I think my heart feels like snow it’s beautiful the memories of you and me that play in my mind constantly allow one final glimpse in what used to be everything I could’ve sworn you were my forever because I didn’t think kind of love like that could ever dissipate with the warmth of the sun it’s cold the feeling of you ripping your love away, just as quickly as you bestowed it upon me it forces my mind to ponder if this love was given for your own sick form of Entertainment But I love you and I never really write love poems but I think I’ll write one for you because it’s hard as I try. I can’t seem to find an ounce of my being that hates you.
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 10:47 PM UTC
We’re all just a mess of broken cups, waiting to be forced back together
Because a broken cup is worthless
So I’m worthless and you’re worthless and that’s all we can ever be so instead we sit in our China cabinet prison
Waiting
For no one because if we’re all broken, there is no one to fix us
I often laugh to myself when people tell me they’re not insecure
For I can see it leaking from the cracks in their cup, and the second I learned how to pick my broken cup from the cabinet floor and glue it back together with care
They want to drink from it
They want the continents that I worked so hard to get because
They can’t do it themselves
So instead, they seek gratitude or compliments, which are really shallow digs little do they know my tea will do them no good.
It would be like replacing wine with water and claiming to still be
DRUNK
My cup is not yours to drink from no matter how many cracks yours acquires my tea will do you no good
But my glue now that you can use
So take it find how to fix your cup, so it can be properly filled for you can’t find yourself at the bottom of an
Empty Cup
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 8:29 PM UTC
I take inspiration from the rain. It openly displays a kind of attainable perfection. My hands can never describe what I’m holding for a raindrop never last long enough as poets we use the smell of rain to describe so much the scent of summer ending and spring beginning the belief that the smell of rain could wash away and uncomfortable afternoon, but why should the rain smell like anything other than rain? Why are my emotions drawn to make something from nothing to form some kind of understanding, although it was never meant to be understood why does a puddle mean less to me than the thing that created it? Why must I follow such a strict way of dancing around often blunt truth I think it’s because no one can in truth. Relate to the rain as a whole We can’t replicate even attainable perfection because it’s not perfect everything we think we know about the rain is over exaggerated the drops aren’t perfect. They’re messy and broken. The smell describes nothing more than a cry from the heavens to wash away the ***** sidewalks. Rain doesn’t form perfect due on leaves. It evaporates from everyone and thing rain is just pain. The clouds could no longer bear to take. I know now why poets draw from the rain why we paint a path of words that attempt to convey why we mix up painted perfect rain, where we table, the broken, ugly discontent of the rain for we all just want rain to mean more than our pain
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 8:21 PM UTC
It’s warm here in the fire, but it doesn’t burn like I thought it would my mind sits exclusively in fire now no one asked if it was OK to put me here. They just did, but I don’t mind because if I start to mind, then my mind will wander and they told me not to let it do that. That’s why they put me here you see because I kept wandering drifting floating whatever you want to call it so they put me here in the fire no silly not to burn to watch so I watch the large yellow clock that ticks day and night sometimes it’s very loud too loud but other times it’s quiet That’s why they put me here in the fire no silly you can’t see the fire it likes to hide behind the white walls. You can tell because they are slightly warm to the touch. Sometimes if I ask oh so kindly, they will come out and keep me company for a while. They alert my senses. The warmth becomes hotter and hotter until I’m nothing but Ash inside, but I don’t mind because if I start to mind, then my mind will wander and they told me not to let it do that it tickles the drugs they give me they tickle make my feet go all tingly and it’s not so pleasant so I sell them to the fire, but they always resell them back to me. I always take them. They don’t tingle so bad if the fire takes them with me. Shhhhhh they’re listening and I mind when they listen because when I mind my mind will wander and they told me not to let it do that so I sit I allow them to infringe on my fire, but only for a moment because they don’t know the fire like I do they don’t know the mind numbing burn is good for you. They don’t know the painfully white walls will only climb higher if you attempt to avoid them, but I can’t bring myself to mind because if I start to mind, then my mind will wander and they told me not to let it do that
Oct 31, 2025
Oct 31, 2025 at 12:23 AM UTC
my heart hurts for her
shes broken,brused
her eyes are blank
she dosen't register the sound of her
breaths
my heard brakes for the girl with ******
wrists
she is smiling back at me
a single tear runs down her cheeck
shes looking left and right
checking for imaginary monsters
my mind races for the girl
with a knife
a little to close to her side
she's scared but sacred
she only blinks
twice a minout
I watch anyway
watching as my heart breaks for
the Girl In the Mirror
Oct 31, 2025
Oct 31, 2025 at 12:11 AM UTC
Life only comes from death. It’s not a question or a belief just a statement true as any old statement for every fraction of a milestone. Something must die in order to be born. A mother must ****** her child like desires, and bury them like a body in order to grow, we must dance over dreams and hopes, and grow from the ground new expectations of ourselves. You can’t raise something that has yet to die so bury it you’re ugly you’re pretty you’re smart. you’re dumb water it with your ***** secrets and addictions measure. It’s worth with your grades, beauty and talent and finally reap your harvest of poisonous, bitter alcoholic adulthood waste no more time on foolish childhood dreams you killed them. Remember, that’s how we got here the death of life, the death of everything that makes the world, beautiful but beauty doesn’t pay the bills. Beauty doesn’t survive for an order to live. All beauty must die.
Oct 31, 2025
Oct 31, 2025 at 12:05 AM UTC
The ocean and I are friends because I have never wanted to be something or someone so badly to become its friend. I want to shine and succumb to being thousand’s of light years away. I want to savor the feeling of being weightless. I want to swim across the vast land of stars because there is no ocean more beautiful than the one shining over my head. I want the scent of sky, but the kind of sky that will **** with one small breath it’s dangerous to sail across the sky because I will be tempted to get out of my ship and walk across an infinity of undefinable lines, tempted to jump into a pale of unknown and undiscovered truths all mixing together and that’s what I think the stars feel like Undiscovered and undefinable because we all envy them the way they shine a dangerous beauty that fills the night sky, but maybe they hate it. Maybe they hate it because no one ever asked them if they wanted to shine day and night just a symbol for people to grasp onto just a river of pain to hold onto because maybe it’s suffocating to be stared at Maybe the stars were never meant to shine
Oct 30, 2025
Oct 30, 2025 at 11:33 PM UTC