What can I do to help my poems reach as many people as possible?
It’s such a beautiful feeling to hear others' opinions and see things through their perspective—it helps us understand each other better, to feel seen and appreciated.
Sharing your art is a powerful and beautiful thing, and I want to do it with many souls possible.

I courted shadows in your eyes,
embraced the jagged edge of night.
You pulled my strings like broken dolls,
and I danced through every bite.

A gilded cage of whispered sins,
your poison tasted like devotion.
I wore your scars like sacred marks,
lost deep in your cruel motion.

My heartbeat drummed a twisted hymn,
chanting pleas I could not hear.
You built cathedrals in my chest,
each brick laid with trembling fear.

Blood-red roses crowned your throne,
petals soaked in burning ache.
I worshipped pain as our delight,
gave every piece I could forsake.

Now every scream becomes my song,
each tear a testament of need.
I’m shackled to our dark embrace,
thriving on the wounds you feed.

I’m prisoner and priest in one—
my temple forged from broken bone.
And here within your sinister court,
I’ve finally found my home.

I drink the poison from your lips,
still call it wine, still take the sip.
You bruise my heart with every kiss,
yet I ache for what I shouldn’t miss.

Your name’s a fire I can't unwrite,
it burns my chest every night.
I tell myself I’ll walk away,
but love like this was meant to stay.

You turn my tears into lullabies,
soft lies dressed in alibis.
Your touch, a cage I begged to hold,
your warmth, a lie I bought and sold.

How can wrong feel so divine?
Why does pain wear your design?
You’re the wound I never clean,
the sweetest ache I’ve ever seen.

Loving you feels like suicide
slow, beautiful, and dignified.
But darling, if it’s you I lose,
I’d die a thousand times. I’d choose.

I fell for a ghost with blood on his hands,
kissed the blade, and called it romance.
She carved love into my spine,
and I wore the scars like a shrine.

Built a home inside my ruin,
called the silence something human.
She fed me lies like lullabies,
now I dream in shattered cries.

I begged for fire, she gave me frost,
and still I stayed—no matter the cost.
She broke me down to broken art,
signed her name across my heart.

Now pain’s the god I pray to nightly,
my soul bleeds soft and brightly.
I dance where angels dare not tread,
with demons whispering in my head.

I'm a poem of rage and rust,
a masterpiece decayed by trust.
Still, I’d walk back into the flame
just to hear her say my name.

I was running. Fast. Heart racing, feet slamming against the ground. But even then, a part of me knew, he would catch me.
And he did.

A strong hand gripped my waist with terrifying precision. Muscular. Firm. Unmistakably familiar.
A predator's hand… and I was the prey.
Tears stung my eyes.

Before I could scream or fight, I was yanked back—hard.
My body spun and slammed into his.
Too close.
Close enough to feel the heat of him, the tension in every coiled muscle.
Our bodies weren’t fully pressed, but the electricity in the air made it feel like they were.
I’d been in this exact position more times than I could count. Too many.
Too many times I let myself think I could escape.

“You don’t get to run from me, señorita,” he whispered, voice dark and low—dangerous enough to melt steel.
His breath brushed against my skin, warm and laced with that familiar minty scent.

I stared up at him through blurry, tear-streaked eyes.
My gaze was fire and hopelessness all at once.
But he didn’t care.

He shoved me closer, our bodies colliding.
The force knocked the air from my lungs.
His muscles pressed into every line of me—taut, unrelenting.
But it wasn’t his body I feared.
It was the way he looked at mine.
Like he owned every piece of it.

He brought his mouth to my ear, his voice a blade wrapped in silk.
“Try that again,” he said, “and you’ll find yourself chained in every way imaginable.
Consider this my final warning, love.”

A shiver slid down my spine.
But the words slipped from my lips before I could stop them.
“Pathetic. You call this love?”

He bit down on my earlobe—hard. I flinched.
Then he looked at me.
Really looked.
His gaze, dark and deranged, locked with mine.

“You call it pathetic?” he growled.
“I should show you what pathetic really looks like—so you’ll forget this even was pathetic.”
He leaned in, almost smiling.
“This is how I love. And you... you're already caged. The sooner you accept that, the less it'll hurt.”

