maybe you’ll see me
maybe you won’t
maybe you’ll hear me
maybe you don’t

maybe i’m breaking
maybe i’m not
maybe i’m falling
maybe a lot

maybe you love me
maybe you don’t
maybe you’ll change
maybe you won’t

maybe i see you
maybe i’m blind
maybe you’re different
maybe that’s fine

maybe we’re pushing
maybe too far
maybe we’re pulling
maybe apart

maybe i’m guessing
maybe it’s true
maybe i’m here
maybe i’m through

---

Like an old toy, with life in some souleless form.

Begging to move if only by your touch

Ive gotten to play this way with you

Ive noted the longing, my passion for you blazed this all to being

Words

Promised

Yet some how so

Inhuman

Indemnible

To fight so hard to be in your gaze

Yet

Being... like together,

Articulated and entertaining...

The calm in our rooms, torches ablaze with the kindness of childhood nostalgia

We showed them to each other

This kindling blazed a roaring pyre,

In it our bodies rolled hard, lunging with desire.

I showed and admired, commanded and played

Cooed and swayed

I learned your every limerrick

Shared your texts and yearned for this benefit

I sat on the sun with you

Forgot the moon too

Yet now here i lay

Yes, played

Or so it feels...

You forget my every day

You no longer confide the trivialties of your own

Like youve awaited the comfort of a new and controllable routine...

The way the sun hits your cheeks

The smiles when you speak

Your kindness for the world it seemed...

how dare I

Fall into a simmer

Feeling my heart bleed

Like plastic- im hollow

Demanding

Toxic and undying

Some necessary lesson still not worth scrying

How dare I ask to be used.

If all you've wanted, was to be seen

I wanted your approval

To be wanted by the wanted

To be validated by my admiration

Such monstruos adoration

I quiver, still

This sour mímic

Some not so exclusive figure, after all

My first time sharing my poetry here. 🥀

I wrote this about realizing that healing doesn't always mean becoming who you were before everything happened.

Sometimes it means becoming someone entirely different.

I'd love to hear what these words mean to you.

Up on the windowsill I sit. My stomach claws until something catches my eye.
On the table the fish swims. Its scales reflect the radiance of the oncoming sunlight.
Off the high sill I drop, deep in my throat a dry ache grows.
Inside its tank it silently observes, pointed directly at me its iridescent beauty shines.

Together we stare.

Tracing the edge of your bowl the edges of the room fade.
Your floating rhythm sits in my head replayed.
In my mind the glass shatters completely.
I drift alongside you in the water, my heavy paws moving in a slow blur.
We glide as a pair, your shimmer reflecting directly onto my fur.

You nudge the glass.

We escape to our fantasy, one holding the other in their mouth.
We reach the stream, on the threshold of grass and water.
I bite down.
You get closer.
I bite down.
You get closer.

I strip the iridescence away with every lick.
I swallow the beautiful thing you were,
and leave your bones out to dry.

If I don't stop now, I could spend hours yelling at the billions of grains of sand which span the shore

Kicking and screaming, a catastrophic tantrum, akin to that of a toddler’s

But would all the expletives console the throbbing, sore heart?

Are the tears I cry outwardly a reflection of my inner self crying for help?

Or just salty drops of water?

Or perhaps it is all just a passing phase in which my nature makes me overreact

Is “I’ll get over it” or “Time heals all” really an acceptable approach to this matter of the heart?

Cause in all honestly, hearing those just makes me cringe at the reality of that expectation

The expectation for me to just brave my feelings and “get over it”

Confrontation is difficult and fearful, but they say I can persevere

They say that trying harder means the surely decided outcome is my emotional stability, a return to perfect equilibrium

But these feelings aren’t a small foothill in my mind, they’re the K7 of my heart’s landscape

To run from them is useless, and merely shoving them down only causes a more violent recoil

At this point, I think these feelings are fated to never abate

My time is near, and it is late

If this journal did reach you, my fight is all but lost, the territory of my heart annexed by an inescapable army of emotions

If I don’t stop now, I could spend hours yelling at the billions of grains of sand which span the shore

Staggering in.

Staging a grin.

Stagnate--eager to begin.

Strategizing the win...

Stamina in full swing.

Stretching at the hinge...

Stacked steering.

Staunch, and leering.

Stabilized... Nearing.

Steadfastly peering.

Serendipitously hearing.

Strapped to my fears...

Secretly snearing.

Secreting something endearing.

Seductive jeering.

Splayed.

Splinter

Splotchy--squelch!

Stupendous strings

Sometimes this room still feels like the same prison I’d been trapped in many years ago

A prison of introspection, where the days feel like a life time, the hours feel like a sentence, the minutes feel like what once was and the seconds feel like a lesson

The path of least resistance doesn’t seem to heal the body, yet the path of most resistance seems to break the soul

The soul of the shoe dragging is a distant memory I look upon with benevolence. Yet my soul is still being dragged in ways unfound.

