not perfect, not loud.
but the kind of love that lets you be.
they'll see the mess inside you,
and love you anyway, just like the sea.

they won't need you to shrink or perform,
they'll love the way you're soft and torn.
they'll call you beatiful-not just "hot"-
see your heart, and all it's not.

they won't run when things get hard,
or hide when you're left feeling scarred.
they'll listen when you need to speak,
stay when you're strong and when you're weak.

you'll never have to guess or chase,
they'll show up in the darkest place.
they'll be the trust you've always lacked,
the hands that pull you from the black.

they won't complete you-
but with them, you'll feel whole.
someone who sees your soul.

and when they love you,
you'll know it's real.
not because they say it,
but because they feel.

Burn me, drown me, take me down
A Flaming Phoenix, I’ve been around
Uproot, transplant, a new me is found
Cut me, crush me, I rise from the ground

Mistake not this fire for a coal black soul
These colorful flames are brilliant & whole
My talons and wings don’t think to control
If passion is sin, I go to Sheol

Shackle me back with those chains I wore?
I won’t scream, bite or claw, but spread wings & soar
I tried to love his cold ash before
That grit in my mouth I’ll suffer no more

Moved twenty times by sweet 16
Learned young to breathe through the in-between
Grey ashes taught how to blaze & gleam
From that dungeon I ascend as Queen

I took for granted everything,
colors of every hue.
I didn’t know those colors
filled my world because of you.
 
So, like the fool I am
I let you go, too blind to see
that on my own I am just alone
and things turned out to be
 
where colors slowly slipped away,
the yellows, greens and blues.
And now the only color left…
is the memory of you.

He stands where the shadows meet,
A choice that dances, bittersweet.
In his gaze, a world untold,
A flicker of warmth, a whisper of cold.

He’s the pull of tides, the hush of the moon,
A fleeting note in a haunting tune.
Caught between what could and can’t,
A lover’s dream, a life’s restraint.

I trace his words, like lines of fate,
In echoes of love, in shadows of hate.
His touch—a storm, both soft and fierce,
A balm for wounds he didn’t pierce.

Yet still, I stand on shifting ground,
In silence, where his name resounds.
He’s not just a soul, but a choice to be,
A mirror reflecting the depths of me.

Though fear lingers, I know what’s true—
A future bright, shaped by me and you.
We’re bound by threads no hand can sever,
Our love a promise: someday, forever.

But anxious thoughts begin to creep,
A fear that runs so dark, so deep.
What if one of us breaks apart,
And shatters this love before it can start?

Our inner children cry for care,
For love we’ve sought, but found so rare.
Yet fear looms large, and we both know,
The pain if this ends will scar and grow.

I see the weight he quietly bears,
The scars of hurt, the fragile air.
We’ve both been lost, unloved, unseen,
Yet in each other, we’ll finally be clean.

No ex could hold what we now hold,
No fleeting love, no story told.
We are the shelter, the sacred place,
The love that time could not erase.

With him, I know we’re meant to be,
Our paths by stars and fate decree.
In his heart, I’ve found my home,
With him, I’ll never feel alone.

So here I linger, heart in hand,
No longer caught between sea and land.
We are the love we searched to find,
Two broken hearts, now intertwined.

The walls breathe in static—
a hum, a crackle, a whisper of wires
pulling tight around my throat.
Every sound a gunshot.
Every shadow a knife.
The milk spills,
a galaxy spreading across the floor,
an apocalypse in white.

Outside, the neon world churns,
spitting teeth, shrapnel dreams.
Everything slick, wet, sharp.
The streets groan,
their intestines spilling out
in the form of cracked asphalt and broken glass.
I can’t leave;
I won’t.

Inside, the air thickens,
a syrup of dread.
Home is a box,
four corners dripping in soft rot.
I sleep under the table
because the bed is too open,
the ceiling too close.

An old television flickers in the corner—
faces in grayscale,
lips moving with no sound.
I try to pull their words apart,
but they squirm like worms.

Every second fractures,
splitting into shards.
Each shard digs in deep—
a hiccup, a phone ringing,
a window slammed shut
by the hands of ghosts.

I try to glue myself together
with the thought of silence.
But silence is a gun too,
a loaded chamber waiting to click.

The wolves circle out there—
dressed as mailmen, as friends,
as my own reflection.
I clutch the blanket,
a shroud, a shield,
a joke.

Safe.
Safe?
Safety is a story they sell in pills,
in pamphlets, in soft voices
that drip honey and venom.
But the wolves are here.
The wolves are me.
The wolves are you.