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Best Poems Written by Amelia West

Below are the all-time best Amelia West poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Amelia West Poem

Digital Disconnect

The living room,
Laughter clinging like a warm embrace,
Yet silence wraps us in a shroud.
Faces aglow from screens,
Eyes reflecting curated lives,
Fingers dancing over glass,
As warmth slips through our grasp.

We scroll, searching for connection,
Moments polished and perfect.
But intimacy dims,
Lost in the sterile glow of notifications,
?Voices mere echoes,
Fading like whispers in the night.

Conversations drift like dust,
Words replaced by empty emojis,
Expressions trapped in pixels,
The art of connection fraying,
Seeking validation from strangers,
as our stories gather dust.

That once alive now puts on a veil,
The silence builds, like fog in the night.
A paradox of closeness,
Miles apart, the heart yearning to connect,
Like ships adrift in a sea without an end.

Outside, the world rolls out in grey hues -
The rustle of the leaves in memory afar,
The sun sets unseen,
As we scroll through lives lived online,
Missed the pulse beating inside life,
And the beauty in these mundane things.

The connection was lost,
The warmth of hands replaced with cold glass,
the sum of us drowning in distraction,
While nature whispers our name,
Calling us back to what we've forsaken,
The thrill of unfiltered moments,
Where laughter can dance free,
We find our way back to each other,
Every breath a new discovery,
Each heartbeat a reminder to live,
Reclaim joy in the being,
Whole and alive, rooted in this present time.

Details | Amelia West Poem

Not Just For Sundays

What about what you want from love -
a morning brew, the steam that curls,
on Sunday cold, in blankets deep,
while outside, the quiet world swirls.

What about the flowers you choose -
soft petals wrapped in winter light,
handed to her with a silent wish,
to see her smile, your heart taking flight.

What about the song, a melody sweet -
her voice, though off-key, fills the air,
played again, for no reason at all,
just to hear her laugh, so full, so rare.

What about the quiet, shared gaze -
eyes that speak without a word,
in the stillness of a morning spent,
where love is felt, not just heard.

As a woman, I dream to be wanted like that -
to be seen, cherished, held close,
but by Monday, I’m forgotten,
left with the ache of Sunday’s ghost.

Details | Amelia West Poem

Too Young To Break

Beneath the swing set’s creak,
joy whispered like a ghost,
while clouds of heaviness
settled like stones on my chest.
My voice evaporated,
with every swing and sway,
as I reached for something solid,
my truth slipping, fading with the wind.

If healing could mend the cracks in time,
my voice would rise,
steadily growing, not dissolving,
but evolving,
finding strength with the shifting air.

Yet silence wraps around me,
a fog that pulls me down,
and in the shadows,
I search for light,
for someone to see -
the child in need.

I’m puzzled by reactions,
frozen, withdrawn.
Why does no one notice?
I can’t carry this alone anymore.
I long for understanding,
a hand to pull me near,
but whispers drown my cries,
leaving me gripped by fear.

They say I’m too young
to know this kind of sadness,
that my sorrow is imagined,
a story I’ve invented.
But the ache is like thunder,
tearing through me,
and their denial
leaves me drowning in silence.

Yet if this sadness is embellished,
then perhaps the abuse was too.
In the distance, I hear the orchestra,
playing in the wings,
while society’s stealth
mutes the truth.
The music swells, a bitter veil,
hiding scars that won’t outgrow,
while the unspoken truth remains,
buried deep below.

The notes grow sharper,
but no one flinches,
as if we’re conditioned
to claim we’re unbroken.

Why am I left
with thoughts of suicide,
as the band marches on?
Why is there no intervention,
no flinch at the mention?

These hidden cries
go unrecognised,
as I stumble through this fight,
while the world turns,
oblivious to my plight.

My adolescent years slipped away,
stolen, robbed,
with no innocence left.
I stand before you,
facing one last act,
and it was never mine to make.

“Mum, Dad?
I need you to help me.
I need to be cared for.
This is part of the deal.
I know you can help -
just listen.”

Details | Amelia West Poem

Neglected

Lights off,
Door closed,
She leaves again.
I see the men she goes off with every night-
Never the same, never familiar.
And I'm left here,
Alone.
Always alone.

The silence.
That heavy, 
dreaded
silence
Descends when she leaves, 
The click of the lock, 
The turn of the key, 
Pushes her further away.

I want to scream for her,
Into the dark, unforgiving street,
But she won't come back.
Not for me, not for anyone.

She returns
When she must.
But she doesn't speak,
Not to me.
Her hair tangled, frizzy,
Clothes torn,
Sick on the carpet,
Tears fall,
One, 
By, 
One.

I hear them hit the floor.

I want to comfort her, 
To let her know I'm here, 
But she doesn't care.
Not about me.
Sometimes I wonder if she remembers me,
If she even knows I exist,
But I'm here!
I'm always here.
I never leave.
I can't.
I won't.
Because if I leave, 
She'll be all alone, 
Even with those men,
Those countless, nameless men.

They can't get enough of her.
Do they even know her name?
Do they know
She has a daughter?
A family,
A life beyond those nights?
Probably not.
They don't care.
But I do.
I'll always care.

Details | Amelia West Poem

Refraction

In the ruin of 2020,
life shattered –
streets that once bustled,
now phantom,
ringing with the wail of sirens,
the weight of loneliness pushing down,
every breath a hint at what we lost.

Masks hid not only faces,
but the touch of an embrace,
conversations now murmurs from afar,
friendships frayed,
intimacy drowned out in screen static.
eyes aching with anticipation of the real.  

Days merged into a haze, 
time was stretched thin –
anxiety curled tight around my chest, 
fingers grasping 
at the frayed edges of sanity, 
as the world outside kept up its spinnings, 
relaxedly unaware of chaos within. 

Now, in the stagger into the light, 
I look back upon the rubble,
The hollowed-out places in my heart, 
The quiet desperation that echoes 
Through empty spaces 
Of what once felt normal. 

And yet, 
here we stand, 
In the aftermath – 
The cracks a testament 
to survival, 
Where resilience blooms, 
Fragile but fierce, 
Pushing through the remnants of despair. 

We learn to breathe again, 
To find joy in the mundane,
to celebrate the small triumphs –
a shared laugh, held hands, 
the sweetness of freedom, 
the tang of memory, both bitter and sweet. 

But in this new world, 
we wear our scars like badges of battle, 
reminders of what we have endured, 
and though it may seem like the world
will never be the same, 
we are here, 
beating hearts, 
reaching out for contact, 
to love again, to heal –
and find the beauty in our shared vulnerability.

Details | Amelia West Poem

The Divide

She used to be here,
beside me,
our laughter filling the gaps in the quiet.
But then it changed,
when they came around,
the ones with the right clothes,
the right words.
And I was left behind.

She doesn’t look at me now,
not like she used to.
She walks with them,
her back straight,
her smile cold,
and I’m still here,
waiting,
watching her slip away.

It’s like she doesn’t remember
the way we used to talk about everything,
the way we shared our secrets,
no walls between us.
Now I’m just a ghost,
a forgotten name
fading into the distance.

She leaves with them,
those people I can’t even name,
and I wonder what they’ve done
to her.
Her laugh sounds different now,
like it’s been hollowed out,
like it’s a mask
she wears to fit in.

I want to scream,
to reach out,
but she’s already gone.
I’m a memory,
buried in the weight of who she’s becoming.

She’s someone else now,
someone I can’t recognise,
and I wonder if she ever thinks of me,
or if I’m a forgotten chapter
she’ll never read again.