#poeticsoul
I am not loud,
but my silence speaks truth.
I am misunderstood,
yet my heart stays kind.
I trust carefully,
but when I do, it’s real.
I am not perfect,
but I am genuine,
honest in every feeling,
true in every word.
I may be fragile,
but I am strong enough
to hold love,
to protect it,
and to let it grow.
I am me —
and that is enough.
I am the right person,
even if the world doesn’t always see it.
Nov 5, 2025
Nov 5, 2025 at 11:45 PM UTC
In nine years — those nine years ago, where it all first bled, my hand
chased after words like birds startled into flight; each letter a feather
I tried to hold, each silence, a wing that trembled. These fingers ran
that day — still running, from the moment ink first called my name.
Less of a speech, more a prayer pressed through assembly lines of
thought; for the soul is not a factory, but a forge — and every verse I
hammered, sparked and seared another part of me alive. Like a leaf
falling in love mid-air, I found gravity too gentle to fear; I fell, I wrote,
and somewhere before hitting the ground I truly learned that _leaving_
and _leafing_ were the same thing: growth disguised as a humble descent.
I could never leave the pen alone, though sometimes I’d put it down,
just long enough to hear it whisper back, "Are we really done, or just
beginning?" And so I’d wait — for new trees to rise from the mulch
of old ideas, roots feeding on yesterday’s failures, branches reaching
toward an unwritten sky.
Nine years — and I, the son of my own beginnings, a poet, a writer,
a craftsman made of paper cuts and persistence. Now my body is the
parchment, my breath the ink; I left fingerprints in every stanza as if
to remind myself — __I was here!__ To leave this body, and to leave this
breath, is not to die, but to scatter — to bleed into every margin of the
world. And when the last drop dries, they’ll still find me pressed
between these pages, a ghost of graphite and grace.
Nine years ago, I met the pen — and it said to me, "Take my hand,
and believe." And I did. And I still do. Every line since has been
proof of that promise.
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 4:54 PM UTC
I do not know if it’s all illusion—
but I adore when someone lies awake, eyes wide with dreams,
tracing blades of grass, searching for me
among flocks of white herons.
I adore how someone falls in love with me
while watching a deer—hair spilled wild, resting
in pale blue light, waiting, almost breathless,
for the hour of longing to end.
And I adore it more
when they listen for dew to learn if I have arrived;
cradling a young hare, wondering if I, too, am restless;
holding a white flower, smiling softly,
gazing at swans and thinking of me.
When rain falls they run outside
just to feel me near.
I love it—
after the long day fades, or in the burnt stillness of afternoon,
when they return, weary as a dove, and look for me—
yes, I love it.
May they remain like rainfall—
gentle, everlasting, felt upon skin and soul.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 1:36 AM UTC
Every time I gaze at the mirror,
a storm of doubts rises within me —
Am I worthy?
Am I beautiful?
Am I doing enough with my life?
Am I ambitionless?
Am I being too carefree?
Am I gaining weight?
…and so many more.
But amidst the flood of questions,
my heart gently whispers:
You are worthy.
It’s not the external beauty that defines you —
It’s your self-love,
your kindness to yourself.
Mirrors only reflect what’s visible.
But what really shapes us
is the change we choose
beyond the glass.
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 6:10 AM UTC
I wish I were the captain of a ship sailing through the seas of time, carrying with me the tales of the past and the dreams of the future.
May 29, 2025
May 29, 2025 at 6:22 PM UTC
For Her
Appearance doesn't matter,
But a kind heart does.
Unwanted attention? No.
A true shoulder to lean on — yes.
Fake concerns don’t move her,
But sincere words always will.
Yes —
She may seem strange to you,
Because you can't decipher her soul.
She’s a rare gem
Amid all the world’s noisy pleasures...
She shines brightest
In the quiet kingdom of her own world.
May 16, 2025
May 16, 2025 at 12:07 AM UTC
Upon the hush of night, the silent heart doth sigh,
No path remains to heaven’s distant sky.
I call thee forth, O Muse of burning fire,
From depths profound of unrest's dark desire.
When quiet swallows thee in shadows deep,
And endless echoes haunt forgotten sleep,
What lingers at the edge of all we know —
But sheaves of sorrow, love's eternal glow?
Apr 7, 2025
Apr 7, 2025 at 5:13 PM UTC
She writes in whispers, in echoes that stay,
Carving lost names in the wind’s soft sway.
Her ink is sorrow, her verses bleed,
A requiem sung for the hearts that need.
"When someone who loves us fades away,"
She mourns the words we failed to say.
Regret clings tight in the hush of night,
Where silence weeps in the absence of light.
Yet love, in her hands, is vast and free,
A grand heist stolen from sky and sea.
"The sunset’s glow, so bold, so bright,"
She claims the stars, the waves, the light.
For love is not caged—it is wild, untamed,
A river that flows, never to be named.
She speaks of love beyond mere touch,
Of time-defying, endless trust.
"Love reshapes, rebuilds, redefines,"
She whispers of love that never confines.
