Here’s the poem She/ He had written from the voice of that small, cracked white heart—the one still hanging on, even after everything...

Since the last image (posted on the Spring Storm I) and the last poem (posted on the Spring Storm II), he/she talked about feeling stuck...

“Broken Glass” We sit behind broken glass, where love once lived, but didn’t last. You yell, I freeze— our words just echo, never ease....

“Shards” We live behind glass— not a window, but a fracture. Jagged edges between us, where love once tried to speak. You shout, I...

I really don't like it! I am 12 y old and I don't want you walk me to school and hold my hand anymore. STOP! But you wouldn't! SAD! “Hey...