#spilledink poems on Hello Poetry

Everly Rush May 3

Van Man by a girl who still has to ask to go to the bathroom

He said,
“One day I just said **** it.”
Like that. Just like that.
Quit his job, sold his stuff, bought a van—
and now it’s him and Wolfie,
his pointy-eared pup,
somewhere between red dirt and blue sky
on a road that doesn’t ask for permission.

I found him on some random forum
— not even supposed to be there —
we talked tonight,
he told me things like I wasn’t just
a name with no face.
He told me about the sunsets he never planned to see,
how they sneak up on him like a song
that makes you stop walking,
how the sky melts into colours
too good for photos.
And Wolfie,
perched besides him, alert and calm,
ears slicing the wind
like she was born for freedom.

He said he did everything he was told to do.
Uni. Job. Money. Success.
People clapped. He felt nothing.
So he left.
No map, just vibes and Spotify.

And here I am.
crammed into a plastic desk,
under buzzing lights
learning about wars
I’ll never fight
in clothes that aren’t me
surrounded by people
who talk but never say anything real.

I told him I’m 15 and tired all the time.
He said,
“That’s heavy for 15.”
I said
“It’s heavier when no one notices.”
He said
“Hold on. You won’t always be stuck.”

And maybe it’s weird,
but I keep thinking about his van
under that endless sky,
Wolfie with ears like tiny sails
chasing ghosts across sunburnt sand,
and him—
choosing beauty on purpose.
And I pretend I’m not
this ghost in a uniform
but her—
the girl who said **** it
and meant it.

Maybe one day,
when the world stops demanding hall passes,
I’ll do it too.
Maybe I’ll find my own road
and a dog like Wolfie
and a van
and a sky that doesn’t judge me
for wanting to disappear
into something more.

#sadgirlpoetry #nomadvibes #spilledink #latenightwriting #depression #digitaldiary

Erenn Apr 11

Miracles

Raindrops kiss the earth,
he sits beneath the grey sky—
eyes still on the stars.

Clouds hide every light,
but he whispers to the dark,
“Maybe one will fall.”

Storms can’t shake his faith—
even meteors seem far,
but he waits, and waits.

The world says, “Give up.”
He only tightens his grip—
hope like fire inside.

Rain or stars above,
he believes in miracles—
even if they burn.

Erennwrites

#miracle #miracles #lit #spilledink #shooting #stars #meteors

Erenn Apr 7

Orchids

He gave her orchids, not roses, not flame—
But quiet things, with roots that cling
To silent bark, and bloom in shade—
The way he loved, unseen.

She smiled like spring, but loved like wind,
Passing through without regret.
He stayed like dusk, holding the light,
Even as the sun forgets.

The others brought tangerines, bright and sweet,
Sun-kissed and easy to hold—
But he only offered orchids, slow to bloom,
In a language too patient, too old.

She never saw how he watered hope,
In a garden she never walked.
How he learned to speak her silences,
And answered when she never talked.

He watched her dance with summer hearts,
Each one burning out too soon—
Yet still, he kept the orchids near,
Blooming beneath a winter moon.

No final scene, no curtain fall,
No music swelled, no kiss—
Just him and orchids, year by year,
Tending love that she won’t miss.

Despite all this, always smiling
His love for her, unwavering.

Erennwrites

"They say you need countless lifetimes of fate to meet even once in this life. If you miss it when it brushes past, that’s the end.”
Inspired from When Life Gives You Tangerines.

#poetry #poet #spilledink #flowers #orchids #love #sacrifice #unrequited

Erenn Apr 4

Jodoh

Seindah mimpi, hati merancang
Langkah diatur, arah ditentang
Namun seteguh mana usaha
Takdir Tuhan tetap berkuasa

Jalan berliku, kabur di mata
Harapan tinggi, jatuh tak terduga
Tapi yakinlah, wahai jiwa
Dia tahu yang terbaik untuk kita

Bukan cepat, bukan lambat
Saatnya tiba, hati terpikat
Kerana jodoh, rahsia Ilahi
Hadir tepat, seindah janji
Janjinya, kekal selamanya

Erennwrites

My first poetry in my malay❤️

#puisi #melayu #malaypoetry #lit #spilledink #love #fate #jodoh #destiny

Kewayne Wadley Mar 8

Empty Patches

I know you, Moon
Shining pieces of light
that are not your own.

