truthwrites

truth (she/her) poetry | prose | thoughts the words speak for themselves.

[cookiesandwater]

Hey!

Truth (she/her) here. I'm a teen writer who started this blog as an emotional outlet a few months ago. If you like poetry, prose, or anything in between- this is for you. Criticism is always welcome <3

Happy reading!

Masterlist (in serial order of posting)

please, please read from the bottom up- the top few poems are my angsty, cringeworthy early teen writing that i am too embarrassed to claim, but also too sentimental to remove. or don't. just don't poke fun at me, I bruise easily /srs

poetry, prose and everything in between

< letters I will never send:

to the one who will wipe my tears

to the one who left

to the only one who mattered

< not alone in the dark

< not fair

< summer

< done for

< blinded by you

< and when the seasons change, will you stand by me?

< watching with a jaundiced eye

< inimitable

< grief: a shared experience

< some memories are like broken vases

< perfection is terrifying

< drifting apart

< ways i wish to vanish

< for the ones who have watched the fireflies disappear

< where does the healer go to bleed?

< an unwilling weapon

< drip, drip, drip

< solar farewell

< apology

< my beloved, you will cease to breathe

< anything but mundane

< [redacted]

< heatwave

< knife

< the shift

< void

< the perfect guide to romanticizing heartbreak

< flinch, and bloom

< skin

< ambition, and the lack of it

< woman

< dining with midnight

< decay

< my mother mourns me from the other side of the kitchen table

< decay 2.0

< phoenix

< untitled #1

< it's always a good time to kiss

< disease (deleted)

< untitled #2

< all or nothing

< meat

snippets of my mind (random thoughts)

< snippet 1

< snippet 2

< snippet 3

< snippet 4

< snippet 5

< snippet 6

< snippet 7

< snippet 8

< snippet 9

< snippet 10

< snippet 11

< snippet 12

< snippet 13

< snippet 14

August

dual povs, tw: suicide, angst no comfort, original story

< ch1: waitlist

< ch2: namesake

post count: 59 (yay 😙)

(reblogs appreciated 🙏)

love, truth.

[cookiesandwater]

my grades are finally rising! but my health, both mental and physical is on a decline. my acne is the worst it's ever been, my hair is falling out, and apparently I have pcod from high stress levels? i hope this'll be worth it.

[cookiesandwater]

August

ch2: namesake

pov: him

tw: suicide, mild gore (mentions only)

Please check the end of the post for more notes. ch1 here

The wind hunts tonight. It gnaws at my skin, drags shivers through my bones. I thought the cold would numb me— God knows I need a little numbing for what I’m about to do. But I only tremble harder.

And then there’s the girl.

Infuriating, she is. First, she insulted the method I would have employed to end my life. She stated the that it was a 'terrible idea,' and proceeded to spill facts like a bored schoolteacher— on exactly how I'd fail at having a painless death. Absurd. Now, she looks at me like I’m an odd plant, mildly interesting because of the rot in my veins.

How can she be so calm?

Even now, I yearn for the end. I can hear the death knell ring, the Reaper’s breath damp against my lips. I teeter on the edge of a concrete cliff. Here, on the cusp of a decision that separates the living and dead, I feel more ghost than anyone whose heart has stopped beating.

Scalding tears leak through my eyelids, tracing a slow, humiliating path down my frozen skin. They haven’t stopped since the night I became an only child.

My eyes stray. It’s bitterly cold, and the girl’s arms are bare.

Don’t care. I don’t care.

The girl smiles- a cruel, ugly twist of her pretty mouth. And the world stops.

I would have been lost in her eyes if there was anything there.

They’re a peculiar shade— tunnel-dark, the kind that swallows light. But when the dying sun catches them, I see green, like dew-drenched grass at dawn. I see red that will pool when I hit concrete. I see gold gleaming like a lion’s hide. A cacophony of colours, warring endlessly.

It’s like she’s empty, and her eyes are the only part left breathing. A hollow shell running on fumes, pumped full of stolen colours that don’t quite fit.

Rage pools in my stomach. Directed entirely at this misery in human form, with goosebumps pebbling her skin and that nauseating smile.

