JustMightBeAlyss - Hello Poetry

I wrote poetry in the sand, fragile and foamed over by the sea... Shallow, lightning-glass letters, tasting of salt, of dreams, of you and me. I left footprints in the clouds, soft and brimming with crystal dew... So many little puddles of rain yet to be, reflecting the stars, reflecting me, reflecting you. There's a rainbow on the horizon that says it knows my shadow. There's a shape that your lips take when you murmur my name. I sew verses into the seams of my dress, they melt into the slick of my skin. I skip through pools in summer downpours, and wonder if I might be all there is... I held out my hand, delicate, fingers covered in ink... Like a stain waiting to claim a piece of your heart with all the pieces of me.

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Jan 7

Jan 7, 2026 at 2:15 PM UTC

Swells and Sorrows

I wrote poetry in the sand, fragile and foamed over by the sea... Shallow, lightning-glass letters, tasting of salt, of dreams, of you and me. I left footprints in the clouds, soft and brimming with crystal dew... So many little puddles of rain yet to be, reflecting the stars, reflecting me, reflecting you. There's a rainbow on the horizon that says it knows my shadow. There's a shape that your lips take when you murmur my name. I sew verses into the seams of my dress, they melt into the slick of my skin. I skip through pools in summer downpours, and wonder if I might be all there is... I held out my hand, delicate, fingers covered in ink... Like a stain waiting to claim a piece of your heart with all the pieces of me.

19

I'm splitting at my seams, seeping like watercolors into the canvas of my dreams. Scenes flashing, shadows scraping at my insides... Clawing whispers of silhouettes and skin, decadent adjurations for an all-consuming sin. I can feel myself unfurling, resplendent like the spark and smoke above the flames. Seeking to drown, take me under with the surrender in my name. I was built to worship, molded like a murmur upon a tongue, wet, ripe, and aching... Soon to come undone. A secret prayer uttered in the dark... Please, ******* tear me apart.

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Dec 23, 2025

Dec 23, 2025 at 3:28 PM UTC

Appeal

I'm splitting at my seams, seeping like watercolors into the canvas of my dreams. Scenes flashing, shadows scraping at my insides... Clawing whispers of silhouettes and skin, decadent adjurations for an all-consuming sin. I can feel myself unfurling, resplendent like the spark and smoke above the flames. Seeking to drown, take me under with the surrender in my name. I was built to worship, molded like a murmur upon a tongue, wet, ripe, and aching... Soon to come undone. A secret prayer uttered in the dark... Please, ******* tear me apart.

26

I pray in shadows... The Moon hears my words and whispers... Please god, fill me up with stars so I may always shine in the dark. My spine curves around the ache in my heart. If I was born to burn, let me taste that raw, unending spark... Please god, fill me up with stars...

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Dec 22, 2025

Dec 22, 2025 at 5:20 PM UTC

Prayer

I pray in shadows... The Moon hears my words and whispers... Please god, fill me up with stars so I may always shine in the dark. My spine curves around the ache in my heart. If I was born to burn, let me taste that raw, unending spark... Please god, fill me up with stars...

11

Helen can keep her ships and soldiers, I do not long for lands or lines on a mythical plat. Guinevere's old kings and young knights draw no glances from the green in my eyes. I have no use for such pomp and gaud. Cleopatra's lovers and emperors, her crowns and coins hold no sway over my heart and its hungers. Were that I could claim the flesh of Calliope as my own... Oh... the ecstasy of words wending their way into existence at the mere catalyst of my presence. Give me the intoxication of a secret soliloquy laid bare over the bare image of me, twisting in whispers around my skin and my shape. Drown me in the delicious dark of ink dripping over draft after draft of my description and the delicacy of my demeanor and dignity. Submerge me in the din of quills scratching furiously to illustrate the idiosyncratic nature of my grace, to convey the delectable sound of my voice. Deep-diving depictions of desire and adoration. Leave the gods to their temples, their thunderbolts, their empty idols built for ruin. I crave only the immortal mind melodically enshrined in a perfect rhyme... a turn of phrase skillfully turned about the flowing silhouette of my frame, gently, everlasting... capturing the brilliance and beauty in my face. I want only words and all of the cosmic magic that they make.

