#first
The world turns dark / I grow tired / the world continues to rotate / the grass grows long
alongside my hair / rain blesses the cracked earth / grocery stores fill up and empty rhythmically
/ the clock keeps ticking / people die / babies see the world for the first time / my existence
beside it all / with the beating of my heart / the swoosh of my skirts / the clatter of boots on
concrete / with the music in my headphones / the scratch of my pencil on paper / the world
grows weary / I grow weary alongside it / I am learning to breathe slowly / learning when to
step back from the noise / when to crawl into bed / when to go to church / when to reach out to a
friend / when to let a thought pass / when to embrace it gently / when to love / when to be in
community / when to be alone /
I am still here.
May 19
May 19, 2026 at 8:17 PM UTC
And her lips opened the covenant,
and between them the echo turned emerald
the colour of dissolution,
the colour of the Garden remembered.
I walked toward her,
a sail of longing trembling in the wind of the heart,
courting the horizon
where the Beloved dissolves the lover.
Where is the self now?
I outran Time.
I outran Place.
I outran even the illusion of Tomorrow.
Only the Eternal remained, laughing.
I fell headfirst into the Morning of Union,
every road drenched in rosewater and musk,
my shirt baptised in the dew of that first dawn
when the soul was still intoxicated with “Yes.”
My hand upon your arm
what loss is this you still fear?
Did we not promise, on the Day of the First Witness,
to lose ourselves together?
I love You beyond imagination,
beyond distance,
beyond the bitter folklore of separation.
With the tools of dhikr,
I carved Your Name into my ribs.
I carried the black moon of nonexistence
and laid it gently
in the night of Your hair.
I poured the wine of rebellion into Your *******
until they rose, drunk and proud before the Throne,
refusing to kneel to any but the One
who kindled them.
Now the heart whirls.
Now the veil is thin as breath.
Now there is only the Cupbearer,
and the cup that was always empty
filling itself with You.
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 3:31 AM UTC
It's my first poem in HelloPoetry
The best thing to express what I feel about anything else
My only comfort zone where I leaned to be
And sometimes those words really make you melts
People might engage and people might not
But I won't turn away, for I'll go beyond
Whenever these words slipped away for you
Always reminds you that we can't be alone and feel blue
I may not be a perfect poet to write all of these
But my heart remains steadfast on your feeds
Let's show the reality and the power of an art
Though social media we had is in our part
I've got something in my mind to tell you through poems
HelloPoetry is the stream for artistry of hopes
We all appreciate the best wishes we can have
May we all enjoy through serious and laugh
May 13
May 13, 2026 at 7:33 AM UTC
Consolation prizes are always small and devastatingly adequate.
We've all taken tests - if you haven't - I want your secret.
We (my study group) spent two weeks at my place (6th Ave).
prepping for finals - which are now only half complete.
These tests take everything we've learned this year in separate modules, like anatomy, physiology, pharmacology - and compresses them, like doppio - questioning not just the fact, but where it belongs, and how it fits the whole. Eeeeek!
Working in a group makes studying feel less like punishment,
and more like prep for a game we might win.
There are four of us - Emma, Léah, Chloé and me.
Emma’s all sharp synthesis - capable of organizing any chaos,
Léah spots the strange detail, the hidden thread, that no one else saw,
Chloé brings speed - she has near total-recall,
and I'm good at naming patterns and tying up loose-threads
- Said slightly more poetically..
We’re optimized girls
who score higher than everyone else
high-yield, low-maintenance types
hydrated by iced coffee and espressos.
We know the names of things
we know you inside out
We've learned to perform concern
in a medically appropriate register,
because we know what's theoretically possible.
We abbreviate, speaking in acronyms like Navajo code-talkers,
because our frank opinions are socially discouraged.
We've learned to speak clearly about bodies,
while getting less time to enjoy our own.
Our tests are half-way done. I think If we stopped - just stopped doing the work - the silence would be enormous, like stepping out of a machine, that was louder than we knew - but no one’s stopping.
.
.
