Litchiteany 🌺

I built my peace with quiet hands

from what was worn and torn,

from chaos and the ache of time,

from breath spent on odds long lost.

I laid it, brick by patient brick,

with mortar ground by solitude.

The world still knocks—loud, careless—

but I have learned to tend this land,

to let only stillness take root.

They come with polished, paper smiles,

with promises made of sweet smoke,

but I have walked through fire

and know what burns to ash,

and what is merely haze.

Do not bring your noise to my calm.

I neither wait at the window,

nor yearn to be found.

A still pond—no pebble can disturb—

this is my sanctuary.

If you enter, step softly:

hands empty, eyes awake.

Come not to claim my peace,

but to sit beside it

and leave it whole.

JI

If you wanted light, you would have struck the match.

But you let the dusk gather. You chose the silence.

So let the shadows hold you. Don't call my name into the wind.

I am a statue facing the sea. You are a footnote etched in dust.

JI

We were lights, briefly flickering

In the gut of the Earth—

Parasites with memory,

Dreaming gods to avoid the mirror.

We worshipped myths to soften the silence,

Feared the dark so we named it divine.

But the Earth never needed us.

She breathed before we knew breath,

And she’ll exhale us when she’s done.

JI

by a Woman Who’s Had Enough

I met a man — let’s call him Ben,

Said he’s “not like all those other men.”

A 2 A.M. “hey,” he hit send,

Then vanished back to ghost-town, friend.

He liked my pics, ignored my texts,

Came back with “yo” — as if I wasn’t vexed.

He claims, “I’m bad at phones and calls,”

Yet scrolls through thirst traps, streams, and brawls.

He wants a queen who “doesn’t nag,”

But hates it when her tits might sag.

Says, “I’m just vibing, not too deep…”

My guy, you’re all talk, a shallow creep.

He said, “I’m not into drama, girl.”

But somehow he’s the plot twist whirl.

He wants support, a chef, a muse —

But breaks apart like a ticking fuse.

“Let’s go with the flow,” he said to me,

Of what? Convenience or your apathy?

I need a man, not some sad frog,

Who won’t confuse me with his dog.

He did the least, then called it “trying,”

Swore he’s loyal — was he lying?

Sure— to video games and late-night memes,

And half-formed cryptic dating schemes.

So here’s to Ben, and boys like he,

Who ask for love, but want it free.

Next time he drops a “wyd” again,

I’ll say: “I’ve healed, Ben. You still pretend.”

JI

A vast gulf between our worlds—

Silent currents of distance

Unravel our fragile tether,

Like waves striking restless shores.

You chart your course, I chart mine,

Our paths crossing only for a storm’s breath—

A typhoon’s wild intersection.

For a heartbeat, we spun together,

Entwined in the cyclone’s eye,

Until caution surged,

Barriers rose like floodwaters,

And the torrent pulled us apart,

Swept away in the rapids’ depths,

Adrift, never to converge again.

JI

Our stars once danced in a fated embrace,

Now scattered far, estranged by space.

Was it destiny’s hand, or choices we made,

That cast our stars in dissonant shade?

I counted days as they slipped through my grasp,

Each moment a flame, now scorched in the past.

A tether once strong, now frayed thin,

A bond forged in fire, turned to ashes within.

The truth arrives, sharp as a blade,

Whispers of love, and wounds it conveyed.

What we once craved, now crumbles to dust,

A dream undone, a breach in trust.

So here I stand, where endings begin,

No longer bound to the ache within.

Farewell to the echoes, the weight of our tale—

Love’s fleeting ember, now a veiled, lost trail.

JI

What matters is now, not the ghosts of past,

Not the ache of a future too fleeting to last.

Not promises whispered by heaven or death,

But the blaze in your chest, the gift of your breath.

No oath was inscribed when the stars learned to burn,

No compass drawn for which way we should turn.

Yet here in this moment, unwritten and unsaid,

Lies the choice to live fully before we are dead.

To speak in earnest, love with no regret,

To hold what is fragile and never forget—

That meaning isn’t born from fate or design,

But crafted in action, presence, and time.

So write with your actions, not ink on a page,

Be bold in silence, wise in your rage.

The end may be void, or something profound,

But life is the echo we forge in the ground.

And you are the answer the question became.

The flicker, the still, the insatiable flame.

Live like it matters, and live it out loud—

Not someday, not maybe—

But here. And now.

JI

A jar unlidded, tangled threads,

Wounds that time has softly bled.

Fractured glass and edges worn,

Shapes I’ve taken, bruised and torn.

I come not polished, but alive,

Molded by paths that mark my stride.

Your mirror shows a different face—

Don’t press your frame, or set my place.

For hearts that bleed beneath the skin,

Are gardens wild, where few have been.

If I’m too rough for your design,

Then seek the ones who fit your line.

