love language

imagine hating on me while i’m literally in bed, getting paid to worship her with a rose quartz wand, and take notes while she parts the veil. while you’re trolling in the comments. tragic.

my barber calls it a mohawk,
but the mystic in me calls it the middle path
between ecstasy & enlightenment.
if you've never let a woman grip ur hair
to center her root with ur crown,
like she’s steering the kundalini itself,
while ur tongue traces the geometry
of creation... you wouldn't
understand.

there’s a difference between
wishing for something
and surviving everything
that tried to kill you
before it showed up.