#maturing
Young was she.
The half curled frong of a fiddlehead fern.
A new bamboo's shoot
Ripping apart the earth.
She was the speckled spotted back of a newborn baby deer.
And a larvae wrapped in silk.
Coddled, with nothing to fear.
She was the girl,
still nursing her baby doll off a bottle of make believe.
And yet her body bloomed,
Blossomed.
A woman.
Not ready to be.
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 4:51 AM UTC
Fireflies bouncing on
the faint breeze of a warm summer night
pulse their beacon in a controlled pattern,
to attract a lover.
But their beloved baby glowworms,
lacking such learning and discipline,
let their light shine, perpetually
turned on.
When I was a young glowworm
my four year old self was a lantern
shining all around me, illuminating everything,
taking it all in.
As I grew, though I couldn’t increase my light,
I learned to control it by focusing
those same lumens as a spotlight, bright,
but very narrow.
Sometimes on a warm summer night, I pretend
I’m a little glowworm again,
without a care in the world, shining my light
on all my blind spots.
Apr 19
Apr 19, 2026 at 10:38 AM UTC
There is a moment that passes
When emotions become tangible.
Physical elements of the mind-
Happiness holds a pair of light feathered wings,
that connect and lift
while anger, a pair of silver-tipped teeth-
a tiger of torrent and rage.
Grief
a noose, ties, and suffocates.
Maybe it loosens, but
it never leaves. Or at least, the bruises
don’t fade easily.
Sadness
a cage. Cold iron bars that trap, suffocate
marring your vision
if too many are built
no light can infiltrate.
A knife cannot cut iron.
But sometimes, the escape is not external.
The girl asks,
as she stands by the edge of the lake
quiet shadows - created by light -
dancing across the surface of the water
in the fading evening.
Who is it
that builds the bars
that ties the noose
that sharpens the teeth
that preens the wings?
Is the answer above, or below-
or is it within?
Do we hold the power
to build the bars
to tie the noose
to sharpen the teeth
to preen the wings?
Will the girl find her answer?
She hangs her head
And goes home-
away from the fading blue
and to the bright fluorescents.
Will she ever escape the one she hates
the adversary
who ties the knot
and builds the iron.
But the foe that she loathes
she used to love
the one that preened the wings
and held her hand
and took the stars
and brought her dreams-
but now it seems as if those dreams were built
to be broken.
Did the girl find her answer?
Time will pass.
Perhaps she will come to terms with her enemy
Embrace the one she used to love
Or she will fall to the blade that
could not
pierce steel and iron.
Did the girl find her answer?
Did she build the bars
tie the noose
Sharpen the teeth
preen the wings,
Did she take the stars
and catch her dreams?
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 10:16 PM UTC
2025: PERFECTION/THEFT
Niki
24 May 2025
00:04
age 14
YOU ARE SO PERFECT,
not because of respect or intellect,
or the one hundred you got on the exam,
and it’s not that I don’t give a ****
about those things.
But I DO care about how you pull my strings—
your voice so soft so gentle,
your mind so judgemental.
You’ve got everything figured out—
will never be too loud,
nor too quiet—you say what you must,
but don’t want everything to be discussed.
You know what you want and expect—
you know the impact.
I wanted to be like you so bad,
now that I think about it it’s sad.
You’re a musical in a world of songs.
You’re not right in a world full of wrongs.
You look so stunning—so pretty,
pretty, like stars outside of my city.
That’s a weird place for me to draw a line—
this city is as much yours as it is mine.
Yet you would rather see darkness,
outside of it while I like the starkness.
Sure I talk and smile and laugh,
but you’re the confident bibliotaph!
You’re the only person I show my poetry,
I hope you see how special that is to me,
Now I established all of that—
yet still didn’t hint what I’m getting at,
something I will never be able to do—
is measure or stand up to you,
and I grew to accept it—
I LOVE you but it still HURTS a little bit.
Poppy Piume
5 July 2025
19:37
age 15
YOU ARE SO LEFT,
steal songs personalities commit theft?
You have opinions engraved in your soul.
I came out to you, then felt a hole.
Rainbows on your bags socks and hats.
You know “facts”; never numbers or stats,
I don’t want to fight,
you don’t want to admit I’m right.
