Browse the Latest Poems
Nice White Lady
I sip my coffee in pink cotton ease,
Mourning a life that comes with no fees.
Journaling woes in pastel ink,
While the world outside begins to sink.
Women bleed where bombs don’t pause,
Blank Piece of Paper
A grounded, reflective poem about creative burnout, unmet expectations, and the quiet grit it takes to keep going. Set in the aftermath of launching something personal, it explores the weight of persistently building in silence, showing up without applause, and finding peace in the slow process.
I call it May, but it feels like dust,
a loop of days I’ve learned to mistrust.
Fresh page, old ink — the same tired spin,
hoping this time, the new month lets me win.
Small Wins
I count my wealth in slow-earned days,
in euros stacked from tired praise.
€350 — not much, they’d say,
but to me, it’s brick upon brick in the endless clay.
I could spiral,
An Encyclopaedia of my Own Life
It’s been a stretch of strange days,
where nothing fits but the word weird.
I write it down like a nervous tick,
hoping ink can make it clear.
The Long, Short Run
Words slip through fingers,
like water in morning light—
I sit with the silence,
dream-echoed and hollow.
Yesterday wore me
A Flicker in the Fog
I write of light as if it’s mine to summon,
a switch to flick when the dark overstays.
But truth seeps in not loud, not violent,
just a slow and heavy knowing.
Something in me has lived beneath the weight
of joy postponed, of silence that doesn’t soothe
Four Years On
It’s our four-year anniversary today.
Strange how close and far it feels
like I could touch that moment still,
but also see how time now steals.
Ink Between the Lines
I thought I’d been writing,
this journal my proof
but pages whispered silence,
forgotten months spoke truth.
Six entries here, none there,
Not Instagram’s Fault
From one good day to a bad one the next, I fall,
Thought quitting the scroll would fix it all.
I silenced the pings, the filters, the feed,
But somehow I’m worse, not even remotely freed.
Would She Have Loved This Time?
I wonder if my mum would’ve liked this day,
Surrounded by pens in a bright array.
She loved her stationery, more than I do
Diaries, journals, a planner or two.