JI

Where daylight fails to breach the pane,

You flinch from love’s insistent rain.

Hands that reach, you let decay—

Warmth arrives, then slips away.

Heart murmurs turn to winter’s teeth,

In your chest, no bloom beneath.

All that mattered, all held dear,

Withers in your atmosphere.

I mistook your frost for morning dew,

A thaw I swore my flame could undo.

What was I? A spark, a breath—

Fuel to sate your quiet death.

You name withheld silence “mastery,”

While I endured the slow atrophy.

Still, some ember haunts your night—

Heavy chains, not armor bright.

So hear me now: the world won’t bend,

But pulses on, and wounds can mend.

To love’s not blind, but eyes that see—

A shore untouched, where tides run free.

JI

If man is an island,

Am I breaching sacred ground—

A castaway with open hands,

Asking shelter, safe and sound?

Unmoored upon his shoreline,

No welcome in his tide—

Should I drift past lonely waters,

For land that’s true and wide—

Something rooted, rich with soil,

Not oceans to divide?

Why dwell where echoes linger

In caves of hardened stone?

Where silence guards the passageways

That none have ever known?

Where thorns and tangled grasses

Keep witness far away,

And wild fruit, untouched by hands,

Grows deeper day by day—

Cool streams and hidden valleys,

So close, yet kept at bay.

All this he keeps in silence,

Preserved beneath the sky—

Not mine to know or harvest,

But for another passerby.

🏝️

JI

I wrote with care,

a quiet plea—

but silence carved

your apathy.

You skimmed my worth,

then looked away,

as if I were

a cast-off phrase.

I won’t be filed

and left to fade,

a footnote in

your dimming gaze.

This isn’t grief—

it’s self-defense:

I won’t excuse

your negligence.

You didn’t choose me—

that much is true,

but I release

the weight of you.

📱

JI

He loved in past tense by spring,

Before the birds had begun to sing.

Catalogued each failing—

Pressed between glass, like moth-wings.

His, not mine:

See how neatly the fault lines align?

A curator of distance,

Measuring love in vanishing signs.

He labeled joy 'too fragile to display'—

The placard hangs there, bleached and gray.

Now visitors pause, then walk away,

From this empty exhibit titled "Stay."

🦋

JI

I let it marinate, then swell,

A quiet storm I knew too well.

It festered deep beneath the skin,

Till callused calm replaced within.

I made peace with odds and ends,

With fickle turns and fractured bends.

No use in fighting what won’t mend—

Some pages aren’t meant to extend.

So one by one, I closed each part,

Filed every scar, sealed every start.

Archived in mind, not lost, just penned—

Each chapter closed…until the end.

📕

JI

Let it steep—

not all wounds need sutures.

Some scars seal stronger

when left to air.

I dissect words,

gestures and quiet that cuts.

Truth doesn’t flinch—

it sprawls in plain sight.

Why pick at a broken lock

when the door swings loose?

He ghosts

over my living heart—

a reaper on patrol:

doctrine over defiance,

script over soul.

Bitterness ferments

into an elixir.

Wisdom settles

like sediment:

to name affection

that charges toll

by its stale aftertaste.

Refined in fractures,

I rise—

again and again—

For I refuse to choke

on apologies that never come.

I let bygones go.

For I am enough.

I don’t beg for crumbs

when I am the feast.

JI

What I whisper into midnight

wakes into certainty—

words carved into bone.

The ancient tale holds:

fate spirals through space

only to return where it began.

As if some silent watcher

plucks each misstep,

corrects my course—

unmerciful, precise,

etched in stark design.

I tread along parallel lines—

a path foretold.

To drift astray

and call it written?

Should I rage against design,

or bow to whispered truths

that sweetness dwells

just beyond my fingertips—

cool as dew on sealed buds?

A star in my orbit

teases the cords—

tugging with false promise.

I dull its light, forgo the fight

rehearse the fall before flight.

A heart armored in doubt

never bleeds surprise.

And heavens above

never challenge

one who kneels willingly.

JI

05-19-2025

They whisper,

This far.

No farther.

Not walls—

not yet—

but breaths

between collisions.

I learn the shape

of enough

by what splinters

against it.

JI

04-16-2025

Pins and needles—

I don’t confront

the heaviness.

I fold it, quietly,

tuck it in a box

with all the others,

to reopen

when sorrow softens—

light enough to lift,

to hold without splintering.

Each year, I gather

fragments of joy:

wishes faded thin,

laughter frayed

at the edges—

pressed like petals

into a vault

only I can enter.

But maybe it’s time

to loosen my grip,

let the wind scatter

what once ached

into constellations,

so I can remember freely,

without breaking.

Let them shimmer

in the sky I’ll rise into,

when the world

no longer weighs me down.

Faces and scenes flare—

a quiet blaze

etching a life

held,

and loved.

JI