u/bstunz

I wrote it to understand,
not to confess.

Sent it to see
what it would stir.

She read it crying.

Called it madness.
Beauty in the madness.

I call it clarity.
The quiet ordering of chaos.

A way to trace
why every thought
bent toward her.

She may call it acceptance.
Not order.
Not solving.
Just seeing it
and not turning away.

Same obsession.
Different name.

I try to map it.
She lives inside it.

She said she always loved reading poetry
because the writers feel
the same type of fucked up as her.

Same type.
Different wiring.

I move toward chaos
to feel awake.
She builds structure
to survive it.

One looks for clarity in the chaos.
The other finds beauty
in the madness.

Both staring at the same fire
from opposite sides.

Not fixing it.
Not fleeing it.

Just recognizing
the silhouette of it
in each other.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1qg2bvw/comment/omxqqdk/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1tin30q/comment/omxsjak/

I held them tight
too long.
I didn’t want to.
Never did.

There were moments
I felt it
dreamed you did too.

But I contained them.
Circumstances demanded it.

I forced them down
as I always do.
Afraid to let slip
what I felt.

I told myself it was for you
to protect your peace.
But it was mine I guarded.
Selfish
in desire.

I didn’t succeed.
Some noticed.
I wished you did
even as I masked them.

The look you gave me.
The words you wouldn’t speak.

The moment
your eyes pierced mine.

I asked
what you would change.
You whispered
you couldn’t say it.

And that
was enough.
The moment
was now.

Timing, my enemy
at first.
Then it was me.
Withholding too long,
I became 
the barrier.

No longer timing.
I ached to act.
But in that moment
I failed.

My discipline
crippled me.
My tongue
betrayed me.
My obsession
blinded me.
Your response
terrified me.

She knows what she wants.
I know what she needs.
I rehearsed the words.

Yet did nothing.

My regret.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1tfvfrn/comment/omdkcy0/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1tff9zt/comment/omdlpnt/

You see
beauty in the madness.
I see
clarity in the chaos.

Radiance for you.
Pattern for me.

At first
I made you a muse.

Luminous.
Stirring
what was already there.

And I cast myself
a succubus.

Hungry.
Restless.
Afraid I was taking
more than I gave.

But a muse
doesn’t create the fire.
She reveals it.

And a succubus
cannot flourish.
It consumes.

You weren’t myth.
You were catalyst.

And I wasn’t devouring.
I was blooming.

Two silhouettes
standing
in the same flame.

Thanks for reading! This is the third poem in:
The Muse
Succubus
The Catalyst

series. I purposely put them out of order to see if each could stand on its own. I would love your feedback if that's the case and if you haven't read the other two, please do and let me know what you think. Your comments and feedback are my favorite part of writing. Thanks again.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1tdbj6g/comment/olu5x9l/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1td8hqa/comment/olu6s71

Losses piling up.

Hospital stay.
Relations strained.
Art non-existent.
Business down.

I did not know
how to climb out.

Then she came.
She had been there
all along.

Not like this.

She had the look.
Gorgeous beyond compare.

The voice.
Soft. Knowing.

The body.
Lithe. Strong.

But none of that
mattered.

She did nothing different.
She did not have to.

Her presence
became enough.

Health renewed.
Relations returned.
Art flourished.
Business bloomed.

I found my Muse 
but lost 

my friend.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1t9xddz/comment/ol69vhy/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1tbcs43/comment/olfxn58/

Striking.
Alluring.
Breathtaking.

My first thoughts
as I approached.

Smart.
Humorous.
Engaging.

After conversation.

Perceptive.
Profound.
Beguiling.

After time.

I thought I was the offering.

Instead

My work sharpened.
My art flourished.
My mind expanded.

I wasn’t being consumed.

I was consuming.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1t98bod/comment/ol0bohc/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1t9g6c6/comment/ol2441d/

I’ve never been obsessed 
with a woman.

Not the way people whisper it
like a warning
or a boast.

I’ve wanted.
I’ve admired.
I’ve mistaken need
for love.
And I have loved.

But obsession
is different.

It isn’t hunger.
It’s gravity.

The rearranging of space 
in your mind
until one name echoes
louder than the rest.

You wake up the same
except everything
tilts toward her.

Every song speaks of her.
Every silence becomes a mirror
you check too often.
Every want
her.

Obsession isn’t fireworks.
It’s repetition.
It seeps in
until you can’t remember
the contour of the room
before her.

Thoughts that volunteer.
Feelings that command.

Her absence
measured more precisely
than her touch.

I’ve never been obsessed…

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1sz12x5/comment/ok6dppz/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1t4iq8j/comment/ok6et7w/

It began with
words.
Typed.
For hours.

Twenty-two
hundred
miles away.

You, hidden
at work.
Me, watching
you disappear
into them.

They build
excitement
desire.

A shaking
shattering
in the stall.

Later
more words.
Spoken.
More hours.

Bringing
warmth
longing.

Need
from want.

It ends.
Yet doesn’t.

Silence.
Peace.
Comfort.

Then starts again.

I stay.
Quiet.
Not moving.
An hour.

Until

Fuck You!

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1sqqwwk/comment/ohq45dn/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1sxjqsy/comment/oisiop3/