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Mary Huxley Aug 25
Looking at the stars,
My mind hovering over the still waters,
Seeing myself in a maze,
No way out.

Watching my dreams dying,
My dreams sickening second by second,
I can’t take this,
The thoughts of them dying,
Dreams being postponed.

Dreams left aside,
Still pending,
And still waiting for me to tackle them to the stars,
But am over a cliff,
Wondering how I will rescue them.

Trying not to hate myself for choosing the wrong path,
Leaving my dreams pending,
Fighting for them not to fall out.

My wish I could see what my future holds,
Success still waiting to be unraveled,
Yes am standing out for them,
Taking this new path,
A second chance for me even if it takes years,
These aborted dreams need to live,
And imma breath life into them.
Mary Huxley Aug 25
In love with every version of me,
Every character that grew within me,
They call it trauma, the scars we bear,
Each chapter a story, each burden we share.

Eyes seek solace in the depths of the soul,
A journey of healing, making broken parts whole.
Words like whispers, echoes of the past,
In the tapestry of life, memories amassed.

So here's a tale of strength and grace,
In loving our whole, finding our place.
In the symphony of selves, scars turned to art,
Embracing every fragment, a journey of the heart.
Mary Huxley Aug 13
One day you will meet a girl who will walk you through a world you ought not to imagine,
She will tell you tales about the greatest love intent,
Y'll question everything you know,
She'll describe things in words you've never heard,
Her words will sound beautiful in your ears,
She will bring out a passion in you that no one knew.

Don't run away from what scares you,
You wouldn't be a hero if you do,
So don't run,
Walk through it all,
Feel the atmosphere,
Breathe the aroma of the newly love,
Isn't it refreshing?
Let the new experience teach you,
Kiss her so hard that you see stars,
Trace her scars, touch them,
Stare at her even if she's so bright that it burns

Don't run away, let if flow.
It won't always hurt.
Mary Huxley Aug 21
In the kitchen I stand, creating culinary delights,
Every day I cook, with all my might.
With love and passion, I whip up flavors divine,
Hoping my creations bring joy to those who dine.

While I toil away, serving on silver plates,
Her majesty and her troop demand meals with a sigh,
But deep down I dream of a day,
When my efforts are acknowledged, in some way.
Or rather I dream of a day where I'll sit and taste of the royalty.

In this realm of spices and pots and pans,
I find solace, creating dishes with my own hands.
Each ingredient tells a story, a tale to be told,
As flavors dance together, creating something bold.

Though recognition may not come my way,
I cook with love, bringing sunshine to each day.
For in the kitchen, I find my own bliss,
Creating culinary masterpieces, a pure and simple bliss.
This poem is for everyone who is underappreciated.
Majority of the time we do things out of love but the people we love don't acknowledge our efforts.
Mary Huxley Aug 21
whispers,
Unending thoughts,
Painful imaginations,
Was I at fault?

Silent cries at midnight,
In the depths of darkness, my heart shattered,
A symphony of pain, only I can hear,
But amidst the anguish, I claim hope.

For brokenness doesn't define me,
It's just a page, and I'm ready to flip it,
Secure myself a new chapter,
With each tear shed, strength grows.

I may be broken but not truly lost.
Mary Huxley Aug 10
In a world of whispers and dreams,
Where the moon dances in silver streams,
Hearts beat in rhythm, a gentle song,
In the twilight where we belong.

Underneath the starlit sky so vast,
Moments cherished, never surpassed,
In your eyes, a universe I see,
Together, forever wild and free.

Where love resides in the chambers of the heart,
Your name still beeps,
You're my happy place
Mary Huxley Aug 13
Shall I compare my lady to a summer's day?
Nay! For thy beauty outshines any season and I'm but a humble admirer,
Besotted with thee pardon me but thine eyes hold a glimmer that doth bewitch me and I find myself entrances by thine eyes.

My lady, thy charm is like a sonnet from a bygone era,
And I yearn to be the one to pen verses of the affection for thee
In the midst of this modern world,
Thy elegance is like a piece of Victorian art and I wish to be the one who admires and preserves thee
Mary Huxley Aug 15
In the cradle of existence, a soul is born,
A spark of light, a new day's dawn.
Innocence wrapped in flesh and bone,
A journey of growth, into the unknown.

Born to breathe, to feel, to dream,
Life's tapestry woven with each sunbeam.
A symphony of moments, a dance of time,
In the rhythm of life, a soul to climb.

From the first cry to the whispered sigh,
Born to love, to laugh, to try.
In every heartbeat, a story told,
Of being born great, a tale unfold.
If
Mary Huxley Aug 20
If
If I was to go back in time to escape this pain,I would,
My heart is aching,
I feel suffocated,
I can't breathe,
I need a stretch of grace.
If
Mary Huxley Aug 25
If
If I was to give you my all, would you accept?
If I was to mould you a world of your desire,
Would you live in it?
If I was to give you half of my kingdom would you be my queen?
If I was to give you a piece of heaven would you be my peace?

