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Mary Huxley Aug 2024
Looking at the stars,
My mind hovering over the still waters,
Seeing myself in a maze,
No way out.

Watching my dreams dying,
My dreams sickening second by second,
I can’t take this,
The thoughts of them dying,
Dreams being postponed.

Dreams left aside,
Still pending,
And still waiting for me to tackle them to the stars,
But am over a cliff,
Wondering how I will rescue them.

Trying not to hate myself for choosing the wrong path,
Leaving my dreams pending,
Fighting for them not to fall out.

My wish I could see what my future holds,
Success still waiting to be unraveled,
Yes am standing out for them,
Taking this new path,
A second chance for me even if it takes years,
These aborted dreams need to live,
And imma breath life into them.
The first time you saw me,
your eyes lingered—
not just a glance,
but something softer, deeper.
For a moment,
I let myself believe
that maybe you felt it too.

I move through the world,
but when you're near,
it feels like I'm walking on glass,
like one wrong step
could shatter the silence between us.

I wonder if you notice
the way my breath stills,
the way my hands hesitate,
how I steal moments
just to look at you.

You don’t know,
and maybe you never will.
Because some love stays in the quiet,
burning softly,
never spoken,
never heard.

We were never meant to be,
but in another life,
maybe—just maybe—
your eyes would have lingered
a little longer.
Mary Huxley Mar 8
Her beauty whispers poetry, in strokes both bold and fine,
A silent song of elegance, a work of the divine.
Each glance, a brush of magic, each smile, a soft embrace,
A living art of grace and charm, no artist could replace.
Mary Huxley Mar 2
I left my name on a stone by the river,
but the water was not kind.
It carried me to the mouths of strangers,
who spoke of love like a passing storm.

I was a shadow on the wall of a house
that forgot my laughter.
I was a bird in a sky
that did not know my wings.

If I return, will the olive trees know me?
Will the earth remember
the weight of my footsteps,
or will I be just another story
the wind refuses to hold?
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
In love with every version of me,
Every character that grew within me,
They call it trauma, the scars we bear,
Each chapter a story, each burden we share.

Eyes seek solace in the depths of the soul,
A journey of healing, making broken parts whole.
Words like whispers, echoes of the past,
In the tapestry of life, memories amassed.

So here's a tale of strength and grace,
In loving our whole, finding our place.
In the symphony of selves, scars turned to art,
Embracing every fragment, a journey of the heart.
I wake up with a promise,
today will be different.
Today, I will not fall.
But the pull is strong,
a whisper, a weight,
dragging me back
into the arms of regret.

It feels like escape,
but it’s a prison.
A cycle I cannot break,
a thief that steals my time,
my strength,
my peace.

I hate it.
The emptiness it leaves,
the shame that lingers
long after the pleasure fades.
I tell myself, “Enough,”
but the craving laughs,
knowing I have said it before.

I am tired.
Of running in circles,
of chasing a release
that only chains me tighter.
I want more.
I am more.

So today,
I will fight.
Not for perfection,
but for freedom.
And one day,
when I look back at a time like this,
I will remember—
I was stronger than the chains.
Mary Huxley Mar 17
One day you will meet a girl who will walk you through a world you ought not to imagine,
She will tell you tales about the greatest love intent,
Y'll question everything you know,
She'll describe things in words you've never heard,
Her words will sound beautiful in your ears,
She will bring out a passion in you that no one knew.

Don't run away from what scares you,
You wouldn't be a hero if you do,
So don't run,
Walk through it all,
Feel the atmosphere,
Breathe the aroma of the newly love,
Isn't it refreshing?
Let the new experience teach you,
Kiss her so hard that you see stars,
Trace her scars, touch them,
Stare at her even if she's so bright that it burns

Don't run away, let if flow.
It won't always hurt.
Mary Huxley Mar 2
And if we never meet under the sun, let the wind carry our echoes beyond time’s reach.
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
In the kitchen I stand, creating culinary delights,
Every day I cook, with all my might.
With love and passion, I whip up flavors divine,
Hoping my creations bring joy to those who dine.

While I toil away, serving on silver plates,
Her majesty and her troop demand meals with a sigh,
But deep down I dream of a day,
When my efforts are acknowledged, in some way.
Or rather I dream of a day where I'll sit and taste of the royalty.

