poets society

shoot for the stars
burn as bright bones deep
and watch how you explode
in brilliance
in the darkest of the night
oh darling
you are the wish upon a star
a gateway to dreams come true


here i am, in a worthless heaven
glum partridges beside me

here i am, in a barren wasteland
god hath not the slightest 
inclination to want me

and here i lie
in my numbered days
beneath the scope of a scholar’s gaze
i put down my resentment
for another day
another morning
where i am not a ghost

where i am something i am not
sure i could become again
to be alive - a wonderful thing that could be

—  s.r., to be alive

It’s all inside your head

> the screaming

the terror

the regret

the tears

clawing for freedom

making your brain bleed from the inside out

the walls of your mind

can’t contain your pain

all of this

is inside your head

until it’s not

She asked me, “How do I look?”
and I swear, “You look beautiful”
was the biggest lie I’ve ever told,
because she didn’t look beautiful, 
she looked like a dance of sunsets 
and galaxies, she looked like fairy 
dust and spring mornings, 
she looked so much more 
than just beautiful.


~girls are magic

It doesn’t have to be Spring for you to bloom.
—  It’s been said that Spring is the time of new beginnings. Enjoy it, but make sure to remember that you can have a new beginning any day, any time. // @maxwelldpoetry
People are poisonous
I can’t remember who I used to be because I’m being suffocated by human beings
I can’t remember what I want because all I can see is what everyone else wants
I can’t remember if I’m happy or sad because of what the world tells me to be
I can’t even remember if it’s okay to be mad
Because of an avalanche of what people would think
So tell me people are good
No, people are poisonous
I’m sure I’d be me if it wasn’t for society
Why are they trying to hide the real
In everybody
—  Who do you think you are?
i promised i’d stop writing about you,
vowed i’d stop thinking about you.
but it’s 3 am and i fucking miss you.
i miss you when i’m in the
shower, in my bed,
on my sofa. when i’m walking
along the
canal, counting cobblestones
and reasons not to call
you. do you remember how we used
to walk along there?
i miss you when i pause at the end
of my driveway, you first kissed me there,
breathless in my blue skirt.
i miss you in my arms.
oh, what a traitor memory is. what a
saviour. i can’t recall how you
tasted, how you smelled. just wisps of remembrance. memories of memories.
but i remember
what you felt like.
it’s been over six months.
has there been a day i haven’t
thought about you?
i wonder how long i haunted you for.
(oh not long, not long)
i fantasise about reuniting. but if you
passed me in the street you might smile
if i’m lucky
but you would not stop.
ask me how i am, ask what i’m
doing, tell me good morning, tell
me i’m beautiful, tell me about fantastical worlds, tell me about faraway places,
kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,
i know this sounds like a plea, not a poem,
but, god, haven’t you missed me?
—  L.H.
i loved him.
it wasn’t the sort of love
they wrote novels about,
the kind that glows,
but the quiet kind.
the kind too soft
for love songs,
for endless love poems,
hidden behind shy smiles
and forbidden glances.
the kind that played
long after curtains were drawn,
long after his feet
had left the stage.
it was the kind of love
i hid behind concern,
hoping that one day
he might fall in return.
—  poeticallyordinary 
People fear someone falling out of love with them, but no one usually questions what it’s like to be the one falling out. They can’t picture feeling that something must be horribly wrong with you because there’s no other plausible explanation for why your heart doesn’t flutter when you look at him like it used to. It was the position I never thought I would find myself in, yet here I was, looking at the man I supposedly loved and not feeling a thing. If there was anything there, it was negative. Annoyance, anger, sadness, the complete opposite of everything he used to make me feel. It wasn’t right to let him believe things were okay, so I told him. Watching his facial expression drift from a quiet seriousness into a brokenness I never thought I would cause, I wished I didn’t mean the words I said but I knew I did. I couldn’t keep running away, after all, where could I go when the person that used to feel like home no longer did?
—  Maxwell Diawuoh, Request: Telling the guy you love that you’re falling out of love for the same reason you fell in love with him.
A woman I used to take care of would stay in her pajamas and watch Rachel Ray in the morning. English breakfast tea with just enough milk to make it light. She’d make jokes about staying dangerous when buying a spontaneous extra can of cream of mushroom soup. Some of us never lose our jokes.
My best friend closes her eyes when the summer wind runs its fingers through her hair. She inhales deep, like she’s about to dive down into the sun. It is something special to watch someone fall in love with the world.
My husband keeps an art gallery of growing greens. There are wildflowers on the windowsill and succulents by the back door. He tells me the snap peas are almost ready to harvest; that he can’t wait to show our kids how the earth works, how good things require care.
In small glimpses, I am stealing snapshots of people in their purest moments. I am pasting moments over. I am scrap-booking the good in humanity, the little visions of light, and saving it when everything else goes dark.
—  Schuyler Peck, The People I Know

1. when i saw you together it felt like ripping off a band aid. it was sore, and bitter, but it was quick. it was followed by relief. in finding her you had, without even realising, freed me. you had cut the ties that would usually tighten around my throat until i couldn’t breathe.

2. i used to damn the syllables of her name and now i praise them. she is not a bad person, she is just another girl that accepted the love you spritz in the same way i once did. i became less bitter when i stopped looking at her as a replacement, but instead as growth. me and you were not meant to be, and that’s okay. anything worth keeping would not have let me go.  

3. i am a girl that holds a world of morals. i loved you, but what’s not mine, is not mine. knowing you were no longer available freed so much space in my heart. space i used for recovery. you liked my long hair, so i cut it. you liked when i wore yellow, so i wore blue. and it suited me better. i became the me i wanted to be instead of the me that wanted to impress you. 

4. i really hope you change for her. i hope that when you touch her you are gentle, that your kisses are filled with love and your hands create warmth along the thin skin of her body. i hope she never goes to sleep at night questioning your intentions the way i once did. i hope you make her so happy. as happy as you once made me; maybe even as happy as i am without you.

—  i moved on and i mean it when i say i wish you so much happiness (ro)
When I leave,
Scatter my heartbeats
Amongst wildflowers
And buzzing bees.
Spread melodies
Where my feet
Never dared to land.
—  poeticallyordinary
You try to move on. You give someone else a chance. They’re genuine and you can tell. They make you laugh, smile, all but jump with joy. But somewhere along the line, you remember the one before them anyway, the dull ache getting worse until it’s too painful to ignore any further. So, you push the new person away. You push harder and harder until they get tired of resisting, until the doors they’ve opened for you to step through are closed and locked. It hurts - gosh, does it hurt - but you can’t look back now. The damage is done. So you keep moving forward and hope they do too. After all, it’s futile to chase after a heart already in the hands of someone else.
—  Maxwell Diawuoh // Excerpt From A Book I’ll Never Write #20 

Every single moment I’ve been alive
Every breathe I’ve ever taken
Every ray of sunshine that’s warmed my skin
I can feel my body dying
I’m worn & breathless even breathing
I’m cold when I’m alive

And would you like to know why?

Feeling every moment so deeply
Doesn’t stop the fact
That indeed
I’m dying
While alive

—  Shucks
It’s Andy
It hurts, doesn’t it? If it didn’t, you probably wouldn’t spend your nights remembering or trying to forget. I don’t know when you’ll be able to smile without calling yourself a liar. I don’t know when you’ll be able to laugh without questioning who the owner of that sound is. It’ll get better, though. You’re going to be okay.
—  There has to be something better than this. // Maxwell Diawuoh