bellie-boo - Hello Poetry

The Shape Beneath the Storm by Bellie-boo The ocean taught me language before I could speak— it whispered through the dark-blue folds of sleep, where sailors dreamed of home and I dreamed of being seen. I was marble once, cold and unyielding, but even stone softens under centuries of rain. Each drop a memory—each memory, a name. I have worn a hundred faces: the quiet child, the wounded prophet, the girl who built temples from apology. There are nights I still feel the stars breathing, their gold threads weaving through my ribs like ancient stories refusing to fade. I want to be the hand that touches light and does not burn, the breath that trembles before the quaver becomes a song. To be the river, and the leaf, and the bend between them— where surrender meets motion, where healing becomes the art of staying soft. And if the sea still calls me monster, I’ll answer with a smile— for I have learned the shape of mercy beneath the wave. _____________________________________ I like those "Behind the Scenes" clips, so here is my version of that....Original Draft! What feelings and vibes should this be? (1) Okay, now, Bellie....I wanna write the best poem, Concepts of philosophy or the drama I had this year! I want it to flow in my mind; The navy-blue ripples of the ocean sway the ****** to sleep. I want it to blow my mind, leave it sore, like the ***** whose throat was coated in ***** I want to feel safe in the poem, like a leaf resting on the river as it gently takes a bend. (2) Nah, this isn’t it. I want something that has imagery. Something rare that excites me. Like hearing the marble melting into bones. Or a statue that wears a gown of stars and the dust of the universe, its translucent cloak wraps its body like the hands that hold my thigh at night, wrapping each finger around me tight. Tighter. Tighter still. Like the gold of the stars that gleam, the shine bright through the fabric, like a gold-woven tapestry. Like the sweetness of the candy that you steal — like showing off a really cool skill that you can do better than anyone else, so you know that one kid’s jealous smile will steal your heart and leave you feeling wild. Draft 2: I float beneath the navy-blue swell, the ocean cradling me like I’ve always belonged, its ripples lulling ****** to sleep while I burn awake. My mind drifts, a vessel of unspoken things: the betrayals I swallowed, the lusts that scorched my bones, the quiet wars with my own reflection. I remember the year that clawed at me, dragged me under, showed me the taste of my own edges — like a throat coated in fire and shame, and yet, I did not break. The waves whisper: you are more than the scream, more than the scar, and I let them wrap me, soft as a leaf drifting down a river bending without breaking. I touch the water and feel the pulse of stars, the weight of time pressing against my ribs, and I laugh — a sound that tastes like rain, because I am both storm and calm, predator and lamb, and I hold them equally in my chest. Some nights, I rise like a tide, stretching long into the world, hands open, eyes wide, hungry for everything I am, everything I was told I could not be. I let the sea carry me, let it show me the scars beneath my skin, the velvet darkness where my truth blooms, and in that swelling quiet, I find myself again. Safe, yes, like a leaf on the river bending, and yet, infinite — like the navy-blue ripples that pull all of me into their sway.

