The sky hangs low, heavy with sorrow, A shroud of dying light swallowed by dusk. The road stretches endless, ink-black and cold, A path carved from shadows, whispering loss.

Once, I feared losing— Now, the weight of loss has hollowed me out. My heart, a withered leaf, bends toward the earth, Too heavy to lift, too broken to mend.

The ailing earth bears its desiccation wounds, Silent cracks gaping like a mouth that forgot how to weep. Beneath, the tears fester, trapped in roots of grief. Above, the clouds swell, burdened with unwept sobs.

Little did the mist know— That sorrow shared does not make it lesser. Little did the earth know— That to weep is not to wither.

The laughter of yesterday lies buried, untouched, Ghosts of joy sleeping in graves of time. Memories drift in vapor, unclaimed echoes, Carried away by the wind, never to return whole.

Two roses once stood, entwined in silent promise— To shield, to stay, to survive. Now, brittle petals crumble into the dirt, Wilted souls crossing death’s threshold together.

Little did the mist or the earth know— The roses loved them too. Yet even as they withered, they clung, fierce, Their last wish: to leave behind nothing, Not even the pain they carried.

Emotion bleeds its ink, scoring jagged veins on thought’s frail parchment.
My thoughts—quiet blasts in the stillness of a shattered chamber.
Dread drifts like algae through unmoving air,
As spiders weave ghost-webs from the silk strands of unraveling memory.
Turbulence scripts the scene—Act VII: a ballet of fury, danced in tears.

I stand upon the cliff’s last breath,
Where tides arise and thunder spills.
Scavengers circle, watching, waiting—
Yet life still lingers in my bones.

The clouds above, like silent judges,
Could break and drown my fleeting hope.
Beneath, the ocean coils and beckons,
A fathomless abyss of sorrow.

The silver moon, a gleaming specter,
Summons waves to pull me under.
I teeter on the fragile edge,
One slip, one plunge into the deep.

Lightning snarls—a voice of warning,
A jolt to burn or leave me scarred.
If not with fire, then silent shadows
Will haunt me long beyond this night.

I saw the algae, once alive,
Now ghosts adrift upon the tide.
The trees I passed stood tall together,
Yet whispered falsehoods to the wind.

Serpents coil around their roots,
Whispering promises of power.
Many fall to hollow hunger,
Chasing echoes, craving ruin.

But air is shared, though lungs may differ,
And souls define, not flesh alone.
Roots can mend, bear fruits of wonder—
Change, though feared, is never lost.

If you listen, let it guide you.
Nature bends but bids us rise.
Though the storm may rage relentless,
Yet even storms must bow to light.

The world of lies, with hollow eyes,
No, it is not the place for me.
You know I'm lonely—so lonely,
No one beside me, lost in the sea.

I long for a soulmate to carve a name
In the golden sands by the restless waves.
But the tides will come and wash it away—
Who do I turn to? Who will stay?

The sun exists, yet hides at night,
Just like me—I seem alright,
But deep inside, I fight my plight.

This world is a shadow, near in light,
Gone in the dark, out of sight.
This world won't change, I know it's true—
But one day, gold will come to you.

Let the dogs bark, let them sneer,
One day, their voices will disappear.
If they won’t let you fly, walk the sky,
If they block your path, keep moving by.

Push ahead, no matter how,
Chase your dreams, don’t stop now.
Without pain, life is incomplete,
Wings will sprout, though your back may bleed.

This world won’t change, but still, I try.
I am alone, lost in the night.
I don’t know when or how I’ll fall,
But I know—again—I’ll hit the floor.

****** tears from words that sting,
Yet life sways like a see-saw swing.
One day you're high, one day you're low,
But through it all, you learn and grow.

Love—so pure, yet so painful.
It either breaks you or makes you whole.
It distracts from sorrow,
Yet can be the source of it.

We dance in the rain,
Our time never wasted, never in vain.
Sharing a single meal, dividing every bite—This is all we can afford, my love.

I have little to give, and I won’t pretend otherwise.
I can’t offer you the moon or the stars,
But I’ll light a lantern to guide our way.
We’ll build a small home, just enough for us—A tiny door, but endless space in our hearts.

No gold, no silver—just us.
Rich in love, standing tall without wealth.
Through the coldest winters, I’ll never leave,
And in every spring, I’ll celebrate you.
No grand journeys, no cars speeding away,
But under snowy skies, I’ll always stay.

With all my heart, I love you.
No riches, no grandeur—just this promise.
This simple, ordinary poem is yours,
Forever belonging to you, my love.

