Nectar
Some people only come for the sweetness you carry.
They press against it, taste it, admire it,
and leave without ever wanting to know you.
We give our sweetness away…
not because it’s demanded,
but because we want to.
Our generosity can be mistaken for endless supply.
But doesn’t it hurt somehow?
Nectar
There are parts of you people only come to taste.
Not to know.
Not to stay.
Just to press their mouths against whatever sweetness you carry
and leave with the flavor still warm on their tongues.
You learn this slowly..
how desire disguises itself as devotion,
how admiration often means I want what you give
more than I want you.
They call it love when they lean in.
They call it chemistry when they drink too deeply.
But you can feel the difference in your body…
the way something is taken
without ever being held.
You become nectar by accident.
By being generous.
By believing that softness is safe.
By mistaking attention for care
and hunger for reverence.
People arrive thirsty.
They always do.
They praise the sweetness,
the way you make things easier to swallow,
the way being near you softens their sharpest edges.
They never ask what it costs
to keep producing something golden
from a body that is quietly emptying.
And still…you offer.
Because withholding feels like cruelty
and giving feels like purpose.
Because somewhere along the way
you learned that being wanted
was proof of being worthy.
But nectar ferments when left exposed.
It thickens.
It attracts more mouths than it can sustain.
And eventually, the sweetness turns heavy…
cloying, exhausting, too much to keep pouring
without losing yourself in the process.
There comes a moment…
not loud, not dramatic…
when you pull back the offering.
When you realize you are allowed
to keep your sweetness inside you,
where it belongs.
Where it can nourish rather than deplete.
You learn that nectar is sacred,
not communal.
That not everyone who craves you
deserves to taste you.
That some hungers are not your responsibility
to feed.
And maybe this is the truest form of love:
to stop bleeding sweetness
into hands that never planned to hold you,
to let your nectar become something earned…
shared only with those
who know the difference
between consumption
and care.
You are not here to be drained.
You are here to be met.
And your sweetness…
when guarded,
when honored,
when no longer extracted…
becomes something richer than nectar.
It becomes yours.
©️scry
Scry remains free for everyone.
If my writing resonates and you’d like to support it, you can Leave a Little Warmth. It’s entirely optional but deeply appreciated…it helps me continue creating work like this.
You can explore more poems from this collection here.
New ones arrive often.
Thank you for reading, for holding this poem gently, If the piece resonates, feel free to share it with someone who might find themselves in it too.
I can totally understand that and i do feel a-lot better after resting. I think i get the bigger picture of things going on. And yet people seem to be distant from me. Why. Why are they so afraid of my presence? Im alot more clear minded nowadays but they don’t want to talk about it. Kinda frustrating if you ask me. I know I’m being weird about this but it is true. Being able to be truthful to me can go a long way towards healing ❤️🩹. Thank you for sharing this with everyone who is struggling with this issue. But i feel good about what ever is going on here. America will never fail me and will never fall. I’m proud to be here because i was born here. I cherish life here and the people who made this country possible. And i love ❤️ the universe so much too. Thank you 🙏🏼
I like the counter force arising in the second part (I call it the anti chorus!): that’s more and more typical in your work. It’s a shame that I don’t know how to apply , in practice, its emerging wisdom. And I am essentially screwed half way through the sweetness of the chorus.