One of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received wasn’t something I could hold. It was the fire inside me, the alchemy that turned feeling and longing into art.
I have loved, I have ached, and in that love and ache, I found poetry. Every lingering desire, every silent scream found its way into ink.
This is my gift—passion that burns me, pain that carves deep, poetry that makes it all immortal.
Passion
The way I feel is never mild. It’s always felt like wildfire, all consuming.
I desired in a way that defies reason, with hunger, with the kind of force that does not ask for permission, stretching beyond what words can hold.
My desires are not fleeting; they are relentless, alive, demanding to be felt in their full intensity.
Pain
Not all love is soft, nor are all emotions meant to be ignored. Mine isn’t either.
Some of it bruises. Some of it lingers, like an echo in an empty room. Some of it blooms quietly, suddenly, and in that bloom, I lose the will to let go. It feels like a moment meant to last forever.
I have known absence as intimately as presence. Felt the grief of losing, the ache of waiting, the slow burn of longing.
Pain does not knock—it arrives, it stays, and it reshapes.
Poetry
Words have always been my refuge, my rebellion, my way of making sense of the chaos inside, where I give shape to the things I cannot hold, where I turn everything I cannot say into something that can only be felt.
It’s how I learned to romance, to make love, to desire. It is where I unravel, where I confess, where I lay naked.
This is the best gift I have ever received from the universe. Something gifted to me through love, loss, and longing: the ability to transform them into something eternal.
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