I’d break for you, bend for you,
become shelter when the world forgets to be kind.
I’d give without question,
lose myself, just to see you find me.

So stay.
Always… be with me.

The one who stands unwavering,
Through every storm and restless tide,
Who turns your troubles into whispers,
And wipes your tears with pride.

She works in silence, day and night,
So you can rise and shine,
A beacon in your darkest hours,
Her love, the brightest light.

In a world of false promises,
She is the one true vow,
A rare rose without a thorn,
Blooming where no others grow.

She walks barefoot on shattered glass,
Clearing every jagged piece,
Bearing wounds she never shows,
So your path remains at peace.

She is careless when it comes to herself,
But careful when it’s you,
She carries your worries like her own,
And makes the heavy feel light too.

She pushes you beyond your limits,
So you never fear the test,
For life will throw its hardest trials,
And she’ll make sure you’re prepared best.

You’ll never know the weight she bears,
Unless you stand where she once stood,
She breaks the walls of fear and doubt,
And turns them into something good.

She shields you when the cold winds blow,
Yet never asks for warmth in return,
She gives, she bends, she quietly breaks—
Yet asks for nothing in return.

Yes, I speak of your greatest warrior,
The one who makes you strong,
The iron woman, the gentle light—
Your mother, all along.

I pulled you in as the flames rose higher,
your breath crackling like broken glass.
You didn’t cry out — just trembled,
a soul unraveling under its own mass.

You were burning —
not metaphorically,
but truly, desperately alight.
Still, I wrapped my arms around you
as if love could extinguish fright.

I knew I’d blister.
I knew I'd bleed.
But pain is nothing
when guilt feels like need.

Your agony was silent thunder —
a war that raged beneath your skin.
And I, addicted to your chaos,
let it seep through me, let it in.

You didn’t ask to be held that way.
But you didn’t pull away either.
Maybe you needed the lie of comfort
as much as I needed to be the healer.

It’s pleasure wrapped in quiet violence,
a kiss carved from opposing truths.
A soft addiction dressed in longing,
a ghost that dances inside our youth.

A smile carved from shards of sorrow,
a touch that both soothes and stains.
Like drinking beauty from a broken bottle—
sharp, intoxicating, edged with pain.

We are two wounds, aching in rhythm.
One blazing. One begging to burn.
And still I held you,
hoping my ruin might
be the balm you never earned.

Because love, at its worst, is selfish.
And mercy, at times, is cruel.
And I…
I keep hugging the flame
just to feel something brutal.

My inner child died in silence—
rotting deep inside.

I burned him with my own fire,
a desperate, hopeless blaze.

Music weeps a funeral song,
while my mind crashes in flames.

I am empty now—
a hollow shell,
broken beyond repair.

With each tick of the clock, seasons quietly bend,
Every storm that came and went, left behind a friend.

The sunlit land now shivers under snow’s command,
Where warm winds once whispered love, silence now stands.

Golden leaves spoke softly, of life and its tide,
Even fruits lost their sweetness, as time passed by.

Once smooth and tender, their skins now cracked and dry,
The days grow shorter, and love asks why.

If only I had sown a garden, with these fleeting days,
Cradled each moment softly, like colors in sun rays.

Had I only watered the leaves, kept them green with care,
Saved them from curling dry, held them in prayer.

I should’ve tasted the fruit, while it still held light,
Wrapped it in shade, before it faded from sight.

In age or youth, I’d hold them close and tight,
Cover them in warmth, before the cold took flight.

Just once more, I wish time would be kind,
Let us dance, sing, leave the past behind.

For this life was never mine alone to see—
It was always ours, our shared destiny.

A heap of waste may reek at first,
but even rot makes room for roots.
What begins in decay
can still rise in bloom.
There’s still hope—
quiet, maybe,
but steady like a seed beneath the soil.

And if the ship goes under—
don’t wait for rescue.
Swim.
Even if the sea is endless,
even if hope is a whisper.
Better to reach with burning lungs
than to sink with “what if” in your chest.

The ground is veined with sorrow’s trace,
Each crack a line time dared to write.
The grass—a ghost of greener days—
Now bends in grief, withdrawn from light.

The building stands in breathless hush,
Its lungs are filled with mold and spores.
Each wall a canvas time has brushed,
Each bruise a tale behind closed doors.

The windows blink with uneven eyes,
Some wide with hope, some shut in fear.
They do not guard, they do not guide—
They choose who may draw near.

The doors lean in like weary men,
Too tired to trust, too hurt to mend.
They’ve learned to greet the wind alone,
Unhinged by hands that should defend.

