r/Poems

let me love you.
not because you’re easy.
not because you’re ready.
just—
let me.

let me love you
where the noise is too loud.
where the walls go up.
where you hide the things
you never learned to name.

you don’t have to move.
no need to change the locks.
just let me love you
in the quiet.
in the dark.
in the spaces where you’re certain
you are far too much.

let me love you
without a deadline.
without a test to pass.
without making you explain
why you’re bracing for impact.

i see the fracture lines.
and i’m not running.

so let me love you
like peace.
the kind with no conditions.
the kind that just stays.

let me love you
until the flinch softens.
until your hands loosen.
until you remember
how to breathe out.

no strings.
no cage.
just let me love you.

like that.

right here.

​

The way I strip myself off,

The thought of committing —

Unbuilding thoughts when

Your eyes undress me faster.

Does it turn you on,

How I slide undies off?

Oops, perhaps my fondness for you

With it.

Does it turn you on,

When I touch myself?

Where I'm not triggered

By your inattention?

Does it turn you on,

How I moan out

All the pain you've caused me,

From withdrawing your interest?

Does it turn you on

When I spread my legs,

Trembling, shaking from

Fear of your discontent,

In front of you?

Just how leaned back, fed and content

You are, it tells me —

You sure are turned on.

​

Not carefully.

Not cautiously.

Not the way people

tip-toe into water

testing the temperature

madly.

The way storms don't ask permission.

The way the ocean doesn't

apologize for its depth.

Let's fall in love

the way it's supposed to happen

terrifyingly,

beautifully,

with no parachute

and no map

and no intention

of landing

safely.

I want to know you

at 2 a.m.

when your thoughts are loudest

and your guard is lowest

I want the version of you

that nobody gets to see,

the one you hide

behind cleverness

and composure.

Give me the unedited you.

I'll give you

the same.

Let's argue about nothing

at midnight

and make up

by morning.

Let's drive with no destination

just because

the radio played something

that felt like us.

Let's sit in comfortable silence

and feel

more connected

than most people do

when they're screaming

to be heard.

Fall in love with me

the way poetry falls

without logic,

without reason,

reaching for something

it can't quite name

but feels

in every syllable.

I want to love you

loudly on good days

and quietly on hard ones

I want to be

the person you call

before you've figured out

what you're trying to say.

Let's be

each other's

favorite interruption,

each other's

most welcome distraction,

each other's

reason the morning

feels different

softer,

warmer,

worth it.

Madly doesn't mean recklessly.

Madly means

fully

with every

hesitant,

hoping,

hungry

piece of yourself

offered openly

to another person

and trusting

they'll handle it

like something

rare.

So here

take my rare.

Take my ridiculous.

Take my 3 a.m. fears

and my embarrassing laugh

and the way I feel things

far too deeply

for someone

trying to appear composed.

And I will take

every beautiful,

complicated,

contradictory piece

of you

and call it

home.

You and I.

Let's not fall carefully.

Let's fall

madly

and mean it.

I think you grew on me.
It’s like how you don’t notice
when summer quietly becomes fall,
until one morning,
the air feels different.

I used to think liking someone
was butterflies last summer:
being flustered just having him by my side,
a heart that beat a little too fast
for someone who never really became mine.
He became a memory
I would play over and over again.
I thought maybe
that’s what it was supposed to feel like.

Instead, this summer,
you and I became friends.
Two people who happened to stay
a little later at the office than everyone else.
There was always something left to do,
and it always just felt so easy being with you.

Another meeting.
Another chess match.
Another conversation.
Another reason to stay a little longer.

One night, I asked if you’d walk me home.
Then another.
And somehow, without either of us
ever talking about it,
it became a habit.
Somewhere along the way,
my backpack wasn’t on my shoulders anymore.
It was on yours.

I don’t remember when that started, either.
Just like I don’t remember
when I started hoping
it would be just me and you.

I don’t think I ever woke up one day
and decided I like you.
I think we just kept walking beside each other,
day after day,
until one day I looked over
and realized

I already did.

There's a key hole,

and it's old,

and worn,

and it's not be used much.

Apply a little pressure,

and suddenly...the door starts to open

I can feel it,

the hinges unclasp.

I can feel it,

the screws undoing.

I can feel it,

the house shaking.

Now you've gone and done it,

pandora's box and you opened it.

Spilling my insides onto the carpet.

Now you've gone and done it,

you wanted the truth,

and now it's messing up your carpet.

I kept trying to stuff it down.

The words that got stuck inside my throat,

what I hid from everyone,

the lies I kept selling you all so you wouldn't see.

And now you've gone and done it,

and something inside the house,

broke.