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Dec 12, 2025

Dec 12, 2025 at 4:41 PM UTC

Write Me Calliope

Helen can keep her ships and soldiers, I do not long for lands or lines on a mythical plat. Guinevere's old kings and young knights draw no glances from the green in my eyes. I have no use for such pomp and gaud. Cleopatra's lovers and emperors, her crowns and coins hold no sway over my heart and its hungers. Were that I could claim the flesh of Calliope as my own... Oh... the ecstasy of words wending their way into existence at the mere catalyst of my presence. Give me the intoxication of a secret soliloquy laid bare over the bare image of me, twisting in whispers around my skin and my shape. Drown me in the delicious dark of ink dripping over draft after draft of my description and the delicacy of my demeanor and dignity. Submerge me in the din of quills scratching furiously to illustrate the idiosyncratic nature of my grace, to convey the delectable sound of my voice. Deep-diving depictions of desire and adoration. Leave the gods to their temples, their thunderbolts, their empty idols built for ruin. I crave only the immortal mind melodically enshrined in a perfect rhyme... a turn of phrase skillfully turned about the flowing silhouette of my frame, gently, everlasting... capturing the brilliance and beauty in my face. I want only words and all of the cosmic magic that they make.

25

First snow of the season, first breath pillowed out like clouds, steam and heat and vitality. I caught the cold upon my tongue and smiled at its playfulness... (Is it morbid to think it might be poison?) I caught another and another. I walked beneath obsidian branches and found crystals hanging there... Glittering life, clinging to death... Black against white against light against all cosmic odds, and sparkling like stars in the void and vacuum. Can it just be enough that I got to touch them once? Beauty for its own sake... Can that just be enough?

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Dec 10, 2025

Dec 10, 2025 at 9:46 AM UTC

11.30.25

First snow of the season, first breath pillowed out like clouds, steam and heat and vitality. I caught the cold upon my tongue and smiled at its playfulness... (Is it morbid to think it might be poison?) I caught another and another. I walked beneath obsidian branches and found crystals hanging there... Glittering life, clinging to death... Black against white against light against all cosmic odds, and sparkling like stars in the void and vacuum. Can it just be enough that I got to touch them once? Beauty for its own sake... Can that just be enough?

17

I feel strangely sewn together... awkwardly jutting angles and juxtaposing curves, rolling over and tumbling down. I feel indelicately exposed, my insides playing at being outsides, bursting at all my seams. The color of my fabric faded, paled beneath the sun. Can you see right through me? I feel like a monstrous masterpiece, the innocent aftermath of so many robbed graves. I feel poked and prodded, conjured into creation by a soulless, demanding master-- the seamstress' hand at the cruel heart of my design. The question of my morality poignant, paradoxical from my conception. Can anyone possibly save me?

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Dec 8, 2025

Dec 8, 2025 at 12:47 PM UTC

Franken-doll

I feel strangely sewn together... awkwardly jutting angles and juxtaposing curves, rolling over and tumbling down. I feel indelicately exposed, my insides playing at being outsides, bursting at all my seams. The color of my fabric faded, paled beneath the sun. Can you see right through me? I feel like a monstrous masterpiece, the innocent aftermath of so many robbed graves. I feel poked and prodded, conjured into creation by a soulless, demanding master-- the seamstress' hand at the cruel heart of my design. The question of my morality poignant, paradoxical from my conception. Can anyone possibly save me?

17

Sometimes I feel like a ghost, snowflake bones in frosty months, and I am the sunlit cold, glittering in puffs of smog... Do I scream for its own sake? Or in the hope that someone else will hear? Am I real if no one ever sees me?

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Dec 7, 2025

Dec 7, 2025 at 2:01 PM UTC

11.24.25

Sometimes I feel like a ghost, snowflake bones in frosty months, and I am the sunlit cold, glittering in puffs of smog... Do I scream for its own sake? Or in the hope that someone else will hear? Am I real if no one ever sees me?

7

I want a lover that tastes like the sea, salty and slick, seeking to drown as they dive deep to devour every drop of me. I want a lover that sounds like waves crashing, rolling in echoes, growling with longing as they're drawn by my lunar gravity to collapse on my beach. I want a lover that changes colors in storms, silver glittering beneath the moon, green sparkling in the sun as they're curving over with their tongue the rainbow silhouette of my desire. I want a lover that dreams only of me, deciphers my shape in the stars, a celestial body in the dark as they're giving all of their heart filling me up with the flavor, the song, the magic of the sea.

