Pauly - Hello Poetry

I see you how I see the moon. My wandering eyes will never get tired of your stage light glow. I speak to you and believe in you with all my prayers and truths with an open soul only you and the stars will know. And on every midnight's darkness, the wind of your nightly voice reminds me I'm never alone.

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Apr 26

Apr 26, 2026 at 7:52 PM UTC

The moon I see

I see you how I see the moon. My wandering eyes will never get tired of your stage light glow. I speak to you and believe in you with all my prayers and truths with an open soul only you and the stars will know. And on every midnight's darkness, the wind of your nightly voice reminds me I'm never alone.

18

Has a river ever wonder Where it follows Or does it wander such in circle like the windmill so endlessly?

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Feb 13

Feb 13, 2026 at 1:53 AM UTC

The river

Has a river ever wonder Where it follows Or does it wander such in circle like the windmill so endlessly?

6

He’s like the warmth of an old memory being revived. He’s like the morning sun kissing my face gently, becoming the first beauty I see. Or like the cool rain I haven’t danced under in a long time. He’s like the wild adventures. A reminder there’s new wonders left undiscovered. He’s the never ending story, A NEVER again will you find a better treasure— Or at least that’s exactly how you feel each time you’re together. He’s part of the reason it feels like parts of you are together, like magnets or unexplained magic, or souls mending. He’s all the words you can define love and all the ones you’ll never find.

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Dec 9, 2025

Dec 9, 2025 at 10:50 PM UTC

“What is he like?”

He’s like the warmth of an old memory being revived. He’s like the morning sun kissing my face gently, becoming the first beauty I see. Or like the cool rain I haven’t danced under in a long time. He’s like the wild adventures. A reminder there’s new wonders left undiscovered. He’s the never ending story, A NEVER again will you find a better treasure— Or at least that’s exactly how you feel each time you’re together. He’s part of the reason it feels like parts of you are together, like magnets or unexplained magic, or souls mending. He’s all the words you can define love and all the ones you’ll never find.

26

I never thought it would be like this. Unhappiness lie under lovely memories. We were dreaming and soon realized behind the crack mirrors, there was a lifelong screaming storm underneath our crayon drawn smiles. What did we do wrong— What do I say— When my tears fall alone— What do I do now that you’re gone… I never dreamed we’d end like this. And now that you’re gone— Where do we go? Now that you’re gone.. Now that you’re gone… Now that you’re….

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Oct 24, 2025

Oct 24, 2025 at 10:25 PM UTC

Now that you’re gone

I never thought it would be like this. Unhappiness lie under lovely memories. We were dreaming and soon realized behind the crack mirrors, there was a lifelong screaming storm underneath our crayon drawn smiles. What did we do wrong— What do I say— When my tears fall alone— What do I do now that you’re gone… I never dreamed we’d end like this. And now that you’re gone— Where do we go? Now that you’re gone.. Now that you’re gone… Now that you’re….

25

What a cruel, ironic joke… You told me to go inside my old, crooked, cold home, lock the doors, swallow the keys whole in lonely hunger, and cut my fingers right off. And yet, you sick critics told me to reach out more.

0

Oct 24, 2025

Oct 24, 2025 at 5:28 AM UTC

You told me

What a cruel, ironic joke… You told me to go inside my old, crooked, cold home, lock the doors, swallow the keys whole in lonely hunger, and cut my fingers right off. And yet, you sick critics told me to reach out more.

15

I wanna do nothing with you. I mean I wanna do anything and everything. But especially when there are days with nothing to do and no places for our hearts to go, I wanna share the stillness in my messy room. I wanna fill the room with our loud and simple existence. Share little, quiet moments together. I wanna fill the room with laughter and falling tears— Not from sorrow, but from peace. I wanna dance with you. I wanna feel our bodies full of stories. A picture of us— A scrapbook of love that means everything. I wanna mean the world to you. The blood orange sun falling slowly, you can spend forever watching in the patch of wheat fields we find ourselves on when you need a second to breathe. So whatever you need, I’ll be the peace in this messy room I share with you.

0

Oct 18, 2025

Oct 18, 2025 at 5:55 PM UTC

Oct. 18

I wanna do nothing with you. I mean I wanna do anything and everything. But especially when there are days with nothing to do and no places for our hearts to go, I wanna share the stillness in my messy room. I wanna fill the room with our loud and simple existence. Share little, quiet moments together. I wanna fill the room with laughter and falling tears— Not from sorrow, but from peace. I wanna dance with you. I wanna feel our bodies full of stories. A picture of us— A scrapbook of love that means everything. I wanna mean the world to you. The blood orange sun falling slowly, you can spend forever watching in the patch of wheat fields we find ourselves on when you need a second to breathe. So whatever you need, I’ll be the peace in this messy room I share with you.

