I saw something on social media last weekend that said, “we got Mamdani, the Knicks win, Obama’s Presidential Center, and World Cup love. That’s enough of a birthday party for us this year.” Man, we have had some FUN lately. But how about one last party trick in November? We can all blow out the candles in some late year, wacky midterm fun, who’s with me? _{(If you need, please reach out. I’m a firm believer in voting - happy to talk/argue/bitch about it.)}

There are always good things, glimmers everywhere if you’ll get in the practice of noticing them (see “Glimmers Everywhere” by Lunar Vibes). Sometimes you gotta unplug, hug, nap, hike, bird watch, board game, kiss, dance, whatever works for you. And sometimes we have to spend precious energy looking at what makes the horrors to find what’s good. And if you’re me, you do both and write about it (shocker).

Remember we all have work to do. But remember to rest, friends. Keep your eyes open, there is still so much good coming. For all of us.

Hope and Love

Elle 💜

Except that’s not true, my book has been sitting quietly most of the time. My work, my life, they’ve been full and busy (and actually full of some amazing details), and so many things have grabbed my attention and my book? My book sits there looking at me, its pretty purple purring at the edges of my purview.

These past two months, I’ve been chided, guided, blindsided, discovered some things that have left me inside out, upside down, starry-eyed, tongue-tied and I’ll tell you, none of that has led to me talking about my book more. Yes, yes, I know. I’m the worst.

I will tell you though, I sold a copy at a coffee shop when a stranger sitting near me saw it sitting next to my cup. I was told to always carry copies wherever I go, and that is a rule I have diligently followed. I also sold 5 copies at an open mic. One of my friends mailed his copy from the UK to me to be signed (talk about appreciation, wow). When that book goes back next week, it will have flown more than I have this year. This book (and the people I encounter) continue to delight. But I need to do more for this beautiful book that is Prince-approved*.

I’ve finally finished re-recording all the poems that are going to live on a Spotify playlist, now I have to get them uploaded (which isn’t as easy as it sounds when I want to remain somewhat anonymous - but maybe I’ve found a way? Stay tuned) but if you want to know when that happens, you can sign up to receive an alert here: hopeandlovefromelle.com And I’m currently working on turning my book into an eBook which isn’t hard at all but it’s annoying. Microsoft Word!? Do I have to? Yes, apparently. Copy and paste, Elle. Copy and paste. It’ll be okay.

“The book of love is long and boring
And written very long ago”

~ The Book of Love, Stephin Merritt

One thing I did talk about with many people (and maybe here on a previous post? Heck if I know, I can’t remember) is writing about the backstory that goes along with a few of my pieces. Let’s do one now, shall we?

The Words for Love

There is no language for what love really is.

Love is sweet, but "sweet" is too bitter. It is lovely but "lovely" is too repulsive. It is warmth, but "warmth" is too cold. It is butterflies, but "butterflies" is too small. It is moving but "moving" is too still. It is beautiful, but "beautiful" is too ugly. It is music, but "music" is too silent. It is peace, but "peace" is too chaotic. It is color, but "color" is too gray. It is sunlight, but "sunlight" is too dark.

It is perfect but even "perfect" is flawed.

Many of you know that I’m a voice-notes girl. I love voice notes. They take up time, but I love listening and love leaving them. There’s something in the rambling, the lack of instant reciprocation that can lead to some real truth that doesn’t come out anywhere else. I have made some of my life’s biggest discoveries while yappin’. Some of them have changed my entire life. Some of my greatest moments are the smiles that cross my face or the tears that prick my eyes when I hear someone else’s truth come through in their notes to me. And I always feel privileged to be on the receiving end.

One day I was talking about love (shocking) to a friend online and how it can be so hard to describe sometimes, how all the words in the world just don’t address it correctly, just don’t reach the heights that love soars to, or digs deep enough into the dark where love travels. Words will never touch the heat that love ignites, the cold that love breathes, will never comfort like love or rip apart like love can. I am a lover and wielder of words and I read like mad, I consume words of all kinds as much as I can and still struggle so much. In my voice note to another friend not long after, I was kinda recounting that conversation about how hard it is to describe with words. I just started listing these words for love that were inadequate and why. And so was born my first prose. It’s one of my favorite poems and something I actually reread often because you know, no matter what’s happening in life, love exists, it’s everywhere and it’s for everyone. We may mess things up often (guaranteed), but love is perfect even while we’re flawed. There are no real words for love but poets and children and music and stars will continue to try to spell it out for us and we’ll drink and speak and sing and write it over and over and over despite never being enough.

