Part II of The Inheritance of Rust. Because understanding it doesn’t mean it’s gone. Some things don’t fade— they adapt.

I didn’t stop hurting. I just gave the pain somewhere else to go— and somehow, it started sounding like poetry.

A journey from feeling unseen and without refuge to quietly continuing forward in faith—trusting that even in loneliness, there is still a path toward peace, light, and being held.

“When corruption moves out of the shadows and into broad daylight, silence isn't an option. 'Pardons for Sale' is a rhythmic deep-dive into the 'pay-to-play' schemes currently tearing at the seams of our justice system. A poem for everyone watching history unfold with a heavy heart and a demand for truth.”

Not everything you keep inside stays quiet. Some of it learns how to bleed. This piece lives in the space between what you feel and what you never say.

As a feminine writer, the notes of beauty haunt each page as my ring clad finger glide over worn-slick keys. The new articles of divinity grace chapters of unrivaled glory. It is a new testament of beauty that Spring brings each year. Continue Reading.

A journey from feeling unseen and without refuge to quietly continuing forward in faith—trusting that even in loneliness, there is still a path toward peace, light, and being held.

The cry for help that goes unheard or falls upon a deaf ear. Turn your back, ignore my pain, hide the shame, and bury your guilt. A life destroyed by silence, no one cared

How will we remember you? I promise it won't be as kind You watch the poor starve As you hoard your last dime From the poem "The Hoarder's Legacy"

I felt like everybody else had their voices heard but mine. Being a young person in love will do that to you.

This is a poem that I came up with during a particularly emotional day. I hope some other people may also relate.

Stings trace my body, from chest, to arms, to stomach. I call it thunder. It floods me, leaving me to wonder when love became a storm, and why I let go of myself

Silent love screams in my chest, yet stays hushed in your hands. Shattered like glass after he walked away, I gather the broken pieces—October and November’s perfect warmth now only scorches me. From safe hugs to panic attacks, home burned to ashes. This scattered poem is a heartbreak puzzle: self-harm, abandonment, endless ache. Piece it together if you dare—you’ll feel why I still love him in deafening silence. Forever.

This piece paints a vivid picture of despair and cynicism. Love and goodness are just fleeting illusions in a universe indifferent. It's a journey through a world where every hint of light is just a mask for the shadows beneath, where time turns what we cherish into emptiness.

This is written during the loss of my family to murder! It paints a vivid picture of anguish and longing. A soul crying out for release. Yearning for peace amidst darkness. Finding no love, only anguish, somberness, and anger. I felt nothing but pain!

Pain as Compass, Ghosts as Witnesses A ritual of survival carved in bruises and glowing fault lines. This poem walks the reader through a dark pilgrimage where sorrow leaves sigils and the road teaches in silence. Each step is a cracked rune, each ghost a nod toward truth. If you’ve ever carried pain like a lantern, this piece will feel like home — fractured, glowing, and quietly holy.

passage describes a dark ritual of symbolic death, unfolding in a shattered, funereal atmosphere. The imagery centers on: - Ashen bells and cracking salt circles that signal the tightening collapse of the self. - Black veils, guttering candles, and humming altar stones that create a room haunted by the memory of a fading heartbeat. - A shadow kneeling without the speaker, offering the last remnants of identity like coins for Charon — a symbolic payment for crossing from life into death. - A fountain for the dead and the River Styx reinforce the mythic transition. - The ritual ends not with release, but with a slow, heavy sinking — an emotional collapse rendered as a ceremonial passage.

I speak in Splinter's, language cracked like glass. There is a noise in the wall, bleeding into the floor boards,like spilled ink.

"I'll always be right by your side. Te quiero. A poem to every friend, and all who i love..if i dont make it.. 17. 20:47 jakey."

The judgement from the outside why you're struggling on the inside. Being misunderstood because you don't deal with people & things they way you use to.