Lay me down
on a bed of roses
petals soft,
thorns waiting,
my body already open
for whatever you decide
to do with it.
I look up at you,
waiting for your hands,
your voice,
your permission.
Every inch of me
is yours
before you even touch me.
“Keep still.”
Your words hit me
harder than your hands ever could.
My thighs tremble,
my breath shakes,
but I obey,
spreading myself open
as the roses crumple beneath me.
You drag a thorny stem
down my stomach
slow,
threatening,
delicious
until I gasp
and lift my hips,
begging without speaking.
“Not yet.”
You make me wait.
Make me feel the ache.
Make me want it
until the want
turns into need,
and the need
turns into straight-up desperation.
Your fingers slide between my legs
barely a touch,
just enough to make me whine.
You smirk,
because you know
I’ll take whatever you give,
however you give it.
“Ask for it.”
Your voice is thick,
low,
dangerous.
And I do
I ask,
I plead,
I offer myself
shaking,
ready,
hungry
for you to claim me.
When your mouth finally hits me,
I nearly fall apart
but your hands lock down
on my thighs,
pinning me open,
forcing me to take
every slow, wet stroke
of your tongue.
I try to move.
You don’t let me.
You hold me still,
devouring me
like you’re punishing me
for wanting you too much,
for needing your mouth
like oxygen.
The roses beneath me
are soaked,
destroyed,
ruined like I’m about to be.
When you slide into me,
it’s deep
so deep I cry out
like I’m breaking.
You pull my hands up
over my head,
pinning them there
as you **** me
slow,
hard,
controlled.
You set the pace.
My body takes it.
My voice breaks for it.
Everything in me
surrenders to you.
Your breath hits my ear
as you say,
“Good. Don’t lose control
until I tell you to.”
So I hold on
barely
while you pound into me,
****** after ******
taking me apart
with every stroke.
The bed shakes.
The roses scatter.
Petals stick to my skin
as you **** me deeper,
faster,
pulling sounds from me
I’ve never made before.
You flip me onto my stomach,
pull my hips up,
and take me from behind
hard enough
to make my knees slide
against the crushed petals.
Your hand grips my throat,
lifting my head
just enough to growl,
“Take it.”
And I do.
Every inch.
Every push.
Every filthy ******
that feels like you’re
claiming the bottom of my soul.
My body shakes,
clenching around you,
begging for release
but you deny me,
hold me there,
teasing me right at the edge
until I’m whimpering
into the roses
for mercy.
Then finally
with your hand in my hair
and your body slamming into mine
with raw, ruthless hunger
you tell me,
“Let go.”
And I fall
hard,
shaking,
crying out
as you follow me
seconds later,
your body heavy
and trembling
against my own.
We collapse together
in a wreck of petals,
thorns,
sweat,
and everything filthy
you pulled from me.
And even with my body spent
and the roses destroyed beneath us
I whisper,
breathless,
devoted:
“Please…
do it again.”
Nov 14, 2025
Nov 14, 2025 at 4:02 AM UTC
He said, “It’s just a night out with the fellas.”
She smiled, knowing that line too well.
Perfume kissed his collar before she could
and temptation clocked in early.
She wasn’t stupid.
She’d seen how his eyes lingered too long
on tight dresses and slow movements.
But tonight, she didn’t care.
She had her own kind of fire.
At the lounge, lights were low,
bodies glowed under crimson haze.
She entered like sin with heels clicking time,
hips slow as confession, eyes heavy with invitation.
He froze.
Her presence cut through the smoke like truth.
Leather on legs, silk hugging curves like whispered secrets
she was every fantasy he’d ever buried under vows and restraint.
“Dance with me,” she said, voice dripping like honey over ice.
He hesitated. “I’m married.”
She smiled, wicked and soft. “So am I.”
The air thickened.
No music, no talk...just pulse and breathing.
She pressed against him, warmth meeting want,
her perfume a spell he couldn’t unlearn.
“Ever wonder what it feels like,” she whispered,
“to break the rules… just once?”
His throat tightened,
but his hands
they betrayed him first.
Fingers traced her spine like a map to sin.
He felt her shiver,
and it was over.
