Once you accept “self” the candle of time, flickers bright.

Through a repetition to our unconscious mind, we become our own worst enemies. We talk ourselves into defeat and fall into a slot that we can’t get out of even though we know it’s erroneous information.

If I leave my keys in a certain spot for a month, when I lose them I’ll find myself constantly going back to that spot even though I know they’re not there. It’s that constant repeating I previously did that sticks. It’s the same way with self confidence and self talk.

Good one, Damian.

This is good. The opening lines got me. Felt them deeply.

Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, Elke. So glad you connected with the write my friend. It happens, we’re all human. lol. Totally agree. Appreciate you.

Damian

hello dearest Damian a lot of great lines in hear I feel you my mind puts me through hell ❤️

Some things don’t need to be spelt out .. but this one most surely did .. I’m guessing a load of people will appreciate the reassurance they are not alone .. Neville

Magnificent poem my friend. Your words always strike a power chord!

“If sanity doesn’t break it has to bend”

Never has a statement rang more loudly and clearly with fact than that one. We’re learning to adjust what we once deemed impossible…to be unjust but still happening. If we pay too close attention, it risks breaking us. If we don’t pay close enough attention, it will take us unaware. We’re walking a tightrope of razor blades these days. I’m finding it necessary to keep my loved ones in constant contact. The comfort of the familiar is a dangerous thing because this reality snuck up on us in a bum’s rush and tackled us flat on our asses. Bend, my friend. I got your back if you need to rest

A brilliant poem, dear Damian! I can absolutely relate to it
We are ourselves greatest enemy. Damned self doubt has never helped anyone, it only blocks our power to take action and stay true to our own opinion.

Your pen has power, Naajir. You weld it like a trident of discourse. Because you see that discourse and use it against itself.
Always well spoken with a keen wisdom.

Powerfully penned, Naaj. Excellent write my friend. This has a flow that would make great song lyrics. Nicely done per usual brother. Appreciate you.

Damian

We read this thinking of all the people now wanting to claim innocence, The supporters of Nero and Caligua who supported the emperor even after discovering their madness. The mad rulers campaign on their sickness and still found themselves in power. There is no depth to the madness, you lose yourself using the normal routes to navigate. Tight

Powerfully penned, Brenda. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

One of my favorites by you. Excellent writing, Crimsin.

Your writing always puts a spell on me. Great work Brenda. xo

Magically written, dear Crimsin. Your words are powerful and enchanting!

Ouch.. Hauntingly penned, Keith. Incredible write my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

This is a hauntingly intense poem! One of the cases where you can completely understand the underlying motif. Nevertheless, everything in me cries for a peaceful solution.
Great job, dear Keith!

Powerfully penned, Keith. A well thought out list my friend. I thought for sure you’d say selling organs on the dark web. That was uncalled for on my part, your influence has started to rub off on me. lol. Appreciate you.

Damian

Number 8 is the artist’s way. If the artwork didn’t sell you can always return to the Hannibal option.

In the crime novel The sculptor” by chris Carter, the killer does exactly what you suggest, creating art of his victims. You should send him your list. I’m sure he would be very grateful.
Your criminal mind is as adorable as your creative mind my friend!

At the weekly neighborhood meeting, old Mrs. Duarte leaned in toward Paulo with a conspiratorial whisper. “Get rid of the evidence for good.” Paulo froze. He’d only been in charge of organizing the community bake sale for two days — what evidence could she possibly mean?
She pointed at the table behind him. There, in plain sight, sat the charred remains of what was supposed to be her famous lemon cake. “It never happened,” she said, crossing her arms. “If anyone asks, tell them the oven betrayed me.”
Paulo nodded solemnly, swept the crumbs into a napkin, and decided that some secrets were worth keeping — especially when they smelled like burnt sugar.

You’re very inspiring, my friend. Hugs.