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Everly Rush May 3
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.
Erenn Apr 11
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
Erenn Apr 7
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.
Erenn Apr 4
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❤️
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
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
Sara Barrett Feb 5
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.
dead poet Feb 3
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.
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