Their bodies spoke the language lips were too afraid to form.
In that corner,
under dim light and smoky jazz,
he tasted the kind of freedom that ruins men.
A Hall Pass to forbidden pleasure
signed by desire, sealed in sweat.
Her laugh was soft, dangerous,
the kind that makes promises and breaks souls.
“You think you’re the first?” she said,
pressing her mouth to his ear.
“Every man wants to be chosen.
But only some are brave enough to admit it.”
He looked at her like she was both heaven and hell.
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
She smiled, slow. “Nothing permanent. Just truth.”
Truth came in waves.
In the hotel mirror, in tangled sheets,
in the moan that sounded like regret.
Every touch was confession,
every kiss an unspoken sin.
Morning came cruel,
sunlight slicing through reality.
The world outside didn’t care about their night of maybes.
He watched her slip into her dress,
each movement deliberate, a slow goodbye.
“Was it worth it?” she asked, eyes soft now, not cruel.
He didn’t answer.
Because worth was too small a word
for what he’d just lost and found.
She leaned in, lips grazing his jaw.
“Tell her you love her,” she whispered.
“And mean it this time.”
Then she left...no name, no number,
just the ghost of her scent and a truth he couldn’t unfeel.
Because a Hall Pass isn’t permission.
It’s exposure.
It shows you what you crave,
what you’re missing,
and what you’ll risk just to feel alive.
He went home that night,
eyes open for the first time in years.
He kissed his wife like it was both an apology and a promise.
Because sometimes, it takes losing your morals
to rediscover your meaning.
And she?
She walked into another night,
another dance floor,
another man searching for escape.
Both knowing the same truth
Pleasure is power,
But peace…
peace is priceless.
Hall Pass, Part II — “Confessions of Her”
He thought she was the sin.
But really…
She was the silence that men ran to
when the noise of their lives got too loud.
She wasn’t the villain.
She was the escape.
Soft sheets, low lights,
and a heartbeat that didn’t ask questions.
See, she learned early
love ain’t loyal,
and forever has an expiration date.
So she stopped believing in promises,
and started collecting moments instead.
Every man had a story.
Every one came searching for something
a thrill, a touch,
a reminder that they still mattered.
And she gave it to them.
Not because she wanted their hearts—
but because she wanted control.
Power was her foreplay.
Dominance dressed in lace and whispers.
She could make a man forget his world
with just one look.
Her eyes
dark like midnight secrets.
Her voice
low, smooth, dripping temptation like honey and sin.
She knew what they wanted before they did.
She read body language like scripture,
every sigh a confession,
every tremor a prayer.
But deep down,
beneath the perfume, the heels, the lies
was a woman once broken.
A man had promised her always once.
And when always ended too soon,
she built her own altar out of desire.
She learned to use lust like armor,
*** like salvation,
and touch like a weapon.
So when he said, “I’m married,”
she didn’t flinch.
She smiled.
Because she knew he’d already crossed the line
long before she ever said hello.
That night,
when he touched her like he was both sorry and starving,
she felt his guilt melt into hunger.
And for a moment,
she felt powerful again.
Wanted.
Worshiped.
Alive.
But in the quiet after,
when the music faded
and only breathing filled the room,
she felt that ache
the one that never leaves.
Because power fades,
and pleasure never stays.
And no matter how many bodies she conquers,
she still wakes up alone.
She looked at his sleeping face
so peaceful, so naive.
Men always looked holy after sinning.
Maybe that’s why she kept coming back
to remind herself that even saints fall.
As dawn spilled gold across the sheets,
she slipped out of bed,
leaving him tangled in confusion and release.
Her reflection caught her in the mirror
red lips, tired eyes,
a goddess built from chaos.
She smirked.
“Another man taught a lesson,” she whispered.
But the truth?
She was teaching herself
how to feel again.
How to believe that maybe, one day,
she wouldn’t need the Hall Pass either.
Hall Pass, Part III — “Reunion”
Months passed.
Different seasons, same ache.
He told himself it was over
a one-night storm,
a memory folded deep in guilt.
But fate has a wicked sense of humor.
He saw her again,
across a crowded art gala downtown.
