Poems

When the Quiet Starts to Scream At first, it’s soft–a sigh in the air,a pressure in corners that shouldn’t be there.The lights buzz different, the echoes bend,and silence starts to ask how it ends. I try to speak, but my mouth won’t try,my thoughts just hum like a lullaby.And something behind the stillness grows–a hush […]

Whispers in the Drain It started with a giggle from the shower grate,right around the time I stopped sleeping late.Something in the drain began to hum,tapping out riddles on the porcelain drum. I leaned down close, thought I heard my name,wrapped in crackle and a sweet mind-game.Then a voice said, “Hello, we’ve met before,”right as

When the Motivation Arrives LateThe morning was a write-off—I watched it gofrom behind the coffee, nine to noon, the slowdeterioration of intention, the planI had for the earlier self, that manwho’d scheduled six for the alarm and fourprojects for before-lunch. The doorto the productive morning swung shut. I watched.The day felt already botched. Then nine

When You Are When you are the whisper in the winter air,the echo of a laugh that used to fill this empty chair,when you are the morning light that breaks through my despair,each moment holds your shadow, a silhouette so rare. When you are the silence in the pouring rain,the words I hold back because

What They Took to Make Me Quiet They started with the easy things–my voice, my spark, my fight,told me I was “too intense” to ever get it right.They filed down my laughter to a whisper through the teeth,and smoothed out every corner till I fit beneath their sheets. They took the music from my hands,said

When Shadows Speak In the dead of night, under the spell of sleep’s deceit,I wake entombed in my own sheets, my heart skipping beats.Shadows creep, a silent dance across the ceiling lies,a weight descends, faceless dread that blackens all the skies. There’s a presence here, a pressure that no light can pierce,heavy on my chest,

What I Wanted Before I Knew the WordBefore I ever had the word for it,the wanting was already there—somewhere in the restlessness,in the particular stareI threw at men who carried themselveswith a certain weight.Not their money. Not their ease.The way they moved through fate. I was ten,pressed against the passenger window,watching the city fracture pastin

Want That Won’t QuitThe library of years burns behind me,smoke curling through the room where I stand,and I chew the binding of every bookuntil the leather splits,until the spine gives way. My stomach is a hollow bell,ringing with each breath I take.I fear the final punctuation—that sudden stop,that period dragged across the page. A million

Watcher in the Shadows In the silence of my room, the darkness spreads,where shadows dance and dread treads.I feel the weight of an unseen eye,not a guardian’s gaze, but one that can’t deny.Every corner, every crease, might hide a judge,so I light the night, still, I can’t budge. The ceiling stares, a blank slate above,I

Voices in the Soup It started with a slurp, just one polite,a whisper in the broth, soft but bright.“Hello there,” it said with a sage-slick grin,“Swallow deep, and let me in.” I stared at the bowl–thick, red, and wide,it bubbled like something half alive.The noodles spelled words I didn’t write,and the carrots blinked under candlelight.