whispersofthestorm - Hello Poetry

She sits arranging flowers day after day, wrapping each bouquet carefully in brown paper. She helps the shy boy choose daisies for his crush, the bride create her bouquet of Baby’s Breath and white roses, the old man select tulips for his wife’s grave. And she’s waiting for the day someone buys flowers and instead of walking away, hands them to her and whispers “You look beautiful.”

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May 18

May 18, 2026 at 9:38 PM UTC

From the Florist

She sits arranging flowers day after day, wrapping each bouquet carefully in brown paper. She helps the shy boy choose daisies for his crush, the bride create her bouquet of Baby’s Breath and white roses, the old man select tulips for his wife’s grave. And she’s waiting for the day someone buys flowers and instead of walking away, hands them to her and whispers “You look beautiful.”

17

No one knows that before Rosa Parks refused to stand and give up her seat on the bus, there was me. No one knows that I, Claudette, a girl of 15 years, refused to stand first. No one knows that everyone else in my row obliged all for a single white woman. No one knows that I was arrested, charged with disturbing the peace, violating segregation laws, and assaulting an officer (I'd never do that). No one knows that I was not the spark because they didn't like my face, didn't like how young I was, didn't like how later, I became a teen mom. No one questioned Rosa Parks. No one knows that I was first.

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Apr 21

Apr 21, 2026 at 5:33 PM UTC

From Claudette

No one knows that before Rosa Parks refused to stand and give up her seat on the bus, there was me. No one knows that I, Claudette, a girl of 15 years, refused to stand first. No one knows that everyone else in my row obliged all for a single white woman. No one knows that I was arrested, charged with disturbing the peace, violating segregation laws, and assaulting an officer (I'd never do that). No one knows that I was not the spark because they didn't like my face, didn't like how young I was, didn't like how later, I became a teen mom. No one questioned Rosa Parks. No one knows that I was first.

34

Hold me close and I'll protect you. The monsters in your closet can't hurt you as long as I'm here. If you cry, I'll wipe your tears. I'll never judge you because your pain is real. No matter what, I'm always here for you. Even when you think you're alone, I'm with you. The years may pass and I may grow old and worn, but no matter what I'll love you all the same.

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Apr 19

Apr 19, 2026 at 4:36 PM UTC

From the Teddy Bear

Hold me close and I'll protect you. The monsters in your closet can't hurt you as long as I'm here. If you cry, I'll wipe your tears. I'll never judge you because your pain is real. No matter what, I'm always here for you. Even when you think you're alone, I'm with you. The years may pass and I may grow old and worn, but no matter what I'll love you all the same.

20

Angels don't lie. Angels don't get angry. Angels don't fight. Angels don't cry. They call me an angel and every time I feel guilty. I'm not an angel. I'm not. Stop calling me an angel. I'm a demon in disguise. But they'll never believe me. They'll think the lie is the truth. They'll think my anger is fake. They won't fight me seriously. They think my tears are because I'm happy. Because angels don't lie. Angels don't get angry. Angels don't fight. Angels don't cry. Stop calling me an angel. I'm a demon in disguise. But they'll never believe me. Because angels don't lie. Angels don't get angry. Angels don't fight. Angels don't cry.

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Apr 19

Apr 19, 2026 at 4:16 PM UTC

From the Angel

Angels don't lie. Angels don't get angry. Angels don't fight. Angels don't cry. They call me an angel and every time I feel guilty. I'm not an angel. I'm not. Stop calling me an angel. I'm a demon in disguise. But they'll never believe me. They'll think the lie is the truth. They'll think my anger is fake. They won't fight me seriously. They think my tears are because I'm happy. Because angels don't lie. Angels don't get angry. Angels don't fight. Angels don't cry. Stop calling me an angel. I'm a demon in disguise. But they'll never believe me. Because angels don't lie. Angels don't get angry. Angels don't fight. Angels don't cry.

31

They always ask me what the painting means. I always have a prepared answer. It's the truth. You can't lie with art. But it's never the whole truth. I tell them just enough to satisfy them so I can keep the real meaning safe in my heart. In every painting, every faded silhouette, every detailed flower, there's a secret that will forever be hidden. Secrets always change perspective. So I keep mine safe and let people create their own idea from my art. That's the best way to heal, after all.

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Apr 12

Apr 12, 2026 at 10:47 PM UTC

From The Artist

They always ask me what the painting means. I always have a prepared answer. It's the truth. You can't lie with art. But it's never the whole truth. I tell them just enough to satisfy them so I can keep the real meaning safe in my heart. In every painting, every faded silhouette, every detailed flower, there's a secret that will forever be hidden. Secrets always change perspective. So I keep mine safe and let people create their own idea from my art. That's the best way to heal, after all.

19

Every day, I see another person enter through the old iron gates with a bouquet of flowers and eyes that hold a story too fragile to tell. They will walk to a stone set in the ground, spend a few minutes, or hours kneeling in the grass. Then they stand and walk away. I know all the stones by name. I carefully remove the flowers when they've wilted, gently clean the stone, whisper a soft apology and walk away. I know which graves get the most visits and I know which graves get the least. There's one headstone in the farthest corner, hidden under the branches of an overgrown weeping willow. No one visits that grave except for me. Not because I knew the girl but because I can't let her be forgotten.

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Apr 12

Apr 12, 2026 at 8:03 PM UTC

From The Groundskeeper

Every day, I see another person enter through the old iron gates with a bouquet of flowers and eyes that hold a story too fragile to tell. They will walk to a stone set in the ground, spend a few minutes, or hours kneeling in the grass. Then they stand and walk away. I know all the stones by name. I carefully remove the flowers when they've wilted, gently clean the stone, whisper a soft apology and walk away. I know which graves get the most visits and I know which graves get the least. There's one headstone in the farthest corner, hidden under the branches of an overgrown weeping willow. No one visits that grave except for me. Not because I knew the girl but because I can't let her be forgotten.

26

I can't stop the train of thoughts that barrels through my mind at impossible speeds. I've already replayed yesterday's conversations, wincing at every mistake. And then I've imagined a hundred new conversations that I know will never happen. But I do it anyway. Just in case. I've texted three people already and every second they don't respond, I'm getting more and more nervous. Did I say something wrong? Are they ignoring me? Then one responds. I type a quick reply, double-checking every word to make sure it doesn't come across in the wrong way. Then I hit send and wait for a reply again. Everything is on loop in my head, a constant cycle of what if what if what if what if and I know nothing has changed. But I check anyway.

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Apr 12

Apr 12, 2026 at 7:56 PM UTC

From Someone With Anxiety

I can't stop the train of thoughts that barrels through my mind at impossible speeds. I've already replayed yesterday's conversations, wincing at every mistake. And then I've imagined a hundred new conversations that I know will never happen. But I do it anyway. Just in case. I've texted three people already and every second they don't respond, I'm getting more and more nervous. Did I say something wrong? Are they ignoring me? Then one responds. I type a quick reply, double-checking every word to make sure it doesn't come across in the wrong way. Then I hit send and wait for a reply again. Everything is on loop in my head, a constant cycle of what if what if what if what if and I know nothing has changed. But I check anyway.

29