Her words painted the most beautiful picture I have seen..

I read them twice Thinking where have you being?

Dreams and fantasys all became real

I won't stop reading them, I want to feel.

I don't Know you but I know what I love

You vibe in sentances like a peaceful dove

I go back sometimes and read what I miss

Each word in my mind like a soulful kiss

Whoever you talk to is a lucky person

If it's me again I'm very uncertain

Some loves only exist while passing

Pass me allways is what I'm asking

I better stop before I develop a crush

I think I've allready said too much

You make the next person seem so bland

there words don't say "hold my hand"

So this little poem is what speaks true

A spark of hope and a little thank you.

She wrapped me round her little finger .

I would have done anything for her

She knew she had power over me

She used it oh so well

I had no intention of falling

But I took the fall .

My pen freely flowed

She lapped up my best poetry .

We were on the same page until the next day

Where everything changed .

Claiming to be on some high moral ground

I felt like the offender with egg on my face .

Reality bites and I’ve learned to laugh at myself

Enjoy the moments but keep moving along

For my own pen must be free or not free at all .

We appreciate every moment

And the object lessons learned .

My weakness my kryptonite.

Otherwise I feel invincible like Superman

I wear a ring, I know the rules,

my heart is claimed, so don’t play the fool.

But being married, let’s make one thing clear,

doesn’t mean flirting disappears.

I’m not looking to change my name,

I’m simply here to enjoy the game.

A wink, a tease, a clever line…

a little harmless trouble feels just fine.

I like a man who can make me grin,

who knows just how to reel me in.

A well-timed compliment, a wicked stare,

a little “what if?” lingering there.

I’ll flirt with you, then play innocent,

pretend I don’t know what your message meant.

I’ll blush, I’ll tease, I’ll flirt some more,

then leave you wondering what I’m smiling for.

My husband has my heart, that much is true,

but that doesn’t mean I can’t flirt with you.

So charm me carefully, if you dare…

I may be married, but I’m still trouble to spare.

i am turning back now
toward the girl
i abandoned to become
someone easier to love.

she is not too much.
she is not broken.
she is not a burden.
waiting to be forgiven.

she is mine.
and i will let her grieve.

i will let her speak.
i will let her need.

i will let her take up
every inch of the space
i once surrendered
just to keep someone else close.

and if letting you go
is what it takes
to finally come back to her,
then let this be
the last time
i disappear for love.
this time,
i’m staying with her.

Well, it’s been a year now.
Sorry I wasted your time on me.
Do you want to know where I was?
No need for your answer.
I’ll tell you anyway
I spent my time with a friend,
And it really helped me get over you.

But, you know,
I saw you with your girlfriend.
I got jealous of her.
In the store, she held your hand,
And you hugged her.

What? Was that freedom for you?
But you left me in a grave
For years now.

Don’t worry about me,
I’ll recover pretty soon.

For the first time,
You didn’t send me a message.
It’s social suicide.

I can pretend we were never a couple.
I can say that you’re nobody.
I can keep going, but how?
How did I waste my time on you?

I prayed for us,
Believing it would last forever.
Now I see you with your muse,
And I still feel this pain in my chest.

Maybe you’ll send me a message?

Reader beware

Once you enter my world you may never be the same .

Like stepping through a mirror and entering another world , so you will be when you read my poetry .

I want you to touch and feel a world beyond your own . Feel the magic in the words I share .

For what we see may lift us out of the ordinary and the mundane .

Though it feels like we were hit by Cupids arrow .

This feeling is a choice and the desire to fall in love is human .

But please remember you have a choice no matter how captivating my poetry .

This is the place where nothing is ever lost for good but we will find it again .

Time to rediscover your mojo

Lazy afternoons , no schedules to keep .

I slip into my pleasant slumber in this quiet place .

I bathe and I bask in the beauty of sweet poetry

Here nothing moves me

Nothing causes alarm

Looking for inspiration I stumble upon the beauty of your words

Enamored by your cover I open your book 📕 finding a deeper treasure inside .

Oh these lazy afternoons where I stumble across me and you. Forever satisfied with your presence .

I lay you down
On the changing table
And change
The third poopy diaper
This morning.
I just put you in a new onesie
Since you spit up
All over your first one
And my second shirt today.
I’m still so tired from last night
Why do you only sleep well
When your dad isn’t out of town
For the night?
As I slip your clothes back on
I catch you smiling so big.
You’ve decided lately
That you love the feeling
Of getting dressed.
And you just started laughing
A day ago.
Boy, you’re lucky
And so am I
That you’re just
So darn cute.