43

Tell me, is it just a dream made up of tears? Because I always feared somebody’s watching me. I’m just an average man, working an average nine to five. When I come home at dead of night, I bolt the door real tight. Dark figures, crawling beneath my skin. A million eyes burning, lurking in the long, black void of midnight. Walls clawed like sharp knives by hungry hands. A horror scene of the Truman Show, rotting in my own home. I always feel like somebody’s watching me. Not friends. Not neighbors. Not the mailman, the IRS or the law. But fifteen missing bodies I take time to bury. Faces flicker in static, the TV hiss— Their names bleed all over news channels. Behind mildew walls decorated in the smell of decay. Floorboards creaking like bones. Beneath me, there are deep secrets twisting and turning. Lost voices whisper, and colorless eyes of the uncanny, staring, following, stretching unnaturally at dead of night. Hell, I’ve paid the price— Everybody’s watching me.

0

Aug 19, 2025

Aug 19, 2025 at 3:03 PM UTC

December, 1984

Tell me, is it just a dream made up of tears? Because I always feared somebody’s watching me. I’m just an average man, working an average nine to five. When I come home at dead of night, I bolt the door real tight. Dark figures, crawling beneath my skin. A million eyes burning, lurking in the long, black void of midnight. Walls clawed like sharp knives by hungry hands. A horror scene of the Truman Show, rotting in my own home. I always feel like somebody’s watching me. Not friends. Not neighbors. Not the mailman, the IRS or the law. But fifteen missing bodies I take time to bury. Faces flicker in static, the TV hiss— Their names bleed all over news channels. Behind mildew walls decorated in the smell of decay. Floorboards creaking like bones. Beneath me, there are deep secrets twisting and turning. Lost voices whisper, and colorless eyes of the uncanny, staring, following, stretching unnaturally at dead of night. Hell, I’ve paid the price— Everybody’s watching me.

50

When creativity spark, That’s the birth of art -Paul

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Aug 3, 2025

Aug 3, 2025 at 12:39 AM UTC

8/2/25

When creativity spark, That’s the birth of art -Paul

3

“You keep dancin’ with the devil, And one day, he’ll follow you home…” I’ve been dancin’ with the devil for a long, long time— Into the night blues. The scariest part? I’ve been feelin’ good— Oh…feelin’ too good. Blood on the wooden floor, his breath smell like liquor, hell and pain— Somethin’ like my old pops. The devil wore many faces with twisted smiles I learned from. Crooked, sharp hands, wrapped ‘round my cold neck— Yet the music keeps playin’. I know burnin’ truths hurt, so I lied to you not to break you. I love you, darlin’, you did all you can. I hope you can stand it. Love’s a ghost cabin, I built those walls. Once full of souls singin’ blues— Now hollow and haunted. Trapped both saint and sinner of a fallin’ angel, and you’re the hymn I can’t stop hummin’.

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Jul 5, 2025

Jul 5, 2025 at 5:58 PM UTC

7/2/1932

“You keep dancin’ with the devil, And one day, he’ll follow you home…” I’ve been dancin’ with the devil for a long, long time— Into the night blues. The scariest part? I’ve been feelin’ good— Oh…feelin’ too good. Blood on the wooden floor, his breath smell like liquor, hell and pain— Somethin’ like my old pops. The devil wore many faces with twisted smiles I learned from. Crooked, sharp hands, wrapped ‘round my cold neck— Yet the music keeps playin’. I know burnin’ truths hurt, so I lied to you not to break you. I love you, darlin’, you did all you can. I hope you can stand it. Love’s a ghost cabin, I built those walls. Once full of souls singin’ blues— Now hollow and haunted. Trapped both saint and sinner of a fallin’ angel, and you’re the hymn I can’t stop hummin’.

32

My poetry exist with a crooked purpose— And so, its crooked disturbance violates its comfort presence. It exists without my consent. - Paul P. Deratany

0

Jun 13, 2025

Jun 13, 2025 at 2:01 PM UTC

6/6/25

My poetry exist with a crooked purpose— And so, its crooked disturbance violates its comfort presence. It exists without my consent. - Paul P. Deratany

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