paycheck. On here you get unfollowed, skipped and sometimes get ignorant comments. I even been told that I don't write poem's. I looked up what I write is called and found out I do write poem's they are called free verse poems. I just don't follow the rules and just write what I feel.

  • kjumai 21w

    A cry.
    ' I should start first with that.
    Shouldn't I ?
    Well to all my neighbours, I und love.
    Will we meet again?...nope, I think so not.'
    Saying my byes to my whilom home,
    With open arms I welcome a novel umbworld.
    As I greet the airs of the ward,
    A kiss from the light rays redden my cheeks.
    'Am I this welcomed?'
    As I was entwined in my thoughts,
    I became more oblivious of the rather four-shaped space.
    I still was on the bed
    So I thought, cos it was rather hard to lay upon.
    The doctor, a fair-skinned, took the forceps, then put it back.
    She mistook it for the scissors as she was trying to ascertain if I was alright.
    Having cut the only thing which attached me to my erstwhile,
    panic was then written all over her face.

    'She isn't crying'

    'She isn't crying'
    'Nurse get me that,
    My mother was worn out. She couldn't scream , she held it in but I could still see it all over her face that all wasn't well. Doctors scents were everywhere. They smelled different from my mumsy.
    'Well all observations are enough. Time to let the world know I'm alive'.
    As I opened my mouth to cry, I see tears run out of her eyes.
    'Is she sad?'
    Doctors made their chin go up, a line appeared from their jaw, a curvy one.
    Well that was it before I begin to bore you all with how the new world seemed.

    #kjumai #myqoute #mirakee #writersnetwork @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay #2020 #layers #poets #poetry #writers #intothefirstlights #lady #old #diaries #qoutes #poems #writers #tobe #mothers #mumsies #stories #microtales #tales #sales

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    Saying my byes to my whilom home,
    With open arms I welcome a novel umbworld.
    As I greet the airs of the ward,
    A kiss from the light rays redden my cheeks.
    'Am I this welcomed?'
    As I was entwined in my thoughts,
    I became more oblivious of the rather four-shaped space.

  • emeka_joel 21w

    I know I will be judged regardless of what I do,
    People will hate, just because you have the audacity to only mind your business,
    Like the love you carry in your heart is their birthright.

    So I have chosen to always be myself
    Though some days I don't know who that is,
    I find new layers constantly popping up
    Placing me on an endless journey of self discovery.

    I do not lay claim to any illusion of perfection,
    My flaws stare back at me each time I look in the mirror,
    But so does my strengths.

    I do not recall been hurt by any enemy,
    It is those friends I take my walls down for that hurt me,
    Yet I wear my scars like an armor,
    Cause holding unto Hate will poison my Soul.

  • petrichor_essence 21w


    I myself thought there only the identity I've got because it was a domestication product of this world of schmancy!
    But,the curiosity and that disagreement of my soul made me peel the layers of my real self to be exposed,
    The layer of a really shy, always agreeing, quite me was just the outermost layer,
    The real layer I got was a feminist,a girl who doesn't want to obey these so called fake rules made for females,it was a bit bold,a little loud,but really kind-hearted.
    Then, a layer was the most sensitive of all :-filled with questions, doubts and trying to dig the inner desire , confused of this world .
    The innermost layer of emotions , that was a mysterious layer,it was really a concoction of colours-dark, light,dull, bright,some that were
    Really exaggerating,but, some were recessive.
    Then, I got to know the outer layer is just an illusion of a personality... there is mystery inside them!

  • cacophonous_static 21w

    Layer 5
    The girl is, effectively, useful
    Her grades are high
    She minds her manners
    She takes in information
    like she is suffocating
    and words will help her breathe

    Layer 4
    The girl is terribly slow
    She stammers her words
    She forgets her face, her name
    Song lyrics leave her lips
    more often than facts
    because she is so tired of learning

    Layer 3
    The girl doesn't talk
    Not in the mornings
    With fabricated memories on her lips
    She loses herself so deep in her stories
    she forgets
    who she is

    Layer 2
    The girl cries herself to sleep
    She vents behind a screen
    She bites her nails to bleeding
    But she calls herself a god
    to mock the liar
    that made her recklessly tragic

