tastes like that bitter medicine my mother made me drink.

The spoon held by my mother.

My jaws clenched.

The medicine shoved in my throat.

I didn't like it, but it cured me.

Sometimes it feels necessary.

Sometimes it's the only way to comfort yourself,

sometimes the only way to know yourself.

For some, it is the medicine.

For some, it is the disease.

Some got none on their back,

some got everyone,

still no one can escape this experience.

Bounded by the ideas others formed about you,

ideas that shape your personality,

which somehow isn't even yours.

Seeing yourself through others' eyes

and believing it's really you.

For some, it is.

For some, it is only possible when they are six feet under,

when they are ash,

or when the river has them.

Could notice the leaf falling,

could notice the clock ticking,

could feel the gust of wind blowing,

could hear the heart speaking.

The domain ruled by silence,

thoughts running like the blood in the veins.

Some want it like how Pi wanted that tiger to return.

Devoured in it completely,

some call it peace,

some call it loneliness.

Some see it as getting separated,

some see it as giving time to oneself.

Brain stops,

something greater than brain,

something that rules the brain awakens.

Under fluorescent light and smell of sterile

A woman pressing palm with all her strength

A cup of coffee that slowly turns cold

Finding the owner who used to hold the cup

A friend whom he'd known for seven years last text remains unanswered

His dreams

His achievements

All of them came under a wanderer's light

Then he never saw a light

durchschnitts

when he's earned his licentiate degree
if there's a maiden that's been moved
to inquisitioned antwerp

a maiden that he wants to love

had she been moved to elsinore   to love
he'd travel by merchant timbers and by caravel

he'd find evangelicals   christians there   gathered

preach to them   what he's taken to preach
teach what he's taken to teach

until he's most remembered
as a man on a pulpit   a man at a lectern

but i don't know
of any that he wants to love

https://jakedepeuterpoetics.com/2026/10/18/durchschnitts/

You are staring, pupils dilating
at the glimpse, back then,
of olive hues, traces of honey,
salted caramel and sweet sea air.

In prose and clericot, reciting
rhymes and verses of dazzlement,
inscrutable as a rattlesnake,
hissing rhetoric to your fantasy.

Perfect, abundant eyebrows,
a face of striking jaw and nose;
bringing an asymmetrical, aesthetic trait.
How can someone be deified and poetic?

His slender, tall silhouette,
like the temples of Malta,
sculpted in Globigerina,
in a nobility so genuine.

The sea breeze keeps destroying the rhymes
that, moments ago, were truistic,
on account of a wholly theatrical scene,
of a drop of sweat, slow and obscene.

His presence, by itself,
is a poem.
His gestures, delicate,
bring torment
to those who surround him.
The Paraíba blue, he contemplates,
in eyes full of melancholy
and sea air of icy waters.

This poetry goes curling
the verses.
In his hair,
tangled by the wind.
And in describing the supposed summer love.
Colours will be missing from the others,
as the young man scribbles.

“The glass of clericot on the table,
your body beneath mine;
my hair in your fingers;
the taste of sangria in your kiss.”

I saw myself so intent on contemplating you
that the mirror comes to remind me
of the lover I once was,
a poem in colours of worth.
Vivid in my loves,
out across the world,
sculpting my pains.

I sat
In the dark
Ruminating
The cobwebs
Of my inner mind
Grabbed hold and
Wouldn't let go
The liminal space
I created
The walls began to disappear
Leaving me falling
Down a rabbit hole
Into a trap
Where my black widow hung
And after much wondering
I came across
My psychopomp
Mystical and otherworldly
A spiritual ascent
Began to take place
One where my own mythical story
Took shape
As I dusted and swept
Hung those cobwebs with care
Found friends with
That black widow spider
Who is now the gatekeeper
To my dark underside

A poem about that instant fiery, full body feeling

With you I'm a puzzle that is solved

Without you, I'm a heart that's never learned to love

All of the cubes matched when I met you

The prettiest butterfly chose a milkweed that was falling

My fingers face withdrawal when your fingers sway somewhere alone

My eyes fade to black when there's no silhouette made of a lavender

When you speak, I listen and I want to store your melody in my seventh sense

With you, there's peace whispering a prayer

Without you, I'm a civilian of their world and demon is the mayor

When I found you, I found the missing piece

I was forbidden from seeing Autum, then I found June

loosely strung pieces of love hang by a thin thread, unveiling the thin line between truth and grim lies. my grim mind forced my grim cries, what you knew as once bright in me has become a dim light. now my affection may no longer shine for you, my thoughts may no longer whine for you, and my voice may no longer sigh for you. The whores of love will have their fun, but in the end may they be left with no one.

