love,
to me,
felt like warm rain --
it was
gentle,
but still somehow
it was just enough
to soak me
completely.

there's a feeling
in my chest --
it's a chemical ache
that fizzles
like soda,
when you pop the can open,
it happens every time
i see
her.

i stare into
your sapphire eyes,
communicating your true feelings
without truly
speaking.

they tell me everything i need to know,
what you really think.
about everyone,
the world,
about me.

...

i stare into
your sapphire eyes,
they stopped talking awhile ago.
you've gone completely
numb.

i stopped crying
the way i used to --
stopped being loud,
messy,
and instead 
became
quieter.
just quiet enough 
for no one 
to ask me
what's wrong.

your name --
it still lives
in my phone.
untouched.
but never deleted,
just
in
case
you ever 
call.

isn't it funny
how someone
can stay
like a lump
in your throat --
long after
you stop
calling their name
out loud.

i don't cy
for you anymore.
but gosh,
sometimes i wish
you'd just give me
a reason to
still
cry
over you
because somehow
not calling
your name aloud
hurts more.

you didnt call.
you never really did.
but my soul
still waited --
it waited quietly,
like it does
every night
you forget
how much
i actually
feel.

i check my phone
like its a ritual
that keeps me alive,
like maybe --
missing me,
is something
you'll eventually
remeber
how to do.

there are names
that i see
light up my screen
that aren't yours --
yet my chest
still tightens
just
in
case.

you used to
always say
that i knew you
too well.
but maybe that's
why i can feel
your silence
before it even
arrives in my hands.

my soul
never asks
for much anymore;
just a call,
a voice,
just something --
to prove
that you had once
felt
more.

it wasn't my fault.
i didn't mean to,
i swear.
i would never go
out of my way --
intentionally,
to upset you like that.
i hate seeing you like that!

why do you think i did it?
do you really think
that little of me?

i would never hurt you
because i wanted to.
i never want to.

i used to think
you just felt butterflies
for boys --
the funny,
immature,
class clowns.

but now,
i know:
the butterflies don't care
who makes them flutter.
it might be a boy.
it could also be
a girl with a
soft smile
and freckles.

and maybe
girls make them flutter
more than boys.
or maybe...
someone else does.
maybe no one does.

and that's okay.

trying to sleep without you --
is like the depths of hell
the big fires,
the scary people.

i can't get comfy.
my body burns,
aches even,
it itches
without your warmth.
without your touch.
i feel like --
im burning alive

this is the worst it gets,
right?
unable to sleep alone,
unable to cope alone,
needing you with me,
just to quiet my brain
enough
to finally get
some shut eye.

some moments
dont come back to you --
but when they do,
they usually always
bring the laughter
you still remeber
the shape of.

and for a second,
you're there again --
happy
and full of
joy.
whithout even
trying
to be.

talk to me.
stop staring from afar
i don't want stolen glances-
i want us.
i want your love.
i want your hand in mine.

i don't need to see you
across the room
laughing with another man
why couldn't it be me?
the girl you stare at
watch from afar-
making sure she's okay
quietly,
making sure she's not
seeing anyone else
you should talk to me
talk to me
instead of watching
instead of wondering
making sure
im not taken
im here
i just want
to be spoken to
by you.

happiness hums in the quiet light,
laughs that bloom without a why,
the warmth is caught
in passing glances-
bare tlfeet dancing through the sky
all these feelings,
tangled and small,
easily labelled as one;
happy.

i had gotten
closer
than i
should've --
and i still
remeber
how it felt
to almost
be loved.

it was
a nice
feeling.

"we are not a phase"
they had told us
to whisper our pronouns
hide our true colours painted on flags
like shame folds easier
than truth.

they say,
"love has rules"
but only when it looks
a certain way,
and we never looked
they way they had wanted,
the way they expected us to be.

but we exist
in full colour --
in quiet,
soft,
gentle first kisses,
in second glances that were held
a little too long by most,
in the hands that tremble
but still reach.

we are not a debate.
we are certainly not a phase.
we are stories
that are still being written,
in chalk
on our skin,
in protest,
and in poems.

and when they try to erase us,
who we are,
we come back.
louder.
softer.
screaming for rights.
still here.

soul; an archive of feelings, a vulnerable collection of eleven entries. an true archive of feelings. mysterie's first ever project.

these entries are very special and vulnerable, mysterie hopes to connect with fellow poets and poetry lovers with these entries.

