Some people are like sponges.
They soak up whatever is around them,
And then pour it out on others.
When they are with good people,
They absorb your goodness,
And then pour it out on others.
When they are around toxic people,
They become like them,
And then pour it out on others.
Don’t be a sponge.
Know who you are.
Beware of sponges and always be the good person
So the sponges can soak up your goodness.
https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd
The jarring, insistent shriek,
An alarm clock’s metallic cry,
Assaults the fragile morning’s peace,
A painful echo in the sky
Of my dark skull. I groan, a sound
Instantly swallowed by the deep,
Heavy silence all around,
I try to meld back into sleep.
A cruel hand pulls, a rhythmic beat,
From sleep’s warm, velvet, soft embrace,
It snatches me, with sudden heat,
And leaves my heart against my face.
My eyes fly open, dark and blank,
Staring up at the ceiling’s shade,
My body, safe within the bank
Of blankets, a fortress I have made.
But now the cold kiss starts to creep,
A sharp, unwelcome morning chill,
That pricks the skin I cannot keep
Beneath the covers, lying still.
With weariness, I fight the day,
The first act: pull the fabric high,
To hide, to make the light away,
And plunge into a private sky.
No. It can’t possibly be now,
Time is a thief that steals the night,
I want to vanish, somehow,
From all the expectations of the light.
Just lie here, a statue, breathing low,
Letting my mind drift, free and wide,
Back to the quiet dreams I know,
A ghost the sheets completely hide.
This is my refuge, warm and deep,
A sanctuary I’ll not leave,
While outside, light and noises sleep.
I am a vessel that will receive
A torrent of chaotic thought,
The doubt, the list, the sudden spark,
In this brief silence, dearly bought,
Before the world steps from the dark.
But then, the quiet starts to fade,
A deep, weary settling down:
Alas, the rising must be made.
Each day, a loop, a weary crown.
I run a race that has no end,
Against the clock, against demands,
A weight that bends, and still must bend.
I shove the covers with both hands.
The only prize, the only true
Reprieve, is time, unscheduled, pure:
To take a day, a week or two,
With only my children, to be sure.
No emails, bosses, or cruel stress,
Just me and my kids, simple, slow,
Wrapped in the light of quietness.
That is the only finish line I know.
https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd
The tapestry of life has threads of gloom,
Where toxic darkness drains the spirit’s bloom.
Some things in life are toxic, subtly sly,
Environments that stifle, habits that deny
Our health, or institutions built on lies—
The silent poisons that before us rise.
As harmful are the ties that bring us pain,
Some people in life who are toxic, they remain
Emotional vampires, constant critics cold,
Passive aggressors, stories to be told
Of manipulation, thriving on the storm,
Suffocating potential, leaving us worn.
Beyond the things and people we may face,
Some activities are toxic in this space.
The compulsions offering distraction’s grace,
But long-term regret we cannot erase:
The relentless pursuit, the endless scroll,
The cycles that entrap and take their toll.
So why do we still use these things we know?
Is it comfort, fear, or letting inertia grow?
And why do we still talk to these people too?
Is it guilt, obligation, hope that’s often through?
Why on the altar of connection’s name,
Do we sacrifice our peace to feed their flame?
If the outcome’s negative, why do we stay?
Why do we still do these activities every day?
The self-sabotage, the deeply set-in need,
Why do we torment ourselves by doing the same things repeatedly indeed?
A closed, agonizing loop of self-inflicted harm,
Where inertia holds us in its harmful arm.
But the moment of reckoning demands its due,
A crystallizing truth, unflinching, strong, and new:
Enough! I am done! a line across the sand,
The absolute refusal, a sovereign command.
To the source of the poison, the message is clear,
Take your toxicity and your self-righteous attitude and leave me here.
Leave me be, so I can move on and find my peace,
Grant me the space for wounds to heal and cease.
Leave me be and stop pretending you ever cared,
The charade of concern, its hollow core laid bare.
Leave me be and let me live my life as it should be,
Unburdened by your shadow, finally free.
My future is my own, not for your design,
Leave me be and stop pretending that you ever cared is the final sign.
