Hanging These Boots

Have you ever carried the weight of the world, even when you were just a child? This poem reflects on the journey of shedding old burdens—reclaiming strength after years of giving too much. It’s about stopping the cycle of sacrifice for others and finally choosing self-love and freedom.

I am hanging these vigilante boots of mine,
No longer the silent watcher, the quiet spine.
Morality carved deep in my soul’s skin,
I stood up as a child, though the odds were grim.

A mere child, shouldering weight not my own,
Shielding others from the pain I’d known.
For those who took all I had to give,
But choked on the thought of my joy to live.

My empathy, their tool for hidden schemes,
Harming, hurting, tearing apart my dreams.
They asked for my love after breaking my core,
And called me insane when I asked for no more.

I once believed love should have no gate,
No matter one’s past, no matter their fate.
But their greed turned my heart into a bitter ache,
Surrounded by hands that only take and take.

Now, I gather that love for my own flame,
Not a martyr, not a scapegoat in their game.
No more burdens that don’t belong to me,
I draw my boundaries, I choose to be free.

I hated hurting, despised being cold,
But self-preservation demands I be bold.
I let go of the narrative I’ve clung to for years,
No saviour’s mask, no more silent tears.

If I don’t do it, who else will?
To rebuild my spirit, to climb the hill?
So here I stand, boots cast aside,
Living for myself, no shame, no pride.

How many times have you given pieces of yourself to others, only to be left with empty hands? When do you finally say "no more," and start living for your own happiness? This is a call for anyone who has been the silent caretaker to take back their power. Can you step into that freedom, as I have, and stop playing the martyr?

Comments

Game Of Fire and Ice

Hey Mister, Why won't you play a game of Twister? I promise I won't play coy. Won't you love it if I were your only toy? You can be the Lion in the boardroom, Then make me roar in the bedroom. Let's play the game of fire and ice. You bring the sugar, and I get the spice. I am praying by myself these nights, Drowning my moans when the city sleeps tight. We can play the game of Super Sonic, And then have our own race over some gin and tonic. So find me, like an app can find a phone. No, I won't bring out my Medusa and turn you into stone. I have been getting over my fears, Learned to make my tears into spears. You can take me as you like. We can go until we hear the third strike.

Polished Sins

A suit and tie, that polished smile, Covering up sins stacked mile by mile. They flaunt “new love,” someone else’s child— A ready-made story, perfectly styled. They’ve “levelled up,” or so they preach, But on someone’s pain, they made their reach, With vows of loyalty, words so neat, While another’s screams lie beneath their feet. Oh, they “moved on” to brighter skies, Leaving someone broken, with silent cries. They mount new heights, they shout and boast— Scaling peaks on another's haunted ghost. So smile for the camera, flash your pride, Show off the life that you tried to hide. For we know the truth beneath your gleam— A hollow show, a self-made scheme.

Till You Sing

Some would say men went to war for women like you, But I would still choose war if it meant choosing you. You say you write in amorous lines, But I would let you be the woman of my tribe. You had your adventures Under The Buda Moon, But have you been loved past noon? So I can see you shine like a magical flower, In the quiet warmth of the golden hour. The invisible strings pull at my heart Can I do justice to your name? Caress you right, Till you sing like a Carnatic hymn. Inspired by the author of Under The Buda Moon, Veena Rao

Cruising Alone

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