Trigger Warning:
This poem contains themes of toxic relationships, manipulation, emotional abuse, and references to suicidal threats. Please read with care.
I am too alive to die,
But too dead to live
Meeting you was a slow burn,
Like a burn given by cig.
Started with breaking friendships,
And then you hated to see—
simple dinners with family,
Me just trying to be.
"I want you to myself"
"You don't give me enough time"
"I'll kill myself if you ignore."
"You better stay in line."
I didn't want anyone to hurt,
So I always complied.
You quoted this was love,
And I believed your lies.
It has become the past now,
And I know it wasn't love.
But the bitter taste still lingers
And it stays like ash in my lungs.
“When you feel like giving up, just remember the reason why you held on for so long.” – Unknown
Ponder all day in restless thought.
Dream of the day I am set free
Free from those who twist me in knots
Free to be myself, just me.
They say they’re there, just cease
What do I need from them?
What is so wrong with wanting peace?
This is my decision don’t condemn.
You say you love me, but which “me”?
The one you can mould or the one you fear?
You hold me close, like I cant get free
But hurt me when I get near.
You say you are confused, but are you?
You are always searching for more.
Your acceptance isn’t true
You leave me broken on the shore.
Searching for where I belong.
Useless here I have no choice,
Ideas rush cant stay this strong.
Crashing again, I have no voice
Incidents flare up and drain me
Death is all that understands.
Everlasting floating, being free.
No demands.
Yes its now confirmed
By the shaking hands
And sweat covered brow
I'm addicted
Cant get my fix
I've tried and tried
I'm almost going out of my mind
I'm addicted
Don't know if there is rehab
Or any help groups
Cant tell my friends
I'm addicted
So hurry up and comment
Get your act together
I cant cope when you don't read
I'm addicted.
My friend just finished
clearing a table when I
came up the register.
We argued the time before
but this night was still.
I always savored a late hour
when it would be just us.
She asked if the food was good—
it was. I placed a ten
on the counter, and she
looked at me.
The restaurant was still.
I broke the silence
by telling her about my favorite
song, as an entry point
to say something more.
We’d known each other
for so long.
I used lyrics to say
that I tried to love her
but I was only a man.
For so long I’d shared
my life with her.
Her face glowed
when she said
she felt the same
a resonance I felt
I had waited for
all of my life.
I stepped outside
to a neon glow.
A streetlight shone a star.
Burdened by a boulder,
That once was a star,
Dragged by the colder
End of a scar,
To feel a wish
Bleed from a stab,
To die among fish,
To be pinched by a crab,
Alone in the sea,
Envying the summit,
What I was shaped to be,
I cannot over come it.
Gental despair,
A coffin from sorrow,
A storm in the air,
Killing tomorrow,
Tangled knots,
Numbed by a blade,
A line of dots,
The heartbeat fades.
What is mine,
A thief takes back,
A paralyzed spine,
Wine in a rack,
Locked by a knife,
Yet stabbed at the heart,
Miserable short life,
The sadness of art.
i've come to meet the wolves
the ones who dream beneath the pines
not to beg or steal or borrow
but to seek peace of mind
to offer them this skin i'm in
the one i wear so thin
(i almost forget it's mine)
let them judge me by the tremble in my hands
not the stories i've sold
and if i be damned, then let me be damned
and not the mask i hold
I do say "Sorry";
My want of sincerity
Drags me down again.
On my darkest bitterest days
I don't believe you will be there for me-
in times of depth and sorrow
when anger comes in flames
and disappointment lingers-
I don't believe you will be there for me.
What may come is a haunting truth
of self-guilt and torment
Wondering if I'm ever going to be 'good' enough -
What about me?
Am I to neglect myself?
Strive to be someone I'm not?
Answering endless questions
without knowing what love really is?
Am I to shrink myself to your approval?
When you don't even see yourself?
Am I to thin myself out to nothingness
so that words are what's left of me?
Am I to quiet myself-
so that you can breathe more peacefully?
The truth is
to be deathly afraid of love
takes the most courage.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fluorescent buzz hums
like a choir of tired angels.
