Before the body,
there was only light…
two sparks circling the same sky,
whispering across the night
without names, without form.
Only memory waiting to return.

No promises of peace were made.
Only one truth:
When the time comes, shake me awake.
Break me, if that’s what it takes.

It was never meant to be easy.
Only real.

So when the fire comes…
eyes that know too much,
hands carrying a mirror
no one else dares to hold…
something ancient stirs.

Not a fairytale reunion.
Not soft edges,
but friction that strips illusions clean.

Some connections aren’t meant to soothe.
They arrive to undo.
To pull up what was buried,
to tap the nerves no one else could reach.
A mirror that doesn’t flatter,
but reveals.

The kind that doesn’t offer safety…
but demands truth.

And through the ache,
a quiet remembering:
this has happened before.

Maybe not in this skin,
but in some echo of a life
where recognition wasn’t a feeling…
it was a force.

Not everyone would see it.
But for those who’ve made the pact…
the soul knows.

Beneath the sea that isn’t wet,
Where blackened suns refuse to set,
A throne of teeth awaits the crowned…
But only those who’ve never drowned.

It speaks in tides not made of water,
In names that burn the tongue to utter.
And every soul who kneels to reign
Must trade their eyes to feel the flame.

I am strung across the stars,
a filament of many,
a thread of light
looped through every door.

In one world, I speak,
in another, I swallow my words.
One where I dance in the fire,
one where I run.

Each possibility hums
like distant thunder
in the fabric of now.
Each version flickers
in the space I do not see.

They are not lost,
only uncollapsed,
only waiting.

To look too closely
is to pin the moment down,
but to surrender
is to hear the whole symphony.

I reach for none
and learn to let go.
I do not have to choose,
because somewhere
in the tangle of what could be
I already am
true.

Scroll, post, repeat the trend,
A pose, a pout … a means to an end.
Skin like scroll bait, soft and bare,
Hoping strangers might just care.

A thousand eyes, a thousand hearts,
Double taps like modern art.
But how many linger past the frame?
How many even know your name?

They see the curve, the light, the tease,
But not the scars, the silent pleas.
Not the nights you cried alone,
Not the ache behind your phone.

Why unwrap your soul so quick,
Bare your body, click by click?
Validation’s empty prize …
Echoed praise in shallow skies.

Is it power, is it pain?
A fleeting high that fades again.
Do you crave to be adored,
Or feel what love once felt before?

What’s the cost of all that showing,
If they don’t care where you’re going?
If they just stop for a glance …
Not a thought, not a chance.

You are not a canvas for their gaze,
Not here to earn or seek their praise.
You are the artist, not the art,
A whole **** world, a beating heart.
Paint your worth in your own hue …
No filter needed to show what’s true.

They say there’s a ghost in the pond.
Big as a dog, orange like fire,
wears a face that’s not its own…
a mask of stone and fury.

But it’s no ghost.
It’s a goldfish.
One they flushed,
or forgot,
or never believed in
when it was small.

It lived in glass.
Fed crumbs of care.
Until the world cracked open,
and water poured wide.
The fish swam free…
and became itself.

Now it rules the pond.
Not with teeth,
but with power.

The koi step aside.
The shadows watch it pass.
Because this goldfish
learned how to grow.

Not a ghost.
Not a warning.
Just a goldfish
who outgrew
everything they gave him.

Choose places where your spirit feels seen,
where smiles rise before you speak,
and silence isn’t heavy with judgment.
That’s where your soul rests.

Take the longer road.
The one with curves,
pauses,
moments of stillness.
It teaches more.
It lasts longer.

One summit is only a step
toward the next.
Keep walking.
Keep wondering.
The journey never ends…
and that’s the beauty of it.

If the path ahead is unclear,
don’t turn back.
Some of the best things
can’t be seen from the start.
Surprise lives there.
So does growth.

Be mindful of your garden.
Your peace is soil.
Don’t let chaos plant roots
where calm is trying to grow.

Joy is not found in the finish.
It grows in the in-between,
in footsteps without applause,
in becoming without needing to be seen.

I let you in, I let you see
the deepest, quietest parts of me.
I gave you gifts, both kind and rare,
laid out dark secrets, every care.

But shadows shift, and masks did fall,
your honeyed voice revealed it all.
You lied, you took, then spun the tale
to paint my kindness cold and pale.

So now the gates are locked up tight,
no open doors, no welcome light.
The hands that once gave, now hold fast,
a lesson learned, a love that passed.

No whispers now, no gentle plea—
the walls stand firm, protecting me.
For trust once shattered won’t return,
when some betrayals only burn.

Yet through the cracks, the stars still gleam,
soft reminders, distant dreams.
The lock remains, the scars run deep,
but love still lingers where it sleeps.

And should one come with steady hand,
who speaks in truth, who understands,
they’ll find the key, not forced, but free—
for walls aren’t meant for eternity