Red dress.
Same perfume.
That slow smile that made logic tremble.
The world faded around her.
For a second, the air forgot to move.
He didn’t know if it was desire or déjà vu
but his chest burned like old fire catching wind.
She noticed him too.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide.
Just tilted her glass toward him,
as if to say, “Still thinking about me?”
When their eyes met,
it wasn’t lust at first.
It was truth
raw, heavy, unfinished.
He walked over,
heart beating through his suit jacket.
“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said.
“You never do,” she replied.
Her voice still tasted like midnight.
They stood close,
conversation brushing skin like silk.
Every word had weight,
every silence hummed with the ghost of that night.
“I’ve changed,” he said quietly.
“Then prove it,” she whispered.
Her challenge wasn’t about touch this time.
It was about control
who they were now,
what they’d learned about wanting what isn’t theirs.
Music swelled, lights dimmed.
They moved together...slow, deliberate.
Her fingertips traced his palm;
his breath caught but he didn’t pull away.
Not out of weakness...out of remembering.
She leaned close enough for him to feel the heat of her words.
“I don’t need your ring,” she said.
“I just need to know you finally see her.”
He nodded. “I do.”
And for once, he meant it.
That was her closure.
That was his forgiveness.
The song ended.
They didn’t kiss.
They didn’t need to.
The space between them said everything
lust burned away, leaving truth glowing in the ashes.
She turned to leave, red dress flickering under the light,
a vision walking out of his past.
He watched her go
not with hunger this time,
but with understanding.
Sometimes a Hall Pass isn’t an invitation.
It’s a lesson.
A reminder that pleasure fades,
but the people we hurt stay real.
He went home lighter.
She disappeared into the night,
finally free from needing to be wanted.
And somewhere between desire and redemption,
both of them learned
some sins don’t need repeating
to be remembered.
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC
I wake before the sun,
and it feels like the world forgot to ask if I slept.
My bones sing songs of labor,
aching hymns to bills and survival,
while my heart hums a softer tune
one I barely remember the words to.
Two jobs, two faces.
One I wear for the world, painted with tired smiles
and “I’m okay”s that sound convincing enough.
The other one,the real one
I leave on my pillow each night,
staring at the ceiling,
wondering when the light will come back inside me.
I laugh sometimes,
but the laughter feels rented,
borrowed from a version of me who used to feel joy.
And when I’m alone,
it’s like the silence knows my name.
The tears come easy,
falling without permission,
like they’ve been waiting their turn.
I tell myself not to break,
because the bills don’t stop for broken people.
Rent doesn’t care about exhaustion.
And the world…
the world just keeps spinning,
as if my tired hands aren’t the ones keeping it steady.
I want love
not the kind that fades when it gets hard,
but the kind that stays,
that listens when words run out,
that doesn’t mistake my strength for being unbreakable.
I want someone who sees me,
not just the version of me I perform to survive.
But trust…
trust feels like walking barefoot over glass.
I’ve given chances to hearts with sharp edges,
and I’ve bled enough to know
not everyone means it when they say “I care.”
Still
I try.
Because something in me refuses to let hope die,
even when it feels like I already have.
Some nights, I dream of leaving.
Not dying
just disappearing.
A quiet vanishing act into someplace where the noise stops,
where I can breathe without guilt,
where my body and my mind can finally rest.
A place where I don’t have to be “strong” just to exist.
And yet…
each morning,
I rise again.
I get dressed in my courage,
tie my faith around my tired heart,
and face another day that asks for more than I have to give.
Because deep down, I think
maybe there’s still a reason.
Maybe there’s a light hidden beneath all this pain.
They say time heals all wounds,
but time alone just watches.
Healing… healing is what happens
when the broken pieces of you decide to keep breathing anyway.
And that’s what I do ....breathe.
Even when it hurts.
Even when I feel invisible.
Even when I doubt if anyone would notice if I disappeared.
I’m still here.
Not because it’s easy.
Not because I’m fearless.
But because somewhere inside this tired soul,
there’s a whisper that refuses to fade:
You still matter.
You’re still worthy.
You’re still here.
And maybe
just maybe
that’s the start of becoming whole again.
