Safety is subjective
A gift you cannot give
A culture that you cultivate
A life you choose to live
Safety is immeasurable
The warmth of measured breath
The pressure of your nose on mine
The time that stretched and stretched.
We pulled apart, with stunning wit
You told me "that was gay."
I said "I'd sacrifice tomorrow
To stay here in today."
Today where lips and hearts have sound
But still uncertain sense
Today where questions passed around
The present future tense
Today where what we are is true
Though truly undefined
Today where futures freeze before,
Waiting in the rime
Today where even if we haven't
Shared a wanted kiss
Tomorrow hasn't happened yet
Safe in present bliss.
Dec 20, 2025
Dec 20, 2025 at 8:17 PM UTC
A poem now on prosedy
'Fore Thunder, Lightning Leaps!
The comma in the second verse?
Suspension, then release.
Seven six eight six again
The meter's where it counts
But stress beneath is just as keen
To make that meter bounce
Subtle differences, those two,
The pacing, what's not said.
Seven, six, a comma, pause
(That's seven in your head)
The third of three is really eight
By metrics just explained
And now we're weaving sixes through
True sevens are restrained
Each stanza contains twenty eight
The order all askew
As syllables do syncopate
The question asked of you:
Have I rhymed with every verse?
Take a moment, and
You'll find I sometimes break the rules
I leave it blank, I slant!
And as the poem whittles down
A title frames the piece
A mystery, I'll keep it sound
You'll give it that release.
See people think to make a po'm
You follow "rules of art"
But there's no proper path to take
You simply have to
Dec 10, 2025
Dec 10, 2025 at 9:10 PM UTC
Something pierces my chest
As your heart wanders off
Too scared to hold me
Too hard to be soft
Though blade's not that sharp
The wound isn't shallow
My knuckles bone white
As truth trims the tallow
Am I clinging too tightly
to promising words?
Have I made up this future
Now prophecy cursed?
Am I overreacting
To some fickle heart's tune
It's rhythmic pulse stirring
Too quickly too soon?
A scale cannot measure
A concept abstract;
Heartstrings untethered
Featherweight cracks.
And yet they are heavy
And still it holds true
This uncertain fool
Falls sick loving you.
Dec 10, 2025
Dec 10, 2025 at 2:50 PM UTC
A glimmer of hope, stardust on sand
A distant shore shines where shadows lock hands
Mist washes sorrow, night stretches on
A promised tomorrow as dusk meets the dawn
The sun rises bright on seafoam-salt seas
Refracting the light as tides turn to peace
Free from the surf, the sea returns home
Easing the earth from burdening loam
Once timid hearts harden, as waters retract
A whisper of something, a tenous pact
In the tide's weary wake, shimmering motes
A shoreline of stars unburdened by hope
Dawn turns to dusk turns to dawn once again
Soft light's refrain answers "if" with a "when"
Sure as the shore shall surrender to sand
The morning must follow the dim night's remand
Nov 17, 2025
Nov 17, 2025 at 7:53 PM UTC
Unrequited
Interrupted
Finite, quietly
erupting.
Feelings simmer keel and burn
Healing thinner, scars in turn
form callous thick as heartbeats deep.
A gallows dream, this lovesick sleep.
A choking heat now mars its toll
Blazing brightly through my soul -
A hope at warmth, as cinders sting
All consuming, everything.
I have never fed these flames
But fire always takes its claim.
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 1:18 PM UTC
I've writ of the sea
Adrift from the shore
But I've never felt safety
So helpless before
Consumed quick by high tide
So swift from the low
I'll weather, abide
Each wuthering blow.
Crushed by the waves
Drowned in the roil
When the tide folds I'll see
What truths will uncoil
See I'm not afraid
Of the waves, of their breadth
But when seizing tides fade
I'll be out of my depth.
There's no time to think
When you're gasping for air
With nothing to drink
But the saltwater fair
It's simpler to breathe
When it's all I can do
If I haven't a voice
When there's no choice but you.
