Odd Odyssey Poet

Odd Odyssey Poet 4d

Missing names in my letterbox— but mostly yours.
And I have no right to claim it, no reason to expect
your name to arrive again.

I try to write it out— all that it was between us.
A love so bizarre, so hard to define, yet somehow…
energizing. But I want to cut the ties my eyes have
to their tiredness— but I’m still oddly entangled
in the thought of falling asleep to the memory of you.

Tired! Tired!

But no rest compares to you, or the rest I see.
And maybe—
just maybe— the measure I hold love to now
is too tight, too closed, to give anything new
even a chance.

#unsentletters #heartbreakpoetry #loveandloss #emotionalfatigue #tiredofmissingyou #lingeringlove #silentgrief #lettinggoslowly

Odd Odyssey Poet 4d

Brushstrokes and Thorns

To each stroke of luck—these strokes run wild,
painted with ambition. Life is a wondrous garden:
to some, every bloom is beautiful, to others, the
loveliest things are guarded by thorns.

What looks like harmony can be smeared on
an ugly wall. The signature of familiar pain—
it’s often signed as a lover.

Two met by eyes, blush.
Two lips in love, brush.
Two weights of emotion, crush.
And the quickest reason to fall? A rush.

And long indulged is the ego— eager to rise
above itself, but low on accepting its flaws.
We are a world painted in delicate watercolours,
slowly dripping away from this life, until we no
longer remain as unique colours to paint this world.

Still—they will remember our impression, through
the force of our expression. And when we’re gone,
on the great canvas in the sky, we shall hang up
there instead.

#lyricalpoetry #symbolicwriting #deepmetaphors #reflectiveverse #modernpoet #spokenwordready

Odd Odyssey Poet 5d

The Hunt and the Hand

My hands grow tired
trying to hold onto sleep—
gripping fragments of tension
while my thoughts drift too deep
to be attentive, to pay attention
to what the world calls worthy.

I swim in the farthest corners
of thought—beyond my depths—
yet I never run out of breath.
There’s freedom in this dive,
in expressing all I feel.
This pen is the extension
of my soul’s most honest reach.

Above a mantelpiece,
I search for a worth I could call
my dear—starstruck like a deer
beneath hunting lights.
And though *******, the trophy
hunter loves the chase
more than the prize.
That, too, is a kind of art.

By genuine reflection,
I still call myself an artist—
one still learning the form,
still finding the lines
between vision and mastery.
The lessons are never done.

What I hold in my hand
feels like something from a
Divine hand— a gift placed gently
by a hand not my own.

Art is adamant progress:
unyielding, sacred, slow—
but still,
I move.

#iamanartist #artisworship #spiritualartistry #chasingmeaning #notforthetrophy #artandsoul #worthinthework #madetomake

Odd Odyssey Poet 5d

Premium Type

A thought worth believing in: that all of creation is alike — made
of the same breath and dust — though many still pretend we are
not the same. I see it in the quiet places, the soft golden glow people
follow like it’s salvation. My eyes, like old cracks in a hallway, have
watched footsteps ascend toward that light — sometimes blindly,
sometimes beautifully. I remember goosebumps rising when I once
felt the shape of love not through words, but through Braille
fingertips — a language of touch, not talk.

Life is a beautiful kind of horror — man’s power to create always
shadowed by his capacity to destroy. And too often, women —
aching to be seen — to throw themselves into nets that were never
meant for them. But the fish that swims willingly into the trap is the
one that’s easiest to catch… and just as easily discarded. Know
your worth! Don’t offer yourself as convenience. The one worth
having you, will search for you. He will wait. He will chase, not out
of ego, but because your absence will echo louder than any sea full
of options.

The kind of man who feels your loss as a hollow space is not the
one who tells you, “there’s plenty of fish in the sea.” He’s the one
who dives into THAT sea, because it’s you he’s trying to find.

But these days, wild tenacity has turned inward. People want love
just to say they have it — to wear it like a badge, a filter, an accessory.
They want the treat of love, not the truth of it. Just someone to
sweeten their image — arm candy for the soul’s sugar rush. But love
that’s only a treat will melt under heat. It won’t last past the craving.
It won’t survive the unsweet moments.

