But
I love the way that words dance
on a page,
like a trance.
They have me
in the palm of their hands,
in a waltz.
So I’m a princess
at the ball,
with words as my prince
they enchant me
like a witch.
It’s like magic
how they guide my pen
to arabesque,
do the tango,
then a courtesy.
Oh, how polite,
and how gentle
so fragile,
so tragic.
They’re all mine
in glasses of crystal
that I glance at.
You can’t trap them.
They hate stillness,
I take their lead
My words dance
Cause they’re free.
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 7:59 PM UTC
Why?
Keep it closed,
shut tight.
Whispers grow
on the other side—
lies
that blind
the eyes
of another life.
Stop.
Why?
There’s a knock.
Where?
From the other side.
Keep it closed.
But I wanna know
what lies
beyond sight,
what warmth feels like
in distilled nights,
Where do fireflies
come alive
what sounds soothe
the deafening cries.
There’s a knock.
Open it
to a blinding void,
an engulfing light.
Stark white
Its nothing..
Close it.
Must’ve been the wind.
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 2:53 PM UTC
Common sense tells you
that when one has a string full of traumatic knots
You untie them one by one
Sadly, I didn't know knots could be undone
So who is the foolish one?
Me
Because people said so
Who?
Many
It was as if they met in advance
Across race, age, gender, and place
To spread the tale
Of the one who lacks
All form, life, and tact
Though all my senses ARE in tact
The common one too in fact
And which one may that be?
Oh i know this one quite well
It’s the the one that makes people laugh
Well then its the one that knows when to laugh
The one that walks like a proper girl?
The one that speaks at the perfect volume?
The one that cleans and cooks before dawn?
No?
Perhaps,
I have all of that
I do in fact!
But I never had the common one
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 12:09 AM UTC
The words that were never said
will never travel
another yard
To get to you.
They used to dress up, skate across ice
to lift you.
They danced in fields,
meadows of laughter,
Waiting for the petals of your words to bloom.
They withered, waiting,
never allowing a sprinkle of light
to revive their roots.
The words cling
to the dry mahogany leaves
marked by every footprint from you.
They have been contaminated,
left behind by the stinger of bees
and the conniving snakes that slither through.
It’s been years now,
but I guess the venom of the past has paralyzed you.
Because the words are still damp
cold,
and far
from you.
Apr 9
Apr 9, 2026 at 1:08 PM UTC
I am a string,
long and embroidered with knots,
all different sizes and shapes.
They perform together
Orchestrating a pattern
one so ethereal it forms a necklace.
When I wear the necklace,
it starts to tighten,
knots buckling down,
attached to my neck.
I can’t tell where it ends and where I begin.
I need to take it off-
so I pull the string.
It chokes me harder,
robbing me of air,
a privilege that cannot be had when one has tight knots.
Finally, it breaks.
I’m free.
The string is in two.
It doesn’t really matter.
I don’t feel its pull anymore.
I don’t feel it at all.
It used to be beauti-
That doesn’t really matter.
I’d rather feel nothing at all.
When I look at my hands, though,
it’s a mess.
What once was a string
is now colliding knots,
entangled within each other
till it is many within one.
I now am a string,
because I hold all my knots,
and I don’t know how to separate them apart,
so I keep them as one.
Apr 9
Apr 9, 2026 at 1:44 AM UTC