blank stares
streaming tears
the tip of the pen
piercing my skin
Why am I doing this?
I know this is wrong.
I know I'm going to be mad.
I know I'm going to hate what's left.
So why?
I need to feel something
when I can't feel anything.
so the pen
scratches the surface.
heartache
pen goes deeper.
sadness
scratch marks.
anger
blood.
Why?
Why do I do it?
Why can't I use other methods?
I wrote this poem right?
Why can't I do that?
I need to feel something
I need to feel pain
It's what I deserve
So pen scratches cover my arm
I have to hid them now
hide the evidence
"nothing's wrong"
"I'm okay" "I'm fine"
hide the evidence
I'm not hurting
and no one would care if I was
so why would I share?
I need to feel something
anything
aren't there other ways
so why do I choose the pen
time and time again
the pen
the scratches
the blood
the scars
the pen
showing my pain
disappered and covered
by my sleeve
Today it's been 16 months
16 months since I have seen your face
16 months since I felt your embrace
16 months since I heard your laugh
16 months since I knew you were in the world
even when I didn't see or hear from you
It's also been 16 months since I have seen
the pain in your eyes
FELT the pain of you words, go straight to my heart
Seen the effects of your illness on your whole being
Seen that you were a shadow of who you were before
mental illness took over your life
I MISS all of you, but I am not sorry you found peace
and I am trying to make you proud by screaming hard
and loud that Mental Health is crucial and our resources
are inadequate.
I love you, my son and I miss you!
Mental Illness is not a violation.
It's a human experience.
One many carry unspokenly.
The real harm is uncovered
How others respond:
The quick labels, the cold
Stares, the whispered verdicts.
A mind in toil needs support, not punishment,
Compassion, not condemnation.
Because the truth is straightforward:
The crime is in the person
Who sees the hurt and chooses to
Judge it.
I was tying my shoes
Wrapped with thoughts of death
Wondered if the stone beneath me
Would appreciate the human dire
Splashed over it like ketchup
And no, it wasn’t thoughts of suicide
For I know death is not really what I want
Maybe I do write letters sometimes
About my last day on this ground,
but they're just words caused by pain
And yet I can’t help but wonder
If murderers do feel fear when they kill
I wonder if the sin of lying is equal to killing
Some stuff turns brain chemistry into a bowl of leeches.
Sawdust that you eat with a platter of fake mints.
When you have mixed up neural slices?
They get disposed.
Neurons.
Doing jumping jacks in unison.
Brains are like billboards.
They eat your eyes.
And get torn down like mush.
My brain chemistry is mine.
Witches brew mindset.
The neurons?
Never made it back.
They got squeezed too many times.
From the minarets the call to prayer resounds
Breaking the peaceful silence of the dawn
In its undulation of fervent fanatical need
And all across the world the daily call spreads
Making non-believers at least tolerant
Of the mysterious words and haunting refrain
Lulled into acceptance as by a snake charmer
Women too now rising up
In the name of liberation
Fervently fanatical in the need
To have it their way,
From conception to abortion and infanticide
To now the freedom to filicide,
Have it their way
A brave new Burger Queen world
Without compromise or sacrifice
For the only job they were born to do.
Meanwhile the minaret keeps up its call
Loudly proclaiming to the faithful
Ignorant and deluded,
And increasingly deserving,
“Make Misogyny Great Again”.
(9/13/26)
Anxiety l loathe you, yes loathe you l do
Uninvited , you invade my whole being
You serve me no purpose
When you get hold of me….there is no freeing
I never invited you in
I have told you continuously to leave me alone
Yet you do not listen
You still invade my whole being down to the bone
So, l reluctantly live with you
I do my best to keep you and your negativity at bay
I manage you , l cope with you
Though l know…..you are never far away
What have you done to me
Where was the girl
That tried to climb the cliff
Despite unfavourable conditions in there.
Why did the peak broke off
When were you seen
That made me believe in flame again
Even the one my kin couldn’t .
Who are you for real
Which gave hope for ice
That it could have an identity in sea
Although it gulped me down.