As beautiful as you are,
as full as you look,
there are pieces of yourself
that you hide in the dark
the empty patches
left by those who took
but never gave.

If I could, I'd
climb
up
next to you
and offer you a
piece
of myself,
to make you feel whole.

I, too, know
what it's like
to
hide
pieces
of
yourself.

At least with you,
that piece will be called beautiful,
and no one will know the difference
except for you and me.
I know you, Moon

#poetrylovers #poetrycommunity #spilledink #poetryislove #deepthoughts #friendship #moon #feelings #feelingsintowords #vulnerable

Kewayne Wadley Mar 2

Egyptian Cotton

I want to sink
And lose myself 600 ways in you
Losing myself in how you feel,
How you smell.
A softness that doesn't fray
Between the heat
Shared between you and me,
It doesn't wrinkle.
It doesn't crease.

It's not a traumatic response
From any part of your or my journey.
You breathe against me
The kind of comfort that trust
Cannot put into words.
Unrushed. Patient.
The way home should feel.

Before true happiness,
I stretch and unwind
In your quiet
Twisting and turning,
My face pressed into how
Warm you are.
When I lay on you,
I don't want to get up.
I want to lay here and dream,
Far from the suffocation
That exists away from you.

No matter how rough I am,
Compared to your softness
This goes beyond material reality
Where hands and feet
Don't have to beg for rest.
They just are.

There are no wrinkles in how you love,
In the way you unfold and spread yourself.
Eventually,
Love doesn’t stay young forever.
It matures in its openness.
In this, there is surrender.
I am consumed in you
No longer twisting,
No longer turning,
But at peace.
Whether I am closing my eyes
Or opening them.
I am glad that you're here

#poetrylovers #spilledink #creativewriting #poetrygram #intimacy #sensual #lovepoem #betweenus #soft #strong

Sara Barrett Feb 5

Pain as a Shadow

It begins with a whisper,
a shadow stitched to her womb,
its weight pressing like a secret,
its roots spreading unseen.

They call it normal—
the blood that floods like rivers,
the cramps that steal her breath,
the clots dragging her body down.

Pain coils in her pelvis,
a fire that burns without end.
Her bladder aches, her bowels rebel,
her back bends beneath its weight.

They say it’s just being a woman,
but how do you explain the storms?
The tissue growing where it shouldn’t,
the scars binding organs into one.

She carries fatigue like a second skin,
her energy drained by invisible wars.
Her body becomes a battlefield—
every nerve alive with rebellion.

Doctors speak over her pain:
It’s all in your head, they insist.
But how do you imagine blood that stains,
or pain that splits you in two?

One day, she stops asking for answers.
She stands tall in the face of dismissal.
Her voice rises like thunder:
This is my body; I know it best.

Her womb is no longer their battlefield;
it is sacred ground she reclaims.
The shadow no longer consumes her—
it becomes part of her story, not its end.

"Pain as a Shadow" is a powerful exploration of chronic gynecological pain, vividly capturing the physical and emotional journey of living with conditions like endometriosis. This poem confronts the dismissal of women's pain in medical settings, challenging societal norms that normalize female suffering. Through visceral imagery and a defiant voice, it traces the path from silent endurance to empowered self-advocacy. The piece resonates with themes of ****** autonomy, medical gaslighting, and the reclamation of one's narrative in the face of invisible illness. It stands as a testament to the strength found in acknowledging one's own experience, offering solidarity to those who have faced similar struggles.