Severing the chains of a love that was a lie,
Walking into freedom beneath a clear, blue sky.
https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd
This is a request from the bottom of my heart. I put a piece of their soul into this book, dreaming of the day it would find its readers. I’m asking you, begging you… please be one of my readers. If you’ve ever wanted to support an author’s dream, if you’ve ever wanted to get in on the ground floor of a new series you can fall in love with, please give The Shadow Realm Chronicles: Maeve a chance. This is how dreams live or die. Please. Read it. Fall in love.
https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd
I thought you were my certain shield,
The one true, steadfast, loyal friend.
A naive conviction, now revealed,
That you would stand until the end,
No matter the storm, the challenge faced,
Your full resolve, completely placed.
I sought a fierce, unwavering vow,
A pure defense, holding nothing back,
A perfect pledge, as you know how,
To guard my ground along the track.
A hundred percent, my only plea,
Undeniable fealty.
But that fierce certainty is gone,
A shattered faith, a painful lie.
I wake to realize at dawn,
I lack the worth that merits why—
I’m not enough, I see it clear,
To warrant that support so dear.
The wound of ‘sorry’ is a slight,
A shallow balm that cannot mend
The hollow ache of broken light;
It will not bring the hurt to end.
For others hold a higher seat,
They taste the loyalty I greet.
And so, the starkest truth remains,
A bitter draught I must consume:
To face the isolating rains,
To walk alone within the gloom.
I must accept, in every plight,
I stand completely by my light.
https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd
The words, sharp and unwarranted,
slice through the fragile shell I built.
Tiny, invisible blades, their power immense,
carving my heart into scattered, irreparable pieces.
My carefully constructed dreams,
ambitious plans, vital goals—
all crumble before this onslaught,
a lifetime of building reduced to dust.
My essence, fractured, lies on the cold floor.
Why do these ephemeral sounds,
mere vibrations in the air, hurt so?
Why grant them such devastating power,
to tear the fabric of our being,
to leave us utterly immobilized?
With a deep, shuddering breath, I rise.
Muscles protest, heavy with despair.
I kneel, picking mangled, bleeding pieces
from the unforgiving floor,
cradling the remnants, a silent cry.
I try, with feverish intensity, to mend—
reaching for glue, tape, harsh staples.
But none of them hold.
The cracks are too deep, the breaks too fundamental.
A heart shattered by words
cannot be fixed by physical objects
Again, the haunting question returns:
Why do I give words this power?
Why allow such deep, lingering pain?
Yet, the act of kneeling has shifted something.
I stand up, not whole, but resilient.
I place my broken, but still beating, heart
back into my chest,
and with a final act of defiance, I dust myself off.
The reality remains:
Words possess the power to tear us down,
to reduce us to rubble,
weapons that wound the soul.
But words are not solely destruction.
They possess the capacity to restore.
A single, well-placed phrase—
of kindness, encouragement, or understanding—
can be the foundation upon which we rebuild.
Love, in its purest expression,
is the ultimate healing force,
articulated through sincere, positive words,
what ultimately saves us all.
Words can tear you down.
Words can also lift you up.
Choose your words with the highest intention.
Strive always to lift a spirit,
to reinforce worth, to acknowledge a presence.
Never fail to be kind.
Kindness is the shield against the world’s harsh words,
the balm for its inflicted injuries.
Remember this immutable truth:
Words are a powerful, double-edged sword.
They can drag someone into the deepest pit of despair,
or elevate them to heights of strength and hope.
Use this profound tool with meticulous care.
Wield your words to heal, to encourage, and to restore.
https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd
I lost a friend today,
A simple, heavy line
That should descend like sorrow’s shroud,
A grief for what was mine.
I waited for the cutting edge,
The sting of sudden pain,
But found instead a strange relief,
No shadow of a chain.
I should be sad, should mourn the end,
The history we knew,
Yet in my chest a lightness wakes,
Defiant, strong, and new.
The truth is stark, the choice is clear,
I look upon the past:
I am not sorry that it broke,
I am simply glad at last.
