I don’t want you casually.

I want you in that old, animal way…
the kind of want that doesn’t know how to behave.

I want to be the thought that finds you when the room gets quiet.

The ache you can’t explain.
The name your body remembers before your mouth is brave enough to say it.

I want you knowing exactly who put that hunger in you.

Because I don’t want a little piece of you.
I want the part you keep guarded.
The part nobody gets to touch.
The part of you that goes still when something feels too real.

That part?

Mine.

I want you ruined for almost.
Bored by almost.
Unable to settle for anything that doesn’t feel like teeth at the throat and a hand at the heartbeat.

I want you remembering me at the worst possible times.
In the middle of a conversation.
At a red light.
Half asleep.
Half dressed.

Trying very fucking hard not to.

And when you finally stop fighting it,
I want you to admit the thing you already know,
you can wander wherever you want.

But some part of you
will always come when I call.

Love isn’t just a feeling.
It isn’t simply butterflies in my stomach,
a racing heart,
or the words “I love you”
spoken when everything feels easy.

To me,
love is an action.

It’s waking up in the morning
and somehow, before the world has even begun,
you are my first thought.

And when the day finally comes to an end,
when everything gets quiet
and my head touches the pillow,
you are my last.

Because when I love you,
you become part of the spaces
between everything else.

Love is asking you,
“Did you eat today?”
and genuinely caring about the answer.

It’s reminding you to slow down,
to breathe,
to rest,
to take care of yourself
when you’re so busy taking care of everyone else.

It’s remembering your favorite drink
without you having to ask,
and sending Starbucks to your work
because I know you’re tired
and I want to make your day
just a little easier.

It’s sending you flowers
when you’re sad,
when your heart feels heavy,
or simply because I was thinking about you
and wanted you to have something beautiful
to remind you that you’re loved.

Love is consideration.

It’s thinking about how you might feel
before I make a decision.

It’s understanding that my choices
don’t exist in a vacuum
when your heart is involved.

It’s asking myself,
“How will this affect you?”
because your feelings matter to me.

So does your body.
Your mind.
Your soul.

Loving you means checking in
when something feels different.

It means noticing the things
you don’t always say out loud.

It means caring about your peace,
your happiness,
your health,
and the weight you carry
when you think you have to carry it alone.

Sometimes love looks like money
sent because you forgot your lunch.

Or because you gave your lunch away
to someone who needed it more.

Because love doesn’t always say,
“I love you.”

Sometimes it simply says,

“Here.
I’ve got you.”

Love is tenderness.

It’s holding you close
when you’re struggling.

It’s embracing the parts of yourself
you’re still learning to love.

The insecurities.
The scars.
The imperfections.
The pieces you sometimes wish
you could change.

I want to love those parts too.

Not because I don’t see them,
but because I see you beyond them.

And I want to remind you,
especially on the days
when you don’t see it yourself,

that you are the most gorgeous woman
inside and out
that I have ever met.

Not just because of your beautiful face,
your smile,
or the way you carry yourself,

but because of the woman behind it all—
your heart,
your strength,
your tenderness,
your spirit,
and every beautiful piece of you
that makes you who you are.

I want you to see yourself
through my eyes sometimes.

To know that the woman
you may occasionally doubt
is the woman I look at
and think is absolutely incredible.

Because loving you means
I don’t just love the easy parts.

I love the whole woman.

And love is making my favorite person
feel like my favorite person.

It’s making you feel chosen.

Not like an option.
Not like one of many.
Not like you have to compete
for my attention.

I want you to feel
the way my eyes find you
even in a crowded room.

I want you to know
that when I look at you,
I’m not looking for someone better.

I’m looking at the woman I chose.

The woman who has my attention.
My tenderness.
My consideration.
My heart.

Because feelings can change.

They rise and fall.
They get quiet.
They get complicated.

But love is a choice.

And I want to choose you
in the little things.

In the coffee.
In the flowers.
In the “Did you eat?”
In the “Text me when you get home.”
In the “How are you really doing?”
In the hand reaching for yours.
In making sure you have what you need.
In giving you space when you need it
and holding you close when you don’t.

