Write poetry. Get feedback. Discover poets.

I remember your perfume and how its fragrance and your essence made me giddy, like fine champagne from a crystal flute, sparkling, how they made me act the fool and not care as long as I could see you, touch you, inhale you, feel you open yourself to me, but time passed, the chill crept in, and you and my love are shells of themselves since you...

Sadness isn’t always obvious. Sometimes it shows up quietly, more like a fading feeling than something sharp. It can feel heavy, or just kind of hollow, like there’s a gap where something used to be, even if you can’t quite explain it. It has a way of making you slow down and pay attention. To what hurts, to what’s missing, or to things that...

~ “Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now, take what's left and live it properly. What doesn't transmit light creates its own darkness.” ― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations ~ I looked back and saw kindergarten Memories playing vividly in my head Halfway done they said and I asked "Didn't life start just yesterday?" I wonder if it...

In shadows cast by stone and fear, I find myself, the path unclear. A dilemma looms, a heavy weight, Where do I turn? What lies in fate? Shall I trust the echoes of my mind, The wisdom gathered, the truths I find? Or delve within, where silence dwells, Into the chambers, where my spirit swells? With every breath, a whisper calls, Inward...

On a wave above the Moon a crimson silence froths Makes you forget yourself and hurts when you can’t laugh For when you try to touch the Moon but glide a little past This silence is forever and rhymes ‘a broken heart’

thousands of miles from where my name means something in a city where no one knows me— it still feels like home. not the warm kind. not the kind with open arms and someone waiting at the door. the quieter kind. the colder kind. the kind i’ve known for as long as i can remember. i’ve always known loneliness. it was never loud. just steady. like...

However it cooled between us, let it begin again. Show me the room in you that I was welcome in again. Your shoulder shrugs my hand off like a coat in April, so I pocket both hands, fold all my wanting in again. I ration tenderness now like sugar in a war year, afraid to offer what will not be taken in again. We used to talk until the candle...