Now you've gone and it done it,

and what's been said won't be unsaid.

There’s a Rumor That You Are Lovely

Someone said that you should be miserable,
but you’re not. In fact, you are pleasant,
with a serene being, a soothing smile,
and a diction that can curl ribbons.

I heard that you rescued a stray from the rain and 
treated it deservingly with heated blankets
and daily pepperoni sticks; you even taught it 
to receive your conundrums as a tiny oracle.

The word was that you kept extras of everything
for neighbors that needed a last minute ingredient
or a peeler that they must’ve misplaced; and you always 
had a few poignant words tucked beneath your braids.

I’ve even been told that you were handmade
by a God you devised, and born anew each morning,
which I am inclined to believe now that the sun
starts to climb, but waits for you to rise first, clearly.

some men arrive in flames, 
they take the room by storm, 
turning every head at once 
and making danger warm.

some men arrive as shelter, 
quiet hands and patient eyes, 
making safety feel like home, 
soft enough to hide the lies.

some men dress in laughter, 
with quick wit and crooked grins, 
lowering every guarded bridge 
before the siege begins.

some men come as mystery, 
half-answer, half-withheld, 
leaving just enough unknown 
to make the silence felt.

some men notice everything: 
the book, the bruise, the glass, 
the smallest shift in posture 
when an old wound whispers past.

some men sell tomorrow— 
all promise, shine and speed— 
turning hunger into vision 
and calling vision need.

but the clever ones are careful. 
they do not force the door. 
they study what she starved for, 
then offer something more.

not quite love. not quite danger. 
not quite truth. not quite deceit. 
just the perfect move laid softly 
at the place she feels defeat.

that is the oldest gambit: 
not a trap she sees too late, 
but the shape of what she wanted 
placing both hands on her fate.

There is no courtroom

for this crime.

No jury.

No sentence.

And yet

it is the wound

that outlives

every war.

Oh, to break a heart.

To hold something

that trusted you

completely

warm, open,

offered like a gift

with both hands

and close your fist

around it

anyway.

This is the sin

they don't carve

into stone tablets.

The one committed

not with weapons

but with words

or worse,

with silence.

You didn't raise a hand.

You raised hope

slowly,

deliberately,

like building something

beautiful

with someone else's materials

then walked away

from the architecture

you made them believe in.

That is the cruelty

that leaves

no visible mark

and every invisible one.

A broken heart

doesn't bleed

where anyone can see.

It bleeds

at breakfast,

when the chair across is empty.

It bleeds

at 11 p.m.

when the phone

stays silent.

It bleeds

inside a laugh

at a party

where everyone thinks

you're fine.

Oh, the audacity

of fine.

The biggest sin of humankind

is not hatred

hatred is at least

honest.

It is the love

offered falsely,

the promise made carelessly,

the forever

that had an expiration date

the speaker already knew

and never mentioned.

To break a heart

is to rewrite

someone's history

every memory

now a crime scene

they must revisit,

searching for the clue

they missed,

the moment

they should have known.

Was it real?

Was any of it real?

That question

that question

is the sentence.

And the one who broke it

sleeps.

Moves on.

Finds new warmth

to step into

like rooms

they've always owned.

While the broken one

learns to breathe

differently

shallower,

more careful,

like someone

who survived a fire

and now lives

afraid of candles.

Oh, to break a heart.

To be that careless

with a human soul.

To treat devotion

like a season

useful for a while,

easily exchanged

when the weather changed.

If there is any sin

the universe

keeps record of

it is this.

Not the grand villainies

history remembers

but the quiet devastation

of an ordinary Tuesday

when someone realized

they were alone

inside a love

they thought was mutual.

Guard hearts fiercely.

Love them honestly.

Leave them

only gently

if you must leave

at all.

Because a heart

is not practice.

It is not a rough draft.

It is someone's

only original

and once broken,

it is never quite

the same manuscript

again.

I crave love in a way that nothing can reflect. I crave you like the wind blows against the tree. It’s harsh, it’s in-perpetually inevitable. It comes all too naturally and I don’t care if it’s too much for you to handle. I want you to fall. I want you to feel it. I want my need to shake you to your core and change how you stand so strong to it all. Let me in. Let me carry you to the ground. Disappear into the depths of my longing until you grow into someone that wants to feel me. The tree needs the wind just the same.
How else will you be moved?

Lately, I have been walking away from the voices that shout from glowing screens.

They seem to gather every morning like crows on a wire, arguing over the same broken branch, calling disaster by a different name, promising tomorrow will finally be the day everything changes.

Yet tomorrow arrives wearing yesterday's clothes.

The same anger. The same outrage. The same parade of strangers teaching us to fear strangers.

