Confessional Stories

Original poems under 50 words. All work within are my original creations. I'll try to keep this clean.

This is a poetry book consisting of all the poems I have ever written. All of them are more on the sad side, and all talk about things that I have experienced and feelings behind those events that I find hard to express. Each poem has a brief overview of what it's about, but feel free to interpret them in your own way! THIS BOOK IS INCOMPLETE! My plan is to upload a poem every other day until I have all of them published. I could post more than one, it just depends on how busy I get. They were all written between the ages of 12 and 20 (my current age), so I am editing as I go. Context Behind The Cover: The book is called "Echo" because my voice has felt more like an "echo" my whole life. It's something that people hear but don't necessarily listen to. The reason why the girl on the front cover is blindfolded stems from the fact that I have gone through a lot in my life, and in many ways, it still feels like I am blindfolded by the trauma to the point where I feel like I have yet to actually see the world with my own eyes. *This whole poetry book is based on a book I am currently writing, so stay tuned!* Themes mentioned: Depression Bipolar Disorder Medications Negative self-esteem Abuse Death The Future Love Trauma Etc....

My paranormal/spiritual experiences with Layne Staley of Alice In Chains and Mad Season. This is NOT fan fiction.

A married man reaches out from a lonely hotel room to a family friend who has always trusted him. What begins as harmless reassurance deepens into late-night confessions, until one hypothetical changes everything: "If I were single..." Her reply lingers. So does the silence that follows. Will they ever cross the line? How far is too far?

Addicted to loving him

After the Bell Rings is a lost poem by me, rediscovered after months of being forgotten. It captures the quiet, lingering emotions of carrying hope for others while quietly wrestling with your own fears and loneliness. In the stillness after the world goes silent, she walks among monsters-Frankenstein, Dracula, the Wolf Man-figures who reflect the author's own moments of grief, rage, and invisibility. These creatures are not evil, only companions in the darkness, mirrors of misunderstood feelings too heavy for daylight. Intimate, melancholic, and quietly brave, After the Bell Rings is about living between strength and vulnerability-about being seen by the very things that once scared you. It is a reminder that sometimes survival looks like empathy, and sometimes the truest self only steps forward after the bell rings.

She was the child everyone blamed, the one who carried the weight of a broken family. But this time, she's telling the story her way - unfiltered, unpretty, and painfully real.

My words are safe with me.

These are my deepest secrets, regrets, and confessions.

At a highest of #5 in poetry on 26/12/2015 We are not afraid to love, but are afraid of not being loved back... "I didn't choose to love you, it just happened, I desired to hate you, but it didn't happen All for once, you seemed to light The darkness encompassing my soul, And a mate- To devour my loneliness"... It wasn't my mouth, rather my heart. I didn't speak this out, but felt to the optimum... I did love...someone...my best friend ever...but he couldn't love me back, and the very thought would induce a certain fear in me, a dreadful insecurity, which I suppose, was to leave its footprints on the ages to come... This is my life;this is my memoir;this is my soul, all bound by a common thread- the thread of my isolated mind, and the fabric of my forbidden love...

Cindersilk Embers is a poem caught between illusion and truth - a flicker of nightlife, longing, and the ache of charm that fades too fast. From golden coins to empty bottles, from whispered warnings to silent mornings, this piece explores the blurry line between connection and collapse. If you've ever stayed too long in a moment that was already gone, if you've ever loved something that felt like a lie but still glittered - this poem is for you. A raw, surreal reflection. A song of shadows. A memory you can't quite place but still feel.

I've always wanted to write a book. Not just a book, but this book - a collection of words, moments, and feelings that have lived inside me for longer than I can remember. Poetry has always been my way of turning what's too big, too messy, or too quiet to say aloud into something that can exist on a page. This book is my attempt to capture the raw, the intimate, the fleeting, and the permanent all at once. Each poem is a small piece of me, a thought, a memory, a feeling that I couldn't keep to myself. Writing them has been as much a journey for me as I hope reading them will be for you. I hope you enjoy my poetry as much as I enjoy writing it. I hope it lingers, surprises you, unsettles you, or comforts you - sometimes all at once. And most of all, I hope it reminds you that even in our most private moments, we are never truly alone. Emma Angelique Patinios

I'll write here what I feel, my thoughts and feelings. Just as a quick breakdown, I'm a young twenty-two year old, queer, and potentially neurodivergent woman. I grew up in rocky situations and suffered from it my entire childhood. Right now, I'm stuck in a pit of depression and burn out, and I write to get things off my chest.

Poetry

(1/2) A hidden Wonderland calls every night at 11 p.m. - beautiful, dangerous, and stained with secrets. Step inside, and you may never come back the same. 🌑🕰️

Dive into the turbulent depths of a fractured heart in this raw and unflinching poem. "Hatred of Love Turns to Lust" explores the chaotic emotional landscape of obsession, lust, and the desperate search for connection. Prepare for a visceral journey into the darkness and intensity of unrequited desire.

A assemblage of poetic forms; entry for the 2012 Attys

Stair after stair, I fell downwards. The motion just felt right. I could feel myself cascading, plunging, In that sweet gravitational pull. Increasing the distance, Between myself and the surface world. Increasing the distance, between you and I, And that fictitious infancy, I condone in my mind. In one cell of my frontal lobe, You took up occupancy. A top corner suite, several stories high. You wore the clothing of the sheep, The innocent off-white of well worn Bible pages. But the truth was, for all of your charm, That you were really a thief. In the way you must devalue all things In your hemisphere You robbed me blind. I tried to thrive. But every drop I poured out in offering, I wasted. Subtly, day after day, night after night, Thorns and vines made away with another inch of me. You were the intellect's petty thief, Ducking into alley ways, Hiding behind closed doors. But even then, I never slowed my descent, to the underlying truth. A small totem of me, Crawling out from under your shadow. Suddenly, the Earth shook me until I was awake. It took no more than a word for me to renounce you, And my initiation was complete. I packed my bags in the middle of the night, And made for the door. The dark staircase looking up at me, The biblical virgin with a diminishing oil lamp, Disowned by the bridegroom's party hereafter. And even so, what had never been better, Was the coming down of darkness On that declining beacon of kerosene. I smiled and cackled and stared back at you, An escape.