Steal me once, shame on you.
Steal me twice… ***** I’m coming for your WiFi.
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 10:23 AM UTC
Told my dad I wrote a poem about seagulls, and he said he would contribute his own “poetic piece.”
Me: “Rolling my eyes…”
Brace yourselves, good people…
There once was a barfly named Buck,
On whom fate dropped a splatter of muck.
He stormed to the bar,
Cursed bird, sky, and star,
And ordered two doubles for luck.
A few hours later,
Buck got downright obscene.
A fair maiden winked for a tip,
she was keen,
With a shake of her hip.
Buck grinned with a twist,
“I’ll chip in,” he hissed,
And pulled his **** from his zip,
Right?! Moving on swiftly....
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 12:23 AM UTC
Shoo seagulls, leave me alone,
I’m hungry and I’m heading home.
Just stopped in quickly for a bite,
I ain’t cooking when I get in tonight.
I ordered a salad, a burger, some fries,
Grabbed my bag with victory in eyes.
Made my way out, eager and done,
Dreaming of dinner, peace to come.
Got to the car, no reason to hide,
Opened the door, thought I’d already won as I got inside.
But hiding in plain sight, bold and bright,
Those air-born villains, little ****** took to flight.
They narrowed in and took their chance,
No warning given, no courting, no romance.
They swooped in hard without delay,
Stole my ****** chips away.
Shoo seagulls, what are you doing here?
******** on cars and spreading fear.
Aren’t you meant for the open sea,
Or beaches with your fish for free?
I’m seriously not impressed
You’ve turned my meal into a stress.
I spilled my salad, I spilt my drink,
You robbed my fries in half a blink.
What the hell’s a parking lot to you?
Is this revenge for what we do?
We took your fish, your ocean scraps
So now you strike with drive-thru traps.
Shoo seagulls… I just wanted fries.
Not feathered thieves with hungry eyes.
So maybe it’s not you I blame,
Just hands that played a greedy game.
i’m ****** off — truthfully
Not at the gulls, but humanity.
We drove them so far from their own sea…
And now you’re stealing fries from me!
Feb 5
Feb 5, 2026 at 8:06 PM UTC
It’s almost silly, really
this red-ribboned date on the calendar,
as if love needed a fence,
a gate swung open once a year
to let the wild things run.
We love our people daily
in coffee poured, in sleepy kisses,
in the quiet hum of shared rooms and Stolen moments
yet still I ache for this one marked day,
this bright-feathered bird called Valentine, cherub's and hearts arrows
We wake.
We rise.
We dress in small ceremonies.
Sometimes something waits beside the bed, the excitement
a note, a rose, a whisper of chocolate on the tongue.
Sometimes it waits before waking,
a ravenous warmth under the sheets,
breath against my shoulder,
hands learning the landscape of morning.
In my case, lovers because I believe in being greedy and giving to the needy lolz
Who will pounce, who will bounce,
who will claim the first kiss of daylight
that is yet to be seen.
I don’t want a braying donkey love
or honey-sticky comfort without spark.
Give me my Tiga tiger heat, my Piglet tenderness,
give me clever rabbits with secret smiles and misintentions
growling lushy blushy with bright eyes
and mischief stitched into their lace and hunger on their face .
The day hums red.
Scarlet dresses in shop windows,
men smoothing collars,
women glossing lips like ripe cherries.
Even the wind seems warmer,
as if February borrowed chocolate croissant breath from summer bakery.
But my favorite moment,
always
is the knock at the door.
“there’s a delivery for you.”
And there they are, sometime more sometimes less
roses like a crimson storm cloud
spilling over my arms.
Petals soft as whispered promises.
I walk through the house slowly,
a queen in a silk robe,
hips swaying to a private rhythm,
letting the living gesture linger.
I wish Valentine was a day where relationships were allowed to stay,
I wish we three could wake tangled together, like a unsorted rubrics cube,
sunlight painting our shoulders gold.
