The priest will never marry us
and my mom will never know you
but I can kiss you over a mug of  tea and dance with you under the stars and if that isn't marriage I'm not sure what God is looking for...

In moonlit grace, a feline ballet unfolds,
Whiskers whisper secrets, tales untold.
Purring symphony, a lullaby's embrace,
Ode to a cat, in fur and mystery's trace.

In shadows cast by the elusive approval of others, a silent tremor courses through the heart.

A delicate dance with vulnerability, the fear of rejection, an intricate tapestry woven with threads of self-doubt.

Echoes of unspoken fears reverberate in the corridors of the soul, where the ache of anticipation meets the haunting specter of disapproval.

Each step forward tinged with the weight of potential dismissal, the fragile ego tiptoes on the tightrope of acceptance, yearning for the elusive embrace of validation.

In this realm of uncertainty, courage battles apprehension, and the pen of self-worth hesitates, hesitant to script its narrative in the ink of judgment.

The fear of rejection, a phantom that lurks in the corners of connection, yet within its grasp, resilience blooms, forging a narrative not defined by external verdicts but by the unwavering strength within.

In the quiet echoes of shared moments, I believed I held a place in her heart, a sanctuary of understanding.

Yet, as the pages of our story turned, I discovered the bitter truth – a heartbreak that whispered in the silence of unspoken words.

The weight of unmet expectations settled in my chest, a poignant ache that danced with the shadows of what could have been.

In the wreckage of shattered illusions, I navigate the debris of emotions, searching for solace in the fragments of a connection that slipped through my fingers like sand.

In the quiet chambers of my self-doubt, echoes of unworthiness linger like ghostly whispers


My heart, a fragile tapestry, woven with threads of longing, bears the weight of a narrative that whispers, "unloveable."


My wounded soul, adorned with scars, becomes a canvas where doubts paint their somber hues. A mirror reflects a search for affirmation,

My eyes perceive a canvas marked by perceived inadequacies.
In the quietest moments of the day, my soul yearns for an embrace

Crying for  a love that defies the self-imposed boundaries of unloveability,
seeking redemption in the tender arms of self-acceptance.

In shadows cast by a silent moon, loneliness weaves its subtle tapestry.

Isolation, a heavy cloak, drapes my soul in echoes of unheard whispers.

A solitary heart, a lighthouse in a sea of empty echoes, yearns for connection in the vast expanse of solitude.

A moonlit dance of emotions unfolds,
an intimate waltz with the echoes of one's own existence,
seeking solace in the profound embrace of isolation's melancholy.

In her presence, poetry is born, as if the very air conspires to echo the splendor of her being.
She is a harmony of beauty that transcends the confines of mere words.