The swing is still—a cradle’s ghost,
A joy once carved in child's laugh.
Now silent, still, it mourns the loss
Of someone who won’t wander back.

The water waits in mirrored dread,
Reflecting all it dared to keep.
One touch, and it would spill its heart—
To break is easier than to weep.

Who did this? Who let beauty spoil?
Who priced it down to rust and dust?
“They cost too much,” the verdict read—
And so they left it, robbed of trust.

But this, this ruin breathes a truth—
It lacks not soul, but song and name.
It doesn’t need a coat of paint,
It needs someone to call it flame.

For listen close beneath decay:
A heart still knocks within the frame.
But friend—
This is not about the building.

The stars hold tight to threads of night,
burning with secrets forged in light.
Comets, like wanderers lost in time,
once bound by fate, now break their line.

One by one, they blaze and fade,
each carving paths the heavens made.
And I, adrift in hollow space,
watched my UFO embrace the chase.

An oracle whispered, bold yet true,
"Their light is theirs, but so is yours too."
It led me where no trail was drawn,
but I alone chose to go beyond.

I would not follow, nor outshine,
but forge a path that felt like mine.
Not just a spark in endless blue,
but fire that burned with something new.

I don’t have what they call success,
But that doesn’t make me any less.
I walk a path that’s mine to pave,
A different way—a road I'm brave.

No paper defines the worth I hold,
No stamp, no seal, no weight of gold.
Nothing to lose, nothing to fear,
I stand my ground, my vision clear.

I won’t fall begging for their boots,
I won’t steal—I’ll grow my roots.
Hard work builds, while greed decays,
I’ll walk the honest, brighter ways.

I fear no gods, but deeds gone wrong,
No villain’s path, no hero’s song.
I won’t be shaped by how they see,
I am the lead—my life, my key.

Their words can’t shake what I define,
I breathe, I stand, the sky is mine.
One day, I’ll rise, I’ll claim my place,
Their doubts won’t reach my guarded space.

I am not my past, nor sins before,
Not bound by blood that schemed for more.
I am the fearless, standing tall,
Unfazed by loss, untouched by fall.

I died the day I came alive,
Yet here I stand, I burn, I thrive.
The monster I once feared to be,
Now walks with pride—now walks as me.

A blue bloom where red ones grow,
Unfit for them, yet strong, I glow.
Let them judge, let whispers swirl,
I love myself—that shakes their world.

It begins on a night swollen with rain,
where clouds smother truth like wet cloth.
The stars—mute witnesses—are veiled,
while the moon rises, gleaming
with light it did not earn.

It did not defy darkness—
it inherited glow,
passed down like titles
washed clean of blood.

Scars mark its face—
not from survival,
but from ambition.
It hides them beneath stolen shine,
pretending to be whole.

Justice hangs in the clouds,
soft now, drifting.
They cannot strip
what charm has already excused.

The stars still burn,
but no one looks.
Their light dims
beneath praise
for the clever thief.

Breathing smoke of silent cries,
Under moonlit, ashen skies.
Dreams dissolve in curling mist,
Lost in echoes, never kissed.

Fingers trace the fading light,
Chasing warmth in endless night.
Cinders dance where whispers fade,
Shadows hum the songs we made.

Breathing smoke of days once bright,
Drifting far beyond my sight.
Ashes settle, soft and slow,
In the silence, embers glow.

My train winds through a cavern of silence—
a tunnel carved from doubt and dusk.
This is only a phase,
but it feels endless.

At each station, someone boards.
Strangers. Friends. Faces I once trusted.
Some stay for a while,
some leave too soon—
passengers, not meant for the whole journey.

But not all who ride are kind.

Some wear masks of flesh,
but move like ghosts—
zombies with eyes that pierce,
not see.

They don’t ask who I am.
They tell me who I should be.
"You're too much."
"You're not enough."
"Be like us."

Their words are weapons:
criticism,
comparison,
judgment sharp as bone.
They tried to wound me
with their version of truth.

And yes, I bled.
But I did not break.

They got off—
just as quietly as they came.
Left behind their echoes,
but not their power.

And I remained.
Human.
Moving forward.

Because this train is mine—
my life, my path.
And every stop,
every scar,
is proof I kept going.

I reached my station—
not perfect, but free.
Not whole, but real.
Scarred, but alive.

Our destinies entwine like the Vallisneria bloom,
Its longing stem rising through waters of hope.
Fate’s quiet currents bear the wandering spores,
Bringing them home to a love foretold.

Each morning, lips to bitter brew,
Each night, a toast to battles lost.
The bruised crescents beneath my eyes
Are trophies crowned by what they cost.

