HeyJaredThe Scents of Lily
My personal written poetry, handcrafted from raw, deeply lived through experiences in my life. The poetry that lingers in the mind long after it's read...Love, Lily.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 10
- Latest publication
- Sep 28, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 12, 2026
Latest issues
demoiselle (opens the original)
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once while sipping cold tea and twice before sinking into dreamswas how little I got to think of you;as little as I possibly could as little as I possibly should haveI must’ve missed the patience or a pause that drives into prudenceI knew there were no more who could fill such a violent void maybe there are times when you stand back and realise in life how touches feel you much too deep to leaveand distances show you just how realthey are but this isn’t too surprising, is itanother boulder into
vertigo (opens the original)
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I lie with my headto the floorhair spilled all over meamong thosealike,where the unrequited awaitin nonsensical rageforconfessionsand intentional blame;on all those who daredto mistakeendless care for sympathyand my muse to pleasetheirsasneedy;though there liesals
hibiscus (opens the original)
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It was a monday one that seemed transiently dreary I had crimson on my nails a long skirt with a tearright around my left ankle hibiscus was unimportantly significant at the time to mefor a reason I can’t recallan early morning a mischievous cat a couple of stairs a glance such of an hour’s gaze clear skies yet such fog never before feltand left never againit was only ever a mondayPS: a summer ago, this poem was written and was never intended to be posted.<div class="capti
august (opens the original)
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the days slip into silence one that follows when a song skips out of beatmomentarily.a sleepless friday night;an orange glow rests tall beside mefilling the room with inquisition as another empty thought tries to provoke. a lovely life though everything feels the same alwaysa giddy smile such like I’m alive all at once but dying all the samefrom the impending. I will never know.such a torture that is.and I’ll remain afraid,though I won’t g
denial (opens the original)
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There is a cactus growing in my garden. It’s planted in a little corner, placed perfectly for the light to hit, and for the wind to brush through its spines. It’s dying. And I can’t do anything to save it. I stroll through the grass every morning. I water them all; the ones that flower, and the ones that don’t. I water the climbers that peep over the fence into the neighborhood. I water the cactus too. And I stroke its leaves to feel it breathe in the summer gloom; and I’m left with blood spi
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