Wait up, you’re going too fast
Fast-paced and felt like the feelings won’t last
It’s the past, it’s so the past
It’s a waste of my time and I think I need a cast
I’m sorry, mother and father
I can’t make it any longer
I must hang my feelings up high
Can’t deny I feel so bad inside
I’m sorry to hear you speak fast today
Yet I can’t hear a word you say
Day by day, I’m feeling so much dismay
Maybe it’s better to keep it in this way
I’m sorry dad and mom
I feel so numb inside, there’s no where I can hide
I’m sad and so alone and feel so dumb
You broke me and my selfish pride
I have become the victim in my life
Wish I had a wife instead of this strife
I’m sorry, mother and father
I can’t make it any longer
I must hang my feelings up high
Can’t deny I feel so bad inside
I’m sorry, mother and father
I can’t make it last any longer
But, I did things in the past
I would rather keep inside before I run too fast…
Behind…
Do you mind
If you’d keep it in the past some time?
You guys are not a waste of time,
But my worrying is a waste of time
i read it in the manuscript of yours where you called me out.
You said:
“I jumped off the boat because I found a hand to hold.”
My love,
you were not paying attention at all
Our boat would have drowned
carrying the weight of us
if I had stayed any longer,
with no hint where we should go
It felt right in the moment
You were keeping our hands tied
I wanted to let go
before I sink us to the floor
it was a test
that I don't know if I failed or passed—
but it was fate’s plan
I couldn't change
JANUARY 2024
Hello, person.
My person, who bathes and drifts in the steaming lake of blue
And chirps a melody of solitude
While strumming the oak guitar for the blaze.
Hello to you--
If you want to hear my thoughts.
My person, whose eyes bleed of the weeping willow's dye,
Who holds the warmth of the stars in their skin,
Who holds the wisps of frail roots in their hair,
Lashes swooping down like evergreen branches.
Hello, person
Who goes with the tide
And lets the moon take them whichever which way
When the blaze does rest and can't guide you any longer.
Hello, person
Who gets washed ashore.
Who loses themself.
Hello, to you--
If you'd like to stay a while.
he liked it black and white with no greys in between
even when cracks appeared so strikingly evident
strictly speaking he preferred pink purple and orange
yet when life gave him lemons the brush would not work
the more he stroked and tarred over ruptures and fractures
uncertainty became elusive and poignantly concise
quite the opposite of what he had bargained for with all
the power delusion distraction insecure fear and despair
he knew that the writing was on the wall and yet
the language was foreign complex and would not reveal
meaning message beauty connotation and guidance
as he was blocked into silence depression resentments
all this had been the relentless story of his life and he
could not bear it any longer seemed to have lost all control
a rational mind portrayed it as the gift of desperation
a way forward towards healing perspective and peace
it was difficult to will positive emotions into effect
matters did not fall into balance but skewed misperceptions
what remained was hope rather than mere expectations
and he carried his burdens into an unpredictable but promising future
You never saw past the glory days of 17.
Because you got sad and thought it a better idea
to hang yourself from the ceiling fan
instead of replacing its burnt-out bulbs.
Bright idea.
Dimming the light of all the candles
whose hearts and souls were trying
to add light to your dark and dismal life.
You were selfish to drop out.
You were selfish to quit.
And
now that you're gone, I can't help but look up
at the light shining down on me from your ceiling fan.
I changed the bulbs.
So why is everything still so dark?
And how do I go about life when my only friend snuffed out my candlelight spark?
Could you come back home, please?
I can't do this without you.
And I might go insane if I have to sit and stare between the cracks in your ceiling blades any longer.
Maybe I'll snap them off,
cut my wrists,
and join you.
Wait,
even though I'm depressed,
I know there are people in my life
that still need me.
That's something I could never get
through
your thick
ing
skull.
Selfish.
There are many things I would rather do
Trixie, my muse is tapping me like a tattoo artist’s needle
She is annoyingly insistent, brazen and persistent
I decide to ignore her; I have other hobbies
The poem she wants to write floats in the air of my art studio
I throw fluorescent orange paint onto a canvas and ignore her
She sends a wasp that lands on the paint
This is maddening
another line of her poem shouts in my ear
I cannot fight Trixie any longer
I put down my brush and pick up a pen
You can’t make a deal
with a Judas
As tenured
they govern on high
Like the British
who sought our indenture
With graft and self-interest
they lie
You can’t play the game
any longer
When rules only favor
the few
Where freedom is held
as a hostage
And verity’s fairness
— askew
(The New Room: March, 2025)
Breakfast done, lunch so far away.