“Was it worth it?”—a prayerless cry
To gods who watched and never came.
The mirror grins, a beast reborn,
Whispers, “Now, we play the game.”

I peeled away the past they burned,
Revealed a skin they’ll never know.
No longer just my suffering—
I am the storm their seeds will sow.

The water winds through cracks it calls its own,
Unmoved by stone, yet shaped by every line.
A path unseen, by silent current sown,
Its flow suggests a fate both firm, divine.

With you I walk, through storm and burning sky,
Our footprints carved in earth that tried to break.
Though shadows stretch, we lift our heads up high,
And kindle light no darkness dares to take.

If ever pain should pull you far below,
I'll dive where even sorrow fears to tread.
Through waves that crash, through undertow and woe,
I’ll swim until your heart finds shore instead.

The dream we chase lies just beyond the blue—
A breath, a step—and we’ll arrive as two.

The sadness falls in sheets of rain—
I long for an umbrella of love.
You are the Atlantic, lost in tides,
I am the Pacific, distant above.

Two waters that will never meet,
divided by fate, by silent war.
Loneliness hums in flickering streetlights,
shadows stretch, but mine is no more.

The mirror mocks with a cruel smile,
a stranger wears my skin and eyes.
If self-love is an illusion,
why can’t I stop despising mine?

My world, once golden, now Atlantis,
drowning beneath a memory.
The pillars that held my past and pain,
once strong with love, now start to break.

And as the cracks run deep and wide,
they show the truth I failed to see—
the ones I cherished, swore were mine,
were only ghosts disguised as peace.

El Dorado gleamed on the horizon,
but it’s farther than the stars abide.
Betrayal shattered like porcelain glass,
a wound too deep for love to hide.

Yet even ruin learns to harden—
one day, I will return the favor in steel.

The rain doesn't fall; it drowns.
Clouds hang low, pregnant with sorrow, weeping endlessly.
Thunder doesn't roar; it grieves, splitting the sky open like a wound.
The earth, once thirsty, now suffocates beneath the weight of too much love.
It begs for flowers, for color, for hope—
But fate is cruel, and fortune never blooms in a flood.

The tree, once proud, stands broken, breathless.
Its limbs, heavy with sorrow, bow to the ground.
Some snap, some shatter, some sink into the mud, forgotten.
No birds, no fruit, no whispering leaves—
Only bare, trembling bones of wood remain.
Once, the rain was a melody. Now, it's a requiem.

Love drifts through the air, unseen yet alive,
a silent melody only our hearts can hear.
Raindrops weave whispers upon the earth,
soft sighs urging us closer—
come near, it’s cold.

Beneath the hush of moonlit tides,
I’ll lead you where the waves hum in silver,
where the night cradles our secrets like pearls.
No tide too high, no storm too wild—
I will stand, unwavering, for you.

I am the drone, drawn to your light,
you, my sovereign sun, my queen, my fate.
With steadfast wings, I will serve,
I will shield, I will stay.

I drank the lullabies of serpents,
Each note laced in honeyed deceit.
They slithered through the cracks of need,
Whispering warmth with daggered teeth.

I bowed to beasts with broken tongues,
Their barks were sermons in the dark.
I lit my soul to guide their way—
They left me stranded, cold and marked.

Beneath a quilt of dying wool,
I watched the hearth devour its kin.
The logs wept smoke and split in grief,
Still burning, just to warm my skin.

Love—so tender, yet bittersweet,
A force that mends, yet breaks with ease.
It soothes the soul in moments brief,
Yet leaves behind the deepest grief.

We dance beneath the silver rain,
Where time is never spent in vain.
A humble meal, a modest share,
Yet love alone sustains us there.

I cannot promise worlds so grand,
Nor place the stars within your hand.
But in the glow of lantern light,
We'll build a home, serene and bright.

No wealth defines the love we weave,
For riches fade, but hearts believe.
Through winter’s chill and springtime’s bloom,
I vow to stand, through light and gloom.

No gilded throne, no vast domain,
Yet in your arms, all joys remain.
This simple verse, though plain and true,
Belongs forever, love, to you.

The shimmer in your eyes—
A soft glow, a silent sonnet,
A universe where only we exist.
My teary-eyed love,
I don’t own you, yet I belong to you,
And you are mine, woven into my soul.

I watch the light bend in your gaze,
Refracting love like a thousand stars,
Scattering pieces of you into my soul.
The wind whispers our fate,
And I listen, tracing its song,
For every whisper speaks your name.

But if destiny dares to write us apart,
I will burn its pages to ashes,
Ink our names into eternity,
With the fire in my heart.

