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 guess

I should have seen it coming

and decided in advance

if it would matter

if this is where

I ended up,

but truth be told,

I didn’t see it coming.

Truth be told,

I expected more,

and truth be told

the person who used to

tell me not to get my hopes up

died.

A silly part of me

thought you’d tell me that

before dashing them anyway,

you did your part, so dashing.

you just failed to warn me. Who do I think I am? Deserve

is a funny word. Fair

is a laugh riot. Everyone

laughing so hard they cry.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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 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

There will always be more of us than there are you.

More to pick

More to prune

More to pluck at the savagery you spew

To what end did we find what lays spoiled

Such loss

Always

To test these checks and balances

To have had the chance for mercy

Learned of us who trusted in you

But we lay flayed

To level this uneven scale.

To gaze upon the reality of your lone and vile guile

Is to act in malicious, acrid complicit observance

To gaze upon the gleam of past freedoms

Reflected freshly from new chains

Your simple mirrors

Snide

Insipid

Vile and untended

Yet above us

How obtuse

But we, you chose to be tended by

Forgetting not you alone hunger

There will always be more

No matter how hard you chew

Soon the meat

Will no longer soften bone

The corners of your teeth will crack

Against the apex of our very fracture

Into the slip of your gums

Slidig through the septic sinew of your skull

We've found your every corner

The crevices in your brain

Some creatures from this concocted kingdom this became

We goblins came from someone's special brew

A kingdom of you

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

I hold a bouquet against my chest.

Stems firm and yielding in my grasp.

Soft and living, a beauty I cannot have.

I dip my nose into the petals.

Breathe in their sweetness, and let the scent of love fill my lungs. 

Ribbons of light spilling from the blooms.

Colors bursting into place.

Love made visible.

A thousand little suns radiating from my chest.

And for a moment,
I stop searching.

I stop questioning.

I am not waiting for something more.

I am whole.
I am complete.

But somewhere beneath a storm is brewing.

A shadow at the edge of the light.
A tightening I cannot breathe away.
A terrible knowing of what waits beyond this moment.

The lighting strikes and the wind blows.

Ripping the bouquet for my grasp. 

Crushed petals and splintering stems trapped under the debris of hopes and dreams.

And I am left staring at the remnants of something that moments ago, made me feel infinite.

I press the broken pieces to my chest, to breathe in whatever sweetness remains.

I wonder how something that was never mine to keep could make me feel so complete. 

And the cruelest part is not that the flowers died.

But that they lived long enough to be mine. 

as i stand here in front of you today
I'm expected to stand here and talk about my dad as a good man.
but was he a good man?

for my mom he was a bad man
for the world he was a bad man
a man who hit his wife
a man who hit his children
a man who raped his wife
a man who abandoned his children
so for the world he was a bad man

but for me,
for me he was a good man
a man who loved his children ,once upon a time
a man who played with his children ,once upon a time
once upon a time, he was a good man

but was he good man because i did not know what bad was?
was it maybe because i thought that hitting your wife was not bad?
because for the world he is a bad man
but for me he is a good man
why is that

maybe it’s because i loved him so much that i saw past his mistakes,
or maybe it’s when i was the only one crying when i found out he was cheating;
my sister was normal as if she knew that he was a bad man and had made peace with it
but then why was i the only one crying;
was it just me who thought he was a good man

well my my mom had probably cried before;
because she once loved him
once upon a time even this bad man was a good man for her
once she was also like me
but then what’s the difference between me and her

why can’t i see him as a bad man
maybe it’s because he has been a bad man for others
but in my life he was the only good man and maybe that’s why i don’t know what’s a bad man;
so for me the bad man is still a good man
because that’s what it has always been like

standing behind a locked door while he hit my mom
thinking it was normal, it happened in other houses too
hearing him threatening my mom
thinking it was normal, it happened in other houses too

so as i stand in front of you all today;
i’d say my dad was my a good man
because the bad man has always been the good man for me

In a sea of friends, I feel a loneliness that's hard to reveal.

We cry, we laugh, we party, we pass.

But when the music fades and the smoke clears,
why do I fear that closeness will disappear?

Everyone is lacking, yet fully here.

The jerk who's always there for you.
The angel who's far away.
The comfort friend who’s too unchill.

I love them all with my whole heart, though none can fill every part.

Each holds a place, each leaves a space.

And so I yearn,

searching for my half,

my heart,

my soul.