#selfexpression
New hair, new clothes
New people to say hello,
I wonder what changed,
Nothing feels the same.
I have reborn, into someone new
And here I wonder, what to do.
My life had changed,
For better and for worse,
But now I'm at peace,
Lifted from that curse.
But deep in my gut,
I feel the boy who's alone,
Who has nothing figured out,
Not feeling like his own.
But in time he'll find,
The person he needs to be,
New hair, and new clothes
A new identity.
That boy is me.
2d ago
Jun 1, 2026 at 10:24 AM UTC
Sipping warmth
looking out from my balcony
The flux-skies
Red geraniums, the full weight
of my soul resting on the earth
Sensual of well-being
my voice strolls and tells
it to a friend, andante
The music that I am
Then at the table
the pencils arranged
I draw in silence
absorbed in it, smiling
at the rainbow fan
of dry paintbrushes
little brush tails, small
penises in my sleight of hand
(easy going)
May 22
May 22, 2026 at 4:18 AM UTC
I might as well go rogue
Tell you I’m 18 — nearly 19
But I sit in silence
Waiting on your decision
Your plans
Always yours
Claiming you know what’s best for me
And maybe you do
But I wish you’d listen
Listen to me
My plans
So we can build them together
After all
It’s my life
I’m the one who has to live it
Good or bad
Hopefully good
I’m young, yes
But not foolish
Not blind to what’s right in front of me
Still
I wish you’d listen
You love me
I know
That’s why you let me be — sometimes
But why regret it
When I’m trying to be better?
Maybe to you I’m slacking
But behind the curtains
I am trying
I know I am
I just wish you’d see it
And if you did
A simple “well done”
Would be enough
I want to speak
But I can’t
So I write
I bottle it up
Until I can’t breathe
Until I break
Alone
Of course — not in front of you
Sometimes I think
We’re birds of a feather
Too alike
Too different
Maybe it’s because I’m a girl
Maybe it’s something else
But it would be nice
To see eye to eye
Just once
Instead of you being right
And me left confused
Carrying plans I didn’t choose
Because one day
I’ll have to choose for myself
Time doesn’t pause
For anyone
So isn’t it better
You teach me
To think like you
Instead of sending me into the world
Used to silence
Used to being decided for
Without ever hearing
My voice
My vision
My path
Apr 14
Apr 14, 2026 at 11:07 AM UTC
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.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 12:30 AM UTC
I apologize for very little reasons.
I say sorry to people even for the slightest mistakes.
Sometimes I feel sorry for no reason at all.
And sometimes I fumble to say sorry
even when there is no fault of mine.
It may portray me as silly, weak, childish, sensitive,
desperate, or someone pretending to be nice.
But for me—
it’s fear.
it’s my overthinking,
my assumptions,
and my over analysis of the situations around me.
I fear losing beautiful bonds and friendships over small fights.
I overthink that my slightest words or actions may hurt others.
I assume and blame myself to be at fault.
I analyze and conclude that the mistake is mine.
And I don’t feel bad or regret apologizing—
because people are more important
than my self-esteem sometimes.
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 9:46 AM UTC
All my friends are getting married
And I am wrinkled in the bath
Pickled, wondering
If the scramblings in my notes app
Should take ten stops on the tube
To the man who bought me marigolds
Would they have bloomed?
But then again I’ve never heard a man
Being told to let things grow
Question saying no
And I've lost so many hours
Hiding from my nakedness
Mulling thoughts beneath the foam
It never felt safe to float desire
Outside of pages
Or a selfie laced with *** appeal,
My body a flattering taxidermy
Gifted to their gallery
In exchange for its stillness
But then again Wanting
Is important I was told
By the man who felt unsexy
When I could not express
The warmth I hadn't felt
Since I was fifteen, reading
In the tongue of another girl
Whose dreams
Never left my fingers
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 3:59 PM UTC
The finals have finished.
We've got nothing to do.
I take out my computer.
I write.
A friend looks at me.
"Watcha doing?", he says.
I just say two words:
"I write"
He stares at me.
I see my words bouncing
inside his head.
"I write", "I write", "I write"
He looks at my screen.
He reads one sentence.
He looks at me.
"I'd never read that", he says
I'm angry, yet I want to laugh.
Would he read anything?
Would he understand my writing
with reading one sentence?
I don't say that.
I only say, almost laughing: "I don't care.
I don't write for you to read.
I just write"
He looks at me as if I'm insane.
Maybe I am.
But I don't care.
I write for the screen.
I write for the sheet.
That is my audience.
They'll never criticize me
for writing.
For those who won't do that—
and also for nobody but for the world itself—
for those, I write.
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 5:24 AM UTC
"Speak the language of authenticity,
even if your voice shakes.
The world needs your unique melody,
not a perfect imitation."
Feb 13
Feb 13, 2026 at 8:43 AM UTC
Please touch the fossil,
my petrified frustration --
squeezed into the clay.
