It’s a funny kind of irony, isn’t it? When the poet, the one who should be the fiercest witness to life, chooses to linger only at its edges. Echoes of other people’s joys and griefs, tucked away inside the nib of their pen, spilling out onto the page like sunlight breaking through a shattered window. Yet, their own days pass by untouched, and the poet becomes a mirror. A mirror reflecting the world with true brilliance, but remaining transparent. Only coming alive if people stand before it.
Perhaps, this is the poet’s curse. To see too much. To feel too much. But to remain hidden. Destined only to be the lines on the page - not the words themselves. The fear of jumping in, only to drown in their own noise. So, they live on fragments: a stranger's grief glimpsed down Baker Street, the laughter of friends in the corner of a cafe, the fleeting scent of lilac in the rain.
But to live only through observation is to risk losing oneself. The poet becomes too comfortable with the safety of those edges. Emotions remain unsettled, life remains untested.
The poet is only a shadow - present in the verse, absent in life.
Yet, there is a strange sort of beauty to be found in this distance. For their refusal to step closer, the poet preserves something untouchable; unshaped, unfiltered. Every borrowed moment and stolen glance fused into one single voice. Perhaps, this is not an absence, but rather a careful preservation - the poet holding the world tenderly in their hands, shaping it without intervening.
Maybe the truth of life is found not only in living, but in noticing.
Because after all, what is life if there is no one there to witness it?
Aug 25, 2025
Aug 25, 2025 at 12:50 AM UTC
gradually,
the sea became separate from the sky.
casting a golden glaze upon a million shades of soft blue.
the burning flame grew ferociously,
fanning it’s yellow fibres
between the round, fluffy clouds.
one breath,
comes and goes unconsciously,
as does the translucent ocean,
lapping upon the sparkling sand.
Nov 5, 2022
Nov 5, 2022 at 2:33 PM UTC
29.10.22
the night the moon fell from the sky.
weeping stars scattering their gold dust below
and covering the streets with a deafening silence.
we look to the mourning sky,
and ask why,
they were chosen so soon.
one less plate at the dinner table,
two fewer shoes stationed at the front door.
three last
“i love you’s”
“I’ll be home soon”
“see you in five.”
grief eventually fades,
they say.
so
while we wait for the “eventually”
we’ll look for you in the rainbows
search for you in the stars
find you stashed away in our back pockets
like a lucky penny
we hold on to forever.
together we’ll see this through
together,
we will remember you.
Nov 1, 2022
Nov 1, 2022 at 1:35 PM UTC
if only we could recycle love,
like we recycle plastic bags.
glass bottles,
poured empty of cheap *****
consumed on nights
where the pain seeps through the invisible wall.
filling the cracks with words of regret,
and stories better left untold.
love can not be recycled,
it is a one time use only.
moulded into unique shapes,
to fit different puzzles,
and run through different blood streams.
you see,
love can not be infinite,
no matter how much we wish it so.
we are only human,
humans who tire easily
and quickly lose hope.
so,
since love can not be recycled,
don’t give a handful of stars,
to someone who won’t even let you in their galaxy.
Sep 7, 2022
Sep 7, 2022 at 11:57 AM UTC
there are some things
words can simply not describe
certain feelings that when spoken
sound like a foreign language
tucked away in the ridges of our gums
and clinging desperately to the back of our teeth
there are some feelings
buried deep within our stomachs
like the butterflies we find on first dates
sealed away in first kisses and whispered words
yet these butterflies are more sinister
battering themselves against our ribcages
“i need to be free”
“let me fly”
but
when they finally spread their wings
and are released from their cage
the sky is silent
still
quiet
because there are some things
words can simply not describe
like the feeling of being completely alone
in a room full of butterflies
Aug 22, 2022
Aug 22, 2022 at 12:23 PM UTC
a love lost,
is a love found.
a love for art
a love for earth
a love for literature
a love for life
a love for me
a love lost,
is a love found.
so thanks,
for allowing me
to find love
in myself.
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 3:29 PM UTC
not everything can be black and white.
some things were made to be viewed in full colour,
blinded by pretty pinks,
and engulfed by a sea of shades.
it may be easier to view the world with eyes shut tight.
ignore the things you despise,
and refuse to read between the lines.
but imagine how much beauty,
how much colour,
how much life.
wasted.
Jan 9, 2022
Jan 9, 2022 at 4:28 PM UTC
and that's how you left me.
drenched,
in rain water,
and heartache.
surrounded by a pool
of emptiness.
the cold was unbearable
yet,
i couldn't bare to move.
knowing once I did
it would be
the end,
of everything.
Jan 7, 2022
Jan 7, 2022 at 1:11 PM UTC
if the walls could speak,
would they whisper thoughts of comfort?
would they soothe my sleepless nights with lullabies,
and fix my broken parts with words?
if the walls could speak
would they spill the secrets stored between the ceiling cracks?
the ones screamed out during fights,
with no one but myself.
if the walls could speak,
would they tell me it’s too late?
or would they say it’s too soon?
either way,
the walls cannot speak.
and i’m not sure i’d want to know what they think,
even if they did
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 10:59 AM UTC
if you look hard enough,
you'll find it.
buried within that burgundy sweater you wore last tuesday.
last tuesday,
when the sun reflected its pretty pink rays on the window,
lighting your cheeks with the promise of the new day.
if you look hard enough,
you'll find it.
undiscovered like a child playing hide and seek,
buzzing with excitement,
yet nervous with every sound and movement sent their way.
if you look hard enough,
you'll find it.
engraved on the back of your hands,
disguised as accidental touches,
and unspoken words.
if you look hard enough,
you'll find it.
and once you find it,
there's a hope,
that you'll find me,
too.
Jan 3, 2022
Jan 3, 2022 at 3:54 PM UTC