Metaphoric Stories

"You don't build a future in a town you're passing through, Harry," she replied, her voice barely steady. "I'm not passing through." "You always are." Harry Styles was a man defined by the exit sign. Between the sold-out stadiums, the hazy recording studios, and a life lived through a tour bus window and private jet, he was a ghost in motion. He was the man who left; she was the one who stayed behind, rooted in the hills of Arezzo like the perennials in her garden, blooming in a cycle he never stayed long enough to see. . Exhausted by the glare of fame, Harry retreats to a quiet town on the outskirts of Arezzo, seeking refuge from the expectations that have defined his life. In a modest house with a serene, vibrant garden, he rediscovers stillness and simplicity, finding comfort in small routines and the quiet rhythm of daily life. But even in this hidden corner of Tuscany, human connection finds a way in, stirring curiosity, trust, and the gentle possibility of something more.

A boy with nothing but strength in his hands, calmness and direction guiding where he stands. He moves through the world of heroes, unshaken and free, an unstoppable kinetic push for all to see. He is Isamu Kita-unbreakable, plain, and tall. Nothing else but bare force. That is all.

Greenhouse Notes: Kinda crazy, but full of wonder Greenhouse Notes is not a book about having all the answers. It is a record of what happens when you stop demanding them. It began with simple questions-why, where, when, and how-and somehow those questions kept growing. Into gardens. Kitchens. Forests. Relationships. Grief. Joy. Work. Identity. The strange little moments that seem insignificant until you look at them long enough and realize they were telling you something. This is a collection of essays about learning to see. Not just what is happening, but what might be happening underneath it. Not just what something means, but what else it could mean. Not just the feeling itself, but what the feeling is trying to reveal before we rush to explain it away. Like a greenhouse, these pages hold a little bit of everything: things being cultivated, things being neglected, things outgrowing their containers, things that refuse to bloom on schedule, and things that somehow survive despite us. There are no neat formulas here. No five-step systems for becoming your best self. No promise that if you simply understand enough, life will finally make sense. There is only the invitation to look closer. Because sometimes the most ordinary thing becomes strange when you really notice it. A seed can make you think about patience. A meal can make you think about memory. A relationship can reveal the parts of yourself you hadn't met yet. A forest can make you reconsider what you thought you knew about being alive. And sometimes a question doesn't lead to an answer at all. Sometimes it leads to another question. And another. Sometimes they chain and create their own multiverse. And, somehow, that turns out to be the point. This is not certainty. It is curiosity in motion. A little chaotic. A little tender. Occasionally ridiculous. And, hopefully, full of wonder.

A callus doesn't form because skin is weak. It forms because something never stopped rubbing it raw. A quiet story about four habits that turn a room full of smart people into a stage for cruelty, and the strange relief of finally walking out.

A book of various genres of poetry covering mental health, heart break, friendships, parents, divorced parents, eldest daughter/child, school pressure, high school, love, being a teenager and did I say mental health? Relatable for any teen or even adult, who feels like at school they can't survive nor breathe. This is for those, kids like me, who want to fit in, and to be let be. This is for you, Dear reader, So I hope you enjoy, This interpleader. My poems aim to be relatable so you can recognize yourself in the pages.

Welcome to Poetry Roughbook. Not every poem begins as a masterpiece, and this one was never meant to be. Poetry Roughbook isn't a collection of perfect poems. Instead, it's a notebook of crossed-out lines, midnight thoughts, coffee stains, and messy drafts where ideas bloom, metaphors wander, and words slowly learn how to breathe. Every poem in these pages is based on prompts shared by Wattpad's Poetry Ambassadors. Each prompt is an invitation to experiment, challenge my creativity, and discover new ways to tell a story through verse. Some poems are polished. Others remain beautifully unfinished. Together, they capture a journey of learning, growing, and finding beauty in imperfection - one prompt, one page, and one poem at a time. This is a place for first attempts, quiet victories, imperfect metaphors, and poems that simply wanted to exist. So, if you don't mind a little mess, a little magic, and a lot of ink... Turn the page. I hope these pages feel a little like home. All poems are original unless stated otherwise. Prompt credits belong to their respective creators. ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: If you are reading this story on any other platform other than Wattpad you are very likely to be at risk of a malware attack. If you wish to read this story in its original, safe, form, please go to @moonlightxmysteries on Wattpad. Thank you. ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You asked for it.