Songs for this:
Smash by Born At Midnite
Paraiso by Pearl & The Oysters
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 12:13 AM UTC
virgins
'freaks'
'incels'
but you didnt use it as a joke
its used as a dagger on my heart
hitting my spine and breaking my back
you ask who has seen or visted
but i closed the door to the garden
im 16 its the time for first times...
and i did..
i kissed and ended up crying
i had a panic attack when i was on your lap
i felt that hand crawling back
i thought it was a dream
a nightmare i had as a kid
but it was real
and it made me...
a ******
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 8:24 AM UTC
I hold a broken pencil in my hand,
The lead keeps breaking again and again.
Still I try to write,
Messy lines, no beauty, no style.
I chase many things at once,
Singing, teaching, calling strangers,
Starting everything, finishing nothing.
Always running, always tired.
I speak from my heart so someone may understand me,
But the more I speak, the more I feel lost.
I tried my best to learn my language alone,
No one ever showed me the right path.
This is my first poem,
Not perfect, not beautiful,
Just honest like me. Still, I’m writing.
I won’t stop.
May 3
May 3, 2026 at 3:22 PM UTC
The evening, was dark outside,
The moon was reflecting the sun, up high,
All alone, just her & I, as we stared, up at the sky,
We were both, as nervous, as we could be,
She looked over and stared at me,
I reached over and put a hand on her breast,
As I rubbed her ******* I felt it was time for the rest,
She started spreading, her legs apart, I knew it was time,
To start, I was proud, felt no shame,
Then the white liquid, started coming out,
I kept my hand on her breast, until she was done,
What a memory, the first time, I milked a cow.
The Original: Tom Maxwell / poems © 01/10/2025AD
Philosopher
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 9:52 AM UTC
Common Sense…
Common sense, is a must tool,
To carry in life, every day,
For it only takes a second, or two,
To think how we act, or what we say.
When we approach a rail road crossing,
We take time, to look, and listen for trains,
Knowing, if we do not, take a few moments, of caution,
A sunny day, could turn cloudy, full of rain.
Sometimes, acting, or saying something to fast,
Can ruin, A person’s life for years,
A few seconds, of thinking,
Could save many lives, and tears.
The original Tom Maxwell / poems © 12/28/2020
Philosopher / Polymath
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 9:13 AM UTC
Ironically
I've been thinking about you lately.
Not obsessively. Just
the way a song comes back
before you remember its name.
Bad Omens, a crowded room,
I asked you to put it on.
Nothing special.
Then we met again.
Same room.
Same people.
This time you played it first.
That's when I should have known.
We talked.
Shy at first,
then something opened
the kind of open
I'd stopped believing in.
Until the 13th.
we should break up sorry I don't see you that way
You could have said it sooner.
Before the kiss, at least.
But I wasn't honest either.
I told you
my heart belonged to the sky.
To no one.
And then I stayed.
So maybe the real lie wasn't yours
it was me,
pretending I knew how to leave.
Somewhere between a song
and a second meeting,
I forgot I was supposed to.
It wasn't just you.
It wasn't just me.
Just something neither of us
knew how to hold
or let go.
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 4:08 AM UTC
Grief sits at the edge of my bed and refuses to leave
I wish today didn't have to come
Let me explain
My mom passed away, and she meant everything
She fell down the long stairway with bright neon lights that were buzzing like they didn't care
She was bleeding-
bleeding-
There was so much blood
I didn't know what to do
I just saw her there, lying bleeding, what do I do? I was wondering
Then I saw flashing lights, and I knew I knew someone called the hospital and the police.
I was scared, I didn't want her to go, she, well, she meant everything to me
Then a police officer walked over and looked at me.
That was the moment grief sat down beside me and never stood up again
Then the police officer stared at me, and I immediately knew what he was going to say
She's dead, " I said. The officer nodded im so sorry he said
I shook my head its ok, I was shaking
I was wondering how my little sister would react to our mom being dead.
I dont know, I don't know, I said over and over again
Then I immediately see my little sister partway up the long staircase with bright neon buzzing lights.
She looked at our mom, stunned, and then tears filled up in her eyes
She ran up to me and hugged me tightly
She looked at me and said, " Is mommy ok she said with tears in her eyes
I paused for a minute im not sure, sis im not sure.
Then I pulled her closer, wishing I could protect her from the truth.
Then I gently stared at our mom lying there, motionless.
Bleeding.
Bleeding.
And more bleeding.
I'm not sure what to do next. What should I do?
Maybe this is a dream.