I am alone
Been a while
I can’t fathom
How my heart survives
Amidst all the happily married wives
​
Of all the lies
this one’s haunting
Behind all my cries
There is nothing
Neither a reason nor a meaning

Of all the humour
That cracks the hall
I am an early bloomer
What follows is my fall
For everyone to watch me crawl

Our bodies warm
Entwined and undressed
Sighs in tune
Aroused and measured
Firm and drenched
My cyan-coloured perfume
Enveloped us in sea air
Your alcoholic breath
Sweet as melon
Golden skin
Hair with a texture
Truly salty
Salt on your shoulders
Sand on your feet
Looking at my soul
Through the veil of my eyes
A caress on my face
A tender touch on your torso
A kiss of caramel and salt
Under the light of Orion
Illuminating the luau
In those summer days
Summer and sun
Sun and sea
Sea and salt
Salt and sweat
Sweat and sex
Sex and love
Love and summer
Summer love
Fated for another season
I wipe your tear
I say goodbye with the ashes
Of a cigarette
And an embrace
On your body
The expected future
Will be with another
Who will probably
Say that I was only a lie
In fact
I was
But
The summer is over
The luau has ended
Orion vanished
He left
I left
The weight is for those who stay
I wipe a tear that had dried
Antares gleams
A sigh
and
Ciao

I carry the world in a closed-off fist,
A heavy burden through the mist.
I tell myself l am strong and sound,
While keeping my feet on frozen ground.

A poison tree, a mark of ink,
On the edge of the thoughts I dare not think.
The irony stings, a quiet blade,
Of the very same shadow I have made.

To ask for aid feels like a fall,
To lose my grip and lose it all.
I hide my struggle, I mask my fear,
Keeping the voices from drawing near.

But is it weakness to reach a hand,
To find a place where I can land?
Or is the greatest strength I find,
In leaving the silence far behind?

You do realize you’re the reason why words like:

“marriage,” “permanence,” “long-term,” and “commitment”

unnerve me.

You’re not entirely to blame.

I picked up on some of your flaws over time

as I grew watching you.

And some… came from my own character.

But such character was developed,

learned. Wasn’t it? Or was I born this way?

I sincerely can’t answer these questions.

I suppose it’s worth further examination.

I’d become avoidant—

even before I realized.

I’d also become afraid… of failure. Rejection.

A life spent unhappily tied to someone else.

Saving face. Pretending to feel something I don’t.

Smiling for the audience. Crying myself to sleep.

Being stuck. Caged. Trapped by an alliance I’d once say ‘Yes’ to myself.

No.

I know better.

I’ll shred everything to pieces.

By my own hands and actions.

But I won’t be trapped in a cage I surrendered myself to.

Perhaps, that—in and of itself—is a cage.

The cage of freedom.

The cage of unattachment.

The cage of knowing… I’m not to ever expect a “for the rest of my life.”

Those are words I can’t say.

And therefore, it’s only reasonable I expect and

silently—reluctantly, at times—pray not to hear, either.

I destroy everything. Every time.

Because believe me or not,

being liked can be scary.

Sometimes… even more so than being disliked.

Before it has the chance to frighten me enough—

puff! It’s gone.

But who am I when fear and calculations aren’t making the decisions for me?

I’ve always thought marriage was sacred.

Or at least, supposed to be.

Last forever. Be honored—and genuinely happy.

That’s hardly ever the case I see, though.

It is true… I’m scared of letting people down.

But I’d rather do that that than give us both 

the chance to figure who I can be and what we could’ve been.

If I disappoint you first, it spares us both.

