Tempest 🖤

The moon remembers what I tried to forget…..

Image in black and white A tree bare holding up the sky its reflection below as is above The strength in doing so for limbs so slender

the sky teases us
like darting slow motion butterflies and boys with bourbon smiles..
and I for one truly believe
it does not give a shit in doing so..
that beautiful fucker

#brokenpoet

A romantic, low-light photograph capturing the silhouette of a couple embracing and kissing in the center of a paved midwestern residential street at night. A bright, warm light source from behind the couple, likely from a street lamp, creates a dramatic halo effect around them and projects very long shadows down the street towards the viewer. Quaint houses with illuminated porches line both sides of the street.

A screenshot of poetry by Holly Ross (pt 1) The Way Fireflies Remember "First love is a door we never fully close - not for longing, but for the boy he was Just beyond the porch light, fireflies drift like slow confessions Their glow - a hush between the pounding heartbeats"

A screenshot of poetry by Holly Ross (pt2) "Before you helped me make a wish, before you loved me again, before you said you always have, before the vow was forced, some silences still glow at dusk, the way fireflies remember where we stood - their brief light enough to find each other once, and lose each other slow"

The Way Fireflies
Remember

#Poetry
-

Saying nothing... sometimes says the most.

make love
like you have no
secrets
like you’ve
never been
left
never been
hurt
like the world
don’t owe you a
single
wretched
thing.

- warsan shire

We share a place in the shadows
where slick heat and stifled moans
meet your face, buried in my shoulder
as the spasms of little death take you
Where pain is a gateway to something
more
and only those who
know the taste
may enter
There are only monsters here
gorging on the excesses
of the flesh

They say time heals…I say time just learns to look away.

The wind still whispers your name. It’s just softer now.

A wet white pumpkin sits on a wooden porch rail with a wet farm scene as background, including grass, trees & fields freshly tilled

I guess you suppose I’ll write you something.
Maybe a dirge while we wait
for the horses to return
from their stroll through
wildflowers & switchgrass.
Back from a day under blue sun
& ubiquitous neighing.
I’ll wait until the barn
doors swing shut & dusk
takes us to be its lovers

People love to tell on themselves when they think you’ve stopped listening

🥀🫂

He dealt love like a drug—I traded one addiction for another. Then came the unwelcome intervention, devastation and withdrawals. Still, he managed to slip me one last fix. The cruelty of it courses through my veins, but I won’t use again.

she has
a birdsong
kind of smile
and the world
quells to quiet
in its wake

#poetry

My bones are aching tonight
I could see the down side
But I choose to refocus
There is something amazing
My soul seems to crave
A strong excitement
Flowing through my body
And while I don't know its name
It must be beyond beautiful
To feel such pain

in the morning, still with blue

Going on a candle light tour of the historic city cemetery tonight might fix me

turning the volume down on my brain to listen to my heart

You remind me the world’s still turning, even when I’m not.

walking on rain clouds

The smoke curls like faded memories; soft, slow, and just out of reach.

There is a shimmering veil concealing the remains of a once fearsome beast that ravaged my mind

Black and white photo A tree bending to touch the soft earth in foreground to perhaps sing to the tree doing the same in the background as a gentle breeze blows the mighty giants within the misty fields of solitary

and though at times I may appear weak
do not waste any pity on me love
for we must all remember
that even the slightest of breeze
can move the giant limbs of trees

#brokenpoet

do I haunt you like you haunt me

Wounds heal, but the ache of love lingers…..

You can have anything you want in the whole world, as long as it’s not that

Maybe we are all just the void
waiting for words to echo
which fill our emptiness
Just Right
Looking at others and
thinking them full
Not knowing that
their void is as
formless
as our own
That even in
the blackness
we are not alone

The view was nicer before they rebuilt the house across the street. I’ve been torn down and now there’s less beauty for me to see