#endometriosis #womenshealth #women #woman #period #poetry #poem #spilledink #womenempowerment

dead poet Feb 3

the confessions of a dead poet

the noise never fades;
my poise takes the bait;
in the halls of liberation,
i submit to my fate.

i took a solemn vow:
to be ‘holier-than-thou’.
neither wrong, nor right,
i knew, until now.

i failed to see a cause;
the effect? - a terrible loss;
blinded by obsessions,
i never took a pause.

it’s been a while since the fall,
when i sprung to a brawl
with my virtues, unmasked -
and caved in to nightfall.

it all seems a blur;
it’s ‘bout time i concurred:
my reason to exist
shall always be a curse.

#confessionalpoetry #existentialcrisis #darkpoetry #lostsoul #introspection #melancholy #poetrycommunity #spilledink

Sara Barrett Feb 3

The Apology Tax

In tenth grade, a boy said,
“Washington, D.C. is in Virginia.”
I corrected him—
said it was neither and both,
its own district.
The teacher Googled it,
read the truth out loud,
then turned to me and said,
“Apologize for disrupting the class.”

So I did.

And I have been saying sorry ever since.

Sorry for knowing too much.
For being too passionate,
too emotional, too empathetic.
Too much when I demand respect,
too much when I react
the way others do to me—
but when I do it, it's wrong.

I have learned that women must shrink
to be acceptable.
To be small enough to be tolerated.
To swallow knowledge
so it does not spill out
and threaten fragile egos.
To let silence replace truth
because truth makes them uneasy.

We are taught to apologize young.
Sorry for our hair in the drain,
for needing tampons and pads,
for the price of our own biology.
Sorry for bleeding,
for growing,
for existing in spaces
where men believe we should not be.

By puberty, we know—
our bodies are currency,
our voices are burdens,
our presence requires permission.

But not me. Not anymore.

I have stood my ground—
faced cruelty when it came for those I loved,
thrown words like knives because no one else would protect them.

I have refused to step aside—
to move for those who walk as if they own the world.

If you do not see me, you will feel me.

I will not apologize for choosing my family over expectations.
For shutting out the noise of a world that demands too much.
For putting my healing first—
even when it makes others uncomfortable.

I will not apologize for being a woman.

I will not apologize for the space I take up,
for the voice I refuse to quiet,
for the boundaries I dare to keep.

I am done paying the apology tax—
a tax I never owed in the first place.

And now? I am collecting every debt:
every moment of silence stolen from me,
every inch of space I was told to surrender,
every truth I swallowed so someone else could feel whole.

I am done saying sorry for being whole myself.

Let them learn to carry their discomfort—because I won’t carry it for them anymore

This poem is a powerful declaration of self-worth and defiance against societal expectations, especially for women. It explores themes of gender inequality, self-empowerment, and the emotional toll of constantly apologizing for one’s existence or actions. The speaker reflects on early experiences of being silenced and criticized for confidence, intelligence, and individuality, leading to a lifetime of unnecessary apologies.
The poem transitions into a bold rejection of these imposed norms, celebrating resilience, boundaries, and unapologetic self-expression. It is a call to reclaim space, voice, and identity while challenging others to confront their discomfort rather than forcing it onto others.

#poetrycommunity #womenempowerment #spilledink #poem

dead poet Jan 31

unbowed

if i could, i’d let it go -
long ago,
so you’d never know
how i felt
when you had me knelt
before the sinister
price i owe.

i gave you my world
with fists uncurled;
you gave me your spite
with a tongue that twirled
at the whims of a curse
so foul, it reeked
of a bane too vile,
and unreasonably
perverse.

can’t blame you, though,
the things i know
could rip the heart,
and have it show
the crimson shards of
memories jarred,
and a quiver so bare
from all the blows.

perhaps,
there’s still a place for you
in my heart, that’s yet
to know what’s true;
but i cannot allow
my head to bow
to scorn, and spite,
to name a few…

#heartache #betrayal #resilience #pain #healing #rhymescheme #lettinggo #bittersweet #spilledink #poetrycommunity