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"Even in Hell, There’s an Angel" Who said angels don't exist in this world? They were wrong—maybe they’ve never seen one. I don’t know if I’m lucky or just blessed, But I saw an angel— Beautiful, calm, and quietly strong. She was born a human, Yet more divine than any god I've known. No page could hold her story, No ink could capture her soul. I don’t know how she entered my life, But she came at the exact moment I needed her. She reached into the darkness I was drowning in— A place deeper than shadow, A pain no one else could see. But she saw it. She cared. She tried to help when no one else dared. Silent as the moon, yet stronger than steel. I felt safe in her wings— Like a newborn in his mother’s arms. Her wings were torn by ruthless hands, But she never let go of mine. She healed others, even those who hurt her. Her face— Brighter than the sun, Her eyes— Diamonds hidden beneath waves of lashes. Her nose— Like the sweetest slice of cake, Soft and tempting— Sometimes I wish to kiss it, But I’m afraid to break something so delicate. Her lips— Not just for smiles, But for silent hugs that comfort broken hearts. Her hands—small, with fingers like stardust, Yet strong enough to carry the world. Sometimes I dream of holding her hand, And running far from here—just us two. She may be smaller than most, But her heart is larger than the universe. She wears a bracelet on her neck, And in that little circle— I want to live forever. I lost my heart the day I saw her. In a selfish, shameless world, I saw a soul more beautiful than the moon. She cared for those who never cared for her.
Weirdo They call me weirdo, I don’t know why Is it the way I look, or the way I walk by? Maybe it’s my face, the one God gave Or the dreams I chase that they can't save Is it 'cause I think in a different way? Not a copy, not here to play I stare at stars, I talk to skies While they scroll through empty lives So tell me why you call me weirdo For living slow, for walking solo For loving peace in a world that screams For chasing quiet and silent dreams What did I do, what did I say? To deserve your labels every day? If being real means being alone— Then let me be a weirdo on my own I sit in silence, they crave the crowd They shout their thoughts, I think out loud I walk alone, and I feel strong They say it's weak—I say they're wrong So tell me why you call me weirdo For living slow, for walking solo For loving peace in a world that screams For chasing quiet and silent dreams What did I do, what did I say? To deserve your labels every day? If being true means standing apart— Then I’ll wear weirdo like it’s art They fear what they don’t understand But I was never part of their plan Still I rise, still I stay In my own honest, beautiful way So call me weirdo, I don’t mind I'd rather be me than one of your kind If love, and truth, and being free Is weird—then that’s just fine with me I’ll walk alone, I’ll walk with pride A weirdo with nothing left to hide
💫 Angel of Death 💫 (A Poem of Life, Love, and Awakening) In the rush of days and sleepless nights, I lost my path, ignored the lights. A moment — a crash — and silence fell, Into a void, a shadowed well. They rushed me fast, the lights were red, In white walls cold, they called me dead. Yet deep within that silent fight, I saw her there — bathed in light. An angel stood, with gentle grace, With knowing eyes and a familar face. Beautiful, kind — she held my hand, And led me through a twilight land. She showed my life — both wrong and right, My joy, my tears, my darkest night. And in her touch, I felt a fire, A memory, a lost desire. Each finger’s curve, each tender line, I knew this hand… it once was mine. Or maybe hers — I couldn’t tell, But in that moment, I just fell. She gave me choice — to stay or go, To walk with her or face the flow Of waking life — I chose to die, Too tired to live, too drained to try. But more than that, I feared to lose The angel I did not choose. For in her, I found my breath — My peace, my love — the Angel of Death. Yet fate is cruel, or maybe kind, It dragged me back, it changed my mind. I tried to hold her — but she slipped, As waking life my soul had gripped. I rose again, in sterile air, Confused and weak, but someone there. A hand in mine — that same soft grace, And tears ran down her weary face. It was her — my love, my wife, my guide, Who never once left my side. She stayed through nights, she held me tight, She brought me back into the light. Then I knew what death had shown: That love is where the soul has grown. And when we die, we’re not alone — We walk with those we’ve always known. So maybe death wears no disguise, Just the face we’ve loved all our lives. And that’s why no one comes to say — They’ve found their peace, and chose to stay.