I have grown tired of borrowing grief from people I will never meet.

Instead, I have opened a book and discovered a thousand better conversations.

I have listened to an old song that somehow remembered my heart better than the evening news ever could.

I have watched a comedy where laughter rose from the room like birds startled into flight, and for a little while the world forgot its heavy coat.

There is wisdom in stepping away.

Not because we should close our eyes to suffering, but because the soul, like a field, cannot survive if all we plant are storms.

There is still goodness here.

A child chasing butterflies without asking who owns the meadow.

A neighbor waving for no reason at all.

An old couple walking slowly enough to let the sunset catch them.

Friends laughing until tears become the only language anyone needs.

These things rarely become headlines.

They are too ordinary for the merchants of panic.

So when I cannot find something wholesome, I make it.

I tell terrible jokes that would make comedians apologize.

I write ridiculous poems that wander in circles like happy dogs who have forgotten what they were chasing.

Sometimes I laugh so hard at my own foolishness that I become both the audience and the entertainment.

And I think there are worse ways to spend a life.

Perhaps laughter is not an escape from reality.

Perhaps it is a rebellion against despair.

Perhaps every genuine smile is a quiet declaration that darkness does not get the final word.

So today I choose the sparrow over the siren.

A melody over another argument.

A page over another headline.

A joke over another prediction of the world's end.

Because this life, brief as morning dew, deserves more than constant fear.

It deserves music.

It deserves stories.

It deserves laughter echoing through the house until even sorrow forgets why it came.

And if the world insists on giving me reasons to despair,

I will answer with a book, a song, a foolish poem,

and laughter,

that stubborn little light

that refuses to go out.

.

I'm team Sxxxxx

I'm on your side

You don't make It easy

Neither do I

I'll love you till I die

I know you feel you already have

I'm still here

Always

Remove the dnr

Come live with me.

I wanna taste her the way summer tastes the first storm

,

slow at first, then all at once, then nothing else matters.

I wanna feel the moment her breath catches on my name,

the way her eyes go heavy when the space between us shrinks.

I wanna know what stillness feels like when it's charged,

when neither of us moves but everything is moving,

the pull of her closer, the heat of almost,

the ache of a distance neither of us wants to keep.

I wanna feel her hand find mine without deciding to,

like her body already knew before her mind caught up,

fingers lacing slow, deliberate, certain,

like she's been waiting for permission she doesn't need.

I wanna trace the warmth along her collarbone,

feel her exhale like she's been holding it for hours,

hear the way her voice drops when she says "closer,"

like the word itself was made just for this moment.

I wanna hold her jaw and tilt her face up slow,

watch her eyes flutter closed before I even move,

feel the anticipation stretch tight between us,

that unbearable, delicious, aching almost.

I wanna feel her lean her whole weight into me,

trusting, warm, unguarded, wanting,

her fingers curling into my shirt like an anchor,

like she needs something solid to hold onto.

I wanna know the hush that falls when words run out,

when all that's left is breath and heat and closeness,

when "slow down" and "don't stop" blur into one sound,

one shared, unraveling exhale.

I wanna hold her through the quiet that follows,

her head against my chest, her breathing slowing,

feel her heartbeat sync with mine like it always knew how,

like this was always where it was headed.

I wanna taste the way she says my name when she's not thinking,

low and soft and only for me to hear,

memorize the exact way she melts into stillness,

the way "sinfully" starts to feel like the wrong word for something this tender.

When I see her for the first time of the day, everything stops

all I can see are her eyes…

Eyes that may be dark but have an abyss…

Abyss so deep they shine like the stars…

Stars so bright they are vast like the ocean.

When I see her eyes it’s an eternity with in a second.

as she smiles when she sees me I can feel
nothing but the warmth of that smile,

the way it can ignite my smile like a flame in the snow

the one that was once a farce now a genuine smile I can rest on my soul.

This all when I see her for the first time.

-Ruslan

Wait until I find you—
but more than that,
wait until I find myself.
Wait until these old sorrows
slip gently from my chest,
like autumn leaves
finally trusting the wind.

Wait until my wounds
become stories instead of scars
I ask others to carry.
Wait until I can look into a mirror
and fall hopelessly,
beautifully,
in love with the woman staring back.

Wait until I have wandered long enough
to find love
hidden in every corner
of the world God created—
in the quiet mornings,
the rain on forgotten streets,
the laughter of strangers,
the stars that never asked to be admired.

Wait until my heart
no longer mistakes loneliness for love,
or silence for abandonment.
Wait until I stop searching
for someone to complete me,
and begin searching
for someone to walk beside me.

