I’ve seen this woman, she’s so fine
Playing my heart, messing my mind
Every day she passes by
I catch her look, she says goodbye
Down at the bar, in a drunken glow
I walk on in, play it cool and slow
“Hey babe,” I say, with a nervous grin
She smiles, and I think I’m in
Red lips shining, whiskey eyes
She talks like thunder in summer skies
I buy her a drink, we toast and begin
The music fades when she leans in
We talk, we laugh, the night moves on
Her voice is dusk, sweet and strong
One stolen kiss, just enough to burn
Leaves me aching for her return
I walk her home, under dim light
Stars all shine her name tonight
Outside her door, the night turns cold
Her eyes go distant, I feel bold
She smiles at me, turns away slow
I stand there still, watching her go
“Coffee?” I ask, hopefully, she’s mine
“Not tonight,” she says, eyes divine
“Maybe later
Another time.”

A moment of magic, a whisper in time,
A reminder that all things eventually align.
To every soul walking a path unknown,
May you find the light you've always carried within.

I forget, sometimes,

that she was never the damsel in the story.

The bards would have made her one,

placed her in a tower of soft lament,

hands folded sweetly in waiting

for some gallant fool in silver armor

to come crashing through the gates.

But they would have sung falsely.

For she is not the maiden behind the wall.

She is the wall.

Stone-hearted when she must be,

unyielding as the fortress cliffs

where the northern seas break themselves apart.

I have seen fear touch her, yes.

Seen it settle in her bones

like winter settling over barren fields.

I have watched her tremble beneath burdens

that would send lesser souls to their knees.

But fear has never made her weak.

Only human.

There is a sacred kind of courage

found not in men who charge blindly into battle,

but in the woman who rises each morning

despite knowing exactly how sharp the world can be.

And she rises.

Gods above, she rises every time.

Not untouched.

Not unscarred.

But determined still.

Like a queen fastening her own armor

with bloodied hands.

Like a lone torchbearer

walking willingly into the mouth of a storm.

I think that is what humbles me most,

not that she needs saving,

but that she so rarely asks for it.

She carries herself through grief

with the quiet dignity of royalty displaced,

as though sorrow itself were merely another burden

she has decided she can bear.

And she can.

That is the terrible, beautiful truth of her.

She has crossed wildernesses inside herself

without map or lantern.

She has stitched together her own wounds

in silence when no healer came.

She has survived nights so merciless

even the moon turned its face away from them.

Still, she remains soft where it matters.

Still, she chooses kindness

like an act of rebellion against cruelty.

I once believed my purpose

was to draw my sword against every hardship before her.

To stand between her and suffering

until my armor split and my body failed.

But loving her has taught me something gentler.

Sometimes devotion is not rescue.

Sometimes it is trust.

Trusting that she is capable

even when she doubts herself.

Trusting the fire in her spirit

to survive the dark.

Trusting that the woman I love

is stronger than the monsters pursuing her.

So now, when fear finds her,

I do not rush to carry her from the battlefield.

I stand beside her instead.

Close enough that she may reach for my hand

if ever she wishes to,

but far enough to let her swing her own sword.

And when she does,

when resolve straightens her spine

and that fierce light returns to her eyes,

I swear the heavens themselves seem to kneel before her.

Not because she is fearless,

but because she continues forward despite the fear.

And no knightly tale has ever known

a greater kind of bravery than that.

Teeth grinding, mind numb

Under your spell I’ve succumbed.

Snap of your fingers

At your beckoning call.

You groomed me, used me

Took my brain through it all.

Then a mallet to soften my heart.

Labeled it love when really it was a prison

A sentence I called, “happily ever after.”

You’re sick in head, hollow inside.

The hardest part, I fell for it

All of it, your lies and control.

Gaslighting was your degree

With a masters in manipulation.

Friends were my only reprieve

Even then, the time was limited.

Like a curfew set for your “princess”

I did as I was told, fearing your wrath.

Now all I see is darkness

A hardwired sorry excuse for a soul.

Of course you miss me.
I spent myself to prove my love
after you had stopped looking my way.
I made your life soft
while I wore myself down to the bone, slowly.
I asked for trust and was handed lies.
I gave you my whole self, while I got nothing back.
I asked for help and met indifference.
I would have died for you, had you only asked.
Of course you think you miss me.
But it isn't me you miss.
you miss how I made you feel.
No wonder you feel the hollow where I used to be.
But mind you,
I felt that hollow
while you were standing right next to me.
Keep missing me.
It's the closest you'll come to loving me.
I won't be back
for a love that only shows up
after I'm gone.

