#quietthoughts - Hello Poetry

There is a strange distance in me. I avoid birthdays, weddings, funerals, crowded rooms full of overlapping voices. Yet somehow I still love watching people celebrate. I like the warmth of gatherings from the edges of them. The distant laughter. The lights. The feeling of lives intertwining. I love the idea of weddings more than attending them. Love remembering birthdays, sending thoughtful gifts, quietly caring from afar. Maybe I was never meant to stand at the center of things. Only to admire how beautifully human beings find each other despite all the noise.

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May 22

May 22, 2026 at 8:16 AM UTC

pikaa

From the Edges

There is a strange distance in me. I avoid birthdays, weddings, funerals, crowded rooms full of overlapping voices. Yet somehow I still love watching people celebrate. I like the warmth of gatherings from the edges of them. The distant laughter. The lights. The feeling of lives intertwining. I love the idea of weddings more than attending them. Love remembering birthdays, sending thoughtful gifts, quietly caring from afar. Maybe I was never meant to stand at the center of things. Only to admire how beautifully human beings find each other despite all the noise.

24

to the thoughts that stayed longer than they should, that echoed louder than they were meant to— Bon voyage. i am learning not every storm arrives to destroy. flowers remind us why the rain was so necessary.

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Apr 5

Apr 5, 2026 at 12:30 AM UTC

wordsbehindcurtain

Bon Voyage!..

to the thoughts that stayed longer than they should, that echoed louder than they were meant to— Bon voyage. i am learning not every storm arrives to destroy. flowers remind us why the rain was so necessary.

10

I know you are having a hard time coping but hiding inside and cutting our ties and avoiding only makes you immature by the rules of our societies Let me instead, make up for your loss for the loss of thyself is more unfortunate than any loss

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Mar 30

Mar 30, 2026 at 12:46 AM UTC

Zilly

Mithra

I know you are having a hard time coping but hiding inside and cutting our ties and avoiding only makes you immature by the rules of our societies Let me instead, make up for your loss for the loss of thyself is more unfortunate than any loss

11

(An ordinary receipt, doing a better job of keeping track of my life than I do.) I found it by accident – a small, crumpled record of a day I apparently lived without noticing. It listed nothing remarkable: coffee, bread, a moment I must have walked through on my way to somewhere else. It had the date, the time, even the cashier’s name – someone who greeted me with a politeness I must have returned without thinking. The total was modest. The moment even more so. Yet here it was, surviving longer than whatever thought I was having at the time. A thin strip of paper, keeping better records than my memory ever bothered to keep. It knows the hour I stood in a line, the exact cost of an ordinary afternoon. Meanwhile I was thinking about something else entirely – tomorrow, perhaps, or some small worry that has already dissolved. The receipt remembers with perfect patience. I’ve already forgotten the afternoon. But the receipt still knows exactly when it happened.

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Mar 16

Mar 16, 2026 at 1:46 PM UTC

VerseBuster

The Receipt in My Pocket

(An ordinary receipt, doing a better job of keeping track of my life than I do.) I found it by accident – a small, crumpled record of a day I apparently lived without noticing. It listed nothing remarkable: coffee, bread, a moment I must have walked through on my way to somewhere else. It had the date, the time, even the cashier’s name – someone who greeted me with a politeness I must have returned without thinking. The total was modest. The moment even more so. Yet here it was, surviving longer than whatever thought I was having at the time. A thin strip of paper, keeping better records than my memory ever bothered to keep. It knows the hour I stood in a line, the exact cost of an ordinary afternoon. Meanwhile I was thinking about something else entirely – tomorrow, perhaps, or some small worry that has already dissolved. The receipt remembers with perfect patience. I’ve already forgotten the afternoon. But the receipt still knows exactly when it happened.

41

Some mornings open clear, the kind of sky that makes you believe in uncomplicated days. Thoughts move easily, like birds that know exactly where the warm air rises. Other mornings a name drifts in like a small, persistent cloud that forgot it had somewhere else to be. It doesn’t storm. It doesn’t darken the room. It simply occupies a corner of the sky— a quiet weather pattern I’ve learned not to argue with. By noon the usual winds arrive: errands, emails, the steady friction of ordinary hours. The cloud shifts toward the edges, thinner now, though still present. Evening makes it visible again. When the kettle clicks and the apartment settles into its soft, familiar creaks, the mind clears enough to notice what never quite left. I used to think the sky should obey me. But weather has its own patience. So I let the cloud drift, let it thin, let it pass through the open air of thought at its unhurried pace. And on the days when the sky stays clear from morning to night, I simply look up and accept the blue. Weather passes. Even inside a mind.