#HealingInProgress#CryingInSilence
#PoetryOfTheSoul#PainToPoetry
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 4:56 PM UTC
"Rain Between Us" Trilogy
“Don’t You Wish”
He looks at me like sin just walked in wearing perfume.
The kind that stays in your lungs long after the room empties.
His girl’s beside him..loyal, quiet, predictable
the type that folds sheets and forgets how to unfold herself.
But I smile anyway, slow as honey sliding off a spoon.
Every inch of me knows it’s wrong
and every part of him knows he’s already gone.
His stare lingers, caught between prayer and confession.
I sip my drink, trace the rim with one finger,
watch him imagine that touch somewhere else.
The music swells...bass low, lights dim
and temptation hums like a second heartbeat.
Don’t you wish your nights burned like this?
Where one glance can pull gravity out from under you.
Where words don’t matter because want speaks louder.
I lean close enough for him to taste the thought of me.
I whisper with my eyes,
paint pictures of what he’ll never say out loud.
He laughs too quickly, breath too shallow,
and his girl senses it
the static, the shift, the space between what is and what could be.
I don’t need to touch him to make him feel it.
That’s the power.
That’s the sin.
That’s the art of being wanted but untouchable.
Don’t you wish she made you forget yourself?
Made your pulse chase something you can’t name?
Don’t you wish she could make silence taste like promise?
I move through the crowd like smoke —
unreachable, undeniable.
He watches every step,
memorizing the rhythm he’ll never own.
Later, when he lies next to her,
he’ll close his eyes and see my smile.
He’ll wonder how a stranger could unravel him
without ever laying a hand.
And I’ll sleep just fine
because I know he’ll wake thinking of me,
and she’ll never understand why his dreams smell like temptation.
Part II : The Edge of Us
The rain outside softened to a hush,
a secret shared between the city and the night.
Inside, the room smelled of wet pavement and hesitation.
He stood there, still half in shadow,
like a man caught between what he owes and what he needs.
I poured him a drink.
Amber light kissed the glass,
and for a second our reflections merged in the window
two strangers pretending the world had stopped watching.
“Tell me why you came,” I said.
He looked down, jaw tight,
as if the truth might burn his tongue.
“I just… needed to see you. Once more.”
I walked closer.
Every click of my heel on the carpet
sounded like a countdown to something we couldn’t undo.
The silence between us wasn’t empty
it was full of breath and memory and all the words we refused to say.
“Does she know you’re here?” I whispered.
He shook his head slowly,
eyes tracing my face like a map he promised himself not to follow.
“She knows something’s missing,” he said,
“but not what it is.”
I reached out, fingertips grazing the sleeve of his shirt.
The fabric was damp and warm,
and the space between us finally gave in.
The world shrank to the rhythm of our breathing.
His hand found mine ... steady, trembling, certain.
We didn’t need to cross the line to know it was there.
Every heartbeat closer was its own confession.
He leaned in, and for a moment,
everything felt weightless
no past, no promises, no guilt.
Just that fragile second before surrender.
Then I stepped back,
just enough for reason to catch up.
The air cooled, the spell cracked.
“This can’t be forever,” I said.
He nodded, but didn’t move away.
“I know. But tonight… it feels like it could be.”
We sat by the window,
watching the rain chase itself down the glass.
His fingers brushed mine again
not to claim, but to remember.
We talked until the sky began to lighten,
about nothing and everything:
the way we got here,
the parts of ourselves we hide to stay faithful,
the dreams we outgrew but still ache for.
When dawn came, he stood,
tie hanging loose, heart even looser.
I walked him to the door.
He paused, half-turned,
eyes soft but haunted.
“If I never see you again,” he said,
“know that you were the one moment that felt like truth.”
I smiled ...a small, tired smile.
“And you were the one that almost was.”
The door closed.
The room stayed warm for a while,
then cooled, like memory always does.
Outside, the city woke up,
and the rain finally stopped.
Part III: Fire Beneath the Quiet
Time should have cooled it,
but some embers refuse to die.
They hide in the corners of memory,
waiting for one spark of recognition.
It came one night in late autumn.
A gallery opening, crowded and soft with jazz.