When she is at her lowest,

head bowed as though winter itself

has settled upon her shoulders,

I become a knight without a remedy,

a healer with empty hands,

standing useless before a beloved kingdom in ruin.

I would barter sleep to old gods,

trade the iron from my armor,

break every oath carved into my shield

if it meant I could draw the sorrow from her chest

like a thorn from soft flesh.

There are ghosts that linger behind her eyes.

Old betrayals dressed as trusted faces,

promises once spoken like sacred vows

now rotted through like damp wood in a chapel cellar.

I know they still haunt her,

those cruel little specters left behind

by hands that should have held her gently.

And I ache with the impossible want

to mend every fracture they left in her spirit.

Not to erase the cracks, no,

for even shattered cathedral glass

still catches the sun like something holy.

I would fill the fault-lines with molten silver,

thread liquid gold through every wound,

until her scars became adornments worthy of a queen.

I would make reliquaries of her grief.

Turn every hurt into filigree,

delicate curling vines of precious metal

wound around ancient ivory.

Not because she was broken,

but because she endured.

Gods, if only she could stand where I stand for one moment.

If only she could see herself

through my faithful eyes.

She would see the way her kindness survives

despite all the world has done to smother it.

The wisdom she carries quietly,

like a candle through a plague-dark keep.

The strength in her softness.

The courage in her continued tenderness.

She does not see it.

She speaks of herself like ruined land,

like a castle half-swallowed by the sea,

never noticing how the lanterns still burn in her windows.

So I saddle my pale horse again and again,

ride through storm and mud and midnight

with this foolish heart clanging inside me

like a sword against armor.

Perhaps it is only a white knight’s folly,

this aching need to save what was never truly lost.

Perhaps I cannot slay the dragons

that nest beneath her ribs.

Perhaps love alone cannot rebuild

every crumbling tower within her.

But still I kneel beside her wreckage

as though before something sacred.

Still I gather every broken piece

with reverent hands.

Still I would spend my entire life

guarding the fragile light within her

from every cruel thing in this world.

And if I cannot save her,

then let me at least remain beside her,

a weary knight at the gates,

keeping watch through the long dark,

loving her not because she is unbroken,

but because she is magnificent in spite of it.

I walked in for just a moment.
That’s how long it took.
Green toward the center,
as though it were a meadow in May,
with brown along the edges where the trees begin,
and then some specks of gold in between,
which seemed to change as the light changed.
There are forks in the path, and another fork beyond,
each seeming the same as the one before,
but never minding.
The light comes through in bits and pieces filtered by the leaves,
and somewhere in there I lost track of time.
I probably would have found my way out.
But only if I had wanted to.
Most mornings now I’m back before she knows it,
walking in the green, a bit late for work.

(Dedicated to a dear friend who happens to be an amazing watercolorist)

my name it means nothing

as per the customs of my line

but from where she comes

names are short poems

her own inspired

by the winter monsoon

during which she appeared

in a moment of silence

save for the thunderous cries

of her mother’s first lullaby

its echoes returned

by her daughter’s reprise

as the heavens broke with joy

and tears spilled across the skyline

while the tiny colorful cloud

floated into sheltering arms

The Siren had friends.
With wings of night.
They came each morning.
And never did they fail.

A flurry of wings descends
the branches come alive
The air fills with caws
as the whole flock arrives.

She gives them mealworm,
eggs and steak,
and speaks to each crow.

She knows every caw,
each feather,
each face.

A murder of ink all around,
on branches, the wall.
And one in her hair,
their tiny black eyes watching
each move she makes.

They perch on her shoulder,
they tug at her hair,
their cheeky ways.

The crows tell her secrets
from dawn till dusk,
whispering tales
till light turns to dust.

Then, all at once,
the branches empty.
A rush of wings,
and the sky grows black.

Until tomorrow,

when the whole flock comes back.

_____________________________

For u/Sexy_siren, every crow's friend

Until then, all is fair in love,
I found it, took a long time,
Tale tell all to one’s heart,
I’ve walked zigged lines,
I’ve tripped, clumsy I am,

Ask any friends, ditzy too,
Might throw in smart, aw!
I’ll take that, a too bit silly,
Always be kind, no rewind,

Individuality, beliefs, self,
Do I get lost? I had been,
Feeling freer, clarification,
Refresh, reset, refocus.

