I thought of you every day. More than I thought of myself. Prayed for you harder than I prayed for my mother and father.
I hoped our faces would meet again mouths colliding in a kiss that said we made it back.
But it didn’t happen like that.
The clouds went pale. The sky turned gray. Houston called it a tropical storm, but I didn’t know it would be strong enough to blow you back into my arms.
The city lost power. My room didn’t.
Candles flickered like witnesses, glowing as if we were standing inside a quiet ceremony making vows with our bodies that our love would never end again.
When the storm passed, we finally stood face to face.
Our bodies corrupted. Sweet with forgiveness. The taste of you felt like forever.
Your brown eyes overflowed, promise dripping down your cheeks.
I told myself If this is my chance, I won’t waste it.
You wore a yellow blouse, purple and pink flowers blooming across it, faded blue jeans hugging memories.
You held my hand by the riverside.
Fall arrived quietly and somehow, so did the end.
I grabbed your hand. Tears slid from your brown eyes. The wind whistled love songs like it was trying to help us remember.
I pulled out my final love letter. Promised eternity.
But your heart was already somewhere else.
Your hands turned to ash. You tried to hold me but you were fading.
I had a patna who was telling me about a chick who moved in the neighborhood.
He asked me to walk with him to her crib. So I did.
While we were walking, he kept talking about how fine she was said her body moved like it knew what it did to attention, said she wore confidence without trying to show it off.
He knocked on the door and she walked out.
He wasn’t lying.
She was dangerous fine. The quiet kind. The kind that lets curves whisper instead of shout.
She had that sanctuary quiet—dangerous when unlocked.
Her body spoke to me before she ever opened her mouth.
Then she spoke, and her spirit leaned forward, like it already recognized me.
My patna tried to be smooth, started singing to her, but his voice never reached her.
So I took her hand and sang to her myself.
Low tone. Slow cadence. Words brushing instead of touching.
I felt her pause. Felt her soften. Felt something inside her give way just enough.
That’s when we zigged.
After that day, we found reasons to linger.
My hand resting on her thigh found heat every time. My mouth learning the space between her neck and her breath that’s where I wanted to stay.
But I dipped.
Before I did, I told her if she felt bold enough, my bedroom window would be unlocked.
She felt bold.
Later that night, a quiet knock against glass.
I let her in.
She was everything I imagined in the dark.
Cool air outside. Grey sweats clinging like a secret. Confidence walking ahead of her body.
I pulled her close, slow, letting anticipation breathe.
My hands explored with patience, circling intention, learning what made her exhale heavy, what made her legs forget balance.
I didn’t rush. I let the moment melt.
Her grip tightened. Her breath stuttered. Time leaned back and watched.
She held onto me like the night mattered. Like memory was being carved on purpose.
When it settled, she looked straight into me eyes low, mouth soft with knowing.
She kissed me gently, like she was sealing something.
Pulled her pants up, headed back toward the window.
Before she left, she looked back with that grin the one that promises recall.
You’re spirit is calling me soft, low, like a memory trying to breathe again. I was driving through 5th Ward, and it’s like I can feel your spirit leaning into the passenger seat, whispering the things we never finished saying.
Streetlights blurred like they were grieving too, every corner humming your name, every storefront holding a little piece of us.
I kept my hand on the wheel, but my heart drifted toward where you used to be toward all the nights we swore love was something we could outrun the world with.
But the world changed. And now all I have is this ache, this ghost of a touch I still swear is real whenever the city gets quiet enough for you to find me again.
If you’re still out there, if your spirit still lingers in these streets, just know I’m still answering when you call.
Styner's Studio Universe
Tonight I’m starting something different.
It isn’t just poetry.It’s a story told in moments, memories, and late-night thoughts.
I’ll be posting the first prologue — and this one is audio.
Read it slow.Listen closer.
NURUE FILES begins .
— @therealmwpoetry
#SheFeltThat
#HeReadsHerMind
#SoftButDangerous
#ThisFeltPersonal
#EmotionalChemistry
#NurueFiles
#Nurue
#MWPoetry
#SpokenSoul
#PoetryThatHits
1 week ago | [YT] | 1
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Styner's Studio Universe
40oz
Valentine’s morning
still smelled like her.
My hoodie carried her perfume
and my chest still held
the place she slept.
I wasn’t tired
I was held.
The sun barely touched the street
when I walked to the liquor store,
heart replaying
the way she whispered my name
like she was keeping it safe.
Before I opened the door,
I saw him.
