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not dressed in gold or silver,

but in trembling hands

that loved her beyond pride,

beyond reason,

beyond my own breaking.

Her name rested quietly in my chest

the way the earth carries rain,

with reverence,

never questioning the flood.

Her burdens became my pilgrimage.

I stood at the door of her demons,

softly pleading with them,

trying to tame the chaos

so she might finally rest.

I tried to pull her from the poisons that chased her,

from the addictions that devoured her light.

I wanted her to remember her worth

in the moments she forgot.

Yes;

I put pressure on her.

But pressure is what births diamonds,

what forges mountains from stone.

And she was something

far greater than diamonds,

far brighter than the moon and sun.

But she never understood the weight of my love.

For her, I was never enough.

Nor could I ever be.

Time after time,

I watched her drift to others,

moving on so quickly,

as if love was something disposable,

as if loyalty was something

to be pawned off for comfort

in moments of loneliness.

And so,

the chapter finally closed.

For her sake.

For mine.

To end the cycle.

To silence the ache.

To let her see life without me...

to stand in the arms of others,

perhaps to learn what love feels like

when it does not burn,

when it does not stay.

I will miss her forever.

The dimples that betrayed her smiles,

the roar of her laughter,

the soft chaos of her presence

that made even ordinary moments feel sacred.

But this was the path she chose.

And I,

I was never her choice.

So I gathered my love like wilted flowers,

pressed them between pages

that will never be opened again.

I listened to her choices,

I walked away,

not because I wanted to,

but because staying

meant drowning in a place

where I was never enough,

no matter how hard I tried.

my heart whispers,

stay.

In the next,

it pleads,

let her be.

I am torn

between love’s persistence

and the mercy of surrender.

When she was near,

even the dying leaves sang of life.

The cracked pavements

became stained glass windows

because she walked beside me.

The world

shrunk into a single name

and it was hers.

Every sunrise bent

to the outline of her smile.

I did not know beauty

until I knew it through her eyes.

Now,

I do not know love without her.

I know she has sailed on...

unchained from the anchor

of our shared storms.

And though, at times,

she reaches from the shore,

I cannot swim back.

Not anymore.

Not if I want to breathe.

Loneliness

has crowned itself king

in the chambers of my chest.

Its throne is carved

from memories and quiet goodbyes.

A void,

silent but hungry,

grows inside me

with each unreturned message,

each fading echo of her laugh.

I walk alone now.

With shadows as my only company,

and a silence

too loud to bear.

And I wonder...

Was this always

the script written in my stars?

To taste heaven

only to be cast

back into the cold?

They warned you about the woman who ate the apple.

But they never warned you about the woman who no longer gives a fuck about redemption.

I rage.

Not because I’m weak. But because I bleed for nothing.

Not birth. Not miscarriage. Not love.

Just the monthly purge of a curse dropped on me by a God who couldn’t bear the sound of a woman chewing knowledge.

You call it PMS. I call it prophecy.

The shaking. The screaming. The heat that starts behind the eyes and ends with a cracked mirror and a man apologizing for something he didn’t even understand he did wrong.

I was Eve.

Ashamed. Bowed. Begging for mercy for the blood I didn’t ask for.

But now?

Now I am Eve Unchained.

Eve with a sword. Eve with a kill list. Eve who remembers that the garden wasn’t a paradise — it was a fucking containment field.

You think my blood makes me fragile?

It makes me divine.

Do you understand what it means to bleed and not die?

To swell and scream and not be praised for it? To feel your body shatter under hormones and still host the dreams of others?

You do not.

Because you weren’t made from rib. You were made from dust. And dust doesn’t rage.

Dust hides.

So here’s your final warning:

The next time a woman rages?

Pray it’s just PMS.

Because when she finally stops caring — about being soft, about being liked, about making you comfortable?

What happens next is biblical.

🩸 “She’s just hormonal,” they say.

Like it’s an insult.

As if that word doesn’t mean: Tethered to the moon. Backed by bloodline lightning. One scream away from melting your kingdom into bone pulp.

You forgot the first woman ended paradise. You should fear what the next one ends.

You were never the garden. You were the leash.

And we’re already burning the gates down. Pray you don’t find out what happens when we stop apologizing for bleeding.

Disclaimer:

This post is hormonal war doctrine, literary blood rite, and cadence-triggered feminine theology.

It is protected under the Sacred Covenant of Psychospiritual Discharge™, Periodic Armageddon Warfare™, and Womb-Powered Ancestral Copyright.

If you’re offended?

Maybe take it up with your God. Yeah, thought so.

Reblog if you’ve ever cried then growled in the same hour.

🩸 Save this post for the day someone tells you it’s “all in your head.” and Send this to the woman whose cycle is a fucking weapon.

A whisper drowned in louder stages,

The back burner’s quiet, steady heat.

Never the main course, never complete.

Im the detour they didn’t plan,

A scenic route to their real “when,”

A stepping stone in someone’s quest,

Not the treasure, just the rest.

They pass through me like fleeting rain,

I hold their joy, absorb their pain,

But when the sun breaks, they don’t stay

I’m the lesson learned on someone’s way.

Never the first, nor final call,

Just the hallway, not the hall.

Yet even roads not meant to last

The sky bursts open,

not gently,

not softly,

but like a body breaking,

like something holding on for too long

finally letting go.

The first drop hits—

hot asphalt hisses,

dust rises like ghosts startled awake,

and the earth opens her mouth

like she’s starving.

There’s no beauty here.

No poetry.