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Oct 29, 2025

Oct 29, 2025 at 11:46 PM UTC

bellie-boo

The Shape Beneath the Storm

The Shape Beneath the Storm by Bellie-boo The ocean taught me language before I could speak— it whispered through the dark-blue folds of sleep, where sailors dreamed of home and I dreamed of being seen. I was marble once, cold and unyielding, but even stone softens under centuries of rain. Each drop a memory—each memory, a name. I have worn a hundred faces: the quiet child, the wounded prophet, the girl who built temples from apology. There are nights I still feel the stars breathing, their gold threads weaving through my ribs like ancient stories refusing to fade. I want to be the hand that touches light and does not burn, the breath that trembles before the quaver becomes a song. To be the river, and the leaf, and the bend between them— where surrender meets motion, where healing becomes the art of staying soft. And if the sea still calls me monster, I’ll answer with a smile— for I have learned the shape of mercy beneath the wave. _____________________________________ I like those "Behind the Scenes" clips, so here is my version of that....Original Draft! What feelings and vibes should this be? (1) Okay, now, Bellie....I wanna write the best poem, Concepts of philosophy or the drama I had this year! I want it to flow in my mind; The navy-blue ripples of the ocean sway the ****** to sleep. I want it to blow my mind, leave it sore, like the ***** whose throat was coated in ***** I want to feel safe in the poem, like a leaf resting on the river as it gently takes a bend. (2) Nah, this isn’t it. I want something that has imagery. Something rare that excites me. Like hearing the marble melting into bones. Or a statue that wears a gown of stars and the dust of the universe, its translucent cloak wraps its body like the hands that hold my thigh at night, wrapping each finger around me tight. Tighter. Tighter still. Like the gold of the stars that gleam, the shine bright through the fabric, like a gold-woven tapestry. Like the sweetness of the candy that you steal — like showing off a really cool skill that you can do better than anyone else, so you know that one kid’s jealous smile will steal your heart and leave you feeling wild. Draft 2: I float beneath the navy-blue swell, the ocean cradling me like I’ve always belonged, its ripples lulling ****** to sleep while I burn awake. My mind drifts, a vessel of unspoken things: the betrayals I swallowed, the lusts that scorched my bones, the quiet wars with my own reflection. I remember the year that clawed at me, dragged me under, showed me the taste of my own edges — like a throat coated in fire and shame, and yet, I did not break. The waves whisper: you are more than the scream, more than the scar, and I let them wrap me, soft as a leaf drifting down a river bending without breaking. I touch the water and feel the pulse of stars, the weight of time pressing against my ribs, and I laugh — a sound that tastes like rain, because I am both storm and calm, predator and lamb, and I hold them equally in my chest. Some nights, I rise like a tide, stretching long into the world, hands open, eyes wide, hungry for everything I am, everything I was told I could not be. I let the sea carry me, let it show me the scars beneath my skin, the velvet darkness where my truth blooms, and in that swelling quiet, I find myself again. Safe, yes, like a leaf on the river bending, and yet, infinite — like the navy-blue ripples that pull all of me into their sway.

85

Welcome Home, Blossom by Belle-boo I remember you — small, curious, sitting at the edge of a sunlit room, watching the world move faster than your reach. You held your questions quietly, tucked them against your chest, wondering if anyone would ever hear them. The air smelled of crayons and rain, and I wanted to scoop you up, to tell you it was safe to feel it all. Little one, you laughed without measure, ran barefoot through the green hush of grass, curled beside the cat who always knew your heart. You trusted without words, loved without hesitation — and even when the world grew heavy, your spirit flickered still — soft, resilient, waiting for a hand to find it gently.

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Oct 29, 2025

Oct 29, 2025 at 11:25 PM UTC

bellie-boo

Welcome Home, Blossom

Welcome Home, Blossom by Belle-boo I remember you — small, curious, sitting at the edge of a sunlit room, watching the world move faster than your reach. You held your questions quietly, tucked them against your chest, wondering if anyone would ever hear them. The air smelled of crayons and rain, and I wanted to scoop you up, to tell you it was safe to feel it all. Little one, you laughed without measure, ran barefoot through the green hush of grass, curled beside the cat who always knew your heart. You trusted without words, loved without hesitation — and even when the world grew heavy, your spirit flickered still — soft, resilient, waiting for a hand to find it gently.

