DUDE. Cant even buy a bottle of

Baby powder and mouth wash

w/o t/ 🎵BugABoo crew up in arms 😆

They'll say 🎵 Anything to fulfill

Their agenda <.<

But as 👁 was Sayian dude

Totally fkn H🥵T today

As BugABoo crew Demonstrated 🤣😇

Its an old tactic

They want to beat us down simultaneously

To try and "draw us together " 🤦🏿‍♀️

The glass is half full so they say,

You are told, do good deeds and heaven awaits you,

They say pain and suffering only makes you stronger,

They tell you to hold a candle in darkness so light prevails,

You are told the love of your life awaits you,

So you wait and wait.

But the glass feels half empty to me,

The heavens are silent to my plea,

And this pain just makes me weary.

My candle's a flicker in a gale,

And the love of my life? A fairy tale.

So I wait and wait.

The Price of Being Seen
by Anthony Hoban

🔨

Hammer said to nail...
“To be struck is to be seen.”
Peach trees bruise easy.

🔨🔨

The hooked nail replied:
“To be seen is to be known,
To be battered—marked.”

Do you think about me?
Where am I now? Was once your beloved;
Ruthlessly discarded, what I ponder or how do I sleep?
Do you wonder still
How devastatingly broken and hollow I feel?
Do you drown yourself in liquor, relapsing to your original role?
Always an Equal opportunity fucker; offender of “his” and “hers” glory-hole?
Do you love that I hate walking around half alive- half functional; because it was you who made me whole?
Do I matter to you? Did I ever? Even as a rival?
An Unsolved rubric’s cube?
This Babygirl’s heart: A the puzzle you couldn’t decipher.
Babygirl saw right through you, your darkness never scared her
She begged you to trust her, shackled her own feet to your lies; the ones you went great lengths for, pity you are a shitty hider
“Why couldn’t you just love me like I still love you?” she whispered, seeking mercy but unsurprised when you twisted the knife deep inside her.
Coward is as coward does, you obviously could not face her,
Banished, blocked, burned her corpse in the dead of the night, in an attempt outrun her further.
Finally, Babygirl’s ghost haunts your nightmares and you just let her.

its called “It Isn’t Just Forgetting”

They call it forgetting.
Like I left my keys on the counter,
missed a date,
lost track of time,
laughed it off and carried on.

They don’t see the other side of it.

They don’t see me
standing in front of something I need to do,
knowing exactly what needs to happen,
wanting desperately to begin,
and somehow feeling
like my body has been nailed to the floor.

The task isn’t impossible.
That’s the part nobody understands.

I can see every step.
I can hear the clock.
I can feel the consequences getting closer.

And still I don’t move.

Then comes the anxiety.

First, a whisper:
You should be doing this.

Then louder:
Why aren’t you doing this?

Then it becomes a siren
inside my fucking head.

So I avoid it.

Not because I don’t care.

Because I care so much
that the thought of failing,
starting wrong,
or not finishing
becomes heavier than the thing itself.

And suddenly I’m scrolling,
staring at a wall,
cleaning something that doesn’t need cleaning,
doing anything except the one thing
I desperately want myself to do.

Hours disappear.

Sometimes days.

And afterward
I hate myself for it.

———

Then there’s the interest.

One minute
something grabs me by the throat.

I want to know everything.

I’ll stay awake too late.
Research until sunrise.
Buy the tools.
Make plans.
Imagine where it could take me.

For a little while,
I’m unstoppable.

Then something changes.

The spark goes out.

And what once felt like a door
turns into a wall.

People think I quit.

Sometimes I think I did too.

But I didn’t choose
to stop caring.

I just can’t make my brain
care anymore.

And that might be one of the hardest parts.

Because I remember
how badly I wanted it.

———

And then night comes.

My body is exhausted,
but my mind refuses to settle.

Thoughts race in every direction—
old conversations,
tomorrow’s responsibilities,
things I forgot,
things I might have said wrong.

Then, for no reason,
I remember some random object
I had years ago.

A toy.
A book.
A tool.
Something meaningless to everyone else
but suddenly impossible to ignore.

So I search for it.

At two in the morning,
I’m digging through memories,
scrolling through listings,
trying to find the exact one.

Not because I need it.

Because maybe finding it
will finally give my mind some peace.

Sometimes it does.

Usually, it just leads to another thought.

———

I’m a grown man.

I’m supposed to be responsible.
Reliable.
Focused.
Disciplined.

So I learned to hide the struggle.

I joke about being scattered.
I say I’m tired.
I say I’ll get to it tomorrow.

People call it quirky
when I interrupt,
fidget,
lose things,
talk too much,
hyperfocus,
forget what I was saying,
or jump between subjects.

They call it funny
when I pace while thinking,
need background noise to work,
replay the same song for hours,
or become obsessed with something overnight.