    Layer 1
    The girl is lost
    Within the expanse of her mind
    Within story ideas
    Within cliches
    "If you give a girl a pen,
    she'll write a poem"

    The girl is dead
    To the world, to herself
    She wears a noose like a necklace
    Her souls rots
    she lacks self-worth
    and has slipped between the cracks



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    She calls herself a god
    to mock the liar
    who made her recklessly tragic


  • joan53 21w

    I'm like a sweet onion
    Each layer holds something tight
    The outer layer a bit tough
    I know what is right
    Been through the roughs
    But each layer inside gets softer
    But firm and crisp in thought
    The heart of the onion
    Where the growth comes from
    Packed tight and is alive and sweet
    Mostly wrapped up in children
    Grandchildren held tight
    Everything I love surrounds my heart
    Love grows up from the middle
    Shoots straight up to God
    Where the best love dwells

  • metaurelius 21w

    A body; A child.
    Child trapped in an adult.
    A tumult of thoughts. Sensations.
    Ego. Thwarted desire. Fear.
    Longing. Compassion.

    Duality; a bodymind in a world.

    But then the storm of Maya stills.
    The waters calm;
    I am the water,
    I am the storm:

    I am.


  • bonitasarahbabu 21w

    I discover my true identity,
    By pulling layer after layer of my being.
    On the outside you find an approachable individual,
    But as you delve deeper, you find a closed off person.
    I don't allow many to break my walls,
    I'll be friendly, loving, and polite,
    But to get to my core, that is next to impossible.
    Too many incidents have made me such,
    To protect myself, I've had to shut off access to my core.
    For my own safety,
    For my own mental health,
    I'm closing the deepest layer of myself.
    My heart cannot take on anymore trauma,
    So, my inner self, she will be in hiding.

  • _ameeshii_ 21w

    There she laid
    With worn out layers of the yesterday.
    Her eyes were masked with agony,
    The parched lips marked her plight.
    The limbs were shaking,
    As if blood ran through them
    after years of sabbatical.
    There she laid,
    Trying to open up
    Like a budding flower,
    layers after layers,
    And she wore them on
    with pride and integrity.

  • sid_rulz 21w


    Each layer you peel
    More love you'll feel
    I was just a piece of mud
    Born from your breath and blood
    The deeper you go and harder u try
    You'll find the scars that made me cry
    On peeling my last layer of crust
    You know how much I love and trust.


  • ashish_ve 21w


    Isn't it better to be alone than being used?

  • dopamine 21w

    My ma's been buttering me with love ever since her egg turned into a zygote, but the people around have been scalping off love with razors that left behind cracks. Once I was walking on a street full of humans, self doubt then settled down like dust between bones, my ma ran towards me with a cloth to dust away the toxin, but before she could reach me, the wounds were sewed and I was tied to a window while my ma broomed around the house that had its own layers of filth, conspiracies, lies and politics. As the sun sets, she'd make piles of all the garbage she's gathered and would turn to me with more love, but before she could reach me, the trash was thrown on her. I was tied to a window, with self doubt in my bones- the hair that grew on me were of hatred, no matter how many times they were waxed, they'd grow back again. My dad called me strong, and I asked ma why'd he say so and she told me because I'm a warrior but I didn't tell her that every warrior is not strong and warrior just might be an overstatement, for someone who fights with life in day to feel like they belong in it, and with demons at night to feel like they don't belong with them is a warrior ? And did I add the word, fails? Pimples on my face, and I call them failure and self loath for they too won't leave. There's skin and there are scars and there's more skin over them. It's then coloured with rainbows and smiles, tears don't wash away the colours but they do smudge them a little, so the layers on the top, they're beautiful. There are holes in my soul from the thumb pins that were stuck in it everytime I was heart broken or I broke a heart which was later filled up with ignorance.

    I never knew who I was, there were way too many layers and I'd been pretending they are a part of me,and now I have forgotten who I am.

    Can love help me find my way back to myself again? If yes, will you butter it on me the way ma used to?



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    Layers over all these years

    Who am I? A pile of layers.