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TWIN FLAME

It said gullible on the ceiling. Goddess smiles sweetly Nobody understands the world like we do honey, The cruelty has only made us softer.

We were girls who learned survival before we learned ease, two stitched-together echoes of the same quiet grief. The world tried to sharpen us in different ways, but we found each other in the fractures it made.

It said gullible on the ceiling, like the universe was laughing at our trust, but we looked up anyway, and laughed too, because some pain loses power when it’s shared.

You called me honey like it was armor, not sweetness, and I called you goddess like it was the only truth that fit. We wore those names like stolen halos, soft rebellion against everything that tried to harden us.

Nobody understands the world like we do, honey, not because we are wiser, but because we were burned in the same strange language of almosts and never-enoughs, and still chose to speak gently anyway.

The cruelty has only made us softer, like river stones shaped by storms that never asked permission. We did not break into bitterness… we broke into understanding, and somehow that felt like victory.

Twin flame, not in fire that consumes, but in fire that remembers how to warm without taking. Two girls who met in the wreckage and decided that healing would be something we do together.

lunar-ghosts111

The Creep

She was still learning the shape of “safe,”

still believing the world meant what it said when it smiled at her in soft voices and open doors. He was a lesson she never asked to learn and a presence that called itself harmless, a shadow that learned how to look like light.

The creep didn’t arrive like a storm.

He arrived like something ordinary

enough to trust twice.

And after, the world didn’t shatter all at once,it cracked in quiet places.

in laughter that didn’t feel clean anymore,

in mirrors that stopped knowing her name,

in the way her body learned fear

before it learned how to explain it.

Anger came later. Not gentle, not polite, but alive. It rose like wildfire through her ribs,

like something refusing to stay buried. It said…”this was not yours to take”

It said…”I am still here.”

And slowly, painfully, she began to return to herself in pieces that didn’t ask permission.She learned that healing is not soft. It is teeth. It is refusal. It is breath reclaimed after too long being held hostage by memory.

The creep becomes smaller in the telling,

reduced to what he always was, not a force, not a destiny, not a darkness with power,

but a mistake of proximity that she will never again mistake for safety.

And she grows anyway. Not untouched. Not unchanged.

But no longer his echo. She learns her voice is not something that can be taken,

only something that can be shaken,and still rise.And in that rising, there is something like vengeance that does not need his name anymore.

Only hers…

finally spoken without fear

for the first time in a long time.

She no longer feared the gun… she became it.

lunar-ghosts111

The Bully

He called himself important once…like power was something you could borrow by making someone else smaller.

But he was never anything more than a bully, a loud emptiness wearing a human shape, confusing control with strength. Because he had none of his own.

I think about him now, not with fear, but with clarity, and something almost like pity that I never thought I’d allow myself.

Because what kind of life must it be to only feel tall when someone else is kneeling? What kind of silence lives behind that noise? What kind of loneliness has to be covered with harm just to feel like it exists?

He mistook fear for respect.

He mistook obedience for love.

He mistook my silence for permission

instead of survival.

But I am not that silence anymore. What he took was never his to keep,

and what he tried to break did not disappear the way he expected it to. It learned. It hardened into something he cannot reach, something that does not flinch at memory, something that does not confuse his shadow for authority anymore.

He is still just a bully. Nothing more than that. And bullies are always smaller when you stop standing in their shrinking world. I carry what remains of me forward, not as something ruined,

but as something returned to itself.

And if his life is as empty as it looks, then that is not my wound to hold anymore. Only the distance I earned by surviving him. Seven years later.

lunar-ghosts111

The Crash

We started as Iron in the same river. Forged side by side in the current of childhood.

No distance between us worth naming, no silence that ever felt like absence.

You were the hand I didn’t have to question, The voice that answered before I spoke.

We built a language out of shared glances,

out of scraped knees and late-night escapes,

out of the belief that brothers are what remain

when everything else proves temporary.

We sat in car rides like they were promises

windows down, laughing into motion,

as if the world ahead was always ours to survive.

We learned roads together.

windows down, chasing something we couldn’t name

but always swore we’d find it.

Every ride felt endless then…

Something in you changed lanes without warning,

a quiet drift I mistook for tired hands,

a glance away I forgave too easily.