He was there...older, sharper,
carrying that same stillness that once undid me.
Our eyes caught.
The years between us evaporated,
and the world fell back into that pulse we never buried.
We talked like strangers pretending they’d never shared a secret.
Every word trembled at the edge of something familiar.
His laughter found me first;
my smile answered before thought could intervene.
Outside, the air smelled of smoke and rain again.
The city shimmered, wet and restless,
and the same current that once pulled us under
rose to the surface like it had been waiting for permission.
No one followed us when we slipped away.
Just two ghosts retracing the steps of a forgotten storm.
The hotel lobby glowed amber
not the same one, but close enough for déjà vu.
Elevator doors closed,
and the silence inside felt alive.
Every inch between us hummed.
His hand brushed mine
a memory reignited.
The air thickened with every shallow breath.
When the door opened,
we stood in the half-light of another room,
a mirror to the past.
The rain tapped the windows again,
steady, hypnotic, daring.
He touched my face as if learning it anew,
eyes heavy with questions he no longer needed answered.
The tension wasn’t polite anymore;
it was a language spoken through skin and breath.
Clothes meant nothing;
even the distance between words fell away.
It wasn’t about ownership
it was recognition,
a return to the pulse that once made us forget our names.
Every whisper, every sigh
carried the ache of all those years apart.
The world narrowed to heat, scent, and sound
the rush of rain, the rhythm of want restrained just enough
to keep it human.
We moved like time was folding in on itself,
each touch an unfinished sentence finally spoken.
And when stillness came,
it wasn’t silence at all
it was relief,
the kind that trembles before turning calm.
He rested his forehead against mine,
both of us caught between breath and afterglow.
No promises. No plans.
Just the soft hum of what finally had to happen.
When dawn crept through the curtains,
he smiled...small, almost sorrowful.
“This was never about forever,” he said.
I nodded.
“It was about finally letting go.”
We parted with the warmth still clinging to us,
the kind that fades slow,
leaving a trace of sweetness and smoke.
Outside, the rain stopped.
The city exhaled.
And for the first time in years,
so did we.
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 12:43 AM UTC
Grace Through Mercy
In the silence between heartbeats,
Where pain once whispered its secrets,
Grace descended like morning light
soft, steady,
uninvited, but right on time.
Mercy stretched its hands
through the rubble of yesterday’s storms,
lifting the forgotten pieces
of a soul that thought it was too broken to rise.
The world shouts in hashtags and headlines,
demanding perfection through filtered truths,
but Spirit speaks in stillness,
reminding us:
You were never meant to perform holiness
you were created to become whole.
Love has been twisted,
shaped by trauma’s trembling hands
affection that demanded proof,
compassion that wore conditions like chains.
But Mercy said, I saw you before the world wounded you.
Grace whispered, I’ll hold you until you heal.
Through crowded rooms of silent judgment,
through eyes that measure worth in status and shine,
I learned to walk barefoot through criticism,
unclothed of ego,
dressed only in faith.
Social pressure tried to script my story,
but Spirit tore the pages,
rewrote my narrative with divine ink:
You are not your failures.
You are not their labels.
You are light, forged in the dark.
Grace is not passive
it’s the breath after the breakdown,
the courage to stand in your truth
when society would rather you shrink.
Mercy is the hand that wipes the tears
no one else saw fall.
In love, I found God’s reflection.
In trauma, I found God’s endurance.
In judgment, I found God’s covering.
In myself, finally,
I found God’s image.
SO I RISE....not flawless, but favored.
I LIVE....not to please, but to be.
And through every wound,
every whisper, every weight
Grace carries me.
Mercy redeems me.
And Spirit sets me free.
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 12:27 AM UTC
Getting dressed...fresh to death.
The kind of fresh that makes mirrors blush.
Silk brushing against skin like a whisper with intentions,
hair laid, edges sharp enough to slice through envy.
The glow? Untouchable.
Makeup painted like armor
warrior gloss, confidence contour.
The heels go on slow, deliberate
every inch of height a declaration,
every click on the floor, a countdown.
They hug my calves tight
structure and seduction intertwined,
reminding me that tonight,
I am both art and danger.
