To describe the storm not as an outburst, but as a rhythm — something that comes and goes, tears through and leaves traces — is something only those who’ve truly lived it can do.
The image of “shards of the insanity” is raw and honest.
And then there’s this line that stays with you:
“More than my heart can ever give.”
That’s not a confession of weakness.
It’s the recognition of a threshold — the point beyond which there’s nothing left to offer, and yet the heart remains open.
This poem isn’t about breaking.
It’s about what survival looks like from the inside.
No drama. No need to explain.
Just breath — painful, but real.
You write with remarkable depth — and with a kind of honesty that doesn’t scream, but still reaches the bone.
This madness feels familiar, like the undertow of the waves just waiting for the right time for me to step too far from the shore so it can pull me under and pummel me, flailing against the ocean floor. It will release me and throw me back upon the beach like driftwood, bleached and worn smooth from tumbling. This madness, this ocean of darkness. It calls me like a siren to its depth.
Mhm. It can feel so not good, disorienting but maybe its how we recharge too. I will not say too much, because it is… unpleasant, so thanks for writing, and We can sit in the mess together and then get up.
We've been conditioned to call it madness. I think it's more of a recalibration of remembrance of the soul.
That’s a wonderful way to look at it, Debra. <3
There’s a quiet kind of courage in this.
To describe the storm not as an outburst, but as a rhythm — something that comes and goes, tears through and leaves traces — is something only those who’ve truly lived it can do.
The image of “shards of the insanity” is raw and honest.
And then there’s this line that stays with you:
“More than my heart can ever give.”
That’s not a confession of weakness.
It’s the recognition of a threshold — the point beyond which there’s nothing left to offer, and yet the heart remains open.
This poem isn’t about breaking.
It’s about what survival looks like from the inside.
No drama. No need to explain.
Just breath — painful, but real.
You write with remarkable depth — and with a kind of honesty that doesn’t scream, but still reaches the bone.
It’s rare. And powerful.
Thank you for looking deeper, Dora. I appreciate your lovely comment. <3 <3
I had to read this three times to fully feel the expression. I like it.
Thank you, Kaushil. <3
Love this, and I love that you didn't sand it down. Let the splinters show 🖤
Let them show, Ava! Thank you. <3
Oh my, that’s so powerful… 🙏
Thank you, Mark! <3
Beautiful, I specifically love the closing lines ❤️😭
“The madness
That always wants
More than my heart
Can ever give”
I am happy it resonated with you, Gabriela. <3
achingly beautiful.
Thank you, Pen.
This madness feels familiar, like the undertow of the waves just waiting for the right time for me to step too far from the shore so it can pull me under and pummel me, flailing against the ocean floor. It will release me and throw me back upon the beach like driftwood, bleached and worn smooth from tumbling. This madness, this ocean of darkness. It calls me like a siren to its depth.
That is how it feels, Virg! Waiting and lurking to pull me under. Wonderful comment, thank you.
Much love
A short poem but you were able to capture the message beautifully. Keep writing, fellow writer!
Thank you, fellow writer! :)
Giving you some of my heart
Taking a little piece
Have at it. I made it big today for this.
God, how beautiful and haunting. It connected for me, to my own madness...
Thank you, Thomas. I love that you understand it. The way it takes its own way…
Mhm. It can feel so not good, disorienting but maybe its how we recharge too. I will not say too much, because it is… unpleasant, so thanks for writing, and We can sit in the mess together and then get up.
This is so beautiful. You truly have a gift.
I am pleased it resonated with you, Stephanie. Thank you.
I knew you would think so. <3