the link if you wanna read it before it's uploaded here 🤍🤍

https://textsneversent.straw.page

there was a time
where i truly
believed
"right person, wrong time"
was the closest
i would ever
be
to love.

like timing was a
thief
and i was made
to ache
forevermore.

but then,
i saw her.
it wasn't that kind
of love where
its loud
and cinematic,
almost movie worthy.
it was just
her smile,
and then suddenly --
my chest
hadn't felt so
heavy
anymore.

they never tell you
that love
at first sight
can feel like
healing,
like coming home
to a version
of yourself
that has been lost,
or so you thought.

she didn't just
come into my life.
she healed,
quietly
and softly --
just being there and
not asking
what broke me.

mysteries third project, a peek into a girls notes, is six notes that mysterie had turned into poems.

this is a vulnerable project, one that she hopes to connect with people through on many levels.

a peek into a girls notes;
- The Crush
- The Friends
- guilty?
- Grocery shopping list
- dreams 👻
- why write? why bother.

the link to read all: https://listofregrets.straw.page

we're not friends exactly,
not really --
but
we're not more
than that either.
there's an awkward inbetween.

you laugh at my jokes
like you care,
and sometimes
on the rare occasion
you text first --
which is just enough
to trap yourself
in my head.

whatever we are,
it isn't nothing.
but it's never
been right
to call it
something more.

and maybe
that's the worst part --
not the part
where i lose you,
but the part
where i
never really
have you
to call
mine.

friendships are hard.
i think they always will be.

it's about
finding that in between
balance
of love,
care,
and annoying one another.

i can never seem
to find that in between.

either they
annoy me too much
and i don't speak up --
because im scared ill
hurt them,
or i care too much
and it slowly,
very slowly,
pushes them away.

or maybe im too
quiet.
not loud enough.
i am loud though --
once you know me.

i know they're
not meant to
be this difficult.
but i always feel
as though im
in the middle of
trios
and groups.

or that i distance myself
too much
even when i need to be
distanced from the noise.

it'll get better.
hopefully.
eventually.

some people find
each other
again
after a few years.

but if not,
there's plenty of people
for me
to get to know
and become friends with.

i dread talking the truth,
letting those words flow out
of my brain
and out my mouth.

it's seldom.

i dont speak my truth,
i am never honest
with my real feelings.

wont it just hurt people?

you stare at me
from across the room,
like im your rival.

im still not sure
if you hate me
or just dislike me.

maybe you're just waiting
for me
to trip
so you can say --

"i told you so"

we could've been friends --
could've been more than.

what did i do
to get put in this position?
do you even hate me?
am i a rival to you?

because im too tired
of pretending
that there's nothing here.
because the silence
is too loud,
it burns my head.

i want to work this out,
where the static
can turn
to rhythm.

when the silence
finally
vanishes
and the burning
stops.

mysteries fourth project, prescription is three different (made up) medicine prescriptions that mysterie prescribed for healing certain (internal) wounds.

this is a vulnerable project, one that she hopes to connect with people through on many levels.

a Prescription;
- Treachery
- Nostalgia
- Unlimited Stories

the link to read all:
https://perscription.straw.page

yes im well aware that prescription is spelled incorrect in the link.

i thought you said
that you would listen
to anything
i would have to say.
that you --
were my safe space.

maybe not anymore.

if you tell a lie,
people cant always
pick it apart
from the truth.

with you --
no one knows
what's real
and what's fake.

sometimes
it isn't enough
to just hug
or have my hand be held
in some sweet way.

i need you to hold me
like you mean it,
as though our souls
could actually
intertwine.

that's when it would
be more than enough.

i have decided that since i personally write a lot that i dont end up liking, that i would make an account where i share my thought process behind all my "bad" poems. the ones that dont flow, or make any sense whatsoever.

i want to work on how i view my own writing but i also want to improve my writing. i want to have this as an escape whenever i feel down but i also would like to be able to write well when im bored or even for schooling.

i take constructive criticism and i want to hear your thoughts and opinions about my own thoughts and poems. and my second account allows for that.

im aiming to be more vulnerable on there and i will not edit the pieces before they're uploaded.

because life is messy and my writing is allowed to be. no ones writing is perfect. theres always going to be something you can do to make it flow better. atleast in my opinion.

so im hoping this all makes sense and that my second account can be a helpful place in a way.

when i dont write, maybe im in a slump or something, just know that my second account will have raw and unedited pieces that i cant finish (sometimes).

just uploaded a really raw one. literally thought of it maybe thirty minutes ago. all my thoughts are there too. so if you like hearing peoples creative process you should check it out.

go check out noumena. might find pieces that wont be on here ever.

i never lived there,
but i miss it
like it was home.
like i left something behind --
a version of me
still bundled up
in those hotel sheets,
in the merch line,
and in the way we laughed
way 
too loud
under those
neon blue signs.

it was just a weekend,
but the city held me
like it knew me.
like it didn't care
where i had flown from
as long as i sang
with everything
i had.

now im home.
but im not all here,
i left a version of myself
on that floor
of that arena,
still glowing.
still screaming.
still full
of everything
i want to feel again.

i left a piece of myself
in a city
i don't live in.
and some nights,
it feels like that version
of me
had it better --
louder laughter,
lighter shoulders,
less worry,
a heartbeat
in sync
with the music
she lives for.

and i wonder
if she's still
out there somewhere,
dancing along
to the beat.

she was dangerous
and in the most
silent form --
she wasn't fire,
but she was
a glance
that always
stayed
too
long.

we don't understand
how much something
or someone
means to us
once it's taken away.

i didn't realise how much
expressing ny emotions
meant to me
and my mental health
until hello poetry
went down.

sharing my feelings
with the world
really helped me realise --
im not the only one
going through this.

i connected with people
through words
i wrote
at a stupid hour
after a long day.

you don't realise
how much
you take for granted
until it's taken away.

life is beautiful --
but you can't find
the beauty 
in the world,
in your life,
if you're not looking,
or admiring
the space
around you
and within others.

i wasn't searching
for anything --
until i started searching for
love,
only then
i begun to find
little heart shapes
in everything.

bread, 
street cracks,
pages in schoolbooks,
doorways,
steak,
fabric folds, 
car reflections,
freckles --
even those.

i thought
i was losing it --
seeing things.
until i realised,
i was searching for love,
and love
was finding me
the most unique places.
and it was beautiful.

so start looking
around you --
at the little things,
in the quiet.
maybe then
you'll find something
that helps you
heal
and find the beauty
in living 
and something
that reminds you
why living
matters.

her absence is a hum
beneath the streetlight.
it slips through my curtains -
silver,
never soft enough
to hush my thoughts.
give me a break.

her name is a wind,
caught behind my ribs,
blowing through
the rooms i built for her
but never locked.

every breath feels borrowed,
taken -
like she left it behind
by accident.
like her smile,
still living in the quiet
between my heartbeats.

the bed forgets
how to hold me right,
how to put me to sleep.
some nights,
loneliness is a second pillow.
other nights,
it’s her voice -
curled up
where my dreams should be.
but they aren’t.

we all feel
misunderstood
at some point in our lives,
whether its our whole life --
or a few times.

we all feel
misunderstood
for many different reasons,
and every single reason --
is valid.

but there's someone out there
who understands
every
word
that
you
say.

you just have to have patience.

i feel so...
out of place here.
its like they forget
my name
and why im even
there.

i don't miss her per se
not really-
not the way she stirred her coffee counter-clockwise
or how she spoke my name
ever so softly
like a secret
no one else could hold

i miss the feeling
of her-
that imagined life
woven in between shared glances
and almosts
the home i built
in her soft
gummy smile
before i saw the cracks

i miss what never even happened
the parallel version of us
the ones who stayed.
is that still missing her?
or just missing
being wanted
by someone
who never really could?

my ache has no address
no home
yet it answers
to her name
every time
like it's all i know
like she's all i know

how am i meant
to know what my life
is going to look like
after highschool?

will i be in university?
studying what?
what job will i have?
where am i living?
what friends do i have?
did everyone leave?

how am i meant
to know
who i am
entirely
at 15
if most people
dont even know themselves
at 35?

