Peoms

“Peoms” is what I called my early poetry—just a twist of vowels, not an acronym, not a typo. It started when I was 18, scribbling verses about young love, identity, heartbreak, and hope. I thought naming them “Peoms” was clever back then. It stuck.

Over time, I’ve collected around two dozen finished pieces. A few more—maybe half a dozen—are unfinished or raw, sitting somewhere between reflection and rhythm. The collection is deeply personal. It’s not just writing; it’s a timestamp. A record of youth, emotion, and expression.

These days, Peoms are more than static lines. I’ve been using them as lyrics, adapting old verses into new melodies, exploring rhyme and free-flow. Sometimes they’re notes. Sometimes they become songs. It’s ongoing. Peoms isn’t a past project—it’s still writing itself.

Selected Peoms

• Into Her Silence
• The Cracks in Summer
• Untitled (To Her)
• Rust Stains on Skylines
• The Ones We Lost in Smoke
• Left of My Chest
• Static
• A Prayer, Maybe
• Wireframe Hearts
• White Noise, Red Ink
• Even the Sky Lied
• Still