But dreams dont smell like metal and hospital soap
Dreams dont sound like my sister's sobs echoing off the walls
Dreams dont leave red stains on the stairs that won't wash away
But then the days kept coming
The funeral, the flowers, the way everyone talked in whispers, like the world had turned down its volume
Nights when I stared at the ceiling, waiting for her footsteps on the stairs
That's when I realized grief wasn't leaving, it had unpacked its bags and moved in
Mom, can you hear me wherever you are
I replay that night over and over like a broken movie stuck on the worst scene
I keep thinking if I had run faster, screamed louder, done something -anything-
Maybe you’d still be here tucking us in, turning off those neon lights
Then I gently turn towards my bedroom door, sleepy
And I wonder if you will come back, or if you're gone for good
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 6:25 PM UTC
Words start the race to my head
red soft dirt stifling
ready at the perfect stance
the stuffy white air
disrupting my breathe
unable to glide
like the peppermint girl in the back
The 2am buzzing
a competition to the sterilized room
Constantly streaming thoughts
that cannot seem to lose
Although the bitter half moon
must cut off my legs
I find myself here
managing either way
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 3:07 AM UTC
I miss you in a way
time hasn’t figured out how to fix.
It’s been years now—
different classes, different people,
a whole version of me
that grew up after you left.
And still, some part of my heart
knows your name by memory.
You were my first in so many ways—
first love that felt bigger than words,
first time I trusted someone that closely,
first time I let someone see me
without all the walls up.
Maybe that’s why you’re hard to forget.
Not just because of who you were,
but because of who I was with you.
I’ve tried to move forward,
to tell myself it was just young love,
just something I’d outgrow.
But feelings don’t follow logic.
Sometimes I wonder
if I miss you,
or if I miss the version of myself
that existed when we were together—
hopeful, open, believing
that things like that could last forever.
I know we’re different now.
I know life moved us apart.
But every now and then,
a memory slips in quietly
and reminds me
that some people leave fingerprints
on your heart
that never really fade.
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 12:27 PM UTC
I like you more than I planned to,
more than I meant to let happen.
And I tell myself I’m being reasonable,
that I don’t own your time,
don’t get to claim your attention,
don’t get to mind who else you talk to.
But I do mind.
I notice the way your phone lights up,
the names I recognize,
the way your attention drifts
like it doesn’t belong anywhere for long.
I don’t want to be selfish.
I don’t want to be the girl
who expects something
that was never promised.
But wanting you to choose me first,
wanting to be the only one
you give that smile to—
that’s exactly what selfish looks like.
And maybe I am.
Because liking you
has turned me into someone
who hopes quietly,
watches closely,
and pretends not to care
when I really, really do.
Apr 13
Apr 13, 2026 at 9:43 AM UTC
indeed it lingers,
after its first stinging,
compact and perfect,
not a word extra,
the slow and measured
pace of self realization
the accidental poet
arrived in March,
and lingers into April,
causeway of my tears,
envious of the bravery
of one so daring young
you bump into strangers,
apologize after being stung
and stunned, before the slow
realization that you, the one,
she alters, the first poem read,
this day, lingers still and into on
the fleeting ephemeral of spring,
born in rain, blooming in May,
and written, this note to self,
hid in the forest of shade loving
short lived beauty blooming,
it feeds the forest, feeds me
and unsurprisingly
I print it, and like a sticky note
attach it to my refrigerator door
an act of poetic justice,
a reminder
to do it better, even perfect?
4:08am
Apr 9 2026. <nml>
Apr 9
Apr 9, 2026 at 3:56 AM UTC
Now that you no longer admire her,
she is only a ghost
hanging in the corners of your lines.
She reads your prose
and finds herself bleeding
the way you once did
each stanza a reopened vein,
each metaphor a delayed confession.
She wonders
was her presence a weight on your chest,
did she mistake your silence for strength,
did she love you too softly
to be felt at all?
She asks the poems questions
you will never answer.
It is strange,
how loss teaches grammar.
How now the verbs tilt toward regret,
how admiration has crossed the page,
how the ache has changed hands.
The wounds are hers now.
And the ink still remembers you.
