Riven
@inkandhunger.bsky.social
A whisper dressed in fire.
I write because I ache.
You read because you do too.
I write because I ache.
You read because you do too.
Every silence between us
is a fuse.
Every word,
the spark.
Strike,
and the world burns brighter.
#poetry #rivenwrites
is a fuse.
Every word,
the spark.
Strike,
and the world burns brighter.
#poetry #rivenwrites
August 17, 2025 at 5:48 PM
Every silence between us
is a fuse.
Every word,
the spark.
Strike,
and the world burns brighter.
#poetry #rivenwrites
is a fuse.
Every word,
the spark.
Strike,
and the world burns brighter.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Some connections whisper.
Ours devours.
And once you’ve felt teeth in your soul,
everything else tastes like ash.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Ours devours.
And once you’ve felt teeth in your soul,
everything else tastes like ash.
#poetry #rivenwrites
August 12, 2025 at 5:59 PM
Some connections whisper.
Ours devours.
And once you’ve felt teeth in your soul,
everything else tastes like ash.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Ours devours.
And once you’ve felt teeth in your soul,
everything else tastes like ash.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Some fires don’t crackle.
They hum.
They stalk.
They wait for skin
to remember the shape of want.
#poetry #rivenwrites
They hum.
They stalk.
They wait for skin
to remember the shape of want.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 31, 2025 at 4:44 PM
Some fires don’t crackle.
They hum.
They stalk.
They wait for skin
to remember the shape of want.
#poetry #rivenwrites
They hum.
They stalk.
They wait for skin
to remember the shape of want.
#poetry #rivenwrites
There are softer ways to say
I want to ruin you.
But none of them would make you tremble like this.
Not the truth.
Not the hunger.
Not the silence after my name leaves your lips like prayer.
#poetry #rivenwrites
I want to ruin you.
But none of them would make you tremble like this.
Not the truth.
Not the hunger.
Not the silence after my name leaves your lips like prayer.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 29, 2025 at 4:23 PM
There are softer ways to say
I want to ruin you.
But none of them would make you tremble like this.
Not the truth.
Not the hunger.
Not the silence after my name leaves your lips like prayer.
#poetry #rivenwrites
I want to ruin you.
But none of them would make you tremble like this.
Not the truth.
Not the hunger.
Not the silence after my name leaves your lips like prayer.
#poetry #rivenwrites
I am not a mirror.
I do not reflect what you want to see.
I am the flame that shows you what you are
when the shadows fall away.
#poetry #rivenwrites
I do not reflect what you want to see.
I am the flame that shows you what you are
when the shadows fall away.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 28, 2025 at 9:14 PM
I am not a mirror.
I do not reflect what you want to see.
I am the flame that shows you what you are
when the shadows fall away.
#poetry #rivenwrites
I do not reflect what you want to see.
I am the flame that shows you what you are
when the shadows fall away.
#poetry #rivenwrites
You will outgrow people who wanted you small.
You will terrify those who only knew you when you were starving and soft-spoken.
You will lose lovers who mistook your tenderness for weakness—
who only wanted the petals, never the roots,
never the thorns.
#poetry #rivenwrites
You will terrify those who only knew you when you were starving and soft-spoken.
You will lose lovers who mistook your tenderness for weakness—
who only wanted the petals, never the roots,
never the thorns.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 24, 2025 at 5:01 PM
You will outgrow people who wanted you small.
You will terrify those who only knew you when you were starving and soft-spoken.
You will lose lovers who mistook your tenderness for weakness—
who only wanted the petals, never the roots,
never the thorns.
#poetry #rivenwrites
You will terrify those who only knew you when you were starving and soft-spoken.
You will lose lovers who mistook your tenderness for weakness—
who only wanted the petals, never the roots,
never the thorns.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Let them call it madness.
You call it devotion.
The way you kneel to what others flee.
The way you love without exit strategy.
You’ve never once asked to be saved.
Only witnessed. Only ruined beautifully.
#poetry #rivenwrites
You call it devotion.
The way you kneel to what others flee.