I hold a plastic-wrapped loaf of bread
and think about miracles~
how mine don’t quite materialize.
My hands, soft from keyboards,
have never split a sea
or pressed into a wound
without recoiling.
I flinch at the sight of blood and
the weight of my own shadow.
The clerk sighs,
counting pennies like regrets.
I want to tell her that
the Kingdom is hers,
but my voice cracks
into something small
and human.
At home, my love
is measured in teaspoons~
just enough to sweeten,
never overflowing.
I keep my rage
neatly folded,
my mercy rationed
like discount wine.
God must get so tired
of my arithmetic.
Beloved,
I write to you from the marrow of silence,
where your name still claws the walls of my ribs.
Every breath I take is borrowed from your absence,
every shadow a telegram from your ghost.
I have pressed my lips against the memory of your throat,
tasting the dust that has replaced your laughter.
Do you remember when we shared a heart like contraband,
smuggling tenderness through the checkpoints of despair?
Now I light a candle to your vanished face,
its flame stuttering like a pulse that refuses resurrection.
If you return, even as ash,
I will call it love.
I cross my heart and hope to die,
A childhood pact between you and I.
A sacred X, a secret sign,
Promising your heart would stay with mine.
We sealed our words with a silent grace,
A mirrored promise on each other's face.
One soul, two bodies, a perfect whole,
Bound by a truth that fed my soul.
But you broke the cross, you left the 'X' bare,
A gaping hole where you once were.
Left me to mend what you tore apart,
A shattered promise, a broken heart.
I cross my heart, but it's just a scar,
A ghost of a twin who traveled too far.
And I'm left behind, with everything to bear,
And a broken promise hanging in the air.
I am 1,248 songs of complicated rhythm. Prose and verses tell a story of my decisions…my indecision. I am skin shaped, in 42 different shades of foolery, a life lover doing my best to avoid an other, but they seem to be everywhere these days. Crawling out from under rocks, or latent in my twisted fantasies. I think I may be terminal with delusional romantacy. A proverbial symphony strung together with sinew and longing. Discordant chords bending into melody when I blink too long or laugh too hard at the wrong moment.
I can admit, I have been the composer of songs that I was never meant to play. Still, I finger at the keys, an untuned melody stretched thin across the vastness of possibility, a quiet rebellion whispered in 3am silences, telling truths I didn’t ask to know, but I can’t help but pick up on the tone. I am every note you thought I missed, the calloused fingertips of my mistakes, still strumming, still singing. Harmony may elude me, but the melody is mine to claim. Yes, I am 1,248 songs of messy humanity, and I’ll rewrite the chorus as many times as it takes to finally hear it in my own voice.
Streetlight dander. Jawbone asphalt.
Blink razors carve her iris script.
Rib stars ovulate in feral grates,
mechanical tongue juts a bloodline breath.
Keystroke ruin writes in collapse,
a waveform lodged in sternum glass.
Lipsticked rodeo—a gash in faded denim
Banana-knuckled hands torch filterless ghosts.
Tree-call through copper root systems.
Wire-pluck storm,
vapor chews the stock market
Cancer caught in molar hush,
brined in citrine static.
She opens her throat like a coin purse.
Spine bows in semaphore.
We dismount the edge—
An incisor cusp,
the confession still blistering
beneath the flesh of no language.
Bless me, Father, for I will sin
And go against your laws
But the winds of change are blowing
I must pick up the cause
At break of dawn I'll march to war
My sword will rise again
For our faith will be no more
Should our foe prevail
Sekigahara calls for me
To fight that raccoon fiend
But save me while I'm falling
Christ, my bosom friend
God of Mercy, I'm in your care
Your grace my strength to lift
This cross, your gift that I must bear
Along my battle flag
- In the voice of: Konishi Yukinaga (1558 - November 6, 1600), to Fr. Pedro Gomez, SJ.
-- The Battle of Sekigahara, 21st October 1600
* "that racoon fiend" refers to Tokugawa Ieyasu, who is often derisively referred to as tanuki (raccoon dog) by detractors.
A I CONFESSION
not my
own work
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