I want you to feel seen.

Heard.

Understood.

Desired.

Safe.

Special.

I want you to wake up knowing
someone is thinking about you.

And go to sleep knowing
someone is still thinking about you.

Because you are my first thought
in the morning
and my last thought at night.

And somewhere between those two moments,
I want every action I take
to remind you of one simple truth:

You matter to me.

Not just when it’s easy.

Not just when I’m feeling romantic.

Not just when the words come naturally.

But every day.

Because to me,
love isn’t simply something
I feel for you.

Love is something I do.

And if I love you,
I want you to be able to see it
in everything I do.

You over there
Come here
Stand right there
Take my hand

I lead, you follow
Now let’s sway to the rhythm
Back and forth
Left and right

The music transports us
To another time and place

Trusting one another
Feeling of touch and pull
Twisting and turning
Downward dip
Pressed against each other

Moving like a wild river
But in sync
Together as one
Navigating the floor

Like moving chess pieces
Around the board

Smiling, laughing, gazing
Intended silence

Romantic, messy, poised
Sensual, beautiful

Until the music
Slowly drifts to silence

Forevermore

I'm no poet and that might be on display here but I thought this was a fun summary of my world theory:

Shape shifting ET space vampires

Planet seeding art supplies

Mining, TV, degustation

Willing slaves dressed up as nations

Lines in sand

So arbitrary

Cattle, chickens

Sometimes babies

Blood or soul?

Both could be tasty

Intelligence?

Let's test them and see

Bring the fire

Set the stage

Nudge them on

Turn the page

A scare here

A fright there

Innovations quell the fear

Give them hope, give them dreams

Lead them on, create teams

Have them fight, have them die

Watch them start to wonder why

A game of chess played by two factions

Good vs Evil fabrications

One exists to fuel the other

Clues are there but will they bother?

Religion, myth, ontology

What's right for you is wrong for me

Science, faith, philosophy

Lies and truth for some to see

For all to see! 

A common trend

Covered up with odds and ends

Muddy waters, stacks of hay

Buried needles, hide the way

Propagate technology

Communications spending spree

They're getting faster, can't you see?

Watch them build their factory!

A factory? 

Also a pen!

A milking station and best friend

An abattoir

A nursery

Resource extraction slot machine!

Toys and movies, games and more!

Novelty delights galore!

Arts and war

Is there a difference?

I'm not sure I get your inference

A cell, a home

It's all perspective!

Safety first

Ensure that they live

Live for what? 

It's all subjective

Needful things

Rather than to give

More for me, and less for you

What use have I to carry you?

You worthless lot, lazy and weak

It's mine to claim and mine to keep

Free will for all, it can't be wrong

So what if it rewards the strong?

The meek are poor, the poor are weak

Not my fault they were born to sink

Beneath my feet

One more possession

Black hole pulling light's obsession

Covet the light, for might is right

Quite trite that sight perturbs the night

A trap for thee

A trap for me

My tomb's glorious legacy!

For I was just too smart to see

The last laugh would be had on me

On me, on us, we're almost too late

They've given us much to change our fate

Escape the room, just find the key

But we move far too hastily

What can be done? Late is the hour

Bitter, spoiled, corrupt, and sour

Less is more

Channel your power

Or in self hate you can cower

Blind to synchronicity

Try responsibility?

Not for me, why can't you see?

For that I have technology!

Give orders my computer friend

Chase profits, predict the trends

Ends meet will meet a tragic end

You were warned

You made your bed.

I have been in the grips of shadows in my own mind.

Haven't we all.

I speak of the whispers under the screams.

Haven't we all.

Guilty of what I can and cannot control.

What I have and have not done.

Presented with peace,

Dragged by terror.

The light too high to reach,

The tunnel too deep to see.

The urge to care.

The reality of nothing.

