I didn’t set out to be a poet.

I set out to make sense of the ache.

The kind that sits in your chest long after the world has forgotten your name. The kind that doesn’t scream, but lingers— like the last light spilling through stained glass, or the echo of a goodbye that was never fully spoken.

I write from the in-between: between sacred and secular, between beauty and brutality, between who I was and who I’m becoming.

Poetry found me in the aftermath. In the liminal spaces where clarity came in fragments. I write for those who’ve been told they’re too much. Too soft. Too strange. I write for those carrying truths that don’t always fit into clean lines or quiet mouths.

My work is confessional, lyrical, and often haunted. Not always by ghosts— but by questions. Who gets to be whole? Who gets to be loved without condition? What happens when we name the ache and let it speak?

I believe in poetry as ritual. As reclamation. As rebellion. I believe the act of writing is holy— not because it is pure, but because it is honest.

When you read my work, I hope it feels less like reading and more like remembering,

Thank you for stepping into this space with me. Whether you’re here for a poem, a prompt, or just a pause— I hope you find something that stays with you.

Welcome to the altar of my Language. You’re not alone here.

-M. Allshouse — writing from the in-between. Where ache becomes art.