In this realm of spices and pots and pans,
I find solace, creating dishes with my own hands.
Each ingredient tells a story, a tale to be told,
As flavors dance together, creating something bold.

Though recognition may not come my way,
I cook with love, bringing sunshine to each day.
For in the kitchen, I find my own bliss,
Creating culinary masterpieces, a pure and simple bliss.
This poem is for everyone who is underappreciated.
Majority of the time we do things out of love but the people we love don't acknowledge our efforts.
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
whispers,
Unending thoughts,
Painful imaginations,
Was I at fault?

Silent cries at midnight,
In the depths of darkness, my heart shattered,
A symphony of pain, only I can hear,
But amidst the anguish, I claim hope.

For brokenness doesn't define me,
It's just a page, and I'm ready to flip it,
Secure myself a new chapter,
With each tear shed, strength grows.

I may be broken but not truly lost.
Your touch —
a spark against my skin,
setting fire to every breath.

Your eyes,
dark and deep,
pull me closer,
like the ocean calls the tide.

I crave you —
every glance,
every whisper,
every heartbeat.

You are the storm
I long to get lost in,
wild and endless…
Mine.
Mary Huxley Mar 18
Come to thy chambers,
Where the moon spills silver upon the floor,
And shadows dance to the rhythm of our hearts.
Sit beside me — close, closer still —
Let your warmth chase the night’s chill.

Caress my hand,
Soft fingers tracing promises untold,
As we lose ourselves in the art upon the wall,
Each stroke a story, each color a whisper
Of passion and longing.

Come, embrace your lover.
Let our souls entwine in the hush of the night,
Where time slows, and all that exists
Is the quiet thrum of our breathing,
The tender weight of your touch.

I crave you by my side —
A gentle tide pulling me under,
A flame that flickers, steady and true.
Come, love…
Let the night be ours.
Mary Huxley Mar 15
It can't be over,
I whispered to my soul ,
Yet, indeed, it had ended.
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
In a world of whispers and dreams,
Where the moon dances in silver streams,
Hearts beat in rhythm, a gentle song,
In the twilight where we belong.

Underneath the starlit sky so vast,
Moments cherished, never surpassed,
In your eyes, a universe I see,
Together, forever wild and free.

Where love resides in the chambers of the heart,
Your name still beeps,
You're my happy place
Mary Huxley Mar 21
There's a part of me that wants to crush and let it all out,
But at what cost,
My heart is shattered,
"How could they?"
"But why?"
Questions with no answers
There's nothing hidden under the sun,
The treatment I received from them will always be a mystery,
Mary Huxley Feb 23
I carved your name in the stars, but the dawn stole their light.
I whispered your name to the moon, but it faded into the night.
So I etched your name in my soul, where time cannot erase,
A love so deep, eternal, in its quiet, sacred place.
If love had a voice, it would call your name,
soft as the wind, yet never the same.
A whisper at dawn, a hush in the night,
a promise that lingers beyond fading light.

If time had a heart, it would beat like ours,
steady and strong through life’s fleeting hours.
The days may grow old, the seasons may turn,
but deep in my soul, you always will burn.

If distance could break what we have inside,
the stars would stop shining, the ocean run dry.
For love is not bound by moments or miles,
but lives in the laughter, the tears, and the smiles.

So when shadows stretch and memories fade,
when the years write lines on the faces we made,
know this, my love, through all we have been—
I loved you today. I’ll love you again.
Yes, it was sweet,
How it slipped in after endless trials and enticements.
He kept whispering,
"Relax, babe, it won’t hurt."
"I’ll go in slowly."
"You know I love you."

I gave in to his words—
Luring, deceptive.
I had no time to think.
And just like that,
My mistake was made—
A mistake for a lifetime.

She was born, not a rose,
But an unwanted thorn.
Looking at her, anger gripped me—
Pain clenched my soul.
For a fleeting moment, I thought,
Should I take her life?
But then I remembered—
She was the result of my choices.

She entered a world
With an abandoned mother
And an absent father.
It felt like a curse.
There was no light,
Only darkness stretching endlessly.

Two seconds of sweetness—
A lifetime of regret.
Looking at her paralyzed my emotions.
Should I **** her?
Or should I **** myself?
I wrote this poem back in 2022
I was scrolling on WordPress and saw it
I had forgotten that I wrote this piece
Ps: it's not my situation
The original title is : born from a forsaken womb
He clicked his tongue,
sharp like a whip,
his words struck,
cold, harsh, final.

