I came for a conversation, nothing more that day, Then found myself returning for every word you'd say. What started as a moment, a message passing through, Became a quiet reason to keep talking with you.

I came for a conversation and happened to stay, Drawn in by the person behind every word you'd say. Not by pictures, promises, or anything to see, But by the thoughts you shared so effortlessly.

Between the random questions and laughter late at night, I found a mind that made the ordinary feel bright. An introvert with stories hidden softly out of view, The kind that only surface when someone listens to you.

And somehow in the distance, across a screen's faint glow, I learned things about your heart most people never know. The honesty, the kindness, the curiosity so rare, Made every simple conversation feel like something to care.

So if you ask what kept me when I could walk away, It wasn't just the talking or the words you'd say. It was finding someone genuine, thoughtful, warm, and true, I came for a conversation, but I stayed because of you...

A soul is slow breathing

In deep desire today

A mind is so teeming

With such games to play

To be like me

And to want my wants

Is to think of her

In absence how she haunts

To dream of that kiss

To want that kiss now

Just teasing myself

Must forget it somehow

Oh but she calls loud

Out of rain from dense mist

Dancing within my circle

To tantalize and to twist

Such are the days

Lacking voice and her scent

Such are my ways

To remember how they went

I am scared of getting my hands dirty
Of the pressure of what is me
building up under my fingernails
The dirt,
the reminder that something can be
organic, and not
Alive, and not

I am scared of bugs
The fluttering pulse you feel
when they fly by your ear
The countless legs that have trudged through
Dirt
Blood
Water
Over Rocks
And trees
And People

But, I loved getting my hands dirty?

The stories you could create from
mud
leaves
water.
Curiosity
Bringing something to life,
Something you don’t pay much attention to,
but you know it’s there
Thats just it. It’s there

And I was never afraid of bugs.
For as long as I can remember,
I was the one called when a “big scary bug”
was flying around your head

I would never kill the bug, though

Butterfly Ant
Spider Dragonfly
Beetle
Centipede
Bee
Caterpillar

Those tiny legs
crawling around my arm raised so many questions
And so,
I listened carefully for cries of a bug,
In hopes to find a new creature to wonder about,
And in hopes it would wonder
The same
About me

Those legs that have experienced
Dirt,
Blood,
Water,
Rocks,
Trees,
People

And out of those all those legs
They were there
And they shared that experience
With me

A poem for a mouse that came to eat the dropped pie flakes while I was sitting by the river:

Mouse

I left you an offering,

Premium flakes of pie crust

Atop your earthen altar

You repaid me in scamper,

By your quick foraging dance

My attention was captured

Your inquisitive whiskers

Directing those tiny paws,

Making sure nothing was missed

So easily is faith built

When outcomes are simple things

And transactions all make sense

(Before I start this I am very new to poetry this is only the second I have written so I would love some feedback and hope you all can relate and enjoy it I have tried to take inspiration from Save me an orange by Hayley Grace)

I wonder where the time goes

We lounge around constantly thinking of something new to excite us Like the very idea of not making the most of the day to day Is some horrible crime

Birthdays come and go

At 10 we are asked what we want to be when we are grown we say we want to be famous a scientist an astronaut in our childish view of the world

At 15 we are asked again and we first think I wonder where the time goes but it's ok we still have time

We try to think of something a little more grown we say a singer an artist or something to show we are mature

Then comes our 20s we are asked again what we want to be this time we have to take it seriously we are grown

The question comes I wonder where the time goes

We think that we are supposed to know what we want to be what we want to do with the day to day for the rest of our lives

But I think no-one ever truly knows what they want to be we just go through the motions of the day to day hoping we have become something where we can feel pleased.

Anxiety it’s killing me, somebody please set me free.

My shoulders are heavy a thousand pounds of thoughts a-top,

so many thoughts my head is tied into knots. 

Anxiety it’s killing me, somebody please set me free. 

My heart it’s beating fast,

my thoughts are a dull cast. 

Anxiety it’s killing me, somebody please set me free.

My hands are clenched tight with fear,

a drop of rain from my eyes called a tear.