“You’re like a pig,” I blurt.

She arches a slender eyebrow. For a moment, that smug grin vanishes. She just looks... confused. Good. Let her slip. Let her crack. Even for a second.

“Pardon me?”

Posh. Of course she’s posh. Makes me hate her more.

“They have no purpose. No dreams,” I snarl. “Eat. Sleep. Fuck. Repeat. Even— even rolling in mud their entire lives is enough. They don’t even live, just exist. Like you.”

My fists clench, the rage sharp and acidic, biting at my insides.

And she smiles again. I see red.

“They’re soulless,” I spit, shoulders trembling. “They’ll eat each other if push comes to shove. They’ll get a taste of human flesh and crave only that for the rest of their lives. I hate them. Because— because—”

The words die, half-formed, clawing helplessly inside me.

She tilts her head, voice gentle. "Because they remind you of yourself?"

Blood roars in my ears. Her words are silk— mine come out like vomit. She speaks, softer this time.

"You've stepped back."

I look down, frantic. Concrete. A solid, unyielding expanse beneath my boots.

My nails carve crescents into my palms. When? When did I step back? When did rage drown out grief? When did the urge to destroy her overtake the urge to disappear?

The fight drains out of me. I sink to my knees, burying my face in my stinging palms. My pulse is a trapped bird, slamming itself against my ribs when she speaks again.

"If you're going to do it, you should do it from there."

I open my eyes wearily. She’s pointing at a spot on the ledge about twenty feet away.

I blink. Twice. "What?"

She’s unmoved. "I spent hours looking for that spot," she continues. "The wind won’t catch you there— it flows around the building at an angle, so you’ll fall clean. No spin, no broken neck before impact.” She pauses to make sure I'm listening. “And you'll get to watch the sun die with you. It's the best view in the city.”

I just stare at her. She shrugs. “That’s where I was going to end it.”

Oh.

Oh.

But… how? How could one be this… this detached? This.. apathetic, considering the weight of her decision? Of our shared choice?

I wait for her twisted smirk to curl back across her face, but it doesn't come. She's serious. "Jesus," I breathe. "You planned this out?"

She nods. A laugh escapes me, thin and brittle. She speaks of death like a pending task. Like she’s called ahead, scheduled an appointment. A waitlist, indeed. A date on a calendar ticked off by fingers that would soon still for eternity.

"What is your name?"

At first, I don’t register her question. My vision sharpens, eventually, focusing on the white hem of her dress—the fabric fluttering around scarred knees.

"Your severe contempt for pigs is riveting, indeed," she says lightly. "But I asked you a question. What is your name?"

She's fucking with me. Toying with me like a mouse on a string, swinging scissors with reckless, almost joyful abandon.

I’ll let her.

There's not much fight left in me, anyway, and she’s something inhuman wearing human skin. If I fail to keep her interest, I’ll be a speck on the cement—jump or no jump. She’ll chart the arc of my falling body with the same cold elegance she applies to everything else.

If I don’t let her—well, I don’t have much of a choice.

All I know is this: I don’t want to be a stain on the pavement tonight. I don’t want the wind to hurl me against cement before my last breath has time to wither. I'm cold enough already. Not tonight.

Something inside me gives way. Not relief—never relief. A movement so small it barely deserves the word, but tectonic in its consequences. A step back from the ledge.

She's fucking with me. And I humour her.

I lift my head. The dying light fractures in her eyes, a kaleidoscope of colours fighting for centre-stage. All I see is red.

The wind stills, the world holds its breath.

And I give her my name.

"August."

Notes:

// This took FOREVER. I'm sorry, I'm terrible at this, clearly bit off more than I could chew- so much respect to everyone who writes stories because I'm two chapters in and ready to give up already! Also, so excited that I revealed the significance of this book's title! August makes more sense now, haha. To anyone who liked the 1st chapter, I hope this is upto your expectations. Criticism is always welcome! Please give me your thoughts, I'll need so much motivation to continue this- poetry comes much easier, this is TOUGH!! Anyways, thank you for listening to me wallow in self-pity like a lil bitch over a project I chose to take on myself. That's all. Bye bye 💗 EDIT: I rewrote the whole thing. word count: 1001 (updated- I cut over 900 words)

credit: @anitalerina, @chrissiren for dividers

[cookiesandwater]

Rewritten entirely, since I hated the original. Ch 2 of August, an original warning. Trigger warnings at the top of the post. Ch 1 here

Dual povs. Quite angsty. Food for my miserable teenage soul, and anyone else who's famished for some good, old-fashioned melancholy.