Still, I called you brother.

Still, I believed you.

We used to say we’d never crash.

But something in you began to drift,

subtle at first,

a hesitation in your eyes at green lights,

a tightening grip when I wasn’t looking.

Still, I trusted you with the wheel.

And then the road ended in impact.

Metal folding into itself like a scream too fast to hear.

Glass blooming outward in a frozen storm.

There was no warning that mattered enough,

no cry that could outrun it, just the sudden betrayal of motion becoming impact,

metal remembering it was never meant to be gentle.

Everything we were

splintered forward at once. Glass like frozen rain. Silence like a verdict.

In that violent stillness, I saw it…

not accident, not fate, not mercy,

but choice.

Now I replay it in pieces I can’t stitch back.

the road we shared,

the trust we built like something sacred,

the final turn where you didn’t just lose control,you used it.

Et tu, brute?

The thought didn’t come gently.

It came like the crash itself, sudden, absolute,

a sentence I couldn’t unhear once spoken by reality.

Even now, it echoes louder than sirens…

you were not just in the car with me,

you were the turn I never saw coming.

Brother,

there are betrayals that break bones,

and there are betrayals that rewrite blood.

And yours did both.

-Jules

lunar-ghosts111

Mi amore

With him, love is not a battlefield or a dream half-faded,

But something lived in ordinary hours.

Laundry folded with care, laughter in the kitchen,

Hands finding each other without needing to search.

I once dreamed of being loved without conditions,

Without having to earn softness or prove I was enough.

And then he arrived,not to change me,

But to stand beside me as if I had always belonged there.

Now I understand what the dream was trying to say.

That love was never meant to be chased or survived

Only met, when the right heart finally comes home

And stays.

- Jules

lunar-ghosts111

A poem to a Parasite

You learned me like a language just to steal the way I speak, Wore my laughter like a costume when your own began to leak.

A shadow in my outline, always tracing what I am…A hollow little echo dressed up carefully as “friend.”

You clung to me like ivy, too tight around what made me shine, Not to grow beside me, no you only wanted what was mine. A leech upon my kindness, drawing color from my skin, then calling it your nature once you wore it from within.

You mirrored all my pieces, every fractured, fragile part, But you never learned the meaning stitched beneath a beating heart.

Just a copy of my footsteps, never knowing where they led…A borrowed kind of person with my words inside your head.

And I watched you take and take until there was nothing left to give, still pretending you were living off the life I used to live.

But truth has teeth, and silence breaks, and now I finally see, You weren’t beside me all that time…you were feeding off of me.

So go on, wear my colors, wear the mask you think you’ve earned, But don’t confuse the fire you stole for one you ever burned.

For I am done with empty hands pretending they can care, You were never my reflection, just a leech who lingered there.

You came in quiet, almost small, a harmless-looking thing, A cling to fabric, soft at first, pretending not to sting. But I can see it now, the way you latched without a sound,

A patient kind of hunger buried deep beneath the ground.

You fed on every kindness like it owed you something more, Draining warmth from what I gave until I had none to pour. A tick pressed to my better self, swollen on what I’d share,

Acting like you belonged there, like you’d had the thought to care.

You learned the shape of who I was just well enough to wear, Then crawled inside my outline like you had a right to be there.

But you were never built from love, you only took and took, a parasite pretending you were more than what you look.

And still you copied every part you thought would make you whole, But you can’t stitch a borrowed skin onto an empty soul.

Now I see the truth in you, how easily you hide… A sick little thing that feeds and grows where once was trust has died.

So peel away, fall off me, drop back into the dark you came, No more pretending you were ever anything but the same. Because I was not your host, your home, or your endless supply…I was just the body you latched onto to survive.

- Jules

lunar-ghosts111

A poem for a Coward

I was once your Hellfire and your Holy Water…something you reached for with shaking hands, like salvation you didn’t trust, like ruin you couldn’t resist.

We moved like a story written backwards,love unraveling before it ever learned to hold itself still. Hazy. Afraid. Already leaving while we were still arriving.

“Don’t pay me any mind” I said, as I kept holding you through the unhappy ending, as if love could soften what it was already becoming.