Honestly, I think that’s the way it should be.

May we never think we’ve ever got love fully defined.

You just leave it all up to me, my love will be your food
You don’t have to be rich to be my girl
You don’t have to be cool to rule my world
Ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with
I just want your extra time and your kiss

~Prince

Hope and Love,
Elle 💜

P.S. - if there is a particular poem you want to know more about, please let me know! Some have a much bigger story!

_{*I am taking some creative license there, I’m assuming he’d approve - it’s love and hope and feelings and purple and released on the 10th anniversary of his death, COME ON, you know he’d love it.}

I started writing in April, 2025. All l knew was words were bursting out and they were coming out in poetry, and I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote. And people said, “you should write a book” and I said “hush, you.”

And then near the end of 2024 I said, “what if I wrote a book?”

So… I did.

First of all, shout out to my graphic designer, Landon X. Jenkins (find him here), for a cover that was better than I imagined. No really, this is what I imagined:

“A mouse? With a cord that spells the title? In purple?”

I’m considering getting this made into a sticker so I can stick it in my copy of the book and smile at how things come about. It’s everything. And it catches my eye. And I have been smiling so much.

Secondly, shout out to the people who have BOUGHT MY BOOK. What? You all are delusional and also absolutely wonderful. The love I’ve received from everyone has been nothing short of soul shaking. I will absolutely never forget this experience and the way my people have showed up for me.

For those who don’t know, Amazon offers print on demand self publishing. And they have printers all around the world. The very first person to tell me they’d received their copy was in the UK, 2 days after it was released. And it shows, in the back of each book, where it was printed.

(in Joey Tribbiani’s voice): Dunstable, baby!

So as of right now, my book is in Australia, Europe, North America, and on its way to South America as we speak. Come on Africa and Asia, let’s go! Also, how do I get one to the scientists in Antarctica? I’d send it for free! They would love new content for all the dark days, right?

And I’ve been signing copies like a whole real author and I’m kinda over the moon about it all. The other day in the post office I was talking about Iran with a lady in line (it was an excellent conversation, by the way, especially if you know what I do for work) and she said, “oh, what do you do?” and I started to answer like usual, “I work for a peacebuild-” and then stopped. Starting over, I said, “I’m an author and I also work for a peacebuilding, advocacy nonprofit.”

I’m an author.

And I have so much more to write. For current writings, find me on Instagram and Threads, but also stay tuned here and soon there will be some backstory to many of the poems in the book, and some of the new stuff I’m doing. PLUS THERE ARE SOME BONUSES (book buyers get first/full access via the QR code in the back of the book!)

You can find my book and other things on my website, and an eBook version should be available in the next couple of weeks! Stay tuned (Threads and Instagram get the info quickest!)

“If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.”

~ Emily Dickinson

If I have any published authors around here, please drop your book links! I’d love to take a look!

Hope and love,

Elle 💜

There they are. All the poems. All 4 sections of poems. They have been marked up, slept and drooled on (no joke), lovingly caressed, stared at, thrown in the garbage (no joke), fished out of the garbage, blown by the breeze into the woods, retrieved from the woods, stepped on, yelled at, cried on, and hugged. It feels a little bananas. I never thought I’d be so attached to my words, and these? These are my best words. For now.

The creation of a book, especially as a self publisher, is NOT easy. There are so many decisions to make, so many things to remember, things to learn. And that’s outside of the core content. The mechanics aren’t hard, they’re just tedious. And many. Especially if you’re like me and want your first book to be everything. And you guys? This book is everything to me. Right now, as a pdf, it looks like everything I hoped it would be. But here’s what I didn’t realize was the hardest part.

“The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.” — Terry Pratchett

I am an emotional, dramatic person. If you’ve encountered me on social media, in real life, or in my poetry, you’ll catch on quick. I cry easily, I laugh even quicker, I love so hard. And I love being this way even though it’s all painful sometimes. Being this way fuels my life, my love, my hope. But writing a book? Turn it up to 11, sure, but can you bring me some water? Because I’m so dehydrated. (tears upon tears)

“I write to discover what I know.” — Flannery O’Connor

About 60% of the book was written before I started - this book pulls my best poetry from the past almost year (April!) But there’s been new stuff that hasn’t been shared anywhere. And the figuring out about the layout and parts of the book - do I want sections? No. Wait, do I? What would I call them? No, I don’t want sections. But maybe I’ll put them in 3 sections. 2 sections. 5 sections? What would I call them? Okay, no sections. Or… Burn it, burn it all.

