Bailey

Joined December 2020

21 stories

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Just processing things.

Stories (21)

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I Choose To Burn
I didn’t see it leave. It had made a home in the hollows of me that quiet monster, all teeth and impatience, teaching my heart to live in half-light, teaching my body how to brace for what it already knew would end.
By Bailey6 days ago in Poets
Girl He Brought Back To Life
He walks into a room like it belongs to him, not in the way of arrogance— in the way of fire that never had to ask permission to burn.
By Bailey13 days ago in Poets
Me and My Wild Boy
He belongs to the noise— to crowded rooms and spinning lights, to laughter that spills too far and never apologizes. He is the story everyone tells when the night is almost over, the reason strangers lean closer, the reason joy feels easy again.
By Bailey14 days ago in Poets
Static
I learned early that love has a sound. It is doors closing softly— or more often, slamming shut, wrapped in chains and barbed wire.
By Bailey23 days ago in Poets
Almost
I haven’t met him, and still my eyes ache like they’re remembering something they haven’t touched. I move through rooms with a quiet pressure in my chest, as if I’m carrying a question that refuses to be asked.
By Baileyabout a month ago in Poets
The Hour That’s Alters You
We learned love early— the kind that grows beside you, built from shared streets and futures assumed before choice had language. He loved me with certainty, the way you do when staying feels the same as forever.
By Baileyabout a month ago in Poets
What He Polished
He loved the idea of perfection— how it looked from a distance, how carefully it could be arranged. He was always already finished, always intact.
By Baileyabout a month ago in Poets
The Monster Who Wore A Crown
You arrived like something borrowed from a story—clean boots, practiced smile, eyes that knew how to look enchanted. I thought enchantment meant safety. I didn’t yet know the difference.
By Baileyabout a month ago in Poets
What Didn’t Happen
Nothing changed. The moment stayed itself. Silence did not tilt. No meaning was added to it. I was not corrected for being slow. I was not pulled back into conversation.
By Baileyabout a month ago in Poets
Before the Sentence
Before anything is said, my body adjusts. Not noticeably. Just enough to register the room as if it were weather. My jaw sets— not in defense, more like recognition.
By Baileyabout a month ago in Poets
After the Monster
The glass is still there. Untouched. Once, a voice taught me how quickly warmth could turn. How sweetness was not softness—it was warning.
By Baileyabout a month ago in Poets
Let’s Call This My Sweet Revenge . Content Warning.
The sky splits open like it remembers. Lightning snaps to attention across the plains, sharp as an order no one questioned. There’s a storm in me tonight— one trained to wait, one taught endurance by slammed doors and swallowed screams.
By Bailey2 months ago in Poets