Historias de Metaphor

"I thought the devil had horns," the woman said, her voice low but steady. "Turns out, he wears a suit and tie and has neatly combed hair... He's nice. Polite." She stared at the man across from her, unflinching. "Are you referring to me, Ms. Nielsen?" he asked with a glint of amusement in his eyes. There was something too eager in the way he leaned forward, as if thrilled someone had finally glimpsed the cracks in his carefully polished mask. "What if I am?" she replied coolly, unaware of the storm she had just invited in. His smile widened; it was wicked, hungry, and delighted. "That's not a very nice thing to say," he said, chuckling. "I do have horns." He tapped his temple lightly, as if they were just beneath the surface, waiting. The game had begun, and he was already savoring every move. However, he was the last to realize-she'd played this game before. And she always won.

This space is for my poetry and heartfelt thoughts, where words meet feelings. I'll share verses and quotes that carry meaning, both light and heavy. Requests are welcome-your ideas inspire me. Also I use a lot of metaphors. Thank you for visiting, goodbye! ORIGINAL IN WATTPAD READING IN ANY OTHER SIDE IS PROHIBITED ~Me

A "pointless" escape. A touch that clicks the shutter with every heartbeat. When your lens frames not landscapes but the reflection of another boy, you finally see: growing up means etching your name into his silver halide and letting time wash it into forever. At 23, Lin Shu flees to Pattaya, Thailand, armed with a broken light-meter film camera and the ghost of Big Tech's soul-crushing grind. He thinks he's capturing "abandoned aesthetics," but at a rust-colored pier, he crashes into Plai-a local guide on a mint-green motorbike who speaks Teochew like a secret code, treats sea breeze as rhythm, and lives by the art of uselessness. Lost in translation, culture, and identity-yet every acceleration, every darkroom red light, every spark of Loy Krathong brings them into perfect focus. From "tourist escapism" to "native living," from lens voyeurism to bodily development (both carnal and photographic), they wash the same negative over and over in coconut groves, night markets, lighthouses, and storms: - He plants his shadow inside the other; - He paints his silver halide in the other's colors. But when mother's calls echo, family pressures mount, and urbanization waves crash the lighthouse peak, this unnamed negative must choose before dawn: Stay in the darkroom, leaving the image forever unfinished? Or step into daylight, fixing the shadow into a forever you can carry? A coming-of-age novel about escape, development, and fixation. It tells you: there's a kind of forever called "When the wind stops, I'll miss you"; and a kind of growth called "I develop your shadow into my future."

Balance: Where the bone forgets the break. Part 1: Fragmented: A ten-step destruction. Part 2: Illuminated. (TBD)

A veteran pilot dies, misses his exit to heaven, and takes a wrong turn into an off-world adventure.

It's a story about a different boy. his 7 chapter of his life of encountering jasmine flower Smell. it's a ficbiography of different kinds of boy. you know what they say Jasmine Flower's smell is happiness.

A book of prose poems that use metaphors and short stories to explore concepts and feelings like fault, guilt, happiness, achievement, psychopathy, narcissist, relationships, friendship,certian things about certain countries and more. This project is meant to be engaging, so if you'd like a concept or feeling of your own explained in a poem, let me know in the comments. Your support and feedback will help keep it going. Thank you!

The moment when the humor runs out and you realize you're not just 'traveling' anymore. To anyone who has ever sat by a 'destiny' and watched the 'fate' in the room. This one is for you. Life is cruel. Sleep well, everyone.

Poems are fragments of the way we see this world. I hope you enjoy mine!

Just some poems

a growing collection of poems to comfort those who feel misunderstood or by this world.

For those who burn in silence and bloom in dust. ⚠️PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME⚠️ If republished, please give proper credit.

Fresh, confessional, and thoughtful poems. 《{We all want something new But only if that new something turns out better Than what we know now.}》 Please feel free to interact with me --- poets have to stick together.

A poetry collection written by unseen hands, a broken heart, and an existential mind.

Poetry allows you to discover, And gives you the gift to recover, Giving you the wheel and compass, To venture through the bypass

parce que même l'ange de l'amour se voyait brûler sous les flammes de leur amour ©𝗠𝗘𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗜 original work

Some poems I wrote

this is a short poem that touches on beauty standards, expectations, and idealism.

Poems based on different topics that come to mind. I have come to enjoy poetry so I thought I would try it out and see where it takes me. Also, the first time ever posting on here so I hope you enjoy. :)

This draft represents the inner workings of my mind, among other things. All of my poems and prose will be cataloged here and available for feedback. Pieces will constantly be added or removed to fit the guidelines for any poetry submissions I have going on at the moment, so feel free to check back often. Images of my poems were initially available on my personal Instagram, @KaylynCast, but are now in the process of being moved to @WordsByKaylynCast.