contemporary poetry
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You didn’t ask to become my favorite thought. You just did. Slowly. Like sunrise. Like fire that doesn’t realize it’s burning the whole forest until everything is glowing. Now every version of tomorrow wears your face. Every dream borrows your voice. And every piece of me that once knew how to be alone… Doesn’t remember…
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I used to think poems were made of metaphors. Turns out… They’re made of people. Of the ones who leave fingerprints on your soul without ever touching it. Now every page starts with your name, even when I don’t write it. Every ending sounds like hope. And every love poem is just another way of…
Between Bruises and Blooms 