Letter To Strangers

Here in present my work here you can find my original work here in Wattpad,Inkit and stock.me
Links in bio

I'm not sure, but I think my soul rhymes.

Poetry is just organized daydreaming.

If life is a sentence, I'd rather be a stanza.

I don't always write poems-but when I do, I steal metaphors from the moon.

Poetry: where words go to party.

My heart's meter is an iambic pentameter.

Poems are love letters to strangers.

Warning: my thoughts are not stanza-aligned.

"Does poetry pay?" No, but neither does happiness-yet here we are.

They say poetry is dead. I say, "Have you met my camera?"

Do I love poems? Only if they rhyme with my aesthetic.

A picture is worth a thousand words... but poetry steals all the good ones.

Roses are red, violets are blue, my feed's a poem-just not for you.

Do I love poems? Let this photo speak for me. *(silence ensues)*

Poetry in motion? Nah, poetry in pixels.

If Shakespeare had Instagram, he'd caption this too.

Poetry is just photography for people who hate lighting.

Life's too short for bad rhymes... and bad angles.

with these hands, i write love letters to the sky 🌌 ˖⁺‧₊˚♡

ink spills like constellations across my ribs ✧˖°𓇼⋆.𖥔 ݁

between dog-eared pages, i fold my dreams 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🕯️✧

the moon taught me how to rhyme in silver ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧˚

i collect verses the way others collect scars ˖𓆩♡𓆪

poetry tastes like stolen honey on burnt tongues 🍯✨

my pulse beats in iambic pentameter ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

every metaphor is a bruise i cradle gently ༘⋆𐙚

your name blooms wild in the margins of me 𖦆 ִֶָ✧‧˚

never finished a poem-only abandoned it ⋆⭒˚.⋆

ink-stained fingers, soul-deep verses 𖤐⸝⸝‧₊˚

writing my way back home ✧˖°✧˖°

papercuts & poetry ₊˚ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ˚₊

my heart is a library overdue ⋆｡˚

verse collector, moonlight sc