Chelstyna
Cruz
Chelstyna Cruz is an author and poet who published her first book “Quiet Screams in Lowercase” October 5th, 2025 and her second book "Mornings, Jazz, and Coffee" November 9th, 2025 and is furthering her journey to become a successful self-published poet.
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© 2025 Chelstyna Cruz. All rights reserved.
All poems, writings, and creative content on this website are the original work of Chelstyna Cruz. No part of this site or its content may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—including copying, screenshotting, or reposting—without prior written permission from the author.
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© 2025 Chelstyna Cruz. All rights reserved.
All poems, writings, and creative content on this website are the original work of Chelstyna Cruz. No part of this site or its content may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—including copying, screenshotting, or reposting—without prior written permission from the author.
INTERVIEWS
POETRY
Where You Stand
The night dissolves under steady rain,
sharp against skin, soft against the world,
the city’s edges melting into haze.
Streetlights fracture in puddles, spilling neon across wet concrete.The streetlights spotlight us, each in a private glow.
You stand across the street, parallel to me, and our eyes find each other.
The tension between us rises taller than the buildings around us.
Every blink, every shrug, every imperceptible step is a pressure pulling tight across the ground.I know you. You are aware of me.
The love between us is older than words, more familiar than thought itself.
I don’t know your life, but I am now a part of it.
I don’t know your story, but I am a page in it,
my name etched quietly in the table of contents.Everything else blurs, muted and irrelevant.
The rain magnifies our intimacy,
light glistening off soaked skin,
hair plastered to our faces, clothes clinging to the shape of each other’s longing.Time bends.
Breath catches.
Nothing else matters.
Our destination dissolves.
The air between us vibrates with what could happen,
and even silence feels like it could ignite.Your gaze lingers, and I feel the heat of it across the street.
A drop of rain slides along your cheek,
a mirrored drop slides down mine.
It’s a rhythm we share without touching,
a pulse of connection as old and alive as our bodies themselves.And for a moment,
the rain carries nothing but us,
our reflections trembling in puddles.
I feel every inch of you,
without a single touch,
as if the night itself remembers
what we are,
and keeps our pulse written into the night.
Scent of Salted Ocean
The scent of the salted ocean interacting with the grains of the sand.
Waves colliding with the water infront of it, creating sea foam that appears like stetched melted marshmallows in the middle of July, moving ceaselessely towards land as we humans move ceaselessely for a life; yearned for wanting more than we may ever achieve.
Waves, large and small like the tribulations created by those near and far from, similar to the creations of tidal waves, that we agonize upon.
Waves, we continue to be lament over; staring at the light above them but not heeding at waves themselves neglecting the visage of the distraction but will perceive and contemplate it unconsciously.
Two Bodies, One AbsenceThe window carries the city past my face
Buildings blur
Cyclists lean forward, intent on arriving
I stay.
You sit beside me,
close enough to feel, too far to reach
And yet we share heat.
The bus hums beneath us
Brakes hiss
Everyone moves somewhere
while we remain suspended.
I notice the way your shoulder tenses
Or maybe it is mine
The distinction no longer matters.
I think of mornings when we leaned without thinking,
without measuring the space between us,
without checking the clock as the minutes passed.
Now even shared warmth feels borrowed.
The stoplight flickers red
A cyclist nearly falls
The world keeps moving
at a pace we cannot reach.
We remain shoulder to shoulder,
untouched,
already apart.
The bus slows, then moves again
Your hand brushes mine— unthinking, fleeting
I do not reach
I do not ask
I only feel the space you leave behind
And the weight of holding you,
while you are already gone.
The Heart Stamped “Fragile”Every pump was a step into no destination
It limped, unprotected
Every rock and shard of gravel piercing the organ– and yet it never complained,
It never stopped beating.It never cared for a purpose and yet it beat anyway
It never questioned its own existence, and yet it still limped onward,
with no destination and no protection.In time, it was placed behind its own walls of cardboard and red ink stating “Fragile”--
untouched, unbothered, though alive with uneaseA parcel was placed at your feet, heavy with intent
And though the box bore the mark of fragile, it carried every warning: stay away, do not open, and danger– guarding the heart it held within.Yet somehow, it did not stop you; your fingers brushed the edges, the warnings ignored, and you lifted it close, allowing its fragile presence to settle against your chest, a silent trust passed between two hearts that dared to meet.