Wait until the ache
to be loved
becomes the peace
of already knowing I am.
Wait until my hands
learn to hold my own heart
so gently
that yours will never have to carry its weight.

Wait until I know
who I am
when no one is watching,
when no one is choosing me,
when no one is saying my name.
And if fate is patient,
if time is kind,
if our souls are meant
to arrive at the same sunset—
you will find me then.
Not half a heart
asking for another half.
But a whole soul,
choosing yours.
So until that day—
live fully.
Laugh often.
Love the life you’ve been given.
And if you think of me,
think of me
not as someone you’re waiting for,
but as someone
learning how to love you
long before we ever meet.

-Decodingnepalimind

Where are you hiding?
Come close to me
I wanna write about you
Your hair,
your eyes ,
Deep as ocean
Your smile,
The crack of first dawn
After a rain
your lips
Soft as petals
Your perfect imperfection
Your voice,
The crooked laugh
your silhouette
Reflecting in my door
Where are you hiding
Come close to me
I wanna paint your picture
With these clumsy hands
I am a terrible painter
But knowing it’s you
In the picture
Somewhere in all that colour
Makes even the mess fell like art
Where are you hiding
Come close to me
I wanna lost in your eyes
So deep, so deep
Like sinking through still water
Where sound dissolves
And light bend
Time stops
It’s almost impossible
For me
To find the surface
I wanna stay in you
Not a single person
But as whole
Of you and me
Where are you hiding
Come close to me
I wanna hold you forever
Like two pages of
The same open book
Never letting you go
But only if you want
Where are you hiding
Come close to me
I am waiting for so long
I wanna grow old with you
Silver-haired
Teasing with you
Living with you

The first time I sent one
My heart cracked open, rebirthing
Butterflies were born from every word 
I waited for them to migrate to me again

The first time you replied 
I melted into my chest
And watered the rainbow roses that sprout
From the seeds of love 

Hints of my feeling were sent
Via clumsy carrier pigeon
The notes always dirtied or ripped, always misinterpreted 
My delivered message was never really sent 

The distance between us may be closed by a hand
But the distance that separates us crosses 3 worlds

Perhaps beyond the milky way
Will we be able to finally reach one another
Somewhere where I am older, taller, funnier
And all of the things that make you fall

I never wanted children
But maybe in this alternate world our daughter would have your eyes 
And have that same uncontainable giggle that I first fell in love with  

He groaned, he moaned, he begged for creampie.

I said louder,

He said “please mommy, please cum in me”,

Eyes full of need.

I shuddered, my heart fluttered, I pegged him even harder,

taking his flower,

My body gliding, in him sliding, filling him with seed.

- Queen of Edging

Hear me out,

I want to be kept. Not in a toxic way, of course.

And not in a way that takes away a person’s autonomy by force.

We live in a time where hookup culture and situationships are more common than anything.

And ya’ll get no judgment from me.

But I’m not built for casual.

I don’t thrive in push and pull.

I thrive when I’m cherished by another.

And I’m built to shower and adore my lover.

I was made to be loved completely.

I’m made to love another deeply.

I don’t want to swipe for temporary thrill.

I want love that makes me feel fulfilled.

So y’all can have your hookups and half-baked love.

I’m gonna wait for the love that I’ve been dreaming of.

Hey.

So,
this is awkward.

You’re still here.
Not here here.

Obviously.

Just somewhere
between my first thought
and the one
I keep trying
to replace it with.

I thought maybe
you’d fade.

People do, you know.

But then something happens—
a song,
a word,
someone laughing
from another room—

and there you are again.

Like my mind
has been saving your seat.

I’m not saying
I miss you.

That would imply
I ever had you.

And we both know…

Still,
sometimes absence
feels strangely specific.

Like there is a space
shaped exactly like you
in a life
you were never part of.

That’s ridiculous.

I know.

Anyway.

I just wondered
whether I ever appear
in yours.

Your thoughts, I mean.

Not your life.

If you did think of me,
even once,
what would it look like?

Anyway.
Never mind.
Hey.

I keep going through our emails,
And our chats, to find my feelings.
The words we said to each other,
I wonder if you still mean them.

But what if this was meant to be?
Would it be called forbidden?
Just right people, wrong time.
Would it then be forgiven?

All I need is to see you again,
Feel your fingers on my skin.
I want to see myself through your eyes,
Even if its just for one night.

Tell me you still think of me,
When you take the roads we drove through.
Do you still miss us?
Or do you think we are through?

I don’t think he sees me for who I am.
And it breaks my heart all over again.
I wonder if I would feel the same,
If it were you instead of him.

I’ll make sure these words stay tucked away.
Unable to ever find your way.
Because my heart wont be able to take,
If you read this and don’t relate.