its very easy --
to get obsessed,

getting obsessed
...but with writing?

it can hurt.

because it becomes
your only way
to cope,
to stay sane --

to be okay.

and its hard to
open up to people
after writing for so long.


and having paper
be the only one
who truly understands.

its difficult to be
vulnerable and open
about your feelings
and opinions
when writing them
is all you know.

lillies.
they're pretty.

i see them
on my morning walks --
they adorn the footpath.

im about to buy some
in a boquet,
tied in with some tulips
and leaves as spacers.

they're for my new partner.

but whenever i see
these lillies,
i can only
think
of
you.

maybe because your essence
was just like the lily's --
you were elegant,
compassionate,
and you loved everyone
with the biggest
heart and smiles.

i know its wrong,
to still think of you.

but these lillies --
they're everywhere i go.
i wouldn't take it as a sign
but i know it means
something.

i shouldn't be buying these
for my new partner,
she isn't elegant
like you,
or have a big smile
like you did,
so why do i buy them?
or walk the same footpath
every morning
just
to
see
them?

i don't know.

i regret not making more friends.
i regret not sitting at more lunch tables.
i regret the glances that i didn’t return.
i regret the smiles i let pass like strangers.
i regret thinking that one friend was enough.
i regret pretending that silence made me strong.
i regret staying home when they invited me out.
i regret overthinking every introduction.
i regret the way i let anxiety speak for me.
i regret deleting numbers instead of reaching out to people.
i regret waiting for them to speak first.
i regret being afraid of being too much.
i regret leaving group chats before they knew me.
i regret the hallways I walked like a ghost.
i regret the versions of me they never got to meet.
the point is --
i regret a lot of things,
about not making friends.
especially that.

but it was my fault
after all.

i need:

kanzi apples

unselfishness

grapes

tomatoes

pasta --

shell pasta.

no i want spaghetti

shell pasta.

potatoes

cucumber

a new brain,

tell it to stop thinking about the

what ifs

and the why nots.

maybe also grab some bread.

"act nonchalant"
"im so nonchalant"
"oh my gosh he is so mysterious!"
"why is she so mysterious and serious?"

nonchalant this,
mysterious that,
what about smiling?
showing your feelings?

showing your happiness?

laughing is better than being
nonchalant
and mysterious.

smiling is better than being
numb
and serious.

living your best life is better than being
somber
and enigmatic.

smile in photos.
laugh with your friends.
scream at concerts.
dance at parties --
or even at the store
when a good song
echoes through the speakers.

be you.

not this
nonchalant,
mysterious,
serious,
numb,
somber
and enigmatic
version of you.

because its not you.

tell me --
who you are.
where you've been.
because i can't trust anymore.

i can't trust anyone.

between ai,
fake people
and old white lies --
im not sure what's real
and what's not.

maybe my brain
is too twisted
and is making
this all up...

im not sure
what's real
and what's not,
who i can trust
and who i can't --
it's all so confusing.

just leave me be,
maybe it'll spare me
the sympathy
when all my secrets
get dug up.

put on the act,
put on the show --
it's all a lie.
nothing's real anymore.

lie and
mask your feelings.

hide your true self.

put on that act.
all
day.

put on that show.
until
you
bleed
to
death.

im not even mad anymore --
im just just
tired
of your antics.
you twisted things
so well
that i actually
started to believe
that i was the villain
in my own story.

you were loud,
but somehow,
im the one that
they stopped
listening to.
it's funny
how that works, huh?

i wont send this.
because you would
more than likely --
just turn it into another reason
to prove me wrong.
but honestly,
youre not worth my voice
anymore.

growing up
is all a memory now,
i don't remeber
when i just magically
became a teenager.

but i know
im becoming who i
used to be.

shades of blue for my sorrow,
shades of grey for my tear stained pillow,
shades of teal for the ocean i used to watch,
and shades of orange for the sunrise that i never watched.

im bringing back
my good old friends --
emotion
and confusion.

i don't know
who i am
or what im doing.

because i magically
recieved all these
responsibilities.
i was never ready for this,
i sure never asked for it either.