Loving you while trying to unlearn the fear of being temporaryIn the midst of loving you, your ability to reciprocate it has never failedMeanwhile, in between each thought of us being one, a lingering ache in my stomach and chest occurs while I flinch at the silence between you and I.It almost feels like a dangerous risk to love this heavy, for I’ve been taught it never lasts.It doesn’t help that both you and I experienced temporary love with people from our pasts.I’ve obtained a promise from you that you’ll never leave me, and sometimes– if I am being honest– I struggle to believe it’s true.
But then, I look up to you with your golden brown eyes mirroring mine, I can’t help but think to myself in a prayer, hoping that it’s you.I struggle to open up and trust people easily, but to you I did so quick– that I made a promise to never leave your side– for the thought of me not being near you makes me home sick.Be patient with me– I have a fear of not having you– be patient with me – I insist.I hold an overwhelming sensation of fear of us going separate ways– but if we do, may my acts of love keep me in memory– for you may not forget I exist.
A “Love” Written LetterI don’t need to be a replacement for her. I need to be my own story, my own movie, for I am not a sequel, an explanation, an option or comparison. I don’t need to show how I love through romantic actions of materialistic figures or money, for love is not on the same level of value as money. Love is not sex. Love is not objects or materials. Love is not a self comparison, rejection or even self sabotage, love just is. Love is like matter, for it can’t be created nor destroyed. Love is connection, soulfully. Love is an experience, an emotion, a drug. An addictive one. Love is an ache in your ribs, lungs and heart. Love is the name you’d like to be called when you’re having a heart to heart with your partner– and they suddenly say your name with seriousness: “I love you, _____”... darling, my love, baby.. my name. Express it to me– in words– I say; don’t sexualize me, no, I don’t want flowers, or a ring– don’t lust over me.
I wept. I’m on my knees– but this time it’s not for anything sexual. I’m on my knees as you get on yours as you hold my hands– warmth– you don’t break eye contact with me, your brown eyes lock with mine.
“I love you for you. Not for your performance. I don’t just love you when you’re exceptional– because I’d only be loving what you provide. I love you for what you can and can’t provide. I love the good things about you, but I love your flaws more. I love what you hate about yourself– I love how even when you don’t want to hear me in anger, you still listen to me and all I go through. I love the way I feel high without making contact with marijuana, but for looking in your eyes. I love how you always try to right every wrong in my life, even when you didn’t exist to me then. I love the way that all those things I just said are done by one person– you. And even on the days you feel replaceable, I can’t help but let out a giggle and a sigh because just you alone being anxious on such an accusation that you created, provides enough originality that is irreplaceable. I love you, my love.”
© 2025 Chelstyna Cruz. All rights reserved.
All poems, writings, and creative content on this website are the original work of Chelstyna Cruz. No part of this site or its content may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—including copying, screenshotting, or reposting—without prior written permission from the author.
ABOUT ME
My name is Chelstyna Cruz and for years, I have been creating poetry about life experiences of not just my own, but others that stuck with me, mentally. Not just that, but poems about personal experiences one may have gone through that they can’t express with words. And my job is to put it down on a paper for them.I currently am a self-published poet who created and illustrated “Quiet Screams in Lowercase” and "Mornings, Jazz, and Coffee"Quiet Screams in Lowercase is located on Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and Lulu.Mornings, Jazz, and Coffee is located on Barnes and Noble, Lulu, and Amazon.
© 2026 Poet Chelstyna. All rights reserved.
All poems, writings, and creative content on this website are the original work of Chelstyna Cruz. No part of this site or its content may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—including copying, screenshotting, or reposting—without prior written permission from the author.