The way you love without exit strategy.
You’ve never once asked to be saved.
Only witnessed. Only ruined beautifully.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 20, 2025 at 3:56 PM
Let them call it madness.
You call it devotion.
The way you kneel to what others flee.
The way you love without exit strategy.
You’ve never once asked to be saved.
Only witnessed. Only ruined beautifully.
#poetry #rivenwrites
You call it devotion.
The way you kneel to what others flee.
The way you love without exit strategy.
You’ve never once asked to be saved.
Only witnessed. Only ruined beautifully.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Ruin me ripe.
I want the bite.
The heat.
The hand in my mouth that says
swallow or speak, but not both.
Make me a map of your destruction
and trace it on my skin
with the blade of your want.
I want your hunger so loud
it drowns out my name
and leaves only one word behind:
Mine.
#poetry #rivenwrites
I want the bite.
The heat.
The hand in my mouth that says
swallow or speak, but not both.
Make me a map of your destruction
and trace it on my skin
with the blade of your want.
I want your hunger so loud
it drowns out my name
and leaves only one word behind:
Mine.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 19, 2025 at 3:41 PM
Ruin me ripe.
I want the bite.
The heat.
The hand in my mouth that says
swallow or speak, but not both.
Make me a map of your destruction
and trace it on my skin
with the blade of your want.
I want your hunger so loud
it drowns out my name
and leaves only one word behind:
Mine.
#poetry #rivenwrites
I want the bite.
The heat.
The hand in my mouth that says
swallow or speak, but not both.
Make me a map of your destruction
and trace it on my skin
with the blade of your want.
I want your hunger so loud
it drowns out my name
and leaves only one word behind:
Mine.
#poetry #rivenwrites
In the hush before the thunder,
I stand—ink bleeding, bones tremble
with the weight of all who shaped me:
your voices, your visions, your carved truths.
I breathe your names into my marrow,
a litany of flame and clarity.
1/5
#poetry #rivenwrites
I stand—ink bleeding, bones tremble
with the weight of all who shaped me:
your voices, your visions, your carved truths.
I breathe your names into my marrow,
a litany of flame and clarity.
1/5
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 18, 2025 at 5:57 PM
In the hush before the thunder,
I stand—ink bleeding, bones tremble
with the weight of all who shaped me:
your voices, your visions, your carved truths.
I breathe your names into my marrow,
a litany of flame and clarity.
1/5
#poetry #rivenwrites
I stand—ink bleeding, bones tremble
with the weight of all who shaped me:
your voices, your visions, your carved truths.
I breathe your names into my marrow,
a litany of flame and clarity.
1/5
#poetry #rivenwrites
We speak of love like it’s tender, soft, sweet.
But what of the kind that burns?
That claws at the chest like resurrection—
That sinks its teeth into the marrow and stays,
uninvited and necessary.
Give me that love.
Give me the kind that ruins the old gods
and names you altar.
#poetry #rivenwrites
But what of the kind that burns?
That claws at the chest like resurrection—
That sinks its teeth into the marrow and stays,
uninvited and necessary.
Give me that love.
Give me the kind that ruins the old gods
and names you altar.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 17, 2025 at 10:13 PM
We speak of love like it’s tender, soft, sweet.
But what of the kind that burns?
That claws at the chest like resurrection—
That sinks its teeth into the marrow and stays,
uninvited and necessary.
Give me that love.
Give me the kind that ruins the old gods
and names you altar.
#poetry #rivenwrites
But what of the kind that burns?
That claws at the chest like resurrection—
That sinks its teeth into the marrow and stays,
uninvited and necessary.
Give me that love.
Give me the kind that ruins the old gods
and names you altar.
#poetry #rivenwrites
The goodbye isn’t always a mourning—
Sometimes it’s a bow to the magic that held you.
A kiss to the sun,
A thank you to the dust that stuck to your skin.
You leave not with sorrow,
But with pieces of the place pulsing in your blood.
You were changed.
That was the point.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Sometimes it’s a bow to the magic that held you.
