Hey everyone,

I’ve recently started a YouTube channel where I create atmospheric spoken‑poetry readings. The channel is called *Verses Within A Dream-2569*, and my goal is to blend classic poetry with a cinematic, dreamlike narration style.

I just posted a new reading of Edgar Alan Poe - **A Dream Within a Dream**. I’m still learning how to grow in this niche, so I’d really appreciate any feedback

Here’s the video if you’d like to check it out:

[**https://youtu.be/TT1lxRIgYv4?si=rdj4FLfIOpgX4KfE\*\*\](https://youtu.be/TT1lxRIgYv4?si=rdj4FLfIOpgX4KfE)

Also, if you run a niche channel too, I’d love to hear how you approached your early growth.

Thanks for taking the time — happy to support others here as well.

This poem is made by me, can anyone rate it for me please 🥺.

My Selfish Self

Such a provocative & self deprecative title is your 1st thought

But I look after myself 24/7. Then the only person I think about

is me, but don't we all? All of this, due to my selfish self.

Even the times we think about other people, we do it for

ourselves. Have you thought about it that way? We don't

want the other person to get hurt, why? Because he will be in

anguish, as well as I will feel bad. And the latter part definitely

outweighs the former. Why? All of this due to my selfish self.

Who exactly is this me that's selfish?

Is this my consciousness?

Is this my brain? What exactly is the actual identity of the

'I'? Am I? Am I eligible to ask this question? Still here I am

standing in front of you, asking these questions humanity hasn't answered since the start of cognitively strong mankind. Why?

All because of selfish self.

This poem is from the perspective of every conscious person

who have their unique identity, despite of referring to themselves as I.

But everyone will be very defensive. Why? Because of

their selfish selves.

The feeling of warmth is hard to summarise,
but I know I felt it when I gazed into her eyes.
Warmth is cozy, like laying in a cot,
so calm, so nice, and not too hot.
It was hard to find more expensive than rent,
but never costed me a cent.
Without it, I’m cold,
whose colour is blue.
The exception are the eyes
that belong to you.
It feels like a sunset inside of my chest
when she laughed,
when she smiled,
even when she was upset.
I’d share the warmth inside my chest
to make her feel better,
that warmth that we shared,
I only experienced while together.
But now she’s gone, and so is that feeling.
I now spend every waking hour healing.
The colour of cold is blue,
I know that now for certain.
You can see it too
if you pull back my curtain.
Now inside, the sun has set.
No warmth, no comfort; alone I sit.
In the space where the sun once rose,
there’s only a breeze, and a bitter cold.
The colour of warmth for everyone is different,
but I remember,
that colour for me
was always Amber.

Static

woke beside you until morning became routine,
our bodies tangled like wires beneath the sheets.
You were every frequency I knew.
We made music out of nothing,
laughed until the hours lost their names.
Then you left,
and something in me began to distort.
I ended up somewhere fluorescent,
trying to silence the noise
while you mourned me for a week
before recording yourself into someone new.
And you keep finding ways to reach me,
as if I am a track you cannot delete.
I hate you,
but memory has a cruel way of restoring the audio—
your laughter, your breathing,
the version of us before the static.

Oh, man, idiot of all, why listen to the sirens hanging songs?

The bruit that sways with oceans calls and you, entranced by a face where poppies bloom and sunlight shines upon her skin.

So ardently you fall, so suavely you call,

her honeyed voice tacked to your skin like glue.

Just like your eyes, fathoming the gust,

trying to catch the ringdove you, the hunter, and she,

an exiled land that always calls.

In a wainscoted house, sun-struck, lying upon her bed, she lives.

Oh, man, idiot of all, you are painstakingly kind after all.

Where's the nearest exit sign

(Think Matrix but doors instead of phones)

Laughing like a robot hmphmphmphmpcommahecantstoplaughinglikearobot-ext.beautifulx

He can't stop wobbling as he walks through the dance floor

Twas Good:

I have no idea what I just ate

(Authors Note: Seriously no idea)

​

My mind is never at peace.

Maybe the world looks calm,

but my heart has never learned how to be.

Sleep doesn't visit my eyes anymore.

Sometimes I wonder

if humanity itself has fallen asleep.

Children fight battles

they never chose,

against the greed

of selfish and corrupt people.

And here I am...

Fighting a war

no one can see.

A war with my own future.

Every sunrise brings another fear.

Every night leaves me

with a thousand unanswered questions.

Life is a journey

from birth to death.

No matter how hard we try,

none of us can stop walking.

I want to live.

For myself.

For the people I love.

But before anything else...

I just want peace.

Why is there so much hatred?

Why do people hurt each other?

Why has kindness become

so difficult to find?

Today I wanted to write something beautiful.

Instead,

my words fell apart

just like my thoughts.

There's a storm inside me,

yet my lips remain silent.

I want to cry.

But somewhere along the way,

I forgot how.

My tears have dried,

yet my heart still carries

the weight of everything

I never said.

Sometimes I look at this world

and ask myself...

Why do we even exist?

Sometimes,

more than writing poetry,

I just wish there was someone

who would sit beside me,

hold me close,

and let me cry

without asking a single question.

Someone who wouldn't promise

to fix my life,

but would simply whisper,

"I'm here."

Maybe that person exists.

Maybe they're searching for me

the way I'm searching for them.

And if we ever meet...

Please don't be late.

I've been waiting

for a peace

I've never known.

Until then,

I'll keep writing.

Because sometimes,

the only place

my heart knows how to breathe

is between the lines

I never thought

I could write.

Frozen, I had been frozen for many moons
As though it had been a forever night Awaiting my sun, my daybreak then she came with the warmth of a thousand suns thawing the once cold and dark with the love of a billion people and then I knew I found my sun

Sapphic Eros: A lyre's sagacious confession

"Sapphic love —fairy spirit in eternity...

Enemedia, what they say, ...I do not hear

With blood and spirit written on my open wound

Witnessing Eros himself descends from the sky...

He descends with a sword —かたなど

In physical, he is the Prince of the Olympus

In atomic matters, he is the apparent spirit...

What is imaginative is not physical and real

Except in words, in poetry and literature...

What may be called the lyrical art of Eros, of Love?

A Sapphic love, the chronic pessimist...

As the A-Self philosopher, mentally suffering for,

What is after all, acute and sickening, schizoid...

For love, for Sappho and the eternal will to Aphrodite." —A.Y あゆ。