The book is a story. The journey is a story. Who I am is a story. Where I’ve been, where I’m going, who’s been with me, who’s coming along, all part of these stories. I love storytelling. I love to hear the stories the Universe demands to share in the glint of the first star of the night, the buzz of a bee’s wings, the sweet melt of smooth dark chocolate on your tongue, the nervous shout of solidarity, the breath of a lover in your ear. This book tells a story. A whole, big, beautiful story that isn’t finished and won’t ever be, not even when my last breath is taken. This book also tells dozens of stories. Some have locked the door, they’re final. Some hold on, white knuckled, begging and hoping to continue. Some don’t know what they want to do. But I’m grateful for each one.

“The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter — it’s the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.” — Mark Twain

If all goes according to plan, this book will release next month, during National Poetry Month. I have come to terms with the fact that I will throw up. I will cry. I will laugh. I won’t sleep. I will send many, many of you messages begging for distraction, begging for reassurance, asking for a physical and virtual hug. Dramatic, much? If you’re asking that question, well… Hi, my name is Elle and I’m a poet.

“You should write because you love the shape of stories and sentences and the creation of different words on a page.” — Annie Proulx

Stay tuned here (and on Instagram if inclined @hopeandlovefromelle) for more information when it’s releasing and what it looks like and if I actually live through all my many feelings. If I don’t, burn me on a pyre of all my works at sunset and someone write a fabulously dramatic and ridiculous poem about me. Because this world is on fire, there are atrocities here and beyond, people are the worst and greatest thing to ever happen, love is still everything, and hope? Hope is a scary, hard thing. And it’s glorious. Don’t believe me? Have I got just the book for you…

Hope and Love,
Elle 💜

hopeandlovefromelle.com

It’s beautiful. It’s soft and easy to recite and flows perfectly and also made me bristle a bit. HEY, I’M A TALKER AND SMILER. Mary probably wouldn’t want to take me to the woods. Unless she loved me very much. Look, I can be quiet. I can be calm. But I will really want to point out everything and be very close to you and then smile a lot because I’m pointing out everything and being very close to you. I tried not to take this seriously, it’s a lovely poem from Mary Oliver’s perspective, she doesn’t have to love me at all. But could my ink-blood, love obsessed, romantic heart be satisfied with that? No, no it could not.

That’s right, let me talk and be happy and swoon a little and anyone’s invited.

But not long after writing this, the burden of the world caught up with me.

Confession: my love poetry is not only in my DNA, it is my coping mechanism. It brings me joy, it relaxes me, it softens the edges. I also have heard it does those things for others, and I’m more than pleased to provide. Sometimes (often), though, we need the comfort pulled away, let the sharp of reality poke us a little (or a lot), scratch, draw blood. We need to feel it. Minneapolis. (on top of Columbus, Tacoma, Atlanta, Rochester, Louisville, Fort Worth, Ann Arbor, I could go on and on. source)

Inspiration hit again.

Here’s the thing. Love is far more than romance. Romance is my favorite, but it’s just a fraction. Humanity is love. Freedom is love. Life is love. And witness, awareness, education, advocacy, prayer, all of it is love. And to love someone is to wish them life, love, health, happiness, and so much more. I believe we can’t love others without falling in love with their liberty first.

More to come. Thanks for being here.

Hope and love,
Elle 💜

P.S. I HAVE A WEBSITE! Click here!

Shake it off. Howl. The future’s calling.

New Year’s poem, anyone?

New admin stuff: I’m getting my poems organized and then will start editing and arranging them to go in a book. A book? Yeah, you heard me. This meant creation of one of our favorite resources: a spreadsheet. At first, this spreadsheet and I were archenemies. But once I got my pieces into it and have been referring to it daily… well, now it’s pretty sexy. Take a look for yourself:

Another new thing? I taught a poetry workshop. Two workshops, in fact. People came into this workshop, some no stranger to the craft and some looking to broaden their horizons trying a completely unfamiliar endeavor. They all walked out with absolute bangers. I can’t believe I showed some people how to pull words out of their depths and turn them into art. It was a heady, glorious experience and I’d love to do it again and again. Poetry for Beginners, anyone?

