Spokenwords Stories

These are truths I was never taught to speak. Here lie the words I swallowed, the pain I buried, and the questions they told me not to ask. For the unheard. For the unseen. For the ones who feel too much in a world that tells them to feel less. I write for you. I write for me.

──────── ₊⋆☽◯☾⋆₊ ──────── 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.

"The truth is mine, but I bear none to speak, To keep my mouth in shambles, my sanity to keep. Because they started rambling through the walls, they speak; They want to rot the house, to make my body meek. Hinges rust, the moths crawl through my skin, The floorboards choke on everything I've been. Father is absent, but he is quick to swear; Mother is present, but it is nothing there. Their words cut me open-they carve me precise, Alcohol's the sinner; sinning is the vice. The mold in the corners-it has learned my name, It breathes when I breathe, it thinks I'm the same. The mold takes my breath; the walls start to bend, While the judge, my Father, tells me to repent."

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.

Just some thoughts about anxiety in the form of poetry. Excerpt from 5-4-3-2-1: A ring echoes in my bones. My bouncing legs - still, then carry me towards the hall. The pitter-patter and my heart beat, rhythmic chest compressions - forcing breath back into me. All rights reserved for my poems and writing.

Between petals and pauses, between prayers and promises, there are stories we never say aloud. Lavender Lines is a collection of poems about soft hearts, quiet courage, fleeting seasons, and the beauty of carrying hope through it all. Each poem is a pressed flower from a moment once lived, once loved, or once lost. Written with tenderness and honesty, this collection invites you to wander through pages scented with memory, faith, longing, and becoming. May these lavender lines find you exactly when you need them.

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.

To fully understand the meaning behind my poems you have to look inside. go deep. These are written from my pain when I write these its like I'm there but I'm not it's all sub conscious like a black out I just start writing. My pain is sealed on every single word to form every sentence if you cannot handle looking inside of someone else's head feeling their pain if you don't want to feel it don't read. this is my mind and my mind alone. I write for the ones in pain. The mind of: Lance Harbison Created and written by: Lance Harbison Edited and Published by: Carsyn Johnson Cover art created by: Sentiment.quotes (Instagram of Carsyn Johnson)

A life weighed by tragedy is like a tattered book on a dusty shelf. Its pages, worn thin from countless readings, tell stories smudged by hands that clung too long, hearts too eager or too burdened to let go. Though cracked and frayed, the words endure, silent testimonies to resilience, whispering faintly of a beauty that hardship couldn't erase.

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.

a memoir: for this ordinary youth

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

They say poetry is soft. This isn't soft. This is marrow. This is memory. This is the sound a woman makes when she refuses to die quietly. BROWNISH is a raw, unfiltered collection of musings in B-minor-where love letters are written in trembling ink, battle cries echo from childhood wounds, and resurrection songs rise from the ashes of shame, silence, and survival. Through the eyes of Andrea Tumblin-also known to readers as Ilianna Binoche/Novia Kane-this nonfiction poetry collection dares to speak what many only whisper: the ache of being misunderstood, the weight of generational pain, the fury of invisibility, and the holy rebellion of choosing to live anyway. These poems do not beg to be liked. They demand to be felt. If you've ever swallowed your truth to survive... If you've ever loved harder than you were loved back... If you've ever covered your eyes, ears, and mouth just to make it through another day... This book is your mirror. This book is your matchstick. Come for the love letters. Stay for the resurrection. Somewhere between brown and becoming- you will find yourself.

A poet who chose to see explores the tension between truth and comfort, love and illusion, awareness and fear. These poems trace the moments where clarity is possible-but not always chosen. Because sometimes, blindness isn't given- it's chosen.

Rainy days and quiet evening A moment of silence and a taste of sincerity When the days are sinking and you looking for a safe place to hide TW! P.s nothing personal and cover by the amazing @Lucasxx44

"I Am Not Real, I Am Alive" is a poetry series born from silence and shaped by storms. These are not poems for applause. They are letters to survival. In these pages, you'll find: 1. A runner with no water, only questions. 2. A tree that refuses to fall. 3. A voice fed silence, now spitting thunder. 4. A soul that prays with trembling lips and muddy feet. This is for those who carry their pain like ink. For those who sing through cracked mirrors. For those who survived and are still learning to speak it. You are not alone in this echo. Read. Reflect. Rise.

To be read out loud. The same level of emotion but with stricter parameters.

Poems is my way to cope, so here they are, 100% unedited and raw. Words coming from my own feelings and experiences in this world. Including everything from trauma, mental health/illness, SA etc. So *TRIGGER WARNING* From the perspective of a 13 - 18 year old girl

"The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds." - Nicholas Sparks Short poems written by me (Chante Johnson) in the best and broken times of my life.