A fire that burns yet does not consume,
A madness that dances beneath the moon.
And when she writes of power’s weight,
Of hands that build and hands that break,
She lays before us the choice of fate—
"Will you rule & hold position of power?
OR will you love, and set love free?"
Oh, poet of grief, of love, of fire,
Your words take flight, they never tire.
They carve their names on hearts unseen,
A melody woven in gold between.
If ever ink could outlive time,
It would be yours—sublime, divine.
Mar 5, 2025
Mar 5, 2025 at 3:00 AM UTC
She writes like the sky when it aches in the night,
soft words like raindrops, heavy with light.
Each verse a whisper, each line a sigh,
a thought unfinished, yet reaching the sky.
She mourns in echoes, in bruised, gentle hands,
finding beauty in loss she barely withstands.
A squirrel, a muse, a fleeting embrace,
love never dies—it just shifts its place.
She seeks the truth but walks through grey,
a heart once open, now kept at bay.
Yet, even in sorrow, she finds her hue,
a poet of storms, painting skies anew
She gave her light, soft and true,
but hands that took just let it bruise.
A heart once open, now worn and sore,
kindness bent, became the floor.
She sought truth, pure and bright,
only to face a blackened night.
“Why not believe?” destiny said,
but how could she, when all turned grey instead?
She once found love in a garden untamed,
flowers whispered, the evening sun flamed.
A hand in hers, a wish unspoken,
but even love can leave hearts broken.
And oh, the tiny soul she raised,
fur so soft, wild yet brave.
A bite for a wrong, a love that stayed,
until fate, so cruel, took her away.
She cried for a squirrel, screamed for a muse,
words felt heavy, nothing to use.
A poet lost, yet still she writes,
in soft, aching lines on rainy nights.
She loved, she lost, she still remains,
a poet who bleeds in ink-stained veins
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 5:32 AM UTC
One day my daughter will ask me why,
Her gaze will pierce like the evening sky.
"Why don't you believe in God, my dear?"
I’ll answer softly, voice tinged with fear.
"There was a time when faith held me tight,
Its whispers soothed through the longest night.
But wounds I bore were too deep to hide,
And doubts grew strong as the pain inside."
"Perhaps, one day, His grace will descend,
To heal the cracks no soul could amend.
For now, I tread where the shadows cling,
Hoping for dawn that new light might bring."
"Each heart must walk through its trial alone,
A fragile rhythm, a muted tone.
Some rise with strength, while others will fall,
Yet none escapes their own curtain call."
"Christ taught of love, a warm, endless stream,
A truth that glows like a vivid dream.
If hunger strikes, give bread to the lost,
And love without counting the painful cost."
"Beware of those who twist sacred words,
Who wound with tongues as sharp as swords.
Let kindness guide, like a steady flame,
Not bitter blame or a hollow name."
"And so, my child, wherever you go,
My heart will follow, its light will show.
Through storm or calm, I’ll steady your way,
Cheering the paths you choose every day."
"It's fine to fear, but learn this at last:
Monsters will fade, their shadows recast.
Keep faith alive, a lantern to guide,
And love will stand as your truest tide."
As for me, I wander rough terrain,
Each step a balance of hope and pain.
But every scar holds a hidden glow,
And whispers paths where the soul can grow.
Jan 14, 2025
Jan 14, 2025 at 10:47 AM UTC
it's so late out there
when I am sitting on the roof
sky cries over my head
and this rain makes me feel like a fool.
I wish that you were real
we'd run all night long
and this tear of sky
would be happy tears of seeing us together.
but you live in my dreams
this black rose that I still keep
was given in a moment
that felt so real even it was a trick.
It's a night out there
this night seems it lasts forever
where are you, where?
when I am looking for you
this moon is touching my tears
that came from my sadness
every day I get more fear
that changes in phobias and leaves me full of loneliness.
I will wait for you forever if I have to
I will hit this loneliness and all my fears
my dreams will come true one day
and this rain will be not sad but happy tears.
Jul 21, 2021
Jul 21, 2021 at 2:30 PM UTC
Are you insane like me?
I hope we could understand,
but something went wrong,
you judge me, whatever.
I probably still adore you,
with your hands, around my neck,
but I am scared to don't be a fool,
with your words, which seems insane.
Are you insane like me?
soul with rock n roll eyes,
a heart wants what it wants,
it's crying in the darkest night.
Are you insane like me?
I am a half heart without you,
lately, I've been thinking
if you want me too.
I thought we could understand,
but something went wrong,
you judge me, whatever...
what am I waiting for?
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 6:12 AM UTC
I like storms...
near the sea
sometimes I feel
that the sky screams.
powerful storms over the country
blue seas and the dark sky,
I am watching it and doing my laundry
my soul wants to have the big wings to fly.
I like storms
and the dark sky
sometimes I think
sky screams and the clouds cry.
teens want to be drown
in the deep sea
when there is the storm
and I am watching it.
maybe I am in love with storms
'cause I see feelings
of the big clouds crying
and the dark sky screaming.
Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 8:31 AM UTC