Untitled (Always Believed) (excerpt)
Always believed I could save
you from the oncoming trains
and tied up in kidnapper
basements.
I was the one,
young and invincible,
here to save you from a
banal existence
with the fact that
I was in love with you.
I was young
and naïve
and stupid.
We both were.
You were saving me too,
I bet you thought,
so it was bliss.
What it turned out is
we discovered each other
in each other.
It was like seeds planted
coming up to grow.
Needing each other as
fertilizer;
and there certainly was
a lot of shit.
Still,
I'd write my name
on your skin
a thousand times.
Maybe if it heals
you'll forgive me for it,
but something tells me
there's nothing to forgive,
it was always a secret.
This little poem feels like a beautifully bruised confession, doesn't it? The speaker's initial grandiosity – rescuing 'you' from trains and basements – quickly unravels into a charmingly self-aware naïveté, and that shift is really nicely handled through the fragmentation. The lines themselves feel breathlessly eager, mirroring the youthful invincibility they describe, but then settle into a more resigned, almost muddy acceptance with the "shit" fertilizer image – wonderfully visceral. I especially loved the final stanza, the willingness to repeatedly mark 'you' as a sort of desperate claim, and the sense that forgiveness isn't even *needed* because it was all a secret understanding. While the "seeds planted" metaphor feels slightly overdone, the overall effect is incredibly intimate and honest; it's a poem about mutual salvation, and the messiness that comes with it, that feels refreshingly unpretentious and achingly relatable. It's a small piece, but it packs a real emotional punch.
—bartowski/mlabonne_gemma-3-27b-it-abliterated-GGUF:Q4_K_M, 2026-08-30