Jan 11
Jan 11, 2026 at 2:09 AM UTC
What is true? I am truly
the man I see in the mirror
with my eyes wide open, devoid
of pitifulness
and, no matter what happens
I am free now, Mama
more beautiful than the man
you wanted to see, the one I was
because everything seemed easier then
but I am no longer that
jester, I'm starting over
with or without you
You don't have to cry
I no longer wish
I had never been born
I am free now, Mama
I am not in hell
I dedicate my life
to how I was made
no matter how difficult that is
no matter how things turn out
Jan 2
Jan 2, 2026 at 4:02 AM UTC
Sometimes it feels like
no one really reads
my words,
like they don’t matter.
Even if I’m never published,
I will still write.
Dec 23, 2025
Dec 23, 2025 at 2:15 PM UTC
Wherever I look
I see buds emerging from --
my very own skin.
Dec 2, 2025
Dec 2, 2025 at 3:49 AM UTC
—The Fear of White—
I want to paint
the way I truly wish to paint.
She tests me gently.
“Then why not paint
on a white canvas?”
Her eyes sink deep
into the center of my thoughts—
as if asking
if I’m ready.
“Everyone will see you,
every corner of you,
even the parts
you never wanted to show.
Are you sure
you’re okay with that?”
A chill runs through me.
It’s frightening.
No one would really help me,
not when it matters—
even if many swear
they would.
“Look,” she says,
pointing to a canvas nearby.
I follow her finger.
Gray covers it so heavily
I can’t make out
anything at all.
She continues,
“People say we should protect
those who paint on white.
Yet they stay hidden in gray
themselves.”
I stare at the canvas.
Some must have been forced
into white
without ever wanting to be.
In a world like this,
if you don’t match
the colors around you,
you stand out
too painfully.
I need to protect myself—
the words slip out
before I even realize it,
shaking with fear.
Nov 30, 2025
Nov 30, 2025 at 10:07 AM UTC
At most one percent
of the time we live
we dance, and yet
our arms and legs seem to be
made for it: man, the dancing animal
of controlled, free courtship
the high stakes of our life
on the stage of each other's eyes
where we want to exist
in the role we have
obtained and kept up
Deeds not done and worries
fill the days, duties
the mighty spirits
between the scenes
afraid
for the body, for suffering
afraid to be or not to be
a dancing animal
Nov 30, 2025
Nov 30, 2025 at 5:34 AM UTC
No need to apologize
Each time you write a line,
Or when the tears come flooding through,
Each time you're not okay.
This world is not a paradise —
it's storms and sun and shade.
It's okay to be a mess,
And keep writing anyway.
And the day you are unloved
Is the day I leave this earth.
We are here to help you
Through the darkness and the hurt.
And Jax — I see your fire,
Your ink, your gentle fight.
I wish you strength and softness,
And peace each time you write.
Nov 10, 2025
Nov 10, 2025 at 2:20 PM UTC
Look for the one spot,
who knows where in the world, that --
fits you exactly.
Oct 22, 2025
Oct 22, 2025 at 4:12 AM UTC
Insane? Stupid? Risky?
Maybe.
Expressive? Freeing? Intimidating?
Absolutely.
Past mistakes, current life, reflective
That's my poetry.
If the right one doesn't come along
I didn't let my heart get rusty.
For my shame of the art has turned to joy
And secrets are best when they're shared.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 2:46 AM UTC
My pain—
it sublimates.
The ache in my body
becomes ache in words.
It has a color,
a scent,
an address.
My pain,
inside poetry,
is not destruction—
it is construction.
Oct 18, 2025
Oct 18, 2025 at 9:41 AM UTC
The soul says:
I don’t want to carry
this pain alone anymore.
I want to translate it.
And so poetry
becomes a bridge of healing—
what once was pain
becomes self-expression.
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 7:34 AM UTC
My poetry will be my meeting place—
A place where I owe no explanations to anyone.
It is simply the space
Where my heart is free
To speak without restraint.
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 12:56 PM UTC
I thought I was empty—
but the way words
poured from me onto the page
proved I was, in fact,
overflowing.
Brimming with ideas
echoing inside,
begging to be set free.
I spilled them all,
and now,
I am truly empty.
And it feels
so much better.
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 12:57 PM UTC
I will take all this pain
anxiety
nervousness
and turn it into poetry
Sometimes it will come out beautiful
Sometimes it will come out raw
Both
are deeply spiritual
Aug 11, 2025
Aug 11, 2025 at 12:46 PM UTC
How many poems can flow from me
How much art can I create
If I allow it
I can be infinite
Aug 11, 2025
Aug 11, 2025 at 11:49 AM UTC
Funny how everything can turn into art in my hands
I’m not good with spoken words
But they flow freely
through my mind and heart
Aug 11, 2025
Aug 11, 2025 at 11:24 AM UTC
I want to write many verses
and place them in a beautiful book
and call it all mine
Aug 11, 2025
Aug 11, 2025 at 11:22 AM UTC