What is disappointment on the road?
Oh, it’s not a problem, but a gift of fate, perhaps: When, tired of dreaming and shedding tears, The soul trembles quietly from sleep to insight.
That moment when the veils are torn away, And the world as it is stands before you - Without the makeup of words, without the pink base, But the real one is scary and alive.
Where the idol was, only a picture remained, Where faith sang, silence matures... And in this evil there is the breath of reason, And in this darkness the spark is not visible.
Disappointed means awakened, Came down from heaven and sank into the earth, So that anew - without invention and dreams - Grow your light, your core and your growth.
💔 What is disappointment on the road? Not weakness, but the ability to get through. Not a failure, not a crash, not a fatal revenge - But the truth is that all that remains is to burn it.
When a dream is like fragile glass, It crashed - and you stayed in spite With myself, alone, without a mask or embellishment - And the world said:"Look, now is your time."
🔥 Anger is not an enemy, but a living call, It is not fire to burn. This flame at dawn - The voice of truth in silence.
🌀 It comes like a blow, Where God's gift is violated. Where they endured, where they remained silent - And everything inside was burned out.
💨 Anger is not a weakness, but a signal, That you are no longer a crystal. You are the stream, you are the splash, you are the thunder, What calls:"Come back to your home!"
🕊 Through the body, through the scream, Through crying, movement, rhythm - Anger comes out to breathe, And not to hurt, but to forgive.
🎭 Through music, poetry, Through the light, the fire within You find support in him, You cross anger like a mountain.
🕯 Lie
Smooth on the outside. Shaking on the inside. You speak - and the thread breaks. For a word torn out by a lie, It can't anymoreto give light.
You hide the truth - because of fear, Because of habit, because of "that way". But every time the soul is in discord, And the voice drowns in the voids.
You build walls of distortion, But behind the wall is not you, but a shadow. And in the reflections of doubts You live not for a day… but for noon.
A lie is like water without color or taste. No grain will grow on it. There is neither strength nor art in it. Only emptiness. And evil. And destruction.
But if you squeeze your heart, And you will ask: *"What is my light?" - You'll be surprised: the truth is simpler. And silence gives the answer.
🎭 Criticism
You can hurt with a word. You can heal with words. You can eclipse with just one glance. And you can reveal it with a glance.
You are like a scalpel without a handle, Without pain you cannot get to the essence. You often go to the wrong place, And you cut it so you can’t return it.
But if you - with respect, With love inside, not evil - You can be an inspiration, You can be a beacon.
Don't hit someone who is drowning, Don't poke at someone who is deaf. Tell me - like water on a stone. No poison. No evil. No pain.
Criticism is not a weapon. This is the art of words. Where every stroke is like a mirror. Where the essence lies is in the depths of the foundations.
He walks straight, his gaze like ice, In the eyes there is a quiet vault of contempt. Words are like arrows through the fog, And the voice is like a captain.
He is above everyone... well, how can he Descend into someone else's depths? Someone else's pain is just weakness, noise, He values only his own mind.
He is kind, but strict - "on the nails", He is generous, but only in thoughts, in dust. And if you say, "everything is wrong," He will smirk: "You're a fool."
But in the mirror, in the midst of silence, Where roles and walls are erased, He is an empty hero in his own right. With a crown that became a head.
She doesn't scream, she doesn't rush into battle, She is like a rock - unapproachable, with herself. There is no bright bravado, blasphemy or evil in her - Only cold and form inside the mirror.
She says:"You are special. One of a kind. You are the light in the darkness. You are the master. Why do you need to listen, why do you need to understand? "Others are just shadows. You should fly..."
She is like silk, golden armor, There is no compassion in her, no being. She smiles and strokes his temple - And the heart in clothes turns to ice.
But you can't fool the night. Inside, behind the wall, Silence sits, a lonely wave. And whispers:"You see? You're just afraid..." You build a throne so that it does not fall apart."
She comes without knocking, Whispering like a snake at the shoulder. There is fire in the eyes, honey in the movements, But behind the smile there is hunger and ice.
She doesn't know the word "love", Only "to take", "to own", "to hold" - like blood. She doesn't feel it - she plays, It envelops with a subtle temptation.
She paints bodies and dreams, Where everything is possible, everything is “without guilt.” But after the splash there is silence, And emptiness, as the essence of a wave.
You want - you thirst - you run again... But behind you is not passion, but a cross. Where there is neither light nor warmth - Just a form without a soul, a needle.
Shame
He doesn't shout. He whispers in the silence, When you are alone, in the dark, within yourself. It hides in the skin, in the curve of the back, In words that are stuck... in the breath of guilt.
He is covered by a mask -"I'm fine, look.", But my fingers tremble from the pain inside. He is a gaze lowered to the floor in the crowd, He is a knot tied in the emptiness of the chest.
He feeds doubts:"You are not like that. You are dirty, weak, alien, bad." It prohibits:“Don’t feel, be silent. Don't cry. Don't get angry. And don't save yourself."
Shame doesn't scream, it puts out the light, Like ashes fallen into the darkness of years. But if you tell him:I am, He melts… like ice, having lost his honor.
Guilt
She comes after the words, When you're already wrong, don't do it again. When only a trace remains From someone's tears... and words in response.
She doesn't get angry - she doesn't scream, She is like a stone that remains silent. Sits inside like someone's shadow, And he doesn't leave even for a day.
"You could have... should have... why?" — Her language is repentance, captivity. She draws, again and again, How you betrayed, how you killed love.
But there is a spark in it, not the end. It is based on the weight of the heart. She remembers that you are alive, That you can become different again.