heartzzss
poetry and related stuffshare your work:@HeartzzssBotadmin:@uknowhim
What our data says
- Launched between November 2017 and June 2021.
- Posts daily; only 7% of poetry channels post that often.
- Our index holds just 18 English-language poetry channels with over 1,000 subscribers, and this is one of them.
- Among English-language channels above 1,000 subscribers, 71% were created after it.
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heartzzss appears in 7 event pages on TGScopeI AM STILL BECOMING There are days I wonder if I am becoming or simply learning how to survive the person I used to be. I carry old versions of myself like letters I never sent, folded carefully beneath my ribs, each one saying, I was here. I tried. I did not know better. And…
The Republic Bleeds Seventy-nine years of freedom, they said. Tell me then— why does the pavement still drink the blood of its own children? The Constitution was written in ink, yet today its pages seem stained red. Tell me— what is independence if fear still rents a room…
The Republic Bleeds Seventy-nine years of freedom, they said. Tell me then— why does the pavement still drink the blood of its own children? The Constitution was written in ink, yet today its pages seem stained red. Tell me— what is independence if fear still rents a room…
I AM STILL BECOMING There are days I wonder if I am becoming or simply learning how to survive the person I used to be. I carry old versions of myself like letters I never sent, folded carefully beneath my ribs, each one saying, I was here. I tried. I did not know better. And…
Your bones mimic the branches of a willow, a defence that only I can see, while you weep in a garden full of colours. As though entranced, all you ever learn is how to live with dull flowers. The quiet breeze whistles through your hollows, your only companion as you wither. You…
The Republic Bleeds Seventy-nine years of freedom, they said. Tell me then— why does the pavement still drink the blood of its own children? The Constitution was written in ink, yet today its pages seem stained red. Tell me— what is independence if fear still rents a room…