Oh, my darling lover,
My thoughts are always stitched with your image
You live in the quiet corners of my mind
I can’t seem to think without thinking of you

I find myself wanting all your time—
To see you in every form, every being, every unguarded glance—
And for you to see me from every angle,
To study one another like a language only we speak.

I crave your touch like a favorite song I never tire of
I picture myself wrapped up in your arms, never straying from their comfort.
The way my hands slip so naturally into yours—
How you trace their lines without even thinking,
Pressing kisses into them like they’re precious—

You make me feel treasured, wanted, and marveled
When your fingers slide through my hair,
I swear I can smell your love in the air.

I remember kissing you in your car—how you held me,
How you guided me with care and hunger both,
How I trusted you so quickly,
How you touched me like I was something sacred.
And still, I find myself constantly craving that feeling.

You made me feel desired in ways I didn’t know I could be.
Even the fierceness of your touch—the way you held my neck,
the way your palm met my cheek, the way you touched me with love
I felt it. I believed you. I believe you.
And I wanted it. I want you.

Darling, I want to be close to you in ways no one else could ever reach.
Thinking of you sends shivers through my body
You are something wild and consuming; who knows what you want
I wonder how you’ll handle me
As you shape me to your needs and I shape you to mine

Chill impedes my spine,
Mist clouds my mind,
Voices scream and cry,
“Why can't I just die?”
Hypo through my bones,
Obscurity bestows,
For this excuse
Is mine adieu.
Done with all, until…
A flash
Concise and clean.
Heaves me back
“Don’t leave them.”
My soul ousts a squeak
A silence stills,
“Escape the black”
For there’s always light
In the world of lack.

A Hole in My Heart
for the one who breathes and hopes

There’s a hole in my heart, black as night,
A silent void where warmth once lived.
It echoes with the chill of absence,
A hollow that no light forgives.

I read of love in gilded pages,
Of fire, of longing, of sweet delight.
But the spark eludes my weathered soul,
A candle lost to endless night.

I watch them laugh, I hear them flirt,
Their hearts in bloom, their glances dance.
And mine—so quiet, so unsure—
Feels left outside the world of chance.

For I have loved, and I have shattered,
Been burnt, been bruised, been torn apart.
But still I rise, a scarred survivor,
Still breathing with a hopeful heart.

Dum spiro, spero—so I whisper,
A sacred phrase, my soul’s refrain.
Though decades carve their lines upon me,
That thread of hope has not grown vain.

Yet still the hollow aches and deepens,
A yearning vast, a haunting call—
To feel again that molten fever,
To stand, to leap, to risk it all.

But maybe love returns in silence,
In steady eyes and quiet flame—
Not wild as once, but ever truer,
Not seeking glory, but a name.

So I will wait, and I will wonder,
And tend the fire with gentle art.
For while I breathe, I do not falter—
Though there’s a hole, there beats a heart.

When I was young, someday was forever —
a tunnel so long I couldn’t see the light,
let alone the end.

As I grew older, it became a memory: someday,
someday I would, if I could.
A fading echo as I began to live, to love —
then loss came, and someday became a dream.

Like the shadow of a mountain, someday
was etched behind my eyes.
There was a plan, an idea, a hope:
someday I would, if I could.

These days, someday feels so far from me —
like the memory of a crisp apple on the tongue:
its sweetness burned in,
but hard to speak aloud.

Someday — would I? Could I?
What does the future hold?
Will I ever find that someday?

Or — more deeply —
is this my new someday?
An image I could never have imagined
without the life, the love, the loss?

What is someday?
A dream,
a regret,
an illusion —
or a seed, still buried,
waiting to bloom?

YOU.
I see you—
like a field of flowers, each blooming in your own way.
All individuals. All so unique. All so vibrant.

I know times are dark.
The shade of fear and hatred
spreads shadows across our wondrous gardens.
But still—you shine.
Enby, trans, queer—the names are many,
for we contain multitudes.

I see YOU.
Yes, you.
I see how brightly you shine, even when life tries to dim you.
When the dark specter of depression clouds your vision.
When your mind flashes from thought to thought,
never resting, always racing.
When pain rolls and thunders through your body—
I still see you.

I see YOU.
You are timeless.
Your strength is your authenticity.
I see how you become your true self.
How you hold space.
How you carry one another through the dark,
your light bringing joy, warmth, love.
You bring all that into my life.

I see YOU.
Even you—the ones who feel forgotten.
The flowers I see carry bruises.
Some spring back quickly. Some take time.
Burdens weigh down your petals—
but the rain of shared tears,
the sunlight of being seen,
restores your bloom.

I see YOU.
All of you—
your joy,
your pain,
your warmth,
your struggle.

You are flowers—
some forged of steel,
some radiant as the sun,
but all blooming,
still here,
still seen.

We were artists
But you had the brush
And I had the pen
You drew the worlds, the people
I wrote down the feelings, explanations

You captured the images perfectly
While I can only guess at the words
The way you moved your brush
While I can only stick to lines
Beauty versus perfection

You express your worlds radiantly 
But I can only write in black and white
I wished I traded my pen for a brush
To feel the colors you weaved 
To see the world beyond my script

Maybe if I knew how to color
If my pen drew more than rigid letters
You would have understood me 
In a world of black and white 
You were the color in my life

You are a monstrosity,
A walking atrocity,
Feeding on fear with relentless ferocity,
Draped in control, masked as curiosity,
Preaching decay as divine necessity,
Crushing the truth at full velocity.

You rewrite the past with blind audacity,
Bleeding the future with cruel tenacity,
Shrouded in pride and dead opacity,
Silencing hope with ruthless capacity.

You wear your lies with a soft veracity,
Spitting out law with no sagacity,
Chaining the mind, gutting democracy,
As if blood were a price for your prophesy.