Carolina Borges
Bio
I've been pouring my soul onto paper and word docs since 2014
Poet of motherhood, memory & quiet strength
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Stories (94)
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The Hours That Aren't Mine
The world goes quiet, and I come alive— not in bold color, but in the soft grayscale of blinking lights and tired eyes. Everyone sleeps. The dishes are done, the baby's breath is steady, and silence finally fits like a sweater I've outgrown but can’t let go.
By Carolina Borges9 months ago in Poets
The Space Between
There’s a hush in the room— a sacred silence when she sleeps. Not peace, but a question, a pause in the middle of myself. The books lie open, unwritten. The page waits. The words I once longed to drown in stand still, like strangers in the hall, while I hover near—unsure if I should enter.
By Carolina Borges9 months ago in Poets
The Book That Made Me Believe in Love Again: A Review of First-Time Caller by B.K. Borison
Some books entertain you. Others wrap around your heart and refuse to let go. First-Time Caller by B.K. Borison did both. As someone who lives for romance novels, this book didn’t just give me butterflies—it gave me everything. It had me laughing, crying, smiling like a fool, and whispering “one more chapter” until the final page.
By Carolina Borges9 months ago in BookClub
My Best Poem
They ask me if I still write— if the words still come like they used to, in the quiet moments between coffee and sunset, between heartbreak and healing. I tell them: I haven’t written much lately. But oh— look at her. She is every line I ever dreamed of writing. A stanza wrapped in softness, tiny fingers curled like quotation marks around my heart. Her laugh, a rhythm I never could capture— and yet, here it is, dancing through the room like a chorus I never want to end. She speaks, and the world rewrites itself in gentler language. She is my metaphor for hope, my simile for joy. A poem not inked on paper, but breathing, becoming, being. No verse I’ve written could match the way she looks at me— as if I am both author and reader, the hands that held the pen and the arms that now hold her. So when they ask me, what’s your greatest work? I just smile and say: Her.
By Carolina Borges9 months ago in Poets
