I wish I could be happy
Standing with a smile on my face
Partner's arm around my waist
But that's just not the case
I wish I could be happy
In the present with the future on it's way
But I still cried looking back on the past today
I wish I could be happy
I promise that I try
But when my heart breaks
I find it hard to lie
About who I truly am inside
I wish I could be happy
And not falling apart
But even now I still
Have a broken heart
4d ago
May 29, 2026 at 11:37 PM UTC
For a poet,
When it comes to you I seem to lose
All ability to write eloquently
You leave me heart eyed
Tongue tied
A cheeseball disaster
With my head in outer space
Dreaming about a day we'll live
Side by side, your hand in mine
Out of bad situations
Knowing all really WILL be fine
A life of safety
Of happiness
Of whatever comes after all of this
Though, when I try to say this to your face
Or even over a simple text
I become all heart eyes
Tongue tied
A cheeseball disaster
But I'd rather be cheesy than see that smile leave your face
I'd rather be tongue tied and by your side
Than wondering what we could've become
So, for a poet, I suppose I am well enough off
For now instead of darkness,
I can write of love
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 12:31 AM UTC
My bones
Breaking under my skin
My skin
Stretching too thin
My muscles
Bunching
Pulling
Stretching
Wearing out
I am without
Any reason
To explain my body's weakness
Sitting here with my...
My bones
Breaking under my skin
My skin
Stretching too thin
My muscles
Bunching
Pulling
Stretching
Wearing out
Tell me doctor who says I'm fine
Why do I hurt all the time
Tell me doctor who says I'm fine
What's wrong with this body of mine
Why are...
My bones
Breaking under my skin
My skin
Stretching too thin
My muscles
Bunching
Pulling
Stretching
Wearing out
And now my breath grows thin
I could blow away in a gust of wind
With my
Bones breaking
Skin stretching
Muscles wearing out
Vision blurring
Hearing faling
Circulation falling
Heart racing
Falling apart
Its all in my head
Its all in my heart
That's what they say
As my blood runs cold
As my bones start to fold
As my life falls to an end
As it all starts again
My bones
Breaking under my skin
My skin
Stretching too thin
My muscles
Bunching
Pulling
Stretching
Wearing out
And I'm still
Without reason
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 11:58 AM UTC
The opportunities of the day give way
The bridge between us bends, then breaks away
We are the banks of a raging river
We are your atmosphere
We are the moon, and you are the tides
We are the darkening skies
Silently winding and weaving through
Nothing left to prove
All around and flowing throughout
A beauty reverberates unseen
I just want to live where I can be
An experiment, a theory
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 11:49 AM UTC
i have been trying to fix the edges of our relationship like things in a luggage bag, for this, i push with my feet and hands, to make maximum space for compatibility i flatten our arguments like clothes, roll fabric softly, fill tiny gaps, move zip slider close to the teeth to prevent the spilling of our love.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 11:49 AM UTC
I wipe my sweaty
palms on my jeans
for the third time
since pulling into
the parking lot.
Just breathe.
Make eye contact—
Not that much eye contact.
Nod, not too much,
And not too fast
I dissect each conversation
my nail carving crescents
into the soft side of my finger.
My mouth forgets how to coordinate
with my tongue
to make sound
consonants,
vowels,
words,
sentences
My tongue trips over my teeth
and there is no catching what falls out
Thanks,
you too.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 11:48 AM UTC
softly
my drum
softly
your cry
softly
my drum
softly
your tears
do not ooze yourself dry yet
when the maidens’ pots are yet unfilled
softly
my drum
the stick hits gently
softly
my drum
the sticks greets caressingly
do not cry yourself hoarse yet
when the moonlight has just appeared
softly
my drum
the stick beats hard now
softly
my drum
your tears well up now
softly
lightly
cautiously
dripping
the
witches
mother
is
dead
softly
my drum
the stick beats painfully
softly
my drum
your eyes red stressfully
which mouth shall tell
that the khaki pocket
is soiled with oil
softly
my drum
the stick beats rudely
not borne of disrespect
but of unbound mouth
of a youthful mind
that long to say
all that eyes see
softly
my drum
show your rhythmic grace
yeepa
must you call them vermin
call them scavengers
conmen who call the thieves to despoil
and call the owners to arrest
conmen who sing the thieves songs of escape
before the owners arrive their farms
must you call them scavengers
call them vermin
you town – crier
what
my drum
what shall you call them
our teachers whose mothers
were witches
but wait
whatever you call the vampires
who parade as teachers
in verdant khaki
remember
one drum that sounded too loud
just yesterday
when drum stick beat too hard
just yesterday
the drum was badly torn
just yesterday
caution
my drum
caution
or how shall we treat the vampires
who stand us up at fang point
© Lanre Adebayo
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 11:47 AM UTC
they called it Exiled
like I chose to leave
like distance was a decision
not a consequence
Exiled
no crown
no court
no familiar voices calling my name
just space
too much of it
at first it felt like punishment
like being erased from the story I helped build
no more expectations
no more eyes
no more throne to sit on
just silence where everything used to be
but silence starts changing you
it strips away noise
until you finally hear what’s left underneath
and I realized something I didn’t expect
being removed from everything
doesn’t always mean being lost
sometimes it means being forced to find yourself again
without roles
without titles
without anyone telling you who to be
and it hurts
but it’s honest
because out here
there’s no audience
just reflection
and for the first time in a long time
I don’t have to perform
I just have to exist
— The Royal Series, xx10m 👑
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 11:45 AM UTC
Sitting on a park bench on a bright sunny day,
Relaxing in the sun's warm, sweet rays. Top of the trees , Glistening leaves gently swaying in the breeze. Higabove
A plane flies by Air-brushed clouds through a country-kitchen blue sky.
Birds sing their song,
The winds come and gone.
Just watching the cars pass my way,
My cares slowly fading away,
Sitting on a park bench on a bright sunny day.....
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 11:45 AM UTC
“you tap my keys
and create a beautiful
melody as your foot
presses gently
over mine; it makes
me blush
you fix my strings
when i am a little
out of tune; you’re
never annoyed to
help me out
you gloss my wooden
casing with a smooth
finish to display all
of my beauty
but you grow bored
of me after a while
and i am left to dust
in an old storage closet
with my strings thinning
and my gloss peeling
i barely remember
the last song i sang
to you
because i never
expected you to
simply
just
leave.”
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 11:44 AM UTC