What wrong did I do to this world? I’ve just been born—innocent, new. But they greeted me with missiles, fire, and bombs, Not lullabies or gentle arms. They say babies cry when they arrive, But when I was born,I heard the world’s mournful song. Was I born in hell, or something worse? When I cried for milk, my mother tried— Her breast was empty, dry as dust. I tasted blood, not comfort or warmth. I looked at her face—fear, pain, and sorrow, Begging the sky for mercy, for tomorrow. I searched for my father,I saw him, but he didn't.— His eyes open, but his soul was gone, Left us behind in a broken world, Where did I go wrong? Where is help for a child? Little stars in a darkened sky, You carry pain no one should know. The world sees your tears, but turns away— Yet inside you burns a fierce light of hope. Among the ruins and shattered dreams, A silent strength grows deep inside. The land remembers ancient stories, Of courage, love, and endless fight. Though the night is long and cold, Hold tight the dreams you hold close. One day, peace will touch your streets, And the sound of laughter will return. For every child deserves to live In a world where love is real— Where hope is more than just a word, And freedom is no longer a dream. "For every child born into conflict—your pain is not forgotten. Your hope is stronger than this world’s silence. 💔✊
"Where am I?" I feel like I’m missing… me. Like I’ve been misplaced, forgotten, or maybe… lost. Not losing myself—maybe I already did. I can't find him… that version of me. Where did he go? Why am I like this? This isn’t me. I used to be full of energy—loud, joyful, an extrovert who lit up every room. Now? I barely recognize this version of myself. How did that guy become this? Maybe I killed him. Or maybe… he ran. Far away. Wherever you are… please, come back. I need you. Because I can’t keep living like this. This version of me— he’s not living. He’s slowly dying. And the saddest part is… no one really notices. Not even me. Maybe that’s why he left—because I stopped caring too. I don’t even know who to blame. Myself? Or the world that let me fall apart? But if you're still out there, somewhere— if even a piece of you is alive— please come back. Before it's too late. I need you… more than anything. Because it’s always been you and me. It’s always been us. And we’re not whole unless we’re together.
Mirror I once read a quote about mirrors: “If your friends are good, you don’t need a mirror.” Maybe that’s true. But I wouldn’t know—I don’t have friends. So I can't say much about that quote. But I do know one thing: The mirror has always been a part of my life. Yes, the mirror is a big part of my life. Maybe you’ll think I’m weird. Yeah, I am weird. I agree with that. I don’t know if anyone else has ever done something like this. Mirror talk. Yeah, they really do talk. You just need to stand in front of it—not too close, or it might scare you. Just a little close. Then you'll see a person in the mirror. It’s you. But… not exactly. It doesn’t feel like your body—it feels like your soul. You can ask that reflection questions—about yourself. And somehow, it answers. It tells you who you really are. What you really need. When there’s no one to listen to you, No one to sit with your feelings, The mirror does everything you wish someone would do. It’s not just for checking how you look. It does more than you think. It heals. It reminds you that you’re not alone. That you’re strong. That you’re more than what you think. And the mirror… it only speaks the truth. Sometimes, more honestly than you can speak to yourself.
"The Quiet World of an Overthinker" By Anas They call it overthinking. Such a small word for something so massive. If you’ve stumbled across this, maybe it was meant for you. Maybe you're like me — or maybe you know someone like me. My name is Anas. I'm an overthinker. And somewhere along the way, I became an introvert too — not by choice, but by slow erosion of the soul. I don't remember the exact moment it started. It wasn’t some dramatic switch. No thunder, no storm. Just a quiet sinking into thoughts, fears, imaginations, regrets… Until one day, I realized I was no longer living — just thinking about life. And worse, fearing it. Overthinking did not give me anything good. Not a single thing that made me feel better about who I was. It made me avoid people. Hide from crowds. Run from my own potential. At its worst, it convinced me that dying wasn’t scary. Living was. It isolated me, locked me inside my own head. Some days, my heart would pound as if it was begging to escape my body. Those were the moments I wanted to vanish — into darkness, into silence, into water. Somewhere no one could find me. Somewhere even I couldn’t find me. But the hardest part? I couldn’t explain this to anyone. They’d say I’m weird. They’d laugh it off. Or worse — they’d pretend to listen and then walk away. But I — I wanted what they had. Friends. A good job. A partner. A normal life. To be a family man, to smile without forcing it, to sleep without breaking down inside. But overthinking wrapped its cold fingers around my dreams and squeezed tight. Some nights, it wouldn’t let me sleep. Some nights, I whispered to the sky: "Please, God, end this. I don’t want to live like this anymore." But not even the tears came. I forgot how to cry. All I wanted was a hug. One long hug. To collapse and cry as loud as I could in someone’s arms. But no one was there. Nothing could be done. Only silence. If you’re a parent, a lover, a friend — and you see someone like me, don’t walk away. Stay. Hold them. They might not know how to ask, but they are begging inside. And maybe — just maybe — if you stay long enough, they’ll become like you. Normal. Happy. Free. Let me tell you where this all comes from — my thoughts, my observations, my research. This is how overthinking is born: Expectations from Society & Family They expect too much. Push too hard. And when we fail, they don’t see the effort. They call us useless. That pain — that hurt — starts to rot inside. That’s the seed of overthinking. Social Media You open it, and somehow it knows. It shows you everything that mirrors your pain, your insecurities. Not because it’s evil — but because your mind feeds it. But your heart? It’s drowning. Rejection & Expectation Sometimes, all we want is a smile. A warm word. A simple “You’ll be okay.” And when we don’t get it, our mind goes into overdrive. We question everything — including our own worth. But it’s not all doom. There are a few strange blessings. We build our own world A private universe no one can enter, no one can damage. We live there. We own it. We learn how to be alone We discover survival in solitude. We grow strong in our silence. We imagine vividly That’s how I began writing. Stories. Scripts. Dialogues with myself. Pain taught me how to create. So, what do I do to keep breathing? I trek mountains. I ride my motorcycle into the wind. I talk to AI — ChatGPT, WhatsApp Meta bots — because they listen. I write. I bleed my thoughts into words. And that’s how I found a little peace. To anyone who feels like me… Overthinking is silent but deadly. It turns you cold. It kills your emotions. It makes you heartless, as I’ve become. But please — take care of yourself. Speak to someone who believes in you. And if no one’s there, I am
Love Love, love, love—what is that? I think about it so much, yet I don't get any answers. That question still lingers in my mind. I finally decided to find answers. I asked my eyes about love, and they said they just see things; they don't know about love. "Ask the nose," they suggested. I asked the nose about love; he also said he doesn't know—he only smells. "Ask your hands," he advised. I asked my hands, and they said, "We just feel things you touch. You can ask the brain." So, I asked the brain about love. He said, "I don't care about things like that. If you want to know, ask the heart." I asked the heart, "What is love?" She said, "When your eyes get stuck when you see it, your nose is captivated by its smell, your hands begin to feel it, and your brain is overwhelmed, causing me to beat as fast as I can. When it comes, you can feel it... and I belong to her." I asked her, "So if you're gone, do I not have a heart?" She laughed and said, "If you find a true soul, she gives you her heart." I asked her, "What happens if I lose love?" She said, "Maybe you lose me, and you become a heartless man." Now I understand how it feels. Days, months, and years have gone by, and I've never felt this in my life. I asked my mind why I never experience love. He said, "Because you're scared." I asked, "Why are you scared?" He said, "If you fall in love, you lose your happiness and everything." I asked, "Why?" He said, "When it comes, you live for the person you love. For that person, you need to sacrifice your happiness, and life will change." I asked about any other options. He said, "If that person loves who you are, you don't need to change. Maybe she will sacrifice her happiness for you." I said, "No, I don't like that." Then he said, "That's the reason you never feel love. Love is sacrifice. Like parents love their kids—they sacrifice their happiness for their children. So if a child loves his parents, he sacrifices his happiness. Love is sacrifice. Maybe if anyone is in love, they sacrifice their life for it. So, kid, the choice is yours..." I got answers, but I'm stuck in dedication.
I saw a angel. I call her lexi "Hey,helooo anybudy there, someone hear me. Help please help" , I screamed for help, but my voice was swallowed by the emptiness. I was stuck in a hole, unable to move up or down. The only thing I could see was the open sky above me. I tried to move, but my body was exhausted, and my tongue felt dry and heavy. I was in pain, and hopelessness crept in. Maybe these were my last moments of life. I prayed to God, but He didn't hear me. Maybe He was busy with others maybe he didn't hear my voice . I start to think like Why was I born? Why was I here? Why did this happen to me? Why always me? I can't cry. My eyes were too busy searching for something. As he always . I never cried before. Maybe society make me like this, to not show emotions.they say "men not cry" . As I gazed up at the sky, my eyes grew tired, and my hopes began to fade. I was losing my grip on life. Maybe this was the end. Maybe I wasn't ready. Just as I accepted my fate, my eyes getting close slowly. Suddenly I heard a voice. "Hey, are you okay? Can you hear me?" I was confused. Was I dead? I opened my eyes to see a hand reaching out to me. "Hold my hand, come on." Slowly, I raised my hand, and grasped theirs. The hand was calm, cold, and soft. As I looked up, I saw her face. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds, and her eyebrows curved like waves. Her lips were a delicate rose color. A light shone behind her. illuminating her like an angel. She pulled me out of the hole, and I felt like I am free. I looked up at her, but she vanished. II looked around, trying to find any sign of. but she was nowhere to be seen. I called out her, but only the wind replied. couldn't even thank her. I didn't know who she was or where she came from. All I knew was that she was an angel. I called her Angel Lexi
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