the archives:
- i waited
- the way i used to
- the ocean knows me
- waiting
- i still care
- where the soul weeps
- tsunami
- begin again
- the book you left open
- dusk
- chosen

i keep on
waiting --
like the pause
after asking a
question that
nobody
answers.

my tears,
they dont fall loudly
anymore.
instead --
they sit behind my
eyes,
like letters
that i
never sent.

i write to you
in my head --
it's not the same.
folding paper thoughts
into quiet,
dark,
corners of my mind,
and pretending
you might still
be calling
me back
someday.

but theres only
ever silence,
no evidence,
and me --
still waiting
for someone
who had
let go
first.

i always forget
that this globe 
spins,
even when i feel
like im stuck.
somewhere,
someone is falling in love
at the same time
that im falling apart.

...

i hold a snow globe --
the one from the family 
christmas, back in 2016.
i shake it --
watch it storm inside,
and i think,
maybe im still learning
how to settle
after everything
swirls.
after the mess.

...

the world is round,
but it never
feels like it comes back
to me.

some nights,
i cry
so quietly
that it feels
like my
soul
is the one
that is doing all
the crying
for me.

what happens after death?
no one really knows.
and honestly --
i don't think
i want to know.

some say
you go to heaven.
or hell.

others like to believe in
the afterlife,
in ghosts,
in wandering,
in haunting what's
left behind.

but me?
i just like to think
its just
that it's a kind of closure.
one thats quiet,
and final.
the kind that doesnt need
to be explained.

hey,
im not quite sure
how to say this.
ive typed it a hundred times
and deleted it
every time.
i like girls.
i don't quite know what that
changes for you --
but it doesn't change who ive
always been.
im still me.
still your daughter.
i just finally wanted to tell you
the truth about myself.
even if it's scaring the **** out of me.
especially if you don't understand,
i hope one day,
you'll still see me
the same.
just more...
whole.
more real.
and more
me.

but im not sending this.
im not ready.

they're together.
his hand
holds hers in public,
and everyone calls it love --
like no one else
could be
what she really
wants.
what she really
desires.

but little does he know --
that when she looks at me,
it's different.
gentle.
sweet.
almost softer,
like shes thinking about
kissing me
instead.

as if she's
already
chosen.

she's taking over my life
day and night --
twenty-four / seven.

“it should be.”
being afraid --
it’s not a thrilling feeling,
not a rush,
not something
that anyone asks for.
it’s a heavy,
and eerie kind of silence.
not knowing what’s next,
who will speak,
who will leave,
when it ends --
or if it even will.
no one knows.

being afraid
feels like your insides
are twisting
trying to strangle themselves.

not butterflies --
but knots,
tight and mean,
it's your body sounding the alarms
in the only way it knows how.
a sickness that whispers,
“brace yourself,”
for something
that might not
even come.

i possess misfortune.

in many ways.

it feels like
all that occurs
is my fault,
the unfortunate events
of forgetting,
falling,
foolishness,
anger,
anxiety,
apprehension,
p­eople leaving,
people crying,
people dying --
is all my misfortune.

my fault.

in many ways.

i had an epiphany
while walking home --
that forever
isn't always
a promise.
it's sometimes just
a word.
one we say
to feel safe.

and that's the sad part --
i believed it.
i believed that
you meant it
when you said
that we were
forever.
i believed that you
meant it when
you looked at me
like i was
the ending
to your sentence.

now you pass me
like you never
started the story
in the first place.
yet im stil
trying to close a book
you left open.

i think i was meant
to be a flower --
maybe a tulip.
soft,
sunlit,
open.
but i spent
way
too
long
wilting away
before i even got the chance
to bloom.

there were summers
i didn’t feel.
playgrounds i left
way too early.
and dresses i never wore
because i didn’t feel pretty --
or skinny enough
to.

i wanted to run
along the beach
with my group of friends,
laughing,
smiling.
but i was too shy.
too scared
they’d make fun
of the way i run.
so i didn’t go.

i’m only fifteen,
but some days
i feel like
my petals
already fell.
like i was just
too late.

and maybe one day,
i’ll grow again --
maybe as an orchid.
maybe softness
isn’t something you miss,
but something
you return to.

make the art you search for
the kind of art
you never find
but always feel.

the kind that
holds your hurt
without asking a million times,
"why?"
the kind that feels
like being seen.

and maybe it's not out there
because it's waiting
for you
to create it.

i always say
that im fine.
its like driftwood --
something to
cling to
while the waves
pull harder.