The veil of trust that graces your head,
I vow to guard it, cherish it,
With hands unshaken, with love unbreakable.
No storm, no time, no force of heaven or hell
Will ever make me let you go.

Be my bride, my moonlit prayer,
The sacred dream I wake to each day.
I will take your hand beneath the sun’s golden embrace,
Trace my lips across your fingertips,
And under the hush of the silver moon,
I will kiss you where our love first bloomed.

Let me be your home, your shelter,
The arms you run to when the world turns cold.
I will carry your burdens as if they were mine,
And walk through the fire so you never burn.

You are irreplaceable—my only, my always,
Not a mere chapter but my entire book,
Not a fleeting moment but my forever.

Let me leave this world before you,
Forgive my selfish plea—
For I cannot bear to see your tears,
Each one a crystal more precious than life itself.

I will not falter, I will not break,
For you, I would walk through the storms,
Through sorrow, through hell itself,
If it means leading you to heaven.

Every hour, every minute, every breath—
I am yours, as you are mine,
Now, always, and beyond the stars.

Studying last minute is like reheating fries—
It kinda works, but it’s never the same quality!
You wouldn’t be drowning in books tonight,
If your delulu dreams took a backseat right,
But oh, love won’t help you pass the fight!

They say love needs no reason—
but with you,
I have endless ones.
Your body, a poem God took his time to write.
Your eyes—black holes—
I fall in, lose myself,
and never want to be found.
You are nature’s desire,
and mine.

The rain weaves its fingers through my hair,
like your love, sinking into every strand of my being.
Each drop, a syllable in the poem of us,
each breeze, the hush of your voice against my skin.

The clouds drift above, not mere vapor,
but the outstretched arms of your devotion,
hovering, shielding, wrapping me in whispers of forever.

I am not science, no formula to decode,
no equation seeking balance—
I am the ink that bleeds into parchment,
the unchained verse, reckless and free.

I love you like the moon loves the tides,
pulled by forces unseen, unmeasured—
like a comet that forgets its path,
falling, falling, into the gravity of you.

Desire bleeds beneath my skin, your name a silent flame,
I’m falling through the shadows, caught inside your dangerous game.
Lust wears the mask of innocence, but I see the truth behind,
Carving my name into your bones, a fate that’s intertwined.

The air ignites around us, fire tangled in the night,
You are the grey-lit sky — cold, distant, yet burning bright.
Moonstruck and broken, lost inside your endless storm,
A fatal craving pulls me close, where love and poison form.

You don’t have to rise like the sun each day—
some mornings, it's enough just to open your eyes,
to sit with the silence,
to feel your heartbeat and whisper, “I’m still here.”

You are not the storm that passed,
nor the ruins it left behind.
You are the seed under the soil,
waiting for the right rain,
the quiet miracle of a soul not giving up.

Let no one shame the pace of your healing.
Let no voice drown out the hush of your trying.
Because surviving is not small.
And breathing, on hard days,
is a kind of bravery the world forgets to praise.

So rest, dreamer.
You don’t need to shine tonight.
You just need to stay—
soft, alive,
and wildly worthy of tomorrow.

You tied the rope around my neck—
The same rope that once wove our fates together.
You shattered the ceramic vase,
Where we had planted the roots of forever.

"If it breaks, we’ll do kintsugi," you once said.
But what now?
The shards cut too deep,
And you left before the gold could mend the cracks.

You broke me like glass against a stone floor,
Fractured in places even time cannot reach.
You whispered love, and I bottled it—
A song trapped in a broken cassette,
Rewinding itself to echoes of an unraveling past.

You were my sun, pulling me into your orbit,
But the eclipse lingers too long.
I stand in the shadow, waiting for dawn.

And still, I wait—
Even as my ribs splinter under the weight of hope.
Even as my heart beats against a hollow door,
Knocking, knowing you will never answer.

Memories we made,
our twenties like gold,
where time stood still,
and love never grew old.

I grew beside you,
step by step, hand in hand—
of course, I remember,
every moment, every glance.

Those precious days—
our eyes first met,
our voices intertwined,
blindfolded in love,
fingers laced in the winter's cold.
You always lent me your glove,
by the campfire, wrapped in warmth,
hushed laughter dancing with the flames.

I still have the shawl—
woven with love,
stitched with whispers,
threaded with promises.
Every fiber holds a memory,
every word you spoke, a treasure.

We fought, we mended,
love—never fragile, never tame.
We adored the golden leaves,
never once realizing
they were old and fading,
just like fleeting time.

