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.

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.

shes all i think about
day and night --
twenty-four / seven.
she's always
on my mind.

interstate,
but im still calling.
she always answers late,
never in the mood.
and she wont wait --
not for me.
and not for anyone.

she's infecting my dreams,
shes rewriting my thoughts,
even changing my music
into sappy love songs
i swore i hated.

she's taken over
my life,
my breath,
my hours --
day and night,
twenty-four / seven.

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.

“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 say
"i don't care"
like it's a piece of armour --
almost like if i say it
enough
itll become
true.

but my soul,
it still aches.
in the middle of the
darkness,
in the silence,
it remebers
what my mouth
tries to forget.

i don't care.
but only
out loud,
the rest of me
still cares --
in the darkness,
and in the silence.

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.

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.

we learn
the abcs
by repeating them.
we learn
how to do things right
by doing them
every day.
so why is it
so hard
to learn kindness?
don’t we
repeat it
every day?

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.

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

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 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.

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.

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 ******.

i knew that i felt love when i met my bestfriend.

i knew that i felt love when i met my first pet.

i knew that i felt love when i heard my new favourite song.

i knew that i felt love when i went to my first concert.

i knew that i felt love when i met one of my favourite artists.

i knew that i felt love when i hugged my mum.

i knew that i felt love when i sat down and ate dinner with my family.

love isn't just romantic.
it can be platonic.
and sometimes
it's even more special that way.

let yourself be loved,
and love other people
and things you enjoy.

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.

we still talk-
only in echoes now
you send memes
instead of midnight thoughts
or how your mum finally said
"im proud of you"

our laughter-
it used to fill rooms
theatres when we watched a comedy
but now-
it just barely stirs the surface
and i think
we both feel it

there's a silence between us
it hums
between messages
the long pauses
they don't even ask to be broken.
no fight,
no storm,
just the soft unraveling
of something
that was once knotted tightly.

maybe that's
how some tides go-
not crashing
just quietly
pulling back
pulling away softly
without a sound

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.

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.

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.

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.

my room --
it's away from the people,
the anxiety, 
the problems,
my grades,
my friends,
my co-workers --
it's just my room.
my sanctuary.

i can move things around
whenever i please,
shift the space
to make it more me.
it's mine.
and its peace.
it's my sanctuary.

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.

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

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

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

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.

"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.

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.

i think there's more
than what my small hands can hold --
something
beneath the name of things.
an unusual silence
inside sound,
a reason
behind my ache.

maybe love
isn't the smile
or the warmth --
maybe it's the thing
that lingers
once she's gone.
maybe its
the truth,
not the feeling.
the ghost,
not the soft kiss.

and maybe im not only
skin,
voice,
and wanting --
maybe i am
what watches
from behind 
my own two blue eyes,
trying to grasp
an understanding
of what any
of this
means.

ill never see the whole of it.
maybe im not meant to.
perhaps the knowing
isn't just in the visuals,
the seeing --
instead its in believing
that there's something
there.

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 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.

it’s funny how people grow apart —
one day you’re laughing,
the next,
you’re not texting
or calling
or sending dumb memes

a girl i used to know
stopped calling one day
sent a birthday text —
like a ghost with good manners
i haven’t seen her in months,
she’s an old friend.

maybe it’s just the cycle of things.
maybe we’ll find our way back.
but that doesn’t make it hurt
any less.

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.

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?

grief doesn't knock-
it slips in
wearing her perfume,
that strong vanilla scent
it sits beside me in silence,
and stays longer than memory.

you're in my life
everywhere i go.
it's like you've been
permanently placed --
as if someone
put you there
to stay
forever.

and i hate
that i can't escape you.
you hurt me.
so why are you
still everywhere
i go?..

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.

theres no wrong answer
to what poetry is.

"poetry is rhyming"

wrong.
there is actually a
wrong
answer.

poems are little windows,
a view inside
someones head.

it doesn't have to rhyme,
it doesn't always have to provoke
feelings.

its just words,
that are there
to help
*someone

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.

you touched my hand.
and it felt like
it wasn't the first time --
it was like
your fingers already knew
my own,
in some kind of
quiet before.

my chest
doesn't scream --
it hums
with a stabbing pain
too polite
to interupt.

my soul
it still reaches
for hands
that no longer
reach back
to me.

every morning, 
i stare at the mirror --
looking into my own eyes
like they belong
to someone else.

my smile feels forced,
stolen.
like i borrowed this body,
and forgot 
to give it back.

i don't deserve it.
i neglect this body,
my shattered heart
would survive better
in someone
more loving
and patient.

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.

run
run
run --
run away as fast
as you possibly can.
get away.
get out of that place.

you don't know the
horrors of being there
like i do.

trust me,
and run.
run
run
run.
as fast as you can.

get away
before you
make it out
barely breathing.

covered in blood,
missing a limb,
open wounds,
a pounding headache,
a swollen ankle --
just run no matter
what it takes.

you don't understand
the horror
like i do.

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

maybe not anymore.

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.

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.

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?