Just if,
There is no one so precious,
Just no one,
I have seen all,
But no one caught my sight as you did,
I can’t blame my heart for loving you,
Neither can I blame my mind for thinking about you.

You are a rare gem,
Your rhuemy eyes full of glam,
I’ll die for you if I had to,
Making you mine is a must,
It’s a do that must be done.

Would you say yes to my proposal,
Would you be the flower in my vineyard,
Would you be that lilly in my valley?

If,
Just if?
Would you complete me?
Mary Huxley Aug 24
To a writer, a book full of words is a treasure untold,
A tapestry of their art, a story yet to unfold.
With each page turned, their imagination takes flight,
Inspiring them to create, to dream, and to write.

And for a poet, letters of love are like whispers from the heart,
Gulfed with emotions, they ignite a poetic spark.
Each word a brushstroke, painting emotions on the page,
Creating verses that resonate, like an eternal flame.

So, send these gifts to writers and poets near and far,
A book for the writer, a letter for the poet, like shooting stars.
Let them know their words have touched your soul,
And inspire them to continue sharing their art, making it whole.

May these gestures of love and appreciation,
Fuel their creative fire, their endless dedication.
For in their words, we find solace and delight,
A testament to the power of writing, shining bright.
This poem is dedicated to all writers and poets.
Their art inspires, restores and build readers.
Poetry is just not words but an art.its the ability to prose your thoughts in a imaginatively tapestry
Mary Huxley Aug 24
Yes, I am not whole,
Neither did I admit to be perfect,
But my existence sparks out the ordinary,
Is it my personality,
Is it my beauty,
That radiates it all.

Yes, I'm not whole,
But what makes me unique?
I'm full of imperfections and flaws,
Are those what make me so mystique.?

They say it's not just my personality,
Or my outward beauty that outshines,
Or  how I carry myself?
And maybe it's the light in my eyes?

But I'll tell you one thing,
Embrace your imperfections,
Your energy is contagious,
You lift up those around you,
And make them feel courageous.

The beauty about you will be known by those that appreciate you,
Even after they denied me reason why i spark out the ordinary,
One thing I know for sure is,
I radiate positivity,
I don't depend on their judgement,
I stand on my grounds,
My energy is just contagious,
And that is what makes me whole.
You are just perfect.
You are a work of art
Your imperfections is what makes your whole.
You are you
You are amazing
Mary Huxley Aug 25
Jailed in my own mind,
Scared to walk forth,
Handcuffed by my own thoughts,
Am sentenced to infuriation.

It was this same day I killed my own happiness,
I was cold inside,
I burned with great rage,
Quenching for space but the pace and speed denied me chance.

Now in a death row,
Being sentenced to ****** of my own emotions,
Looking around in my chamber,
Here I am confidentially waiting to be executed,
I already made my wish,
Hope I will conquer this inevitable death
Mary Huxley Aug 13
Beautiful words stir my heart,
I will recite a lovely poem about the king,
For my tongue is like the pen of a skillful poet.

You're are the most handsome of all,
Gracious words stream from your lips,
God himself has blessed you forever.

Myrrh, aloes, and cassia perfume your robe,
In ivory palaces the music of strings entertains you,
The king's daughter are among your noble women,
At your right side stands the queen,
Wearing jewelry of finest gold from ophir.
Mary Huxley Aug 19
To be loved is to be known,
And maybe one day,
I'll be loved right
Mary Huxley Aug 24
I didn’t know that I still wanted you ,
until lights were off,
When only the sound of sadness could echo in my head,
Looking back to the moments we shared,
For a moment the world was bright,
How could I have known that would say goodbye .

Unending flashes of us, The dime -like moments The stared pecks
They now haunt me,
I want to run away from myself ,
But the painful part is how will I?
My life better left to chance.

Every promise you vowed is all broken,
Every hope you built in me is all shuttered,
I look at my phone screen and there is no messages,
Not even one,how is that possible .
It was just ago that you hit my inbox with thousands of missing me text.

And now not even a call,
I miss you but can’t reach to you and if I get a chance, it’s not how it used to be,
Am only left to miss all we had ,
The haunting memories,
I look back and wish not to have met you,
I am healing from the bruises you left me with.
My very first poem
Mary Huxley Aug 24
Ever wonder what drives someone to pen down their thought?
To prose how they feel,
From a letter to a word to a whole sentence,
Then I'll tell you mine.