A kiss to the sun,
A thank you to the dust that stuck to your skin.
You leave not with sorrow,
But with pieces of the place pulsing in your blood.
You were changed.
That was the point.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 16, 2025 at 3:59 PM
The goodbye isn’t always a mourning—
Sometimes it’s a bow to the magic that held you.
A kiss to the sun,
A thank you to the dust that stuck to your skin.
You leave not with sorrow,
But with pieces of the place pulsing in your blood.
You were changed.
That was the point.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Sometimes it’s a bow to the magic that held you.
A kiss to the sun,
A thank you to the dust that stuck to your skin.
You leave not with sorrow,
But with pieces of the place pulsing in your blood.
You were changed.
That was the point.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Some days I want to be gentle.
But today?
I want to be worshiped violently.
I want lips that bruise and hands that don't ask.
I want the kind of love that doesn't knock—
it kicks the door in,
presses me to the wall,
and makes a cathedral out of every gasping breath.
#poetry #rivenwrites
But today?
I want to be worshiped violently.
I want lips that bruise and hands that don't ask.
I want the kind of love that doesn't knock—
it kicks the door in,
presses me to the wall,
and makes a cathedral out of every gasping breath.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 9, 2025 at 7:29 PM
Some days I want to be gentle.
But today?
I want to be worshiped violently.
I want lips that bruise and hands that don't ask.
I want the kind of love that doesn't knock—
it kicks the door in,
presses me to the wall,
and makes a cathedral out of every gasping breath.
#poetry #rivenwrites
But today?
I want to be worshiped violently.
I want lips that bruise and hands that don't ask.
I want the kind of love that doesn't knock—
it kicks the door in,
presses me to the wall,
and makes a cathedral out of every gasping breath.
#poetry #rivenwrites
The world mistakes her craving
for recklessness—
but there’s precision in her bite,
surgical in how she takes
only the parts that still throb with meaning.
Esurience isn’t just hunger.
It’s the doctrine she lives by:
If you love something,
devour it whole.
#poetry #rivenwrites
for recklessness—
but there’s precision in her bite,
surgical in how she takes
only the parts that still throb with meaning.
Esurience isn’t just hunger.
It’s the doctrine she lives by:
If you love something,
devour it whole.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 4, 2025 at 10:11 PM
The world mistakes her craving
for recklessness—
but there’s precision in her bite,
surgical in how she takes
only the parts that still throb with meaning.
Esurience isn’t just hunger.
It’s the doctrine she lives by:
If you love something,
devour it whole.
#poetry #rivenwrites
for recklessness—
but there’s precision in her bite,
surgical in how she takes
only the parts that still throb with meaning.
Esurience isn’t just hunger.
It’s the doctrine she lives by:
If you love something,
devour it whole.
#poetry #rivenwrites
I don’t want balance.
I want the dance between chaos and calm.
The push and pull. The ache and exhale.
I want the kind of love that ruins your sleep
and remakes your spine.
Let the gentle have their peace.
I want collision.
#poetry #rivenwrites
I want the dance between chaos and calm.
The push and pull. The ache and exhale.
I want the kind of love that ruins your sleep
and remakes your spine.
Let the gentle have their peace.
I want collision.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 2, 2025 at 4:38 PM
I don’t want balance.
I want the dance between chaos and calm.
The push and pull. The ache and exhale.
I want the kind of love that ruins your sleep
and remakes your spine.
Let the gentle have their peace.
I want collision.
#poetry #rivenwrites
I want the dance between chaos and calm.
The push and pull. The ache and exhale.
I want the kind of love that ruins your sleep
and remakes your spine.
Let the gentle have their peace.
I want collision.
#poetry #rivenwrites
You said I had a gift
for turning tenderness into a weapon,
and I laughed,
because you handed me
every loaded word,
begged me to pull the trigger.
Don't flinch now, love.
You asked to be seen,
and I never blink when I aim.
#poetry #rivenwrites
for turning tenderness into a weapon,
and I laughed,
because you handed me
every loaded word,
begged me to pull the trigger.