And beneath love’s gloss, beneath its shining underside, lies
something raw, something more — not always pretty, but worth it.
A love that doesn’t just sparkle on the surface, but endures the
sanding, the softening, the polishing. The kind that shines brighter
after it’s been tested — not replaced at the first crack.

This love isn’t a free trial. It isn’t a game or a placeholder. It is sacred.
It is earned. And it demands your best — not just your best look.
Because not everyone is ready for the Premium type.

#knowyourworth #realloveonly #sacredconnections #lovewithintention #vulnerabilityisstrength #selfworthmatters #healingthroughlove #emotionalwisdom #poetry

Odd Odyssey Poet 6d

Ghost in Daylight

Cross my tears, lose my eyes—
these feelings fall as sadness starts to rise.
I lose my space to lose my mind; I cross
my hopes and pray they survive the night.
My joy feels too old; these skins
want to die young—tired, stretched thin
from wearing sorrow too long. I feel like
a blade that’s forgotten how to shine.

Rust gathers under my lips;
I’ve spoken too much to the voices
in my head— and all of them,
all of them just want me dead.

Static feelings stuck in my sweater—
crying, even when it’s warm; cos I
don’t own a sweater, just a hoodie—
Something to cover my soul when I
feel like a ghost in daylight.
In my reflection, an invisible hand
gives me an invisible *******.
Even my mirror won’t look me in the eye.

These lips— they started off soft;
now they’re triggers, eager to flip
me off, shoot me down.

I am the despised poet— too hideous
even in my sweet dreams— this is
the real version of me: unwritten,
unwanted, unmoved.
My soul’s literature is tired—
not of bleeding, but of no one
noticing it still bleeds.

And truth be told... I know the
purest colour of feeling blue.

#depressionpoetry #mentalhealthinverse #anxietywriting #poetryofsadness #cryingthroughink #emotionalexhaustion #unseenpain #silentsuffering

Odd Odyssey Poet 6d

💔 Fragile Passion

Your skin is made of glass— cut by a tear
that rolls down your cheek, splitting the
good and the wicked parts...
You kissed two versions of me... as we all
live switching roles— mirror for mirror,
mouth for mouth.

And when a lover kisses, you kiss back
like a reflex, when they get close enough,
part of your character becomes theirs—
and it loudly reflects....
I breathe when you breathe; I’m so
close, I forget whose lungs I’m in.

Like a spoon of cinnamon, just a taste
of you burns — always so hard to
swallow, but I do...
And our days spent—have me so
spent; spending myself into you,
sending everything I’ve got.

All of my kisses—are sent
All your heat— passionate scent
And somehow that scent gives
me nosebleeds...
That’s the kind of passion you
leave in the air.

The first time in the morning,
I kiss you like it’s the last time—
because it could be...
Sugar lips— enough to last a time;
pull a little closer, let me drown in
your stare — I want to see what’s
lurking in the shadows of your eyes—
could be your wild side. Might be mine.

I take you late nights, for some extras
you come like a few sides—and I
measure you with my eyes...
You're such a grand size; I can’t take
it anymore— the closer we get, the
thinner it feels; the glass— it cracks
the further we grow apart.

#eroticpoetry #sensualwriting #passioninverse #lustandlonging #poetryofdesire #intimatewords #spokendesire #tasteofyou

Odd Odyssey Poet 7d

Cleopatra’s Current

My clear-skinned Cleopatra—
you orchestrate pyramid schemes
just to steal my heart,
and I fall
willingly
into your empire of allure.

–––

The notes of your lips
compose a song
I note in silence—
the melody of your mouth
lingering like red wine:
mature,
slow,
intoxicating.

–––

Each word you speak
cups my hunger
like a ritual.
I sip from your wisdom
like a man who’s parched,
yet drinks
only in restraint.

–––

Your many faces of pleasure
rise and fall
like waves—
I pause, mid-smile,
just to witness
the swell of yours.

–––

Your touch brushes
the most sensitive parts of me,
as your silk-cloaked body
glides—liquid, slow—
guided
by the current
of your soul.

–––

And here I am—
washed for words,
mouth half-open,
trying not to drown
in everything
you make me feel.

#sensualpoetry #eroticundertones #lustandlonging #poeticdesire #passioninverse #romanticerotica #bodyandsoul