While Writers are born with a pen in their hands,
Others are made out of emotions, fate and serenity of their ambiance,
But I am made out of pain,
Pain that led to a pen and paper.

It started with a heartbreak caption to a break up poem,
And when you all alone, having no one to talk to,
The diary becomes your friend,
I spent hours with my diary,
Venting it all,
Until I realised my pen had become my master.

It controlled me,
It got the better part of me,
I became a slave to my pen,
And my mind bowed down to it,
Ideas flowed like the waters of the great river euphrates in the garden of eden.

I'll tell you what,
That's how my pen was born,
Born from pain,
And it turned to a fountain of tales and here we are,
Full of smiles.

What a journey!!!
My journey.
Maryhuxley poems 🖋️
This is a simplified story of what led to me to start writing.
Mary Huxley Aug 21
You sent me scented flowers,
Sauvage fragrance,
A card,
Full of love.

Thinking of how you were going to lure me into your bed,
Hoping I would forget,
Forget all you did,
Just like that?

You betrayed me,
Broke my trust,
Killed my emotions,
Stabbed my back,
Even when I gave you my all,
Invested in what we called ours.

And here you are,
Sending me gifts,
Offering me reasons, that don't count,
It's funny how you think I had no options,
Assuming I'ld stay forever in your arms,
Locked and chained by your lies.

You got it all wrong,
I made my mind,
Just packed up my bags,
I'm on my way in search of peace and happiness that you couldn't give,
No one fools me twice,
Fool me once, Yes
But twice!!
Definitely not taking that.
Oh
Mary Huxley Aug 19
Oh
It can't be over,
I whispered to my soul ,
Yet, indeed, it had ended.
Mary Huxley Aug 19
Even in death,
I still find solace in you ,
Through eternity,our bond still remains a fresh
Mary Huxley Aug 16
I want to come home,
In the shadows where I roam,
Seeking solace, seeking peace,
Heartaches grip begins to cease.

Through the darkness, a light shines,
Resilience blooms in these trying times,
In the echoes of the night's soft hum,
I find my way, where I come from.
Mary Huxley Aug 15
In the stillness of the night, memories linger,
Shattered heart, echoes of love lost, a painful singer.
Tears fall like rain, washing away laughter's glow,
Leaving emptiness, a void hard to outgrow.

From broken pieces, a glimmer of hope does rise,
Mending slowly, scars telling of battles and cries.
Sunrise brings a new day, lessons in the heart's seams,
Strength in vulnerability, a tale of healing dreams.
Mary Huxley Aug 26
They walk in shadows cloaked in pride,  
With fists clenched tight and eyes turned wide,  
Their words like chains, so hard, so cold,  
Bending wills, as stories unfold.  

They claim dominion over our grace,  
Silencing voices, erasing a face.  
What power feeds this hunger deep,  
That in our tears, their demons sleep?  

To them, we’re vessels, tools, and means,  
Yet fragile hearts wear warrior’s sheen.  
They crush with deeds, they carve with hate,  
Unleashing darkness at heaven’s gate.  

How cruel the hand that wounds and maims,  
That calls love power, masked in shame.  
How can a world still turn its eye,  
When every scream’s a whispered cry?  

They fear our strength, our rise, our fire,  
So they chain our souls to quench desire.  
But we are oceans, wild and deep—  
Rising tides they cannot keep.  

In silent wars, we fight to breathe,  
With every bruise, our spirits seethe.  
Yet even when they draw their line,  
They’ll never steal what’s truly mine.  

For in these scars, our voices rise—  
No more the prey, no more disguise.  
Though fear may reign, though shadows fall,  
We stand together—unbreakable, all.
This poem expresses the pain and struggle many women face but also highlights the resilience and strength within them.
Mary Huxley Aug 21
As she sweeps her dusty compound,
She wails, cries her heart out,
Pain has engulfed her heart,
In this tale of a lonely maiden's art.

Her tears fall like gentle rain,
Each drop a story of hidden pain.
Lost in the depths of solitude,
Her heartache echoes, misunderstood.

Through the corridors of her mind,
Whispers of love, she hopes to find.
In letters unsent, her emotions flow,
Aching for a love that will truly know.

With each stroke of her pen's embrace,
She weaves a tapestry of love and grace.
Her words, a balm to heal her soul,
A testament to the love she longs to behold.

"Tales of a Lonely Maiden" we shall call,
A poetic journey, standing tall.
Through heartache and longing, she finds her voice,
In love letters, she discovers her choice.

May this tale of a lonely maiden's plight,
Illuminate the path to love's sweet light.
For in her words, a love story unfolds,
Inscribed upon her heart, forever to be told.
Mary Huxley Aug 24
Looking at you I see no reason to be sad,
Being around you warms my heart,
You’re the reason I wake up and see good in me,
The future that I had no faith in now seems perfect and set,
I can’t even tell how happy I am to be with you.