You’re supportive but supported too,
in some ways I’m jealous of you,
you’ve been doing some healing,
sharing what you’re feeling.
I hope you’re happy and starstruck,
while I am trying not to cry and feel stuck.
Maybe you can’t see—
I hate you making fun of me,
for marks I worked hard to get;
things I wish I would have said;
dreams I want to achieve some day.
Then I’ll be free from the things you say;
the songs we both listen to;
expectations set by you;
the words you write.
I’ll live in darkness, without you’re light.
but you might repeat “I’m not right, I’m left”,
I’ll realise you did commit theft.
And i’ll learn to love your art,
as I figure out you STOLE MY HEART.
2026: GOODBYE/RETURN
Upon hearing her ringtone,
Niki lifts up her phone.
Looks at the screen,
Leaves this message unseen.
Poppy Piume
14 February 2026
23:31
age 15
I’m going to say two things—at least try—
Before I say my last goodbye.
First: I will never be here.
Second: Niki you aren’t what you fear.
You are the girl behind every story,
You can become whoever you want to be.
This is where I say goodbye,
You **** me off, forget me—I die.
Niki doesn’t want to seal Poppy’s fate,
So she does reply—just a little too late.
Niki
13 December 2026
02:31
age 16
I should be asleep,
Instead I sit here and weep,
Because I have yet to learn,
That you always return.
FUTURE: BETRAYAL/NO RHYMES
Niki
2 November 2027
23:41
age 16
I AM SORRY!
that’s what I’ll say once I know the story.
Still won’t really know what to do—
but might tell you how I felt about you.
It will be too late—
we’ll convince ourselves it wasn’t fate.
You’ll have a lovely girlfriend by that time;
I’ll be seeing a guy—my love for him won’t rhyme.
Poppy Piume
13 December 2030
01:30
age 20
I FEEL BETRAYED!
I wish we would have stayed.
This wouldn’t be such a ***** up—
if we were still in that city but we grew up.
You used to hate everything you now are!
how did we get this far—
from what we used to be?
little you would want to unsee!!
She literally wouldn’t allow—
the boyfriend you have got now.
The small me would be sad as well;
she has so many new stories to tell,
but never got over—
the way that other girl drove her:
mad, crazy, all *******
YOU taught me this attitude.
Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 7:48 AM UTC
i hated poetry
always dreaded it-
writing it
and reading it
i thought it was just word *****
but made pretty
with italics,
because it never made sense.
then i turned fourteen,
got a job,
lost friends,
lost family members,
grades dropped,
everything shifted.
i started listening to spoken word on spotify-
to quiet my brain
for a minute or two
but i understood them
maybe it was maturing...
or just... feeling more?
all i know is-
my brain flipped a switch
now i write
now i enjoy it.
i don't know why i ever hated
something this honest
something this messy
this beautiful.
Jun 19, 2025
Jun 19, 2025 at 11:56 AM UTC
As we grow,
We mature.
Our ideas change,
So does our nature.
I don't want to instigate,
As much as I want to love now.
I used to want to rule an empire,
But now I'll settle for common things.
Settle down with my queen,
I'll last forever, if she lets me.
As we grow,
We lose touch.
Of each little thing we know,
Everything we loved so much.
I no longer feel aggression,
The same way I feel peace.
I may be tired,
But I'm just tuckered out,
I've learned to sleep.
Feb 18, 2025
Feb 18, 2025 at 9:49 PM UTC
Maturing means realizing we expect too much, In relationships, seeking perfection as such. But let's embrace imperfections with care, And cherish the love that we both share.
Being physically far, yet close mentally, Our connection transcends distance, you see. Accepting your troubled past, I will do, For love is about understanding and being true.
Forever isn't just for memories, my friend, It's for people too, a love that won't end. Communication may be a challenge we face, But our love speaks volumes, in its own grace.
So let's embrace the imperfections we find, And build a love that's one of a kind. In this journey together, let's always be, Connected, accepting, and forever free.
@nolongerumano
Feb 4, 2025
Feb 4, 2025 at 12:24 PM UTC
Sitting in my room,
time drags, slow and heavy.
Is this what it means to mature?
Sitting, studying, working—
or does the weight of it make me feel grown?
