The Weight Of The Bloom

The Weight Of The Bloom Hello. It’s about finding someone who can relate ànd love us in our darkness.

This page is dedicated for the words left unsaid in the quiet hours-à collection of poems about keeping resilience, losing love, finding yourself again, and staying strong.

Crash and BurnI live off ghosts that come and go;Each takes a piece and leaves me low.Like sudden fires in the night,The...
08/29/2026

Crash and Burn

I live off ghosts that come and go;
Each takes a piece and leaves me low.
Like sudden fires in the night,
They disappear without a fight,
Leaving me hollow, lost, and bruised,
Always different, always used.
I’m waiting for the one who’ll stay,
Though I was built to burn this way.
Tangled in trauma, drugs, and gin,
Broken each time the dark cave-in.
Yet somewhere under all the ash,
Past every break and violent crash,
A quiet ember starts to rise,
Unwilling to accept demise.
I’m learning how to breathe through pain,
To find my footing in the rain,
And trust that even bruised and torn,
I survive the dark until the morn.
~Awren Riley


Company
08/27/2026

Company

FishThere’s a sea of fish in the pond,But she’s the one who doesn’t belong.She stands out in the shifting light,With bri...
08/26/2026

Fish
There’s a sea of fish in the pond,
But she’s the one who doesn’t belong.
She stands out in the shifting light,
With brilliant colors and electric stripes.
While the rest just fade into the gray,
Drifting softly and swept away,
She cuts through the water, fierce and bright,
A vivid spark in the quiet night.
Let them keep the shallow stream—
She was built for a bigger dream.
No crowded pond could ever hold
A heart so wild, so bright, so bold.
~Awren Riley

08/26/2026

Stories
She sits and writes by the moonlight,
To tell the stories that keep her awake at night.
Tales of monsters, trials, and tears,
Giving voice to her quietest fears.
Music guides her through the dark,
Kindling every glowing spark.
A familiar tune inside her ears,
Her steady companion through the years.
Writing is her secret key—
Unlocking who she's meant to be.
Across the parchment, ink flows free,
A quiet, unfolding mystery.
She traces the lines where shadow meets light,
And finds her own peace before morning's first light.
With every word, the weight takes flight,
She weaves the stars into the night.
No longer hidden, brave and whole,
She leaves her heart upon the scroll.
~Awren Riley


08/22/2026

Standing Alone

I hold my breath and wait for the screen to light up,
but it stays dark.
I watch for your name to appear,
as if a single word could fix the mark.
You arrive with the night
and dissolve with the dawn.
It is hard to believe you were ever here
when you’ve been absent for so long.
There is no whisper left behind,
no echo down the hall—
no sign that you were ever here,
no trace of you at all.
My heart was quietly turning to stone,
tired of being reached for, then left all alone.
But I will not let your quiet draft
erase the warmth I’ve grown.
Let the dark take your memory back.
I am done waiting on a screen,
done mourning what might have been.
My light was always mine to keep—
even when standing alone.
— AwrenRiley

ThyselfThe moon gleams like a silver coin across the glass lake.The night is quiet; the world sleeps as she stays awake....
08/21/2026

Thyself
The moon gleams like a silver coin across the glass lake.
The night is quiet; the world sleeps as she stays awake.
She feeds on the dreams blooming soft in her chest,
Unsure of her path, but knowing where it rests—
Born in the dark where she was never the choice,
In the quiet nights she had to find her own voice.
Wandering aimlessly, searching for a place to belong,
Forged by the trauma that quietly made her strong.
She faces the dawn when the world turns cold,
Learning to whisper when she used to be bold.
Her fire is bright, though few look close enough to see,
Fueled by a quiet, persistent desire to just be.
To grow, to heal, to understand at last:
A home isn't built of stone or tethered to the past.
It’s the sanctuary she carries in her own chest.
— AwrenRiley


LibrariesShe carries a library built out of midnight,Where shadows trace words in the quiet and cold.She pours out her h...
08/21/2026

Libraries
She carries a library built out of midnight,
Where shadows trace words in the quiet and cold.
She pours out her heart in the glow of the streetlight,
Fearing her tales are too dark to be told.
Will anyone wander through chapters she’s hidden,
Or turn through the pages she carefully bound?
Will someone sit softly, an unbidden guest,
And listen for secrets where silence is found?
She has all these stories to write,
but they only come out at night.
Stories no one wants to read,
About all these different things.
Will anyone pick up her book?
Sit and read inside her nook?
Perhaps in the stillness, a reader will listen,
And find that her dusk is the light that they need.
To curl in her nook as the silver stars glisten,
And read every word that she bled to unleash.
~Awren Riley


Àn Honest Nights WorkIt had been a long, relentlessly eventful night of work, the kind of chaotic shift that blurred int...
08/20/2026

Àn Honest Nights Work

It had been a long, relentlessly eventful night of work, the kind of chaotic shift that blurred into a dizzying loop of firing orders and rushing bodies. But the tidal wave of the dinner rush had finally broken, leaving behind the quiet satisfaction of a kitchen winding down. The heavy vats of chili and the remaining trays of cookies were already tightly wrapped in plastic and covered for the night, tucked away into their designated racks. Up front, the service area was fully stocked and realigned to perfection, a pristine facade waiting patiently for tomorrow's dawn. Beneath her slip-resistant boots, the quarry tile floor practically gleamed—a minor miracle considering the heavy foot traffic it had endured. It had been mopped twice that day, leaving the lingering, sharp scent of industrial degreaser hanging in the warm air.
From the deep recesses of the dish pit, a sudden burst of laughter echoed off the stainless steel prep tables. She could hear the night crew guys shouting, their boisterous voices rising above the clattering pans as they screamed their usual, delirious late-night antics at one another. She paused her wiping down to listen, and she couldn't help but smile. It was the unmistakable soundtrack of surviving the weeds. Just another normal, honest night in the kitchen, stripped of any pretense.
The lone fryer still hissed and sizzled its familiar, greasy lullaby in the corner, holding steady under the heavy, rhythmic bass of the closing playlist bumping from a flour-dusted speaker. Everywhere around her, the crew moved in a synchronized, unthinking dance. They were busy closing down stations, flipping line pans, and scraping grills—motions they had all blindly executed a thousand times before. She found a deep, grounding comfort in the sheer predictability of the routine.
Her hands moved with muscle memory as she began dismantling the ketchup station, though she hesitated momentarily before pulling the heavy metal housing apart. The sticky, stubborn residue clung to the pumps, demanding elbow grease and scalding water. She truly hated this part of the job, scraping away the congealed, sugary remnants of a hundred rushed drive-thru orders. But as she plunged the plastic into the sink, she just shook her head and let it go. Nothing about this work was glamorous, but there was a quiet, undeniable dignity in getting it done.
~Awren Riley


FiresYou ask if I’d walk through fire for you,But that is ground I’ve already won.On so many mornings,Beneath the rising...
08/20/2026

Fires
You ask if I’d walk through fire for you,
But that is ground I’ve already won.
On so many mornings,
Beneath the rising sun.
Love is a choice you give voice to—
A promise already begun.

It is easy to speak when the sky is clear,
To offer a flame when the world is warm.
But love isn't proven in quiet air;
It’s tested inside of the storm.

We built from the embers what others would lose,
Standing where shadows once fell.
Every dark night was a path we would choose,
With stories only the morning could tell.

So let the words linger, but let the light stay,
Now that the hardest is past.
For love isn't just in the fire we braved,
It’s the shelter we’re keeping at last.
~Awren Riley


08/20/2026

Sanctuary

She sits in silence, writing down
The thoughts that keep her awake.
They label her broken, sick, or frail
For the tears she cannot fake.
They do not know the shadowy things
She faces when day is done—
The monsters hiding in her dreams,
The battles fought alone.
She longs for someone to truly see,
To hold out an open hand,
But all she receives are judgment calls
From those who don't understand.
So she turns back to the quiet page,
Where her voice is finally heard,
Building a fortress out of ink,
And strength from every word.
The night may belong to the heavy dark
And the shadows she has to face,
But the pen remains her steady light—
A sanctuary no one can erase.
~Awren Riley

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