A rare glimpse into my world here, then gone. Catch this warning shot of a poem before it slips out of reach and becomes the verse you wish you remembered.
only for a limited time i give you access until it’s denied 🙅🏽♂️ ain’t for playing games once seen that’s a warning sign or red alert alert i have to keep it moving only here for a limited time you going to wish that you knew me peace ✌️
Some people crave the crowd; I crave quiet corners. This poem is for the ones who protect their peace, keep their circle small, and stay low-key while the world gets loud.
if you know me you know ain’t about the crowd people screaming loud people asking for too many favors they attitude has too many flavors i am type specific i define my space if I roll over two times i am buying the space somewhere to lay my head and live or me sitting in place looking into space staying low key
A young boy enjoys a quiet moment reading while overlooking a beautiful beach.
Sometimes you don’t realize you’re in the wrong place until it’s too late. This piece captures that unsettling moment of walking into a space that feels off, unwelcoming, and strangely fated when there were no warnings on the way in, but everything now feels like a quiet mistake you can’t undo.
did i walk in at the wrong time weird i guess that doesn’t go there me in this place i set in no one warned me on the way in no signs or posted notes i guess things does at times turn for worse dang i didn’t believe it at first but i am here now
A craftsman stands in workshop, surrounded by old mirrors.
A young boy shows deep concentration while learning to tie his own shoelaces at a playground.
can’t lie i tend to trip a lot i fell for you my heart got broken i woke up too late to stop i continue missing you more and more but still i feel alone so instead of tripping over you i learned to tie my shoes
Being average isn’t always bad, but why is more important? We are all different and unique, but we sometimes feel we are more than everyone.
update and upgrade your lifestyle dine with quality screaming it’s my time the further you grow it’s hard to stop lock things up call the cops if you think you have reached the ceiling you just in the wrong room adjust your feelings in the end you are not great in everything just average at most
It’s always a good ending, even a happy ending, when you are the hero in your own story. In the poem, finishing touch, leaving that extra special sauce to your day makes them great. It’s hard to always be on point, but when the day fits your mood, omg, you are over the moon.
i loved you from so far i beyond cared a bit more obsessed wanted it all you every best I left nothing to fate i owned it all i the feeling I delivered should be amazing over all
This unfiltered piece pulls back the curtain on curated timelines and borrowed joy, calling out fake smiles, staged lifestyles, and the quiet chaos hiding off-camera. Through sharp, honest lines, it reminds you that life moves in seasons, that not everything “perfect” you see is real, and that your real work is loving yourself through the mess. Read on if you’ve ever felt behind, less than, or lied to by the feed; this poem was written to bring you back to you.
first of all everybody ain’t happy sadly but life comes in seasons gladly all those posts you see ain’t true these people lying to you fake bags, fake smiles so traffic can drive but hell is hotter on the inside than out beauty is not always surface level as we are drawn to the inside and when others ain’t looking so if you heated and cooking watching people post their lives they got roaches and i know this don’t neglect loving you time heals wounds and shall heal you work on you and your reality so pay attention to your feels stop comparing highlight reels you will be much happier than most
A woman tearfully reflects on a lifetime of cherished memories appearing in a glowing ethereal bubble.
Sometimes fear clings like fog to the hills of our hearts. Remember, too, that luck can vanish like morning mist. Yet in handcrafted in imperfection, we uncover veins of gold running through our trials. The screams and call-outs we once cast into the dark may linger on the air, but sooner or later, an avalanche of change must descend.
who said perfection was symmetry clean lines quiet emotions a simple life edited before release impossible margins to coffee-stained mornings we tend to live life in disbelief are there clean sheets in the morning new spreads to get ahead life unfolds the clothes we once folded can we still operate with a wrinkled shirt?
A woman finds a moment of quiet reflection while folding laundry in her sunlit bedroom.