but my soul...
it doesnt
float
like how it
used to.
instead,
it now aches
quietly
beneath the surface.
still calling
for something
that is forever
gone.

the ocean,
she knows me --
the way i carry calm
on the outside,
but also the way
i drown
on the inside.

i always say
im okay
like a shoreline lie.
but my soul
still listens
for the footsteps
that aren't returning
ever again.

and i keep on
caring --
quietly,
like the tide
always going out,
but never
coming back
the same as
before the
water.

there are no sides in this --
im telling you.
im not on her side,
im not on yours,
im not even on mine.
things happen
you just have to find
an outlet --
a way to feel
without yelling
in eachothers faces.

most days,
i carry it all
in silence --
it's like a bag
without handles.

...

grief,
expectation,
the weight of being
the one
who doesn't
fall apart
out loud.

...

no one ever
sees it,
but it's heavy
in my spine,
my jaw,
my lungs,
the way i forget
to breathe.

...

but i carry it
because i have to.
becuase letting it go --
letting it all fall
and come crashing down --
feels
worse.

and just like that,
it's the first --
again.
a new month.
it's like a blank page
i dont want
to write on.

the calendar flips
its pages
like it's nothing,
but i can feel it --
the pressure
of doing it all better
this time.

new goals.
new lists.
new promises
i probably won't
keep.

everyone says
that it's a
"fresh start"
like thats supposed
to make me feel
hopeful.
happy.

but it honestly
just feels like
a reset button.
the one i never
asked for.

like change
i'm too tired
to chase.

hey,
future me.
it's july seventh.
and this year has
definetly been one
for the books.

im lucky enough
to still have the friends
i do
because everybody
started turning their backs
on eachother.
and that made me very
anxious
to lose someone
i love.

america might be slowly
dying a painful death.
the climate too.
australia is
or was
trying to follow in
america's footsteps.
women are slowly
losing
their rights.
a possible war.

it's not the greatest time
to be alive.
but it could be worse,
and honestly,
i think that's the only way
im getting through it.
because,
i have it good.
some people don't have
what i do.
and it makes me feel
horrible
when i realise
im taking it all for granted.

i hope the air is safer
a few years from now.
i hope america has
a better life.
i hope women have
their rights.
i hope the earth
isn't suffering so bad
from the climate crisis.

but i can only hope.
and draft this text.

my heart,
it doesn't cry --
it stays
deadly silent.
like it's learnt
how to not cry
but instead,
ache quietly.

but my soul --
my soul weeps.
not tears atleast,
but in the way
that when i hear
your name
i flinch
at the sound.

theres no breaking.
no audible noise.
just a heart,
that folded in
on itself,
and a soul --
one that doesn't know
how to stop
feeling.

texts never sent, is nysterie's second ever project. consisting of five texts, going to either a crush, a friend, a parent, enemy or even her future self.. somehow.

these unsent texts reveal her true feelings on the situation and what she should've said in the moment, but never did.

https://textsneversent.straw.page << the project page

the texts:
- i just needed you to know
- drifting
- im still me
- not worth my voice
- one for the books

she won't stop,
onto the next person
only seconds
after the last.

"it's the chase, isn't it?"
i asked her
on one
soft,
slow,
boring
morning --
where her reply was quick
and short.

"i don't date."

it was the
thrill,
excitement,
the fun
of it all.

with each switch,
she left someone
broken
and hurt
more than what they
already were.

i hated poetry
always dreaded it-
writing it
and reading it
i thought it was just word *****
but made pretty
with italics,
because it never made sense.

then i turned fourteen,
got a job,
lost friends,
lost family members,
grades dropped,
everything shifted.
i started listening to spoken word on spotify-
to quiet my brain
for a minute or two

but i understood them
maybe it was maturing...
or just... feeling more?
all i know is-
my brain flipped a switch
now i write
now i enjoy it.

i don't know why i ever hated
something this honest
something this messy
this beautiful.

sunlight spills
across her face,
the warm glow seeping
through the curtains
quietly,
while she sleeps --
like the morning
is in love with her too.

her lashes catch
the warm sun,
like she's dreaming
in golden.
i stay still,
quiet,
gentle --
not because i might wake her,
but because i don't want
to break
the moment.

i feel
like im
unfinished --
almost like
my life is a story
only half-told
with too many
blank pages
left.

in the context of
light,
the intensity refers to
the amount of power
that is being emitted.

