I remember the pain—
knowing that you spoke lies,
controlled me with fear,
told others of your sins
while painting me as the villain.

You broke me
over and over and over.
I flinch at hugs.
I cry with loss—
loss of my heart.

You broke me.
I am barely a person,
shaped by the pain you caused.
I nearly took that final step

because you needed control,
needed to lash out, to hurt me.
You told others it was me—
that I caused the pain you inflicted.

You paint yourself as a victim.
I barely survived.
You continue your actions,
wallowing in false sympathy.

I bare my pain
through my poems.

I am a key, broken,
with no lock that fits me.

I lay at night with no one to hold.
I am missing that one touch.
Am I just too much—
too much, too little, too broken?

I am a broken key,
with no lock that fits me.

I lay at night, all alone.
I have so much love in my life,
but I miss that one vital part—
that element, that touch.

I feel so broken, so lost.
Am I so unlovable
that no one wants me?
Many loves,
but I am not
anyone’s special one.

I am a broken key,
with no lock that fits me.

Two women, brought together by chance.

One woman burns with passion,
a flame fierce and unapologetic.
One woman burns with shame,
a quiet blaze hidden beneath her skin.

Together they are bound—
by circumstance,
by choice,
by the gravity of unseen threads.

One woman’s shame becomes another’s sin,
sins embraced with open hands,
taken on happily,
like burdens transformed into gifts.

One rescues,
steady and relentless,
pushing back the darkness.
One grieves,
carrying silence and sorrow
like sacred talismans.

One heals other souls—
with words, with warmth,
with the promise of understanding.
One heals other domiciles—
mending walls,
restoring spaces
where weary hearts might rest.

Two women, brought together by chance—
woven together by fate,
each the echo
and the answer
of the other’s call.

Two separate bodies,
one shared soul.

Three thousand years of history,
etched into scars and stories,
too many battles to count—
steel meeting steel,
hearts clashing
then cleaving together again.

Unparalleled warriors,
shaped by war, softened by love,
brought together by fate,
staying together by choice.

Empires have risen and fallen
around them.
Gods have whispered their names,
and stars have borne witness
to the quiet vow between them:
to fight side by side,
to live, to fall,
to rise again.

Two bodies,
one soul—
forever bound,
forever burning.

Shadows paint your body
like smoke across the night,
soft and sinuous, slipping
through my fingers when I reach.

Muscles etched in shifting light—
each dip, each rise ignites my pulse.
A single breath between us
feels as wide as oceans,
and still, I drown in you.

That little smirk upon your mouth…
you know exactly what this view does,
the knowing glint in your eyes
drinking in how every gaze
traces you, reverent and hungry—

from hip flexors to sculpted abs,
over the sharp plane of your ribs,
down to the places shadows cling,
where mystery gathers,
and my wonder grows.

Half silk, half steel—
you ride the lines between stars and gravel roads,
carving paths in bruises and brushstrokes,
with laughter that crackles like neon signs
in midnight cities I’ve yet to see.

You’re a riot of color and grit,
an aerialist suspended
between the weight of gravity
and the pull of the infinite,
turning chaos into choreography.

Your pulse beats in drumskins, in engines,
in the hush of forests,
where you hunt secrets in leaf and bone,
collecting the world’s oddities
like charms strung on a silver chain.

A rugby warrior,
yet soft as moonlight through rice-paper screens,
you blend fierce and playful,
the hellion and the muse—
wild enough to shatter the stars,
gentle enough to cradle them whole.

I wonder—
in the quiet moments,
do you trace the shape of constellations
across your own skin,
mapping where you’ll roam next?

Dancing between raindrops
falling from a sky wracked,
drops of acidic hate, fear, intolerance—
I dance, weaving, eluding,
for each drop seeks to consume,
to burn and scar deeply.

Dance is the only way to survive.
Body swaying sinuously,
bowing, arching, flowing,
drops of pure malevolence
strike fear, hot as electricity,
a relentless storm of dread.

Drops are hot acid, falling,
pouring down from seats high above,
seats that watch, cold and distant,
dripping scorn, contempt,
intolerance, and hate,
the judgment endless, merciless.

Yet still, I dance,
feet light, movements precise,
defiance etched in motion,
resilience woven in every step,
refusing to be swallowed,
one drop, one breath,
one step at a time.

In the dance, I reclaim
strength, hope, and grace,
turning poison into power,
an unyielding silhouette
moving fiercely through the storm,
defiant and alive.