I’ve seen many eyes before—
some with softness of touch,
some sharp with lust.
I’ve known the warmth of hands
that held me only
when I was easy to hold.

With roughness, with shouting,
I’ve felt torn inside my chest,
as if flowers had grown thorns,

tearing me open from the inside

You do not ask me to hide the wreckage,
you dwell inside it with me.

What a privilege it is
to be seen in all my mess
and still be held with such gentleness.

The first time I didn’t flinch
when someone reached for me,
I knew what it meant
to be held without condition.

Your voice steadies me

In a world quick to misunderstand,
I understand.

Love isn’t a stage for performance or play.

It isn’t lust dressed up in longing—
it’s being seen in full light,
and not being asked to dim.

It’s someone choosing you
on the hard days,
in the mess,
when the shine has worn off
and the silence is heavy.

In a life where nothing felt certain,
I have found certainty in you.

With you,

the broken pieces are no longer shattered,

in your presence,

proof I can begin again.