I'll be stuck in the sand
When this sea returns home
My heart will cede deeper
And sink in the loam.
The soft silt will turn rigid
As salt becomes rime
The low tide will grow frigid
Sift sands, over time.
Unearthing the truth
Plain spoken in prose
Of the salt surf and sea
My tender heart knows.
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 1:16 PM UTC
I found my path in life again
in living for my fallen friends
for all of those I've left behind
their memories within my mind
are motivators, batteries
heart-fueled sparks igniting peace
reminding me that times of ease
are not so far between.
That every moment I make mine
seconds, minutes, hours; time
passes quickly, passes slow
it burns, it smolders, fire, smoke.
so live the life that you deserve
live and love life unreserved
love your life with all your heart
for meaning's found in who you are
who you were and who you'll be
meaning, someone's memories.
A constellation in the night
stars connected, sharing light
illuminate the sky's array
for those who've yet to lose their way
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 1:10 PM UTC
I feel like a cherry with the pit of a peach,
there's something within me that isn't quite me
my skin's far too polished, my bite far too ****
and this fuzz and this sweetness are tearing apart
who I am
I struggle to just exist in this space
and sometimes I wish that I could erase
this part of me
The boundaries that stem from neurodivergence
we are taught that our true selves are toxic deterrents
we are punished for existing in the ways that we must
so we seal off these parts, behind layers of dust
buried beneath evermore branches of olive
until we can no longer see through this wall of
"I'm not"
"I'm sorry"
"I'll leave you alone"
"I didn't,"
"I don't,"
"I'll put down the phone."
"My hands just get restless."
"It's nothing, don't mind."
"Look anywhere else."
You know what you'll find
beneath
We know that we're stonefruit
we know that's a sin
but once seeds have rooted, they must draw light in
we don't get a say in living like this
we didn't choose, but we do exist
so maybe, a peach, with the pit of a cherry
I'm smaller and bitter and some find that scary.
But peel back my skin, I'm still flesh underneath
Softer and tender and gentle and sweet
I might be either. Maybe I'm both.
Either way neither's deserving self loathe.
I finish this poem six months after start
I'm a fruit, I'm a queer, I'm a pie, I'm a ****
The label's a what. I know who I am.
So bite me, pulp me, turn me to jam.
I'll still taste as sweet, still bite as sour
My flesh will still be yours to devour
Consume me, observe me, but do not define
Fruits cannot grow from branches confined.
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 1:08 PM UTC
I would like to say things plain
you're so much more than sin
you're so much more than flesh and blood
so much more than skin
you like my words and how they weave
I hope that colors true
the blush and awkward stifled thing
I somehow shared with you
And moving forward I don't plan
to write a verse each time
but when I do please understand
what moves me is your mind
your verve is what upturns my grin
there's something kindred there
what fascinates is what's within
not what's outward fair
your words play on repeat above
a distant melody
and while the words are foreign still
s'familiar sounds to me.
and thus my feelings, plain!
as plain as they can be
as plain as "huh, they're blue, not brown,"
as simple poetry
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 1:02 PM UTC
I don't want to be your next poem
I don't want to be your next fling
I don't want to be your Adam
I am not some Eden, lingering
I don't want to lead astray
To waste a moment's time
The longer stemmed the apple's bite
The sweeter tastes the wine
I don't want you to bite me
and indulge in autumn's bliss
I don't want to taste your tongue
temptations reminisce
I don't want you to tease me
Those lips with practiced ease
I don't want to tease you back
In prayer down on my knees
I don't want to worship you
to sing your sacred hymns
I don't want your sacrament
your blood, your flesh, your sin
I don't want your ecstasy
to pay your carnal tithe
don't want you lain next to me
in precious wayward time
i don't want to hear your sighs
your breath upon my neck
your fingers furled around my throat
catching stolen breaths
don't make me your next poem.
but let me be a verse
purple, bruised, overused, imperfect, witty, terse
I don't want to want you
for want is wanton thin
i don't need to need you
just let the serpent in.
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 12:59 PM UTC