You taught me what it means for tenderness to turn on its own reflection. Each man kills the thing he loves and I wonder if you ever noticed how quietly you were doing it. You ruined me, and I try to wear it beautifully, like something holy I wasn’t meant to survive.

Everything I want to say, I swallow. It sits heavy behind my teeth like a prayer that learned too late it had no listener.

I hate that you loved me for my pain. and I hate that I loved it all the same. I thought the noose you gave me was a necklace. I wore it like proof I was chosen, not realizing I was being tightened into absence.

Now sometimes I feel like a dead thing, still learning the shape of being left. A ghost practicing how to haunt the place where we used to be real

- Jules

defenseless-writer

who would i be

if you loved me

constantly on guard

got everyone on watch

arms length away

away all the hurt

away all the curt

answers and

questions and

remarks that just aren’t remarkable but with you?

who would i be

if you loved me

i’d be higher than before

lower than the floor

but in the right ways

because

even bright days

can go sideways

and sideways

can go all the way

into arms length

but with enough strength

through breakthroughs

and breakouts

and breakups

but with you?

who would i be

if you loved me

same soul new person

same name

same number

of problems

of never solving them

only enumerating them

same forms of solitude

away from my attitude

but with you

who would i be

if you loved me

would it be rainbows and sunshine

or would it be cloudy days that are mine

and yours because to be yours is sunshine

and cloudy days

and rain drops on windows racing towards the ground

the way my heart races when you say my name

same name

same soul

new person

defenseless-writer

less (go find)

a balance beam of too much

and not enough

i’m chemically imbalanced and need that

extra hint of validation

that extra hint of attention

because i’m just extra

and if i’m extra and too much

go find fucking less

don’t make me sit here

waiting by the phone

trying to guess

go find fucking less

i’m not the kind to play games

i’m not the kind to know to mind

through these fields of kinds of mines that take all the time and to take that time is absolutely fine but i need a life line, any kind of sign that in that mind in that field of mines you’re still mine

and the flames may rise and the mines may fire off the sparks that were setting us and maybe those sparks died out and maybe this fire was all in my mind and the minefield was a protection i built and maybe the sparks were fading and the mines placed are all actually mine

though i don’t mind the field of mines because thats never in my kind of mind that you could just give the words and not a sign that you’re done being mine

#poetry #original poem #poem #poets on tumblr

Mommy Issues / Too Much

She taught me early how to fold myself small,

to make my edges softer, my voice barely at all.

Her love was a mirror that only reflected

the version of me she had already selected.

If I cried, I was “too much,” a storm overcast

if I spoke, I was “dramatic,” a shadow of the past.

My feelings were noise she refused to let land,

so I learned how to tremble with silence in hand.

She wore concern like a polished disguise,

but truth had a habit of slipping through lies.

One moment she’d hold me like glass in her care,

the next I was nothing , just empty air.

The story she told always circled back right,

she was the sun, and I borrowed her light.

Even my pain had to pass through her frame,

reshaped into something that carried her name.

I grew up inside contradictions and blame,

where love was conditional, shifting like flame.

If I broke, it was proof I had failed her design,

if I healed, it was stolen from something “divine.”

And still I kept reaching for what might be real,

for a version of her that could actually feel.

But she only knew how to echo her role

a mother who guarded her image, not soul.

Now I can name what I couldn’t then see,

how love was a weapon she used on me.

And I am not “too much” I am finally whole,

no longer a child she could shape or control.

- Jules

Daddy Issues / Not Enough

A suitcase of silence and words he couldn’t say.

The door slam it just eased out of place,

like even goodbye didn’t want to show its face.

After that, I learned how to measure my worth

in the spaces he carved out of home and of earth.

Every report card, every scraped-up knee,

every “look at me” that went unseen beside me.

I became a catalog of almost-enough,

folding myself into quieter stuff.

Trying to be softer, smarter, less wrong

a child rehearsing where she didn’t belong.

I thought if I reached some invisible mark,

I could call back the part of him lost in the dark.

But love, I discovered, doesn’t follow a score,

and still I kept knocking on a locked, unseen door.

Years passed like pages I didn’t get to read,

still planting approval like it might be a seed.

But nothing I grew ever shifted the past,

no matter how perfect, it never would last.

