Tiktok Poet の小説・ストーリー

About choosing to walk away even when your heart begged you to stay. When she finished the poem, she read it several times. It hurt to see her pain on paper, but it also felt freeing. She created a new anonymous account on a popular online poetry platform and posted it under the title “Dead to Me.” She didn’t expect much. She simply hit publish, closed the notebook, and went downstairs for a glass of water. By evening, everything had changed.

============== I storm into my apartment fuming. Their words echo in my mind. "Attention seeker" "Talentless." I will show them exactly how talentless I really am. I grab my makeup bag paint my face bold, bright. Today I am going with a Hailey Queen look. I am mad. Mad with vengeance in my heart. I open TikTok. Creating a new video titled: "Exposing Fake Philanthropists" My anger pours out. Through every word, every gesture. " Hi lovelies, it's your favorite chat buddy, BBB. Welcome to another session"

com - snapchat/ohsnapitsri - Twitter / vvastiee - poetry IG page- lattedeep -wattpad / vee0821 - youtube / vastie decius Please Be kind. ✨ Spread positivity. 🙏🏽 Send love & Please don't hesitate to read other books that I have if you're interested (:

A new username. A new identity. Something anonymous. Empty. Untraceable. The account took five minutes to create. Five minutes to re enter the world that was tearing me apart. My hands were cold when I opened the first app. TikTok. The first video loaded instantly. My face. Paused mid interview. Zoomed in. A red circle around my expression. The caption read: “WATCH HER BODY LANGUAGE. SHE CONFESSED WITHOUT CONFESSING.” The creator spoke with breathless excitement.

😹😹😹😹😹😹 Follow my social media too. @tarmah__ on Ig @tarmah___ on tiktok Okay bye...

She said again, giving me a pointed look. “I’ll see if I can work that in too.” What was happening? El gave me a grateful smile and Sophia was looking at me with wide eyes. “Wait, you’re On Your Toes? From TikTok, right?” I shrugged. “That’s the name of my studio.” “Did you see the duet someone did with you last night?” She was digging out her phone. Had Dalton posted a video? But he was golfing with his brothers.

Like even it didn’t want to make a scene. I sank to the floor right there. Because it was true. I lied. Not about us. Not about the 405 or the hospital or the way he looked at me when he thought no one was watching. I lied about the TikTok. I lied about the money. For three weeks I’ve been posting videos. Not the ones where I talk about him. The ones where I talk about recovery, about almost dying, about learning to walk again. They blew up. Two point three million views. And brands started emailing me.

The most astonishing thing was that every title tried to minister to me so much more that I was confused. There is a poem titled 'HOPE', there was 'VAGUE AS AIR', 'DEATH AND IT'S PEACE' and other incredible poems all written by Trevor. I read each poem and felt as if he was talking to me directly. His choice of words, sentence construction and presentation of life scenarios embedded in words is just beautiful. Now this guy was not just a devilishly handsome man with a great sense of humor but a writing god. Then I came across the piece I termed my best. I read it over and over again muttering each line. The poem is titled 'SPEAK TO YOURSELF' and it reads thus...

Me: Couple content? Lexi: Yes! You’ve not heard? There’s a nerd trend going on right now. And—no, Ma’am, I’m not saying your husband’s a nerd or anything—but uhm… the glasses, his face, the haircut… it kind of gives that. And the internet is going crazy for men like that. If you start making content with him? You’ll be the talk of I*******m, TikTok—everywhere! Me? The talk of social media?

I exclaimed and rubbed my hand across my face. Lord help me with this boy. “And I miss you already!” He pouted. “Yes of course, why are you such a baby?” “I’m only your baby. ‘Girl you’re so beautiful to meeee, can’t you seeee’” He belted out the Tiktok sound and wiggled his brows. “Stop it.” I drawled in annoyance, not missing the skip in the beating of my heart.