How one may stay the night
and one may not, but return early
if only they knew the delicious chaos
we can conjure in a weekend
Perhaps we’ll steal away to the lake again, soft simmering light across silver waters , the row boat bobbing
bare feet on cold wood docks,
wine on our lips, oh that sweet rose
stories traded like secrets in the dark, gestures of love traded in the day
and beneath the quilt, it's who framed Roger rabbit or some corky discussion
hands finding hands,
heat rising like mist from water at dawn.
the chocolate melting slow.
Valentine’s , when too much isn't too much
holy and hungry and laughing
not crude, but blazing,
like a match struck in winter.
It’s ******* amazing.
This wanting.
This giving.
This sweet collision of skin and soul.
And though love needs no calendar,
I am grateful for a day
that dares us to be louder,
redder,
hungrier
and I wish,
with petals scattered on the floor
and three shadows braided into one,
that we had so much more of it.
Feb 5
Feb 5, 2026 at 1:52 PM UTC
**** It
Life has these moments where things just pile up.
The road feels tough.
You’re scared to take the risk.
You mess up.
You hesitate.
You know exactly what you should do…
but you don’t.
That’s when you stop overthinking, take a breath,
and say **** it.
**** it when you’re afraid to try.
**** it when you should’ve spoken up but didn’t.
**** it when the words are stuck in your chest
and you know they need to come out.
**** it when you’re lazy and the gym feels impossible.
Get up.
Say **** it.
Get your *** to the gym.
If something you want stands in your way,
don’t sit there staring at it.
Stand up.
Say **** it.
Find a way through.
A way to overcome.
A way to succeed.
A way to achieve.
My motivational saying this year is **** it.
It’s short.
It’s powerful.
And it means: stop worrying and get to it.
Time is of the essence.
Enough with the “what if this” and “what if that.”
I’m done with that.
I’m saying **** it, putting my head down, and moving.
It’s that moment at an amber traffic light.
You hesitate for half a second,
then say **** it and go for the gap.
Risky? Yes.
But you make it.
And fortune favours the brave.
When doubt creeps in about wearing the outfit you love,
say **** it and put it on.
Enjoy it.
Had a fight with a loved one,
Not worth getting worked up,
Just say **** it
You mean more to me than
A silly fight.
Feeling like that extra bite?
Say **** it, order the large fries,
and then **** it again—get into the gym and burn it off.
Those two words, used properly,
can change your life.
**** it, I’m going for the walk.
**** it, I’m done with a going-nowhere relationship.
**** it, I’m tired of being lazy and procrastinating.
I want more from my life—and I’m going to take it.
And when I meet someone I like?
I’m not waiting for the perfect intro.
I’m saying **** it.
I’m walking up and saying,
“Hey you, I’m Megan.”
Because sometimes growth doesn’t start with confidence.
It starts with courage.
And courage sometimes sounds exactly like this:
**** it.
PS. and if all goes well I might even **** it lolz
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 11:34 PM UTC
I give myself the way time gives itself
not to be taken,
but to be enjoyed,
because this moment starts with expecting nothing,
to exist in each other's delicate warmth.
My hands meet yours without persuasion,
our lips sync and move in thoughts quieting hums,
touch learns its own language.
I am here because I want to be here,
because wanting you feels like time standing still,
together we melt and form,
the winds of our desire they blow through the me,
sparking my inner craving,
need pulls us closer.
My head turns dizzy with our movements,
not from effort,
not from proving anything,
but from the ease of being received as I receive,
from the sensation,
electricity in each sensual touch.
I offer myself to feel wanted,
I offer myself because I want you,
each velvet kiss you lay upon me tells me the depth of your desire,
this moment becomes real enough for us to drown,
I ask only that we stay,
entangled, immersed - consumed.
You see me not as body parts,
but in how my eyes remain with yours,
how my body listens while my breath answers.
Nothing is between us is staged, nothing is borrowed
what is revealed in each movement feels like trust,
not exposure.
Time deepens here.
I lose nothing in it.
I am not diminished by this closeness,
I am gathered,
In this moment fulfilled.
Whispered Names fall softly,
not as claims, nor false promises
but as acknowledgments of what is shared.
When the moment loosens its hold on us,
Soft light reaches the curve of your back,
it does so gently.