The night hums outside my window,
bass lines sneaking through the glass
like promises waiting to be kept.
City lights shimmer like they know my name.
It’s the weekend
and that means rules dissolve,
boundaries blur,
and fantasies step out to play.
I step in
club lights kissing skin like temptation’s prayer.
Bodies move, slow and hungry,
the air thick with perfume and possibility.
The DJ drops a beat so heavy
it makes hearts forget their purpose.
Strippers glide on stage
curves dipped in gold and gravity,
confidence dripping like honey down their thighs.
They dance like freedom never needed permission,
like pleasure is a right, not a request.
Money rains
soft paper falling like confessions in a confessional,
and I sip champagne like it’s sin reborn.
Eyes find me... his, hers, theirs.
Your man watching like he forgot who he came with.
His girl watching too...curious,
tasting rebellion behind her smile.
I feel them both in the rhythm
heat and hunger circling,
energy electric enough to burn.
He wants me.
She wants the feeling I carry
that no-holds-barred power,
that “I own the night” aura.
And maybe, just maybe,
I’ll take him and teach her
show them how to surrender to the pulse,
how to be free when the lights hit just right.
No shame here.
Just exploration
fingertips on glass, sweat on the floor,
and laughter that tastes like courage.
Tonight, I’m not explaining myself.
I’m not dimming my shine.
I’m not waiting for approval.
This is my altar
music my god,
body my prayer.
The strippers move like poetry written in hips,
like gravity only exists when they allow it.
We throw money, but what we’re really offering
is awe...devotion ...envy.
Because every spin, every split, every smile
is a reminder that power can be soft,
that seduction is an art form,
that confidence is the real tease.
Popping bottles like baptisms
liquid light spilling over laughter,
diamonds on wrists catching the strobes like secrets.
The air hums with “don’t stop.”
And I don’t.
Not tonight.
I dance with no past,
kiss the moment on its mouth.
Every beat is a dare,
every glance an invitation.
The night stretches wide open
filled with glitter, heat, and hands that understand rhythm better than reason.
No guilt. No hesitation.
Just bodies writing stories the daylight will never know.
By sunrise,
we’re legends with smudged lipstick and tired smiles,
souls still glowing from the fire we made of the night.
Because the weekend isn’t a break
it’s a rebirth.
And me?
I’m the spark.
The sin.
The soft confession whispered through bass lines.
I am the weekend...
and the weekend always win.
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 12:23 AM UTC
How I long for someone to love me wholeheartedly
not halfway, not when it’s easy,
but the kind of love that stays
even when the silence is heavy
and the world feels too loud to breathe.
I want to be held
not just touched,
but embraced in a way that says,
“You are safe here.”
Wrap me up in your warmth,
let my worries dissolve in your arms
like sugar in tea
sweet, slow, and steady.
Give me butterflies with every touch,
let your fingers trace my skin
like poetry written in secret ink,
words that only I can feel.
Make my soul blush at your presence,
and my heart race at the sound of your name.
Caress me gently,
not just with hands, but with intention.
Touch my heart before you touch my body.
Make me melt from the inside out
from my spirit down to my bones.
Kiss me...deep,
with passion that rewrites the past,
that makes me forget every heartbreak
and remember every promise I prayed for.
Let every kiss be a declaration
that you see me,
you choose me,
you love me.
Know how to care for me
not by fixing me,
but by understanding me.
Be my calm when the storms rage,
be my voice when my strength is quiet.
Hold space for me when I’m fragile,
and celebrate me when I rise.
Make me feel seen not just admired,
but truly known.
See the woman who’s been through fire
and still dares to love again.
Hear the trembling in my laughter,
and the courage in my silence.
Put no one before me but God
for love without Him is just emotion.
Let our faith be the foundation,
our prayers the glue,
and our purpose the pulse
that keeps us alive together.
Show me the softer side of things
where love doesn’t hurt,
it heals.
Where “forever” isn’t a word you throw around,
but a vow you whisper when no one’s watching.
Let’s build a love that mirrors grace
undeserved, unwavering, and unbreakable.
Because I don’t want just romance from the books
I want a love that feels handwritten by Heaven.
