Истории Poesia

Exploring what stories are hidden inside the wrappers with a simple metaphor "Life is a box of chocolates"―while still searching for my socks This collection is not strictly autobiographical. The poems explore emotions, identities, and perspectives: some lived, some imagined, some observed. Book cover: A photo clicked by me with a sprinkle of editing using Canva If you think this description is a 96.8% copy paste from my previous book..... YES IT IS. (⛩⏢⛩) If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

This collection of poems captures the wandering thoughts of my mind-moments of reflection, fleeting emotions, and the quiet whispers of my heart. Each verse is a glimpse into the world within, unraveling the delicate threads of joy, pain, nostalgia, and hope. Through these words, I invite you to join me on a journey through the landscapes of the mind, where feelings are expressed freely and truths are discovered quietly. Let this book be a mirror to your own heart, a place where words come alive and the soul finds its voice.

❝The stars summons my mourning words in pen, as the starry night consoles my shunned pain. ❞ - 𝒮𝓀𝓎𝑒 Note: My poems here are also posted in All Poetry account. @skyelogeia.✨ https://allpoetry.com/Skyelogeia

a collection of diary entries, poems, prose, and in-between thoughts written from ages 13 to 19. inside are soft confessions, random reflections, quiet heartbreaks, and moments of growing up stitched together through years of learning how to live as a teen. this is being a teen, where there's curiosity, chaos, chasing, and all the in-betweens. these pages might feel like home.

❛❛ We carry galaxies in our mouths, but most of the stars are already dead . . . ❜❜ This is a collection for the muted ghosts living inside our heads. Every poem digs into the dark corners of thought, love, loss, and the little betrayals we carry every day. Grim, reflective, and unafraid to stare into the void, these words linger long after you close the page. 𖦹 𓍼꩟ ﹻ © Wattpad 𖦹 𓍼꩟ ﹻ © Banner & Cover by @mxtsuro 𖦹 𓍼꩟ ﹻ © Enmesharra ,, 2026

"𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐢𝐭; 𝐢𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝- 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐫-𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦-𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲-𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐨 𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐲? 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨." -------------- I have been stealing stars and descending into derived madness; it is to satisfy the parasite within me. These poems are all for them: to relieve the aching, to stop the itching. In this way, I hope to stay a little bit longer and touch the hearts of people feeling the same way.

Some stories don't end - they linger, like April rain on quiet days. 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 is a collection of moments that exist in the in-between - where beginnings feel uncertain, endings arrive softly, and emotions refuse to fade completely. Each poem captures fragments of connection, loss, growth, and quiet realization, unfolding like petals that never fully close. This is not a book of perfect endings. It is a book of almosts, echoes, and afterglow - of feelings that stay long after they should have left. Step gently into 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚, where every page holds a piece of something once felt, and never entirely forgotten.

Welcome to the world of a romantic storyteller. I have to warn you, you'll either be filled with so much love or a lot of heartbreak. But still, a romantic's heart cannot be broken 💘

❛❛ To be known is to be devoured gently . . . ❜❜ A body of prose and poetry where longing, ruin, and divinity collide into one another. These pages trace the surrender of names, of selves, to forces both intimate and unknowable. This is a witness to becoming-through loss, through beauty, through the violence of being seen. 𖦹 𓍼꩟ ﹻ © Wattpad 𖦹 𓍼꩟ ﹻ © Banner & Cover by @mxtsuro 𖦹 𓍼꩟ ﹻ © Enmesharra ,, 2026

Spring Poetry on healing, hope, renew and blessings.

Quanto de mim cabe em meu coração?

I turn my grief into verses so it has somewhere to sit quietly.

de yo para él :(

Me llamo Miyu, mi canción fav es Nica's Theme y el crepúsculo es un sentimiento para mí. Si el algoritmo te trajo aquí es por algo. El universo y la vida dan señales abstractas.

Estos son algunos escritos que escribí por la noche...es cuando me inspiro (espero que os indentifiqueis y sobretodo disfruteis de estos escritos)

Meus pensamentos me jogam no chão assim que penso em tudo aquilo que poderia ser sem você, mas agora não consigo imaginar, pois meu coração grita, dói, implora, como se quisesse sair do peito para não sentir mais nada. E eu só tenho que fazer: viver, mesmo rasgando por dentro, mesmo com esse peso me puxando para baixo a cada lembrança. Então escuta exatamente o que meu coração quer dizer.

just my tearing words regarding of deep emotions and deep anxiousness and dark childhood dreamland. All of them were tied up through a black ribbon. "myself saw me, so as creep as scary blurry, i can't find a wing; even just one, I'm nothing as brighter as the burning sun I'm nothing as radiance as the lonely moon, I'm nothing as delicate as the fainted flower even with a star, I felt nothing." ♡♡♡

A collection of short poems and fragments of poems, written when I was suffering with writers block

Amar tanto es un sentimiento objeto de burla, pero muchas veces es cuestión de vivirlo, sentirlo, gritarlo hasta sacarlo.

What happens when the world goes quiet, but your mind doesn't? 𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄 isn't a story. It's a series of moments, the kind you don't talk about in daylight. The kind that sit with you when the room is dark, when the clock is too loud, when sleep refuses to be kind. These poems don't ask to be understood. They ask to be felt. From fragile beauty hidden in unexpected places, to silent battles no one sees, to thoughts that linger somewhere between breaking and becoming, this collection moves like the night itself-soft, restless, and a little unforgiving. Some poems will feel like comfort. Some will feel like confrontation. And some will feel like they were written from a place you've been trying to avoid. Read it slowly. Or don't. The night doesn't rush. And neither do the truths waiting inside it.