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Mar 7

Mar 7, 2026 at 6:11 AM UTC

VerseBuster

The Mind Has Its Own Weather

Some mornings open clear, the kind of sky that makes you believe in uncomplicated days. Thoughts move easily, like birds that know exactly where the warm air rises. Other mornings a name drifts in like a small, persistent cloud that forgot it had somewhere else to be. It doesn’t storm. It doesn’t darken the room. It simply occupies a corner of the sky— a quiet weather pattern I’ve learned not to argue with. By noon the usual winds arrive: errands, emails, the steady friction of ordinary hours. The cloud shifts toward the edges, thinner now, though still present. Evening makes it visible again. When the kettle clicks and the apartment settles into its soft, familiar creaks, the mind clears enough to notice what never quite left. I used to think the sky should obey me. But weather has its own patience. So I let the cloud drift, let it thin, let it pass through the open air of thought at its unhurried pace. And on the days when the sky stays clear from morning to night, I simply look up and accept the blue. Weather passes. Even inside a mind.

42

I celebrate my life, joyful, alive, while the clock keeps moving. Could it spare me some extra time? Yet, I pause and look around. The room is full— happy faces everywhere. On this cheerful earth, my heart holds a stone. In the sudden silence, I fear I will end up alone. One moment, it is a milestone. The next, I am sitting on my own. Caught in a flash of awareness, I beg the universe: “Please hold the time.” But, the clock keeps moving— could it please spare me some extra time?

0

Feb 25

Feb 25, 2026 at 10:06 AM UTC

ceebeenotes

A Flash of Awareness

I celebrate my life, joyful, alive, while the clock keeps moving. Could it spare me some extra time? Yet, I pause and look around. The room is full— happy faces everywhere. On this cheerful earth, my heart holds a stone. In the sudden silence, I fear I will end up alone. One moment, it is a milestone. The next, I am sitting on my own. Caught in a flash of awareness, I beg the universe: “Please hold the time.” But, the clock keeps moving— could it please spare me some extra time?

21

Feeling like a short piece—most days I’m piecing myself back into myself. Healing small holes like a recent piercing— recently sent…waiting for the word; that feeling of being Delivered. I live between scenes— the entertainment of play I am a short piece, not broken— not unfinished, just an interlude.

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Feb 23

Feb 23, 2026 at 4:37 PM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Interlude

Feeling like a short piece—most days I’m piecing myself back into myself. Healing small holes like a recent piercing— recently sent…waiting for the word; that feeling of being Delivered. I live between scenes— the entertainment of play I am a short piece, not broken— not unfinished, just an interlude.

11

No longer looking at faces Faces bring worry Thoughts Puzzles I don’t want to solve Shoes move with time Different shoes Constantly moving No puzzles No questions Just paths Different paths Unique paths No judgment Just shoes

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Feb 18

Feb 18, 2026 at 4:27 PM UTC

TemisUncloudedMind

Shoes

No longer looking at faces Faces bring worry Thoughts Puzzles I don’t want to solve Shoes move with time Different shoes Constantly moving No puzzles No questions Just paths Different paths Unique paths No judgment Just shoes

14

The scratching of a pen The turning of pages Contemplative whispers Imagination churning Creating new worlds Creating new sounds Creating new everything Hope can be found We have not The power of Angels Try as we might To replicate it Building up dreams Building a home Building from fire Ash and smoke The scratching of a pen The turning of pages Contemplative whispers Imagination... ~Everlasting~

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Jan 22

Jan 22, 2026 at 5:33 AM UTC

Reav-Ecan

Creation

The scratching of a pen The turning of pages Contemplative whispers Imagination churning Creating new worlds Creating new sounds Creating new everything Hope can be found We have not The power of Angels Try as we might To replicate it Building up dreams Building a home Building from fire Ash and smoke The scratching of a pen The turning of pages Contemplative whispers Imagination... ~Everlasting~

21

You call it distance. I call it silence. We both pretend it’s fine— will time smooth the edges and leave nothing left to say? Will the cracks weld together while the silence still remains? How did a friendship break between us so quickly after it was made? I tell myself not to care. You probably do the same. Should I try to repair this— or should I stay away? I wait for silence to speak first. A little hope remains. Maybe it never will. Maybe I’ll just fade away.

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Dec 26, 2025

Dec 26, 2025 at 4:36 PM UTC

SpencerImperium

Silence Between Friends

You call it distance. I call it silence. We both pretend it’s fine— will time smooth the edges and leave nothing left to say? Will the cracks weld together while the silence still remains? How did a friendship break between us so quickly after it was made? I tell myself not to care. You probably do the same. Should I try to repair this— or should I stay away? I wait for silence to speak first. A little hope remains. Maybe it never will. Maybe I’ll just fade away.

17

When you sit with your thoughts Your feelings get lost, Perhaps bottled up Far from the world’ reach But even for you It’s too far to see You ask yourself “How much can stay- Besides of me?” The answer shall come Soon enough Because the moment you lay- Wide awake, You’ll feel those feelings Like a heavy weight.

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Jul 5, 2025

Jul 5, 2025 at 2:53 AM UTC

Nosy

What you've buried

When you sit with your thoughts Your feelings get lost, Perhaps bottled up Far from the world’ reach But even for you It’s too far to see You ask yourself “How much can stay- Besides of me?” The answer shall come Soon enough Because the moment you lay- Wide awake, You’ll feel those feelings Like a heavy weight.

15