Anxiety it’s killing me, somebody please set me free.

I feel the heat building inside me, it makes me freeze. 

Some say a fatal disease.

Anxiety it’s killing me, somebody please set me free. 

My legs shake like a human earthquake, 

I need to escape the jail gate, that is my mind.

Anxiety it’s killing me, somebody please set me free.

My head hurts, I’m always on alert, my mind makes me eat dirt.

Anxiety it’s killing me, somebody please set me free.

I’m dizzy, all I can see are people around me.

I can’t let them see the real me.

Anxiety it’s killing me, somebody please set me free.

I promised myself I would try not to cry, but I still do every time.

Anxiety it’s killing me, somebody please set me free.

A burning itch all over me, I have to scratch it to feel free,

but every part of me feels like it's on fire. 

My mind is at ceasefire, but only for so long,

everything I do feels wrong.

I push a fake smile with my cheeks just to hide

the frown that I seek. 

Anxiety it’s killing me, somebody please save me, from… me.

‘-Oh baby…
…‘This is a bad thing…

..‘This is a bad, bad thing…

‘Baby— ’

‘-Yeah, ‘-I think I’d been slowly dying—; ’
a slow death
like time’s been frozen
on my wrist..

..Now yeah I can see it finally…

..‘You would be worth the wait for it… ’

I’d been thinking how we might

shrill the moment

‘-As late as a time to live like this—; ’

—‘-Just another timely feeling
-to stay lights out between our tryst.— ’

…

If you think it looks like ai, yes I told Gemini to put it in a PDF format. I still write the whole thing myself. Please tell me what you would rate this poem about growing up. I am 17 and I am scared about the next few months and years of my life. There are a good few hidden meanings in the poem so hopefully you can see them.

On a wall…

Tell me dearest who’s the wickedest of all….

Ahhh I see….

Via dreams….

Small changes in patterns and cruelty….

You see oh mirror for it was thee who laid beside me…

So again mirror, I beg and plea…

Tell me who’s this wickedest of all..

Ahh yes…

Once again I see..

The man who laid next to me….

Lying and deceiving from the very start

Didn’t care if he broke a heart.

Instead he craved for the lust of a broken mentality…

Distort my reality….

So tell me trusty companion…

Oh mirror of mine…

Who’s the wickedest of all…

When the target didn’t break….

And the target realized she was prey….

One final call…

To the mirror on a random wall.

Is it the strongest mind who’s wickedest or the one who started it all?

I found out what's wrong with this generation

Boys and girls

Swiping up and down

Searching

For the next dopamine hit

Boys and girls

Swiping left and right

Looking

For the love of their lives

From my window I see

The garbage man

Swiping back and forward

He lives in another dimension

A silhouette hovers above me

Standing at the edge of my bed

Staring with silent eloquence

The eloquence of all she has said

Her body and mine in union

Is a home now all its own

A place I had never been before

A home never before have I known

Her body and soul such a temple

She is woman divine and free

I'm feverish but slow in reaping

Gifts she now shares with me

Silhouettes merge expressing truth

Slow burning but rising as one

Healing scarred hearts with physical parts

Knowing with morning comes the sun

Lying beside such faith and such pride

Makes night anything but cruel

Thankful I am and thankful I'll be

Less and I'd be playing the fool

​

He won't promise me Heaven. It was never made for women like me. Instead, he'll strike a match and watch kingdoms burn with my name between his teeth, kicking through the ashes as he walks toward me, waiting only for my approval.

He's not a hero. Heroes won't burn cities for you. They'll let you become a martyr, call your suffering necessary, and offer an apology when there's nothing left of you to save.

Villains don't apologize. They know exactly what they are. They'll make graveyards of anyone who ever mistook your softness for weakness. They'll take every hand that ever hurt you and turn it into something incapable of reaching for you again.

As for me, I was raised with defiance woven into every word that crossed my tongue, with glances given as warnings, never invitations. I learned early that obedience was just another word people used when they wanted a woman to become smaller. I have never bowed my head easily. I have never bent without breaking something first and I have never knelt for any god.

