My Beautiful Boy.
I don’t just want to kiss you.
I want to breathe you in until my lungs are heavy with you.
I want to live in the quiet between your thoughts,
the place you go when you zone out and the world gets too loud.
I know that look—the way your eyebrows crinkle,
the small, sharp pout when I catch you being beautiful.
I want to be the reason for it.
I want to be the soft landing for your silly, nonsensical days,
the stillness that replaces the glow of your phone at 2 AM.
You are safest here, pinned to my chest,
listening to the rhythm of a heart you changed without trying.
I can read your mind—I see the knots forming before you feel them.
I want to be the one who untangles the overthinking,
the quiet warmth on your snoring face,
the only thing steady in a life of shifting lines.
I love the scars. I love the dark brown depth of you.
I want to be the sweet compression of a hug that leaves no room for air.
Not an anchor, not a sail—just the weight that holds you down
when you feel like floating away.
I want you. I want the whole, messy, beautiful truth of us.
Every line. Every silence.
You are everything, and I am nothing.
Jan 10
Jan 10, 2026 at 1:16 AM UTC
My Beautiful Boy.
I don’t just want to kiss you.
I want to breathe you in until my lungs are heavy with you.
I want to live in the quiet between your thoughts,
the place you go when you zone out and the world gets too loud.
I know that look—the way your eyebrows crinkle,
the small, sharp pout when I catch you being beautiful.
I want to be the reason for it.
I want to be the soft landing for your silly, nonsensical days,
the stillness that replaces the glow of your phone at 2 AM.
You are safest here, pinned to my chest,
listening to the rhythm of a heart you changed without trying.
I can read your mind—I see the knots forming before you feel them.
I want to be the one who untangles the overthinking,
the quiet warmth on your snoring face,
the only thing steady in a life of shifting lines.
I love the scars. I love the dark brown depth of you.
I want to be the sweet compression of a hug that leaves no room for air.
Not an anchor, not a sail—just the weight that holds you down
when you feel like floating away.
I want you. I want the whole, messy, beautiful truth of us.
Every line. Every silence.
You are everything, and I am nothing.
A poem to celebrate the change of Hello Poetry. A draft, edited, about my lovely partner. I love you Bren.
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