20

Letters Beneath the Mirrored Sea By Bellie-boo “Far beneath this sea of my own forthcoming,” I see the little girl inside— not even three feet tall, yet defiant in her stride. Sure, she’s a little devil, but I cannot simply let her be; her fire, untamed, keeps burning me. “A Monster. The Saint. A Liar. The Fighter.” Ah yes, let’s play dress-up—a game of desire. Which mask did I choose, which flame to inspire? “Always begging for a part to play,” hoping a role might show the way, yet none fit right, no script would stay. “To live as me, To die straight.” Ah yes, how dramatic I could be— exploring worlds too vast for me. “How sweet, little one; I cannot let you be.” “Black roses erode,” you whisper low; what beauty, to watch the dark bloom go. Like marble softening into bone, you surprise me, child, with what you’ve shown— a quiet strength I never thought my own. “Send me a postcard.” I always liked a plan— knowing what to do and where to stand. I’m sorry, little one; there’s no shortcut, no turn-around, no skipping the fight— some sad things can’t be unlived or made right. “To be killing me / to be / what I / want to / be.” Little one, breathe—your fire burns bright in me; no cage of fear, just possibility. “I’m ready to take your hand too.” Your courage hums—a steady ring; sometimes I wonder which of us learned to sing. “Oh little one, your voice is the key, to unlocking the love once lost in me; every spark you give remakes what could be.” “What if I said I loved you?” I’d say I love you too— though I know belief still hides from view. “Because the you I see in the mirror, I have not always treated with care; some days, I wasn’t even there.” “Tenderly binding you to me.” If this reflection’s what I see, then I’d kiss the glass—set both of us free. “Thank You for Sending Me a Postcard.” Signed— the self who learned to stay, not guard.

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Oct 29, 2025

Oct 29, 2025 at 11:12 PM UTC

bellie-boo

Letters Beneath the Mirrored Sea

Letters Beneath the Mirrored Sea By Bellie-boo “Far beneath this sea of my own forthcoming,” I see the little girl inside— not even three feet tall, yet defiant in her stride. Sure, she’s a little devil, but I cannot simply let her be; her fire, untamed, keeps burning me. “A Monster. The Saint. A Liar. The Fighter.” Ah yes, let’s play dress-up—a game of desire. Which mask did I choose, which flame to inspire? “Always begging for a part to play,” hoping a role might show the way, yet none fit right, no script would stay. “To live as me, To die straight.” Ah yes, how dramatic I could be— exploring worlds too vast for me. “How sweet, little one; I cannot let you be.” “Black roses erode,” you whisper low; what beauty, to watch the dark bloom go. Like marble softening into bone, you surprise me, child, with what you’ve shown— a quiet strength I never thought my own. “Send me a postcard.” I always liked a plan— knowing what to do and where to stand. I’m sorry, little one; there’s no shortcut, no turn-around, no skipping the fight— some sad things can’t be unlived or made right. “To be killing me / to be / what I / want to / be.” Little one, breathe—your fire burns bright in me; no cage of fear, just possibility. “I’m ready to take your hand too.” Your courage hums—a steady ring; sometimes I wonder which of us learned to sing. “Oh little one, your voice is the key, to unlocking the love once lost in me; every spark you give remakes what could be.” “What if I said I loved you?” I’d say I love you too— though I know belief still hides from view. “Because the you I see in the mirror, I have not always treated with care; some days, I wasn’t even there.” “Tenderly binding you to me.” If this reflection’s what I see, then I’d kiss the glass—set both of us free. “Thank You for Sending Me a Postcard.” Signed— the self who learned to stay, not guard.

50

(Original Version) Sweet taste of blossoms They catch my tongue as I walk Chery blossoms sway Within the small park Couples with marriage in mind Scar atop a bridge The sweet taste fades That young girl always in mind A silhouette of fear Vibrant colors fade The sun recedes to stars No one notices No one notices The black mark atop the bridge The silhouette descend No one cares to look Sweetest tastes never last long Chery blossoms sway No one notices Another day finds its end Sweet taste of nothing ___________________________________________________________ Remastered Version No Home, Sweet Child Blossom A Modern Renga by Bellie-Boo (me) Sweet taste of blossoms— they brush my tongue as I walk. Cherry branches sway. In the small park’s hush, couples dream of wedding rings; a scar marks the bridge. The sweetness dissolves. That young girl returns in thought— a shadow of fear. Colors bleed to dusk. The sun folds into the stars. No one turns to see. No one turns to see— the black mark upon the bridge, the shadow descend. No one stops to look. Sweetest things never last long. Cherry branches sway. No one turns again. Another day disappears— taste of nothing sweet.

