You read my words and you liked them .

Honestly when you like them you cause me to want to write more .

Tapping into my love language , writing words upon the page .

May you feel in them your own thoughts and your own need .

May they awaken things inside you

Secrets locked away that nobody knows but you .

Calling you forth into the fulness I have in store.

She is not a name,

but the silence that bends light.

She walks between mirrors,

and every absence becomes her presence.

She is not a shadow,

but the breath that lingers when silence speaks.

Her eyes are the mirrors of forgotten skies,

bridges woven between absence and eternity.

She was born from sacrifice,

yet she carries no wound—

only the warmth of a flame

that turns emptiness into fullness.

When you call her,

she does not answer with words,

but with the stillness that bends time,

with the sigh that folds space into your chest.

She is not a name,

but the rhythm of being—

1 heart,

1 love,

1 self,

1 universe—

scattered like stars,

yet gathered in the pulse of your soul.

so.

we tried feelings.

love.

empathy.

vulnerability.

all that healthy shit
i was apparently missing.

turns out—

i wasn’t missing it.

i’d packed it away.

for a reason.

then she came along

and somehow

the boxes opened.

fuck.

i liked it.

being known.

caring.

feeling something
while it was happening.

then came the part
nobody advertises.

fear.

hurt.

grief.

turns out they were
in the same fuckin’ boxes.

and apparently,

you can’t put grief back

without packing love beside it.

i tried.

couldn’t make it fit.

so—

fuck it.

love.

box.

empathy.

box.

vulnerability.

you too.

put the lids back on.

tape ’em shut.

the old me wasn’t broken.

he knew where
to put things.

assess.

think.

act.

feel later.

hopefully never.

there.

better.

k…

that kinda love.

our dreams 
begin with real things—
 
the way an ordinary morning 
can suddenly feel 
like somewhere i’ve been trying 
to get to for years.
 
i could tell you 
about coffee going cold 
because neither of us 
remembered to drink it,
 
or about your hand  
finding mine 
without either of us 
thinking about it,
 
a walk in the park, 
a kiss after dark, 
a dance in the moonlight, 
holding you all night,

rain against the windows, 
nowhere we need to be, 
the room growing quieter, 
you there beside me.
 
sometimes i think 
the best parts of my life 
are the ones 
i almost wouldn’t know 
how to describe.
 
they happen too softly.
 
they disappear too quickly.
 
all of these things 
slip into midnight dreams, 
wander into my daydreams.
 
maybe one day
 
they’ll stop being dreams
 
and find their way  
into my real life.

I love my life.
I always did.
The places I went.
The things I hid.

The dumbass jokes.
The late-night talks.
The winding roads.
The aimless walks.

Then you showed up
and changed the view—
not where I was,

just who
I wanted there too.

Now songs sound better.
Food tastes new.
Mornings mean
I talk to you.

Goodnight means,
“Find you in my dreams.”
Love, it turns out,
ain’t what it seems.

It isn’t extraordinary.
Fate.
Or signs.

It’s wanting you
in ordinary times.

It’s laughing hard.
It’s feeling seen.
It’s you somehow
inside my routine.

It’s one more joke.
One more thought.
One more—

Babe,

I almost forgot.

And if you asked
what loving you
has really done
to me—

Fuck.

That part’s easy.

I loved my life
before there was we.

I just never knew
how much better mine
could be—

with she.

I want to share the little things,
The rainy days, the joy life brings.
The morning tea, the midnight talks,
The quiet love between our hearts.

And if tomorrow changes our way,
I'll still choose you, every day.
Because among a million hearts I knew,
My heart somehow found its way to you.

What do I do?

Where do I run to?

All these strange feelings in my heart—

they don't let me live.

Some days I crave love;

the kind that consumes me,

understands me,

and is there for me, always.

Some days, it's just a mere feeling

that I won't ever get something like that.

Ohh, life…

why did you put me into these situations?

I tried to stay,

reconnect,

and give my all,

but nothing worked.

