The first time I met her, I was mesmerized.
She was poetry in human form.
Sydney was her name—let me tell you,
she was poetry in human form.
Perfection, from start to finish.
Each stanza—shaped flawless.
Hair flowing like cursive on paper.
Her eyes told the story,
her lips wrote the words.
Her voice, a gentle tone.
Her presence carried the cadence of a flawless verse.
Her smile—the perfect ending.
Her walk, like the stroke of a pencil,
writing every line with intention.
She was poetry in human form.
The imagery burned into my mind.
She echoed through my thoughts,
leaving me hungry to read more.
For she was unlike any other—
she was poetry in human form.
— Joseph Cousineau
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 8:32 PM UTC
Times like this,
make hell seem like
a pleasant place
to be.
— Joseph Cousineau
Mar 20
Mar 20, 2026 at 9:50 PM UTC
The haunting ring
of silence
reminds me—
I’m alone again.
— Joseph Cousineau
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 9:45 PM UTC
Last night I heard a bird go coo,
and I thought—who?
Last night I heard a bird go coo,
and I thought—you.
So I walked around,
and I looked around,
but there was no bird.
Then I heard it—
KooKoo.
Kookoo.
And I realized—
not who,
not you,
but me.
— Joseph Cousineau
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 11:45 PM UTC
Have you ever seen a flower
grow by nine
and die by ten?
— Joseph Cousineau
Mar 13
Mar 13, 2026 at 12:43 AM UTC