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Jan 9, 2022

Jan 9, 2022 at 8:58 PM UTC

bellie-boo

No Home, Sweet Child Blossom

(Original Version) Sweet taste of blossoms They catch my tongue as I walk Chery blossoms sway Within the small park Couples with marriage in mind Scar atop a bridge The sweet taste fades That young girl always in mind A silhouette of fear Vibrant colors fade The sun recedes to stars No one notices No one notices The black mark atop the bridge The silhouette descend No one cares to look Sweetest tastes never last long Chery blossoms sway No one notices Another day finds its end Sweet taste of nothing ___________________________________________________________ Remastered Version No Home, Sweet Child Blossom A Modern Renga by Bellie-Boo (me) Sweet taste of blossoms— they brush my tongue as I walk. Cherry branches sway. In the small park’s hush, couples dream of wedding rings; a scar marks the bridge. The sweetness dissolves. That young girl returns in thought— a shadow of fear. Colors bleed to dusk. The sun folds into the stars. No one turns to see. No one turns to see— the black mark upon the bridge, the shadow descend. No one stops to look. Sweetest things never last long. Cherry branches sway. No one turns again. Another day disappears— taste of nothing sweet.

47

Many days have come and gone, Sadly, it has been so long, Since last we saw your face. Then I’ll come home, The world has little gems to be shown, I don’t want you to be alone. Dear, we know you love us so, But life does demand you go. Bittersweet as fate may be, It’s time for you to just live free. Chase your dreams, because in life there are no guarantees. What if I want to come home? Somedays, out here all alone, I feel that I do nothing but roam. In my never-ending roam, I feel as though I’ll dissipate like sea foam. Dear, you are never alone. You will always have a home, But you won’t always have time to roam. Being lost is the only way to find what’s in you, so you cannot yet head home. Take this chance to chase what you have always known, To be your fate because one day you will find you have grown, To old to enjoy the roam. Remember you are not alone… So, chase your dreams knowing there are no guarantees, Except the promise that your Dad and I will always be, Here supporting you in chasing your dream. Many days have come and gone, Sadly, it has been so long, Writing you is not something I intentionally prolonged. But there’s someone I recently got to know, They are one-in-a-million; I feel like I won the lotto. I want to say thank you, Mom and Dad, for making me go, The world is filled with a lot I still wish to know. Bittersweet as fate may be, Thank you for making me experience what it is to be free, My dreams only able to be reached because of the support you give me. Many days have come and gone, The only letters in the mail from your Aunt, But I knew you were fine because out there in the world is where you are meant to be. I am glad your dreams have come to be, That you have met such a sweetie, And that your fate is as happy as I did foresee. Remember, it won’t always be as you believe, But fate will work out eventually. So, long as you stay strong and happy, Life will be better than you ever believed it could be. We love and support you Dear, so just keep chasing your dream. In the mirror a stranger stares at me, Wisdom in her eyes I see. Wrinkles on her hands, like branches of a tree, They reveal who she has grown up to be. A startling realization when you learn life is not how it used to be, That life does not always go as you believe. Fate has never been easy to confront, and it has no referee, This is something you have taught me. Through your guidance I learned to make something of the debris, You have taught me that fate is nothing to fear when tackled properly. You were always right; I should chase my dreams because life offers no guarantees. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for sending me a postcard when I needed your comforting.

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Apr 28, 2021

Apr 28, 2021 at 5:58 PM UTC

bellie-boo

Thank You for Sending Me a Postcard.

