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 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
The weight of a thousand eyes presses down,
A silent, ceaseless judgment that I drown
Within. I worry too much, an endless loop
Of anxious thoughts, a psychological stoop
About how others see me—the fleeting glance,
The subtle shift, the judgment they advance.
Each interaction is a stage, a test,
Where my own self-worth is put to the best
Or worst assessment by an external gauge.
I turn each minor slip into a mental cage.
I worry too much, an unrelenting fear,
About whether they like me, holding me dear,
Or casting me aside with cold indifference.
The need for approval is a fierce presence,
A hunger I can never seem to appease,
Searching for acceptance on every breeze.
I worry too much, the constant, weary drain,
About what others think, the imagined stain
They see upon my character or my name.
This scrutiny I project is a cruel game,
Where I am both the player and the prize,
Obsessed with the mirrors in other people’s eyes.
Why does it matter so much to me, this need
To fit the mold, to plant the perfect seed
Of a flawless persona in their minds?
Why do I seek the validation that binds
Me to their opinion, tethering my peace
To whether or not their judgments cease?
The mask I wear is finely wrought and bright.
I say, with forced conviction and feigned might,
It doesn’t bother me. My voice is steady, low.
I put, with practiced ease, a flawless show,
On a brave face, a fortress built of stone,
Pretending I stand confidently alone.
But the truth is, the internal tremor starts,
It does bother me, deep within the hidden parts.
The words I speak are often just a lie,
A desperate attempt to watch the worry die.
The fear of rejection is a constant, nagging ache,
A vulnerability I cannot fully forsake.
I want to move on from these consuming thoughts,
To sever the chains of ‘what-if’ and ‘what-nots’.
I want to rid myself of the debilitating idea,
That everyone has to like me, crystal clear,
A fantasy that keeps me small and tight.
I long to stand securely in my own light.
No matter what I say or do, the true release
Lies not in their affection, but in my own peace.
Acceptance is the key, the final, crucial stand.
Acceptance of who I am, etched by my own hand,
And the profound, unshakable belief that I am worthy,
Not because they say it, but because I know the worth of me.
I will claim my own value and finally be free.
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
