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荒れ狂うトム・クルーズ
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fu
21
げんたん
by motohiko
20
nodasanta
Animated image of an angel betrayed by love and with broken wings
#Brokenwingedangel #brokenheart #heaven #anime #nodasanta
1
太郎さん
裏切られ来しことさへも人の常山茶花ひらく無垢の紅かな
even coming
to be betrayed is
what people always do
open sasanqua
In immaculate crimson
1![タイラ[tyler]](https://cdn.gravity.place/virtual/portrait/color/online/20230307/2a6b4a45-11d6-4c82-9df4-90e7d5a97211.png?style=5)
タイラ[tyler]
26 もっとみる 
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Justice—where is it? In a world where “if you don’t get caught, you’re not punished” has become reality, I feel a deep sense of anger and unease. People deceive, destroy lives, even take lives, and if they slip through the cracks of law enforcement, they walk free. In one country, individuals enter on tourist visas, disappear into hidden compounds, commit fraud for months or years, and return home as if nothing happened. If they aren’t caught, they repeat the cycle. Will they continue scamming until death? Do they feel no remorse, even as they age? These questions terrify me. People have died. Families have been shattered. Yet the local government fails to act decisively, and criminal networks thrive. Economic aid flows in, but with it comes silence and complicity. Is it just me who sees this aid as a mask for enabling crime? Some say, “Anyone who goes there is asking for it.” But that blames the victim and excuses the perpetrator. Victims had dreams. They were trying to survive. Their trust was betrayed—not just by the scammers, but by the systems that failed to protect them. Fraudsters are often trapped in their own networks, exploited while exploiting others. Escape means violence, confiscated passports, confinement. They lose their humanity. And this structure is upheld by weak enforcement, legal loopholes, and global indifference. What is justice? What is law? Is a crime not a crime if it’s never exposed? I refuse to accept that. A crime remains a crime. A society where lives are destroyed without consequence is a society without justice. It’s a place where the vulnerable are silenced. I won’t ignore this reality. If anger can become words, maybe those words can protect someone. That’s why I speak. Justice begins when someone dares to speak. We must not look away. The moment we say “it’s not my problem,” justice dies. Even if it happens far away, it’s part of our world. Fraud doesn’t just steal money. It steals trust, dignity, and futures. And the idea that “if you don’t get caught, you’re safe” threatens the foundation of society. Victims didn’t just lose money—they lost faith in people, in systems, in hope. That pain is invisible. That pain is silent. So I want to give it voice. That’s the first step toward justice. The end for scammers is rarely glamorous. They live in fear, isolation, and distrust. Yet they continue, because society lets them. If they aren’t punished, why stop? Unless we change that structure, victims will keep multiplying. I want to believe in justice. Maybe that’s naïve. But if no one believes, justice doesn’t exist. If no one speaks, justice doesn’t move. So I turn anger into language, sorrow into sentences, questions into challenges, and hope into proposals. Justice isn’t distant—it lives within each of us. In our courage to speak, our refusal to look away, our willingness to care. That’s where justice begins. I believe in words. I believe words can change the world. So I write. To reach someone. To make sure no life is trampled again.
2
なな
A journey across lands, within a heart.
I set off on a quiet journey, alone.
A soul in search—
for something unseen,
something lost within.
In Japan,
the soft chorus of autumn insects
followed the footsteps
of evening walks with my dog.
The air was clear,
crisp as glass,
and the rice fields whispered—
leaves rustling like distant waves,
waiting patiently
for harvest time to come.
Golden stalks, heavy with life,
bowed low,
as if listening
for the right moment to be released.
In the Philippines,
the sea shimmered in endless blue.
From Cebu to Malapascua,
then El Nido—
I chased the edge of the horizon.
I dove beneath the surface,
hoping the depths might answer me.
But what I was searching for
remained quiet,
somewhere beyond coral and salt.
Kalanggaman—
an uninhabited island
shaped like a kiss
between two drifting shores.
I whispered to the wind,
“One day,
I want to camp here with you.”
In Thailand,
on Khaosan Road,
I followed the map scribbled
in Lonely Planet’s margins.
Pad Thai sizzled,
foreign voices filled the air—
it hardly felt like Asia at all.
Or perhaps,
a Western village
planted in Southeast soil.
Like a scene from The Beach,
neon and nostalgia intertwined.
From Bangkok’s alleys,
I drifted south
toward Phuket’s waiting coast.
In Vietnam,
ao dai whispered through humid air,
pho steamed in quiet bowls,
and sudden rain
washed away even the noise.
I quarreled with a motorbike driver,
then laughed,
alone on a borrowed scooter
chasing the perfect bánh mì
through night markets
alive with spice and neon.