I feel tired,
yet the hours demand more.
Working, working...
this night stretches long,
a weary silence pressing in.
Barking sounds stir me—
had I drifted off?
Is this what it means to mature?
Feb 3, 2025
Feb 3, 2025 at 1:39 AM UTC
god it would be nice to be so ignorant
it'd be really nice to ask that
it would be and so
i'm a little envious.
and, yeah, it's my fault.
i should have foreseen this.
but, by god, use some common sense.
everyone's staring now.
at the spot where my wrists meet the table nightly,
where the bruises line up almost methodically
like the kids in the courtyard.
at the white traces on my forearms,
like maybe i scratched too hard and one nail got caught
like maybe i pick the sharpest nail and rake my skin
at the scabs where my cuticles should be
because i couldn't focus today
i couldn't breathe and that tiny pull and that trickle of blood
made my lungs restart
and i feel like i should thank you
and i'm truly glad you don't know what you're talking about
but until then, please keep your mouth shut,
before you cause any further damage.
Nov 18, 2024
Nov 18, 2024 at 11:55 PM UTC
I spy
with my little eye,
something beginning with I.
I wonder
if the kids younger
than I, know what it is to wonder.
To dream
of all that's unseen
and the places they've never been.
When sat
do they know how to relax
with just their thoughts as they plait,
their hair
or ears of a teddy bear
adding a bow for a flair,
to see
all their creativity
at the age of only three.
And how
parents let them plough
through screens without
a notion
that this motion
is only just a token
gesture
undress her
she's no saviour.
As she
believes the he
is here to set her free.
Romanticise
see the prize
a body plasticised.
Naïvety
meant to be
girl don't you see.
Plastic
elastic
please don't be sarcsatic,
she dreams
to be
the perfect thing to see,
but don't you see
it's not meant to be
she.
That girl of only three
now forever ****** to be,
Perfect.
A statement
not a standard,
so please don't do this to her.
Ignore her
for her
one day she'll thank ya'.
I spy,
with my little eye,
someone. Who wants to cry
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 4:45 AM UTC
Departures and Arrivals.
The dust hasn't yet settled on the torn up trail behind me.
Particles still linger in my hair, my teeth and in the air
around me like they own me.
I wonder, even though it seems like I've dearly departed, if it
will ever settle and I don't necessarily expect it to because
maybe it has to sock it to me
so no sweet amnesia can shew away the memories of what it was
that got me here to this place of growing respect for all the
potholes and all the unpaved roads.
Driving in the dark tree monsters slide bye one after the other,
their silent dialogue giving me the shivers like so many other
things in the world do,
cold sweat running down my face as the car rattles and the
music stops and there's only the sound of dripping rain. Tears,
like rain aren't separate from sweat.
They're constanly recycling and bleeding into one another like
night bleeds into day. I get that and I even love that because where
does hardship go if not to tears?
Stuffing grief into the cracks of the bodymind is a recipe for sick. I get
that too. People may tell ya to take a pill, have a swig, do anything to
bully your discomfort away but you sense
and you know that you sense and only you can sense what it is you
have to do. So you keep on going because what has drinking the
sweet numbing Koolaide ever done for ya anyway?
And it's a relief to come out of the comatose to watch the rose-gold
sunrise coming up over your landscape as your gears shift on the
broken hill of this awakening;
laser sharp beams of light gutting the nonsense out of ya, your feet
touching down onto solid ground and you feeling shaky but all
aglow in your skin
and this departure is telling every cell in your body that you have arrived.
There will be other departures and other arrivals, other days and other
nights but for now,
in this moment you have arrived and you don't give a **** about and
you're almost grateful for the dust and the particles and the freaky
and the the not so freaky fallout hovering over ya like a halo
1/2020
Aug 25, 2022
Aug 25, 2022 at 10:00 AM UTC
It was some years ago,
in these Heavens above,
when elders wanted me to grow
and I first heard of love.
It was meant to be a feeling,
that rips one's heart apart,
the pain of it has all the kings kneeling;
a feeling you cannot outsmart.
And as I'm standing here alone
(I'm still coming back to this place),
I'm freezing to the bone
and can't think of it as a God's grace.
