rosecheri3

[rosecheri3]

Sometimes, the most genuine form of love is the one that lets go. The kind that says:

"I wish you well, but I won't lose myself trying to hold onto you."

That's not bitterness.

That's clarity. That's maturity. That's choosing to protect your peace over prolonging your pain.

And in that quiet, courageous moment you grow.

You heal. You reclaim your identity.

[rosecheri3]

[rosecheri3]

[rosecheri3]

I became fluent in pretending I had nothing to say.

So there I sit,

holding everything in—

dying in my silence.

My silence,

over time,

cost me my peace.

[rosecheri3]

[rosecheri3]

I hate that I can’t go back.

I hate that something feels missing now.

I miss when I was untouched—

when I had never known a man.

When my body was something to be earned.

Why do I feel so damn empty now?

I miss being a virgin.

[rosecheri3]

A Quiet Knowing

there was a woman

at the grocery store

with faint scars

on her wrist.

sometimes

my mom and I

would interact with her

or pass her in the aisles.

I glanced

at my mom’s face,

wondered what

she thought of her—

did she see her

differently?

but somewhere

quiet inside me—

I already knew.

I was her,

just

in another form.

[rosecheri3]

[rosecheri3]

not mine but literally so real ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[rosecheri3]

the man i’ve studied

things i have noticed lately:

my love for him has grown—

but in a new way.

a way i never anticipated.

i loved him before

as a person,

as the person i grew to know.

but now—

i love him for the person i know he is.

the man i’ve watched,

and listened to,

the man i’ve studied.

the way his leg gently shakes

when he’s thinking deeply.

the way he tries to calm my fears

by saying he’s okay—

even when he’s not.

he loves with his lips,

with his hands.

he shows his love

by reaching out first—

even when he’s still mad.

even when

i wouldn’t.

[rosecheri3]

living somewhere between wanting desperately to live and being okay with dying;

walking, breathing, fat contradiction..

[rosecheri3]

So I keep it, to myself— and it hurts.

Sylvia Plath

[rosecheri3]

I wish my existence didn’t make me feel like such a burden on those around me.

[rosecheri3]

While You Sleep

why is it i feel so empty afterwards?

i’m afraid to think— to speak—

because then it makes it real.

i feel empty afterwards.

so empty.

yet watching you release yourself

in your most vulnerable moment—

i come alive.

i feel most alive when you’re inside me.

and it’s exhausting,

because while you lay there

peacefully sleeping,

i’m left wild awake,

alone with my thoughts,

swallowing me whole.

[rosecheri3]

i’m getting tired of eating just to feel better —

to feel something other than the aching in my stomach.

that’s where everything i never said

goes to live.

the words i swallowed.

the feelings i pushed down.

the versions of me no one ever asked about.

they’ve all taken up space inside me.

and now, even hunger feels like grief.

[rosecheri3]

“I don’t write to be seen — I just can’t breathe until I let it all out.”

[rosecheri3]

Horny for some real love and connection