Criticism always welcome!

[cookiesandwater]

Thank you @echo-temporis and everyone who got me to 100 reblogs!

Seriously, I never thought I would make it this far. This blog has made me so happy over the last year, being my escape through every difficult moment. In a day or 2, I will be completing a year of posting on here. Thank you so much for all the love and support!

[winterrnightt48]

I wanted to start a tag game… so who are your current top 5 favourite music artists??

I listen to so much music and I had a hard time deciding, but here are mine in no particular order:

- Rainbow Kitten Surprise

- Mitski

- Gigi Perez

- Yaelokre

- Conan Gray

Feel free to participate even if you weren’t tagged!! And pls don’t feel obligated to participate <33 (when done tag a few of your moots)

@mothwingsmayy @dontyoudarejudg3 @moonys-chocolate28 @moonymessrs @prongsandpads @darknesswrappedinfallcolors @sofiasguitar

[cookiesandwater]

Thank you @cassiopeia-rising for the tag!

My top 5... I'll try to narrow it down.

- TV Girl

- Radiohead

- Arctic Monkeys

- The Neighbourhood

- Mitski

(These are my top 5 this week. It'll probably change next week, lol. I listen to a wide range of music.)

Edit: Also Panic at the Disco, Tame Impala, Fall Out Boy, Mac DeMarco)

Npt: @cowboylikelivie @rain-rainynights @picklemafia @wrentalks @marangho

[cookiesandwater]

I'm going to the beach today!

[cookiesandwater]

//meat

you liked me best

split open.

when fissures beneath my skin caught unforgiving light.

when grief made me small enough to be swallowed, dry.

you liked me easy.

all those sharp edges to caress like a blade,

those alluring crevasses to sink your fingers into;

carmine canines clicking— a predator in a saviour's garb.

and when you ravished me,

lapping lascivously, fingers muffling my screams—

how i wish you snarled “mine”

instead of

“meat."

tell me, my dear—

when bones knit back together, when flesh finds solace under pale scars—

will you still call me lovely?

or will you miss the sound of something breaking?

//if he only liked the broken parts of you, would you stop healing?

//divider by @uzmacchiato

[literaryvein]

L. V., archived writings

[cookiesandwater]

if they only liked the broken parts of you, would you stop healing?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

//snippets of my mind

[cookiesandwater]

why is purple prose both my greatest strength and most formidable enemy. i hate trying to be descriptive, to shape my emotions into a neat little bundle tied up in a ribbon, but everything comes out like vomit and soon i have a mass of crinkly garish wrapping paper with crumpled tape and slapped-on cheap looking bows.

I AM LITERALLY DOING IT RIGHT NOW

[cookiesandwater]

girls like me do not settle for half-measures. we are flood, or we are famine. choose wisely.

// snippets of my mind

[echo-temporis]

Butterfly

And there it was— a velvet ache of color, dancing desperately. You saw only the beauty. You said, “Look at it. It's perfect.”

And your hand came to rest on mine, a warm weight that felt like an ending. You were mesmerized by the colors; the impossible grace of a thing that lives only to break itself against the world.

You didn't notice the bruised edge of its wings; the tremor that screamed of fear. You didn't feel the sudden, breathless silence that fell between us; a silence that was a quiet death of everything.

And then it flew straight into the windowpane. A sharp, final tap. You simply laughed. “Silly thing,” you said, “It couldn't tell the difference.” And in that moment, I knew. The butterfly was not

a thing of beauty. It was us. And you, my darling, would never be able to tell the difference either. I mistook your hunger for a home.

