Be honest… how many unfinished poems are hiding in your notes app?

I build up the courage each day To remind myself that he needs me to stay Someday he will hear many different sides I hope he believes I wanted to love instead of lies Its too late for all the amends Existing in a world thats already decided my end Down the street is a river, they tell me to jump On the ground a pipe if its god i want to confront I feel no back i feel no bone Lusting the idea of love, no one wants to condone not ready to let him go, i have nothing left to show My mind is torture and theres no where left to go

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Last night I found a box in my garage of my college days with 6 note books full of poems. So I'm going to share.

The house is breathing slowly, walls holding their secrets like old men hold photographs carefully and with shaking hands. The clock doesn’t tick tonight, it presses. Each second lands heavy, a thumb on the chest, a quiet reminder that time never asks permission to keep moving. A lamp hums in the corner, casting soft gold over unfinished thoughts. A cup gone cold. A message unsent. A life paused mid-sentence, waiting for courage to remember its name. This is the hour when truth slips its shoes off and walks barefoot through memory. No noise. No crowd. Just you and the echo of everything you almost said. 11:37 PM is not dramatic. No thunder. No violins. Just the sound This is when masks loosen. When the mirror stops being polite. When the past leans forward like an old friend and asks, “Are you finally ready to be honest with me?” You sit there between what was and what could be, a thin wire of now stretching tight beneath your feet. And somewhere deep inside, beneath the bruises and the borrowed strength, a small voice stirs not loud, not brave, just stubborn enough to whisper: You don’t have to stay where you broke. 11:37 PM is where decisions are born quietly. No witnesses. No applause. Just a flicker behind the ribs that says maybe tomorrow can be different if you let it. So you sit. You breathe. You don’t run. Not this time. Because some nights don’t need saving they need remembering. And 11:37 PM will never make the news, but it will live forever in the place where your life finally turned toward the light. By Jason Strickland