Now tell me,
Am I missing something,
Am I loosing focus,
Am I not worthy,
Am I not enough,
Is there something that I lack.

Look into my eyes,
Tell me,
That which your heart bleeds for,
That which your mind thinketh,
Why are you doing this,
Why did you lie to me?

You made me believe am yours,
That you couldn’t replace me,
You told me that I had a world with you,
A forever that now has no eternity,
Why?
I mean why would you do that?

Tell me?
Mary Huxley Aug 13
In the realm of twilight, where shadows dance,
The last of us stood in a cosmic trance.
Beneath the eclipse, a celestial embrace,
A moment of wonder, a vision of grace.

As darkness veiled the sun's golden glow,
Our spirits awakened, ready to grow.
In the hush of the heavens, a symphony played,
Whispering secrets, as the sun gently swayed.

The eclipse painted the sky with hues so rare,
A tapestry woven with cosmic flair.
We gazed in awe, our souls taking flight,
Lost in the beauty of that celestial night.

And as the sun emerged, shining bright and bold,
We carried the magic, our hearts now consoled.
For in the last of us, hope will always reside,
Guided by the eclipse, forever by our side.
Mary Huxley Aug 26
They hate us,  
Yes, they despise us,  
They copy us,  
They want to be like us,  
They can’t stand when we breathe.  

I know you are wondering who “they” might be,  
But I’ll tell you what “they” do to us:  
They have stolen and are still stealing our identity.  
They **** us, oppress us, and take our hard-earned positions.  

To them, we are just objects,  
Goods of no value.  
When they bark, they expect us to respond.  
They have caged us, taken the very little freedom we had.  
They don’t care about us.  

When will they leave us alone?
This poem is inspired by what women endure, on day to day basis,.
Its sickening and sad.
"Why do they hate us"
Mary Huxley Aug 15
In a field of flowers, colors bright,
Underneath the sky so light,
Whispers of the wind, a gentle song,
Carrying dreams and hopes along.

Stars above, shining so clear,
Guiding us, removing fear,
In the night, a peaceful sight,
Embracing love, pure and bright.
Mary Huxley Aug 19
Does it ever end,
The pain,
The struggle,
The complications,
My mind can't handle it all,
Does it ever get better,
Or maybe it does
But, does it really align?
Mary Huxley Aug 19
In sadness, thoughts of you linger deep,
Amidst the storm, your warmth I keep,
Your departure left shattered pieces untold,
Once my peace, now lost in chaos bold,
In this whirlwind, I search for me,
With you gone, who holds my heart's key?
Mary Huxley Aug 25
When the time is right
Everything will fall in place
Mary Huxley Aug 25
Even in sadness I still think about you,
In the midst of the storm I still find warmth in you,
I can't fathom how much broken you left me,
I remember when you said I was your peace,
And now I can't find myself in this chaos,
Who do I run to,
Who do I cry to,
When you the only one my heart beat for.
Mary Huxley Aug 25
I'm also not aware,
But one thing I know,
You are gonna figure it out.
Mary Huxley Aug 26
In shadows deep, where whispers fade,  
Behind the walls, the women pray.  
Their dreams are bound in chains of fear,  
In lands where hope can't find its way.

A world that stifles every voice,  
Their cries of pain, without a choice.  
Beneath the veils, their stories hide,  
Silent tears they cannot show with pride.

For freedom's price is far too steep,  
A life where courage dares not speak.  
Each step they take, with cautious tread,  
In lands where even thoughts are bled.

Their wings are clipped by heavy laws,  
Yet still, they rise—despite the scars.  
With hearts of fire, unbroken will,  
Though pain runs deep, they're standing still.

In every glance, in every tear,  
Resilience grows where hate draws near.  
In the silence, strength is found—  
Women rise without a sound.

For even in the darkest night,  
They hold within a spark of light.  
No chain can hold what’s meant to soar,  
A flame that fights forevermore.
Mary Huxley Aug 13
In the realm of endless musings, where thoughts like gentle whispers play,
A tapestry of dreams unfurls, in the quiet of the day.
Whispers of the heart, in silent reverie they roam,
In the symphony of silence, they find their way back home.

In shadows deep, where secrets lie, and memories softly weep,
Whispers of forgotten tales, in the night, they gently creep.
Echoes of the past, in moonlit dance they sway,
In the garden of the mind, where thoughts like petals lay.

So let the ink of midnight spill, upon the canvas of the night,
Capturing the essence of thoughts, in the softest, purest light.
For in the quiet spaces, where the soul finds solace deep,
Thoughts bloom like flowers, in the garden of our sleep.

— The End —