in the beginning

nothing between us started conventionally.
maybe that’s why it stuck.

we found comfort in mutual rebellion
and grounding in the freedom
we gifted the other
to be exactly who we are.

there were no masks.
no trying too hard.

we just were.

and then,
we were
in love.



I’ve learned to keep my thorns sharp,

even if I do happen to put some of them away ocassionally

You never know if this time I’ll need to use them

I build my walls and kick the ladder so he has to

climb and curse for me

I make him work and sweat for me, while giving only the bare minimum

a teaspoon of sugar just to keep him interested-

the sweetest honey comes from the Queen Bee

and now only the strong can manage to wrestle love

out of me.


What type of warrior are you?

Another dagger in the heart

You’d think by now that 

I’d have learned how 

to use my shield,

how to wield my sword…

Guess I’m just not

the type of warrior 

who fights off love. 

the pair of hands I need

how to trust new hands when every pair in the past reached towards you, compelling you to let go, but failed to hold on when you finally fell?

I need hands that don’t retract out of fear,

hands with strength to hold the weight of my heart,

hands that touch my soul as much as my skin,

hands that stay, hands that are warm, hands that linger in the right space between lust and love,

hands that care,

hands that speak without needing any help from lips,

hands with purpose,

fighting hands that know what they want and can tell when they find it,

hands not afraid to reach for the unknown with me,

hands that never look back or too far forward,

hands that are present to hold and love me the only way the right pair of hands can.