Read the poems. Feel the grit. Come as you are.
New drops weekly from Adam Rye — queer country confessions in bold baritone verses.
This is where I write it like I lived it—loud, femme, country-soft, and fully uncloseted.
Poems about church trauma, queer joy, bad dates, good weed, chosen family, and the long-ass road to being okay.
It’s all real. It’s all mine. And if you’ve ever felt like too much or not enough, maybe it’s a little yours too.
Raw, healing, messy, and holy in the way I say so.
To the Healers Who Never Healed Me
For the altar calls. The prayer circles. The hands pressed heavy on my back like they were trying to pin me to the faith.
This poem is for every queer kid told to close their eyes and wait for God to fix them. You're not broken. You never needed their altar.
the chats, the chats, the chats
Ever been left on read after opening your heart in the DMs? This isn’t a love story — it’s a callout, a boundary, and a whole damn poem for the ghosted gays, the slow fade, and the ones who never showed up.
When I Was a Cartoon Masc
A poem for the church-safe cartoon I used to be—and every queer kid who had to perform masc to survive.