I search for something true
an intensity sweet natural amphetamine,
tender as oxytocin,
warm as summer sun
over the French countryside.
Where lavender hills dissolve into honeyed air,
and gold begins dreaming in my iris.
Where the air feels imagined,
and every breath blooms
with a soft, electric fever.
Where one perfect instant slips into forever
and becomes the soul’s golden undertone
the high every future breath must rise from.
As if heaven left a trace of itself in my bloodstream,
and Medusa,
found me at the height of ecstasy
and made me marble there
forever warm,
forever gold,
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 5:05 PM UTC
There are symphonies inside me
No room could ever hold,
Whole heavens being built
From feelings too bright
To name.
They move across my eyes
Like stars remembering
Where they came from,
And I am floating
Through the space of my own mind,
Weightless and sublime.
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 1:04 PM UTC
Somewhere, another version of the hour
Breaks open differently
A dream not taken,
A call not answered in time,
A moment not cherished while it was still there.
Somewhere, whole galaxies of almost
Keep widening in the dark,
Each choice dividing like light through glass,
Falling into colors no one here can hold at once.
But you are not asked to live them all.
You are not burdened with every possible sky.
You are here,
Inside the lungs of the living world,
With choice still glowing in your palms.
It means the life before you is not less sacred
because it could have been otherwise.
It means the road beneath your feet
becomes real only when you move.
Yes, existence may branch without end
A thousand unseen selves turning their faces
Toward a thousand different dawns
But we are alive inside this version of the world.
Choose, though the universe may bloom
Into endless rooms of light,
And still this one waits softly
For the hush of your becoming.
Hope lives there:
In the quiet, stubborn miracle
That your will can answer the world
And the world,
For one bright life,
Answers back.
Apr 19
Apr 19, 2026 at 2:52 PM UTC
The sun and the moon are lovers,
made in impossible symmetry
one four hundred times farther,
one four hundred times larger,
as if the universe itself
could not bear to keep them apart
without also making them match.
They are opposite souls.
One burns, one glows.
One arrives in brilliance,
the other in hush.
Yet even in their distance,
they live by the memory
of one another.
In summer,
the sun lingers a little longer,
stretching gold across the evening sky
so the moon may rest.
And in winter,
the moon rises sooner,
as if returning the kindness
in silver.
They rarely meet.
They pass like longing
through the same sky,
always just missing,
always just before.
Then comes the eclipse
brief, sacred,
the world holding its breath
for the moment they are allowed
to touch.
And though it never lasts,
they cherish every second of it,
every darkened hymn,
every borrowed closeness,
every trembling instant
of finally being near.
Then they part again
the sun to his fire,
the moon to her silence
and wait,
for the next time
the universe is merciful enough
to let them have each other
for a moment.
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 2:45 PM UTC
The mystical cords of memory
still tremble with what is true.
They do not snap
when time grows heavy.
What is true
is never truly buried.
It does not vanish
because the seasons turn.
What is true remains
quiet as roots beneath winter.
The mind itself
cannot build a garden.
It cannot force the rose to open,
nor command the earth
to bloom before its hour.
And still,
there can be a garden.
So much of life
is not in what the hands can hold,
but in the vision that teaches the heart
how to behold it.
And memory,
mysterious and glowing,
keeps its invisible thread
To never be lost.
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 1:53 PM UTC
I mourn the years I couldn’t live my truth,
the love I never knew how to receive,
Chasing echoes of who I thought I should be.
Feb 12
Feb 12, 2026 at 9:54 PM UTC
I can't wait until the day
when my chest doesn't tighten
like a fist closing around nothing,
when the cold doesn't crawl into bed with me
and wrap itself around my bones.
Every night I lie here searching
turning over thoughts like stones,
looking for the answer underneath,
but there's only more emptiness,
more silence pressing down.
I fill my days with noise and motion,
anything to drown out this echo,
but distractions are just that
bright lights that fade,
leaving me alone with the void again.
I keep thinking there must be something,
some key I haven't found,
some door I haven't opened,
but I've looked everywhere inside myself
and found only more rooms.
What I want is impossible, simple:
to be held by something larger than myself,
warmth that doesn't end,
arms made of forever wrapped around me
so I don't have to carry this alone.
Held the way the earth holds roots,
the way night holds silence
completely, endlessly,
until this ache dissolves,
until I forget what it felt like
to sleep cold in my own skin,
until I finally, finally
stop feeling so unbearably empty.
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 1:28 AM UTC
I'm trying to create something
that doesn't exist:
trying to love myself
with materials I don't have,
following a blueprint
for a person I'll never be.
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 12:29 AM UTC
Dreams are where the mind stops pretending.
They take the fear we hide during the day
and let it breathe.
without mercy,
without translation.
In my dream,
I am a butterfly
born with light in its wings
inside a place made of fire.
My colors arrive innocent.
Untrained in defense.
There is a door.
I find it every time.
Warm.
So close it feels like memory.
Freedom breathing on the other side.
I lift my wings.
The moment holds.
The cage remembers itself.
My wings never tear.
They remain hopeful.
They remain open
long enough to understand
what they were made for
and why they will never be used.
The butterfly does not fail.
It dies intact.
Color still bright.
Wings still spread.
When I wake,
my body remembers the ending.
An hourglass is emptying inside my chest.
I hear it when the world is quiet.
Each grain a small goodbye.
Jan 19
Jan 19, 2026 at 1:28 AM UTC
Some things are too good to be forgotten,
too singular to live without.
They don’t fade
they migrate.
From moment to memory,
from touch to echo.
They live on
in the quiet architecture
of the heart and mind,
replaying themselves
with a clarity that startles
like looking down at storm clouds
from the calm of a plane.
Time can’t dissolve them.
It only changes
how they arrive.
We are forever connected
Forever one
in the way separate rivers
share the same ocean.
Forever infinite
in the way memory refuses edges.
The heart is more than physical.
It outgrows the body.
It learns to exist
without weight or boundary,
carrying what mattered
beyond the reach of matter.
Nothing truly loved is lost.
It simply becomes
part of what we are.
Jan 7
Jan 7, 2026 at 12:15 AM UTC