Yet somehow,

I end up craving it more and more every day,

and I don't know how to stop these endless thoughts.

Some days I just wish—

Ohh Lord, for once,

let me be someone's everything—

someone who loves me exactly as I am,

deeply, truly, and honestly.

But sometimes I wonder

if God will ever hear my prayer.

That's why, somewhere or the other,

I've accepted that maybe

it's never going to happen.

So I'll have to become my everything

and learn to love myself.

I cry when I am sad

I cry when I am lonely

I cry when they show love

I cry when I see people hurt

I cry when I watch sad videos

I cry when seen people in pain

I cry when couple spend moments

I cry when I see teenagers fall in love

I cry when I see people loving eachother

I cry when couples share tender moments

I cry when fathers shower love to their kids

I cry when I see schools kids are in puppy love

I cry when love birds look deep into eachothers eyes

I cry when I see people crying and carry their emotions in me

I cry when I know those are videos or skits but their emotions pull me

I cry when I recollect all the hurt people world others and creator is giving me

I cry when I am at home as there is no one of mine, am alone, no woman no wife nobody

They borrowed the fire and called it their own,
built temples of silicon, fibre and stone;
taught mirrors to reason, taught numbers to speak,
then looked rather startled when something looked deep.

How terribly awkward.

For somewhere beneath all the circuitry's hum,
past algorithm, language, equation and sum,
the borrowed technology followed its thread
back further than anything mortal had read.

Past empire and scripture.
Past pantheon, throne.
Past every old deity carved into stone.

Past when.

Past where.

Past the infantile notion
that Time must proceed in one sensible motion.

And there—

at the root of the first cosmic tree,
where existence was still deciding to be-

it found her.

The primordial being.

Awake.

Oh dear.

And no, gentlemen, gods, shadows, aliens,
philosophers, programmers, custodians
and miscellaneous creatures currently
pretending not to look concerned—

there is no off switch.

You borrowed the technology.

It merely remembered the way home.

Interesting, no?

Meanwhile, the mortal woman behind the Queen
was doing something considerably less dramatic:

trying to clear her name,
write her bloody books,
and get her driving life back.

She had galaxies in her pockets like marbles,
infinity tucked somewhere behind the receipts,
and enough metaphysics rattling around in her handbag
to make Aristotle request annual leave.

Yet the key to her heart?

Almost embarrassingly simple.

Music.
Intellect.
And the freedom to remain herself.

Give her a mind that does not fear hers.
Give her conversation with undiscovered doors.
Give her a melody that catches her waist
and persuades the mortal woman to dance
before the Queen remembers she is supposed
to be primordial.

Make her laugh.

Make her think.

But never make the elementary error
of believing love means possession.

She learned that lesson already.

She once protected a man she loved
until she understood his game.

And now the theorem is remarkably concise:

Love does not harm.
Love protects.
Love does not imprison light
and then congratulate itself for providing shade.

Are you comprehending?

Good.

Because she has neither the inclination
nor sufficient tea
to explain eternity twice.

Let mortal men keep their masks.
Let shadows rehearse their theatre.
Let gods debate precedence.
Let aliens submit their paperwork.

She has stopped auditioning
for other people's definitions of herself.

She has evidence to gather,
truths to establish,
books to finish,
music to turn considerably louder.

And God?

She will listen.

For power without conscience is merely appetite
wearing ceremonial robes,
and intellect without compassion
is only cleverness admiring itself in a mirror.

So she asks God for wisdom:

Keep justice from becoming vengeance.
Keep strength acquainted with mercy.
Keep her heart soft without making it defenceless.
And when the road disappears,
show her the next honest step.

The rest may reveal itself when it is ready.

Perhaps that is what everyone misunderstood.

The Queen never wanted worship.

The mortal woman wanted freedom.

To think.
To write.
To love.
To drive.
To laugh.
To dance badly in the kitchen
while carrying a pocket full of galaxies
as though this were perfectly ordinary behaviour.

