ayishar - Hello Poetry

In an alternate reality, we might’ve found each other. Then again, maybe we already have— through the wavelength, the careful tension, the ripple effects of the cosmos? Just in silence. 🌌

0

Jul 18, 2025

Jul 18, 2025 at 7:53 PM UTC

Alternate Reality.

In an alternate reality, we might’ve found each other. Then again, maybe we already have— through the wavelength, the careful tension, the ripple effects of the cosmos? Just in silence. 🌌

10

When your day is a series of clocks ticking. Every millisecond, minute, hour— binary counts—disorganised clicking. Every heart and head pound after sips of coffee and energy drinks high on codes and calories, pixels, powernaps, and flickering imageries. A mere reflection of this deadline-driven age, where waking up like this everyday is no longer a phase. Ad hoc palpitations, stacked one after another like corrupted lies and files, until one is renamed: "dead". return NotFound(); // Self Not Found 📅

0

Jul 12, 2025

Jul 12, 2025 at 6:16 AM UTC

return NotFound();

When your day is a series of clocks ticking. Every millisecond, minute, hour— binary counts—disorganised clicking. Every heart and head pound after sips of coffee and energy drinks high on codes and calories, pixels, powernaps, and flickering imageries. A mere reflection of this deadline-driven age, where waking up like this everyday is no longer a phase. Ad hoc palpitations, stacked one after another like corrupted lies and files, until one is renamed: "dead". return NotFound(); // Self Not Found 📅

22

One can either pouts or sprouts. More often— sequentially both, yet vital for one’s self-growth. 🌱

0

Jul 4, 2025

Jul 4, 2025 at 7:31 PM UTC

S(p)r(out).

One can either pouts or sprouts. More often— sequentially both, yet vital for one’s self-growth. 🌱

9

Too nice, too play-fair, yet little did they choose to know the bruise of her Achilles, heal— from the hardened ballet soles, the dandy polished Oxford shoes, to the leather combat boots. The bunions remained irreversible, as she dreaded in changing rooms, in the open river water Styx? Not so chill—it’s plantar fasciitis. Yet they say that she is a goody two-shoes. Alas, she puts on her kitten heels; extra studs, extra bling. No red bottoms. Chill. 👠

0

Jun 28, 2025

Jun 28, 2025 at 1:43 PM UTC

Achilles in Heels.

Too nice, too play-fair, yet little did they choose to know the bruise of her Achilles, heal— from the hardened ballet soles, the dandy polished Oxford shoes, to the leather combat boots. The bunions remained irreversible, as she dreaded in changing rooms, in the open river water Styx? Not so chill—it’s plantar fasciitis. Yet they say that she is a goody two-shoes. Alas, she puts on her kitten heels; extra studs, extra bling. No red bottoms. Chill. 👠

17

I used to send you cute stuff over the mail, buy apology flowers, queue on Fridays— on a whim. I haven’t changed, just evolved; like your magician you once idolised. I no longer visit the post office, just like your number feels like a stranger, or your voice— I couldn’t recall. Till death do us part, except I made us part. Different postcodes. Different years. Six years. No more tears.

0

Jun 19, 2025

Jun 19, 2025 at 10:35 AM UTC

Postcode.

I used to send you cute stuff over the mail, buy apology flowers, queue on Fridays— on a whim. I haven’t changed, just evolved; like your magician you once idolised. I no longer visit the post office, just like your number feels like a stranger, or your voice— I couldn’t recall. Till death do us part, except I made us part. Different postcodes. Different years. Six years. No more tears.

23