Spring came,
the flowers bloomed,
bathed in honeyed light.
The sunset kissed your face,
orange hues ricocheting off your skin—
My love, how beautiful you are!
I fell for you, again and again.

Summer burned bright,
yet through your curls, I found shade.
We shared icy desserts,
whispered wishes for endless summers.
I drowned in your gaze,
a universe in your eyes—
your touch, a heartbeat quickening,
your embrace, a universe won.

"Don't leave me," I pleaded.
"I never will," you promised.
But love, fate is cruel—
the universe shattered,
taking a part of my heart with you.

I loved you fiercely,
cherished every moment,
every breath we shared.
"Cry, but not too much," you once said.
So, I won’t—
after all, I have always been obedient.

Did you receive the flowers I brought this morning?
I visit you every day, but today feels different.
Today, my love,
is the day you left me.

Memories we made,
our twenties like gold,
where time stood still,
and love never grew old.

Rest peacefully, my angel

Shadows dissolve where silence takes hold—
So do people,
tamed by the dark,
ghosts draped in marigold.

Chains of humility, lacquered and new,
Disguised as virtue,
cling like dew—
shimmering, choking,
beautifully untrue.

Beware the gold-plated gospel they preach:
Their words are mirrors,
sharp at the breach.
They buff your shackles 'til they gleam—
And call it freedom,
call it dream.

Are these the mourners with practiced sighs,
Wringing grief from unopened eyes?
They spray on sorrow like perfume mist,
Never flinching
when your shadows kissed.

And you—yes, you—celestial flare,
A signature soul,
singular, rare.
Who are they to judge your flame,
Then vanish,
maskless,
without name?

This life is no script, no dainty refrain—
It’s cliff-edge breath,
storm-fed pain.
Let them twist and trace your form,
But know:
your chaos is your norm.

So rise—not gentle,
not as planned.
Unwrite the laws they understand.
You are the wild the world can’t mold—
A truth too loud,
a myth retold.

He moves like moonlight spilled on tired streets,
A hush in the chaos where softness repeats.
Eyes like dewdrops on windows at dawn,
Holding stories that ache but still carry on.

He is a sketch left half in charcoal and gold,
A canvas of silences tenderly bold.
Not thunder or fire — he is the breeze,
That touches your soul then leaves with ease.

A book with no title, a line never said,
He’s coffee gone cold that still warms your head.
A lighthouse that waits with a gentle light,
Though no ship may come — he stays through the night.

He speaks in pauses, in glances, in air,
A poem unwritten but floating somewhere.
He is not yours, and may never be,
But he lives in the corners where dreams run free.

So you sit with your heart pressed against a screen,
Loving a shadow that feels serene.
For not all love must touch or stay—
Some simply glows and walks away.

You wear the mask of kindness,
A porcelain smile, polished for the world.
Your hands reach for all but the one who lingers
In your shadow, silent as dusk—
Is she truly beloved, or just a name you keep?

She is a paper lantern in a storm,
Her grievances fold like hidden creases,
Tied tight as a kimono’s breathless knot.
She stands within the sacred rites,
A ghost among the living,
Draped in the weight of unseen chains.

But you chase reflections in silvered glass,
A puppet to the world’s approving gaze.
Yet the truth is not a mirror’s trick—
It bends, warps, escapes,
Like light slipping through a shattered lens

The bruises you veil beneath a painted smile,
Layers of foundation masking hollow nights.
Dark, pale suffering seeps through the cracks,
While red-rimmed eyes whisper silent prayers—
Begging, pleading for an unheard dawn.

"God, how cruel to silence a woman's cry."

But fate was inked in unseen hands,
And she faded—not in scripted sorrow,
Not in a drama where love rewrites the end,
But in the quiet decay of indifference.

It wasn’t just her war to lose,
But a battle rigged by a world that never listened—
A coin flipped, always landing on the rotten side.

You are the wind that circles me—unseen, yet deeply felt.
I marvel at your dance, like leaves caught in your rhythm.
You were the first ripple on my still waters—
a fleeting droplet that stirred my quiet sadness into something like joy.

You were the distant star I traced with wonder,
your brilliance making my gaze flinch,
yet I kept looking, drawn by a silent hope.

You are the lone pearl gleaming in an endless ocean—
the only one I ever wished to hold.
You are the forest where I long to rest,
your canopy my refuge.

The sunlight that filters through your branches—
those are the moments that touch me,
warm and golden, brief yet eternal.

I like you—there, I said it now.
No fancy lines, no practiced vow.
Your voice? A song that lingers long.
Your smile? A spark that feels so strong.

