I still have her guitar
The one the church gave her

I started to practice; to learn it’s tune

but when I strummed its brittle strings, her sad voice was all I heard


Her blue-green wrinkled eyes bored through me

Her soft song rang in my ears



I said I needed space, I needed distance from her past


but every time I picked up that old guitar

her silver-grey presence reappeared


What used to be fond memories,
playing in my mind as I held its wooden body close,


transformed into drunken hazes- to a sea of black disguised as blue

……………………………………………………

How can I still practice, still play this guitar
when every time I look at it

I just think of her

I see her, grace and elegance
A picture of refinement
In tune her essence
Living in alignment
Shines bright radiance
In black so vibrant.

Slow mornings with her love
Seen gentle, brave, and kind
****, showered with diamonds
Secure and calm by design
Obsession- she is everything
Which she has- a shrine.

A dancing dream
Brought to life
Dark feminine ambience
With an unmatched inner light
So woman, bloomed
And abundance devised.

i miss you
i miss hugging you
i miss feeling like i held heaven in my arms

i guess i just miss us

sometimes i wonder what it's like to be a washcloth.
once a washcloth has been greasy and worn out,
someone who appreciates its worth takes it out from the workshop,
rubs it clean
removes all the grime, the dirt, the grease, the impurity
soaks it in a tub full of soap and warm water
then laid out to enjoy the breeze
and embrace the warmth of the sun
to start fresh, to start anew, to feel brand new again.
a clean slate for the washcloth; a repetitive process until it has been worn out on its last string.

i wonder what it's like to be a washcloth.
to be able to wring out all the scars, the wounds, the wickedness
and start anew every time.

but i guess that's what makes us human.
all the battle scars will remain as a lesson,
all the wickedness situated upon us will always convey a message,
and all the pain will serve its reminder that there is a brighter tomorrow.

but sometimes,
i can't help but wonder
what it's like to be a washcloth.

she bloomed
in the hush of night
where the sun dared not reach
and the wind whispered secrets
no red petal could keep.

they called her strange
a shadow among flame—
but she stood, velvet and midnight,
thriving
where silence kissed her roots.

among the red,
she did not wilt—
she shimmered.
not in gold,
but in obsidian grace
wrapped in the perfume of grief
and galaxies.

she was not less.
only different.
a hymn of thorns,
a waltz of ache.

the roses around her
spoke in bright laughter
but she sang
in echoes—
in lullabies
dripping from glass edges
still stained
with the stories of those
who held her too tightly.

there was beauty
in her breaks—
shattered, yes,
but glinting with stardust
and crimson.

she had bled
where no one could see
and still
she stood.

not because she was untouched
but because she was unclaimed
by ruin.

she was not born to belong—
she was born
to remind the world
that even darkness
blooms.

Hugging close, finally
Someone who’s hugging me back
With my thumb to her shoulder blade
Touching on bra straps while
She’s got her face in my chest
Both of us fully dressed, to be clear

“You’re my favorite,” she says
She prefers me to four other men
At least four with the
Three in the room and
The boyfriend she just got to
Make it official
It’s me
I’m her favorite

Maybe she prefers me to the rest of
The men that she’s met
That’d be swell and well um
Y’know, neat and stuff
She might even prefer me to strangers
Not saying that we’re well-acquainted
But we exchanged numbers so
I know her name at least
I think it’s really her name

She was loud but quiet .
She rebelled but yet repent.
She was snow yet fire.
She burned yet burnt.

She was one, yet two
Duality lived beneath her skin,
She was possessive, cruel
yet detached, aloof.

She prayed with eyes
She yearned in silence.
She screamed with tears
She dreamed of violence.

Her energy wasn’t radiant
It burned low, too quiet.
She loved the glow,
The beauty of  ice.

Made bonds, not deep.
She preached,
Not presence ,But soul.
Not me, but Bond
Not me but bond...


---

Confess your love for her —
or forever hold your breath,
and watch her
walk down the aisle
toward someone
she never truly chose.

Say it now,
while she can still be yours,
while her heart
still beats freely.

Tell her —
that you’ve loved her
since the moment
you first saw her.

That her smile
melts your heart
every single time.

That you can’t imagine
a life without her.
That she’s the reason
you’re still breathing.

That she’s the color
on your blank canvas,
the verse
in every song you’ve ever written,
the meaning
in every moment you’ve lived.

Tell her —
you were never whole
without her.
That she was the missing piece
to your puzzle,
the one that made you
complete.

Because if you don’t…
you’ll spend a lifetime
wondering how it felt
to be loved back
by the one
you never had the courage
to fight for.