i left behind
a version of me
that night,
at the concert,
on that arena floor --
lighter,
louder,
happier,
and still dancing
in a city
i don't live in.

i used to think
that i just had
awful luck.

the kind where you feel
like everything you do
is an inconvenience to everyone.
and you just can't seem
to stop
making things
go wrong.

like the other day,
i straightened my hair --
and it just started raining
the moment
i got outside.

or how last month,
i made a mistake at work
and just that moment,
my boss walked in.

or two years ago.
my best friend had left me
over a petty,
little,
stupid argument that
should've never happened
in the first place.

but i didn't just have
awful luck.

the puzzle pieces,
were slowly coming
together --
after awhile at least.
it never happens in the blink
of an eye.

i grew to love my natural hair.

the borders of it
were first,
slowly forming --

i still had my job.

clicking together.
i didn't pay any mind,
it didn't occur to me just yet
what was happening.

then the second border --

i met my best friend.

and i slowly began
to consider the idea
that there was
a meaning for this.

no, i'm not sure
if i believe in heaven
or hell,
or if theres a lord above.

but i do know
someone's there
either way.

putting together
everyone's puzzles.

she danced slowly,
hand holding the blue-ink pen,
words flowing...
...and flowing
onto the page
with practiced ease.

a loud but quiet plea
to the people who surround.
"help me,
im stuck in a forever loop
of my own thoughts!
they just
won't
stop"

i watched gently.
sitting in a quiet corner
of the book filled library,
watching her.

not in a creepy way,
in a worried way.

i've seen the stuff
she tends to write,
it worries me.

it worries me
to the point i can't
stop
thinking
about
it.

about
her.

i think about her
way more than she knows --
shes like a song
stuck in my teeth,
or a dream
that won't leave my head.
it won't wash off.

she laughs
and i hear it for days.
she touches my shoulder
and my whole body,
instantly tries to memorize
the feeling.

this isn't love,
not yet atleast --
it's limerence.
the unbearable
maybe.
the ache that is shaped
like hope
with nowhere to land.

we all have opinions.
no matter how
seemingly "tough",
and "cool" you may be --
we all have atleast one.

controversial ones maybe.

though your opinion
should never be
hateful towards one's
happiness
or
body.

yes, we all have opinions.
but it's not your
happiness.
and it's certainly
not
your
body.

it's not your responsibility
to comment on it.

so don't.

why would you?

what kind of sick,
twisted mind
do you have
where you would
need to comment
on that?

my third project!

welcome "a peek into a girls notes"

bts:
little bit of bts about this project.



this project was originally meant to be a "list" of all the regrets i have. it was meant to be twelve parts.

not long after starting, i stopped.

all together.

until a week (exactly) later i was in class,

heard my teacher speak about "intensity of light" and sound waves and whatnot.

i never listen in science, so this interesting me was new.

and i knew i had to write. so i did.



and i have just now decided to finish this project in one sitting.

it's no longer a twelve part piece.

instead nine - or six. i don't remeber already haha

but i finished it in one sitting.

now it's just a notes app.

a peek into a girls notes app.



random poems.

regrets.

lists.

questions to the universe.



thank you!

- mysterie.

i know i should've
said something to her
when the time was right.
i should've told her
on the day
that the sun had
hit her face
just
right.
or when she laughed
at something
only i would've noticed.

i had the words.
i really did --
they sat
on the tip of my tongue,
sort of like a secret,
one hoping
to be brave.

but i swallowed the words.
again --
and again.
over --
and over.
until they had eventually
turned into silence
that hurt more
than speaking the truth
ever would have.

she now tells me
about him,
i just have to smile --
pretend im okay,
pretend im listening,
with a small nod
here
and
there.

i say im happy for her.
but gosh...
i wish she had known
that i loved her
first.
i wish she had known
that i loved her
quietly,
and completely,
even if
i hadn't ever
said it
out
loud.

my friends forget
im in class
becuase im in the corner,
always
too
quiet.

maybe i need to talk more.
maybe i need to scream how i feel.
maybe i should sit with them...

i know it would solve
this issue
but..
would it really?

i am just known
as the quiet kid
among many.