one sweet poem and one sour poem. © itshvma ( 2021 )

what drew your attention to this book? was it the delicate red rose on the cover? ... or was it its thorns? yes, the rose is daintily alluring, but you will only notice the thorns once you take a closer look. i like to imagine my poetry as this thorned rose, my carefully arranged words as its delicate petals: its beauty seemingly pleasing from afar. however, once you take a closer look, you will gradually see the thorns: a deeper and darker meaning disguised behind enriched metaphors. looking at the rose, you would also notice how it is hand drawn, denoting the fact that my poetry might not be perfect. it is intentionally written with some incorrect grammar (for instance, how almost all words are in lowercase) to give a more raw feel in the sense of how one may write down in a personal diary. the name "the rose comes with thorns" is not only an embodiment of my poetry writing style, but also the meaning behind it. just like how everything beautiful comes with its own flaws... ...the rose shall come with its own thorns. 🥀THE ROSE COMES WITH THORNS a poetry book written by huma zafar. #1 in "poem" out of 206k stories (2/5/24) #18 in "poetry" out of 336k stories (1/6/24)

Rewind the classics 2023 Love is celebrated through every century, but great celebration comes with a cost always. If only we can see behind the walls of ages, where girth took toil in journey. Mystified, undying love story with a slice of mystery: perhaps there's little bit left in history to mention.

where the eyes stay awake, yet colour in them is asleep. · part one of woven shreds.

fragile and unholy

unhinged, unfiltrered, untamed.

[3rd place at TPC Annual Awards 2020; adjudged on the basis of poems 00 to 08] "Relearning and revival, Visions and revisions. No more ephemeral, forever eternal." Evolution does not occur overnight. It occurs one mistake and one epiphany at a time. A poetic study of growth in all its hues. copyright © hanahakitrance 2020/21. all rights reserved.

"backseat driver, baby. i ain't letting go." his eyes were papercut in the limelight, but she wasn't about to let that gaze fade. she laughed, "then it's gonna be one hell of a drive."

anatomy of a love affair: a post-mortem of a nectarine passion, bled dry, stone cracked, as the porcelain of our now lined and weary faces.