What we touched in each other does not vanish
It lives,
it settles,
it lingers,
your fragrance left in the air after light has moved on,
the smell of you,
my wanting,
Scattered on pillows and sheets
A reminder how intimacy feels.
Jan 13
Jan 13, 2026 at 9:50 PM UTC
I used to believe staying still
was the same as being safe.
If I kept my wanting quiet,
if I learned how not to reach,
nothing could touch me
where I was soft.
That was the shape of my days
careful posture,
breath held just enough
to look composed.
A body present
but untranslated.
Then attention found me.
Not loud.
Not forceful.
Just close enough
to make me aware
of my own heat,
and me of hers.
I realized I was touchable.
Not as an idea
as a fact.
Skin alive with questions,
hips remembering motion,
a pulse that answered
before permission arrived,
we were the same and it felt,
right.
Curiosity moved faster than fear.
It always does.
She slid through me quietly,
teaching me where sensation gathers,
how anticipation pools,
how desire doesn’t demand
it invites.
I wanted to learn.
Not one body.
Not one meaning.
I wanted the language itself
how different hands speak differently,
how closeness changes tone,
how pleasure listens
when you listen back.
Being held
not owned,
not narrowed
showed me something honest:
that intimacy doesn’t need promises
to be real,
that warmth can pass between bodies
without taking anything away.
I once thought delicacy meant
I should be careful.
But delicacy is responsiveness.
It’s knowing when my skin says yes,
when it says more,
when it says not yet
and trusting all of it.
Something opened in me then.
Not broken.
Not repaired.
Just opened.
A quiet permission
to explore whomever I felt drawn to without apology,
to let desire be curious,
to let connection be plural,
to stay myself
while touching the world,
while it touched me back.
Now I move differently.
I let sensation teach me.
I let attraction come and go.
I let my body speak
I whisper my desires
without asking it to choose
only one word for love.
I am not fragile.
I am receptive.
And I am learning
slowly, willingly
with sensational hunger
how many ways
I can feel
alive.
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 10:55 AM UTC
I opened a fortune cookie today and it said: you ask where our troubles are born,
look not to chance, nor to distant stars
they rise from the footsteps we have already taken,
the echoes of yesterday living inside today.
And if you wish to glimpse your future,
do not summon prophets or open old palms
watch your hands now,
see what they choose to build or break.
Conscience is a quiet witness.
It speaks when we are willing to hear,
measuring good and harm
with an unblinking eye.
Luck is not a mystery,
nor fortune a stranger passing by.
Each arrives on a road we ourselves have paved.
There is no door out of consequence,
no place the law of cause and effect forgets to follow.
Only that space where time stands between the seed and the harvest,
patient, inevitable, true.
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 4:09 AM UTC
I've been told I’m beautiful,
like it’s a fact I should memorize,
but mind argues back
and I believe the glass more
I've been told I’m intelligent,
yet I still choose wrong turns on purpose,
because some lessons refuse to arrive
unless you meet them face to face.
I like my mistakes honest,
felt in the body, not just understood.
They cost a little—time, pride, certainty
but they pay me back in clarity.
They say, You should know better,
as if knowing is the same as living,
as if wisdom doesn’t come
with scraped knees and bad decisions.
Seems that she wants a piece of me
my time, my softness, my hunger to feel
and I don’t mind giving it,
not when the price is learning who I am.
Being wanted feels like warmth,
like standing close to a fire,
accepting the burn
because heat means you’re alive.
Maybe one day I’ll keep more of myself,
choose carefully who earns access,
but I won’t regret the lessons
I paid for in small, survivable ways.
Beauty doesn’t need witnesses.
Intelligence survives mistakes.
And I am allowed to learn loudly,
if the cost is small
and the life is mine.
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 1:13 AM UTC
Fingers brush and sparks ignite,
A glance at you, an in her tonight.
Hearts tangled, edges blurred,
In this dance our lips and words.
Temptation sizzling beneath the skin,
Three desires, one thrilling spin.
Flirtations twist, teasing, bold
A secret story yet untold.
Where you lead I follow,
Let's find our own paradise.
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 12:37 AM UTC