Unwritten Hues.

If only the souls I met wore signs,

Like: “Will drain you dry,” or “Heals through time.”

A little tag stitched under the skin—

“Good for a season,” or “Do not let in.”

I’d stop mistaking chaos for charm,

And quit hugging snakes who mean me harm.

I wouldn’t need tarot to spot your weight,

Or therapy bills to learn too late.

Some walk in pretty but plant decay—

I just wanna know:

Are you here to build or take away?

-Mynyhan Kinard

© Mynyhan Kinard 2025. All rights reserved.

Reblogs are welcome.

I lay awake, searching for air,

but love feels more like drowning than breathing.

I wanted peace, soft hands to hold me,

but I got walls closing in,

words that cut, silence that suffocates.

I wish love felt like home,

not a house I tiptoe through,

watching my every move,

afraid of triggering the cracks in the foundation.

I wanted warmth,

but instead, I am holding my breath with someone

who doesn’t know how to exhale with me.

I whisper prayers into the night,

asking God when my person will come,

or if she was here once,

but I let her slip through my fingers.

I wonder if love is meant to feel like longing,

if I should wait for someone to come

who already knows how to love me—

without lessons, without pleading, without weight.

I’m tired of carrying love alone,

tired of fighting to feel seen,

tired of hoping someone will choose me

the way I deserve to be chosen.

So, I choose myself.

I choose to let go of hands that hold me down

instead of lifting me up.

I choose to silence the noise,

to step into something softer, something lighter.

I will love me in ways she never could.

And when love comes again,

it will meet me where I stand,

not where I beg.

They love my smile—it’s sweet, it’s wide,

like sun that kisses pain goodbye.

But none of them see what’s trapped inside,

the parts I’ve taught my grin to hide.

They love my curves, the way I sway,

how I move like velvet melts away.

They trace my hips with hungry eyes,

but never ask what lives inside.

They swear I flirt without a clue,

say I breathe slow like lovers do.

But I just laugh, and tilt my head,

while thoughts I never speak get said.

They think I’m magic—confident, sure,

the type of girl you can’t ignore.

But truth be told, I second guess,

I wonder if I’m still enough undressed.

Not just in lace or sheets or skin,

but when the silence settles in.

When I’m not moaning—when I’m still,

do you love me then? Or just the thrill?

‘Cause yes—my sex is something real.

I give like I know how to heal.

I write my name across your chest,

then wonder if you’ll clean the mess.

They say I taste like something rare,

like sin and honey in the air.

But when the high begins to fade,

will you still want the girl you made?

Not the dream you dressed in gold,

not the story someone told—

but the woman who’s afraid to show

how deep her deepest rivers flow.

I’m good on paper—bold and clean,

the girl who fits inside a dream.

But touch me slow, and you will see,

you’ve barely even read half of me.

So come correct. Or close the book.

I’m more than thighs and how I look.

More than moans or pretty face—

I’m soul, I’m weight, I’m heat, I’m grace.

–Mynyhan Kinard

© Mynyhan Kinard 2025. All rights reserved.

Reblogs are welcome.

She touched me

like the moon touches tide—

not all at once,

but deep inside.

Like something ancient knew its place,

and every curve became her grace.

Her voice?

A whisper wrapped in wine,

sweet and soft

with edges fine.

She spoke in looks I couldn’t fake—

like she already knew

what I’d try not to break.

And baby,

the way she walked to me—

hips humming prayers

my knees believed.

That feminine pace,

that unapologetic sway,

made my whole damn name

fade away.

She didn’t need to take control—

she invited me into her fold.

No pressure, just pull.

No demand, just draw.

No masks, no games,

no tightening jaw.

I fell into her

like poems find pen,

like velvet wraps wind

and dares it to bend.

We loved in silence,

then in sound—

our hands spoke stories

that never had bounds.

She made flowers bloom

on parts I’d shut.

Turned the “too much” in me

into “just enough.”

She held my face

like it held fate—

kissed me slow,

like time could wait.

And God—

when she loved me,

it wasn’t a flame.

It was ocean.

It was moonlight.

It was calling my name.

It was never survival,

it was song.

It was never possession—

just where I belonged.

I’ve loved before—

but not like this.

Not like prayer

disguised as kiss.

Not like light

that finds the cracks,

or being seen

without looking back.

There’s something sacred

in her touch.

In the way she loves—

not hard, but much.

So when they ask

how I could fall so fast—

I tell them this:

It’s the way a woman loves—

soft,

and still vast.

-Mynyhan Kinard

© Mynyhan Kinard 2025. All rights reserved.

Reblogs are welcome.

Every time I think of you My heart skips a beat Caught b/w love & longing

I'm behaving like a girl and you are already scared of me and my personality.