I hate how easily
my heart turns a moment
into a catastrophe.
How a silence becomes abandonment,
a small disagreement becomes goodbye,
and one unanswered message
becomes proof that I was never enough.
I wish I could feel less.
Not because I don’t want to love,
but because sometimes loving
feels like standing barefoot
in the middle of broken glass.
I get angry.
I get scared.
I say things I don’t mean
because I don’t know how to say
please don’t leave me.
And then I am alone with my thoughts,
turning every word against myself,
calling myself stupid
for having a heart
that refuses to be quiet.
But maybe I am not broken.
Maybe I am simply learning
that feeling deeply
doesn’t make me impossible to love.
Maybe I can be intense
and still be gentle.
Vulnerable
and still be strong.
Maybe someday
I will stop confusing
being afraid of losing someone
with already having lost them.
And tonight,
instead of punishing myself
for feeling too much,
I will let the feeling pass.
I will stay.
I will breathe.
And I will remind myself
that one difficult moment
does not get to decide
who I am.
I have this jar, nothing special about it
Aside for the fact it is used to save money
You may ask about it, actually
I'm saving for something sweet like honey
They say everything cost money
If you live you pay for you to keep on living
If you die you pay to be buried
And here I thought if I just disappear
So does my financial responsibility
Isn't so hard, to choose
Whether to live or to die
Either choice still cost a fortune
So here I am keep on working
Keep on living, Saving for my funeral
triggers triggers yet they
fall before me
yellow purple
what colors do I notice
palm trees beach views
something I see there
is called home.
I can feel the dust on my tongue
yet as they dissolve and then solve all my
issues.
clinically and emotionally why
Does this little tabloid make me gain weight
I can’t seem to shake
All because I am a
schizoid.
When I was young, I didn’t have much.
Which means I didn’t worry
About it being taken away.
Didn’t worry about robbers, private or public,
And didn’t care about changing the world.
That wasn’t the brand of hubris I was born with.
Now that I’m old and retired there is a lot to lose,
My life and family, savings, property and stuff.
So I pay more attention to those who preach
The doctrine of redistribution, hope and change.
It’s easy to get caught up in it all
Since it’s always in the news.
But it’s also easy to forget there's an easy way out,
A simple and sure way out of hoping
And worrying what change will come.
And that is to simply sit,
On your own private cushion, or better yet
Beside a dog.
But best of all, outside, amid the greens
Under the clouds in a sky of blue
And let the sounds and sights of nature
Give you all you need.
No need for hope or worry about changing a thing,
The world is doing just fine within you and without you.
(9/10/26)
Shadow Man
Sitting in an empty room.
He watches down the hall.
As shadows move across the floor.
And dance along the wall.
His eyes grow darker like the room.
Cause to him it’s all the same.
Rejected by the light of day
the shadows call his name.
Sitting in the darkened room,
Where nighttime never ends.
He don’t seem to mind at all.
The shadows are his friends.
He listens to the whispers.
Carried in the nighttime air.
As shadows repeat secrets.
That someone dared to share.
Be careful what you say or do.
It’s part of a greater plan.
The secrets told that he may hold
the one called Shadow Man.
Edwin C Hofert
Anguish is made of thunder today.
Ate me up like an X-ray.
Spit me out like trash you can chew.
Is there anything brains can’t do?
If this poisonous grip could let me go.
I could be a magician, I know.
But antidotes don’t exist these days.
Everything is tied up in delays.
I think my possessions let me behind.
I think it was my old bedroom who signed.
It started when my bedroom got sick of me.
Couldn’t tie me to a tree.
No, it’s never you leaving your stuff back there.
And yeah, I snuck in delusions in my hair.
Saying sorry to some old cloud.
Boring stuff.
Like wished for rocks.
There’s a lot of years in there.
Lying in bed, but nothing.
I missed my meds that one time.
It’s like abandonment.
Or crushed up falling.
Dreaming but it’s equilibrium.
Hold your breath while ascending.
I missed my meds.
They can’t crawl over to me.
Which is the only way I would take them.
Clink.
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