And then he kissed me.
Harsh.
Possessive.
No softness, no question.
His hands found my throat, fingers tightening—just enough to make my pulse spike in fear.

I didn’t resist.
Not because I wanted it.
But because I knew resistance only fueled him more.

When he finally pulled back, my lips were bruised, swollen, trembling.
He stared at them like they were his masterpiece.

“You get it now?” he whispered.
“You’re mine. And if you ever dare to run again… I’ll let the world burn just to find you.”

Without another word, he threw me over his shoulder.
Like a prize.
Or a possession.
And carried me straight back to the place I never truly left—
my prison.

How tragic is it?

We all yearn for the same thing

Love.

Yet we fail to offer it.

Not to others. Not even to ourselves.

We’re all hurting for the same reason.

Our desires are identical.

But we choose to endure the pain

and let those around us suffer as well.

We hold back love,

then lament that we never receive it.

How tragic.

Everyone defines love differently.

But at its essence

we all crave the same thing.

Yet we’re molded to believe in varying forms of it.

And now,

we neither know how to give it

nor how to accept it.

How tragic.

We fail to find love

in our own homes,

in our own circles.

So we search for it

in strangers,

in fleeting encounters,

in harmful places.

How tragic.

We live in a breathtaking world,

yet we seek beauty

in someone’s thoughts,

in a verse of poetry,

in the pages of a book.

We discover love

only in ink and paper,

and the more we uncover it there,

the more it pains us.

Every day.

With every passing moment.

How tragic.

We lack the one thing

we need most

the very thing

that defines

our humanity.

How pathetic is it?
We all long for the same thing
Love.
Yet we don’t give it.
Not to each other. Not even to ourselves.

We’re all suffering for the same reason.
Our needs are the same.
But we choose to suffer
and let those around us suffer too.

We withhold love,
then complain that we never receive it.
How pathetic.

Everyone has their own definition of love.
But at the core—
we all want the same thing.
Still, we’re shaped to believe in different forms of it.
So now,
we neither receive it
nor know how to give it.
How pathetic.

We don’t find love
in our own homes,
in our own circles.
So we search for it
in strangers,
in fleeting moments,
in unhealthy places.

How pathetic.

We live in a beautiful world,
yet we search for beauty
in someone’s mind,
in a line of poetry,
in the pages of a book.

We only find love
in ink and paper
and the more we find it there,
the more we ache.
Every day.
Each passing day.

How pathetic.

We don’t have the one thing
we need the most
the very thing
that makes us
human.

Hey Dear Soul,
Are you lonely too?
Come, come here
Sit beside me
Lets feel lonely
Together
...


("..++.. = ..++..")

...we are one baby we are one...

("..++.. = ..++..")

...

i open my eyes.. suddenly
without any warning or sign
not that i can re-call
it just.. happened

and i gained my consciousness back
and it hit me
i am alone
empty
restricted

..wait

well why is this feeling so familiar
oh.. its not the first time
i have lost count
it is happening with me
again

since i first opened my eyes
the day i was born

i open my eyes.. suddenly
without any warning or sign
not that i remember

i am feeing alone
a house is built around me
i would call it my boundary wall
i have a family around me
but i will call 'em eye keepers

i don't have any friends
not that i am not social
or un loveable
but there are no people like me.. around me
the ones who feel
and understand deeply
and love
and nurture

not the ones who fight
and mock
and insult
and put masks

i need genuine friends
with whom my soul connects

in all relations i have been
i always felt like the mother
i have to tell them
and correct them

not that they object
but it's i am tired now

i don't have a lover in life
no lover as a friend or a partner
no true lover as a family
i am alone

the only lover i have is god
or what i belief
to comfort my being
cause sometimes
i don't feel it too

weather the problem is me
or it is my beliefs
but its good
somewhere somehow

around me is silence
and i have my Chromebook beside me
but i have no one to text
to one to say hi to

i like solitude
but it is not same as loneliness

i wish i could go out
and feel free breeze
and so i could feel joy
i could explore new good place
if not good humans

so i could feel good
and forget about everything else
and be present in now
if my now is new

but my now
its old now
its filled with past
and only hope
of good future

its killing me
but i would like to think
its reshaping me
into what?
i don't know


