we didn’t need music
just the hum of the fridge
and the dog barking two floors down.
the sheets were half off the bed,
her hair in knots,
my hands shaking
like I’d lived a hundred lives
and never touched something so real.

Serena—
she looked at me like she already knew
where the cracks were
and kissed me there first.
no ceremony,
just heat and breath
and two ******-up hearts
trying to beat in time.

she moaned like it mattered,
like the world might stop spinning
if we didn’t keep going.
I bit her lip, she scratched my back,
we left bruises that felt like
truth.

afterward,
she lit a cigarette
with a hand still trembling
and said,
"we’re not broken,
just bruised in the right places."
and I believed her.

I got ways to go, believe me,
The coldest ever—anaemic.
Stripping down the vices,
And by that, I mean me, myself, and I, *****.
The lord, call me your highness,
But don’t confuse me for the kindest.
Taking a stand isn’t the vilest—
Approach just like the golden touch, the Midas.

Reprimanding the bezoar,
Leavin’ all the poison behind us.
Close your eyes if you don’t want 'em to find us!
The God? I’m not Osiris.
I lack the means to guide us.
The path of the finest—
A fantasy, only to remind us
Of all the fallacies I sold to the crownless.
But what of the fellow deceased?
I mean the fellow seized!
The dreams of the unguarded,
The sin that we started,
To get us rewarded.
I killed the Open-Hearted,
Now dearly departed.

You reap what you sow—
Left me deep in the snow.
I peeked through the hole,
But there’s only me, the sole.
I staged a show,
To feel a little more,
But I never opened the door.

Now I see you no more.
You were sweet, a little slow—
Deserved love so much more.
But I lacked the gall,
And you took the fall.
I was built to protect you,
But you never left that little door.
Smiled a little more,
Should’ve hugged you some more.
Now echoes of silence haunt the floor.
You’re gone, and I see you no more.

I am to blame for this nuisance,
I am to blame for this rapture—
If only I didn’t fail to capture.

If I tripped, you too tripped—
Brother, we were trippin’.
I took a hit, felt sick, should’ve listened.
Where’s my foresight? My vision?
Where’s my f**kin’ intuition?
To hell with my indecision—
Blinded by pride, deaf to collisions.
Never cared so much for religion.
But you were the dawn of this coalition.

Fruitful conviction,
So much to offer, a pondering decision.

Rage consumed me; I created diversion.
Hateful I got for not understanding your assertion.
You had the gusto, a remarkable vision—
But I doubted and embarked on evasion.
Cursed at my frustration,
But no one was there to listen.
I carried the mission,
Prying open wounds to find division.

But I didn’t see my mistake.
Argued and raged, thinking I’d escape.
I broke, woke—but still bore the same face.
Tried to retaliate,
But it was too late to recalibrate.
I over-narrate, couldn’t hesitate.
Thought anger was relief, never did validate.
So much arrogance I failed to navigate.

Kinda felt like Medusa—
A head (ahead) of snakes, my own accuser.
                                                                        -Asher Graves

I smiled so wide my molars got jealous.
Everyone said I looked stunning.
I said thank you in the voice I reserve for customer service and playing dumb.
That’s the closest I’ve come to a scream
this week.

I wore the dress that says: I’m over it.
(It lies.)
I walked like a question mark
straightened out with rage.

There was a man in the corner
making balloon animals.
He asked what I wanted.
I said surprise me.
He handed me a noose
shaped like a swan.

No one noticed.
Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself
to feel interesting.

Later, someone told a joke
I didn’t get.
I laughed like I was being watched.

The punchline wasn’t funny.
It just echoed
like something I would’ve said
before I got careful.

I stood in the kitchen
with a paper plate of olives and nothing,
holding it like proof
I was doing fine.

Someone spilled wine on the couch.
I said I’ve ruined better things.
Everyone laughed
like I meant it to be charming.
(I didn’t.)

A girl in white heels asked me
how I knew the host.
I said same way I know most people—
by accident,
and with the kind of premonition that wears perfume.

The bathroom mirror was cracked.
I counted the breaks like confessions
and chose not to atone.
The soap smelled like fruit
that only exists in dreams
you wake up crying from.

I reapplied my lip stain
like armor,
like alibi,
like an exit strategy.

Then I left without saying goodbye
because I couldn’t figure out
how to do it quietly
and still be missed.

All afternoon thinking,
my head keeps spinning.

Evaluating one,
and another option.

Just to answer that question,
What do you want with me?

I have no label in the earthly,
no explanation
from beyond.

I want to cover the wounds
of the heart with gold.

Like kintsugi,
turning scars into beauty.

I want to hold you,
whenever you need it.

I want to be the refuge
from adversities.

I want to be the outline
of your emotions.

I want to love you,
and be loved.

I want to set standards for you,
and accept no less in return.

Yet, you are setting them for me too,
and I cannot receive less
than what you give of yourself.

It will be hard to cover with another nail,
the mark you are leaving.

Maybe I am not meant to be loved; it is the way. Love requires sacrifices, but all I want is someone to sacrifice for me, not the other way around.

Once untouched—so pure, so free,
A whispering breeze, light as the sea.
But with one soft push, I lost my ground,
No longer floating, drowning in emoting.

Chained in the shadows, longing to flee,
Trapped in love’s gallows, with no escape to be.

Who am I?
How am I?
What am I doing here?

I am not my thoughts,
I am not my feelings,
I am not my mind.

I am a free soul,
I am a poet,
with a sharpened quill,
I am your mirror,
I am your wake-up call.

I write poetry,
stirring your soul,
confronting you with life,
waking you up from sleep.

I am calm,
I am joy,
I am peace,
I am love,
the food that nourishes the soul.

I enter carefully,
I step in slowly,
through the dark corridors,
where you never dared to go.

I do not come to destroy,
I do not come to harm,
rather,
I come to heal.

Let us listen to the silence,
quiet our minds,
and let our hearts speak.

Art is living,
art is healing,
art is thinking.

Art is showing our essence,
in every stage of life,
in our own unique way.

Art is expression,
of the inner self,
of the emotional realm.

Art is emotions,
it is feelings,
something profound,
something free of mediocrity.

Art is loving,
kissing,
and caring.

Art is fighting through life,
facing the bad,
embracing the good,
and cherishing it all.

Art is your parents,
who cared for you
and gave you unconditional love.

Art is music,
those two notes
that make your heart burn with passion.

Art is walking through life,
grateful,
smiling,
without greed.

What is your art?

In distant silence, an ache lingers like a forgotten song,
a haunting melody that echoes through
the hollows of an empty home.

Each separation,
a poignant note in the music of longing.
The desire to convey the depth of absence becomes restrained vulnerability where a heart yearns for more than routine inquiries—
a connection that transcends the ordinary.

Yet, in the vast expanse,
the unspoken lingers as a melancholic language,
a narrative of desire and restraint.

Frustration emerges from unmet desires,
a delicate dance where the fear of vulnerability clashes
with the yearning for profound connection.

Silently, the heart navigates the surface,
resisting the urge to delve into the intricacies of emotions.

Now, a choice is made to reveal little,
to traverse the silence with a delicate grace,
as the unexpressed yearns to be heard in the still expanse.