I know you've heard of RINOs,
Perhaps you've heard of DINOs,
Some Christians are called CINOs,
Are those men mere MINOs.
Women become WINOs
(the irony doesn't escape me thouogh)
Humans evolved to HINOs;
Friends are friends
I'll never call them  FINOs.
Avoid lovers who are LINOs,
And teachers who are TINOs.
Could a Jew be a JINO?

But make no mistake:
Terrorists are Terrorists,
Jihadists are Jihadists,
Haters are Haters,
War mongers are war mongers,
Liars lie.

It's We thePeople, PINOs.

i want
to be
touched
in
a
way
that sends
little
vibrations
down
my
spine

remind
me
again
that
i’m alive

bite into me
like
a piece
of
fruit

taste me

let my
flavor
dribble
down your
chin
and tell me
how
sweet i am

lick
my
lips
to
moisten
them

send me
to the moon

make me see stars

make me
forget
just
for
a moment
that my
sad
little
world
is on fire

i’ll
show you
what’s inside
if you
promise
not to
hide
or cry
or run
or fight

i want
to be
seen
for what
i truly
am
in the light

let your
eyes
set me
free
and we’ll
see
things
together
in a new way
for
the
first time

this is just
a precursor
to what you will experience
if you’re around me
on a regular basis
i have days
where i am
just up
up
and
away

but then
i have days
where i am down,
down,
down

and then
i have days
where i’m up,
down,
up,
down,
right,
left,
sideways,
circles,
vibrations,
lost sight,
who am i,
where am i,
what am i even doing here,
what’s the point,
is life even real,
is this a simulation,
do i actually breathe,
am i just unknowingly on the Truman Show,
has anything ever existed,
do i exist right now,
what time is it,
why does my face itch,
what’s wrong with me,
what or who even are you,
where’d you come from,
where have you been all my life?

anyway,
i’m medicated.

who knows
if i’m being treated
for the right ****?
i’m still
nuttier than
a nutty buddy,
and i’ve been told by close friends
that i’m their
“nutty buddy”
but they really
don’t know
how accurate
that is

i’m just working on music,
while smoking
a lot
of ****,
drinking…
my usual amount of *****,
and thinking
about the past,
the present,
and the future
while trying
to make sure
i push
the less important things
out of the way
while i sort through my ****

and, by the way….

ég elska þig ❤️

i love you
in icelandic

we’re just
two pieces
of ****
waiting for
our turn
to get flushed
down the toilet

two unhinged
weirdos
communicating
through poetry
and thoughts
that aren’t quite
complete

and maybe there
are still pieces
missing
and this picture
can’t be
fully seen
for a while

but ******
*******
or not,
****!
you make
me smile

and when i look
up at the moon
and he’s smiling
too
and it’s happening
while i’m
thinking of you

the fork in the road
makes me hungry
and i’m trying to figure
out what
i need
to satisfy this rumble
in my tummy
i can’t have
my cake
and eat it too
but i
don’t care much
for cake anyway
i’m more of a pie
kinda gal

An apology isn't an explanation
It took me until now to get it.
It's upsetting how blind I am
to my own hypocrisy.

I've always wanted acceptance
and felt it was an essential need,
I'd break down each time
My parents couldn't apologize

They'd bring up excuse after excuse,
"It's my belief," "I'm not wrong," "this is my side..."
I hated them for this
But had my own way of doing the same thing.

Does this mean I'm the narcissist?
I'm the selfish, arrogant. awful person
I saw reflecting back at me
Through my family?

These thoughts creep up on me again and again,
They make me want to crawl under a rock,
Become dust and eventually drift away
at least in the wind I could change.

Shame encircles me
It's a cloudy fog that blurs everything,
Making it harder to see reality
I run inside my mind and hide in a dream.

I am a master at romanticizing!
I might even avoid you to interact with a fantasy,
My mind likes to protect me by airbushing things,
even though what I want is to live authentically

Every moment that I'm not present
Is a lost opportunity to change my mindset.
I'm trying to push past my negative thoughts
and ground myself but I feel so stupid.

I want an identity.