And to lead is to be an example. So here are the two I came up with, under the theme of “Resurrection”:

Workshop #1

Time waits for no one, they say
And yet in the slime, the deep of my soul's clay
Time slows, whispers a breathy, foul scent
My heart beats gritty, barbed with sweaty lament

Resistance to the gravity of darkened fear
Life rises to the promise, wearing hope's salty tears
Glory in the perfume of the new, the changed
Living reaches through what's broken and begins again

~Elle E.

Workshop #2

What’s hidden in the deep
after death
before the new life sees the sun?

Whispers in the dark?
startling joyful grief, awake?

Maybe webbing stretches,
shoots force wide the cracks,
and ink fills the barrel

the journey to illumination
desperate
resistant
alive

~Elle E.

I want to get more of my words out here on the ‘Stack, so stay tuned. This is one of many ways I resist the horrors that persist in this world.

How has your 2026 been so far?

Hope and love,
Elle 💜

So it only makes sense that my favorite poetry to write is about love. And I’ve written a lot of it. I will confess this: I honestly don’t think I write best when I write about love. But the good news is, it doesn’t matter. There are no rules. I’m gonna do what I like because I like it. Thank you. You’re welcome.

This is one of my longest poems. Bless you for listening to all of it. It’s also one of my favorites and I feel like it barely scratches the surface of romantic love.

And another that took me quite some to write but it is one of my favorite to read over and over and I absolutely truly have the most fun reciting this one aloud at open mics and things… it has a lot of elements, and I know some people check out and don’t catch them all, but guess what? You’re here, and if you read while you listen, you won’t miss a thing.

”Someday, someone will bring the moon down for you in the shape of their love”
- dikshasuman

I know, I know.

Love’s whispered advances
All it hopes to achieve
Arrives on a soft, crisp September breeze
~Elle

I know. I can’t help it. This was from a poetry prompt on Instagram to use the word “crisp” in exactly 15 words.

One more spoken word of mine:

So I want to know. What kind of poetry do you write? What kind do you read? What do you like? Do you scoff at romantic poetry like many? (It’s okay, not everyone is perfect. 😉) Let me know. I’d love to read what you write, what you love.

Hope and love,
Elle💜

But if there’s something I’ve learned on this journey with words and rhymes, it’s that the more I trust the calls on my art, the greater the reward - they have been so sweet and they’re not stopping. And yes, I have the audacity to ask for more.

“sometimes the universe takes you on a journey you didn’t know you needed, to bring you everything you ever wanted.”
- unknown

I always thought I’d just write about what was around me. And if my feelings were ever going to be the subject (surprise, surprise that’s 90% of my content) I’d detach myself from it all and write far removed, unaffected, let emotions and reflections speak for themselves. Joke’s on me, my sweat and blood and tears are soaked into every word. And the best part is, I love that for me. And for anyone that enjoys my poetry.

Be stubborn with the vision.
Be flexible with the plan.
- unknown

A fellow digital wordsmith put out a challenge - what if you were your own muse? And not just the subject, not just a positive view, but stared at with adoring eyes, the eyes of an artist intoxicated with the view in front of him. Like the classics drank in their subjects with love, lust, adoration, dripping onto canvas/marble/clay/paper.

I took up the challenge and then proceeded to stall for ages. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever written. To be that bold, to erase the disclaimers and the faults and the flaws but show myself off… damn, what a task. But when it was done, I realized all of it was not only true, I was worth being looked at that way. Regarded as a true muse. It was hard to write, but much fun to reflect on.

Then there are the moments when the view is not so beautiful. When our minds struggle and our thoughts go places we’re scared to talk about. I am not immune (see my birthday visitor post from 9/23 - a whole poem that comes with a trigger warning) and I know at least the majority of us are not. So let’s talk about it. Let’s connect over one of our biggest enemies: ourselves.

These are all on my Instagram (@hopeandlovefromelle) and that was scary enough but somehow, Substack is even scarier (which makes no sense, I have like, 3 readers? lol)

But in my case? Vulnerability is rewarded. Connection is granted. Creativity grows. One more from this morning:

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Check and double check
I’m fine, just be about my business
I’ve plenty to encompass all this
My life, step back, bear witness

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Check again
Anticipation bouncing the knee
My insides scream
What else is there for me?

