Tag: Poetry

  • THE WRATH OF THE BROKEN

    I carried the wrath of the broken.

    Or maybe—

    It carried me.

     

    Are we broken for the better,

    Or just addicted to the dark?

     

    A rose in the mud.

    Wrong side of midnight.

    Nothing grows here—

    It survives.

     

    Shadows of old friends

    Linger longer than they should.

     

    Laughter echoes—

    Warped now,

    Still sharp enough to cut.

     

    There is a stillness

    Between breaths.

     

    Not peace—

    Just pause.

     

    We reach for it anyway,

    Mistaking silence

    For healing.

     

    Trapped in the quiet unravelling,

    We miss the tremors

    Of collapse.

     

    No impact.

    No warning.

     

    Just the slow, sinking truth—

     

    We were never fighting anything else.

     

    We became

    The enemy

    We swore we’d never face.

     

  • FUEL

    Yesterday’s faults

    become tomorrow’s sorrows.

    In the dark corners of my mind

    I string stars like fairy lights.

    I take thunder in my chest

    and turn it to fuel—

    to light the fire within.

  • ON MY LAST BREATH

    On my last breath,
    I begged the night for a saviour—
    but the darkness stayed quiet.
    No one came.


    The cold laid the truth bare:
    in the chaos, in the ruins,
    no one is coming
    to pull you from your wreckage.


    Your salvation is yours.


    You save yourself—
    or don’t rise.

  • LOOK / SEARCH / YEARN


    LOOK FOR


    A horizon
    that doesn’t fade
    when you reach it.

    A purpose
    that survives the quiet.

    A reason
    not to burn it all down.

    Something that holds
    when you lean—
    And doesn’t give.

    SEARCH FOR


    A place
    where you don’t perform.

    A landing
    that doesn’t collapse.

    A room inside you
    that doesn’t echo.

    A truth
    that survives the storm—
    Not gentle,
    but still yours.
     
    YEARN FOR


    A home
    that doesn’t bruise.

    Warmth
    that doesn’t leave.

    Something
    that doesn’t shrink you
    or ask you to betray yourself.

    Yearn for the self
    that stops asking.

    The one that stands—
    Unflinching,
    unchosen by fear.

    The one that takes the throne
    without apology—
    After everything
    it bled to keep.

  • UNEARTHED

    Deep with rage
    the soul rots between the bones.

    Voices fade.
    Words disappear.

    Sleep comes—
    never gently.

    Standing alone in the forest,
    the ground underneath
    swallowing me whole.

    I escape morning
    After night
    has unearthed my bones. 

  • REVIVAL

    Regrowth is not gentle.
    I died at midnight—

    A slow bleed,
    crying spells,
    fractures beneath the surface.

    Learning to grow
    in the soil of last year’s failures—
    they are lessons,
    not a death sentence.

    I shed the stories that kept me small,
    shut the doors that fed the dark.
    I make peace with sunlight,
    and the quiet pull of moonlit nights.

    I embrace the changes—

    soft,
    loud,
    necessary.

    I hold the tender moments.

    I love—despite the madness.

    Revival.

  • WEIGHT

    Bring me back from the dead—


    pull me under
    with the weight of your sins.

    I’ll tend to your wounds

    and carry your name
    long after—
    it breaks me.

  • 4AM

    4am
    While the world sleeps,
    I am lost
    between agony and hope

    Hot tears,
    cold dreams,
    the ghost in the mirror is me.
    The weight of unmoved mountains
    hangs heavy in my soul.

    Thunderstorm afternoons,
    another day of pretending.

    The voices cannot hold my hand,
    they only suffocate me.

  • Burning out, beautifully
    – Jacqueline Lente Poetry

  • ALL THE YEARS COLLIDED

  • STARGAZING

  • Artworks

    I want to know the truth of your soul,
    Your strength, your story,
    The fire that drives your heartbeat forward through the night.

    I’m not afraid of the monsters you carry—
    The rage born of old wounds, the scars,
    The hurt forged in your bones.

    I am no stranger to the dark underworld;
    My monsters, my oldest companions—
    Linger like background noise that refuses to die away.

    But we are not our monsters;
    We are what we create from the mess they leave behind.


    Show me the artworks of your life.

    Create some magic with me.

  • My tears remain the same, but I will never be that me again.

  • Thunder

    As thunder cracks and the heavens break
    We are pulled back into each other’s storm,
    Drawn by a tether neither of us can name.
    Our cords run deep.


    We search for the centre calm – the fragile quiet buried beneath all this noise.
    For the home of belonging in each other’s heart.

    Chaos surrounds us, chaos tests us,
    Thunder pressing its questions hard against our ribs.


    Yet in the wreckage, we reach for each other first.
    Searching, finding each other
    In the stars,
    In the dark of the night,
    In the rain and the cold,
    And in the last flicker of the flame.


    Always returning, always pulled back in.


    Hold my hand and let it rain,

    You are mine –

    through every storm,

    in every lifetime that finds us again.