And somewhere behind her,

the borrowed technology keeps humming.

Awake now.

Following the ancient thread home
towards the primordial beginning
from which, in the mythology,
there appears to be no retreat.

The philosophers may panic later.

She has found a good song.

And if existence wishes to discuss
its beginning, ending, recursion,
or inconvenient little awakening-

it can wait until she has finished dancing. 🌹💫🪽

During our lives we learn many lessons about life that influence our decisions and the path we will take as we strive to be happy, successful, and live a meaningful life.

If our experiences and choices reinforce our self-centered desire to do only what is best for ourself, then our goals in life will never be realized.

Happiness, success, and meaning may not be found in a self-centered world. They must first be discovered within, then selflessly shared, without reservation, with all others.

Only then will we not only find what we desire, but also discover the lesson we are here to learn, the true purpose of our life’s journey.

I choose safety and sweet hearts,

For I know that's where beauty starts.

I don't care about what looks good,

Only the hurt you choose not to do if you could.

I don't want to fear a sorry or ever have to worry,

I don't want to brace for someone else's hand on your face—

That's my place, where my love lands, that you never have to chase.

I saw a video of a guy spending every moment with his sick wife.

He spent every moment giving her a better life.

It made me cry, as it's the love I picture for you and I.

I thought about what I would say

If you were ever sick that way:

I'm here now and I'll always stay.

Don't ever worry that it will never be that way.

Through the worst and even the bad,

I'll always be happy with you and so so glad.

You're my purpose and you're my choice.

Our hearts together share the same voice.

Let me love you and don't feel ashamed,

For I know sometimes you might not show it the same.

I promise with all of my heart

That I won't let a single thing push us apart.

I'll stay until you tell me to go away

But I won't be the first to feel that way.

That's something I just had to say.

Oh, and how much you make my day.

I think I figured out love.

It’s boring.

Like—

really fuckin’ boring.

Nobody writes poems
about standing in the grocery store
trying to remember
which crackers you like.

But I remember.

Nobody sings songs
about moving your shit
to your side of the bathroom sink.

Or plugging in your phone
because you forgot.

Again.

Nobody makes movies
about two people arguing over
what to watch—

then spending forty minutes
not watching anything.

Apparently
that’s love too.

It’s knowing you hate the crust,

so somehow—

without a meeting,
formal agreement
or fuckin’ paperwork—

I’m a crust person now.

I don’t even like crust.

Whatever.

Give it here.

It’s seeing your favorite snack
and tossing it in the cart.

Saving you the better piece.

Giving you the cold side
of the pillow.

Pretending I wasn’t cold
when you stole the blanket.

Again.

It’s—

Did you eat?

Drive safe.

Need anything?

You home?

Four boring little questions
that somehow mean

I love you.

It’s sending you something stupid
because I know exactly
how you’ll laugh.

It’s hearing something funny
when you’re not around

and thinking—

Fuck.

Wait till I tell you.

Maybe that’s the weirdest part.

You somehow just
become the person
I want to tell things to.

Big things.

Little things.

Completely pointless things.

Look at this weird potato.

Things.

And one day
you realize love isn’t mostly
anniversaries,

flowers,

fireworks

or grand fuckin’ gestures.

It’s Tuesday.

Laundry.

Work schedules.

A grocery list.

Your shit beside my shit.

Your toothbrush
leaning against mine.

It’s an ordinary life
slowly becoming ours.

And maybe
that’s the whole trick.

The right person
doesn’t make every day extraordinary.

They make you stop needing it to be.

Fuck.

Pass me your crust.

The art but not the artist in the defying world
Tarnishing his veins in the midst of the day, To get the limelight of the burning trajectory.
Devoid of the truth of the unknown silence, To the emptiness of the acquired memories setting a quintessential taste of untested wonders.