A love that holds me through the pain
and praises me through the progress.
I want the kind of love
that looks like two souls learning each other
patiently, passionately, purposefully.
Let’s walk through this world hand in hand
two imperfect people,
loving perfectly through faith.
Let’s speak life into each other,
dream boldly together,
and build a story that time can’t erase.
So when I say I long for love,
I don’t mean the movie kind
I mean the miracle kind.
The love that feels like answered prayers,
the love that says,
“I see your scars,
and I choose you anyway.”
Because when it’s real
when it’s God-sent,
you don’t just fall in love…
you rise in it.
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 12:17 AM UTC
You walk in like the air belongs to you.
Like the room shifts just to make space for your vibe.
Every eye catches yours
Not because you’re loud,
But because your presence whispers louder than the noise.
Confidence drips off you like cologne,
Thick, warm, lingering in the atmosphere.
Every step is intentional.
No stumble, no second guess
Just that steady rhythm of someone who knows
They don’t chase… they attract.
Your smile?
Dangerous.
It’s that mix of charm and challenge,
Like you’re saying,
“Come closer… if you can handle what happens next.”
And I do.
Oh, I do.
You glide through the crowd like a smooth bassline,
Effortless, magnetic.
Charisma riding your every gesture,
Words rolling off your tongue like silk dipped in sin.
No forced lines. No games.
Just raw confidence with a side of heat.
You stop,right in front of me.
The world fades to background noise.
It’s just breath. Eyes. Proximity.
The space between us starts to vibrate,
Like our bodies already recognize a language
Our mouths haven’t spoken yet.
You lean in, voice low,
That deep, smooth tone
That makes simple words sound like promises.
“You’re exactly where you need to be.”
Chills crawl down my spine.
My pulse skips a beat,
Then speeds up like it’s trying to keep up with yours.
You don’t touch yet.
You hover close enough for heat to transfer,
Close enough for my breath to catch against yours.
That kind of patience? That’s endurance.
The slow build that turns sparks into flames.
When you finally reach out
Fingers trailing along my arm like a slow confession
My skin responds before I do.
Goosebumps rise like whispers,
And suddenly, nothing else exists but this pull.
Body to body.
Chest to chest.
Every inch a conversation without a single word.
The chemistry?
Undeniable.
It’s that electric charge that hums beneath the skin,
The kind that says this isn’t just touch this is takeover.
You press closer, steady, deliberate.
Pressure.
Not just physical.Mental. Emotional.
The kind that makes every breath heavier.
The kind that dares me to keep up with your pace.
I match your rhythm,
Lean in, close the gap completely.
Now it’s heat on heat,
Breath mingling like secrets swapped in the dark.
You don’t ask for permission to take up space
You command it.
You don’t hesitate to go after what you want
You claim it like it’s already yours.
The night stretches long,
Sweat and breath tangled in a dance that doesn’t need music.
Hands roam. Lips hover.
Every movement is a verse,
Every sigh a hook,
Every beat… pressure.
And in this moment,
With every pulse syncing like a shared heartbeat,
The world narrows down to you and me,
Lost somewhere between hunger and control,
Caught in that sweet place
Where confidence meets chemistry,
And charm meets fire.
Pressure rising.
Steady. Relentless.
Just how I like it.
Oct 20, 2025
Oct 20, 2025 at 2:38 AM UTC
I remember the days when my voice trembled,
Not because it lacked power,
But because the world had trained me to question its worth.
I stood in rooms where dreams were trimmed to fit expectations,
Where authenticity was bartered for acceptance,
And I.....
With my wild heart and untamed visions
Folded myself small
Just to fit into spaces never meant to hold me.
The weight of judgment was subtle at first,
A glance here, a whispered doubt there.
But slowly it wrapped around my wings like vines,
Convincing me that maybe flight was too much to ask.
I tried to be less
Less bold.
Less loud.
Less… me.
And each compromise took a piece of my soul,
Until my reflection became unfamiliar.
But in the quiet beneath the noise of should and shouldn’t
My heart spoke.
Soft at first, like a forgotten melody,
Then louder, stronger,
Until it became an undeniable drum.