My own poetry collection about everything and nothing at the same time.

Yes, this barely has views. But no, that doesn't mean it isn't well-written. Doesn't mean I haven't poured my heart into it. Doesn't mean a comment or just one view more doesn't make me happy. Whether you like this or not - that's not the point. The point is that you shouldn't dislike it only because of its views. Now to the content. You want to scream. But you can't. You want to leave. But you can't. You want to punch something, so hard that it breaks. But you can't. Because we have been trained to behave. To be polite. Modest. Stereotypical. So we are. Good. Modest. Normal. But what if there is more in our words than what others hear? What if the things we so desperately want to say don't come out because they can't? It can't be changed. Not really. Not in our time. But we can listen. To the screams. The grief. The anger. To everything.

I wrote and own all of the writing in this collection so don't use it and if you are willing to then first contact me. Here is a collection of all of my English poems. I will keep adding up in this series as I proceed to write more of them. I hope you like them!

Mostly poetry, but there's also some prose and short stories. These are real things I feel, what I live with on a daily basis. Maybe some of you guys can relate. If you don't like depressing stuff, please don't read this. The earlier chapters kind of suck, but I promise the writing gets better! Enjoy! (Please don't steal my stuff, I kinda like it, plus I wrote it) :)

POEMS FOR YOU

An MLM poem where devotion transforms into dangerous obsession. Through the metaphor of a loyal knight kneeling at the feet of his young King, a love that promises protection, reforms into something twisted, sinister, and sealed in blood.

Eliane wakes up in a labyrinth of scarlet red and purplish blue tunnels . The eerie walls pulsate as if millions of maggots wriggle around in the distorted skin of the wall. Where was she? That doesn't matter to her as much as the thing looming over her in the near distance. It drove her and Tom apart earlier. Eliane longs to see Tom, her current lover, however it seems that something inside her heart regarding their relationship is dying.

Dear Readers, Myself a silent Reader turned an Author, taking the courage to write her thoughts and share her idea of life A little corner where my unspoken thoughts find words. Fragments of love, loneliness, dreams, regrets, growing up, and everything in between. Not every thought needs an answer-some just need a place to exist. These are not stories. They are pieces of me, written between the lines. Coming up with the thoughts living in my minds in the form of writing to express the different aspects of life .... #life#thoughts#selflove#freedom#happiness#comparision#lettertomyself#nature#stories#theories#aspectsoflife

Where the flower blooms, the butterfly follows. She blooms quietly, like a flower waiting for sunlight. He drifts through life like a butterfly-drawn to beauty, terrified to land. When their paths cross, something shifts: her kindness becomes pollen he can't help but carry, and his silence becomes the wind that stirs her petals. But even the softest connection can change everything.

All Tracie wants to do is fly. To feel the wind tickle her fingers. The exhilaration of being able to fly. But the ground seems far too close from her wheelchair. And happiness is always just a few grasps away __________________ Current cover: @NeekieWriter Previous covers by: @theperfectphoenix She is amazing and I miss her so much and gahhh Phoenix why are you so cool? This book is dedicated to her, my amazing Phoenix. and @di-immortales thank you for this book's first cover we had good times with it c:

Alexander looks for the answer of an impossible question; what is love?

I see myself in between every line of every entry in this book. When literal explanation doesn't work, i resort to metaphors to feel validation and empathy. To those living metaphors that did nothing but compare themselves, this is for you. Compilation of my thoughts, statements, short poems, and other stuff related. (If ever sharing these words inside and outside Wattpad cross your mind, don't forget to give proper credits. Thank you!) artwork for the cover photo credits to: Society6 (Nadja) via Pinterest Started: 040818

A man helps a mysterious woman and unknowingly enters a dark world where men have abandoned their dreams, distracted by her beauty and attention. Trapped among them, he slowly realizes that the real prison was never locked their weakness was forgetting where they were going. To escape, he must remember his purpose and choose his destination over distraction. Theme: Distraction can only control you when you forget your destination.