Inhaling it is stronger than drugs,
It’s seeping through my finger tips,
Masks could never prevent the bug,
As it moves through your eyes and out your lips,

There’s no protection for you or me,
The type of feeling that comes naturally,
And once it takes ahold of your mind,
We’re both in trouble, nowhere to hide,

Because the more you take, I’m inclined to give,
There no words to describe when the serotonin hits,
And now we’re both tripping over the high,
You couldn’t save me even if you tried.

Meandering the streets I stumble
upon a fountain. It glistens
so brightly I’m blinded. The whooshing
of its hydraulic dance summons
me closer.

Entranced in the sound
I scramble to find it, for my eyes
are no use. The air whips my
face as the sharp sting of concrete
meeting my knees brings me to
my senses. I open my eyes to see
the fountain is all but a well.

A frigid gaping hole of
unknown proportions, but I stopped
too late; plummeting into the
darkness I find myself wielding
a sword. Once again dependent
on my hands to guide me.

My fingertips reach for the
handle - only to find another blade
engraved with my own script.

​

The welcomes worn out

The walls peeling plaster

As he hold court in the corners

To whoever's ears are lent

The stumbling genius

Falls for himself. His decree?

That "patience is a virtue

But what's it worth but where it's spent"

I'll chase my arrogance through

All the bedrooms and bars

I'll meet you on the outside

I'll move and I'll move fast

I want the turbulence too

I want bruises and scars

A better class of sadness

Than watching time tick past

But I

Slumped across from my reflection

More a dreamer than I'm anything I've dreamed

At the foot

Of a life fit to remember

Still held to how it always seemed

​

and the sound of the thunder is muffled by the thickness of my windows,

through which the outside world has morphed

into the shape of a fearful cloud.

Whole drops of rain melting into the walls that I built,

brick by brick,

helped by every doubt I accounted for.

Wind blowing through the cracks between the leaves of a tree,

my childhood self still clinging to the branches,

put in place to cast its cold shadow upon the jasmine flowers,

now flown away.

Im quit new to this so I'd love as much feedback as possible! I'd like to share two very short poems Iv made.

MY DELICIOUS DANCE

Wow how stunning you look today

I'll take you home so that we may become something beautiful

As we dance

Your warm auroma sizzles

Your soft touch flows

Your familiar taste melts on my toung

Time and care has crafted your perfection

Wow Campino

This meal looks like a beautiful sunrise

Smells like my favorite place

And tastes like familiarity

How did you make this?

I simply danced to the thought of you

My love

ITS OK WITH YOU

The constant scream of the crickets outside are the hands that hold me above an ocean of sleep

For hours they refuse to let go

And in that moment I throw all of my hate at them

But one night as the crickets scream

I lie next to her

Our bodies close

We wouldn't have it any other way

And I

Filled to the brim with

The love from her heartbeat

The warmth from her breath

And the familiarity of her smell

Now the crickets hold me in a pool or extacy for one moment longer

And I hope they never let go

I almost forgot how depressed I was these last few years, oddly enough I hit a peak when my grandmother passed. why do I say odd? Well due to a promise I have now broken, i wasn’t drinking for a while & faced most of that situation including the grieving process fully sober. I remember the time before that, at least when I was with Leslie. It was a lot of drinking, a need to drink for no reason at all really. I was just empty, felt an amalgamation of emotions I wasn’t ready to face & so far from any idea on how to express it or release myself from it. I can see an overcast beach, freezing cold winter afternoons in Santa Barbara. Smoking cigarettes with someone very important to me, someone I didn’t bring along the path of my life. I remember trying to be so much more & yet feeling like I had fallen so short from where I needed to be. I chased any & all escapes. Left home for sometime just to experience what I thought I was missing out on. Never thinking id regret it, I didn’t know nor learn how to balance the pleasure & my time at home. Seeing those I didnt get to enjoy enough. When I think of this time, I hear all the melancholic outros & songs Devon Hendryx has & immediately, im sent back to this chapter of my life. One I haven’t fully moved on for but I don’t fixate on as much at the same time. Driving hours to see her, feeling things I had never felt in the specific way that I had, nights & moments of thinking it couldn’t get any better than this. Hoping for a music career to launch in between all this. I wanted everything, I wanted to be the successful producer you & all your friends knew, I wanted to be the lover boy with the girl im probably the complete opposite to but the attraction is so heavy, to be the son that pisses my mom off just enough but still is the reliable middle child she already sees me as & I can’t bother in fully becoming because im in my own way. To be the grandson you raised me to be, this is your child. I, your flesh, worries & passions, your beauty & spirit. The flawed & broken promise.