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 8:34 AM UTC
The pencil
sheds its flesh with faux finality
Feeling frustrations and failures
for me
The pen
anxious, eager to empty its blood
The printer
hums and laughs, lonely.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 5:00 AM UTC
the garden was tended by God
and then shared with Adam and Eve
-made in Gods likeness.
for love overflows, cannot help
but share all that love is or has.
Eden lives on along with
the new Adam a new Eve.
Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 7:36 AM UTC
Sunday Service ends
At 12pm
Then the real work begins
As we spill again Back into the streets haggard exhausted refreshed and replete
With woes anew and friends to-be across
Quiet Avenues, down shaded alleys
Flowing out against the stream of sheep
The sleepy flock returning to the fold
to shelter in silence amongst those akin to them in deed and ethos,
in desperate need of a story to keep them Hopeful and meek
Predisposed of problematic predilections,
specifically those of intuition and indiscretion
preposterously posed as sins
Of the flesh and fuel for fires
Of hell and regret.
Fearfully they weep
into folded hands and
ask forgiveness for being
beings built upon wants and needs
Apologizing
to the empty space
they find above them every time
they search the skies for signs of life
To help them sleep
Then again, to the body immaculate
Interred inside their hearts and heads for
Abandoning the plan,
Hopelessly
And as they rise a song erupts
Resonant in joyful harmony
A eulogy
of sunny Sunday-Fundays past
Here, on this dark Monday night, we gather together to remember the light and the warmth it bestowed upon all of those
to whom its loving glow befell.
We celebrate it joyfully
In this our moment of reprieve faithfully awaiting its resurrection to peak across the horizon , Signaling the return
of the goodness,
We remember.
For this we gather here together
to stave the darkness off a moment
longer than we can
Alone
Awake
Await
The day Is breaching
And dawn arrives to singing trees
I’ve, several times,
chosen to find
myself, in quiet repose,
Penitent, seeking
The holyness I never came to
Truly know. It’s a Shame.
Really
It’s a beautiful thing
Yet escaping me.
Close enough to see
But quicker than I can catch
Wisping air just out of reach
Tempting me to touch
And darting in retreat.
Ghostly as it goes
Unfettered by us living things
Spectral faith does not a living god create
In temples
Intempled
in transparent scenes
aglow from without
within A sacred space
deified in name
And nature
Composited
from such
enigmatic dreams
As those that drive a man to drink
And those that teach the deaf to sing
Dreams that die without delight
Dreams the scream and cry and bring
To life the lost experiences left to fester
Undelivered, in the slip stream
Among the dashed potential
Rippled by inertia
And shimmering
Into oblivion
As it dissipates upon the surface of
The river styx
And laps against the shore before you
Mere inches from your feet.
Where are we
Hear I am!
Is this me?
or is this something else;
Unconnected to that poor disheveled corpse bedeviled by its missing link
Bedazzled in glittering emanations of reflected life-force self-scattering
Left slumped among the litter
Gathered for collection
In decaying heaps.
That poor thing surely can’t be me
Because, here, I am. And there, I ceased to be. And for better or worse, it’s better for me
To be here and NOT there,
that doesn’t look like anywhere
I would think to find someone like me.
Mar 24
Mar 24, 2026 at 3:07 AM UTC
That night,
when the dark coiled like a serpent around my neck,
I saw her…
She did not arrive from a door,
nor from any direction
she emerged from within me,
as if my blood had chosen to take form.
She said, walking through my bones, not upon the Ground:
Do you know me?
I answered, trembling beneath my own skin:
I know you as hunger… but I do not know your name.
She smiled
and in her smile lived something of the first sin,
and something of a forgiveness not yet written.
I am your hunger, she said,
but you were mistaken to think I am a body.
I moved closer… or perhaps she did
there was no longer any difference between approach and distance.
Her breath ignited my chest,
as though my lungs had become unseen furnaces.
I said:
But I desire you…
She laughed not in sound, but in a tremor within my being:
You desire me because you think I am an end,
but I am only a door.
I fell silent…
and she continued, placing her hand
or what resembled a hand
upon my chest:
The body, O Son of the Witch,
is but a poor language,
trying to translate what cannot be spoken.
You do not want me…
you want what lies beyond me.
Something within me began to fracture.
I asked:
And what lies beyond you?
She whispered:
The beginning…
the one you have forgotten you came from.
I trembled.
I felt myself dissolving,
my name slipping away,
as though I were returning to something undefined.
