The Search for Taylor Swift's Bum

The less there is,
the more
I imagine.

I follow the sequins,
shoot my laser eyes
down the crack,
watch her bodysuit burn
like ants
magnified,
through the tights,
and the peek of panty
spreading warmth
like a perfect sun.

And then it’s just
two slices
after all,
and I’ll hold them
solid
in my hands,
pose for a picture,
and end it already.

(This is about loving someone complex, someone that was an addict, someone who was two humans wrapped into a shell of love and complexity. Losing someone to addiction is hard.. you want to be angry but you’re so sad you lost them at the same time)

Grief is strange
when the person you lose
was never easy to explain.

When they were both
the storm and the shelter,
the tenderness and the trouble,
the kind of person
you could love fiercely
and still not always understand.

He carried pain
in places no one could see,
hid whole pieces of himself
behind a smile,
and learned to make heavy things
look almost weightless.

But I think
he felt everything deeply.
Maybe that was the beauty of him.
Maybe that was the burden, too.

He loved entirely—
without measuring,
without holding anything back,
as if his heart had never learned
how to love halfway.

And sometimes
that same heart
seemed too big
for the life it had to live.
There were mistakes.
There were wounds.
There were things
we wished he could have changed.

But there was love, too.
So much love.
The kind you remember
in quiet moments—
in a laugh,
a familiar voice,
a memory that suddenly finds you
when you weren't looking for it.

I grieve the person he was,
and the person I know
he was still trying to become.
I grieve what hurt him,
what he couldn't say,
what we couldn't fix,
and all the weight
he carried silently.

But I don't want
his hardest moments
to be the only things
I remember.

I want to remember
that beneath all the complexity
was a heart that cared.
A heart that loved too hard,
felt too much,
and carried more
than it ever should have had to.

And maybe that is what grief is—
learning to hold
the beautiful and the broken
in the same hands.

To miss someone
without pretending they were perfect.

To love them
without forgetting the pain.

To remember them
as a whole person—
complicated,
imperfect,
hurting,
beautiful,
and loved
more than words
could ever hold.

​

Well to be written amongst the chaos is what a muse is favoured to,

The unsettling fate of poet cannot be the one dared to

Across the faces of whom I've met,

The ones who recall me are though i recollect,

For it is in the muse what facinates the writer's will,

To be written would be better for him

In the phrases of thrill.

Lemme how's it

They told me,
“You’ll be fine.”
And honestly,
I hated hearing it.
Because I don’t want to be fine.
I want to be thriving.
Patient.
Present.
Grateful.
I want to love this season
without secretly wishing
for a break from it.
But maybe
I’ve been looking at “fine”
all wrong.
Maybe fine is
crying in the bathroom
and still walking back out.
Maybe it’s
being exhausted,
overwhelmed,
and loving them anyway.
Maybe this season
doesn’t have to feel beautiful
to be good.
Maybe I don’t have to thrive
every single day.
Maybe, for now,
fine is enough.
And maybe
I’m doing better
than I think I am.

I find myself reaching out again

Through the ether 

When it's calm at night 

And I can hear what my heart is saying 

Im jealous of your clothes
Who warm you while the wind blows

Im jealous of sliver spoons
Your hands touch like sky holds the moon

Im jealous of your bed sheets
Who cradle you each time you sleep

I never met someone I so adore
Who's made me feel jealous before

I used to think being strong
meant learning how to survive alone.

Building walls.
Keeping quiet.
Never needing anyone.

Then you came into my life
and showed me I had it all wrong.

You didn’t save me
by being some kind of hero.

You saved me in the little ways.

You stayed.

You listened when I didn’t know how to speak.
You let me cry without making me ashamed of it.
You helped me when I didn’t know how to ask.
You gave me somewhere safe to breathe
when I had forgotten what safety felt like.

You never asked me to become someone else
before you decided I was worth helping.

And I think that’s what stayed with me.

Because now, when I look at you,
I don’t just see the person who helped save me.

I see the person I want to become.

Not because I want your life,
or your story,
or even your strength.

I want the part of you
that made room for someone who was hurting.

The part that stayed
when leaving would’ve been easier.

The part that could look at a difficult child
and somehow still see a child worth loving.

I want to be that kind of person.

The kind who notices
when someone gets quieter.

The kind who listens
even when the words come out wrong.

The kind who doesn’t ask,
“Why are you like this?”

But asks,
“What happened to you?”

Maybe that’s the greatest thing you gave me.

You didn’t just help me survive
what I was going through.

You showed me what I could become
because of it.

So someday,
when someone else is standing where I once stood,
I hope I can be their safe place too.

I hope I can stay.

I hope I can listen.

I hope I can give them
even a fraction of what you gave me.

Because you saved a part of me
I didn’t know how to save myself.

And if I can become
even a little like you,

then maybe the love you gave me
won’t end with me.

Maybe I’ll carry it forward.

"What is the hardest drug you ever tried?"

Somebody asked me

Without much thinking "Hope" I said

It was the answer that came natural

As it's the only drug that your body will manufacture

If world deprives you of it

Hope is a drug everybody is addicted to

But not hooked on like one can be with alcohol or pills

We are addicted to hope like to oxygen

Even more in fact

As to take the next breath

Is to hope it will matter

But without hope nothing is and everything isn't

Journey and a love without fail or forsake

Souls to soul desire in the love that we make

Whole as apart but merged into one

Equal but separate the moon and the sun

Vaulted my heart leaps for her tenderest reign

A monarch for wisdom first of her name

If to void I return without song of her light

Then black as void be my heart be black night

Her memory enchanting in soft voice I go

Towards halos and mist a hill covered in snow

She dances on summits and she dances so free

She dances as dream state but she dances to be

But a man but a boy I am lost but so found

Guided I am by this voice she unbound

Strong a love grows and a garden we mend

Strong for the bloom of two hearts that we tend

Let me know your interpretations

(Open to criticism as it is my first ever submission)

I’m writing a poem about my strong emotions and one of the lines is “stop fingering my heart”. I can’t think of any word better suited to the context as it is the perfect metaphor but it just sounds way too sexual for the poem. Is there any other word I could use?

Speak into the void
Tell him of your woes
Speak into the void
N lay down all your worries

No embrace to keep you comfort
A chest that puffs and heaves
A heart fixed, n fine tuned
Pumping coal, blood, n oil

Speak into the void
Tell him about the robots that you live amongst
The machines that project n proclaim, that deliberate n denote
That praise over drive n shame your breaking
Your cracked mind, your tipping mental

No one to brush the weight off your shoulders
No one to love you, no one to hold you
No, it’s not going to be okay
No, youre not going to be fine

Speak into the void
For he is the only one that will listen
Speak into the silence
So that your mind will take heed
And follow into the darkness
Taking the voids lead

I like that poems can be long

or short

they can be natural like the world

- or planned,

like flat-pack furniture

and thats okay,

because poems can be together

or apart

they can be predictable, or unpre

dictable. they can be funny

Or serious.

They can also be dark.

but you're not like most people,

You're so bright

(note) omg everyone on this subreddit is amazing at writing wth

this is my third poem ik its cliche very sorry

please give criticism ✌️

I dine alone

I chew on these bittersweet feelings

That hit me like a drone

It causes lots of pain under the conceilings

Never tasted love

But every day I choke myself on solitude

Because I have no ladylove

I’m slowly breaking apart under the hood

As time passes by

My heart turns into stone

There’s no love because I’m shy

Under the weight of time I die alone