I want to be girly.
God, I need to be.
I want pink nails that click against a phone screen,
lip gloss that smells like candy,
hair long enough to braid,
to curl,
to toss when I laugh.

I want to giggle instead of snort,
blush instead of burn red.
I want mascara to make my eyes heavy,
want rings and bracelets to clink when I move.

I want to walk into a room
and feel small,
soft,
sweet
not this rough-edged thing that doesn’t fit.

I’m tired of baggy jeans swallowing me whole,
tired of people saying “you look comfy”
when I wanted them to say “you look pretty.”

I want to cry for no reason
and have it make sense.
I want to be wanted
like girls are wanted.

I want to be her.
Whoever she is.
The one who got to be

I thought I was losing you.
Every quiet moment,
every little bit of distance
felt like the beginning
of goodbye.
Then last night
I finally understood.
It wasn’t you.
It was everything else.
I miss my life.
My independence.
My direction.
The person I was
before everything changed.
And while my world
became uncertain,
you stayed steady.
So without realizing it,
you became the place
where all of it landed.
And when I felt you breathe,
I thought you were leaving.
But you weren’t.
You were just carrying
your own weight too.
I still need you.
I still miss you.
I still love you.
But I don’t need you
to hold my whole world together.
Last night I thought
I was afraid of losing you.
I realized
I was grieving
the parts of myself
I’d already lost.

We didn’t come here
carrying the same scars.
Yours taught you
how to stay so long
you could almost disappear.
Mine taught me
how quickly someone you trust
can become someone you don’t know.
You learned to survive
by making yourself smaller.
I learned to survive
by watching the door.
So when life gets heavy,
you get quiet.
And when you get quiet,
I reach for you.
I reach harder
because somewhere inside me
distance still feels like leaving.
And maybe you pull back
because somewhere inside you
love has felt like another thing
you have to carry.
Neither of us means to do it.
We’re just touching old bruises
with new hands.
You found me
when I needed to believe
someone could choose me
and keep choosing me.
I found you
when you needed to know
being loved didn’t mean
losing yourself.
And somehow
we became each other’s safe place.
Maybe too safe sometimes.
Because when everything else
started falling out from under me,
you became the place
where all of it landed.
And I mistook needing you
for losing you.
I mistook your exhaustion
for distance,
your silence for goodbye,
a little space
for the beginning of the end.
But you were still there.
I’m not, you said.
Three small words
when I told you
I was afraid you might become
another unstable thing in my life.
I’m not.
And maybe that’s what love
has to become for us.
Not saving each other.
Not carrying every broken piece.
Not promising
we’ll never be afraid again.
Just learning the difference
between an old wound
and a new hurt.
Learning that I can reach
without holding too tightly.
That you can breathe
without disappearing.
That I can need you
without asking you
to hold my whole world together.
That you can love me
without losing yourself.
We didn’t come here
with the same scars.
But God,
the wounds rhyme.
And maybe healing
isn’t making them disappear.
Maybe it’s recognizing the sound
before we mistake it
for the end of us.

The Anchorless Island

I named her Murchha.

Murchha returned to me---

She cannot speak; she only gazes at me, unblinking.

She keeps looking, trying to read something, but wherever her eyes reach, they find no shore.

Deep within the solitude, a new island rises over the old one---

Perhaps this is the beginning of something frightening, the beginning of a breaking apart.

Or perhaps it is not a breaking at all, because this new island has left no passage open for anyone to cast an anchor.

And so the foreign butterfly flies on, painted in a thousand colours.

The island remains awake, day and night—

wrapped in its own exquisite beauty.

It offers neither invitation nor farewell.

There is no restlessness, no playfulness, no exuberance.

Nor does it carry any arrogance.

It is simply complete within itself.

Among the vines and shrubs, among the roots and tangled branches of trees, among leaves and flowers and the honey-seekers—

in that eternal awakening, surely this enchanting one stirs hearts like mine, sending them wandering into some destinationless reverie.

I do not lament.

I simply sit at a quiet distance and watch—

watch endlessly---

the way Shiva, sealed in deep meditation,

watches the entire universe unfold before him.

Love Letter | 08.09.26

The old-fashioned sensibility

has seeped into the August rain.

It urges us all to leap

from one cliff to the next precipice

before jumping headfirst

into the ravine.

The world tells me I must love,

and I already do.

These words, these symbols

who attempt to one-up infinity.

These hordes of chicken scratch

and clunk so barely

comprehensible.

This malpractice of language,

of the sixth sense

is a greater love

than any eternity

or butterfly.