i sometimes use this as a metaphor,
to say someone is
powerful.
they have the intensity
of light,
and if its too bright
it can blind you,
or others.

and it will hurt them
but they wouldn't even know,
because its too bright
and they're too blind
too see that
something has
that much power.

its not my fault.
i didnt do anything wrong,
it was all
you.

it feels like you've
carefully planned this.
every millisecond,
making me
feel like the guilty one.

im not.
its not my fault.

your intention was to hurt me.
and you succeeded,
with a bonus of
making me feel
guilty.

i like to think
you found my soul
before i had even
discovered
what it meant
to hand it over.

you whispered
forevermore
like it was a spell,
one you weren't planning
on keeping.
and i believed it.
because your eyes
said it
first.

and now you
walk past me
with that same mouth --
but it never
says my name.
yet i sit
with everything you left
unspoken,
sort of like a story
im rewriting
just to feel
chosen.

i told myself
that you never meant
to just
vanish --
but the silence came
like a tide,
slow
and steady
until it swallowed me
whole.

i watched the waves,
they pulled back too.
far enough
that i knew
what was coming,
wasn't just quiet.
it was a tsunami
disguised
as distance.

i waited
intently --
not because you promised,
but because my soul
believed that you
still could.

now every crashing thing
reminds me
of you.
not the goodbye,
but instead the space
you never filled again.

funny,
how a person can turn into
a kind of silence --
like a voice
that never even left,
but stopped answering
all the calls
you swore
were mutal. 

you had called it
fading.
i called it
staying
in the smaller ways --
as in
the way i check
my phone
at dusk
like a ritual,
as if you'd just
appear.
because the sky
turns soft enough
for second
chances.

if missing someone
counts as calling --
i never really stopped
calling
for you.

i keep looking
for the meaning
in small things --
like in the way she says
my name,
somehow it sounds
so right.
or how silence
still answers me.

there's that feeling
of old memories
and happy voices --
big smiles too,
whenever you hear
thag one tune.

that one simple melody.

that one chord.

it all floods back.

and just like that
it's the first --
again.
a new month
arrives all too quickly
and too quietly
to prepare for.

they always say
that it's a chance
to start over,
to make new goals.
but i'm still stuck
in last months
grief.
in love that never
stayed.

everything now
feels muted --
calm
and in the wrong way.
its sort of like
the silence
after a gentle storm
you didn't see
was the end.

i used to think
love
was loud.
but the truth is,
it leaves
quickly
and quietly...
and all at once.

dreams,
let them float
to you.

don't try
to make them
into something
you wish
to dream about.

just let
the universe
decide.

she is
glorious --
in that golden-hour
type of way.
it looks like
she was dipped
in the kind of light
that you can't touch,
but admire.

i listen intently
as she talks about
boys
like she's reading it
from a script
that fits her mouth
almost too
easily.

and i sit there,
i smile and nod,
trying not to look
at her lips
when she stops
paying attention to
my eyes.

she says im her favourite,
her safest place,
her soul sister even --
and i say..
"me too."
yet it still aches
like a confession
i can't give
to her.
to anyone, really.

she's glorious.
and i love her
in the quietest form --
the one that
lets her go
every day
without thinking about
telling her
i ever wanted to
stay.

why do we dream?
why do we miss people?
why this
why that
just...
why.

it wasn't stupid,
what you did,
you were in a moment --
and moments
can sometimes feel
like forever.
especially when
your chest is too full
and your options too small.

you felt trapped,
kind of like
every single door
you tried
was locked
from the inside,
and the walls
we're quietly
caving in
on you.

but there was no
clear solution.
there was
only noise,
only ache.
yet you still
did what you could
to survive it.

and that was
never
stupid.
it was
human.

this feeling of
upset,
frustrated,
sad,
misunderstood,
mad --
just makes me want
to rip my hair out of my head
and punch something.

knowing i full well
do not have the strength
to do
either.

i would break my knuckles
punching something,
and hurt my hands trying to
pull all my hair out.

im too weak.
that's what this was all about anyway,
im mad because im weak,
im sad because im too quiet,
im frustrated because no one hears me!
no one truly understands
my brain
and that will never change
no matter what i do.

no one but me is in here.

i feel things loudly,
and it feels like
im being swallowed
by multiple intense
feelings
all at
once.

and it's just too much,
for one girl.
one brain.
one heart.
one voice.

it makes me want to yank my hair out
and punch something
until my knuckles are red and ******.