Then—
silence.
Not the soft kind,
not the comforting quiet,
but the heavy, hollow kind
that presses against my chest,
stealing breath.

I stared at the screen,
his name fading into nothing,
the call cut off,
not by accident,
but by choice.

He hung up.
On the call.
On me.

And I sit here,
holding the weight of his anger,
swallowing the lump in my throat,
wondering if he’ll call back,
wondering if I even want him to.
If
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
If
If I was to go back in time to escape this pain,I would,
My heart is aching,
I feel suffocated,
I can't breathe,
I need a stretch of grace.
If
Mary Huxley Mar 20
If
If I were to give you my all, would you accept?
If I were to mold you a world of your desire,
Would you live in it?
If I were to give you half of my kingdom, would you be my queen?
If I were to give you a piece of heaven, would you be my peace?

Just if.
There is no one so precious —
Just no one.
I have seen all,
But no one caught my sight as you did.
I can’t blame my heart for loving you,
Neither can I blame my mind for thinking about you.

You are a rare gem,
Your glistening eyes full of glam.
I’d die for you if I had to;
Making you mine is a must —
It’s a deed that must be done.

Would you say yes to my proposal?
Would you be the flower in my vineyard?
Would you be that lily in my valley?

If... Just if...
Would you complete me?
Mary Huxley Mar 5
If you only knew how your name lingers
like a song I never learned to forget.
How your laughter still hums in my chest,
filling the empty spaces you left behind.

If you only knew the way my hands
still reach for yours in crowded rooms,
as if love could rewrite the past,
as if hearts could unlearn longing.

If you only knew,
but maybe you do,
and maybe that’s what hurts the most.
Mary Huxley Mar 2
If you return,
do not knock,
the door has memorized your hands.

If you leave,
do not turn back,
the wind carries only forward.
Mary Huxley Mar 6
If you stay,
let it be not out of habit,
not because the nights feel colder alone,
but because the sound of my name
still feels like home on your tongue.

If you stay,
let it be with both feet in,
no glances back at roads left behind,
no whispers of almosts and maybes
only the steady hum of us,
growing, unfolding, becoming.

And if you must go,
go gently,
leave the door ajar,
so the echoes of what we were
can find their way to rest.
I’m healing from
the nights I cried silently,
when the weight of the world
felt heavier than my heart could bear.
From the words I never said,
the battles I fought alone,
and the scars no one could see.

I’m healing from
trust misplaced,
from hands that let go
when I needed them to hold on.
From memories that linger
like shadows at dawn,
and the silence
that once felt safer than speaking.

I’m healing from
the version of myself
I had to leave behind —
the one who smiled
to hide the cracks,
who carried pain
like a secret
pressed against her chest.

But I am healing.
In every breath,
in every sunrise,
in every quiet moment
where my heart feels light again.
I’m learning to forgive,
to let go,
to love myself
without apology.

I am healing.
Not all at once,
but piece by piece,
day by day.
And that is enough.
In another life,
maybe your hand would reach for mine,
fingers brushing, lingering,
not just in passing, but in promise.

Maybe the way you first looked at me—
like I was something worth knowing,
worth holding—
would have been more than just a moment.

Maybe the silence between us
wouldn’t stretch so far,
wouldn’t be filled with words
I’m too afraid to say.

In another life,
maybe your heart would have known
what mine whispers
every time you walk away.

But this is not that life.
And so, I will love you in the quiet,
hope for you in the unseen,
and wait for the day
when maybe—just maybe—
time will get it right.
Mary Huxley Mar 8
In her presence, I am lost, adrift in wonder’s tide,
A humble soul enchanted, where love and awe reside.
Before me stands a masterpiece, so rare, so raw, so true,
A vision painted by the stars, in shades of golden hue.
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
When the time is right
Everything will fall in place
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
To a writer, a book full of words is a treasure untold,
A tapestry of their art, a story yet to unfold.
With each page turned, their imagination takes flight,
Inspiring them to create, to dream, and to write.

And for a poet, letters of love are like whispers from the heart,
Gulfed with emotions, they ignite a poetic spark.
Each word a brushstroke, painting emotions on the page,
Creating verses that resonate, like an eternal flame.