The portions, poured out, doubled
Still I ask again, my audacity stumbles, troubled
But outside this struggling bubble, puzzled
The universe chuckles

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

More is coming. 

- Elle E. 

Where have you been vulnerable? What have you created that’s near and dear to your heart? What is something you can share that whispers the real and authentic you? I’d love to hear about it.

Hope and love,
Elle 💜

*or incredibly scary, I see you, my anxious friends

“Before you die, experience the love of a writer, poet, and/or painter. If you’re lucky enough to be an artist’s muse, they will immortalize you.”

Enter something I call, Elle’s What I Know Nows (WIKN).

I’m writing bespoke poetry. And I’d love to make you my muse. There is literally nothing to lose and so much to gain for both of us.

Skeptical still, are we?

Here are a few of the bespoke poems I’ve written so far:

You can find more on Instagram under the hashtag #EllesWhatIKnowNows

Key info:

• Totally anonymous

• Available to anyone all over the world who speaks English

• It’s really fun - each interview I’ve had so far has been such a fun time!

So help a girl out - if you have any questions or want to set up an interview time, please leave me a message or email me at bookstuffhere@yahoo.com. And please share this post with anyone you know who might be interested - so far, all of my subjects have been American (and I love em!) and I’d love people from all over the world.

What are you waiting for?

Hope and love,
Elle 💜

I love the visuals that arrive when I sit and think about people and who they are and what they bring to the world and what people miss about them and what makes them who they are.

These are for two very different people in different phases of life. So similar and so different in many ways.

YOU

found beauty in the bones left behind

And sang to me songs of sunshine and spring -

I don’t write poetry for many - these two are poets, and I lean towards writing for poets, because there is an understanding there that others may not have. Doesn’t I mean I won’t ever though. We’ll see where life takes us.

I can guarantee you this though - if we are close in any way, I have a poem started in my head for you. Maybe it will come to fruition.

Have you ever wanted to be the muse? If your answer is yes, I have the perfect thing for you and it costs nothing. Watch this space.

Hope and love,
Elle 💜

This post is about who shows up every year around my birthday since then.

Before I get to her, let me preface. When it comes to the intrusive voices, those menacing liars who love to kill and destroy, they’ve always been male voices. Sorry guys, I know, it’s not your fault, there are many circumstances that have led to this. I actually think men are wonderful humans and I’m grateful for having so many supportive and spectacular ones in my life. But the facts remain. Doubt, fear, fool, shame, and so many more - they’re male.

But that voice who talked me into attempting to leave this earth, the one who comes back every single year to whisper lies in my ear right around my birthday - that one’s female. She sounds like me. But she is not me.

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls, the most massive characters are seared with scars.” - Khalil Gibran

For the past few days, I’ve heard her coming. I’ve smelled her stench. I’ve heard her raucous cries. But this time, I was ready for her. This birthday is different.

Say that again, I didn't quite hear you
Messed with the wrong bitch in the wrong era
I been at work and I got my badge of honor
Honey, I've changed so much since I last saw you
- Chinchilla, Little Girl Gone

It is serious work to not give in to a voice you know so well, a voice you heeded once. Sometimes it seems the easiest thing to do would be to relent. And for me, a day came when that was no longer an option. So on this birthday, I am stronger, brighter, lighter. Still shaky, nervous, tired. And also grateful, happy, loved, and writing.

Like clockwork, she showed up. And I showed her the door. And got out my pen, one of my most trusted friends. And I wrote. And now I share. Thank you for listening.

Honey, I've changed so much since I last saw you.

Hope and love and happy birthday to me,
Elle

P.S. - if you’d like to talk about any of the voices in your head, and need a kind, listening ear, I’m here. We can end the shame around talking about the wars in our minds. The best way to do that is to share them.

#SuicidePreventionMonth #SuicidePrevention #SuicideAwareness #EndTheStigma #MentalHealthAwareness #MentalHealthMatters #YouAreNotAlone #HopeIsReal #SupportMatters #YouMatter #September

Too white to be black, too black to be white. A common issue I never knew that to do with. So I did nothing in my youth.

I was “raised white” - I missed out on a lot of black culture in my youth. And while I don't blame my family, I resent that fact. I felt like I had a wound that never healed.