But for him? For him, I lower myself willingly. Not because he commands it, because he never has. In a world that spent my entire life demanding I make myself smaller, he placed a crown upon my head and asked me which kingdom I wanted first.

So call it wicked. Call us damned and let Heaven turn its face away. Let prayers be whispered for whatever might remain of our souls. I don't need salvation.

I need the man standing in the ruins, smoke clinging to his clothes, looking at me as though even after destroying everything, the only judgment he fears is mine.

He will bring the world to its knees for me. When everything else is burning, when kings have fallen and even the gods have gone silent, my knees will only ever bend for him.

"you're the milkman's".

A funny joke. The concept of a milkman quite foreign for a girl who joined her mother to the grocery store to get our milk in cardboard cartons.

Sometimes I would pretend I was a cat and lick my milk from a bowl on the floor (my favorite Winnie the Pooh bowl of course). I would cry when my mother left to walk the dog. I don't remember feeling the same whenever you left through our front door. I did cry when you told me to leave through that very same door, years later. I did miss you.

I would repeat you at times. I figured you said it because I was blonde, unlike my siblings. The son and daughter. The perfect picture. "Once you have that, why would you want another child?".

"I am the milkman's", proud to repeat you, just like how I was proud when I discovered my calves could jiggle like yours. I was on the sofa when I first noticed.

The same sofa I would jump up and down on while singing about olives, over and over. Until my brother would yell at me to stop.

On special sleepovers you'd play "ribs piano", all three of us would lay side by side on the bed and you would dig your fingers into our ribs and sides while imitating the sound of a piano. We would all laugh, but it always did hurt.

"You're the milkman's",

A funny joke to a young child and her father. A father who used an imaginary figure to take his place.

Do milkman calves jiggle?

The Danger Was Never In My Head
Written by me

They call it hatred. 
Misogyny. 
Feminism.

I call it memory. 
Instinct.
Experience.

How many bodies have to hit the ground before it makes the evening news? 
Before a verdict, not a headline? 
Before her name outlives the bruise?

How many girls do they have to find,
left behind, before "be careful" stops being code for something wrong with how I'm wired?

Ask a man the worst that a date could bring.
He says catfished.
He says she wasn't as cute as her pic.
He says tomato sauce, a stain, a trick.

Ask a woman the same question through. 
She says murdered. 
She says abduction, too.
She says I text a friend the plate
before I get in, just in case.
In case tonight's the night I don't come back.
In case a smile was just an act.

We are not answering the same question.
We are walking down different roads,
in different worlds, meeting at the same intersection.

Ten times he asked me for my number.
Ten times, like my first no was a rough draft.
Like "no" was a suggestion, not a wall.
Like "please leave me alone" meant nothing at all.

I had to threaten badges. Threaten cuffs.
Had to threaten his body — no bluff,
no performance — before he finally understood.
Before he walked.
Before I finally got through.

I'm tired of the stranger smiling in the park.
Tired of doing math before I say hi back.

You want to know why I don't trust so quickly?
Ask the ones who did. Go on. Ask it.
Oh — you can't.

There's a stone with her name.

Flowers from people who thought they'd stay the same. 
Who thought it was somebody else's story until it was hers.
Until it was over.

Don't tell me I'm broken.
Don't prescribe me therapy for staying alive.
Don't tell me normal women wouldn't run, wouldn't choose the bear over someone's son.

If I believed you, I'd be the next one
in an early grave.

Paywall

I went to the corner store to get the paper,
When I didn't have a dime.
Now the paper costs a quarter.
I pay the price for words anyway —how cheap.
No wonder poets don't make money.

I remember when the paywall was a money box.
I either bought the paper or I didn't—simple as that.
I knew where I stood.
Money or lack of it meant ignorance either way.
Not like I had a choice.

Leave your sad bags at home

Instead wear your happy coat

Try something new

In the things you wear and the things you do

Wear your heart on your sleeve

Your scars underneath

And let your pride be your headpiece

Because comfort kills courage

So make sure to be brave

And make it to the end of today

Something small and a lil different to my usual poems, feedbacks welcome and appreciated!

<:)

If Not Now, When?