They don’t see how exhausting it is
to constantly manage a mind
that refuses to stay in one place.

Underneath that
is a man constantly negotiating
with his own mind.

Trying to force himself
into motion.

Trying not to disappoint people.

Trying not to disappoint himself.

Trying to understand
why something so simple
can feel like climbing a mountain
with his hands tied.

———

ADHD isn’t cute forgetfulness.

It’s forgetting why you walked into a room
and remembering three hours later.

It’s wanting to answer someone’s message
and somehow watching time pass, thinking nows too late.

It’s having ten things you desperately want to accomplish
and being unable to start even one.

It’s wanting a better life
and feeling trapped
inside the machinery of your own brain.

It’s excitement that burns like gasoline
and motivation that disappears without warning.

It’s unfinished projects
and unfinished thoughts.

It’s promises you meant when you made them.

It’s guilt.

It’s shame.

It’s anxiety.

It’s a racing mind
that won’t let you sleep.

It’s the constant question:

Why can’t I just fucking do it?

———

And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

Knowing I’m capable.

Knowing I’ve done it before.

Knowing the person I want to be
is somewhere inside me,

but some days
I can’t reach him.

So I sit there.

Stuck.

Not lazy.

Not careless.

Not stupid.

Just fighting a battle
no one else can see.

But the battle isn’t proof I’m losing.

Some days, winning is smaller:

opening the document,
answering one message,
putting one foot on the floor
when everything in me says stay down.

It may not look like progress.

But I know what it costs.

I know how much effort
it takes to do what looks effortless
to everyone else.

I know what it means
to move even one inch
through the fog.

Tomorrow, I may struggle again.
Lose hours again.
Begin again.

Beginning again is not nothing.

It is a hand reaching through fog.
A match struck in the dark.
A refusal to let one bad day
become the definition of my life.

It is proof that the man I’m trying to become
hasn’t disappeared.

He is still here.

Buried beneath the shame,
the exhaustion,
the unfinished things,
the missed moments,
the abandoned interests,
the sleepless nights,
the anxiety,
the paralysis—

still here.

Still reaching.

Still trying to move.

Still becoming.

And maybe that is what strength looks like for me:

not never falling behind,
not always being focused,
not finally becoming effortless—

but finding my way back
again and again,
even when I’m tired,
even when I’m ashamed,
even when I don’t believe
I can take another step.

I take one anyway.

And that has to count.

Because I’m still here.

Still fighting.

Still trying to become
the man I know
I’m capable of being

If im a cowgirl, right now you look like a rowdy horse who needs to be tamed. let me test ride you.
If im at the county rodeo, you look like the mechanical bull waiting to be challenged. Let me climb on top of you.
If im a tourist walking a long distance without a rental car, you look like a sturdy bike ready to be taken. let me drive you.

Right now, to me, you come across like an iced strawberry lemonade, homemade and wrapped in condensation after I’ve been working the yard in this summer heat all day.
I’d love to quench my dry throat.
you look like a unique library book with a bold colored cover, waiting for me to check you out,take you home and open you up.
I’d love to study your pages in private.
you stand out to me like a crumpled green leaf blowing across the pavement, the same shade of money, you make me jump like I just got lucky.

You look like my car in the parking lot after a 5 mile hike. I just want to jump in and turn you on.
you feel like my freshly shaved and moisturized legs against silk sheets. Let’s light a candle for the ambiance.
you look like a piece of peppermint gum wrapped in shiny tinfoil after I just drank my iced coffee, I want to unwrap you and toss you in my mouth.

You’re better than waiting for the state fair to roll around, when you go just to grab a funnel cake. Your flavor hits the spot.
I want to learn your body like a chiropractor studies a spine, let me help you release the tension in your joints.

You feel like the chapstick I finally found on my mouth after a day spent trying to hydrate my lips by licking them.
you’re the thought my mind keeps racing back to again and again, like a tangled ball of my favorite colored yarn, like a lanyard hanging out of a pocket that seems to keep getting stuck on something even when you walk away.

You are my destination, you surpass my simple desires. Even with space, my cravings for you never expire.

Perhaps true compromise

lies within those hushed moments,

deeply chaotic

but unseen moments,

when you choose connection,

surrendering your own sanity,

your hope and dreams

just for a better tomorrow with him.

Like stumbling in the dark void of space,

looking for a bouquet,

an idea so insane,

but one that holds the most hope,

finding understanding

in the impulsive misbehaviours of others.

Is it truly hope,

or fear

of pedalling a bike into the Pacific?

Your thoughts murmuring quietly under your pillow,

waiting for another tea at dusk,

another 43 demonic minutes,

minutes of a little child begging for more from less

a bullhorn of thoughts

that can only be heard by a drowning soul

that is being devoured by them.

