inspiration
-
The page was empty. Not because I had nothing to say,but because my thoughts kept arriving all at once. Then came a slow inhale. Not magic. Not a miracle. Just enough silence between the noise for one sentence to become another, until the poem had written itself before I realized my heart had been speaking…
-
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 