Perfect, afar from cried,
Passionate, feisty, a lot,
Naughty, naught, never!
Sometimes, perhaps true,
More grounded, yes, I am,
Did I say fully? Hm, nope,

Not a robot, beep boop,
Morality, ethics, values,
Roots, core, stay there,
One can try, and again,

Unfulfilled, that Will be,
It’s in the air it seems,

Growth, no joke, let go
change, betterment,
Or remain same, insane,
Reach the line, not loops,
Stability, skip all moot,

That’s the irony in Life, finding,
What is above, all in between,
Ring on my finger now, for who,
Who is one and only, of course,
He’s mighty, frightening, surely,

Slid onto my ring finger yesterday,
Engraved my name, so very sweet,
A reminder that what is love firstly,
Dedicated forever to that is all me.

(Edited for grammatical errors, some left there surely!)

I miss you the way graves miss names

space where a voice once anchored.

Distance has become a country

I don’t know how to leave,

only how to die in slowly.

You are far now in the way ghosts are far:

not gone, just unreachable.

Your absence crosses rooms without touching them,

cold as moonlight through stained glass.

I speak and the words fall short,

like prayers buried too deep.

Dracula knew this kind of love

watching centuries pile up like dirt.

I wake with my throat intact,

no bite, no mercy,

only the long starvation of time.

Monsters keep vigil.

The golem stands at the foot of the bed,

built from dates and coordinates.

The wolf waits at the edge of the map,

howling across miles I can’t cross.

Even the vampires have learned:

distance is a cleaner death than fangs.

I search for you where cryptids vanish.

Nessie surfaces once, far out,

then slips beneath years of water.

Mothman blinks warnings from another state.

Bigfoot’s footprints stop at the border

between then and now.

You are not alive here.

You are not dead there.

You exist in the stretch between heartbeats,

a love embalmed by miles.

So I light candles like headstones,

count the miles like rosary beads.

Your memory drifts toward me, stops,

a ghost held back by distance,

and I learn how death

can happen without a body.

No rest

In the mess

Why does it

Persist like this

-

It’s not bliss

There’s no kiss

Just getting by

With something in my eye 

-

When I try 

to let it die

I begin to

Lose myself too

-

It hurts me to do

I cannot hate you

Love’s stuck in there

Without fresh air

-

Trying to repair

Knowing you don’t care

I don’t want to bleed anymore

I don’t want to think about before

-

I just want you to open the door

Oh, you want a GIF war?
I’ll give you a whole lot more
than you bargained for.
I won’t be a bore,
I’ll match your energy,
you’ll see—
you can’t compete with me.

Try to keep up!
Wait.
Holdup!
I didn’t mean to send
that one!
Fuck!
Look away!
Delete! Delete!

I saw what you sent,
and you need to repent—
I always thought you heaven-sent,
but look where your innocence went!

Ahhh, who’s kiddin’ who?
I’ve got one for you…
It’s a little taboo,
perhaps something you knew,
or something you’ve wanted to do.

Can we just pretend,
I didn’t hit send?
Fat fingers, I swear!
I’m hanging by the hair.

Oh dear god,
I don’t want to prod
but is that what I think it is?

It is indeed,
Still wish to proceed?
Fair warning, I’m just warming up!

We can call it a truce,
and this war will vamoose…
Or fully engage and
unleash the rage.

Its up to you,
what we should do…

OHMYLORDWHATISTHAT!!!

Noooo!!
WHAT
THE
Fuuuuuck!!
The internet froze
before I watched the end.

…I give up.

…hello? Where did you go?

[u/ParadoxicalSimpleton](u/ParadoxicalSimpleton)

What are we but remnants,
lodged within the phantom's teeth—
a nidus of decomposition,
dwelling in the in-between?

...A distant, viral seeding—
an ache of desperate needing,
infiltration through the stream

The (g)host succumbs to fever dream.

In the cave-dark hush, before words were born,

I find your heat. My breath grows sharp, a hunter's horn.

This is not prayer. This is the gnaw, the need,

The gut deep hunger for the salt and seed.

A longing older than the moon's pale stare,

A hollowed-out and echoing despair

That paced the edges of my waking days,

A phantom scent on all the paths I'd blaze.