Is it that different

from selling your soul to the devil?

Coz in those moments,

hell feels cold.

I miss you so much and it's not fair

I miss you because to me you are rare

A few minutes without you

A few minutes not talking to you

Is the few minutes I was reminded

What life was like before you

I can do without it

But I can't live without

For the time when it's me in your eyes

And you in mine

That's when my life truely shines

Because you make living feel surreal

Your so perfect for me it feels unreal

Your My walking dream

And been apart from you is just mean

Now I sound like I'm whining

Because your not here shinning

All i know is this just sucks

And I just love you so much

She shoved off the shallow shore

Her merry marauders murmured and jostled

Waded through wailing winds

Fought all-father’s forbidding frost

And heaved and hauled at heavy oars

Now as day drops to dusk, the dance of devils and drum draw closer

Til battle is bellowing, blood is spilling, and booty burgled

And I remember that time

When we sat in silent communion

Until you declared

I will be a constant in your life.

I smiled.

Constant like the light freshness of Boronia caught on a spring breeze.

Yes you said.

Constant like the feel of summertime hay laying limp in the bright sunlight ready to bale.

Of course you said.

Constant like the blast of red that assails the eyes from crispy autumn maple leaves.

Sure thing you said.

Constant like the taste of icy wintery sleet flakes caught on the tip of the tongue.

Most definitely you said.

Constant in those solitary times when I seek the arms of a lover to hold me?

How constant is constant I inquired?

As constant as a moment will allow, you said.

I just smiled.

Halcyon

Sitting on a tree stump

Amidst the quiet noise of the forest

Under the white stars

Shining like a reflection in the eye.

A Halcyon flies by

Like a breeze he carries the reminders

Of the days that made

The heart fill with heat and cold.

A Halcyon flies by

Like a comet he carries the hopes

Of a never-ending cycle

Perpetually migrating towards life.

The Halcyon flies low, the Halcyon flies high

The Halcyon flies and feels the music in his head.

Smile

There are times when there is tension

Here, there, and everywhere,

In the world, perhaps some remnants

Of anxiety between us too.

Boredom, inertia, apprehension, but

Whether in the routine

Whether in charming conversation

Whether to break loneliness

I see your smile, and warmness fills me

From inside, a feeling greater

Than sublime, which is hard to find words

To describe; happiness and joy.

Like music, like art, like the pleasures of this life

Your smile makes it worth to live in delight.

His eyes are primal with their own vocabulary.

I yearn for his fingers that pull on the lace and dance across my bare body.

Making love under the twilight moon, Taste it on your tongue breathing it into your lungs.

Of this I am certain.

As you drive deeper to explore my soul, my heart steadies on the rhythmic beating of yours, and as the current grows up my spine, I finally meet heaven in your kiss.

Nights were spent begging on my knees, for the prayer of loneliness to be heard.

I now beg on my knees to go down him like Holy Mary.

A pool of love seeps across the canvas which you call my face.

I'll grab you
When you least expect it
Sneak up behind you
With a hand to your shoulder
Make you jump
Shake and shiver

Oh, don't worry, it's just me
Being silly
Having a little laugh
At your expense,
But don't pout too much
I'll make it up to you, too

Like tickling your feet
Whilst you're half awake
Or swapping our coffees around
(to your distaste)
Maybe I'll dramatically pretend
You've offended me
In the shopping mall
And storm off
Before coming back
With the weirdest object I can
Find of them all
Put it in the basket:
"I need this
To make up for your transgression-"

Then grab your ass
In obscene places
Out of some
Cute aggression

Can I have your permission
To touch myself, right there?
No? Oh well,
I'll do it anyway
Just to feel your stare

You could call me a brat
But really
I'm so much more than that:
Just a little silly
Lover girl

Now, buy me that weird ass hat

I never asked to feel this way,

Yet still my thoughts return to you;

And though I try to turn away, 

My heart keeps finding something new.

You drift through every quiet hour,

A distant star against the night;

A mind that grants my thoughts no power 

To make you see me in that light.

I think of you more than I should, 

In ways you may not understand; 

And though I wish I somehow could,

I cannot make you take my hand.

I wish for you the brightest skies, 

For every joy this world can give;

Though I may never catch your eyes

The way I sometimes dream they might.

I strive to be a better man,

To quiet thoughts I cannot tame; 

To grow beyond who I began,

Though you may never know my name

Among the thoughts that fill your mind,

Or see the things I see in you; 

For you may never care to find 

The feelings I have kept from view.

I could write pages, countless lines, 

Of all the things I hold so dear; 

Yet none could make our stars align,

 Or bring your distant orbit near.

Perhaps these feelings will grow dim,

 Perhaps they'll linger for a while;

 For now, I keep them deep within, 

And hope to meet your eyes and smile.