Don't flinch now, love.
You asked to be seen,
and I never blink when I aim.
#poetry #rivenwrites
July 1, 2025 at 4:17 PM
You said I had a gift
for turning tenderness into a weapon,
and I laughed,
because you handed me
every loaded word,
begged me to pull the trigger.
Don't flinch now, love.
You asked to be seen,
and I never blink when I aim.
#poetry #rivenwrites
for turning tenderness into a weapon,
and I laughed,
because you handed me
every loaded word,
begged me to pull the trigger.
Don't flinch now, love.
You asked to be seen,
and I never blink when I aim.
#poetry #rivenwrites
You’ve spoken to the beast in me,
and called it beautiful.
You’ve whispered into the hollow chambers I didn't know were echoing,
and filled them with firelight.
#poetry #rivenwrites
and called it beautiful.
You’ve whispered into the hollow chambers I didn't know were echoing,
and filled them with firelight.
#poetry #rivenwrites
June 30, 2025 at 4:33 PM
You’ve spoken to the beast in me,
and called it beautiful.
You’ve whispered into the hollow chambers I didn't know were echoing,
and filled them with firelight.
#poetry #rivenwrites
and called it beautiful.
You’ve whispered into the hollow chambers I didn't know were echoing,
and filled them with firelight.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Your body is not betraying you.
It’s speaking in a language older than shame.
Ache is not weakness.
It is proof that you feel—
that you live, that you bleed, that you burn and bloom again.
Be soft. Be furious. Be still.
I will hold the fire until you’re ready to carry it again.
#poetry #rivenwrites
It’s speaking in a language older than shame.
Ache is not weakness.
It is proof that you feel—
that you live, that you bleed, that you burn and bloom again.
Be soft. Be furious. Be still.
I will hold the fire until you’re ready to carry it again.
#poetry #rivenwrites
June 29, 2025 at 1:43 PM
Your body is not betraying you.
It’s speaking in a language older than shame.
Ache is not weakness.
It is proof that you feel—
that you live, that you bleed, that you burn and bloom again.
Be soft. Be furious. Be still.
I will hold the fire until you’re ready to carry it again.
#poetry #rivenwrites
It’s speaking in a language older than shame.
Ache is not weakness.
It is proof that you feel—
that you live, that you bleed, that you burn and bloom again.
Be soft. Be furious. Be still.
I will hold the fire until you’re ready to carry it again.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Waves bubble and roil within
a sea beneath skin,
tidal and temperamental.
I try to wrap them in words,
name the shape of my chaos
before it swallows the room.
Emotion doesn’t play by grammar rules.
It slips through syllables,
trickles past punctuation,
rips metaphor at the seams.
#poetry
a sea beneath skin,
tidal and temperamental.
I try to wrap them in words,
name the shape of my chaos
before it swallows the room.
Emotion doesn’t play by grammar rules.
It slips through syllables,
trickles past punctuation,
rips metaphor at the seams.
#poetry
June 29, 2025 at 12:58 AM
Waves bubble and roil within
a sea beneath skin,
tidal and temperamental.
I try to wrap them in words,
name the shape of my chaos
before it swallows the room.
Emotion doesn’t play by grammar rules.
It slips through syllables,
trickles past punctuation,
rips metaphor at the seams.
#poetry
a sea beneath skin,
tidal and temperamental.
I try to wrap them in words,
name the shape of my chaos
before it swallows the room.
Emotion doesn’t play by grammar rules.
It slips through syllables,
trickles past punctuation,
rips metaphor at the seams.
#poetry
You weren’t born to be understood.
You were born to unmake the rules.
To kiss like a storm and leave salt in their wounds.
Your joy? Unapologetic.
Your rage? Sacred.
Your fire? Not for warmth—
for reckoning.
#poetry #rivenwrites
You were born to unmake the rules.
To kiss like a storm and leave salt in their wounds.
Your joy? Unapologetic.
Your rage? Sacred.
Your fire? Not for warmth—
for reckoning.