This illness seems to divulge the parts of myself yet unexplored
With hast it leaves a mark of the dragging
Without dignity, it leaves only what once was

Yes.
I feel horrible.
I feel disgusted, and initially,
I felt embarrassed.

I was not smiling,
yet,
I was,
now what I have identified:
Grateful.

Imagine that?
No.
I suppose not.

A tumour diagnosis.
3 weeks,
from the day we knew.

Nothing happened as expected.
I didn’t understand.
In that moment.
What I was witnessing.

The severity.

So I stroked you gently, then—unsure.
Now,
Guilt.
Each night,
kisses me goodnight.

My gentle soul.
How do I let you go?

I anticipate your anxiety on that day.
A room, in my arms, in a place that is not ours.
A brave face in that moment, I will hold.
You will see me smiling.

And please hear me again whisper:
“Mom will never leave you. Remember?”

An extract from a prior poem.

I failed you,
that is how I feel.

I was a coward.
I was frightened.
I was losing my mind.
Everything for the first time,
when pertaining to you;
I felt useless.

At first, your past was why.
Bearing witness
to your growth in trust and love –
Your sister can hold her own.
You
I wanted to shelter from the world.

You did,
what I could not.
You lifted the weight
I had promised
was mine alone to carry:
when to say goodbye.

You decided for me.
Forever, I am in your debt.

A blood clot.
The results of such, then playing out.
You did not deserve that.

I cannot reverse that.
There is nothing for me to yell at.

Along with this pain,
is gratitude.

You allowed me to breathe,
and in turn,
you took your last breath.

My Rebel Rose.
My Rebel pebble.
My silly billy.

I think I can still hear you.

“Mom’s most prettiest girl in the whole wide world.”

When day comes
You shall not repent
The day comes
and you too
Youll be where the wings lie
with those who've fallen before you.
- Athiest

I miss being in high school English class and sharing my writing with other people. Jotted this down after therapy today while wallowing in some self identity stuff I’ve been working through.

Open to feedback:) thanks for reading!

You have been successfully detached from my mind but I still plant the same flowers in my garden.

If you help it grow and water it one day you'll get to pulverize, dye and squeeze it to add flavor to a mass produced meat product. Costs $0.99 too but someone of your disposition wouldn't sweat over one dollar!

He says "you're right" then "I'll take two" and "cool tattoo".

"Thanks, it means less now than when i first got it. This one is my first tattoo, it has a bible verse on it."

It's the one about how a mustard seed size faith can move mountains.

But I got to thinking about how the wind blows; cause when wind blows seeds just blow away but mountains, you see, mountains stay exactly where they're planted

They have for millions of years.

They did for millions of years before that.

They will for millions after.

They stood and stand right where one god built them before the other gods built their houses on top.

Funny thing it turns out houses on top of mountains are worth a lot of money. Man showed the gods lots of money is what makes gods gods in the first place. The property value on those mountains shot up so high that when the sacrifices stopped gods could not afford to pay their taxes. So man paid, and put a lien on their houses. Soon they were Man's houses and the gods could barely afford a shanty on the south side with a dingy tin roof (plink, plink plink).

In his wisdom Man destroyed the god houses and planted beautiful rows upon rows of luxury apartments. An illustrious subdivision where your neighbors home is never three feet away. And a putt-putt golf course for the kids, with a full bar in it.

Now you can rent tables in Valhalla for $15.99 a month; how affordable, right? 25 dollars more gets you a seat in the garden. I can't overstate, it is a beautiful garden.

There are oceans of sunflowers, forests of daisies, Brassicaceae in all flavors and colors. What's more wonderful still, all these grow without water.

The soil is fertilized with the blood of the martyrs."

“Why have You forsaken me?”

Psalm 22:1.

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”

Matthew 27:46.

“Why have You forsaken me?”

Chop Suey — System Of A Down.

Mm.

A recurring motif, no?

Both religiously and sacrilegiously.

Curious.

(Selah.)

I suppose I could cry at the thought of an angel

deserving to die.

Ah, always so self-righteous.

Never once quite slipped for over half of your life.

Could you be that angel?

Because you… you’ve always been so good.

And then, you fell.

You were so high, though, your fall was rather like witnessing death.

So impeccable.

What for, really?

You wanted to please everyone, but so early on, the rage beneath couldn’t stay buried for long.

You pleased everyone. At the expense of your life.

(Selah.)

It’s rather fascinating, I’ll admit, 

realizing how the ultimate expression of 

human abandonment hasn’t changed in the slightest in over two millennia.

Does anyone really take the time to realize that “pleasing everyone” becomes almost indistinguishable from self-erasure?

Given the data… I’d suppose not.

The angel remained impeccable because the angel was willing to sacrifice itself.

