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siphelele-mbathaPoems
Not with rope, not with pills, not with the silence of locked rooms but slowly, the way rain destroys stone without ever raising its voice. Let the poet in you ruin your sleep with unfinished thoughts and memories that return like stray dogs at midnight. Let him make you stare too long at sunsets, at train stations, at people who were never yours yet somehow left scars behind. Let him turn your loneliness into ink, your heartbreak into scripture, your rage into something beautiful enough to survive you. Because poets do not die once. They die every time they feel too much. Every time they love without being loved correctly. Every time the world says “move on” while their soul is still writing about the wound. So let the poet in you **** you if it means you leave behind verses that make strangers feel less alone on nights they almost disappeared themselves.
0
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 6:36 PM UTC
Let the poet in you **** you.
Not with rope, not with pills, not with the silence of locked rooms but slowly, the way rain destroys stone without ever raising its voice. Let the poet in you ruin your sleep with unfinished thoughts and memories that return like stray dogs at midnight. Let him make you stare too long at sunsets, at train stations, at people who were never yours yet somehow left scars behind. Let him turn your loneliness into ink, your heartbreak into scripture, your rage into something beautiful enough to survive you. Because poets do not die once. They die every time they feel too much. Every time they love without being loved correctly. Every time the world says “move on” while their soul is still writing about the wound. So let the poet in you **** you if it means you leave behind verses that make strangers feel less alone on nights they almost disappeared themselves.
siphelele-mbatha
Written by
siphelele-mbatha
27/M
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 6:36 PM UTC
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