So, send these gifts to writers and poets near and far,
A book for the writer, a letter for the poet, like shooting stars.
Let them know their words have touched your soul,
And inspire them to continue sharing their art, making it whole.

May these gestures of love and appreciation,
Fuel their creative fire, their endless dedication.
For in their words, we find solace and delight,
A testament to the power of writing, shining bright.
This poem is dedicated to all writers and poets.
Their art inspires, restores and build readers.
Poetry is just not words but an art.its the ability to prose your thoughts in a imaginatively tapestry
Mary Huxley Mar 11
I did everything I could,
Everything  I knew,
Out of good will, kindness and love,
When I Asked for the same fair treatment,
They looked at me and boldly said—
"We never asked you for all that, did we?"
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
Yes, I am not whole,
Neither did I admit to be perfect,
But my existence sparks out the ordinary,
Is it my personality,
Is it my beauty,
That radiates it all.

Yes, I'm not whole,
But what makes me unique?
I'm full of imperfections and flaws,
Are those what make me so mystique.?

They say it's not just my personality,
Or my outward beauty that outshines,
Or  how I carry myself?
And maybe it's the light in my eyes?

But I'll tell you one thing,
Embrace your imperfections,
Your energy is contagious,
You lift up those around you,
And make them feel courageous.

The beauty about you will be known by those that appreciate you,
Even after they denied me reason why i spark out the ordinary,
One thing I know for sure is,
I radiate positivity,
I don't depend on their judgement,
I stand on my grounds,
My energy is just contagious,
And that is what makes me whole.
You are just perfect.
You are a work of art
Your imperfections is what makes your whole.
You are you
You are amazing
Mary Huxley Mar 18
Jailed in my own mind,
Scared to walk forth,
Handcuffed by my own thoughts,
I'm sentenced to infuriation.

It was this same day I killed my own happiness,
I was cold inside,
I burned with great rage,
Quenching for space but the pace and speed denied me chance.

Now in a death row,
Being sentenced to ****** of my own emotions,
Looking around in my chamber,
Here I am confidentially waiting to be executed,
I already made my wish,
Hope I will conquer this inevitable death
The room is quiet,
but the silence is louder.
Shadows stretch along the walls,
cold and still.

I sit alone,
hearing nothing
but the soft echo
of my own heart.
No voices.
No warmth.
Just me…
and the quiet.
Mary Huxley Mar 22
Even in sadness I still think about you,
In the midst of the storm I still find warmth in you,
I can't fathom how much broken you left me,
I remember when you said I was your peace,
And now I can't find myself in this chaos,
Who do I run to,
Who do I cry to,
When you the only one my heart beat for.
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
Even in sadness I still think about you,
In the midst of the storm I still find warmth in you,
I can't fathom how much broken you left me,
I remember when you said I was your peace,
And now I can't find myself in this chaos,
Who do I run to,
Who do I cry to,
When you the only one my heart beat for.
Mary Huxley Mar 18
To be loved is to be known,
And maybe one day,
I'll be loved right
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
I didn’t know that I still wanted you ,
until lights were off,
When only the sound of sadness could echo in my head,
Looking back to the moments we shared,
For a moment the world was bright,
How could I have known that would say goodbye .

Unending flashes of us, The dime -like moments The stared pecks
They now haunt me,
I want to run away from myself ,
But the painful part is how will I?
My life better left to chance.

Every promise you vowed is all broken,
Every hope you built in me is all shuttered,
I look at my phone screen and there is no messages,
Not even one,how is that possible .
It was just ago that you hit my inbox with thousands of missing me text.

And now not even a call,
I miss you but can’t reach to you and if I get a chance, it’s not how it used to be,
Am only left to miss all we had ,
The haunting memories,
I look back and wish not to have met you,
I am healing from the bruises you left me with.
My very first poem
Mary Huxley Oct 2024
I'm scared to look in the mirror,
My reflection saddens me,
I don't feel pretty anymore,
The more I grow, the more I realize my insecurities.
I hide myself from the world,
It pains, it hurts.
What can I do?
My scars are internal,
But they show on my face.
Every day is a battle of comparison
Between myself and the pretty folks.
Maybe one day I'll sing the beauty melody...
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
You sent me scented flowers,
Sauvage fragrance,
A card,
Full of love.