And now there are days I don’t reach for the line,

no ringing, no waiting, no asking for sign.

Funny how absence can quietly teach

that some bridges were never meant to reach.

So I stopped calling. Not out of hate, not out of spite,

just learning what silence can sound like at night.

And maybe the irony, sharp and unplanned,

is I’m finally enough… without his hand.

- Jules

Moonlight

Beneath a sky of velvet black, where silent shadows creep, And stars like whispered secrets glow while restless spirits weep, My dearest friend, whose beauty shines as moonlight through the gloom. No living thing can dull her shine and no sorrow dare consume. Her presence haunts the quiet night, yet brings no trace of fear.

She's a phantom grace, both soft and wild, forever drawing near. Like silver beams on shattered glass, she dances through the air, A living dream in twilight’s grasp, too radiant to compare. The wind it sighs her name at dusk through barren, twisted trees, As if the world itself must bow to such a soul as she.

She stands as silver in the night, a calm, unyielding grace, Like moonlight spilling soft and pale across a ruined place…And though the world may twist and fade in sorrow’s cold design,Her light endures, unwavering, no less than the divine.Not shadowed doom nor ghostly chill could ever dim her light, For she is beauty, carved in moon, eternal in the night.

- Jules

To the Beautiful Badass Othelia

Perceived (loved)

It feels like finding hidden doors in ordinary days, like laughing at a thought you heard before I found the phrase. A quiet kind of magic lives in how we seem to be, You know the parts I’ve never said, yet somehow, still see me.

We meet between the lines of things, in half finished ideas, in glances full of meaning and in perfectly timed tears. As if the world grew softer just to let our minds align, and left a trail of golden threads connecting yours and mine.

There’s comfort in the way we don’t have to explain a thing…Like birds of a feather that change direction midair on the same wing.

And somehow, in that knowing, there’s a warmth that lingers on, a gentle kind of love that stays, no matter where we’ve gone. Not loud, not heavy, just a light that quietly proves it’s true, now I feel a little more like home each time I’m known by you.

- Jules

For the most Lovable Asher

lunar-ghosts111

Trauma has followed me like a hungry street dog since I was a child.

A Shelter dog

Your emotional support forever

- Jules

MY SPARK

Now in the quiet of your arms,

I’ve found a place free of alarms. No more shadows, no more fight…Just calm, like stars in the quiet night.

My Fire sparks your gaze to ignite the heart’s delight, Each glance a new start, each word a blaze, Burning through all the empty days. The flame that flickers fierce has grown so bright, A holy light, my sacred place.

Like a missing piece you fit so right, a calm within your arms threw endless nights. You held my hand and gently showed, a love that’s neither fast nor slow… but steady. Warm, so whole and true. It’s like I knew, it was always you.

Finally peace, a love long fought. Knowing that I once had thought, love was meant to hurt and bruise. But you would never dream of painting my world in those blue hues… you speak in tones of blushing red. Crimson in lips, scarlet in heart… and if I burn then Let it be. Because of you, I can finally be me.

The light that guides me is the spark in your eyes. A perfect forge, now mend my sword, might be my heart. Pure inspiration, where to start. You’re not just a light, your home in the dark.

Yes a home in the dark, embers warm in the glowing harth, the beacon I’ve needed and harked, open the door for you are my heart.

Forever , forever, forever

My spark

-Jules

I’m not so small as to be comprehended by you, I now understand the Revels of Fae .Fire doesn’t burn my throat anymore.

I wanna taste a little more wild when I get home , but where is home? Paper towns and little toy cars ,Will they notice that I’m not me? Manic pixie dream team, snapshots of memories, wandering and wonder struck.

I got hoodwinked, I blinked and now I think it’s too kinked we’re going extinct. Now I’m inked with all the memories.

So I realize my shadow is behind me, shielded, third eye is blinding. In the sun, solar radiation ain't fun, grab a gun. Cuz our enemies have won! Four shores, worn and torn, born to scorn, forlorn word porn.Next steps the word play, all day then I'm drowning, no air, not a sound see..... Traumatizing. He kept holding me under. Even coughing up water, why bother. Seriously tried to holler.... But bubbles won't carry voices. Never was our choices. Just bloody rags and burnt torches.

- Jules

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