Spoken-word Stories

──────── ₊⋆☽◯☾⋆₊ ──────── 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 is a poetic memoir of becoming, an unfolding of myself, one fragile petal at a time. This collection traces my journey through the fragile and tangled years of teenagehood. Through each poem, you would get a glimpse of raw and unfiltered moments of love, heartbreak, loss, confusion and even hints of clarity. The title is more than just a name : it is a metaphor of growth and acceptance . Each year, each experience was a petal unfolding . Some were soft like teenage innocence while others were jagged, stained with blood, weathered by heartbreak and resilient in reaching. Some were glowing red under the eternal sunlight of euphoria while others were withered due to the droughts of insecurity and floods of pent up emotions . But together these roses compose the bouquet of my becoming. Now I offer this bouquet to you, dear reader, and hope you find petals of your own and embrace the garden you are meant to be. ──────── ₊⋆☽◯☾⋆₊ ──────── 𝟒 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 ⟪ h i g h e s t r a n k i n g s ⟫ #1 in poesia (out of 15k stories) #1 in spokenword (out of 4.57k stories) #1 in personalthoughts (out of 2.5k stories) #1 in personalexperience (out of 1.57k stories) #1 in freeverse (out of 7.74k stories)

A compilation of poems written by me in no specific order. DISCLAIMER: Some poems and/or topics may be too sensitive for certain audiences and/or children.

Volume nineteen. Poetry. Raw and unpolished. All human. Nothing artificial. Some may be offended. It is what it is.

Collections of poems and short stories Someday I will be fine I know who I am and no one goes tell me what to do I can find my own happiness than someone other than you #4 fall July 3 #1 winter girls July 3 #2 mood July 3

There are stories that live between heartbeats. Stories tucked beneath folded prayers, pressed between the pages of old notebooks, carried quietly through ordinary days. Ours, Unwritten is a collection of poems about the spaces between what is and what could be. It wanders through longing and wonder, through fleeting seasons and lingering echoes, gathering fragments of love, faith, solitude, memory, and hope along the way. These poems are for the ones who linger at windows after sunset, who keep letters they never send, who find entire worlds hidden inside a single line. For the chapters that arrive softly. For the names the future has not whispered yet. For the stories still waiting for ink. This is for all that remains- ours, unwritten.

Do angels exist?

Here to tell Words can't tell

A Carnival of Small Apocalypses These are poems for the hours after midnight, when the neon hums louder than reason and the world briefly forgets how to pretend. Inside these pages, goldfish learn theology from television screens. Ghosts linger in diners. Prophets miss their exits. Machines dream of salvation. The faithful wrestle with doubt, the doubtful wrestle with faith, and ordinary people carry the quiet weight of living through strange times. Part witness, part confession, part roadside sermon, these free verse spoken-word poems wander through forgotten towns, crowded headlines, broken promises, flickering screens, and the stubborn mysteries that refuse to leave us alone. Some are angry. Some are mournful. Some laugh in places they probably shouldn't. Together they form a carnival of small endings and unexpected beginnings-a collection of voices searching for meaning beneath neon skies, beneath static, beneath the noise. Step right up. The lights are already flickering. The ride has already begun.

Curses in Cursive 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘜𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘴. These aren't just poems-prophecies if you will, spilled like secrets from a girl who was supposed to stay quiet. Each verse is a paper cut, each tale a warning. Don't mistake the softness for sweetness. This is where crowns fall, kings die, and the truth sounds prettier when whispered in cursive. Read if you dare. Cry if you must.

These are collections or poems I made- u can request for one or reach out for a collab

some of us learned silence before we learned how to speak about pain boys go through it too we just don't get believed or we get told to "be strong" so we grow up carrying things we never named this is one of those stories

There is the world everyone else lives in, and then there is the sickle world. ​It's a place where a change in the weather isn't just an inconvenience-it's a physical threat. Where plans are always written in pencil because your own blood cells can decide to stage a coup at any given moment. ​The Sickle World is a collection of raw, conversational prose and poetry written from the trenches of chronic illness. It's not an idealized story of "triumphing over adversity," nor is it a clinical breakdown of a medical condition. Instead, it's a blunt, middle-of-the-night look at the reality of living in a body that hurts. It captures the heavy silence of the hospital room, the frustration of being misunderstood by a healthy world, the exhausting mental math of pacing your own energy, and the quiet, stubborn resilience it takes to keep breathing through a crisis. ​This is for anyone who knows what it's like to mourn the versions of themselves they had to leave behind. It's for the chronically ill who are tired of being told to "stay positive," and for the people who love them who want to finally understand what it really feels like inside the storm. ​No filters. No toxic positivity. Just the beautiful, painful, absolute truth of a life lived one heartbeat at a time.

Some words are too heavy to say out loud. Some goodbyes happen long before people leave. Letters I'll Never Send is a collection of poems, thoughts, and unsent letters about love, heartbreak, healing, longing, and the quiet battles we fight behind our smiles. These pages are for the people who felt deeply but stayed silent. For the ones who were seen but not chosen. For the ones learning how to let go without losing themselves. Each poem is a letter to someone, a memory, a version of the past, or a feeling that never found the right words. Because not every story gets a happy ending. But every feeling deserves a place to rest. A collection of everything I couldn't say, but needed to write. -Grayte Soul

just a random collection of my poetries

🕊️ Thank you for staying, beautiful soul.

Where do I begin? This poem is a journey through anxiety, regret, heartbreak, faith, loneliness, and the quiet struggle of becoming someone you never thought you'd be. Written from a deeply personal place, it explores the weight of unspoken words, sleepless nights, lost love, and the fear of looking back on life with regret. For twenty-one years, I ran from things I couldn't explain-only to discover that healing begins when you stop running and face yourself. This is not a story about having all the answers. It's about surviving long enough to ask the questions. And sometimes, that's enough. A raw and honest free-verse poem about mental health, self-discovery, resilience, and learning to help yourself when no one else can. "I am still here. And for now, that has to mean something."

Between Quiet Moments There are feelings we never explain out loud. Moments where anxiety quietly sits beside us. Moments where silence feels safer than speaking. Moments where we try to exist without being misunderstood. This collection is made from those moments. Not every poem here is searching for answers. Some are simply trying to breathe through ordinary days, awkward conversations, crowded places, quiet thoughts, and emotions we struggle to name.

°We Count More Than Coins° This is a collection of poems that speak the truth of lives often unseen. It tells the stories of Miro, Maris, Tavian, and others children facing struggles, carrying dreams, and holding onto hope. Through simple words and heartfelt voices, these poems reveal pain, strength, love, and the quiet power within. They remind us that we are worth more than what we have in our pockets, that our hearts and dreams matter most. *Read their stories, Feel their voices, Remember we count more than coins.*

We all carry ghosts. Not the kind that haunt old houses - the ones hiding inside us. The dreams we buried, the trauma we dodge, the love we're scared to feel. Ghost is about the chase. The harder you run from the parts of yourself you fear, the faster they find you. This one's for anyone tired of running in the dark. Maybe it's time to turn around. Maybe it's time to accept the ghost.

A growing collection of poems about girlhood, grief, rage, healing, and the strange things that stay with us longer than they should. Copyright © 2026 Hannah Kellison All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or commentary. I Don't Mean to be Sappy by Hannah Kellison