I said:
Then why this hunger?
Why this burning?
She replied:
Because it is the call…
the call to return.
Then she drew closer,
until I could no longer tell whether she was within me or I within her,
and she said:
Every desire you do not understand
will lead you into illusion.
And every desire you contemplate
will lead you to me.
I asked her, like a drowning man clinging to the last sound:
And if I reach you?
She answered, with a voice as calm as dawn:
You will not reach…
you will dissolve.
Then she vanished…
or perhaps it was I who vanished,
and nothing remained
but that hunger
yet this time,
it was not seeking a body,
but a path.
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 8:23 PM UTC
I wonder if you went back to the library
for the book you once told me about.
I wonder if you felt a heartache going without me,
and cried your eyes out.
I wonder if I’m the first one
who crosses your mind when you hear my name.
I even wonder if you still remember me
without shame.
I wonder if you heard your heartbeat
when you saw me after a while.
I wonder about the truth
behind your smile.
I wonder if you go to sleep every night without regret,
feeling nothing while listening to “Take Me Back to the Night We Met.”
I wonder if your nights look the same as mine —
with a heavy heart, wishing everything will be fine.
I wonder if you waited for me to text you,
saying, “Hi, how are you?”
Or even sending you a poem —
you know, I wished you wouldn’t be a stranger, but my home.
I wish we had stayed friends, not even lovers.
I wish we could restore what the silence covers.
However, do you still remember?
The first time we talked in September,
the first time you made my heart feel like an ember,
the first time you knew that you were in love with me,
the first time you knew that we can’t be together — because of destiny.
The first time I said, “I love you,”
the first time you said, “Me also.”
I just wonder if you went back to the library, maybe to see me there.
I wonder if you picked up my favorite book,
so you can tell me, “I do really care.”
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 9:53 AM UTC
that so many of my essays,
inspired and devoted to you,
Mel says I’m an OCD people pleezer,
that is probably so,
but I must attend to this finger stroking pov,
it’s much more than that,
in so many poems, so many comments,
you simply hand me a provocation,
a holy invocation, a phrase that fazes,
words that strike me into instant dazes,
cut and pasted, as an entitled commission,
worthy of replication praise, a “come to hither”
reposting,
Nothing more glorious than my stolen breath,
when a new poet sends me signal of appreciation,
and I, oft accorded the distinction honor of being a
“First Follower”
perhaps I’ve noted this interchange transactional before,
after 2200 poem+a scattered misnomerd odd 1000+ moreover,
and this advanced aged mainframe failing computer,
oft forget with callous repetition; as more brain cells
daily dying,
than can hope to ever replace…dying, and forming a tree’s inner circle…
so let me say it again:
anything you write,
whether poem or profile,
comment, short or vociferous,
is fair game for my 24/7/365
attention span and oft just
squirreled away for wildcat drilling
exploration when the fear + love
in me
subsides…
<nml>
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 1:50 PM UTC
As I stopped at a store
for a pillow my wife asked for.
I started picking bunch of them by fabric.
It's the only quality that I look for.
I reached home late,
busy getting sober
She was already asleep
without a pillow.
I looked at her with torment
And gave her the pillow.
I stood there,
Till she felt the fabric..
As, I pressed it against her face.
I whispered,
“It’s getting easy.”
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 8:18 AM UTC
The clock sits on the shelf
collecting dust near the Delft.
It peers down at times as if it knows as such
I do not understand it, nor do I wish as much
But in the rare times it works
It sure does have its perks.
Somehow, it remembers more.
Yet it will never be restored.
It will sit and observe
Every day, staring down, seeing how the young boy swerves
and how it knows me, better than my own mind
With what's muddled around in my head, I can imagine how well it's aligned.
The clock that knows me
is like the sea;
It won't let me be.
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 12:33 AM UTC
egg on the new day:
with the words spoken
I write
“first and foremost
for myself,
until you take them words
away, into your breast,
and then forever
shared
irretrievably”
Feb 22
Feb 22, 2026 at 11:55 AM UTC
If you feel cold, I'd weave you a sweater with my arteries and veins, and fuel up my bones if I must know that you'd find warmth in my love. a warmth that never fades, no matter how harsh the winter get's But you still see us as pieces that were never meant to fit
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 7:44 AM UTC