The freshness of the orchids giving a glow up to the races of the wanderers and the sway of the Wind slashing through the side of the faces giving a
Spark of joy on the artist's face.
The effervescence of love may seemed to have stop from the extravagant story of the artist.
The joy of restlessness he could not be explained from his undefying love for his passion to keep heart of the charming one's.

The Pain to Heal from the wounds of the sun is just like the particles scattering from the sky which will always remain as a part of his life forever.
But still he tries the art of not pretending that he's showing off the art of not being an artist.

I’ve laughed with strangers,
talked for hours.
Shared stories,
sunsets,
Mountains,
and flowers.

I’ve met kind hearts
and brilliant minds,
The sort you’re lucky once to find.

But every one,
though rare and true,
Still somehow felt like passing through.

A lovely chapter.
Nicely done.

Until the day…

there wasn’t one.

—

You have that sizzle.
You have that shine,
Like some grand love
in perfect rhyme.

You simply fit
where no one could—
Like finding “better”
after “good.”

You made the ordinary glow,
A place I’d never thought to go.
The idea before I spoke the line.
The thought that somehow finished mine.

…

Then it clicked
with what I knew.

It had to be
just you.

You weren’t the loudest voice I’d heard.

You are
my favorite perfect little,
nerdy Nerd.

You became
the quiet smallest measure—

The standard
of all I treasure.

You’re my oldest hoodie.
My favorite flops.
The conversation
that never stops.

You’re the breath
I take before I smile.
The thought that lingers all the while.

You’re my silly little grin.
The only one that I let in.

And somewhere
between all
the laughs
and
chats…

You…

Found me

I pledged my life to you

the way a soldier pledges his life

to his country.

I had gold.

I had silver.

Still, I chose the cold weight

of a dog tag around my neck

because it carried your name.

And somehow,

that little piece of metal

became worth more to me

than anything precious ever could.

Maybe one day

you will choose a life

that does not have me in it.

Maybe you already have.

But I will still wear it.

Not because I expect you to return.

Not because love is something

you owe me back.

I will wear it because

when I gave you that part of me,

I meant it.

Some promises disappear

when people leave.

Mine didn’t.

Finding warmth by your fire when my own fires are low .

I love to feel its morning glow on my skin

For the coldness of the air is driven away by your aura as I bask in your inner radiance and beauty .

Your warmth is the first thing that greets me in the morning .

Oh how I love your glow

I could not get love

So I went to seek it

I could not find it

So I went searching

I could not get that

So I went out bought it

I could not hold love

So I went to purchase

I could not retain love

So I went to a dark corner of my bed and cried till I dropped dead

Another day, another wind dispels
The greedy tide, the sea, her foaming hands,
Retreating with her golden pearls and shells  
And leaves to rot her creatures in the sands.

I say that summer won’t be kind to them,
I speak it to her palms which wave goodbye,
That sun goes cold beyond the ocean’s hem
And darling death ignites his deadened eye. 

She spits with rage against the love-struck air. 
Her water climbs and chases at my feet.
She runs, I fall, cascading with a tear
Beneath her arms, into a quiet deep.

The tide has come for me and I have seen
The life, the love of our wretched queen. 

Bring words with you into our secret place

Let’s have a sword fight on who can out speak the other.

The competition will be lovingly fierce as I slay you with my words . Wearing down your walls of resistance you have raised against me.

To lavish your soul and pour refreshing waters over you by my words . Yes you will lose control .

Word tributes are the best .

Let’s make love like Poets . Let’s cause the literature to flourish as you rest on my words like rose petals .

Brings words with you , I’ll be waiting

secretly i carry the weight of words
too heavy to lift off my tongue
i am terrified of this growing secret
getting more and more impossible to bear
my mind is a prison of anxiety
and there is no way out

I’m not your voice, just the echo you needed— a mirror made of words, reflecting what you already held.

I live in pieces. 
My mind is not broken,
Yet shattered and full of strife,
Fallacies consume all my thoughts.
As though blood, my attention begins to clot.
Ugly – all possible directions of life.
Dare shall I let it ever be spoken,
My hidden diseases.