Brie Boleyn

Joined May 2021

59 stories

Bio

I write about love like I’ve never been hurt—and heartbreak like I’ll never love again. Poems for the romantics, the wrecked, and everyone rereading old messages.

Stories (59)

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The Countdown
Ten seconds on the clock and the room smells like champagne and citrus, someone’s heels pass by, and no one notices I’m still.
By Brie Boleyn13 days ago in Poets
False Recognition
I keep thinking it’s you. I don’t mean metaphorically. I mean my breath actually stops in public places because someone turns their head
By Brie Boleyn14 days ago in Poets
Green Silk
He loved me like a heresy, quiet at first, then all-consuming. Said I was different— which is how men begin when they mean dangerous.
By Brie Boleyn20 days ago in Poets
Morning After
Morning doesn’t knock— it just breathes on us, thin light slipping between the curtains like it knows we won’t answer.
By Brie Boleyn23 days ago in Poets
Older Than I Am
I was good at keeping lists, good at being good. Learned to read the weather in people long before I understood. There were nights I counted worries
By Brie Boleyn2 months ago in Poets
Little One, Don’t Forget
Hush now, little one, pull the moonlight up to your chin. The stars are whispering secrets, and I’ve got one to tuck you in.
By Brie Boleyn2 months ago in Poets
Photograph Developed in Sugar
I remember the summer the lights went out — or maybe it was the fireflies that came early, blinking their small Morse code of wonder
By Brie Boleyn2 months ago in Poets
I write it anyway
I keep writing poems like they’re messages in bottles tossed into Wi-Fi. Like maybe someone scrolling at 2 a.m. will mistake my over sharing for art.
By Brie Boleyn3 months ago in Poets
House Settles
Whispers in the walls Footsteps stop when you listen Something learned your name.
By Brie Boleyn3 months ago in Poets
She Spoke in Waterfall
She floated in the dark between stars, a soft mouth made of moss and memory. When she opened her lips, the truth fell out—
By Brie Boleyn3 months ago in Poets
He Called It A Gift. Content Warning.
They’ll say I wanted it— the promise, the prophecy, the shine of something sacred But it wasn’t a gift. It was a hand too heavy on my jaw,
By Brie Boleyn3 months ago in Poets
The Dip
The bed still holds the shape of where you lay, the hollow hums a memory’s low refrain. I lie within the dip and fade away.
By Brie Boleyn3 months ago in Poets

Brie Boleyn

Bio

Stories .css-1svwz57-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(59)

Filter by community

The Countdown

False Recognition

Green Silk

Morning After

Older Than I Am

Little One, Don’t Forget

Photograph Developed in Sugar

I write it anyway

House Settles

She Spoke in Waterfall

He Called It A Gift. Content Warning.

The Dip

Stories (59)