Old man on the brick wall,
brown paper bag in his hand,
40oz halfway gone,
eyes sober enough to hurt.
He looked at me once
and already knew.
“You in love, ain’t you, young blood?”
I smiled without meaning to.
He nodded slow.
“Don’t be like me.”
I stopped.
“I loved hard,” he said.
“Too hard for people
who only loved when it was convenient.”
He stared at the street.
“Spent my life trying to make everybody happy.
Kids don’t call.
Friends disappeared.
Family got quiet.
Momma gone. Daddy gone.”
His hand tightened around the bottle.
“I don’t drink for fun…
I drink so the memories stop talking.”
My chest got heavy.
Hours ago
I was inside warm sheets,
inside laughter,
inside arms that chose me.
He was outside everything.
He looked back at me.
“You smell like somebody stayed.”
I couldn’t speak.
“She love you?”
I nodded.
He smiled
soft and broken.
“Good.
Then go home to her.”
He tapped the bottle.
“This ain’t peace.
This is what happens
when love leaves
and pride keeps the door closed.”
I shook his hand.
“Love her right,” he said,
“not loud…
right.”
I never even went inside.
I turned around
and walked back home.
Because one day
a man becomes a memory
of the love he kept
or the love he lost.
And I realized
outside the liquor store
on Valentine’s morning,
he wasn’t warning me…
he was begging me
not to become him.
- @therealmwpoetry
3 weeks ago | [YT] | 1
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Styner's Studio Universe
THE ONE HE CHOSE FOR ME
I love the way
you look into my eyes
and don’t look away.
Not curious.
Certain.
Like you recognize me
from somewhere
life never explained.
You hold my face
and suddenly
I’m not guarded anymore.
My breathing softens.
My shoulders rest.
For the first time
I’m not pretending
to be okay.
Your hand in mine
isn’t tight
it’s steady.
And I realize
I’m not holding you
to keep you…
I’m holding you
because you stayed.
We don’t talk much.
We don’t have to.
Your forehead
rests against mine
and the silence
feels safer
than any promise
I’ve ever heard.
I used to think
love was intensity.
Now I know
it’s peace.
It’s the way
you don’t move away
when I’m quiet.
The way you notice
the parts of me
I never knew
how to explain.
And when you pulled me closer
I felt it
not butterflies…
recognition.
Like my heart
finally stopped searching.
Because somewhere
between your breathing
and mine,
God answered a prayer
I never knew
how to say out loud.
You weren’t just someone
I fell for.
You were the person
my soul
was waiting to rest beside.
And if tomorrow
took everything else
I would still thank Him
for one thing:
that in a world
full of temporary people,
He let me meet
the one
He chose for me.
— @therealmwpoetry
3 weeks ago | [YT] | 1
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Styner's Studio Universe
STORM LIT PROMISES
I thought of you every day.
More than I thought of myself.
Prayed for you harder
than I prayed for my mother and father.
I hoped our faces would meet again
mouths colliding in a kiss
that said we made it back.
But it didn’t happen like that.
The clouds went pale.
The sky turned gray.
Houston called it a tropical storm,
but I didn’t know it would be strong enough
to blow you back into my arms.
The city lost power.
My room didn’t.
Candles flickered like witnesses,
glowing as if we were standing
inside a quiet ceremony
making vows with our bodies
that our love would never end again.
When the storm passed,
we finally stood face to face.
Our bodies corrupted.
Sweet with forgiveness.
The taste of you felt like forever.
Your brown eyes overflowed,
promise dripping down your cheeks.
I told myself
If this is my chance,
I won’t waste it.
You wore a yellow blouse,
purple and pink flowers blooming across it,
faded blue jeans hugging memories.
You held my hand by the riverside.
Fall arrived quietly
and somehow,
so did the end.
I grabbed your hand.
Tears slid from your brown eyes.
The wind whistled love songs
like it was trying to help us remember.
I pulled out my final love letter.
Promised eternity.
But your heart
was already somewhere else.
Your hands turned to ash.
You tried to hold me
but you were fading.
You leaned in for one last kiss…
and disappeared
right in front of me.
- @therealmwpoetry
4 weeks ago | [YT] | 1
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Styner's Studio Universe
Raised by the Echo
You don’t understand the pressure
of waking up already at war.
These weren’t always demons.
Once, they were little monsters
small enough to ignore,
quiet enough to survive.
But monsters grow
when nobody listens.
They studied me.
Memorized my mistakes.
Learned my voice
so they could sound like truth.