There’s a feeling
that settles softly in the soul,
somewhere between waking and dreams,
among the roots of ancient trees
and beneath the quiet pull of the moon

Where sunlight spills
through trembling leaves
in ribbons of gold,
and morning dew rests
like tiny fallen stars
upon the grass.

The wind wanders there,
soft and unseen,
carrying secrets
from mountains
that have stood
longer than memory

Wildflowers turn their faces
toward the sun,
never wondering
if they are beautiful

Rivers slip over stone,
humming a melody
they’ve sung a thousand years,
while clouds drift lazily above,
always changing shape
without fearing what they will become

the sky opens itself
into impossible colors,
lavender melting into rose,
rose into fire,
fire dissolving into dusk

Until suddenly a darkened sky
is dusted with thousands of stars,
an endless sea of midnight blue
brushed with silver and violet,
spilling across the heavens
around a gentle rising moon

And there, is that feeling
that settles softly in the soul,
soft and weightless,
promising everything
and nothing at all

​

I loved her in quiet moments,

in the pauses between her doubts.

If she saw herself through my eyes—

she’d never question her worth again.

To me, she was softness wrapped in strength,

a poem that never needed rewriting.

She searched for love in mirrors,

but missed the reflection in my gaze.

And in the silence of my devotion,

she slowly began to bloom,

not into someone new,

but into the truth of who she’d always been.

I love the way you run your fingers through my hair
while I’m lying softly against your chest.
Something about the gentleness of your touch
makes the rest of the world disappear.
I could stay there for hours,
melting into you,
if only you’d let me.

I love the way you kiss me three times
before we walk out the door,
as if you’re making sure
no kiss is ever left unfinished
before goodbye.

I love the way you ask me how I slept at night,
even when you were lying right beside me.
The little things you remember,
the questions you ask,
the quiet ways you make me feel seen.

I love the way you remind me to take my medicine
every single morning,
such a small gesture to anyone else,
but to me,
it’s another way you say,
“I care about you.”

I love the way your eyes look into mine
when we’re making love,
like for that moment
I am the only woman
to ever exist on this earth.

I love the way you hold me at night,
never wanting to let go,
like somehow my arms
are the only place
you want to be.

I love the way you understand me
without needing an explanation.
Sometimes all it takes is one look,
a shared smile,
a giggle between us,
and suddenly words aren’t necessary.

I love the way you check in on me
no matter how busy your day becomes,
taking a moment out of everything
just to remind me
that somewhere in your day,
you were thinking of me.
And most of all,

I love the way you bring out joy in me.
Every joke,
every story,
every little thing you say
has me smiling just because
I get to listen to you speak.

There are a million reasons I could love you,
and maybe I’ll spend forever discovering them all.

But for now,
I’ll simply say this—

I love the way you love me.
And I love the way
loving you
feels.

Christina, thou fell’st in love,

again, as doth the dove.

The dove, conditioned

by a dystopian verb.

Growing the wings,

and not mere limbs,

thou hast learnt how to fly,

till the exchange of rings.

Christina, thou fell’st in a love,

a coffee, or brown,

and worn-out,

paper of a dove.

The paper which did read,

a hundred letters for a red thread,

yet a silent command,

till the feathers be dead.

Christina, ’tis not the love

which the sky doth await for the dove,

which the clouds were made for,

only to fall asunder through the dove.

’Tis the paper thy claws hold,

till it could no more,

thy flight, sacrificial,

till the rings be sold.

shadows of tight rope

reticulated reddened

deep into the pale

I wrote a poem about depression and the progression of depression. it's a raw unedited version so let me know what you think.

The Depths Below

Shadow walls in catacombs,
feeding thoughts dark and cold.
Digging graves deep and slow,
taking life blow by blow.

Monsters creep inside my mind,
fighting hard against the binds.
Their teeth devour light and glow,
left all alone to watch the show.

Bleeding skin drips like melted wax,
seeping slow right through the cracks.
With hollow eyes that show no light,
and nothing left that's worth the fight.

Scattered pills and empty souls,
dying embers, blackened coals.
No more pain and no more tears,
just the silence like passing years.

Numb all over, nothing remains,
the raven cries with silent strain.
All alone the darkness rose,
and all I knew stopped and froze.