It feels unreal, a little wild,
Like a daydream drawn by a love-struck child.
But here we stand, just you and me,
No need for grand, just let it be.

The flowers in my heart all know,
Whenever you’re near, they start to grow.
The world is loud, the crowd's a blur,
Yet my eyes find only her... you.

Let’s stay a while—no rush, no race,
Just soft night air and time to waste.
The terrace glows, the sun turns red,
Blushing like the words unsaid.

So here I am, no games, no clue—
Just hoping maybe... you like me too?

I hum the quiet melodies of life,
each note bending toward your name.
You moved closer—effortless, inevitable—
as dusk leans into the arms of night.

Love is simple to define,
but your heart remains a cipher,
its rhythm shifting beneath my hands,
a tide I could never hold.

Once, I was your horizon,
the place where every journey ended.
Your gaze, weightless as stardust,
unraveled me in the hush of a smile.
From a distance, you watched—
like the evening sun kissing the sea,
departing, yet aching to remain.

When I stood at the edge of myself,
wavering between gravity and sky,
you pulled me back. But if love is a fall,
then let me descend into you.

Let me collide with your quiet ruin,
where even the breaking feels like flight.

I yearn to lose myself in you,
like rivers surrendering to the sea’s embrace.
You are the petals—soft, sacred—
and I, the flower, drawn to your grace.

Desire glows beneath my skin,
like sun flares aching to begin.
I would fall into every shade of your shadow,
burning, if it meant you'd never feel hollow.

When the weight of the patriarchy presses on my shoulders,
when my body bleeds in cycles, when birth is a battlefield,
I wonder—will they **** it if it’s a girl?
The book has its rules—were they ever just?
If justice lived in ink, I wouldn’t be writing this poem.

She cries, but her tears freeze—
a cold society, a colder breeze.
Whispers coil around her ankles after divorce,
judgment sharper than the wind.

The mother walks alone, carrying a piece of her body,
a universe cradled in tired arms.
She whispers, I will not let them trap you in this abyss,
my little beauty, my little star.

She walks, even when weary,
nurturing the seed she always admired.
The man left her,
just as he left another daughter.

Who gave him the power?
Neither God nor the constitution,
but the heavy hand of society’s blind tradition.

Yet the mother stands—iron-hearted, unbreakable.
She tends her garden with calloused hands,
waters her children with love,
lets them bloom beneath a sun that others have long forgotten.

Still, the world turns on its irony:
the kind-hearted walk on shards of glass,
while snakes sip wine from Bordeaux crystal.

They call it balance—
give and take, they say.
Yet a woman always pays the price
for the desires of men.

Is this the end—
the final wilt of a flower that never bloomed?
My name fades like ink
washed away by merciless rain,
my dreams crumble
like abandoned sandcastles at dusk.

Where is the wildfire
that once roared inside me?
Now I am a candle,
melting without a flame,
a shadow chasing a sun
that never rises for me.

What is the point of pain
if it never runs dry?
It stretches like an endless ocean,
each wave heavier than the last,
dragging me deeper—
where light cannot reach.

I walk a road no one else takes,
where streetlights are ghosts,
where even the wind forgets to whisper.
The river beneath the bridge writhes,
never still, never calm,
just like me.

God, was it too much to ask
Wished for some hurdles to lessen,
But even the roadside grass
Knows no mercy under the weight of passing feet

I never wanted to beg,
but mercy tastes sweet
when you are starving.
Still, no hand reaches out,
no voice calls my name.

I tried to belong,
but I am the night sky—
swallowing all color,
never reflecting back the light.

Let me breathe—
but the air is an ocean,
and I am drowning in silence.

Want someone to skip a beat of my heart
Want my soul to rest without vanishing?
Want someone to notice—before I am gone?
God, is it really too much to ask?

The autumn leaves feel so aesthetic—
a gentle filter draped on time,
a sepia kiss on our photograph,
making it look happily sad.

I see it like that.

For one day, we too shall fall
like dried leaves
from the tree of life and memory.
Old, pale-gold, fragile in form—
but never in love.

Don’t they look beautifully aged,
soft as whispered stories,
aesthetic in their quiet descent—
just like we will be, one day.

And if time must wither us,
I want to wither beside you—
to curl like a golden leaf
around your presence,
falling gently into forever.

We’ll rest upon the roads
where others pass—
some may pause and notice,
others will simply move on.

But we’ll remain—
an old poem written in leaves,
pressed between seasons,
forever soft in memory.

Was it hard?
The flower releases countless grains,
Hoping just one finds its way—
Did you give your best?
Even water, pure and sure,
Sometimes slips into a drain, led astray.