“Rise,” it said.
“Not to prove them wrong.
Not to seek their applause.
Rise to remember who you are.”
Elevation came not in a single leap,
But in gentle, deliberate steps.
Each moment of truth peeled away a layer of fear.
Each tear watered the roots of courage.
Each “no” to doubt became a “yes” to freedom.
And soon, the vines snapped beneath the pressure of growth.
Now, I express without filter
Words flowing like rivers that refuse to be dammed.
My heart no longer asks for permission to beat its rhythm.
I paint my existence with colors unapproved,
Because I’ve learned that beauty doesn’t require validation.
I dance in spaces where judgment lurks,
Because my joy is not theirs to control.
I love not out of need, but out of abundance.
I love with arms wide open,
With a soul unafraid to be touched,
Even if the world doesn’t know how to receive it.
Loving to love is my quiet rebellion.
It’s choosing softness in a world that rewards walls.
It’s believing that connection can heal
What fear has tried to divide.
There were hands that tried to hold me down
Some out of envy,
Some out of fear,
Some simply because they couldn’t see past their own limits.
But I’ve learned:
Not every hand that reaches for you deserves to hold you.
Some are meant to teach you where your boundaries lie.
And when I finally unclasped those grips,
I found my wings weren’t broken just waiting.
Social endeavors tested me.
People projected their insecurities onto my canvas,
Tried to rewrite my story with their pens.
But I took the pen back.
I let my heart be the author.
I let my truth fill the lines,
Messy and magnificent.
Freedom is not an escape; it’s a becoming.
It’s standing in the center of judgment and choosing love anyway.
It’s meeting rejection with grace,
Meeting doubt with devotion,
Meeting fear with faith.
It’s refusing to shrink so others feel comfortable in their shadows.
It’s knowing your light is not arrogance
It’s divine.
I breathe deeply now,
Inhaling possibility, exhaling limitation.
The sky doesn’t ask me to explain my wings.
The wind doesn’t judge the way I soar.
The sun simply shines,
And I
Finally—shine back.
No more shrinking to make room for doubt.
No more bending beneath the weight of other people’s projections.
No more silencing the beat of a heart made to sing.
I am the echo of resilience,
The reflection of unbroken spirit,
The living testament that freedom begins where fear ends.
I am wind.
I am flame.
I am sea.
Unfolding. Unshaken.
Endlessly… Free.
Oct 18, 2025
Oct 18, 2025 at 12:18 AM UTC
Soul 2 Soul
Beyond the flesh, beyond the face,
Lies something time cannot erase.
A love that moves, unseen yet true,
A rhythm only we both knew.
No need for words, no need for sound,
Our spirits speak where hearts are bound.
A silent pull, a cosmic thread,
A love that lives though words are left unsaid.
Through lifetimes lost and dreams retold,
We find our way like rivers bold.
No distance wide, no time too vast,
For soul to soul, we’re built to last.
I feel you near when night is still,
A warmth that lingers, strong and real.
Not just a touch, not just a glance,
But something deep—a sacred dance.
You are the echo in my chest,
The steady peace, the gentle rest.
No fear, no doubt, no space, no time,
Just soul to soul, your heart in mine.
Not bound by skin, not caged by years,
But tied in love that knows no fear.
For even when the world turns cold,
Our spirits burn like flames of gold.
We meet again, we always do,
In whispered winds, in morning dew.
For love like this, forever flows,
Soul to soul, our essence knows.
It’s in the stars that light the sky,
In every tear, in every sigh.
It’s in the way our souls embrace,
A love untouched by time or place.
Even when the road is long,
When all seems lost, when hope is gone,
I close my eyes and feel you near,
Your voice still soft, your presence clear.
Through past and future, far and wide,
We walk as one, yet side by side.
For love like this will never fade,
Soul to soul, we’re unafraid.
And if the heavens call us home,
Beyond the stars, beyond the known,
I know we’ll find our way once more,
Two souls that time cannot ignore.
So take my hand, don’t be afraid,
This love was built, it will not fade.
For even when this life is through,
My soul will keep on loving you.
Oct 18, 2025
Oct 18, 2025 at 12:15 AM UTC