That place;
It was once a Garden of Eden;
a vision matching the sign of your face,
looking at it, all my agony seems to deaden.
But, it's chilli here nowdays,
your warm hands can't reach me,
let them; may they teach me,
that love pains.
So now I know;
I could never sin with someone else from this tree,
as everyone else is merely words,
while you're a whole poetry.
Shall I do as I promised you then;
living and being brave,
not giving to the words of men
and reading Shakespear's sonnets at your grave.
Aug 3, 2022
Aug 3, 2022 at 5:34 AM UTC
How long has it been since I put this pen to paper?
My works have dried, as empty as the soul that wrote them.
I've come so far, yet gone nowhere. Should I write on, as per?
Scratch out bitter whines and cough them up like phlegm
Intoxicated by blood and hate and scream at God?
Those were the actions of a fallen soul. A child lost in data
Too cluttered and obtuse to see past the firing squad
Of my own accursed creation. I was undone, in beta,
Unreleased because I wasn't yet ready to be me.
Everything about me was wrong, hidden deep
Within smoke and fog I made myself so I could be
Whatever I needed to be. But the truth will seep.
And maybe now I'm ready.
I'm ready to be Her.
Maybe now I'm ready to write.
Oct 23, 2021
Oct 23, 2021 at 9:14 PM UTC
She was born with the brightest eyes like the first dawn of spring
Her soul was a precious gift meant to be kept and held tight by only herself
The dawn eyes turned to a summers green leaves
She held tight to her soul letting in only goodness and hope
The eyes that mirrored the trees began to fall like the leaves in autumn
Although she tried to keep her soul for herself she began to give small pieces to those undeserving
Those eyes that were once filled with color were frozen like the coldest winters day
A soul that once was her most precious gift was lost and soon forgotten
Jul 8, 2021
Jul 8, 2021 at 3:29 AM UTC
I know they love my me
I just wish it was the same love that your supposed to have
I wish they tried
I wish they at least pretended to try
Jul 8, 2021
Jul 8, 2021 at 3:08 AM UTC
Years have passed,
Seasons have changed.
Am I an adult yet?
Couldn't say.
Relate?
While pain was brief,
And a cleanse was needed,
I still grow more and do my best to succeed.
Did I pay a bill?
Is it in the budget?
Swear to God I could go for a 20 piece McNugget.
While I shift and work it out,
I'll still ask myself am I good enough?
When isn't your mind...
What kind...
Don't lie...
Stop.
Take a breathe and it's going to be all fine.
Is my flow still the same?
Is my expression more better?
Does it make any sense to you that im still explaining and continuously refraining from resaying a word by rearranging the framing of this here decree I'm declaring?
No, not really.
With exercises and breakdowns,
I've seen it in better ways.
Still in chains,
But looser around the brains.
It's taken time,
But I'm finally in control...
I'm getting used to... New.
Jun 14, 2021
Jun 14, 2021 at 1:27 AM UTC
Like the short-lived sunrise
My window refuses to show balloon,
I pass jarring time that pours
Looking at pictures in accompanied laughter...
Like a candytuft dies
My soul flourished a dancer in tune
To a touching sound that tours
Around an imaged and gaily passed chapter...
Jun 12, 2021
Jun 12, 2021 at 3:52 PM UTC
White and gold horses.
Gracefully gallop away.
Ripe me is set free.
May 18, 2020
May 18, 2020 at 6:58 PM UTC
Stop! Step through the door
And wear them new shoes.
You won’t need a hat any more,
But oh yes, love the hair!
You will need to be strong
While appearing dainty and pretty.
You will learn to disarm egos
With just a genuine smile.
Open your heart and share
With genuine concern.
It’s not who shouts the loudest
But who listens with empathy.
Well done, these clothes
Match the shoes so well.
Now let’s see you navigate
With them new shoes.
You will stumble as we have
But you are one of us now,
So stand strong and proud,
Daughter, sister, friend.
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 5:08 AM UTC
It seems to me
that as people get older
they mature
not like fine wine
but getting more stale
and more bitter
with each passing year.
Coffee, perhaps?
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 7:07 PM UTC
Long train rides
into new experiences.
The budding mind grows
with external stimuli.
Reflection waters the mind.
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 5:33 PM UTC