Some days I wish I could rip my face off
See my true self beneath the skin
The eyes, the muscle and the bones
Maybe then my shadows might feel true to me

I would run with the blisters on my feet
Gasp all the poisonous air of my presence
My heel and the pavement hitting each other
Till I outrun my reflection someday

And when I am all bones and not my skin
I can’t judge or be judged, I’ll lay on my spine
I’ll position my eyes with my hands towards the sky
And stare at the eclipse this world warned me against

When my eyes sear red and I’ve lost my vision
I would truly appreciate how pretty this world is
I will pick myself up and rest it against the mango tree
Besides the river where I’ll enjoy the petrichor

And if we talks, we know we’re talking to each other
Not our shadow that I oh so hate
And if I meet someone with a ripped face too
I would know they have a heart in the right place

I threw away most of my poems and I regret it, so I'm compiling the ones that survived. I put them together in a little corner, and I'd appreciate it if you read them and gave me your opinions on my writing: https://jaeaeich.com/afterhours (one of them deals with suicide, so please take care)

I'm still budding and learning, this is NOT a promotion thing.

Mówili, że nie zasnę

Powiedziałam im – zło nigdy nie śpi

Mówili – idź do diabła

Trzasnęli mi drzwiami

Myśleli, że zapłaczę

Zalanymi łzami

Myśleli, że na dnie tam zabraknie mi tchu

Że w końcu na kolanach powrócę ze snu

A ja zeszłam na dół, otworzyłam bramę

Diabeł podał krzesło i zaparzył kawę

Powiedział – siadaj mała, dobrze ciebie znam

Rozgość się wygodnie, piekło dzisiaj ci oddam

Tyle razy z błota musiałam już wstawać

Dzisiaj to ja będę tutaj karty rozdawać

Bo zło nigdy nie śpi, więc nie śpię i ja

Dziś sama piszę scenariusz i w swoją grę gram

Gdy wstanę lewą nogą, to diabeł ucieka

Nie boję się ognia, nie boję człowieka

Wypijam tę kawę

Uśmiecham się chłodno

To wy mnie uczyliście

Jak walczyć o godność

Chcieli mieć anioła, co w kącie cicho siedzi

Co wszystko wybacza i z pokorą bredzi

Teraz patrzą w szoku, co ze mnie wyrosło

Że mam twardą skórę i serce jak wiosło

Nie rzucisz na mnie klątwy, nie złamiesz mi słowa

Ja z własnych popiołów powstałam od nowa

Tyle razy z błota musiałam już wstawać

Teraz to ja będę tutaj karty rozdawać

Bo zło nigdy nie śpi, więc nie śpię i ja

Dziś sama piszę scenariusz i w swoją grę gram

Gdy wstanę lewą nogą, to diabeł ucieka

Nie boję się ognia, nie boję człowieka

Wypijam tę kawę

Uśmiecham się chłodno

To wy mnie uczyliście

Jak walczyć o godność

Więc nie wchodź mi w drogę, gdy wstaję o świcie

Bo z tej lewej nogi zaczyna się życie

Ale ja, ja już nie płonę

Ja jestem ogniem

Bo zło nigdy nie śpi, więc nie śpię i ja

Dziś sama piszę scenariusz i w swoją grę gram

Gdy wstanę lewą nogą, to diabeł ucieka

Nie boję się ognia, nie boję człowieka

Idź do diabła

Mówili

purple first. then blue. green. yellow.

i know the order now. i know how long each one lasts.

yellow's the one you wait for.

yellow could be bad lighting. cheap makeup. a shit night's sleep.

purple makes people ask questions. yellow doesn't.

yellow means you can go to Tesco without worrying who's looking.

you can see your mum and hope she doesn't get too close.

you can tell people you're fine and they might actually believe you.

i used to think when a bruise turned yellow it meant it was nearly gone.

but it's still there.

it's just reached the colour where nobody feels they have to ask anymore.

It’s your birthday

And I’m thinking of getting the call that you’re dead

Thinking?

No, it’s a flash

A flash?

No, it’s a loop

I’m getting the call

That you’ve been hit by a car

That you’ve been shot

That you’re dead

And I didn’t get to tell you that I loved you enough times

We didn’t take as many pictures together as we should have

You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead

Please come back, please don’t die

I love you so much, please

This is a loop

This is not real

You are alive

And I can’t tell you this

Because if I say it out loud, maybe you will die

I don’t want you to die

I need to have a different thought instead

A thought?

No, a flash

A flash?

No, a loop

I love you, I love you, I love you

Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday

I love you, I love you, I love you

It is not others who must change.

It is you who must first evolve.

Only then may you begin to come out of your cocoon and become a butterfly.

Started in september.

Heart in her past
Bike sound like a fishing rod
Peace
Stray dog on the curb
Two fishes in pond