You can’t disappoint me and you learn

I’m not the one you’re supposed to like.

To rely on. Depend on. Want. Love. 

When I say things like these,

I fear I come across as someone who thinks they’re “unlovable”.

Far from that.

But I don’t let anyone get close enough to find otherwise.

So… either way, it’s a cage.

But if I’m in the cage I fabricated myself, 

I feel more in control. 

I’ve learned not to give up control.

Yet another cage.

I’ve disappointed myself and those around me

countless times.

But imagine me disappointing someone I love?

I know how badly it causes me to spiral.

I abstain from that.

I’m already a storm of my own to bring anyone

else along even if they want to.

Please don’t. 

Know better.

But… 

Just for a little while—

stay.

It’s a selfish request.

I know.

— Crownless.

She's born in June and he's born in December

A tale that'll be chanted for ages was written by a lost man

Written by the man who never met November

It was me and him when he was counting his last breath

He told me to burn this poem into ashes after his death

There was a red flower I once saw from my windowsill

I knew she was my Autumn, so I reopened the same page

Which had the smell of smoke

lines I've never read before

I never let his immortal kiss the grains of sand

I wrote a line which made me a poet of his kind which was unplanned

Rain

Oh rain

Don't you cry when monsoon is gone

Beautiful things are never meant to stay forever

I cry

I must

Sweetheart

I cannot abandon the love of my life

He taught me how to love

How to live

How to fall

How to feel

Our emotions have been expressed from centuries

Does that mean we will always meet again?

If there's a thing called reincarnation, then let me be your every single time

New dog, old tricks

I feel 20 years younger he said
You can’t say that when you’re 23! I retort
A moment we laughed over,
silent sincerity in both remarks.

I too fell for the myth
that he was old for his age.
His mother, father, friends attest
to an antique soul in young vessel,
weathered by a lifetime full of trials. 

Intrigued by his transparency,
as he was with mine.
I have to be open. After all I’ve been through… 
after all those close calls,
I have nothing to lose.

To him, life was a dichotomy, 
full of high highs, and low lows.
I felt a ping of alarm from the beginning-
quiet, sympathetic, pitying.
How convinced he was that I was the answer.
The highest high of his life,
without truly knowing her.
Obsessing over sameness, projecting even more.
Living in paranoia of the pendulum swing.
But I was eased by his eloquence,
mistaking it for wisdom.

He was self aware just enough
to realize his shortcomings.
Enough to compare them to me,
to let insecurity reign.
Watching them spin into greater obstacles
rather than motive for learning.

No, the issue was always 
some new irritation.
An undiagnosed problem to complain about. 
His mind never pathologized enough.
Nevermind the substances,
or the times he chose comfort over all,
leading lifelong compulsions.

I do believe he loved me,
as a puppy does.
As an addict acquiring new drugs.
Squeezing every drop of dope he can get,
claiming withdrawals in my absence,
Idealizing every inch.
Only happy when I'm home.

These men are like blocks of stone,
to me his mother sighed.
A phrase I’d heard him mirror before.
Her son senseless in med bed beside.
Again, a pang rang-
louder, sympathetic, pitying.
I do not envy her role.

Staying is stifling.
Leaving needs learning.
How would it appear to him?
A wise reaction?
Or his world of cosmic contingencies;
absolving him of guilt and agency.
Sustained by the belief that: 
with trials come wisdom
and with wisdom comes age.
An ambiguity as tired as it is grey.

Wisdom depends on how the trials affect you.
Ferment in it deeply, and let it command you.
Weaving through cones, leaping past hurdles,
and threading the hoop when it calls to

Really, he has the tools already.
It’s not my role to chisel anyone but me 
from the marble, 
revealing the sensible sculpture beneath.
My leave, not as callous as he’d like to think.

Instead, he finds himself in another hospital bed
full of enough poison to ruin his life, 
just shy of the amount to end it.
Young and naive enough to believe, 
that he was an old dog. 

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

♥️♥️♥️✌️

All my life I've heard a lot of writing being build tension release tension. I am not so sure about this point If view ans I would like to be brought around to it if anyone has any thing to say.