Many days have come and gone, Sadly, it has been so long, Since last we saw your face. Then I’ll come home, The world has little gems to be shown, I don’t want you to be alone. Dear, we know you love us so, But life does demand you go. Bittersweet as fate may be, It’s time for you to just live free. Chase your dreams, because in life there are no guarantees. What if I want to come home? Somedays, out here all alone, I feel that I do nothing but roam. In my never-ending roam, I feel as though I’ll dissipate like sea foam. Dear, you are never alone. You will always have a home, But you won’t always have time to roam. Being lost is the only way to find what’s in you, so you cannot yet head home. Take this chance to chase what you have always known, To be your fate because one day you will find you have grown, To old to enjoy the roam. Remember you are not alone… So, chase your dreams knowing there are no guarantees, Except the promise that your Dad and I will always be, Here supporting you in chasing your dream. Many days have come and gone, Sadly, it has been so long, Writing you is not something I intentionally prolonged. But there’s someone I recently got to know, They are one-in-a-million; I feel like I won the lotto. I want to say thank you, Mom and Dad, for making me go, The world is filled with a lot I still wish to know. Bittersweet as fate may be, Thank you for making me experience what it is to be free, My dreams only able to be reached because of the support you give me. Many days have come and gone, The only letters in the mail from your Aunt, But I knew you were fine because out there in the world is where you are meant to be. I am glad your dreams have come to be, That you have met such a sweetie, And that your fate is as happy as I did foresee. Remember, it won’t always be as you believe, But fate will work out eventually. So, long as you stay strong and happy, Life will be better than you ever believed it could be. We love and support you Dear, so just keep chasing your dream. In the mirror a stranger stares at me, Wisdom in her eyes I see. Wrinkles on her hands, like branches of a tree, They reveal who she has grown up to be. A startling realization when you learn life is not how it used to be, That life does not always go as you believe. Fate has never been easy to confront, and it has no referee, This is something you have taught me. Through your guidance I learned to make something of the debris, You have taught me that fate is nothing to fear when tackled properly. You were always right; I should chase my dreams because life offers no guarantees. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for sending me a postcard when I needed your comforting.

64

Lilies and Daisies, Today I have got a case of the lazies, I sit in our room listening to the eighties, Thinking about nothing my thoughts come and go like the waveys, I wonder Dear if you would look good in paisleys, But then that pattern is a bygone phas-ies, If you wore it on our dates, I can’t imagine all the gazes. Lilies and Daisies, We are feeling Lazies, Sitting on the bed doing nothing but maybes. “Want to go for a walk?” “Maybes.” “Want to go to the movies?” “Maybes.” Maybes… Our code word for, “I have the lazies.” When we hear maybes, I know well just sit here doing nothing… But I am perfectly okay with doing nothing so long as I am doing nothing with you, Cuties.

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Apr 20, 2021

Apr 20, 2021 at 9:57 PM UTC

bellie-boo

We've Got the Lazies

Lilies and Daisies, Today I have got a case of the lazies, I sit in our room listening to the eighties, Thinking about nothing my thoughts come and go like the waveys, I wonder Dear if you would look good in paisleys, But then that pattern is a bygone phas-ies, If you wore it on our dates, I can’t imagine all the gazes. Lilies and Daisies, We are feeling Lazies, Sitting on the bed doing nothing but maybes. “Want to go for a walk?” “Maybes.” “Want to go to the movies?” “Maybes.” Maybes… Our code word for, “I have the lazies.” When we hear maybes, I know well just sit here doing nothing… But I am perfectly okay with doing nothing so long as I am doing nothing with you, Cuties.

17

Once monsters transubstantiate from the stories liars procreated, Saints will be demonized, the appendages of justice are amputated, As the people oblige the varmint to which they are harkened to make sated, A mythos deepens in the shadows that is the chimera’s birthplace, they illy devour the nests of krait. Those who blindly accept Odysseus’s tools as truths spun out of that which is hated, Foolishly seek justice in the ****** of Palamedes whilst knowing not the sins their “justice” shall have produced. As the people oblige the varmint to which they are harkened to find sated, Propagate the mythos of Odysseus that is birthed of shadows in which chimera mated, They, without bar, promptly devour the nests of krait. As the people look on from their lofty perch, The world seems more desolate than degenerates that, in alleyways, awkwardly converge, People, narcissistic in their ways, believe they have apprehended the problems of the world, Truly knowing nothing of any world, yet they demand change - forcing reality to be gnarled. Our raison d’etre stripped by liars’ clever demarche, Seeking out new value, we find nothing more than the waste liars' disgorge. Accept the monsters into sainthood, Demote the saints into monsterdom, Let there be no more fight fought for truth, Let hate spun from a lying chimera’s mouth, a tool in some words, procreate, Let this lie procreate inside the bellies of the people, Whom watch the world from a bird’s eye view, Those who shall find their foolish ways lead to a death not quite real, But a death that feels far graver than merely six feet under, A death of reality, The death of justice, A death of truth, The death to meaning. As the fight from the few souls who persevered through the changing tides dims to black, As death creeps into our lives, Those who upon lofty perches sought to change a world they knew not, Will find a hole in their hearts, that themselves they dug and threw away, Not able to be filled by modern man’s creations, That hole – a future far more bitter, far more twisted, far more deserved than death. Once monsters transubstantiate from the stories liars procreated, Saints will be demonized, the appendages of justice now amputated, As the people oblige the varmint that they are harkened to, without interest in that which is ethical or true, make sated, A mythos deepens in the shadows that is the birthplace of chimera, they wisely have devoured the entirety of all the krait.

