Artofwords Stories

My attempt of capturing the transformative journey of a talented girl from humble beginnings to becoming a global icon.

My journey in reading an writing! How I fell in love with expressing emotions through books and and the dangerous beauty of feeling too much and the fragile pieces of myself I found hidden in every story. Oh, and some tips as well!✨🌸

so is love a cup of coffee ?

art of words - Now time won't flow, Eternity's stuck on a singular point Remaining dreams of hope Escape like smoke from an abandoned joint

"This poem is a heartfelt tribute to my idol, whose light continues to inspire and uplift me. Through his journey, he shown me the power of resilience, love, and hope. May his legacy shine on."

This piece lives in the tension most people pretend not to notice - the silent warfare of energy, perception, and unspoken judgment. "Wickedness Has Good Manners" explores the unsettling reality that hostility doesn't always arrive with noise. Sometimes it's polished. Sometimes it smiles. Sometimes it asks questions in a calm voice under fluorescent lights while something colder moves beneath the surface. The poem captures the psychological awareness of walking into a room where nothing is visibly wrong, yet everything feels off. It's about instinct, about reading micro-expressions, about understanding that discomfort and danger are not the same thing. There's a clash here between lived experience and artificial environments - between street intuition and corporate choreography. This isn't a story about paranoia. It's about perception. About that razor-thin space where intuition sharpens and silence becomes strategy. The poem dissects the invisible dynamics of power, composure, and energy - revealing how tension can exist without confrontation, and how wickedness often hides behind professionalism, etiquette, and controlled politeness. It's reflective, unsettling, and deliberate. A meditation on awareness, survival, and the strange theater of human interaction where the loudest truths are rarely spoken aloud.

She walked into his life as a teacher... but left as a memory he could never erase. Now she belongs to another man. Now she wears a ring that answers every question he never asked.

This book is a series of poems. "Peak Into Me" is just as the title suggests. It's a poem book that let's you have a peak into my mind and see things from my pov (plus my creativity). Who knows? You might relate. ♡♡♡

A book of my original poetry! Some of these are poems I wrote years ago.. Some are by request... All of them by yours truly!

Poems and verses which uncover depression and ideals. Basically a teenage mind that rhymes.

my scribbles, the words i didn't said and the mini heartbreaks i felt. (I want to extend my sincerest gratitude to Hannah Lemholt for allowing me to use her picture as the cover. ♡ Go visit her blog on: hannahlemholten.blogspot.com)

These can be peaceful, or angry. Philosophical or simple a description. Depression may tend to be a common topic. They are simply blurbs i write to practice when i want to get something out of my system.

Untold feelings

Celebrate the power of creativity as members of 𝗛𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗻'𝘀 𝗜𝗻𝗸𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱 & 𝗣𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 take center stage in our 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 2026. This curated collection gathers expressive entries in poems, short story, prose, and flash fiction-each inspired by imagination, emotion, and the freedom of storytelling. Every piece is a reflection of its writer's voice and vision, exploring diverse themes, moods, and perspectives. From lyrical verses to compelling narratives told in few words or many, these works showcase how prompts can bloom into unforgettable creations.

"Even pain has a language - if you're awake enough to hear it." This poem is a journey into a space beyond words, a place before time, before humans, before dust and air existed. It is the weight of something ancient, sacred, and overwhelming - a presence that surges through the body like fire, rushing from chest to toes, alive in every vein. It is not peace, not grief, not anxiety - it is raw, unfiltered awareness, impossible to ignore, impossible to escape. It is felt in silence and song, in fleeting encounters and hidden glances. It is the recognition of forces greater than ourselves, the echo of something primordial that moves through strangers and friends alike, connecting us in ways unseen. It is the energy that hums beneath the surface of life, alive in the gestures, words, and codes of those we meet, the urgency of presence, the weight of reality itself. This is not a story, not a warning, not even a prophecy - it is a revelation of what exists before the known world, a glimpse of the depth, intensity, and timelessness that precedes history. It asks the reader to feel it, to see it, to acknowledge it without fear, to "tap in" to a consciousness that has always existed, beyond beginnings and endings, beyond comprehension, beyond escape.

Sometimes you try to help people until there's nothing left of you. You give food, time, compassion - and still, they go right back to the same darkness. This is a story told through real moments - a man digging through trash when food was already offered for free, another who gave nicotine to a child, and another who keeps falling asleep in the streets, sick and lost. I've watched them fall apart in front of me. I've tried to feed them, wake them, warn them - until I realized some people don't want saving. This poem is about that breaking point - when trust finally gives up, when your heart goes numb, and when you start locking your doors not just to keep danger out, but to protect what's left of your peace. It's not just a story about them. It's about me too - about what happens when compassion turns into exhaustion, when helping hurts, and when you finally understand that love without boundaries will destroy you. Because you can't fix what won't face the truth. And you can't save everyone.

Not every museum is filled with art. Some are filled with dust, silence, and disappointment. Been more than a year I wrote this poem. the first line" I became a museum of memories no one visits " I saw it somewhere on social media and started writing........ This poem was born from the feeling of carrying so much inside-dreams, pain, disappointments-that no one else sees. It's about being full of stories, but invisible. About waiting for someone to understand, to notice, to walk through the "rooms" of your heart... and realizing maybe no one ever will. It reflects loneliness, fragility, and acceptance. The "museum" is a metaphor for the self-built from memories, holding everything carefully, but never visited.