The severing was not a hush,
But clash of will and word,
A necessary, cleansing fire
Where my own truth was heard.
I stood firm in the tempest’s heart,
Refused to be denied,
And drew a boundary, sharp and deep,
With nothing left to hide.
The lesson’s hard, but vital known:
Respect must be the core.
A friend should cheer the victory,
And lift you from the floor.
Your champions, they must remain,
To hold your spirit high,
But when support becomes resentment,
The basic contract dies.
When ally turns to critic’s shade,
A drain upon your soul,
They’ve breached the terms of fundamental trust,
And lost their rightful role.
The choice is not of cruelty,
But self-preserving might,
To cast the anchor from the boat,
And step back toward the light.
Assess the ones within your ship,
As you begin to rise;
Not all are rowing for your cause,
Some paddle with disguise.
Your soaring ambition reveals their truth,
Their loyalty gives way,
As jealousy’s shadow clips your wings,
And clouds your brighter day.
So now I mourn the anchor lost,
The friend who pulled me down.
The feeling is no sad despair,
But freedom’s joyful crown.
A paradoxical, weary joy,
A wish that bonds would hold,
Yet still the weight is wholly gone,
A future to unfold.
The boat is lighter now it sails,
The struggle set aside.
I’m rowing, finally, alone,
With nothing left to hide.
https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd
A steady beacon, you appear,
When shadows gather and I fear
The path ahead is lost and gone
In darkness where I walk alone.
The sole voice of my reason’s plea,
The anchor of reality,
When the world spins with chaotic strife,
You are the breath that restores my life.
A silent force, you bring me peace,
A quiet, beautiful release.
Let tempests rage and gales descend,
Let the harsh winds their fury lend.
Let towering waves crash on the shore,
Threatening to consume all.
Yet, armed with our bond’s deep might,
We will endure, we will unite.
Unbroken, we will conquer all,
Our spirit standing strong and tall.
A lighthouse in the darkest squall,
Together, we will never fall.
While others scatter sparks of joy,
And fill my days without alloy,
Their collective light, a vibrant beat,
Is not the power to complete.
They give my life its rhythm’s art,
And cause the beating of my heart.
But it is you, the vital source,
The enduring love, the steady force,
That keeps my heart on its true course.
You are the reason for life’s continuance,
The core, the heart of my existence.
https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd
The black phone rests, a silence made of glass,
A direct line across the choking air.
My fingers yearn to seize its cool, smooth mass,
To dial the number etched beyond compare.
A fleeting urge to break the constant drone,
To trade my heart’s loud drumming for a voice unknown.
Or I could message, try to weave a careful plea,
A sequence of small signs, an emoji’s face.
To message more, to bridge the digital sea,
But leaden weight holds me within this space.
I am a prisoner in my own inertia’s thrall,
Unable to bridge the gap from thought to call.
My restless hands climb to my weary head,
To twirl a strand of blonde around a finger’s tip.
A pull, a slow release, a mark of tender red,
Until the coil is tight upon my lip.
A meaningless ritual, a physical display,
Of all the mental turmoil that will not fade away
Inside, the engine roars, though I appear so still,
My heart a frantic drummer beating out alarm.
The air is thin, a breath against my panicked will,
A visceral, exhausting, full-body harm.
Yet, still life carries on, the sun’s indifferent track,
Oblivious to the silent crisis holding back.
And so, I do not call. The paralysis has won,
Against the simple, human wish to just connect.
I hate the phone for what it has become,
A terrifying chance of being now rejected
The pressure of potential, the awkwardness that lies,
Reflected in the fear within my anxious eyes.
I lift my hand again, to message in the night,
But corrosive thoughts poison the touch before it lands:
I am a bother, a shadow, an intrusive blight,
A need that only inconveniences hands.
A self-imposed boundary, a powerful, deep chill,
That freezes my desire and holds my actions still.
This cease-less fight, the heart that pounds and strains,
The hand that freezes on the tool for grace—
The manufactured boundary of “being a pain”—
This is the cage, the isolating space.
Anxiety’s invisible lock, a final, cruel decree,
To watch the phone lie unused, and never to be free.
https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd
