charred socket
Xin carries stories in the curve of her smile,
soft as rain tapping windows at midnight.
At sixteen, she walks through the world
with a notebook tucked close to her heart,
collecting fragments of beauty
most people pass by too quickly to see.
She reads like the moon reads the sea
quietly pulling hidden tides to the surface.
Every page she turns becomes a lantern,
every poem she touches glows warmer afterward.
Words bloom in her hands like spring flowers,
gentle, fearless, alive.
And when Xin writes,
even silence leans closer to listen.
She paints emotions in silver and gold,
stitching dreams between delicate lines,
making ordinary moments feel eternal.
A trembling leaf, a fading sunset,
the ache of growing older too fast,
she gives them all a heartbeat.
Her laughter sounds like poetry too,
bright enough to soften heavy days.
There’s kindness in the way she speaks,
magic in the way she notices people,
as though she believes every soul
deserves its own beautiful verse.
She writes of promises and quiet ache,
of The Diamond Ring that gleamed with fragile hope,
of Why I Stretch Out My Arm toward distant dreams
that always seem just beyond her fingertips.
And Behind the Curtains, where secrets softly linger,
Xin turns shadows into verses full of truth
proving that even the unseen parts of life
can become beautiful in the hands of a poet.
And years from now, when seasons have changed
and new chapters fill the shelves of her life,
there will still be traces of sixteen-year-old Xin
hidden inside every poem she writes.
the girl who saw galaxies in ordinary skies,
who turned tears into art and hope into rhythm,
whose heart beat softly between every line,
like a song the world never wants to forget.
brazen ice
versed yew
soft bobcat
lunar oasis
brave cradle
prime estuary
timber folio
jolly delta
polar mesa
candid harbor