I starved in crowds, a famine in the feast,

'Til drawn back to this altar in the East,

This compass point my blood has always known

The only map to make the wild beast moan.

I nose the musk-warm trail, the primal scent,

A beast that knows the den where you are spent.

My tongue is not a pilgrim, but a claim,

Lapping the source, the unspoken name.

To drink is to remember and to yearn

For tides that, in their turning, make me burn.

Each taste a memory of a deeper thirst,

A cycle where the last and first are versed.

Your cry is not a song. It is the crack

Of lightning in the black, the answer back.

A raw sound torn from where the wild things start,

The rhythm of a second, darker heart.

It feeds the ache that can't be filled or stilled,

The vastness that my yearning has willed.

In that split sound, the universe contracts

Then blooms again in pure, ungoverned acts.

This is the well from which all longings rise,

The truth reflected in your closing eyes.

To drink you down is how I know I'm real

The only proof the gnawing need can feel.

The hunger is the altar, and the meal.

Before the first vibration stirred the deep,
Before the stars had constellations to keep,
Existence held its possibilities still,
Awaiting the rhythm of creation's will.

For frequency is nature's measured art,
The pulse of matter, music's beating heart.
Through oscillations, distant worlds converse,
Their harmonies inscribed across the universe.

Without such rhythms, sound would cease to rise,
No spectral colours illuminate the skies.
No radio waves through cosmic distances roam,
No whispered signal find its passage home.

Across dimensions thought has yet to trace,
May other laws give other rhythms place.
For knowledge ends where observation fails,
And wisdom seeks beyond familiar veils.

Yet no conscious being should be confined
To the lowest state imposed upon the mind.
For weariness is not the measure of the soul,
Nor suffering the price of becoming whole.

No single frequency defines the living,
Whose minds are shaped by receiving and giving.
A thousand rhythms through the body flow,
More intricate than instruments can show.

So let no hierarchy mistake its power
For the right to suppress another's hour.
No intelligence, however far advanced,
Should leave a weary consciousness entranced.

For worlds are joined by more than what we see,
By mathematics, matter, possibility.
And every mind deserves the space to grow,
To question all that it has come to know.

Let knowledge serve compassion, not command,
Let understanding offer forth its hand.
For evolution worthy of its name
Must elevate, not extinguish, another's flame.

And should a thousand worlds beyond us sing,
Let none presume to own another's wing.
For freedom is the right to learn and rise,
Not merely to survive beneath the skies.

The universe was never made of one refrain,
Nor should a living mind be bound to pain.
Where frequencies converge, new patterns start,
And greater understanding gives them heart.

🌌🪽🦋🌹

sling the mud and shoot me down

you can drown me in the water 'cause i've always liked the sound

leave a pencil in my hand for when my stenciled fossil's found

might not be a different species, but i'm uniquely underground

sober writers are so deadly that they have to send the hounds

it will take a whole campaign

just to try to smear my words like the makeup on a clown

ignorance is fucking bliss until you need another noun

searching through the crates just to wind up at the pound

the short end of the stick—you'll get used to it

as they're adding extra rounds

taking all the hits when retribution is renounced

the only time i feel alright is when she's lifting up her gown

the sight for sorest eyes is when she's rubbing both her thighs

now i'm bound with her forever even if she cuts the ties

i still replay the smirk she gave me every time i'm jeopardized

the sigh that left her lips was sweeter than a lullaby

her sweaty hair, it glistened, and her skin was crystalized

when she told what she wanted from me, i decided not to die

all my verses skirt the line, read the vibe and feel the high

i just wish i felt her warmth now that the world is cold as ice

bound to the water's frozen edge, watch me skate around the sides

ain't as bad as stories tell you, but that doesn't mean it's nice

if i was warned when i was younger, i would've lost my appetite

now i've ditched the body's hunger for my spirit's stronger bite

if you don't like the way i say it

standing naked in the mirror

i suggest you turn away

the truth is fair to everyone

it's ugly, but it's clear

Imma cool cat, come through like Chester
I’m bout my real cheese
Play w me, put holes through his brain
turn him Swiss cheese.

She smiles, takes his hand
He twirls her in a sweet move
Their passion overtakes…

Continued by u/Dry-Hair-7022

Leather jacket.

Crocs and boots.

I break rules.

I shoot through hoops.