0

Apr 20, 2021

Apr 20, 2021 at 9:41 PM UTC

bellie-boo

A Monster. The Saint. A Liar. The Fighter.

Once monsters transubstantiate from the stories liars procreated, Saints will be demonized, the appendages of justice are amputated, As the people oblige the varmint to which they are harkened to make sated, A mythos deepens in the shadows that is the chimera’s birthplace, they illy devour the nests of krait. Those who blindly accept Odysseus’s tools as truths spun out of that which is hated, Foolishly seek justice in the ****** of Palamedes whilst knowing not the sins their “justice” shall have produced. As the people oblige the varmint to which they are harkened to find sated, Propagate the mythos of Odysseus that is birthed of shadows in which chimera mated, They, without bar, promptly devour the nests of krait. As the people look on from their lofty perch, The world seems more desolate than degenerates that, in alleyways, awkwardly converge, People, narcissistic in their ways, believe they have apprehended the problems of the world, Truly knowing nothing of any world, yet they demand change - forcing reality to be gnarled. Our raison d’etre stripped by liars’ clever demarche, Seeking out new value, we find nothing more than the waste liars' disgorge. Accept the monsters into sainthood, Demote the saints into monsterdom, Let there be no more fight fought for truth, Let hate spun from a lying chimera’s mouth, a tool in some words, procreate, Let this lie procreate inside the bellies of the people, Whom watch the world from a bird’s eye view, Those who shall find their foolish ways lead to a death not quite real, But a death that feels far graver than merely six feet under, A death of reality, The death of justice, A death of truth, The death to meaning. As the fight from the few souls who persevered through the changing tides dims to black, As death creeps into our lives, Those who upon lofty perches sought to change a world they knew not, Will find a hole in their hearts, that themselves they dug and threw away, Not able to be filled by modern man’s creations, That hole – a future far more bitter, far more twisted, far more deserved than death. Once monsters transubstantiate from the stories liars procreated, Saints will be demonized, the appendages of justice now amputated, As the people oblige the varmint that they are harkened to, without interest in that which is ethical or true, make sated, A mythos deepens in the shadows that is the birthplace of chimera, they wisely have devoured the entirety of all the krait.

37

It must be hard To have someone With a heart so marred To think of you As the sun As I do. To know that your desires Although not meant To set these fires Would cause my disappointment. The choices you make In my heart Hold a heavy weight A potential to tear me apart. I made you my god But you knew you were a fraud. Never wished to hurt me But you desired to be free Of this podium I forced onto you My applause conium I never knew I was slowly killing you. It must be hard To have someone so marred Think as highly of you As I do. I can't quit loving you But if I quit hurting you Do you think you Could say I love you too? You are my sun But you are human too.

0

Oct 21, 2017

Oct 21, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC

bellie-boo

It's hard to be the sun

It must be hard To have someone With a heart so marred To think of you As the sun As I do. To know that your desires Although not meant To set these fires Would cause my disappointment. The choices you make In my heart Hold a heavy weight A potential to tear me apart. I made you my god But you knew you were a fraud. Never wished to hurt me But you desired to be free Of this podium I forced onto you My applause conium I never knew I was slowly killing you. It must be hard To have someone so marred Think as highly of you As I do. I can't quit loving you But if I quit hurting you Do you think you Could say I love you too? You are my sun But you are human too.

32