𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻

I write poems for lonely souls who need company.

[notmoonchaser]

Welcome to my page.

I write poems and discuss all types of art here, so if you're interested in art and books that's your safe place.

I'm just a highschooler filled with passion towards art and beauty and I want to share that love for whoever needs it.

I post regularly, enjoy beauties! 🌟

[notmoonchaser]

|Sometimes I really just want to hate you so deeply but I always end up hating myself more.|

[notmoonchaser]

[notmoonchaser]

[notmoonchaser]

I'm back beauties and of course with a little treat.

||Promises at dawn.

"I could set you free," you said.

You came to me at my weakest,

when I was most helpless.

Your words a prayer,

your gaze made my foolish heart flutter.

I would say I hate you more than ever,

but you made me feel everything and nothing all together.

All I could do is love you till the end,

and follow your trails through the wind.

I might appear strong like metal,

but my heart only desires freedom.

You promised me forever and evermore,

but all I wished was to understand you at the core.

I might have foolishly asked for forever,

yet deep down I always knew—

ours was as vividly sweet.

Writer: @notmoonchaser

(your love was just like a storm, unpredictable and never stays, J.)

[notmoonchaser]

>How would you like to be remembered?

I would like to be forgotten by everyone, except my love.

[notmoonchaser]

I wrote this peice not so long ago but whenever I read it I still feel the pain raw.

||Wide Skies of Someone’s Vision

Two stars shining rabidly in the wide skies of who I am—

one shining like no other, its light building the illusion of being near,

yet far, like stairways to heaven.

"Who am I, really?"

The skies ask to no avail.

Am I that dimming star, far, far out of my reach?

Or that illusion of a dream, selcouth yet closer to my heart than ever,

gentle like no other zephyr.

I give myself two seconds to sink into the retrovilla of a familiar person.

"Maybe that's who I am," I tell the skies passionately,

yet the clouds of who I'm supposed to be blind my vision like treason,

making me wonder if it compares to Max Brod's betrayal of Kafka.

After all, what they both have in common

is fulfilling others' hearts, but never the poet's—

with his stupid little poem that's never complete.

Writer: @notmoonchaser

(I've always been a lover's poet, but maybe I just wanted to be a poem of another's love.)

[notmoonchaser]

in the middle of the night after hearing a faceless figure say those words in my dream, i woke up immediately and wrote it. I even wrote "strange" wrong. 😭

I also thought it was poetic at the time, I can't.

[notmoonchaser]

A song for dancing alone on a rainy night or as a last call for living.

(the most gentle soul got nothing left to lose and nothing more to prove)

[notmoonchaser]

"Does it ever hit you how messed up this world is so hard, just hard enough that you feel like you might just as well end your life and be done with it?"

That's what I want to ask you alone on a saturday night instead of

"how was your day?"

But maybe I was always scared of your answer.

[notmoonchaser]

Their love is one of a kind, a story that absolutely broke my heart.

Made us realize love was never meant to be perfect,

but imperfectly perfect and flawlessly flawed.

[notmoonchaser]

This song makes me feel like I'm all alone with my lover dancing in a ballroom till dawn.

So nostalgic in a bittersweet way.

[notmoonchaser]

Today I'm posting a special one of my pieces

||letters to the love of my life.

I would love to start my letter by saying that I'm sorry, my love.

I'm sorry that I'm not there to comfort your soul at its lowest,

I'm sorry that I'm not there to hold you tight until we can't both breathe,

I'm sorry.

But remember to absorb the night sky as it shines even with all the forces making it impossible for it to fly away to a better reality.

Remember to dream of us as you lay on your sheet of stars, I've always saw your potential without having to see your face.

Please my dear,

wait for me and don't take your life away from me to a colder place where only you feel pain and no love from me.

Remember that I love you from my deepest to my lightest,

from my weakest to my strongest,

from the beginning to the ending.

At the end of the day our love isn't the perfect type, it's a bleeding one.

Writer: @notmoonchaser

(poems never existed, just raw feelings we chose to let wander our heads)

[notmoonchaser]

Sometimes I forget some people just exist and don't cry when they listen to a new song, scream in the void or maybe even write poems to their loved one on a chilly saturday night.

[notmoonchaser]

One of my oldest pieces.

||Death playing tricks on me.

I'm scared,

that one day I'll get used to the beauty and art around me,

that my eyes would stop drowning in tears whenever I see something beautiful,

hear something tragic,

music full of rage and hurt,

the blues.

The beauty in everything,

Love,

pain,

yearning,

burning,

blue and white.

The day I get used to art,

is the day I'm going to die.

The day I get used to beauty, is the day my heart is no longer mine.

Writer: @notmoonchaser

(Art's never complete, yet left for our imagination)

[notmoonchaser]

One of my favorite old pieces, treasure to my heart.

||Moonbow

Born in the quiet hours before the sun,

When the mind unravels what the day has spun.

A canvas waiting for a stroke too pure,

A fragile line that never feels secure.

We chase the phantom of a flawless form,

And freeze the spirit just to keep it warm.

For art is bleeding, wild and unconfined,

While cold perfection is a cage designed

To trap the lightning, to arrest the flight,

And turn the living flame to marble white.

The chisel strikes, the bleeding ink will run,

Yet nothing stands completely quite undone.

We break the idol just to set it free,

And weep before the flawed reality.

Writer: @notmoonchaser

[notmoonchaser]

My latest piece.

||Resentment.

> All they see is beauty,

One must look hard enough to see the overwhelming rage.

All I hear is my heartbeat,

hanging between Life and death,

never at ease.

I scream until my throat bleeds,

knowing just as well as I breathe,

no one hears.

I could tear myself open and throw my cursed heart out,

yet the pain will never be released.

Could my soul be cursed, or

am I hearing what I could've been?

"I'm sorry," something unfamiliar screams, but what then?

"I'm afraid I hold ancient souls' resentment."

Resentment so cold-blooded.

Blood,

Why does seeing blood in my eyes leave me relieved?

Was I born to be mourned, or was I born to pay the price?

My heart unsettled, yet so cold like ice.

Hoping one day I could tear their soul open, gamble their emotions like dice,

Like they've done once or maybe twice.

Is that enough of a price?

My cursed heart screams.

All you see is beauty,

but look close enough and tear me open—

Who knows, your soul might also grow rotten.

But what's the difference between beauty and pain?

In the end, both lead you to misery.

"I just want to feel like a human."

My mere existence was destined for the ancient souls' resentment.

I could write for centuries,

but my cursed heart's misfortune has already been sentenced.

Writer: @notmoonchaser