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Where Calm Feels Like Home

  Where Calm Feels Like Home He doesn’t speak over me, he listens— like my words matter even when they tremble. There’s patience in his pauses, kindness stitched into his silences, and responsibility sitting quietly in the way he shows up—every time. He does things before I even realize I needed them, as if my expectations live somewhere in his instincts. A heart that’s gentle, not weak— just brave enough to care deeply. He remembers me in ways people usually forget— my moods, my chaos, the unsaid between sentences. Sometimes I think         he’s lost in my thoughts, but really, he just understands me without making it a performance. There’s effort in him, consistent, calm, unquestioned— not for validation, but because that’s just who he is. And his eyes— soft like they know something holy, sweet like they’ve chosen peace over noise. The way he approaches life, and me— so effortless, it feels divine, like s...
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Ink of My Shadows

 Ink of My Shadows

Poetry flows where silence screams,
A mirror to my darkest dreams.
Its ink runs deep, a velvet tide,
A refuge where my truths can hide.

Each word is heavy, steeped in night,
A spark of fire, a sliver of light.
I weave my pain, my joy, my fears,
Into verses drenched with unshed tears.

I crave the depths, the raw, the real,
The aching truths I long to feel.
In shadows, I find my voice takes flight,
Crafting storms in the dead of night.

Each metaphor, a haunting flame,

A whispered echo, a silent name.
It pulls me under, yet sets me free,
Poetry, the dark that completes me.

Through twisted roots and barren skies,
I etch the truths they dare disguise.
It’s not just words—it’s how I breathe,
The thorns of life in every wreath.

I lose myself, yet claim my core,
With every stanza, I crave it more.
A bond eternal, wild, intense—
Poetry is my soul’s dark essence.

-WonderOlyf

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