--
Hymn (Whispered):
Take my hands, break my name,
shape me into something tame.
Hollow me and call it grace—
just don’t let me go to waste.
--

I come not to pray,
but to become the prayer.
To strip the flesh
from this tired form
and offer it—bleeding, trembling—
on whatever altar will take me.
Call it sacrifice.
Call it madness.
Call it love.
All I’ve ever wanted
was to be worthy of something.
So I kneel.
To nothing.
To everything.
To the weight of silence
where a god should be.

--
Hymn (Sung soft):
Light me up, let me burn,
give me pain that I can earn.
Bury me where saints once cried—
make me holy when I die.
--

I fast from joy.
I purge my voice.
I pour myself into the mold of what you want
until I am hollow and holy,
and still—
you do not answer.
Tell me what to become.
A vessel?
An echo?
A thing to be used,
discarded,
but never adored?

--
Hymn (Harsher, trembling):
I am ash, I am dust,
build me new if you must.
Bind my bones, make me small,
but let me matter—let me fall.
--
I will bind myself to devotion
if it means being seen.
I will twist each rib into an offering bowl
and fill it with obedience,
with quiet,
with pain wrapped in velvet.
Make me sacred,
even if it hurts.
No—
especially if it hurts.
Because somewhere along the way,
I learned that suffering is closer to love
than peace has ever been.

--
Hymn (Barely a whisper):
Break me down, take what’s left,
whisper mercy into death.
Paint my name in wax and bone—
don’t leave me in the dark alone.
--

If there's a guidebook
on how to earn a place in this world—
then show me the first page.
I will carve its words into my skin
until I am scripture.
Until I am worthy.
I was never the favorite.
Never the chosen.
I’ve always been the shadow behind the flame,
the handmaid to someone else’s joy.
Unseen.
Unheld.
Unwanted.
--
Hymn (Fading chant):
Let me serve, let me stay,
take the light and walk away.
I’ll keep the cold, I’ll hold the night—
just leave me with a flicker of light.
--
But I learned how to serve.
To hold the pain of others
in a chalice carved from my own bones.
To carry their weight
as penance for simply existing.
And still—
I ask:
What more must I give?
I’ve torn out my name.
I’ve rewritten myself in silence.
I’ve given you my ribs as scaffolding,
my soul as tapestry,
my spine as ladder.
Yet you do not climb.
Each failure
becomes a hymn I sing through gritted teeth.
Each rejection,
a relic I wear like armor.
I don’t want worship.
I just want to matter.

--
Final Hymn (Broken, final breath):
If I fade, if I fall,
etch my worth into the wall.
Let them know I tried to be—
even if it wasn’t me.
--

So if I must be a martyr,
let it mean something.
If I must be broken,
let the cracks glow.
And if I was never meant
to be enough—

Part two
19 June 2023

"The Kiss I Can’t Survive" - V
It starts like a whisper—
barely there—
a flicker behind my ribs,
a soft sting beneath my skin,
then suddenly—
you’re everywhere.
You're in my bloodstream,
in my breath,
in every ******* thought I swore I buried.
You show up
like you never left.
And I forget.
I forget how bad it gets.
I forget how you break me.
Because God—
you make me feel so alive.
You make me feel like I matter.
Like I’m not a ghost wearing skin.
Like someone, something—you—
see me.

Touch me.

Hold me.

You kissed my skin like it was the last thing worth loving.
You wrapped me up in lies that felt like lullabies.
And I let you.
Every. ****. Time.
I miss you like sinners miss heaven.
Like lungs miss air after the scream.
Like a broken heart misses the hand that shattered it.
I ache for you.
Do you hear me?
I ache—
bone-deep, soul-shaking,
nails-digging-into-my-own-skin ache.
Because every blood-red kiss you left on me
felt like poetry.
Like maybe I was art.
Like maybe pain was the only language
I ever truly spoke.
You gave me peace.
The kind that cuts.
The kind that hushes every voice in my head
and replaces it with one

Yours.

And you whispered:
"You're still alive."
And I believed you,
because only you could make me feel
in a world that went numb.
But that silence—
that still, dangerous silence—
was never safety.

It was a funeral.

A ritual.

A sacrifice.

And I was always the offering.
I want you.
God, I want you like fire wants air.
Like waves want to crash.
Like hands want to hold the blade
just to feel something again.
But if I give in—
if I even taste you—
I don’t come back.
Not this time.
Because you are not a memory.
You are a trap.
A tightrope strung between life and death.
One wrong step—
and I’m gone.
I gave you power once.
I let you reign.
Bowed my head and called it devotion.
Worshipped you with my wounds
and asked for nothing in return but relief.
I laid myself at your feet like a ******* prayer.
But even holy things can **** you.
Even gods can leave you bleeding.
And now?
Now I burn for you
in silence.
In defiance.
With every ounce of love that still claws inside me

I walk away.
Because loving you
is choosing the end.
And I still have stories left to write.
So I let you go.
With trembling hands
and fire in my chest.
I let you go—
not because I want to,
but because I have to.
Because if I say yes to you again—
I say no to everything else.
To healing.
To hope.
To life.