Was it hard to leave your home?
The dandelion must,
To ride the wind and touch the sky.
Were you too comfortable to change?
Snakes ache while shedding skin,
Eagles break their beaks to survive.

Did you fail this time?
Be gentle—
Even caterpillars must fall still
Before they learn to fly.
Mock tests precede the final day,
It’s the cycle—harsh, yet true.

Hearts weave without shame,
Love blooms beyond bounds and norms,
Free to simply be.


Hearts weave without shame,
Love blooms beyond bounds and norms,
Free to simply be.

She’s like a little squirrel—
nervous, nimble, with eyes that hold galaxies.
Will you come to me, love?
I won’t hurt you—
just sit still, and let you breathe in peace.

She’s a sunflower—
spinning gold in the wind, joyful even when bruised.
Can I be your sun?
I’ll rise for you every morning,
no matter how cloudy the world gets.

She sleeps like the sky—
dark velvet draped over the world.
Can I be your stars?
I’ll hold you in constellations,
blanket you with hush and warmth.
Or your moon—
watching from just close enough,
loving you in silence
so you never feel alone.

She’s a petal in the wind—
soft, yet unyielding,
holding her dignity like armor
until she quietly breaks.
Let me be your rain—
healing, soothing,
a shelter you can tuck beneath
when thunder knocks too loudly.

If the earth grows too heavy,
I will carry you—barefoot, if I must,
just to lighten your steps.
Will you trust me?
Even once—
I’ll spend forever earning it.

The season of my love — is it temporary too?
You are the rain — hide me in your arms when I cry.
You are the snowfall — its silence wraps me in warmth.
You are the medicine — healing my bruises without a trace.
Yet I drink you slow, like a tea gone cold —
my hesitation steeped in fear of burning.

Being unique was never a crack in the mirror—
it’s the golden thread in the world’s plain fabric,
the secret ingredient in a recipe
everyone forgot they needed.

A wheelchair isn’t a cage—
it’s a shopping cart of dreams,
rolling down aisles others never explore,
collecting strength in bulk.

Trees don’t hear the wind—yet they dance with it.
Mountains don’t hear the storm—yet they stand through it.
The moon hears nothing—yet it pulls oceans.
Candles don’t hear prayers—yet they bring light to them.

Dark spots, birthmarks—
don’t hide them.
They are constellations etched by the divine
Those are post-it notes from the universe,
tagged onto your skin so angels can recognize you in crowds.

Ugly?
Who told you that?
A cracked spoon doesn’t ruin the taste of soup.
So why let someone else's broken lens define your reflection?
From whose map are you lost?
Because flowers don’t ask mirrors
if they bloomed correctly.

You are not a flaw.
You are a first edition.
what law have you broken by just being?
When criminals plead for mercy without shame,
why do you, the kindest soul,
hold your own self in chains?

Destiny's policy includes both thunder and calm,
but the question is:
Will you rise from the ashes or let the storm sink your ink?

Do you love yourself enough to bleed truth?
Have you folded lessons into your skin like origami wisdom?
Are you brave enough
to face every fire your choices lit?

If yes—
then crush that "fate" under your feet.
Dip your pen in the ink of your soul.
Tear the script.
Break the rules.
Write a story so fearless
even destiny will pause...
and ask for your autograph.

I waltz with the wind, a feather so free,
Pirouette past judgment—none sticks to me.
They call me a loner, a drifting tune,
But I’m just a comet, outpacing the moon.

The sun tips its hat, “Hey, how do you do?”
I wink and say, “Shining—just like you.”
The mist slinks close, all broody and blue,
I twirl through its whispers—sorry, not you!

The world hands me a rulebook, thick as a wall,
I turn it to paper planes—watch them all fall.
They build their castles on standards tall,
I carve out my kingdom where stardust calls.

Born in June, kissed by June’s breeze,
I hum my own song through the rustling trees.
I tango with raindrops, flirt with the sky,
A runaway melody, too bold to comply.

They nudge, “You must be living a dream!”
I sip my tea, let out some steam—
“A dream? Oh dear, if only you knew,
It’s just me, my pen, and a sky so blue.”

No filters, no frames, just ink that flows,
Dancing through life—however it goes.

I kiss the air between us, a breeze that lingers,
tracing soft patterns on your skin.
A tiny scar catches my eye—
a story I wish I'd been part of,
and suddenly, I want to protect every piece of you.

I study you like poetry written in touch,
my lips trailing every verse.
I am yours, entirely, undeniably—
and, darling, you have exquisite taste.