It's never too early or late for Elevenses!
Perhaps a seed-cake, sweet fragrant and so very proper.
Or a steaming currant bun, warm, light and spicy.
Oh perhaps the splendor of a freshly baked scone with jam and cream.
Or delicate petite fours scattered with remnants of a dream perchance?
Who stole the plate the strawberry tarts, red, tangy and sweet?
Or the short-bread creams rich in flour and butter, filled with icing?
All swerved with steaming tea, brewed in a pot, warmed in a knitted cosy!
It's ten past ten, how can we wait any longer?
For the clock to strike - Elevenses!
I used to know
But not so much anymore
Hold the door
Don’t hold the door
Say “Good Morning”
Or say nothing
Lest I commit
A micro-aggression
I used to think outside the box
I can’t any longer
They have taken all the boxes
And made signs out of them
Covid may be over
Yet the masks remain
Implacably etched
On dour faces
Ever fearful of a smile
I always treated puppies
As if they were kids
Y’know, cleaned up after them
Let them run through mud puddles
Chase rabbits and butterflies
Pee outside
Eat popcorn while watching a movie
The cat…well
If you’ve ever had a cat
You know…
you keep poking and prodding at me with thorns,
prick, prick, prick!
and its only left a stinging,
certain tingling in my body,
one that has been replaced with dread.
you had gutted me through and through
leaving nothing more than a pile of cold sharp rocks,
to replace the beautiful life i once had --
to remind me of the torture you bestowed upon me
why have you deemed me to a life of misery and hate?
i could have tried screaming,
but nothing wouldve came out,
a lump had formed in my throat
and i couldnt breathe any longer
i felt tears prick my eyes as i had to sob quietly,
the thorns seemed to prick all over my body,
you had left me gutted,
hollow,
lifeless.
A rush of silver
Trails down my skin
Cold, yet harmful
My mind is now at ease
My peach-colored skin
Is covered in red paint
Hateful words cloud my mind
Swarms of regret surround my thoughts
Unable to clear
Any longer
I hate how the blame
Comes round back to my mind
I hate the inevitable feeling
To see the red paint
On my peach – colored skin
I hate how I have to lie
When someone asks how I am
And I reply
I’m fine
I hate the guilt that
Spreads through my body
Unable to speak
The truth
Of what I can and can’t do
he would not avoid the void any longer
like a cliff hanger he dangled at the abys
abysmal emotions told him to leap yet
for action he searched for a jump lead
when silent retreat bonded with Self
nothingness created a vacancy for life
The man who was meant to love me the most,
Hurt me the deepest—how cruelly ironic, isn’t it?
Was it because I mirrored your face,
Or because I echoed the innocence stolen from you?
Perhaps it was the bitterness that brewed,
From lies you swallowed, justifying the bottle,
But why did you steal from me the chance,
To believe that love could be more than pain?
Was it too much to envision,
A world where I felt the affection you never knew?
Whatever the reason, I release you,
Because I refuse to carry this anchor any longer,
I tried to be your lifeline, but learned,
Some souls aren’t meant to be saved,
That’s when I realized, the fault wasn’t mine;
It was always yours,
But still, I don’t carry the blame,
Not for myself, not for you,
I choose to embrace you, shattered pieces and all,
Hoping someday, we can mend what’s broken,
And perhaps, in that healing,
We’ll finally find peace.
May we all be blessed not to accept
banning books or history any longer…
to understand learning about history…good or bad
will only make us stronger….
that when it comes to banning books and history…
this point…this truth…should be stressed:
Those who want to ban books and history
have always been the oppressors…
never the oppressed.
Within the confines of my mind,
Thoughts are taking their form.
Like an egg They will grow,
Only on the inside though.
You never know when to expect,
I just hope to reflect,
It's intended affect.
Then I hear it Crack,
Excitement,
Rushing back,
Leaving me with butterflies.
- ----------------
Feeding on our energy,
I Nourish it constantly,
It's growing now,
I can hardly see.
Stronger and stronger,
It can't wait any longer,
There is no way to tell,
Hope I fed it well.
We'll know very soon,
It's now in a caccoon.
- ---------------
All in divine timing,
This thought we're mining.
Everything's aligning,
Designing, defining,
Always knowing,
It's growing,
Wings showing,
Glistening and glowing,
Vibrantly,
Like a butterfly.
T?hat will never die.
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