~ prompt by @smittenbypoetry: butterfly | made with @novlr ~

[cookiesandwater]

//for the ones who have watched the fireflies disappear

the little one builds cities

of dust and sun-bleached twigs,

barefoot on scorching concrete.

i do not have the heart to tell her,

that the world burns,

and she is burning with it.

the little one clings to my ankles.

she is a whirl of mud, motion and memories.

she is an echo of my past mistakes,

a beautiful tapestry woven from sunlight and scraped knees and unconditional joy.

she wears my face, my chipped fingernails,

and the halting voice i had when the world felt new.

i will tell her that there used to be fireflies.

that they existed beyond the grainy pages of her picturebook.

that they used to light up the dark skies on a cloud-heavy night,

that i had once held one in my tiny palm like a miracle—

a last resort for an impossible wish.

i will tell her that there used to be flowers.

real ones, not synthetic silk in supermarket vases.

that they didn't always bloom, and that was the magic of it.

they remained curled in tiny green fists,

huddled under carpets of pristine snow,

and spring rains,

and scorching summers,

and early frost.

but when they did bloom-

oh, when they did-

the wave of multicoloured hues was a sight unmatched.

the fragrance that hung in the air was sweeter than birdsong.

i will tell her about the birds.

that they were always there, sure as sunrise.

that they came in so many shades,

from the flushing pink of her cheeks to the dull brown of my weathered hands.

they were the ones who heralded the glorious arrival of dawn,

who forewarned the imminent falling of dusk.

they were omens of darkness, harbingers of hope;

and when they sang, the world fell silent.

awed.

i will speak softly, and filled with hope—

as if saying their names with enough longing can bring them back.

i will watch her eyes widen with wonder,

and i will ache.

not because the world has changed.

i am old now, with more years behind me than i can count;

the memories are enough to satiate my wrinkled soul.

i weep because she will never get to see it—

the beauty of a world that cannot be recreated,

not in words, not in pictures, not in tears.

a life unmatched, one that can only be lived.

so,

for the sake of her quiet innocence,

her unbroken spirit,

her eyes that dare to gleam without fear—

i will pretend.

i will point to the empty branches,

and watch her light up like the stars she's never seen,

and say,

"listen.

if you're quiet enough, you can still hear them."

and when the world falls silent,

for the little girl who wears hope like a shield,

dreams like armour,

i join in.

and for a moment—

i believe it too.

//to making believe and playing pretend.

//to hope.

[cookiesandwater]

reblogging this because it's my words at their best, my heart at its most eloquent, and something i can never recreate.

[cookiesandwater]

//all or nothing

my mother says i am too fussy— with lovers, with life.

perhaps i am.

i cannot stomach the taste of in-betweens.

i have learnt to lick heat off lighters, lips red with more than paint.

i scoff at the idea of “casual”— nothing less than all-consuming is truly worthwhile.

forgive me if i do not linger where mouths press lightly, where hands hover, afraid of leaving marks.

if you touch me, you must claim my very pulse.

i would rather freeze than lie beside someone whose warmth does not reach bone.

girls like me do not settle for almost.

we are flood, or we are famine.

choose wisely.

//terms and conditions to be my lover- there isn't much of a waitlist though 💔 then again i am barely an adult so i guess there is time?

[cookiesandwater]

when you grow up in a burning house, even drowning feels like salvation.

//snippets of my mind

[cookiesandwater]

when your talons dragged across my throat,

my pulse became percussion— a frantic hymn, begging for that fatal gaze to meet my own.

who was i to resist?

i was yours to devour— pliant prey, bared and willing to be bled dry.

i've lived in a burning house all my life, drowning felt like another side of the same coin.

fire or water, terror or thrill— indistinguishable.

and as you drew me into those glacial depths,

i had but one regret— that i never learnt your name.

my last breath could not rise in worship— to call out for you for the first time, and the last—

so, i sank.

and these lungs, flooding slow as creeping rust, never held anything worth drowning for.

//untitled no. 2

credit: @chrissiren for divider

//hey guys. anyone up? it's close to 11 pm here. that's all i have to ask, lol.

[cookiesandwater]

happy birthday to me 24.02.2026 🎂

🎵 they only want you when you're 17, when you're 21 you're no fun 🎵

(guess how old I'm turning?)