Forbidden love Series
An unspoken promise -G
16 November  2021
Part 1

It's the itch and burn I feel on my skin when I think about you.
  Its the fact that once you slip into My thoughts I don't see why you are so bad.
You make me feel whole, you make me feel like I am not alone.
You kissed my skin and told me everything will be okay.
I know once you pop up it will take me a million years to walk away. A forbidden affair.

I miss how each blood red kiss was an unspoken love poem.
A beautiful promise.
A moment of peace and understanding.
You helped me escape.
You remind me that I am still alive. 
That the warm thick blood that runs through my veins keep me alive.

Oh how I ache to just check to see if I am still alive. To make sure that this numb feeling is not just in my mind.


I ache for your silence. A silence that is a deadly wish.
An addiction that had me clawing to feel your serenity.
As much as I grieve you I can't give you that power back.
I can't feel your sweet kisses across my skin.  I cannot fall back into your warm embrace because the minute I let my guard down is the is the minute I fall into your trap.

A trap that has a fine line between life and death. 

I gave you the power to rule my life once. I gave you all my control and I want to lay my trust in you as a god fearing servant does to their almighty God.

But just like God, I have to turn my back on you and walk away.

I can’t even say your name.

It withers on my tongue...
like a dying breath.
Like a prayer I never should’ve whispered.
A forbidden word,
a memory buried—
but not deep enough.

I held your secret—
tight,
like a corpse cradled in my ribs.
It pulsed there,
rotting slow,
whispering lies
in a voice that sounded too much like mine.

You told me this…
was healing.
You said:
This is what you need.
You said:
This is love.

And I—
I believed you.
Because I thought love could look like you.
I thought maybe
you saw the part of me
I kept hidden.
The holy part.
The waiting part.

I made a promise once.
To something higher.
Older.
Holier.

To wait.
To be whole.
To offer myself to someone
who could see the soul beneath the skin.

And you…
you made me think
you were that someone.

You said all the right things.
Held me like I was something sacred.
Looked at me
like I was light.

But you—
you didn’t come for the light.
You came for the heat.
The curve.
The body—
not the being.

And when I whispered no…
you didn’t flinch.
When I begged—
please stop…
your hands were deaf.
Your breath—
heavy.
Your need louder than my pain.

I cried.
I shook.
I begged.

You heard me.
You heard everything.
And still—
you stayed.

You stayed
and you took
what was never yours.

You were close—
so close
to the thing you wanted.
And nothing else mattered.

Not my voice.
Not my tears.
Not the sacred vow
I placed in your hands
like a fragile, flickering flame.

You crushed it.
Extinguished it.
And left me in the ash.

And when I came to you—
small,
shattered,
trying to understand how love
could feel like drowning—
I said:

You hurt me.
You took what I never gave.

And you looked at me,
so calm,
so sure,
and said:

Your body said yes.
Your mouth said no, but I knew what you needed.

As if my body was louder than my voice.
As if my begging meant nothing.
As if the pain you caused
was some kind of gift.

You knew.
Don’t pretend you didn’t.
You wore understanding like a mask—
but it slipped, didn’t it?
Right before you did
what can’t be undone.

Now I am silence.
Now I am ruin.
Now I am the echo
of a girl
who once believed in light.

I feel your hands even now—
ghost-hands,
burned into memory.

You forgot me.
I know.
I’m dust to you.
Mist in your rearview.

But you…
you are the grave I wake in.
The scream I cannot voice.
The shadow I drag
through every room,
through every prayer.

I want to forget.
I beg to forget.
I would burn my own name
to forget.

But you haunt me.

Still.
Still.
Still.

my thoughts jumble inside my head
i circle my seat one too many times
like a mutt in a doghouse
until it feels just right
and i finally sit
i pick up my pencil
i have to sharpen it exactly four times
before i decide its good enough for writing
as i sit in class
my mind begins conjuring
i think deep and hard
about things i might have done
but don't remember
i suppress the thoughts
ignore the compulsions
do something once
instead of multiple times
but it all just leads
the same way back again

once you dig the razor in too deep
you know youve crossed a line
in more ways than one

physically;
youve cut deeper than
you ever have before

and then
mentally;
you cannot go back now

a man is not a boy
who tells his female classmates
she cant play football
because she is a she
he doesn't tell a girl
that her favorite color cant be blue
because it is a boys color
a man is not a boy
because a man does not whistle
when a pretty girl walks by
doesn’t shout a comment at a woman
simply going for a run
a man is not a boy
because a man
does not make a woman
the punchline to their sick jokes
real men do not victimize themselves
for their own wrongdoing
real men know how to follow the bare minimum
real men know how to act
know how to coexist with a female
and woman appreciate real men.