i am 16
with strict parent
they are not strict
but they are
i feel so suffocated
i don't have a license
or a card that carries my money

nothing i carry is mine
its a burden
even if little
all i wear
its all from someone
who made me feel a prisoner

i am not allowed to go out
jut for a walk
and neither they take me

they are so called busy
with blinking and breathing

i yearn for a lover
but i never had one
because all the girls or guys i see
they are living like every other kid
whereas
i feel deeply and understand deeply
i choose the righteous
and have more to talk about then alders
everyone gets inspire or jealous
so no one is on same page
on same level

its crazy isn't it
they think
all i had is a bliss
but its feels like a curse to me

not that i regret it
but i also don't like it
i am ahead
it might look fancy at first
but its not

i have crazy thoughts and dreams
they are crazy for me too
in a positive manner
and i do believe in them

but not a single person around
have something crazy
to think or talk about
not the type of crazy i would fancy

how can i be friends with people
who are not like me
neither do they understand me
and all we had in common
is that we eat drink and breath
that we sleep and have problems to carry
that we both run after something
even if we are still
even if we aren't moving
but there still is something
we run after
some might know
what it is
some might not

i came here
because i got no one
to hear to hold
so i write
and i hold my feelings
in paper
with my ink and pen
if no one else did.

she bloomed
in the hush of night
where the sun dared not reach
and the wind whispered secrets
no red petal could keep.

they called her strange
a shadow among flame—
but she stood, velvet and midnight,
thriving
where silence kissed her roots.

among the red,
she did not wilt—
she shimmered.
not in gold,
but in obsidian grace
wrapped in the perfume of grief
and galaxies.

she was not less.
only different.
a hymn of thorns,
a waltz of ache.

the roses around her
spoke in bright laughter
but she sang
in echoes—
in lullabies
dripping from glass edges
still stained
with the stories of those
who held her too tightly.

there was beauty
in her breaks—
shattered, yes,
but glinting with stardust
and crimson.

she had bled
where no one could see
and still
she stood.

not because she was untouched
but because she was unclaimed
by ruin.

she was not born to belong—
she was born
to remind the world
that even darkness
blooms.

he grew
in the shadow’s cradle
where light was a stranger
and silence spoke in thunder.

among the red flames,
he stood
a dark flame itself,
unyielding,
sharp as obsidian.

not softer,
not less
but forged
from the stillness
between storms.

his roots drank from broken earth,
his veins held stories
etched in crimson glass,
fractured but gleaming
a quiet war
etched beneath his skin.

they called him wild,
a thorn without a rose,
but he was more
a sentinel of shadows,
a keeper of scars,
a guardian of unseen battles.

he bled without sound,
he bore his fractures
like medals of fire
each shard a testament
to survival,
each wound a map
of the battles he won
without surrender.

he did not seek to belong,
only to endure,
to thrive
where others would break,
to bloom
like the black thorn
that thrives
in the night’s embrace.

between red flames,
you bloom
a shadow kissed by moonlight,
soft velvet on a whispered breeze.

you do not shout like the scarlet crowd,
nor chase the sun’s fierce gaze
you thrive in silence,
wrapped in the hush of stars.

your petals fold like secrets,
darkness woven with the scent of rain,
each thorn a guardian
of the beauty you wear like a crown.

beneath you, shattered glass
catches the world’s broken light
edges sharp with crimson,
like memories that bleed but don’t fade.

in the fractures,
a thousand tiny suns ignite,
glimmering like whispered dreams
caught between pain and hope.

you are both the wound and the healing,
the silent song sung in twilight,
a delicate rebellion
wild, rare, and endlessly alive.

be gentle with us
please.
or don’t.
it is, after all,
your choice.

but know this

we, the poets,
are not built like the rest.
we are the black rose
among gardens of red
too rare,
too delicate,
too dangerous.

we feel with the whole sky.
we love like the sun
is seconds from setting.
we fall,
not softly
but all at once,
like shattered stars
scattering over wounds.

we live small
but think wide.
in our minds,
we are always flying
between memories
and make-believe,
between hurt
and hope.

don’t be deceived
by calm faces.
we wear masks
stitched from poems
and laughter
but behind them
we are velvet chaos,
quiet storms
with bleeding edges.