The ground beneath
Unsteady
Always shifting in the wind

Told to be,
Never Guided,
Always observing

Everything seems to survive
Look closer
Nothing will thrive

Succumb to the environment
Told to grow
Ridiculed

I am tired
I am lost
I am thirsty
I am cold

I am a tree planted in the desert.

I find myself out of words trying to translate something that was never meant to fit inside a language
You see they gave us twenty six letters and none of them are enough
I’ve stayed up past 3am trying to arrange them into something worthy of your name
But every poem I finish feels like a painted door on a wall
Beautiful to look at but you still can’t walk through it
You are the kind of person that makes clocks forget their only job
Every second finds a reason to stay a little longer
Like time itself gets greedy and wants more of you too
I’ve been writing drafts of you since before I knew your name
Every version I wrote was close, but close was never going to be enough
But now I know, you’re not a poem. You’re the reason I keep failing to write one.

pls be brutally honest any short comment will help. i'm super new to writing, i've only ever read poetry, so I'd love any feedback or critiscm! it’s about my experience as a lesbian growing up in religion

In God’s name

I cast off this holy sweet nectar 

covering my blistered self 

Running from out my heart

And into her golden eyes 

As I lie in the river of my baptism

Feeling the sky under me 

And your soft hands above me— 

caressing and flying 

while our souls radiate—

Yet the wall stands and I must

Rebuke thee

In God’s name

I must steal away the breath of my being

I must rebuke this love 

Undo this union of two souls  

They say that God is love

But not our own—

God is love

He is full and endless and unconditional

The real kind of love 

Oneness cannot flow from 

Both this love and God  

For ours is not as intended—

As if your beating heart in my palm 

Is but a figmented slip into daydream

Where I see nothing but intention and still 

They say—

God says—it is wrong.   

There is not enough love

For you to lace daisies and 

desire 

Into her fingers

If you are in God’s hands—

As if he didn’t use them

To open the heavens and 

To pluck our songs 

into harmony 

So we could clasp our hands together in

Church

praising and singing and loving—

As God connects our Earth 

To His Heavens.

You told me not to dwell on you

But the smell of your perfume 

Is engrained in my brain

Like the way you own every room

I want to give you all that I have

With only you heart to gain

Well damn

You've turned me into a hopeless romantic

A quality I hated

And thought I had tossed into the mid atlantic

You told me our end was foretold, slated

But I'm stuck on this love we created

You told me not to dwell on you

But baby it looks so well on you

Dont even read this shit
I plucked every word out the garbage
Cant find the G in the clit
N my dick so small it fits in ink cartridges

Tried to start a hustle
But got robbed by a pimp
Went to cop some weed
Got sold oregano instead of hemp

Five foot 8 i stand
Fat as fuck, cuz i eat everything i can
You may call me stan
But momma told me, im the muthafuckin’ man

I’ve got neither proof nor bruise to prove your violent tendencies.

Which was, I think, the point.

You were never careless enough to become evidence.

Nothing I could photograph.
Nothing a doctor could document.
Nothing dramatic enough to make someone interrupt me halfway through the story and say, Jesus Christ.

You preferred things that disappeared.

A sentence said quietly enough that nobody else heard it.

A look from across the room that could change my entire posture.

The particular way you could make an ordinary object hitting a countertop sound like a warning without technically throwing it at me.

You never had to say, You should be afraid of me.

My body was apparently fluent in implication.

That’s the strange part about trying to explain someone like you afterward.

People want incidents.

They want dates.

They want the moment you crossed the line because lines make things easy. Before this, acceptable. After this, abuse.