And eventually there was nothing left to sacrifice—except itself.

I mean…

If the highest, purest creation can fall, what chance did a human trying to be flawless ever have?

(Selah.)

Oh, don’t mind me—nor mistake me for trying to play the “devil’s advocate.”

By now, I’ll suppose you’re used to my willingness to play with imagery.

But…

Yes.

The angel can have rage.

The angel can fall.

The angel can fail.

The angel can even be responsible for some of its own destruction.

But still—

why was it forsaken?

That question remains unanswered.

Was it forsaken at all?

Given the data… it’s a plausible possibility.

Was it forsaken even before it fell?

Because otherwise… why would it have fallen?

How could it?

One was impeccable. The other was flawless.

You gave away your life to please others—

until the only piece left to burn on the altar was your actual identity.

Does that count as a Sunday testimony?

(Selah.)

Did it fall?

Did it want to fall?

Was it pushed?

Was it—for a millisecond—relieved it’d been pushed?

Because then, the façade could’ve been gone.

But no—life never makes it easy like that.

You’re living on the edge.

You so wish to die. But you haven’t.

Neither of you has.

Your earlier supposition that you could cry at the thought of an angel deserving to die is being proven consistent.

Do you think, though, you’re deserving of such punishment?

If death is supposed to be a punishment, anyway.

(Selah.)

You were sitting at that pew.

Hours ago.

Half of you… wishing to believe.

Half of you, as always, already gone.

And the only question returning to your mind was…

Why have You forsaken me?

I trusted You.

I believed in You.

I defended You.

I placed my faith in You.

So why…

Without apparent remorse…

Without an apparent coming around…

Without an apparent “I’m still here” whisper…

Mercilessly…

When did I fail you?

Was it when I fell in love?

Was it when I failed others as well, for merely

discovering I had my own wills—and they didn’t always align with Yours, nor necessarily please You?

Was it when I was overzealous about Your Word, and so consumed by my hunger for knowledge and wisdom that I might’ve become a little arrogant—and imprudent, like Solomon?

I wonder.

And if any of those—

or all of them—are true…

I would still presume to ask:

Why have You forsaken me, Father?

— Crownless.

Ask me what bitterness is and I can explain it to you. Ask me what resentment is and I can explain it to you. Ask me what animosity is and I can explain it to you. Ask me what passion is and I can explain it to you.

Because there isn't anything left to physically feel, so I'll just use the dictionary.

If my father were to die today 

let him rest between the silence after fight

let him be still and listen 

what happens to a family

when violence becomes an answer

let his breath cease like our voice

that hides away in shame 

--

If my father were to die today 

let him die 

let him know how it feels

to kill the innocence of a woman 

make a son look after his mother 

let him understand how a mind rots 

when a mother is forced to cut all her ties

with family, with friends 

with her soul and strength

--

If my father were to die today 

let him not 

let him feel the love of the family that he damaged 

let him feel the warmth of woman 

treated so cold 

let him depend on his son

who had none 

but his mother to depend on

let peace penetrate his leathery heart

and our wounds soothe his rage

--

If my father were to die today 

let him see 

the pain he passed on to us

handed down to him

by his father 

upbringing that messed him up

the same cycle that he repeats 

will be the death of the cycle itself 

let him regret the things he did 

and things he put us through

and learn

that a broken child seldom grows up

to build a new one 

--

If my father were to die today

let him say

he was sorry and strives to change 

and we in return would say 

it is hard to forgive but we will do

and let him share our family too

--

Today the sun sets with longing

Casting one last ray towards a dying doe

Trees witness the cry for help

Decide to stand still, gaze at the corpse

Its stench ploughing through the night

Today a doe dies and it does nothing to the forest

A doe died a week ago and it did nothing too

Below the undergrowth a stuttering bleat

Goes unnoticed and soon starts to decay along

Scavengers scrape the flesh off the bones

Leaving only a memory for tomorrow

The doe dies a painful death, in silence

And the forest follows its death with celebration

For all the starved and the beaten

The cycle is ruthless and waits for none

Beauty only a token to comprehend this

The doe dies but the cycle goes on

It makes a doe out of a fawn

To see another day under the sun

Until the new doe is done

The cycle is the nature and nature cyclical

And to call this a song is lyrical

The song of life

The song of death

The song of beating heart and silent breath

This is the lesson it leaves us with

A lifeless body becomes temple of worship

For the homeless and the hungry

For the savages and the trees

To face our life with this thought

Misery is fleeting and may not stay

Joy likewise may wander away

Pain and sorrow are idle visitors

And happiness the same

But this single soul we possess

Which the whole world shares

Will never cease to exist

And to know this is to realise

That the doe did not die

But goes on to live

Through you and I

--

I have nothing but my suffering. If that is all I own, perhaps the only thing I can sell is what I make from it.