#instapoetry

[rosegardendeprofundis]

Source: @laceypaigepoetry on Instagram

[jaggedjawjosh]

Before the sun rose, whispers of dawn embraced my heart, weaving warmth through the night's lingering shadows, a promise of kindred light.

[kaleb-is-definitely-sane]

The problem with Rupi Kaur is capitalism, in this essay I will

[rumiwrites]

[mockpoet]

Of Unseen Threads

I saw you by the window pane, As autumn sunlight kissed the rain. A soft-worn book within your hand, A story whispered through the land. Your lashes fell, a gentle screen, Upon a thought, a silent scene. I wondered then what tales you kept, What secret hopes within you slept. No word was spoke, no sign was made, No sudden gesture, unafraid. Just quiet breath, and passing hour, A blossoming, unspoken flower. Yet in that pause, a truth I knew, A subtle string, unseen, so true To rules of world, but strong and vast, A silent spell that would outlast. It bound my heart in fragile knot, A whispered feeling, never sought. A Lai of moments, soft and deep, While city secrets gently sleep.

[muniapolis]

Was reading a rupi kaur book for a Substack piece, and came across this poem:

Which reminded me of these horse memes.

So I had to turn it into one. Enjoy!

[noah-wunn]

-Noah Wunn

[cursed-cursive]

Fragile Winter

I remember the days when the rain would fall and we would dance

barefoot on sidewalks

warm from the sun,

laughing like the sky had learned our names

and was calling them back to us in drops.

We spun without purpose, without fear,

as if the world had paused its sharp edges

just long enough for joy to pass through.

Our clothes clung heavy,

our hearts didn’t.

Back then, time felt generous.

It pooled around our ankles,

let us splash and waste it,

let us believe nothing could dry up.

The rain still falls,

faithful as ever,

but I stand beneath awnings of memory,

watching younger versions of us blur.

I know better now how fragile weather is—

how quickly clouds learn new languages,

how dancing becomes remembering,

how remembering becomes a kind of prayer.

Still, when the rain finds me,

I lift my face just for a second

and swear I feel the echo of our feet

keeping time with the earth.