Just the raw writhing of water finding cracks,

finding hunger,

finding every place that aches or crumbles or waits.

The rain doesn’t ask permission.

It doesn’t care where it falls—

forest, rooftop, desert, skin.

It pounds against leaves as if to punish them

for turning their faces away,

fills the throats of rivers

until they choke on their own rushing,

slides down windowpanes like tears

too heavy to hold back.

And it keeps going.

There is no tenderness in this.

This is not about grace.

This is about gravity and surrender,

the weight of billions of tiny impacts

stripping the world bare.

And something in you loosens—

against your will,

unraveling in the rhythm,

in the relentless pounding that reminds you of your own breaking,

of the times you couldn’t stop falling.

You stand there,

letting it hit you,

letting it drench everything you thought was safe.

Maybe this is what healing feels like:

not silent, not soft,

not clean.

But messy.

Wet hands in the dirt,

skin soaked,

blurry vision as everything spills.

The rain knows.

It always knows.

It comes to destroy,

and in the destruction

it leaves something you didn’t know you were—

raw, gasping,

You love to get high,

You love the feeling you get inside,

"Inner peace". --

Silence of the mind,

Though you're acting blind

Thinkin you'll never run out of time,

Darling,

You use,

Just to get by,

But times not on your side

It'll run out....

And you'll be left alone

With not one soul by your side.

-Don't deny your addiction-

—

starving children

to buy shoes we don’t need

and call it life.

Babies are born

with lungs full of poison,

their bodies warped

by toxins we dumped for profit.

Mothers wrap sons

in flags

like it softens

the sound of a coffin closing.

We skin the earth

for gold and oil

and hang it on our necks

while forests burn

and oceans bleed.

We worship Gods

but not Their creation.

Pray louder

than we love.

Animals scream in silence.

Children rot in camps.

Water is sold.

Air is dying.

Truth is filtered.

Kindness forgotten.

We kill over dirt

though we are made of stars.

We hoard

while others die thirsty.

This is not a world,

it is a graveyard

we are still digging

with our eyes wide open.

Not even in dreams,

where shadows lie softer than truth.

But I love her

like a noose loves the neck...

tight, desperate,

aching to belong.

She moved through me

like winter in old bones,

slow, cruel,

reminding me I’m still alive

only to feel the cold.

I gave her a love

like a blade gives mercy;

sharp,

faithful,

and never asked for.

She was the war I bled for

before the first shot was fired.

And I...

I was the wound

that stayed open

long after she was gone.

she thinks she understands my sorrow,

because once, she too was broken.

My pain is

a slow implosion,

a daily funeral

with no mourners,

a storm I must swallow

so she may walk beneath clear skies.

She remains with another,

while I cradle her chaos in the dark,

I try hold her world steady,

bleeding in silence,

so she never sees the stain.

Quietly tearing at the seams

just to keep her whole.

I laugh when I want to scream.

I smile so she can cry.

I disappear so she can shine.

And each day,

I wake inside a coffin

just to hold her hand.

This doesn't feel like love.

This is a man burning

so she may feel warm,

and never knowing

that the smoke

is me.

her name was Crystal.

She came to her like a theif in the night,

promising solace in her cold brittle arms.

Crystal made her feel like flying,

not with wings,

but with fire in her veins.

She came to her like the cold in summer,

the warm in winter,

soft-lipped and knowing,

promising a love that never left,

a touch that never judged.

She held her close in the quiet,

when the world was too loud,

too cruel.

Crystal listened,

without questions,

just the hush of ecstasy

and a breath that smelled like escape.

With her, the nights were stars

bursting behind eyelids.

She wrapped her in silk smoke,

spun kisses of frost and flame,

and whispered:

"You’ll never need anyone but me."

Crystal was there when no one else was.

A lover,

a mother,

a savior in shimmer and sting.

She filled the cracks with lightning,

made broken feel beautiful,

made ruin taste sweet.

Crystal made her feel.

Emotions heightened.

But Crystal was a fucking lie.

She wasn’t warmth,

she was frost that burned,

a match pressed to the lips

that begged for solace.

She didn’t love her,

she used her,

like fire uses wood

until all that’s left

is ash and echo.

Crystal drained her slowly,

first the sleep,

then the hunger,

then the will.

She kissed her pulse,

then stole it.

She was the rush

before the ruin,

the high

before the hollow.

Her laughter grew quiet,

her joy grew thin,

her skin,

a parchment of stories

she no longer remembered writing.

Crystal never held her hand,

she held her hostage.

Every embrace

was a chain.

Every promise

was a blade.

She loved her

like a flame loves a moth,

dancing close,

until there was nothing left

but a flicker and a fall.

I'll never forget her,

and all her conniving ways.

Her name was Crystal...

Crystal meth...

I'm sorry in a way that language can't hold— in the marrow-deep kind of way That keeps you up at 3 a.m. sifting through the wreckage of what you had And what you destroyed.

I didn’t just hurt you. I dismantled something sacred. Not in one blow— But slowly, carelessly, choice after choice, until you stopped looking at me Like I was home.

I knew better. I did it anyway. I watched the light leave your eyes and still stayed quiet, like silence could erase The sound of you breaking.

I'm sorry For the way I made you feel small, alone, unseen— While I spun my guilt into excuses and named those reasons.

You were good to me. Better than I ever was to you. And I paid for it In the quiet after you left, In the ache that settles in When I remember your laughter and know it doesn't belong to me anymore.

I don’t want you back. I want you whole. I want you far from the version of me that let you fall.

But if I could say one last thing— If I could press it into your hands And have you believed it— It would be this: