Amy Eliza

Featured

Love as rebellion.

Not soft in a weak way.
Soft in a dangerous way.

The kind that survives.
The kind that refuses to die.

After everything—
there is still love in me.

— Love as Rebellion

Writing

Blooming

I'm only human, after all. Blooming isn't clean. There's dirt at the roots. Tender skin where the old one split. The ghosts still knock sometimes. I don't answer. I choose to bloom anyway.

Torrid

There once was a girl who had a black curl right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good she was very fucking good and when she was bad she was torrid.

III

Orbit

I'm already in your orbit.

Roots

The roots— not the leaves.

Survival

The world is moving around me, and all I can do is lay. It's all my body wants. Should is a pill that chokes me. It must be blue.

Amy
Eliza

Poet · Writer

I am Amy Eliza. I write about the things that bloom in the dark — love, survival, becoming. The messy, tender, necessary work of being human.

My words live at the intersection of raw and refined. I speak in lyric. That's how home clicks into place.

Based wherever there is good light and something worth writing toward.