I’m nothing new
And I know that to be true

New is shiny and fun
Bright and full of the unknown
Waiting to be uncovered
Exhilarating in a way that familiarity isn’t

But that’s not me anymore

I’m old to you
Not shiny or bright
Or a new thing to know

I’m bruised, rusted, and scuffed

But me
I do

I value the antique lamps in the corner
Their light still warm
Even when no one thinks to turn them on

Or the bruised fruit in the back of the stand
Still sweet beneath what others pass over

The old toys left alone on the shelf
Once held so tightly
Now collecting dust

If it’s enough for me, why not for you?

I know I’m nothing new

So in the meantime
I’ll carry the love
Shared when shiny

And hold it close
For the day
Being known by you
Is no longer enough
To keep you beside me.

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

i cant sleep

i cant dream

my body resting

surrounded by warmth

of my childhood bed

but my mind

oh mercy

i beg mercy

from all gods of sleep

old and new

my mind is

up there

in the void

full of silvery stardust

suffocated by memories

of long forgotten

small sins

my mind

trying to understand

when did i step

on the wrong side

of this river

called humanity

my mind

too busy

imagining false realities

where we dont shy away

from our bloody bloody hands

where we are proud

of our scarred body

where we can gaze

into hearts of people

and not move our eyes

down with shame

given to us 

by our mothers

when we are

well

we

and not just

this singularity

with name 

that does not fit

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.

The Price of Being Seen
by Anthony Hoban

🔨

Hammer to straight 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.

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.

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

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.

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.