Nothing moves in depths below,
darkness taking all the blows.
Death knocks, ready to go,
extending a hand with nothing left to show.

The first man was great.
Banter outstanding.
That’s why I was left surprised
when after our 2nd date,
he pulled an Irish goodbye.

Months later.
I am now chatting to a second man.
It’s only been a few hours.
Banter on fire
however now my mind senses smoke
and wants to activate the sprinklers.

I do not want to get my hopes up,
but,
I do not want to be left with the unknown of where our conversation will go.

I have never been a fence sitter.
And so middle ground my mind believes is inferior.

What is a great conversation
now makes me anxious.

Not because something is wrong,
but because,

This may be something I could enjoy.

The countdown begins,
my heart sinks deep into my chest.
a reminder that it’s coming to an end.
Like the ink from my pens,
like the tears running down my face.
Time is running out,
and I wanna run too!
Away from this,
from hell,
away from these punishing truths.
From the chains that keep me
from ever being with you.
I wanna run towards safety,
and God!
I wanna run towards you.
There is no time.
It’s too late,
and it will all end soon.
You will forget me,
and I’ll forget you.
There is no “we.”
There is no “us.”
That is the only truth.
I’ll keep repeating myself:
It’s better being all on my own.
I don’t want you to carry my heavy load.
And it’s good, I suppose.
Because the chains of my life
I’ve built them all on my own.
You are so free
and adored.
This is for the best.
I won’t fight this, not anymore.
I’ll let my chains
drag this love down,
once and for all.

​

How can a heart feel love

When all it’s been is tortured

I don’t know if what I feel right now is

Real

Survival or

An innocent heart that has learnt from silent abuse

Am I the victim or the abuser

We sit awake at night, well at least I can say “I”
Sit awake at night with a handheld light that projects in my eyes whatever i might…
Or might not want to see.
A screen.
Caressed so gently.
My finger glides over the glass like a lovers cheek.
Yet it distances me.
From what could be.
To what isn’t.
To distance.
To friends list.
Many contacts, yet friendless.
They react but no interest.
They see cracks, but put a pin in that,
Like Pinterest.
An ever growing list of things I’ll never fix.
Projects missed.
Paint that’s mixed to cover the box I picked,
Or checked.
The terms and conditions, I never read.
The garden I’ll never plant.
The button I’ll never mend.
The garments I wear that don’t trend.
Not that I care to look like them,
But I’d like to fit in.
I’d like to pretend that I’m fully moved in when I post my living room to a Thread by Ethan Allen.
But there’s boxes in the closet.
There’s piles in the garage.
Don’t ask about the shed,
I’d like to keep up the facade.
Or is it mirage?
I could take up decoupage.
Clippings of paper and paste.
Sipping on cups of the chase,
To be completely honest and not fake.
To bare my bones in distaste:
Share my own downfalls and mistakes.
But that’s not real, in this book of face.
Did I say it the wrong way?
Facebook, that’s what I mistook for being a place where I could partake,
In sharing content with friends
And using it to end this ever growing feeling
Of loneliness and isolation.
But then,
Why with 600 friends do I feel even more lonely, When green dots pepper their pictures like,
“I’m here.”
“But I’m not and I won’t respond even if you post that you’re not… okay.”
It’s okay.
Just change apps on the home screen.
Instagram might be the new me.
I’ll post perfectly curated photos of my life,
So interestingly.
Sprinkle a hashtag so they notice me.
Write a good caption, so I’ll be trending.
But even with that, I’m empty.
I’ll look at the clock, my notifications, and then watch.
Tik freaking tok.
Another mind numbing block of endless flowing feeds of nonsense and talk.
With a 30 second speech about why I’m not
Happy.
But, if I buy the sponsored content, I might be?
If I tag myself at the concert, dressed in a band’s new t-shirt and shoutout a sponsor, I’m trendy.
But that’s not me.
I’m alone in my room doom scrolling.
Affecting my mental health, fully knowing.
But I can’t stop this habit, it’s controlling.
I keep caressing the glass, it’s glowing.
And I further its own grasp, it’s consoling.
Why depart from reality, unfolding?
Set down the device and start beholding,
The grass, the trees, maybe even “the old me”.
Embrace the real connection and heartbeat.
Lose the “projection” of not me.
We stay so connected, that we don’t have to be.
And that to me,
Is heartbreak.
It’s heartbreaking.