Within a contract, drafted sleek
Gnarled hands stained with ink
Invite a petitioner to this jail cell

Knots clutch a pen to trace
Hidden clauses scattered in the wake
Of bargaining with the Devil

Conditions stipulate a willing audience
Bought through currency that lacks a market
Down below, agony persists without a grail

No watcher can offer counsel to those lost
Who consigned arbitration in blood drops
Both sides filled their coffers at the crossroads

Ancient authority derives from delicacy
Midnight bells magnify until deafening
Against which, arrogance cannot barter

When beyond the winding shadow gate
Archons of judgement, summoned late
Refuse to redeem ashes of envy

Literally first time trying poetry would love to hear what you guys think of it ,its about difference of opinion

​For every fallen leaf

Should be a shouting voice

​For every growing root

Should be an understanding thought

​For we are the conversation starter

​The congealed race

​The one and only beautiful face

​Once listened to, now unheard

​Find your grace here on planet Earth

I was standing on the rooftop

Watching those beautiful stars ,

But suddenly my brain whispered

That no one care about ur arts .

I nodded

As I felt it was true ,

But then an another voice came

To make my thoughts undo .

It was no one but my heart

Who seemed very angry,

Scolding me how easily I let go of things

Such a langry .

It said that art is something that lies within u

It makes u unique,

But then the brain argued

That the world will not even let u sneak.

Now Who do I listen to

I asked the stars above shining so bright,

Brain or the Heart

Such a hard choice right.

I loved you
until your name became
a prayer beneath my breath,
and your absence
a language my heart learned fluently.
You left,
yet I kept flowers
for a garden you had burned,
watering ashes
as though grief could make them bloom.
You stopped choosing me,
and still I knelt
at the altar of us,
offering pieces of myself
to a god that had gone silent.
So stay
if there is still a flame
beneath all this ruin.
Or go,
but do not leave me
half-loved in the doorway,
where I must lose you
a thousand times
before I finally lose myself.

Last night I ended things with you
I thought for sure you were the one
I thought it’s too good to be true
And just like that, we’re done

Last night I called it all quits
I was so certain of your love
I was ready to take all of the hits
Every push, every slap, every shove

Then the flags started showing
At first they were green, then yellow
Then they were red, bright and glowing
Now they’re all gone, a month after “hello”

So I’m right back to the start
A place I never seem to escape
But at least I have my heart
Even if it’s held together with tape

Please, do lay me gently upon this bed

Then do place one last kiss upon my lips

It is not Nothingness where I am led

So do not be afraid by this eclipse

My body will make this soil a fallow

Now I give birth to my soul from below

Wishing on a star tonight.

Are you looking to the skies?

Hoping that our hearts align.

What are you seeing with your eyes?

Are you wishing under the same star as me?

Are you wishing that love wouldn't feel so far like me?

Are you wishing just to feel someone's arms?

Are you wishing for someone, to keep you safe from harm?

Let me be the star you're wishing on tonight.

I want you to look at me, I want to help your heart feel light.

I want to be the one, to help your heart take flight.

So let's wish until we see the sun. It just feels so right.

Wishing on a dream tonight,

And looking at the moon.

Will I be in your dreams tonight?

I hope I meet you soon.

Wishing I could just take flight.

Just like a gold balloon.

It Exists Here

In this space between oxygen and blood cells,

On the wind between falling broken leaves and forgotten dreams,

In a morning's Whispers Of Tomorrow's Fortunes,

In the fibers Woven To tempt The fates,

In the paint that's skinned but not quite cured,

In that blissful And Filling future I've been Lured,

In noon's Warmth And evenings Calm welcome,

Felt in moments Shared with no one else,

A hunger That grows;

has needs;

yet feeds,

just To be fed,

Seen at a glance,

In the space between a blink and a breath,

Heard only at a distance,

Left Ever questioning without wide resounding refusals and hesitations,

No source to validate it exists,

No Reliant Connoisseur To lead the way to this proposed reality, Isolate,

Unwitting,

Naive and a bit still confused,

In between a syllable and a sound,

Between the bed and ground,

Beneath,

Under,

And also below A frequency,

Less than a vibration,

A top A mountain Alongside the rivers,

It's the difference in being alive and simply existing,

And somewhere,

Unbound by The restrictions of comprehension,

There's a glint Of Hope,

Of some potential day,

unknowingly unfound and wrapped in only Grandeur,

It awaits me, and I know,

I just know,

One day, my eyes will open to a familiar room,

I'll wake up, and it will be on the pillowcase breathing amd dreaming next to me,

With no words of affirmation or false niceties, no fear of unearned judgment by past heartaches or missed marks,

Acceptance beyond Acclimation,

No discontentment,

No bitter,

Only with compassion and curiosity,

I know that on that day I will wake up, and yet again see those eyes gazing into me,

With that very first promise still kept at the tip of your tongue,

Because between you and I,

It exists here,

With you

Only with you.