As an adult I felt the extreme pull to know more, do more, and learn more. And I have been. I found the people who helped me find what I'd been missing.

And then the poems came.

This was the very first serious poem I wrote back in May 2025. It's nearest and dearest to my heart, speaking to a question I've always wanted to ask my lineage.

Thank you for listening.

Hope and love,

Elle

I don’t know. Gonna just trust “vibes” going forward.

Here are two that go together - on the pain and the joy of long distance relationships. I’ve been in more than one. They’re brutal. And beautiful. I tried to capture both perspectives in each poem - something that doesn’t come naturally for me.

Let me know what you think!

Hope and love,
Elle

(If you want to make this poet happy, you’ll listen to at least the first minute of this. Please.)

I’m a survivor. I have struggled with anxiety and depression. And almost no one knows what I did that one night all those years ago. And what I seriously considered doing years later. And how I’m so grateful to be alive. The details may or may not matter, I’m not sure yet, but the poetry is writing itself in my heart and I think it’s time to get it out of there and into the world where it may do some real good. For the past 5 months, the new love and light of poetry has kept quite a few demons at bay, but there’s one voice that’s been quiet until a few days ago. Thanks to an amazing friend, a few thousand miles away, who called when the darkness was heavy and said, “Talk to me”, I realize how important it is to be vulnerable. So, time to take a deep breath and let my heart do what it does well.

Remember that my poetry is written to be heard, which means you, the reader, need to also be the listener (the audio is below the image of the poem). It’s better that way. Promise.

I share that poem and the haiku below to help squash the narrative that there is something uncommon and shameful about the struggle with depression and anxiety and PTSD and suicidal thoughts and sadness and loneliness and anything else going on in the mind. Nothing could be further from the truth. We are not alone. These have already been posted on IG, so they’re not completely new, but this is where it begins for me. I don’t know how much more there will be, but there will be more.

Claws of nothing dig

Grab the axe, the sword, the pen

Save my life, let's write

Like that friend across the pond who listened and let me cry in the early morning hours, wouldn’t accept “I’m sorry”, and made me laugh which actually helped me breathe, there are those who will listen. I will listen. I have no perfect answers or quick fixes, but you can tell me what you fight and how dark it feels.

I just received an amazing book of poetry that felt like a friend sitting on a bench next to me, creating art with his vulnerabilities so I could be reminded about our shared humanity. We humans need each other so much more than we realize. And when someone shares their darkness and it helps you out of your darkness - you tell as many people about it as possible. If you need a friend to calmly sit and share their experiences, this book is for you:

Feel free to message me. If you need resources, I’ll help you find them. If you want to pour out your heart in a 500 word essay, I will read it and respond. If you need encouragement to get your own story out there, I’ll kick you in the pants and bribe you with chocolate. I often wonder how differently my life would be if I’d spoken up all those years ago. I don’t regret how my life has turned out, but gosh what if I’d spoken up? What if I hadn’t been ashamed? What did I miss by keeping my secret? What if I’d actually reached out for help? Well, here, help has come to you.

Hi, I’m Elle. Talk to me.

Hope and love,
Elle

‘

Poet.

That last title is the newest one and right now, it likes to nudge its way to the front of my mind on a daily hourly basis. I fight it off with idle threats and it laughs at me and so graciously relents for a while so I can do other things. And sometimes it gets in the middle of the other things and says, “Fine, you can do this, but you’re doing this with my glasses on.” And I do. And sometimes the greatest things come out of it. And sometimes I just get frustrated and pause everything else and pay attention to the beautiful brat that is poetry.

“It’s like I have found a hidden treasure chest of words inside my mind… I opened it up and I never intend to close it back ever again.” - Victoria Shepherd

Hang out here and you can read (and hear) a lot of my poetry. I write my poems to be spoken aloud and that means they sound differently in your mind than in your ears when I speak them. Soon they’ll start appearing here. I’d love to hear/read what you think about them. I also have a big(ish) project that has just started. That will be in a separate post.

Most of my poems rhyme. Some people love it. Some people don’t. I don’t care.

“The purpose of a poet
is to make you feel,
so you remember that you have a heart,
so you remember that you are alive.” - @elisonwrites (IG)

If you like poetry, stick around. If you know someone who might, please share.

If you’ve ever considered writing any kind of poetry and need a safe place to share it, I am open to listening/reading it!

Hope and love,
Elle