From Da Nang to Hoi An,
the road curled like smoke—
and the noodles I ate alone
tasted like courage.
In Bali,
the night chanted with fire.
Kecak dancers circled flame,
and I lay beneath a net,
dreaming in whispers.
I met my mother,
shared mint cucumber water,
and let time soften
what silence could not.
Spa hands pressed memory into skin.
Coconut paths led to Ubud,
where an amaryllis bloomed
quietly in a rice terrace—
as if it, too,
had been waiting.
In the Maldives,
spices clung to the air—
saffron, cumin, memory.
I wandered the morning market,
and in the mosque’s quiet breath,
wrapped myself in stillness
and modesty.
Malé felt too small
for the loneliness I carried.
Even land seemed to shrink
beneath the weight in my chest.
On Maafushi,
romance shimmered
just out of reach.
Stingrays in the shallows
played near my feet—
but the rendezvous
never reached my soul.
In Istanbul,
gulls cried over the Bosphorus,
and the wind tasted like salt and scripture.
At Hagia Sophia,
bells echoed in my ribs,
and a cup of tea
warmed something
colder than skin.
The bazaar twisted like a dream,
each alley a whisper
of spice and silk.
I felt both lost and found,
held in the hum of ancient prayers.
In Paris,
light fell gently
on bowls of pho
and broken mornings.
A stranger—madame—
offered me kindness.
When she said au revoir,
my eyes betrayed me.
Her kiss on my cheek
was the kind of goodbye
that aches for a lifetime.
At Sacré-Cœur,
I surrendered
to a grief I hadn’t named—
let it spill like stained glass
onto the quiet hill.
In Italy,
a single rose bloomed
on the table beside my risotto.
I watched pizza spin
in the hands of artisans
who touched the dough
like a living thing.
Warm laughter filled the streets—
a kindness without question.
In Spain,
tapas flickered beneath golden lights.
Gaudí’s stones reached for the sky,
and I coughed quietly
into thyme tea
as the sun dipped behind
Barcelona’s silhouette.
In Hungary,
steam curled from bathhouse tiles,
and friendship stirred
like the first warmth
after a long frost.
But fever came.
And so did silence.
I lay still in a guesthouse bed,
feeling eyes that saw me
as something other.
Even kindness
had a border that day.
In Morocco and Jordan,
I followed the scent of saffron
through souks that twisted like vines.
Tajine reminded me of home.
The kindness of strangers,
rooted in the Qur’an,
wrapped around me like linen.
In mountain towns dyed blue,
I shrank into myself—
then slowly breathed again
in the calm of dry air
and starlit nights.
What I searched for—
I never found.
Not in the oceans,
not in the prayers,
not in the heat or the hunger.
But in every step,
something remained.
The scent of mint and sea,
the rhythm of unknown tongues,
the silence after parting—
they live inside me now.
I returned
with nothing in my hands,
but everything
in my heart.
What was missing
was never meant
to be found—
It was meant
to be felt.
And now,
it blooms quietly
inside me—
like a flower
no one else sees.
3
ガダラ
Past is what, past is what, will be pass you Be alright, be alright, cause I'll be me Cause I know, cause I know that I'll prove myself In the end I will be standing here
All my life, I've lived alone This is a path I have to take Can't go back to who I was This is my time, to break away
I've seen this a thousand times Don't know who else I can trust anymore Betrayed countless times 'til now I will not let anyone get in my way
They have been wandering in what my heart is telling me I can't to let, I won't let my mind take control Til the end, til the of time I must go on In the end I will be standing here
All my life, I've lived alone This is a path I have to take Can't go back to who I was This is my time, to break away
Past is what, past is what, will be pass you Be alright, be alright, cause I'll be me Cause I know, cause I know that I'll prove myself In the end I will be standing here
All my life, I've lived alone This is a path I have to take Can't go back to who I was This is my time, to break away
Just break away From who I was
6
🫧
My husband will find millions of women more attractive than me and will never say it to my face
Is it better? Sure. The less I know the better right?
But can I escape the truth? No I can’t
I have to accept it and move on or else I wouldn’t be with him
It’s not fair but then again what is
It’s a behavior that I’ll never understand because it’s something I’ll never do to him
The reality is that if he were a perfect man or person I would still be able to find something that bothers me, vice versa
The truth is that knowing that he looks at other women and porn bothers me, it grosses me
The thought hunts me from time to time and I feel like I betrayed my body for giving it to him
But then who’s worthy?
Regardless of how perfect a person can be they’ll always have something you won’t like about, it’s a matter of denial that a good person would ever choose you because that’s how your insecurities will control your mind
24
そら🦭🌱
how can you believe ppl who chose to betray you purposefully by their free will to be loyal?
if the sun were to rise from the west maybe...
3 もっとみる