I didn’t just witness chaos—I became part of it.
In response to HVR’s prompt, Child of Chaos is a raw, unfiltered poem about survival, violence, and the psychological scars that don’t disappear when the fire dies.
I remember walking into the chaos wearing white t-shirt… and returning home stained brown. The air was thick with smoke, burning tires writing their story on our skin. This is not something you imagine. You carry it. There’s a difference between writing about chaos and having lived inside it… and this feels like the latter. Respect for the truth you put on the page.
This lands hard, like walking through fire with lungs open, letting the smoke fill every corner of memory.
You don’t just show the chaos; you inhabit it: the smell, the heat, the weight of despair pressing against the chest. It reads less like description and more like a lived interior.
What strikes me most is the steady pulse beneath the havoc, the heart that beats to revolution, not as ideology, but as survival, as inheritance, as something elemental.
It’s brutal, yes, but also intimate. It reminds that fire isn’t only destruction; it’s a mirror to what persists, what refuses to be erased.
I remember walking into the chaos wearing white t-shirt… and returning home stained brown. The air was thick with smoke, burning tires writing their story on our skin. This is not something you imagine. You carry it. There’s a difference between writing about chaos and having lived inside it… and this feels like the latter. Respect for the truth you put on the page.
Thank you,
The prompt sent me back home Haiti, between 2010-1015.
Your lines are amazing. We don’t walk into the chaos and went out untouched
Hauntingly beautiful... that's definitely my vibe 🔥 funny how my response to the prompt was very similar lol
Thank you Stranger 🤗
That’s why I like to believe we, human, are more alike than we want to admit it
Youre welcome Odel
We are differently similar
And similaly different
We are just chaotic 😂
Year we are uniquely common
yet commonly unique
You speak my language 😂❤️🔥
I kinda like to use that language in poetry too 🥰
Same!
Let me DM you in abit, i will show you some examples
And you show me some too
I do this ALOT!
Beautifully written, with a power that hits hard and stays there when it lands.
Thank you, Gary
Hauntingly beautiful my friend ❤️🩹
Thank you, dearest ✨
This lands hard, like walking through fire with lungs open, letting the smoke fill every corner of memory.
You don’t just show the chaos; you inhabit it: the smell, the heat, the weight of despair pressing against the chest. It reads less like description and more like a lived interior.
What strikes me most is the steady pulse beneath the havoc, the heart that beats to revolution, not as ideology, but as survival, as inheritance, as something elemental.
It’s brutal, yes, but also intimate. It reminds that fire isn’t only destruction; it’s a mirror to what persists, what refuses to be erased.
Thanks for your deep comment.
This prompt sent me straight back to my country. And I take a pleasure to writing. I’m glad it strikes you a little ✨
Black smoke from burning rubber rising off the ground, that line came in hot and ugly and way too vivid..!
Asukaaaaaa 😊✨ thank you 😊
There’s beauty in the ugliness, right ?
Very vivid and haunting imagery and emotional impact. Scorching.
Thank you, Alicia ✨
Powerful! Fear can’t get you. Loved it.
Thank you Nabanita
Thank you,
I’m from Haiti.
Sure, please do