Those words you spoke,
Solemn and soft,
Caressed my supple heart,
And ignited it into desire

I felt your touch peer through the cracks.
Your love breathed through the gaps.
I saw your eyes shimmer in the shadow.
Your warmth glimmer in the cold.

I came running to that door —
The one you opened just for me.
All alone with your lingering touch,
Held by the softness of my reverie.

And now my love burns fiercely.
Setting fire to that solemn door.
The frame splinters my tender hands,
Desire bleeding now for my own flesh and bone.

There were words I loosed like doves in flame,
Believing then they sang my name.
They circled truths I thought were stone,
But time has taught me bone is bone.
It bends, it breaks, it mends anew,
And so, my thinking shifted too.

There were paths I carved with fervent feet,
Mistaking hunger for the heat.
I danced with shadows, dressed in pride,
I kissed ideals I now let slide.
Not out of shame, nor some disguise,
But from the way that wisdom sighs.

No, I wear no doubled face,
No costume stitched with sly disgrace.
I do not play at saint or sin,
But simply shed my older skin.
The soul, like sea, must ebb and swell,
What once was right may not still dwell.

Growth is not betrayal’s twin,
It is the echoing voice within.
That softens stone and clears the dust,
That asks, “What now deserves your trust?”
And so I rise, unchained from past,
Not fixed in marble, but made to last.

Judge me not by yesteryear,
But by the will that brought me here.
I bloom, I stumble, I redefine,
Each version still a thread of mine.
For even stars must shift their place,
And find new fire in endless space.

So let me change, and let it be,
A hymn to our humanity.
Not proof I’ve lost my truest hue,
But proof I’ve lived, and listened, too.

Every time I gaze at the mirror,
a storm of doubts rises within me —

Am I worthy?
Am I beautiful?
Am I doing enough with my life?
Am I ambitionless?
Am I being too carefree?
Am I gaining weight?
…and so many more.

But amidst the flood of questions,
my heart gently whispers:

You are worthy.

It’s not the external beauty that defines you —
It’s your self-love,
your kindness to yourself.

Mirrors only reflect what’s visible.
But what really shapes us
is the change we choose
beyond the glass.

he didn’t peel my orange,
I let tears shed down my face,
I’m not supposed to be sad,
after all, it’s just an orange.

a sweet and sour fruit,
the color of a prison jumpsuit,
I think I need a parachute,
to rescue me into absolute.

I don’t notice anything else,
just the fact that he refused,
but I stop to think and realise,
that maybe I need to be defused.

all these problems climbing up,
rushing in from the *****,
when a sweet turns to sour,
and something snaps inside.

Why am I filled with smoke,
Why do I feel this way,
Why am I so dependent,
It’s just an orange anyway.

so I start slowly,
taking the skin off,
piece by piece it falls,
and it reveals something sweet.

suddenly I understand.
To peel someones orange,
means I have to peel mine first.

What if I told you, in hush not heard, but felt,
That the ache you name as longing
is the echo of a promise kept?
Not in some far-off fortune,
but in a chamber of the Now
where time folds in upon itself
like linen soft with memory.

You want it deeply, don't you?
That golden glint behind your ribs,
the ache that doesn’t bruise but burns,
not a wound, but a whisper.
It is not born of lack.
It is the future’s fragrant breath
blooming backward into your soul.

These aren’t dreams, my love,
they are breadcrumbs dropped
by a wiser You who’s already danced
through that doorway,
wearing the life you crave
like sunlight wears the morning.

Intuition isn’t guessing,
it’s remembering,
as the river remembers the sea.
Desire is not begging,
it is recognition,
a soul pointing to its own reflection
just beyond the veil.

So walk like it’s yours.
Breathe it. Speak it.
Dress your days in its colour.
Let the vision not be a someday shrine
but a mirror, a map, a marrow.

Because what you want is not ahead,
it is within,
waiting only
to be believed in.

I treat myself with a little more respect each day.

When you loved me,
the world paused its rotation,
like even time
knew not to interrupt.
Everything else faded,
noise, doubt,
the version of me
before there was you.

You looked at me
like I was an oasis
in your endless desert.
Like your whole life
had led you here,
and now that you’d found me,
you could finally rest.

You didn’t love me gently.
You loved me like revelation.
Like touching me
meant risking everything,
but you’d already decided
I was worth the scars.

You saw in me
something untouched,
unguarded, and fragile.
A truth not curated,
not shaped by the world.
But the part of me
still soft,
still pure.

And instead of rushing toward it
to claim or change it,
you stood there,
stunned.
Like you didn’t know
whether to protect it
or fall to your knees in hunger.

You held me like I was made
of breath and glass,
something holy and fleeting.
You wanted to wrap your whole being around mine,
not just with desire,
but with devotion.

And still,
there was craving.
There was hunger.

The kind that doesn’t want to consume
to destroy,
but to understand.
To merge.
To belong.
To be lost in another.

And I…
I had never felt more real
than when I was against you.
Never more known
than in the way
you almost trembled
just to be near me.

That kind of love
needs forever
just to make sense of.
It arrives wild,
sets fire to everything you were,
and leaves you standing
in the ruins of unanswered questions.

And now,
no one says my name
with the weight
your voice gave it.
No one looks at me
like I’m both salvation
and temptation.

And maybe that’s a mercy.
Because what if…
I don’t miss you.
I miss being
unforgettable.

Treating ourselves with respect is essential for leading a happy and healthy life.