That’s why I leave.
That’s why sleep won’t hold me.
Every night I face
the same ghosts
that watched me grow up.
My soul is maturing
but the road feels empty.
Like healing means walking alone
with all my memories
keeping pace.
I scream,
but the sound hits walls
that don’t echo back.
I claw at the corners,
peel paint with my prayers,
scratch for daylight
that won’t answer.
When I was a child,
they were love-shaped monsters
confusion wearing comfort,
fear dressed as familiarity.
Now I’m a man
and they roar.
I shout until my chest breaks open.
My roots run so deep in the soil
that when I reach for help
my hand disappears
before it finds another.
I’m not afraid of the dark.
I’m afraid
you can’t see me
standing in it.
- @therealmwpoetry
4 weeks ago | [YT] | 1
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Styner's Studio Universe
Slow Burn Memory
I had a patna
who was telling me about a chick
who moved in the neighborhood.
He asked me to walk with him
to her crib.
So I did.
While we were walking,
he kept talking about how fine she was
said her body moved like it knew
what it did to attention,
said she wore confidence
without trying to show it off.
He knocked on the door
and she walked out.
He wasn’t lying.
She was dangerous fine.
The quiet kind.
The kind that lets curves whisper
instead of shout.
She had that sanctuary quiet—dangerous when unlocked.
Her body spoke to me
before she ever opened her mouth.
Then she spoke,
and her spirit leaned forward,
like it already recognized me.
My patna tried to be smooth,
started singing to her,
but his voice never reached her.
So I took her hand
and sang to her myself.
Low tone.
Slow cadence.
Words brushing instead of touching.
I felt her pause.
Felt her soften.
Felt something inside her
give way just enough.
That’s when we zigged.
After that day,
we found reasons to linger.
My hand resting on her thigh
found heat every time.
My mouth learning the space
between her neck and her breath
that’s where I wanted to stay.
But I dipped.
Before I did,
I told her
if she felt bold enough,
my bedroom window would be unlocked.
She felt bold.
Later that night,
a quiet knock against glass.
I let her in.
She was everything
I imagined in the dark.
Cool air outside.
Grey sweats clinging like a secret.
Confidence walking ahead of her body.
I pulled her close,
slow,
letting anticipation breathe.
My hands explored with patience,
circling intention,
learning what made her exhale heavy,
what made her legs forget balance.
I didn’t rush.
I let the moment melt.
Her grip tightened.
Her breath stuttered.
Time leaned back
and watched.
She held onto me
like the night mattered.
Like memory was being carved
on purpose.
When it settled,
she looked straight into me
eyes low,
mouth soft with knowing.
She kissed me gently,
like she was sealing something.
Pulled her pants up,
headed back toward the window.
Before she left,
she looked back with that grin
the one that promises recall.
I smiled back.
And that’s when I knew
zigging really did exist.
ꙅɘoʜɔɘ ʏ|oʜ ᴎi bɘꙅiɒЯ
- @therealmwpoetry
4 weeks ago | [YT] | 1
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Styner's Studio Universe
👑 Omari Zaire 👑
One who rises by God and flows with ancestral power.
Born to flourish.
Built to nourish generations.
My son. My legacy.
- @therealmwpoetry
4 weeks ago | [YT] | 1
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Styner's Studio Universe
Three Kings.
One father.
Endless gratitude.
Welcome to the legacy, Omari. 👑
4 weeks ago | [YT] | 1
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Styner's Studio Universe
Three Kings.
One father.
Endless gratitude.
Welcome to the legacy, Omari. 👑
4 weeks ago | [YT] | 0
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Styner's Studio Universe
ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴘɪʀɪᴛ ᴄᴀʟʟꜱ
You’re spirit is calling me
soft, low, like a memory trying to breathe again.
I was driving through 5th Ward,
and it’s like I can feel your spirit
leaning into the passenger seat,
whispering the things we never finished saying.
Streetlights blurred like they were grieving too,
every corner humming your name,
every storefront holding a little piece of us.
I kept my hand on the wheel,
but my heart drifted toward where you used to be toward all the nights we swore
love was something we could outrun the world with.
But the world changed.
And now all I have is this ache,
this ghost of a touch I still swear is real
whenever the city gets quiet enough
for you to find me again.
If you’re still out there,
if your spirit still lingers in these streets,
just know
I’m still answering when you call.
uǝǝnΌ’ ǝɔɐǝd uı ʇsǝᴚ
By : @therealmwpoetry
1 month ago | [YT] | 2
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