These are confessions I can never send.
Because they blatantly won't understand
and that is something I need to get,
They don't care for me enough to accept the ways they hurt me and say sorry.

They are hypocrites,
Because they want me to stay weary.
They want me to always let go and cry alone.
They don't care if around them I'm woeful.

Mom,
You always said I was in the wrong,
Cleaning and chores were our only "bond"
You never chose me unless you could brag.

Dad,
You broke my heart,
You'd catch me when I'd fall
But never stuck up for me in the end.  

Mom chooses to make me a villain,
All I wanted was her acceptance
but she sees me as a sinner who's selfish,
I should put my pain aside and pretend I'm good.

I will be left to wonder forever,
Why my pain doesn't matter
In comparison to my sister,
Why am I less accepted when I'm in pain?

Dad loves me because he sees himself in me.
I look like him, we share a hobby
but growing up I believed that was the only thing he loved about me
Because one moment he'd be there, but would runaway when I needed him most.

Alone, he would listen,
He would say he'd help me
But in front my mom he was different.
Suddenly, what we said in the car was insignificant.

I'm an adult who doesn't know her needs, wants, and likes
Because I spent my life trying to be accepted.
No one taught me how to accept myself,
Or how to know what I need or want.

If someone cared unconditionally,
I clinged to them.
I hoped they'd never leave,
because I never got that from my family.

Now I'm in therapy, crying in every session
That I'm hurt again because of them,
Or hurt by myself because
I don't know who I am.

I sit and wait for the call to begin
I ponder what I'll say
or if I'll learn anything
While the dread settles in

I don't like myself right now.
I see patterns and look for answers
I'll think I might be getting closer to closure,
but in the end, only  assumptions are found.

"Why do you need to know?" She asks me.
Because I feel like a well.
The Sun appears and I become dried out,
a storm rumbles in and I'm overflowing.

People visit me rarely
each time they do, I become more empty.
They come to me because they get something
They don't stop and sit with me, they want what I function.

Sometimes they paint me,
or add a layer to my shell
They might gift me an accessory
because for them, it will help.

It makes them feel better,
when how I look brings them comfort,
They think everything changed
But I'm still a well they never visit to connect.

I'm a well that sits on a hill,
They think I'm out of reach
but I'm here, left out
Someday I'll be the well that fell.

I don't think we're friends anymore
I'll stop coming around and banging on your door,
It's ******* days where I miss you more
But the thing I can't take is how different we are.

I value consistency in communication
You value space and a lot of distance
Both things are valid and I'm not hurt by that,
But it's hard for me to maintain our connection

Especially when there are contradicting statements.
I know how hard talking can be
But it hurts to be cancelled on so frequently
Especially while feeling full of hope for where our friendship can someday, be

I understand the need for space,
Endless trauma dumping was such a waste.
If there's anything I regret, it's being a pity case
It's a shame I can't go back and still know our history to date

But I guess that's fate,
I can't go back to undo my mistakes.
I can only move forward
And know myself better

When I would ramble to you
I didnt know the power of the letters
I wrote endlessly to you
only wanting to feel better.

I think there was a time when things between us were good
Where we knew eachother and had dreams, as kids should
Somewhere, sometime, some month or week
Things changed between us, something changed in me.

I don't like who I am with you,
but I miss the fun we had and dreams we planned,
Sometimes I wish they'd still come true
But I have a feeling they won't because you don't trust me and I don't trust you.

I awaken mornings feeling upbeat,
Praying my prayers set like concrete.
But No!
This repetitive routine has no soul.

Perhaps I'm praying wrong.
Perhaps He prefers a song,
A Hallelujah chorus
To **** of the Anti-Christ.
(but the Creature lives... it ***** up all our hopes).

I'll pray again tonight:

Now I lay me down to sleep.
And pray that God won't willfully keep
That blakened spot he calls his soul,
Dispatched to Hell for our repose.

If not this week,
Then next.
If not this year,
Then next.
              
This year.
                  Next year.
Some year.
                  Not never.

What is time? Space?
Will it matter?

Why do I restart my life once a year?
Restrict myself from growing,
Whenever conflict appears
I'm not passionate about anything
Restarting is easier than keeping on.
Even though I just want to be done
I start over