To the Woman Who Holds the Storm and the Sunshine

To the Woman Who Holds the Storm and the Sunshine

She doesn’t wear armor, no sword in hand,

Yet she conquers chaos, like she had it planned.

No thunder, no cape, no loud parade,

But she’s the reason peace gets made.

She remembers where I keep my keys,

And forgives my snoring (mostly) with ease.

She knows my moods by just one glance,

Still gives my mess a second chance.

She laughs at jokes I’ve told before,

Even when they’re lame (or kind of a bore).

She listens to my gamer rants with grace,

While stirring curry at a boss-fight pace.

She’s my player two in life’s odd game,

Through lags and glitches, still stays the same.

No cheat codes, just love and might,

Keeping our pixels shining bright.

She’s the alarm I don’t snooze twice,

The hug that melts my internal ice.

She’s bills and meals and sudden dance,

A poet’s muse and finance-enhance.

When the world goes mute, and I feel small,

She reminds me I still have it all.

Through folded clothes and silent care,

She says “I’m with you”—everywhere.

She scolds, she nags, oh she’s got flair,

But in her eyes, I find my prayer.

Not of gods or ancient books,

But of hope, in tired and loving looks.

So here’s to her, the one I wed,

The queen of both chaos and the bed.

Not behind, not beneath—she stands beside,

The heartbeat of this love-filled ride.