Family
Beautiful out of the Ugly
More cautious and careful because I know time creeps up, and I didn’t want nobody to define me stuck, I felt something in my heart for you, walking in the dark for truth. I didn’t want nobody judging me on who I was in the before, I didn’t live for the pretenses, or a label, but rather on a search for trust. It was hard to find that, and when I found it? I was flustered. I had to start believing I was well deserving, all energy conserving, finding ways to say the good for us is all just luck, knife impressions on a ego scared up, on this planet where it all heats up, from still waters make a wave, touch a cloud and send floods, when it rains it pours, at the least it drizzles, depressed a little, undressing riddles while running, reading in between lines of what was unsaid, the cunning. You might know what it’s like growing up, even having to watch relatives suspiciously, because the drugs got the best of them but still find love intrinsically, love that doesn’t always get dealt with justly, so to give love it’s just due, I’ll make beautiful out of the ugly. Then would you love me?
By Trenton Hughley5 months ago in Poets
The Window I Never Opened
There was a window in my childhood home that I never opened. It was in the corner of my bedroom, overlooking the narrow street where bicycles rattled and children shouted until the sun dipped below the roofs. The glass was always a little foggy, the frame painted thick with layers of white over the years. My mother used to say the window was stubborn, that it had been painted shut long before we moved in.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Poets
Between the Lines of Rain —
Rain has always carried a language of its own. For some, it is music, a lullaby for weary souls. For others, it is grief, the sky weeping when words are too heavy to speak. For me, rain has always been a mirror—reflecting not only the world outside but also the storms within.
By Nadeem Shah 5 months ago in Poets
The Language of Falling Leaves
Introduction: When the Trees Begin to Speak Every autumn, when the air turns crisp and the trees begin to shed their leaves, the world transforms into a living poem. Golden, crimson, and amber leaves dance through the air before resting gently on the ground. To many, it’s just a seasonal shift. But if you listen closely, you’ll hear something deeper — the language of falling leaves.
By Nadeem Shah 5 months ago in Poets
Echoes of a Silent Heart
Introduction: The Sound of What We Never Say Silence has its own language. It lingers in the spaces between words, in the pauses where our hearts ache but our voices fail. A silent heart does not mean an empty one—it means a heart that carries longing so heavy it cannot always be spoken aloud.
By Nadeem Shah 5 months ago in Poets