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Dec 6, 2025

Dec 6, 2025 at 11:12 AM UTC

Pirate

I want a lover that tastes like the sea, salty and slick, seeking to drown as they dive deep to devour every drop of me. I want a lover that sounds like waves crashing, rolling in echoes, growling with longing as they're drawn by my lunar gravity to collapse on my beach. I want a lover that changes colors in storms, silver glittering beneath the moon, green sparkling in the sun as they're curving over with their tongue the rainbow silhouette of my desire. I want a lover that dreams only of me, deciphers my shape in the stars, a celestial body in the dark as they're giving all of their heart filling me up with the flavor, the song, the magic of the sea.

24

My eyes sink slowly into dark circles, receding like the moon from the morning. I find myself wondering how long it will be until they’ve retreated to the back of my skull, turning my world to a blood-washed blackness— inescapable and cold. I’ll miss the color of sunrises and the auburn of your hair… but it seems to matter less each day… I’m already missing the sight of you anyway. I miss sleep. I miss feeling safe. I miss food and the way your lips taste. I miss having hope and believing in us. More than my eyes, I miss feeling like you were someone I could trust. My heart sinks slowly into the caverns of my body, ebbing like the tide from the shore. I catch my breath intermittently, sometimes feel an echo within my hollow ribcage… a small but sharp reminder of the way it was before. I’ll miss the pounding in my chest and the answering rhythm from yours. But I seem to sense it less each night… I’m already missing the cadence of saying you were mine. I miss clarity. I miss feeling sane. I miss laughter and the way you say my name. I miss having dreams and building them with you. More than my heart, I miss feeling like you missed me too.

0

Dec 5, 2025

Dec 5, 2025 at 12:15 PM UTC

**** It All Away

My eyes sink slowly into dark circles, receding like the moon from the morning. I find myself wondering how long it will be until they’ve retreated to the back of my skull, turning my world to a blood-washed blackness— inescapable and cold. I’ll miss the color of sunrises and the auburn of your hair… but it seems to matter less each day… I’m already missing the sight of you anyway. I miss sleep. I miss feeling safe. I miss food and the way your lips taste. I miss having hope and believing in us. More than my eyes, I miss feeling like you were someone I could trust. My heart sinks slowly into the caverns of my body, ebbing like the tide from the shore. I catch my breath intermittently, sometimes feel an echo within my hollow ribcage… a small but sharp reminder of the way it was before. I’ll miss the pounding in my chest and the answering rhythm from yours. But I seem to sense it less each night… I’m already missing the cadence of saying you were mine. I miss clarity. I miss feeling sane. I miss laughter and the way you say my name. I miss having dreams and building them with you. More than my heart, I miss feeling like you missed me too.

31

If I write these words, then maybe they will write me whole Maybe they will make sense of me and the longing born of my senselessness will finally leave. Maybe if can get something down, something out, I will lift myself up and get myself in to a new frame of mind. I may not understand shapes, but I can relate to syllables and the way they pace like the rhythm of my heart, the ebb and flow they weave like the tidal rise and fall of my chest, the way they can compress the very air we breathe. I just wish it felt like they knew me, like they could reflect back my point and purpose beyond the snag of pen. Like they could show me how to be more than this outline, this silhouette, this ghost haunting the home of the girl I might have been. If I write these words, maybe I’ll be more than just a dream.

0

Dec 4, 2025

Dec 4, 2025 at 4:56 PM UTC

Bathtub Scrawls

If I write these words, then maybe they will write me whole Maybe they will make sense of me and the longing born of my senselessness will finally leave. Maybe if can get something down, something out, I will lift myself up and get myself in to a new frame of mind. I may not understand shapes, but I can relate to syllables and the way they pace like the rhythm of my heart, the ebb and flow they weave like the tidal rise and fall of my chest, the way they can compress the very air we breathe. I just wish it felt like they knew me, like they could reflect back my point and purpose beyond the snag of pen. Like they could show me how to be more than this outline, this silhouette, this ghost haunting the home of the girl I might have been. If I write these words, maybe I’ll be more than just a dream.

21