we, too,
have danced with devils
and kissed pain
like it was wine.
we return
from places
we cannot name
but we carry the fire
in our chests.

a poet could be anyone
walking beside you
a poet could be everyone
breaking silently

we collect fragments
glances,
murmurs,
empty chairs.
we see beauty
in undone hair,
in chipped teacups,
in rain that ruins plans.

and love
when we love,
we don’t stop at skin.
we fall into souls.
into scars.
into shadows.

and when we’re hurt,
we trust slower.
touch softer.
speak less.

so now you know
this heart,
it does not bruise
it blooms in pain.
this soul,
it does not break
it spills light
through its cracks.

so if you come near
and if you care
then please
be gentle with us.

be gentle with us
or don’t.
the stars still fall without permission.

but if you must touch us
touch slow.
for we are poets,
woven from breathless skies
and midnight trembles.

we feel too deeply,
like a violin played in a burning cathedral.
it is not a fault
only a fire
that never learned silence.

we do not fall in love,
we crash.
like galaxies meeting at full speed.
we love like we are dying,
we live like we are fading,
but in our minds
we fly barefoot across constellations.

our hearts
are black roses
growing among the red
soft to the gaze,
sharp to the soul.

you will not see it in our steps
or in the way we drink our tea.
but we are stained glass
already cracked
still catching the light.
and if you press too hard,
we will bleed beauty.

a poet is not always seen
sometimes just a smile in the corner
a sigh in the crowd.
we are everywhere,
soft and wild.

we tell stories
so the silence doesn’t win.
we wear masks
not to hide
but to protect the soft
from the cruel.

we notice the things you forget.
the chipped cup.
the tremble in your laugh.
the way sorrow dresses like strength.

and when we love
we love your entire world.
not just your name
but the way it sits in our lungs.
not just your eyes
but the way they flinch when the past whispers.

we adore the broken
shards glinting red
like stained mirrors
still daring to reflect stars.

we have kissed the devil
with trembling mouths,
left pieces of our soul
in places no light touched
and still returned.

we are fragile
yes
but not weak.
our hearts are ruins and gardens
at once.

so if you come close
come gently.

because when we hurt
we hurt in verses.
and when we fall
we don’t land.
we become.

so this is your only warning,
written in blood and ink:

be gentle with us.
or
watch the beauty bleed.

you wish for someone to understand you
to be by your side
even if he does nothing
just stay there so you don't feel lonely
when world tears you apart
he breath the same air as you do
if he cant do something better
just stay there and do nothing
you always wish for someone
to be there for you with you
and when you find no one
you go on a hunt
to find that one
or you completely abandon yourself
and let devil take over you
either you go see other and heal other
or you see other and hurt other
for if you are a kind one
you will choose the right
or if you are a thorny one
you will lick ones wound
for you think
what happened with you was unfair
so neither you live in ease
neither you let them
you dont let go
and hold your void like
your breaths depends on it

Who the hell you think you are?
to take my spark
you were meant to light it
not dim it
now it just flickers
barely alive

Who the hell you think you are?
to make my eyes
lose their sight
with the very tears
that once searched for your smile

Who the hell you think you are?
to make the hand
that reached for you
bleed

Who the hell you think you are?
to scar the skin
that once stayed soft for you

Who the hell you think you are?
to shatter the heart
that only beat your name

Who the hell you think you are?
to make a body
live like it’s dying
just because
it loved you

WHO THE HELL YOU THINK YOU ARE!!!?

________________

Who the hell you think you are?
to give your spark away
to someone who dimmed it

Who the hell you think you are?
to let your tears fall
until your vision faded

Who the hell you think you are?
to let your fingers bleed
for someone who never reached back

Who the hell you think you are?
to let them write pain
onto your skin

Who the hell you think you are?
to hand your heart over
only to watch it break

Who the hell you think you are?
to let someone
bury you in silence
while you're still breathing

Who the hell you think you are?
to let them hurt you
and call it love

WHO THE HELL YOU THINK YOU ARE!!!?

Who the hell you think you are ?
to make me hate my self
to make angry on myself
to make me regret the choices I made

WHO THE HELL YOU THINK YOU ARE!!!?