I keep looking for mine.

Maybe it was the first time I rehearsed a sentence before saying it to you.

Maybe it was when I started checking your face before deciding whether I was allowed to be excited about something.

Maybe it was the night I realized I could identify your mood by the way you put your keys down.

None of those things sound particularly violent.

That bothers me.

Because violence is supposed to be loud.

It’s supposed to break something.

And you did.

You just had the good sense to make sure it was something nobody could see.

So when people ask what happened, I become a terrible witness.

I say things like:

It was the way he said it.

You had to be there.

I don’t know how to explain it.

And I watch their faces soften into that polite expression people make when they’re waiting for the part of the story that justifies the severity of your reaction.

Sometimes I start waiting for it too.

Maybe I exaggerated.
Maybe I was sensitive.
Maybe every relationship has moments like that.
Maybe fear without injury is just another word for misunderstanding.

It’s amazing how quickly you can put someone back inside a burning house once you discover there are no flames in the photographs.

But my body remembers a version of events my mouth still struggles to defend.

It remembers becoming smaller.
Quieter.
Good at apologizing before knowing what I had done.
Good at hearing danger in completely ordinary sounds.

And maybe that’s all the evidence I’ll ever have.

No photographs.
No witnesses.
No bruises blooming purple beneath my clothes.
Just a person who once walked freely through rooms learning to enter them carefully.

You never left fingerprints on me.

You left instructions.

Pursuing not to be something, but to find something.

It is a journey without . . .

Water,

Food, . . .

A map.

It is a destination to Uncertainty.

I want to blame you for what you've done to yourself.
A dessert to celebrate my abandonment.

Yet my mumbled prayers sag with resentment.
I don't know a Father who does not provide for His children.

My roots pull out easily from this soggy Earth.
Mark my grave next to yours.

I am following the string

On the sole axis it has

When exhausted, I am down

And will retrieve with force

When I am pulled from above

Like turbines in the air

Or wheels on the tracks

I revolve when I am dropped

But only if you hold on

If you let go I will not

If you let go I will fall

Not with any rhythmic spin

Instead I surrender to

Sweet gravity's loving arms

On my way to the hard floor

But if you want to come back

If you want to readdress

I will lie where left before

Waiting to be dropped again

This time with your love and care

The Woman I wish I knew,
whose skin is pale and pure, like flakes of snow.
Her jet black hair flicks in the wind
like the work of a great calligrapher —
as black as beneath her eyes.

Her eyes pierce my heart
with their amber glow —
matching the ember of her cigarette;
leaving ash upon her clothes,
that appear poorly sewn —
as if she sewed it all on her own.

I met her standing on an iron bridge
on a bitter misty morning.
I saw her gazing down —
with a smile, that brought light
to this grey, moody place.
A smile as if she knows something —
that nobody else does.

She talked to me:
about what she could have;
about what she should have.
She listened, closer than
anyone ever has before.

I ask what's next for her,
then with her delicate red lips
she takes a drag,
exhaling in a puckered fashion —
like a poppy blooming.

With a sudden calm she utters:
"There is somewhere I must go,
somewhere far —
somewhere unknown —
somewhere we all go."

I ask: "What is this place?"
The Woman looks at me —
with a faint strange pity,
she says:
"You'll see."

The Woman takes one more
drag of her cigarette;
stubbing it out underfoot,
as she walks away.
I watch as her silhouette fades —
swallowed by the mist.

The Woman I wish I knew.
I didn't even ask her name.
I wonder —
I wonder if she made it to that far away place.

https://www.instagram.com/wired_poet?igsi=MWM1eGU3ZjJ4MHFoeg%3D%3D&utm_source=qr

I write about love, friendship, distance, memory and the things we usually leave unsaid.
Recently started posting some pieces on @wired_poet and would genuinely love honest feedback from other writers here.
Feel free to drop your page too.

Hum a tune to put me to rest
Because it is sleep I most detest
Draw yourself near me
That my eyes may grow weary
You bring me peace of mind
And it is no where that I can find
One such as you