Love me like fire in a house caving in,
A blaze that devours the walls within.
Love me like wounds that refuse to sleep,
Still open, still gasping, still cut too deep.

Etch your name on my breaking skin,
Not soft, not gentle—let the carving begin.
If you won’t love me ruthless, don’t even start;
I’d rather be ashes than half a heart.

Hold me like lightning that splits the sky,
A flash, a scream, a reason to try.
Hold me like a secret we’ll never tell,
Like the last confession at the gates of hell.

Cling to me, blood on your trembling hands,
Through the ache of scars no one understands.
Catch me when storms rip me apart,
Through wreckage, through ruin, through my failing heart.

Even if loving me tears you in two,
Bleed with me, burn with me—
I will still choose you.

It's the way my heart skips a beat.
It's the way I can't stay in my seat.
It's the reason why I can't sleep.
It's the reason why I think so deep.

When your eyes smile with your teeth.
On my skin, the goosebumps crawl beneath.

They told me —
a woman’s hunger
should be poetic,
not physical.
Desire should be folded
into metaphors
and hidden in kitchen drawers
behind cumin and shame.

But my lips
do not write verses
to please you.
They burn with wanting—
not your approval,
but my own arrival
into a body
that I refuse to apologize for.

You called me dangerous
because I asked for more
than survival.

You called me broken
because I moaned without fear
and dared to say
what women were only allowed
to whisper into pillows
after the lights went out.

I am not the fire
that ruined your perfect home.
I am the fire
you lit
and ran from.

I touched myself
and did not shatter.
I confessed to desire
and did not turn to stone.
I spoke of my body
as mine—
and that
made your temples tremble.

You said,
“This is why women are left.”
“This is why marriages die.”
“This is why daughters should be quiet.”
“This is why God gave shame to Eve.”
And I replied—
“No. This is why women are reborn.”

Your disaster
is not my doing.
It is your brittle masculinity
cracking under the weight
of a woman
who refuses to be less.

I lit a lamp inside me,
and you called it a wildfire.
But don’t mistake my flame
for your ruin.
I burn to become — not to destroy.

it
i
it remains empty, so empty.
would you write into it endlessly,
would you writhe inside of it fervently
please ugly please

"let someone in" their voice rang though my head.
flashbacks of how my soul died replayed over and over and over again through the fog of my memory.
they meant it so innocently, but he was so innocent when I let him in.
my arms were wide open, I told him to make himself comfortable when he entered the depths of my heart.
and god, did he.
his shoes were muddy but I didn't even notice, his smile distracting me.
he opened my books on the shelf of memories, leaving them scattered all over the place.... his smooth beautiful lies consuming my mind to a point where I didn't care what he did.
I let him trapse through my deepest secrets, my most intense thoughts, while he sat there and smiled saying how he loved me.
why did I have to believe him?
he laced his words with so much truth it made my head spin,
he was bringing parts of me alive that had died so many years ago and I thought he'd stay.... but I also thought he loved me.
but before I could even blink he had ran out the door.
the door which used to have a wall built around it with a lock.
a wall that he broke down, and lock he somehow managed to get through.  
he was a storm that had ripped through my whole being, leaving me even more damaged than before.
but it's okay.... I'll just 'let someone in' again.

Its funny how I stare at this blank piece of paper.... and all I can think about is you.
but I see you in everything, so how is this any different?
maybe because we were never anything.... we were stolen glances, with quick intense touches, eye contact that made me feel dizzy, hands accidently touching and I thought my skin was gonna light on fire, everything was so intense.... it still is.
so why? why won't you just kiss me?
prove to me I'm not making this up.... I can't be.
but maybe it's like a dream, maybe it all feels so real but once you wake up you realize it was only you the whole time, making it all up.
I pray that's not the case.
I pray that you feel this crazy pull towards me as I feel to you.
I pray you feel the same, even just a little.

The loudest silence, felt by one yet unheard by others, is the quiet tremor of a heart splintered in solitude.

Charcoal hands
To hold my ignited love,
The only reciprocity
Is to be maimed & scarred
With flames beyond the fire's control.
Gasoline loves a match-
Bright & hot, destructive, fast.
Burns out to within, and then
It's all exhausted;
Embers smolder to ash.