#loveandfear - Hello Poetry

Selling mind and flesh; sold too much time… now I’m a wreck; a crash-out on your shore— :so be sure to love me; I arrive in waves Love me like a rocking boat, paddling alongside a magnetic wave— your smile pulling me in, reeling me from a once serious face. Facing your fears to be near your feels— feels like cold feet finding courage; still… :leaping from earth, jumping off the porch, in training to fall— repeat. How I need a coach, riding coach to confess these emotions; or riding coasts in bottled emotions— timed, primed… all just waiting for the right place to burst. Tell me, would you love to fall in love first?

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Apr 5

Apr 5, 2026 at 12:28 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Fall First

Selling mind and flesh; sold too much time… now I’m a wreck; a crash-out on your shore— :so be sure to love me; I arrive in waves Love me like a rocking boat, paddling alongside a magnetic wave— your smile pulling me in, reeling me from a once serious face. Facing your fears to be near your feels— feels like cold feet finding courage; still… :leaping from earth, jumping off the porch, in training to fall— repeat. How I need a coach, riding coach to confess these emotions; or riding coasts in bottled emotions— timed, primed… all just waiting for the right place to burst. Tell me, would you love to fall in love first?

15

Two shots ready— bullets clean, a pretend *** A dream pulled back like a slingshot, stretching me a little farther than prior attempts. Bright hopes frighten some people, like horses bucking at fire. Most days I’m unstable, living in a world infected with love bites. So, I wear repellent now, exhausted by mosquito wars. My thoughts spin hurricanes, my heart keeps time in storms. Time is always confiscated when you try to buy it with dreams someone else sold you. Still, I want to live in someone’s thoughts— a lady letting me move in early, into the quiet apartment of her mind. I hope her stairs carry a lot of stories, and remember my footsteps. Because two shots in, shooting my shot, my hands still shake from the _Recoil of Yearning._

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Dec 18, 2025

Dec 18, 2025 at 3:04 PM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Recoil of Yearning

Two shots ready— bullets clean, a pretend *** A dream pulled back like a slingshot, stretching me a little farther than prior attempts. Bright hopes frighten some people, like horses bucking at fire. Most days I’m unstable, living in a world infected with love bites. So, I wear repellent now, exhausted by mosquito wars. My thoughts spin hurricanes, my heart keeps time in storms. Time is always confiscated when you try to buy it with dreams someone else sold you. Still, I want to live in someone’s thoughts— a lady letting me move in early, into the quiet apartment of her mind. I hope her stairs carry a lot of stories, and remember my footsteps. Because two shots in, shooting my shot, my hands still shake from the _Recoil of Yearning._

17

I thought I’d found Heaven— But it was just the afternoon Just looking holy. _Your eyes?_ Little constellations; I almost Made an angel my wife. Then I saw the _real you_. Biblically accurate version: Watching you, too many eyes Beauty that breaks the mind Love that shakes the soul. The kind of angel that makes Men fall. Not Heaven at all— _Terrifying. Divine. Winsome. Spiritual. Engaging. Angelic_ Scaring the hell out of me.

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Dec 12, 2025

Dec 12, 2025 at 4:17 PM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

When Angels Get Too Close

I thought I’d found Heaven— But it was just the afternoon Just looking holy. _Your eyes?_ Little constellations; I almost Made an angel my wife. Then I saw the _real you_. Biblically accurate version: Watching you, too many eyes Beauty that breaks the mind Love that shakes the soul. The kind of angel that makes Men fall. Not Heaven at all— _Terrifying. Divine. Winsome. Spiritual. Engaging. Angelic_ Scaring the hell out of me.

15

Slowly falling – too slow, it almost feels like floating; hovering above coping, breathing through the ache like lotion rubbed into open wounds. These scars know softness by scent, not by touch. Forgetful motion, passive emotions — _a tug-of-war_ between what I feel and what I should feel. Suppose we spend the rest of our lives together — suppose we raise children with dreams we never had the courage to chase, and wisdom we never got to learn. Would we both smile, pretending not to notice the cracks under our feet? Suppose we kiss — and I felt so unprepared to meet something that feels more prepared to meet me. Your lips, a sermon I can’t quite believe in; mine, the confession I never finish. Suppose we go out to dinner, a restaurant dimly lit with expectations. I serve my fears, my hopes, my half-eaten faith on a plate— and you pretend they taste okay. Would you ask for seconds, or second-guess the meal entirely, saying you’ll be back in a few seconds but we both know there won’t be a second date? Suppose we hold hands, suppose our eyes meet — I flinch first, every time. Would you still think of me as someone worth holding on to, when my love language sounds like an apology in translation? I’m not afraid of falling — __I’m afraid of landing__. I’m afraid that love is just gravity rehearsing heartbreak. I’ve never been this high up, and still somehow this feels like drowning. So if I don’t call it love, please don’t call it running. Maybe I’m just moving slow enough to see what I’m losing before I lose it. Maybe I’m just learning how to fall without letting go.

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Oct 19, 2025

Oct 19, 2025 at 4:12 PM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Suppose I Fall

Slowly falling – too slow, it almost feels like floating; hovering above coping, breathing through the ache like lotion rubbed into open wounds. These scars know softness by scent, not by touch. Forgetful motion, passive emotions — _a tug-of-war_ between what I feel and what I should feel. Suppose we spend the rest of our lives together — suppose we raise children with dreams we never had the courage to chase, and wisdom we never got to learn. Would we both smile, pretending not to notice the cracks under our feet? Suppose we kiss — and I felt so unprepared to meet something that feels more prepared to meet me. Your lips, a sermon I can’t quite believe in; mine, the confession I never finish. Suppose we go out to dinner, a restaurant dimly lit with expectations. I serve my fears, my hopes, my half-eaten faith on a plate— and you pretend they taste okay. Would you ask for seconds, or second-guess the meal entirely, saying you’ll be back in a few seconds but we both know there won’t be a second date? Suppose we hold hands, suppose our eyes meet — I flinch first, every time. Would you still think of me as someone worth holding on to, when my love language sounds like an apology in translation? I’m not afraid of falling — __I’m afraid of landing__. I’m afraid that love is just gravity rehearsing heartbreak. I’ve never been this high up, and still somehow this feels like drowning. So if I don’t call it love, please don’t call it running. Maybe I’m just moving slow enough to see what I’m losing before I lose it. Maybe I’m just learning how to fall without letting go.

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