#healingthroughpoetry
my heart is under
attack and i
am hanging by
a thread
i try to cope,
and now i
choke on words
i should regret
i set my boundaries,
and now i feel
imaginary
like an unfinished
painting, the brush
lays there just dripping
reds and blues
just looking for a
different palette,
a different hue,
to give me a clue
it’ll change for
the best
now my heart is
under arrest
and i know life
is full of surprises
and tests
the sun will rise,
and the clouds will
lift
i have to keep my
spirits up
open my eyes,
and hope i won’t
collapse—
but rise instead
under the stress
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 9:25 AM UTC
They don’t know they live in my lines,
in the curves of half-written poems,
where I hide their names
beneath metaphors and rain.
They don’t know that every silence
I’ve ever endured
became a verse,
and every goodbye
turned into a stanza I never planned to finish.
They’ve stopped remembering me—
but I still write them down,
so I don’t forget
how it felt
to be loved
and left.
Jul 24, 2025
Jul 24, 2025 at 10:13 AM UTC
Moments of love feel almost medical—
but my patience for it is cold, clinical.
I never meant to overdose, just chasing
comfort in a heavy dose of someone new,
to help me cope.
I try to build a house from broken pieces—
too many to count. I am the empty echo
of a heart still full, but far too loud
to be heard.
_Echo...
Echoes_
fall between the silence of our words,
two awkward breaths apart—trying
to keep it innocent, just as friends,
while our primal skins just want to skip
to the part of just having ***
It’s the risk of falling in love—
that makes us stumble near the edge.
It’s beautiful. It’s ******* stupid.
It hurts. It’s love.
Whether it finds you first, as the one
you need— or shows up last, as the one
you never really wanted.
Jun 15, 2025
Jun 15, 2025 at 2:08 AM UTC