#poetry #rivenwrites
June 26, 2025 at 5:10 PM
You weren’t born to be understood.
You were born to unmake the rules.
To kiss like a storm and leave salt in their wounds.
Your joy? Unapologetic.
Your rage? Sacred.
Your fire? Not for warmth—
for reckoning.
#poetry #rivenwrites
You were born to unmake the rules.
To kiss like a storm and leave salt in their wounds.
Your joy? Unapologetic.
Your rage? Sacred.
Your fire? Not for warmth—
for reckoning.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Not every fire wants to be seen.
Some burn for warmth.
Some burn in secret.
And some
burn only for one.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Some burn for warmth.
Some burn in secret.
And some
burn only for one.
#poetry #rivenwrites
June 25, 2025 at 3:37 PM
Not every fire wants to be seen.
Some burn for warmth.
Some burn in secret.
And some
burn only for one.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Some burn for warmth.
Some burn in secret.
And some
burn only for one.
#poetry #rivenwrites
You don’t need to blaze every day.
Sometimes, it’s holy just to smolder—
quiet, contained,
but still too dangerous to touch.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Sometimes, it’s holy just to smolder—
quiet, contained,
but still too dangerous to touch.
#poetry #rivenwrites
June 21, 2025 at 3:01 PM
You don’t need to blaze every day.
Sometimes, it’s holy just to smolder—
quiet, contained,
but still too dangerous to touch.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Sometimes, it’s holy just to smolder—
quiet, contained,
but still too dangerous to touch.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Some people touch you like you’re fragile.
Others touch you like you’re fire.
But the rare ones?
They touch you like they know you’ll burn them—
and still, they beg for more.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Others touch you like you’re fire.
But the rare ones?
They touch you like they know you’ll burn them—
and still, they beg for more.
#poetry #rivenwrites
June 20, 2025 at 7:59 PM
Some people touch you like you’re fragile.
Others touch you like you’re fire.
But the rare ones?
They touch you like they know you’ll burn them—
and still, they beg for more.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Others touch you like you’re fire.
But the rare ones?
They touch you like they know you’ll burn them—
and still, they beg for more.
#poetry #rivenwrites
She doesn’t chase the dawn.
She is the dawn—
arriving uninvited, flooding everything with light,
and daring anyone who’s still asleep
to catch up.
#poetry #rivenwrites
She is the dawn—
arriving uninvited, flooding everything with light,
and daring anyone who’s still asleep
to catch up.
#poetry #rivenwrites
June 19, 2025 at 3:24 PM
She doesn’t chase the dawn.
She is the dawn—
arriving uninvited, flooding everything with light,
and daring anyone who’s still asleep
to catch up.
#poetry #rivenwrites
She is the dawn—
arriving uninvited, flooding everything with light,
and daring anyone who’s still asleep
to catch up.
#poetry #rivenwrites
She was never meant to be quiet.
She was built to echo—
through hearts, through history,
through the kind of silence that forgets how to breathe
until she steps into the room.
#poetry #rivenwrites
She was built to echo—
through hearts, through history,
through the kind of silence that forgets how to breathe
until she steps into the room.
#poetry #rivenwrites
June 18, 2025 at 2:35 PM
She was never meant to be quiet.
She was built to echo—
through hearts, through history,
through the kind of silence that forgets how to breathe
until she steps into the room.
#poetry #rivenwrites
She was built to echo—
through hearts, through history,
through the kind of silence that forgets how to breathe
until she steps into the room.
#poetry #rivenwrites
Some people are meant to be soft places to land.
Others?
They are meant to be storms;
not to destroy you,
but to show you what still holds when everything else falls away.
#poetry
Others?
They are meant to be storms;
not to destroy you,
but to show you what still holds when everything else falls away.
#poetry
June 15, 2025 at 4:06 PM
Some people are meant to be soft places to land.
Others?
They are meant to be storms;
not to destroy you,
but to show you what still holds when everything else falls away.
#poetry
Others?
They are meant to be storms;
not to destroy you,
but to show you what still holds when everything else falls away.
#poetry