Thinking of how you were going to lure me into your bed,
Hoping I would forget,
Forget all you did,
Just like that?

You betrayed me,
Broke my trust,
Killed my emotions,
Stabbed my back,
Even when I gave you my all,
Invested in what we called ours.

And here you are,
Sending me gifts,
Offering me reasons, that don't count,
It's funny how you think I had no options,
Assuming I'ld stay forever in your arms,
Locked and chained by your lies.

You got it all wrong,
I made my mind,
Just packed up my bags,
I'm on my way in search of peace and happiness that you couldn't give,
No one fools me twice,
Fool me once, Yes
But twice!!
Definitely not taking that.
Mary Huxley Mar 11
Lies! Lies! Lies!
The large books in the library are filled with lies,
The music echoes with lies,
Our thoughts—nothing but illusions,
Everything is nothing but a lie.
I sat under the sun, analyzing every word spoken,
And I concluded—they were all lies.

I followed every written rule,
Did everything I was taught,
But in the end, it was all meaningless—just another lie.
How does someone you cherished wake up one day
And say it was never love?
That it was all a lie?
That they never loved you?

Literature tells us to follow our hearts,
Poetry declares love in delicate verses,
Music weaves love through melodies,
Yet no one on this earth can truly explain—
How love fades into nothingness.
Mary Huxley Mar 18
Even in death,
I still find solace in you ,
Through eternity,our bond still remains a fresh
Mary Huxley Mar 17
I want to come home,
In the shadows where I roam,
Seeking solace, seeking peace,
Heartaches grip begins to cease.

Through the darkness, a light shines,
Resilience blooms in these trying times,
In the echoes of the night's soft hum,
I find my way, where I come from.
Mary Huxley Mar 22
Inspired by staircase poem from Marc Morais


You broke me.
I’m too hurt to even care.
The weight of your words
still lingers in the air.

I reach for the pieces,
but they slip through my hands —
like shadows of promises
I’ll never understand.

Silence grows louder
with each passing night,
a quiet reminder
that I lost the fight.

I once held on tightly,
but now I let go.
The pain doesn’t fade —
it just learns how to flow.

You broke me.
And I don’t even care.
Mary Huxley Oct 2024
He doesn’t look at me the way he used to,
Like the stars have dimmed in his eyes.
His hands once held me like I was the moon,
But now they hang cold, untied.
His laughter used to fill the room with warmth,
Now silence lingers, heavy as stone,
And in that quiet, I feel him slipping,
Drifting away, leaving me alone.

I see the way he talks, so distant now,
His words once sweet, now just routine.
He’s here, but not really, and it hurts somehow,
Like we’ve turned into what we’ve never been.
I try to find us in the spaces between,
In the pauses where love used to hide.
But each time I reach, I fall empty again,
Lost in the hollow where love once thrived.

I ask him what changed, but he never replies,
Just shrugs, like love is something that fades.
And though I’m here, still holding on tight,
I can feel myself slowly unbraid.
For love isn’t something you force to remain,
It breathes, it grows, or it dies.
And in his silence, I hear our goodbye,
In his fading touch, I feel love’s demise.
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
They walk in shadows cloaked in pride,  
With fists clenched tight and eyes turned wide,  
Their words like chains, so hard, so cold,  
Bending wills, as stories unfold.  

They claim dominion over our grace,  
Silencing voices, erasing a face.  
What power feeds this hunger deep,  
That in our tears, their demons sleep?  

To them, we’re vessels, tools, and means,  
Yet fragile hearts wear warrior’s sheen.  
They crush with deeds, they carve with hate,  
Unleashing darkness at heaven’s gate.  

How cruel the hand that wounds and maims,  
That calls love power, masked in shame.  
How can a world still turn its eye,  
When every scream’s a whispered cry?  

They fear our strength, our rise, our fire,  
So they chain our souls to quench desire.  
But we are oceans, wild and deep—  
Rising tides they cannot keep.  

In silent wars, we fight to breathe,  
With every bruise, our spirits seethe.  
Yet even when they draw their line,  
They’ll never steal what’s truly mine.  

For in these scars, our voices rise—  
No more the prey, no more disguise.  
Though fear may reign, though shadows fall,  
We stand together—unbreakable, all.
This poem expresses the pain and struggle many women face but also highlights the resilience and strength within them.
Sixteen years, and still,
your absence lingers like a shadow,
soft, but never gone.
The world moves forward,
but some parts of me stay behind,
frozen in the last memory of you.