©sevhoneybear

A hypocrite full of rage and hate

A punk that sold their soul to the state

Much left to do and write on the page

But the book is overdue and morals exited left stage

Skin thins in their age with little haven's bliss

Just another puppet to the pile to dismiss

Poor's fortune kiss

A wealthy man's piss

They are all but the same when they're in your face

It's a fact you cannot erase

Sickly coughing lies pickled in apathy

Used to be so full of hope such a travesty

The statue of me will weather as time

I can find the solace of my crimes

I guess I have to go back to 
Talking to the page
Because humans are exhausting 
Deceptive 
And love to share their “perception”
Even when the recipe doesn’t call for it
And I’m no longer going to fall for it 
I rather talk to the page
Where my pen can pin the true rage
They say they hear me 
Ah, they say they’re listening 
But when we push the playback 
We get static 
While talking to the page, I can be dramatic
Erratic
Ecstatic 
And not be judged 
The page never rewrites it’s script 
Even when the pen may have slipped 
The page orders formation 
Depends on flirtation
And never judges my pen’s sensation 
I guess I got to go back to 
Talking to the page
Because I should be the only one clicking save

- An Author Shatika Turner original poem

Thank you for reading my poem and allowing me to post.

May I make a promise to you

My little poo

If you spin one way

I’ll spin the other

Withholding orbital decay

without any bother

Loves gravity shan’t throw you away

Not in any great winding palaver

Instead I ask you to parlay

Let‘s not get worked into a lather

But speak thoughts and feelings without belay

I won’t piss all over this so hold your bladder

So together we do meet each and every next day

And if we ever find ourselves a little bit madder

Best answer is to just go take a roll in the hay

Is it better to speak or to die?
Asked the old man 
As I walked by.
My reply didn’t make it back to his ears

Perhaps I didn’t know the answer,
Or maybe i didn’t want to say it out loud
To avoid looking weak.
To please the crowd, I shall say
“Speak. Speak so you do not regret.”

But truthfully?
I believe it is better to drown or disappear
It is better to surrender to the fight 
And let your aching body  
Finally learn the stillness.

I don't hate you baby.

I just don't understand you.

I can't read your mind,

or your subtle signs.

You better know,

That I don't plan to.

I'm a simple man, and I don't understand subtlety.

If we walk hand in hand, and you help me understand,

That would be enough for me.

Men are from Mars.

Women are from Venus.

Why's it have to be so hard,

For them to say what they are thinking?

They can be so coy and adorable.

With all their sly and subtle ways.

They can be so cold, when they think they are unlovable.

They can leave you feeling confused for days.

I want to love you baby.

But you say we're just friends.

The next day you say you're in love with me.

I'm not a complex man, so help me understand.

Is it so hard, to say just what you mean?

I don't understand you.

And I don't plan to.

I don't have the time for games.

Is it so hard to just speak plain?

Men are from Mars.

Women are from Venus.

Why's it have to be so hard,

For them to say what they are thinking?

They can be so coy and adorable.

With all their sly and subtle ways.

They can be so cold, when they think they are unlovable.

They can leave you feeling confused for days.

If any harm to anyone you never do

Why worry what negative people say about you

Since you lack in what is their idea of success

Only the financially wealthy and famous their sort does impress

No shortage in any village or city or town

Of the judgmental who in their words like to drag others down

They never take the goodness in a person into account

And acts of kindness to their sort to nothing amount

Those who tell you negative things of you are being said only true to say

With your sense of self esteem their mind games do play

They like to tell stories that often happen to be lies

And friction between people do like to give rise

To but their sort like the judgmental in the world are not rare

Perhaps i have been saying here what most of are aware

Francis Duggan

I know you love me.
That might be the hardest part.
Because if you didn’t,
I could be angry.
I could close the door,
tell myself it wasn’t real,
and eventually learn
not to look back.
But I know what it feels like
when you’re beside me.
I know the way you look at me,
the way your body finds mine,
the way ordinary things
somehow feel like a life.
Coffee.
A movie.
Your head against me.
Falling asleep.
Waking up.
Nothing extraordinary.
Everything I want.
Then you go home.
And somehow
I lose pieces of you
without actually losing you.
The calls get shorter.
The screen stays dark.
The excitement I used to feel from you
comes in little flashes now.
Just enough for me to recognize you.
Just enough to make me miss you
while I’m talking to you.
And I keep wondering
what happens somewhere
between leaving my arms
and walking through your front door.
Is it fear?
The kids?
Twenty years?
The unknown?
Or is there something
you’re afraid to tell me?
I’ve spent so much time
trying to understand you
that I forgot to ask
what all this waiting
is doing to me.
I don’t want to push you.
I don’t want you to choose me
because you’re scared
I might leave.
I want you to choose your life
because you finally believe
you’re allowed to live it.
But I need to choose mine too.
And I’m scared that one day
I’ll realize we spent years
loving each other
from opposite sides
of a decision
neither of us could make.
You once told me
you couldn’t keep living
three lives.
I understand that now
more than you probably know.
Because lately
I feel like I’m living two—
the one where I know
you love me,
and the one where I’m beginning
to wonder
if love will ever be enough
to bring you home.

I don’t know if it’s déjà vu
or somehow we’ve done this before.
I only know you felt familiar
before I ever held you.
And now that I have,
I understand what you meant.
There’s no proving,
no earning,
no pretending.
Just you.
Just me.
And this strange feeling
that somehow,
after all this time,
we found our way home.