Modernpoetry Stories

A compilation of poems that tells a story of someone who stays and believes that this time it'll be different. Even though knowing it always still ends with her leaving..

Welcome to part 2 of Happy Poems or Junk of the Heart or whatever you wanna call it. We're back for 2020 and hope you enjoy xoxo {These poems don't belong to me and credit will be given where possible}

To understand life, one must first tangle with death. It is not a single vast unknown, but the accumulation of being. Death can be a warm, soft blanket in the storm--a familiarity, a friend-close enough to comfort, yet distant enough to let you breathe.

free-verse poetry about the little prince

Best read in the dark display setting:) My story as told through my own poetry. I do not write my poems for sympathy or attention. I write them for my savior above, to express myself, and to show people going through these emotions I've been through that they are not alone and will never be alone. This book will never be truly finished. Thank you for reading. I love you. Enjoy. All rights to me, please do not use without giving credit.

"Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live" Jack Kerouac

Dear My Heart, I will never stop loving you not today, not tomorrow, not even in the quiet years when our paths no longer meet.

This is a safe place for anyone who needs somewhere to escape, to not have to feel like whenever they leave their house they have to act like everything is fine when their whole world is on fire. Feel free to read my thoughts. ©fairybecka

YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE OKAY TO KEEP READING, YOU JUST HAVE TO BE SOMEONE, WHO ONCE LOVED DEEPLY ..🥀 This isn't healing. It's heartbreak with no closure. It's a quiet ache that lingers long after the love is gone. Some stories don't scream. Some just whisper... I miss you in a hundred different ways. This book isn't here to fix you. It's here to sit with you- in the 2AM silence, in the ache behind "I'm fine," in the kind of love that didn't survive, but never really left. If you've ever loved someone so deeply it destroyed you quietly- welcome. These pages were written for you.

Unfinished thoughts, Unspoken sentences, Suspended dreams, The pain, The longing, The healing And everything in between - I gather them all, Weave them into poems And leave them inked On the pages of my heart.

A book of poetry dedicated to my muse and favorite artists.

🖤 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 by itsjustAmrit ❝ 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ❞ Broken Pages is a collection carved from silence- 𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥. These aren't love poems. They're post-mortems. Grief sleeps between the lines. Heartbreak drips from metaphors. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 - "You're not alone in the dark." If you've ever smiled while shattering... If your silence ever screamed... 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. In the ash. In the aftermath. In the poetry only pain can write.

We called each other names the stars would envy, Owdru and Aurealis. Together, we became something softer, stranger, more beautiful: Owrealis. This is a book of poems, not just about love, but about the echo it leaves. It is about angel numbers, digital touches, three sacred months, and a heart trying to rewrite itself. This is what happened between the seventh and the silence. Welcome to Owrealis, a love that didn't end, just changed shape. - theaurealis.

This is how I found peace after being misunderstood. This is what happens when the noise goes away and I can hear my own voice again. These poems came from times when I wasn't sure of myself, when I had to learn to let go, and when I had to learn to believe in myself. They are about taking my time to heal, being careful with love, and finding strength in the quiet places. It's not about being broken. It's about what you need to do to rebuild myself when the world keeps telling me that I don't deserve to be who I am, Themes: healing, survival, false blame, emotional abuse, self-forgiveness, resilience, and rebirth.

To Pepsi Cola © GROWNUPINSANE

Some things aren't held by love or hate - just the echo of what used to be whole. This is for the moments after clarity, where right and wrong don't untangle what still lingers. Where memory lives loud, and the rules were never written to be followed.

Self-written poems in a motivated hour.

The BOREDISTIC Fiddler of a LONER is a raw and introspective memoir that chronicles the tumultuous journey of a woman navigating the labyrinth of love, heartbreak, and self-discovery. Spanning over two decades, the narrative delves into a series of failed relationships, each leaving indelible marks on her psyche. From the sting of betrayal to the weight of insecurity, the memoir paints a vivid picture of the emotional scars borne from loving and losing. After the dissolution of a significant relationship, she retreats into solitude, seeking solace in the quietude of her own company. Embracing independence, she relocates to a top-floor apartment with a panoramic view, symbolizing her desire for a fresh start. In the same breath, she embarks on a new career path, marking the beginning of a chapter dedicated to personal growth and self-reliance. However, the allure of freedom soon gives way to recklessness. With newfound autonomy and a heightened sense of desire, she finds herself entangled in a whirlwind romance just months after vowing to remain single. This unexpected turn of events challenges her resolve and sets the stage for a deeper exploration of her desires, boundaries, and the complexities of human connection. Through candid prose and poetic introspection, The BOREDISTIC Fiddler of a LONER offers an unflinching look at the intricacies of love, loneliness, and the quest for identity. It's a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the transformative power of embracing one's true self.

Genealogy: The River of Lineage is a poem collection about my memory, blood, and the echo of the soul. Time flows in the lines of poetry like a silent and deep iron river. This is a spiritual journey of searching for roots and self-identity, written for everyone who has ever felt the whispers of the past. Please feel and enjoy them, thank you.

It's a mess, a real wicked mess in here. The mice escaped from the cage, the dog is chasing after them with a volcanic yorf. The ceiling plaster falls in raindrops after every drum upstairs and the knob broke off the faucet for the bath so scalding hot water starts to drown out the mice, and then the dog. The ceiling caves in and I just float right on through it.