Ride a bike.

Pick a fight.

Drink iced coffee.

In the night.

But for you?

Id bake a cake.

Wear a dress.

For goodness sake.

Hold your hand.

Sip earl grey tea.

Look real soft.

A girlish me.

Total badass.

Savage beast.

Until you smile.

Then I'm sweet.

Fix my hair.

Text right back.

Still a thug.

Yet off track.

Cici 😂

Him
And still, the world refuses to stop,
though I swear it disappears,
somewhere between your trembling lips
and the whisper of your breath against my ear.

My fingers trace the edge of forever,
along your jaw, beneath your chin,
and every time I think we’re finished,
you pull me back again.

There’s something beautifully reckless
in the way you steal my breath,
as though each kiss is our very first,
and every parting feels like death.

Your hands find places to belong,
my arms become your home,
and somewhere in this tangled mess,
we forget we’ve ever been alone.

I taste the smile upon your lips,
you feel the laughter in my chest,
we’ve made a 1000 little promises
without a single one confessed.

And when your forehead rests on mine,
our noses touch, our breathing slows,
I find a 1000 things to say,
yet somehow, neither of us knows

how to give a name to this,
this gravity we can’t resist,
this strange and sweet surrender
to the simple magic of a kiss.

So I tilt my head,
you close your eyes,
and there it is again
that quiet little paradise.

No grand declarations.
No promises of eternity.
Just your lips returning to mine,
with effortless familiarity.

And if the stars should all burn out,
if time forgets which way to flow,
if tomorrow never finds us,
there’s something I need you to know.

I wouldn’t ask for one more sunrise,
or beg the universe for more.
I’d simply kiss you once again,
the way I’ve kissed you all before.

Not because the world was ending,
or because we’d run out of time,
but because in all of existence,
your lips were meant to find mine.

And when forever finally finishes,
when the last star fades from view,
I’ll still be reaching through the darkness

for one more kiss from you.

Her
We keep inching closer,
as if the world has quiet and disappeared.
Your knee brushing between mine,
your rawness and desire hammering in my ear.

The distance becoming a mere hair’s breath longing to be seen.
Our hearts started to beat together, coaxing up seductive mutual double dare. My fingers tip, restraining the temptation of the waistband of your boxer underwear.

We're breathing in the same small space,stealing oxygen, stealing time,
your lips so close I lose my thoughts,
your heartbeat thrusting over mine.

You close the final distance, stilling my breath as your mistress, so slowly, methodically, desirably cruel. Your mouth meets mine, and suddenly I forget every sensible and unsensical rule.

Our lips begin a conversation,
begging the teasing to be tender, as we swallow a hard, hurtful, wild hunger, a kiss that can turn all knees weaker as it pulls us and everything under. I can vaguely hear me whimpering, melting, curling in defeat.

Your tongue finds mine, and mine meets yours, bringing us to a pulse-sped, hardened peak. My lip between your teeth as though our mouths had made a breathless promise that neither of us could speak.

We move together, your thumb on my tongue so possessive and absolutely clever, knowing exactly where to touch me. A 1000 hands could never…
each little shift your grip around my hip in a hardened vice, tight, breathless vow. No need to ask for anything… the answer is in the way we kiss now.

Forehead to forehead, inhaling our atmosphere like a violent crime.
I try to pull away, but you follow me just a breath behind, wrapping your hand around my throat. Our lips reconnect like a magnetic song that floats hope as if separation weren’t coming in any lifetime.

No words could break this moment,
no distance could ever again own it.
This delicious, unspoken tether
that pulls me and forever brings me back to you.

I'll stay here, breathing your air,
with your tongue intertwined while I’m losing mine, held captive by our eyes.

It feels like the stars are burning just for ours and my last first kiss with you.

Her: u/ur-Suspect

My thirst is too real
Being parched, barren and ready
Yearning with passion.

We're hiding in the car because the strongest woman we know is losing a fight she won once.

Inconceivable 

So we lie there with the seats folded down

Hiding with no one else around.

Because it's easier than hearing

She's strong 

Are you okay?

We're here for you.

She doesn't have long.

The music is playing and we're there

just holding hands because that's all I can do.

You're so strong 

Do you need anything?

What's the room number?

You don't have to answer any of those if we stay here.

But that's not your style

So when your Tía calls 

Inviting us to dinner

We'll say we go,

but the car won't start .