I have grown—
older, wiser, stronger—
but some days, I still feel like a child,
reaching for a hand that isn’t there,
searching for a voice
that only lives in echoes.

I wonder what you would say,
if you’d be proud,
if you'd recognize the person I've become.
I carry you in the smallest things—
a laugh, a habit,
a way of saying certain words.

Grief does not fade,
it only changes shape.
And after all this time,
I have learned to live with the missing,
to find you in the quiet,
to love you, even in absence.
I wrote this poem in memory of my late mother
I just wonder what my life would be if she was alive.
I wonder how it feels to call someone mama
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
As she sweeps her dusty compound,
She wails, cries her heart out,
Pain has engulfed her heart,
In this tale of a lonely maiden's art.

Her tears fall like gentle rain,
Each drop a story of hidden pain.
Lost in the depths of solitude,
Her heartache echoes, misunderstood.

Through the corridors of her mind,
Whispers of love, she hopes to find.
In letters unsent, her emotions flow,
Aching for a love that will truly know.

With each stroke of her pen's embrace,
She weaves a tapestry of love and grace.
Her words, a balm to heal her soul,
A testament to the love she longs to behold.

"Tales of a Lonely Maiden" we shall call,
A poetic journey, standing tall.
Through heartache and longing, she finds her voice,
In love letters, she discovers her choice.

May this tale of a lonely maiden's plight,
Illuminate the path to love's sweet light.
For in her words, a love story unfolds,
Inscribed upon her heart, forever to be told.
Mary Huxley Aug 2024
Looking at you I see no reason to be sad,
Being around you warms my heart,
You’re the reason I wake up and see good in me,
The future that I had no faith in now seems perfect and set,
I can’t even tell how happy I am to be with you.

Now tell me,
Am I missing something,
Am I loosing focus,
Am I not worthy,
Am I not enough,
Is there something that I lack.

Look into my eyes,
Tell me,
That which your heart bleeds for,
That which your mind thinketh,
Why are you doing this,
Why did you lie to me?

You made me believe am yours,
That you couldn’t replace me,
You told me that I had a world with you,
A forever that now has no eternity,
Why?
I mean why would you do that?

Tell me?
It starts as a whisper,
a quiet pull,
a flicker in the dark
that promises escape.
Just once,
you tell yourself.
Just tonight.
But the night comes again,
and so does the craving.

The screen glows,
the bottle tilts,
the dice roll —
and for a moment,
the weight lifts.
The world fades,
and all that’s left
is the rush.
A high.
A thrill.
A lie.

But when the silence returns,
it’s heavier than before.
Shame crawls in,
cold and sharp,
yet the pull still whispers —
soft, seductive, relentless.
Just once more.
Just one last time.

The chains grow tighter,
invisible, unbreakable,
yet forged
by your own hands.
You hate it.
You need it.
You promise to stop —
tomorrow.

But tomorrow feels distant
when the craving calls.
And you wonder…
is escape worth the prison
you’ve built inside yourself?
This poem is basically inspired by daily struggles(not in my life )of addiction —*******,drugs, gambling among many other.
            
Majority are struggling out here, fighting silent battles of addiction
I wrote this poem dedicated to all struggling,
It starts as a thought and ends with guilt...
Might even die or rather lose yourself
Mary Huxley Mar 21
There's a guy whose handsomeness is beyond compare,
A chiseled jaw and rugged features that make hearts flare,
His eyes sparkle like diamonds in the sun,
And his smile could melt hearts of anyone.

His hair, oh, so soft and wavy,
Makes girls swoon and go crazy,
And when he walks, it's like he's floating on air,
So confident and charming, it's hard not to stare.

His physique is like a work of art,
A masterpiece that steals your heart,
And when he speaks, it's like a symphony,
A voice so deep and rich, it's pure harmony.

I watch him from afar, but my heart's ablaze,
With a passion that burns like an eternal flame,
For he is the most handsome guy I've ever seen,
And in my eyes, he's a king, a living dream.

So I'll keep admiring him from afar,
For his handsomeness is like a shooting star,
A fleeting moment, but oh so sweet,
A memory I'll cherish, a moment I'll keep.
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