Is a man to feel guilt for having options?
For liking multiple persons at once?
For not having the devotion to one,
that he feels he fails to have for any?

He asks himself this more than he’d like.
Not out loud. Just late at night,
when he’s replaying conversations
and trying to decide what his heart meant.

He likes them—really likes them.
Different people, in different ways.
One makes him laugh like no one else.
Another sees through him like glass.
A third makes him feel safe,
but he’s not sure if that’s love
or just comfort he doesn’t want to lose.

He wonders if there’s something wrong with him—
that he can feel so much
and still feel unsure.
That none of them, alone, feels like enough.
Or maybe he just isn’t ready to give
what they deserve.

He doesn’t want to lie.
He doesn’t want to lead anyone on.
But how do you tell someone,
“I care about you deeply… but not only you”
without sounding selfish, or cruel?

Sometimes, he thinks love should be simpler.
Pick one.
Hold on.
Commit.

But he’s not sure if that’s honesty or just pressure.
Not sure if he wants that, or just thinks he should.
And the guilt—it doesn’t come from doing wrong,
but from not knowing what right even is.

So he stays quiet,
hoping time will bring clarity.
Or courage.
Or maybe enough loss
to force a choice.

And sometimes,
he isn’t even sure if he actually likes them
or if it’s just a moment,
a look,
a need to feel something
that got mistaken for affection.

He keeps asking himself,
“Do I like this person,
or do I just like how they make me feel?”
“Is this a crush, or is it me filling a blank space?”
Some days he’s certain.
The next, not at all.

It’s not about playing games.
It’s not about wanting more.
It’s about wanting to be sure,
and never quite getting there.

He doesn’t want to lie.
He doesn’t want to lead anyone on.
But how do you tell someone,
“I care about you deeply… but I don’t know if it’s real”
without hurting them—or making them doubt everything?

He wishes there were a test.
A checklist.
Something objective to prove
what he feels is true.
Is that weak?
Maybe.
But he’s tired of pretending
that feelings follow rules.

And how would you live your life?
When no rules exist, how could you be
Where would you check your views
To whom would you run for clues?

You lay rules for all life; to live
A grid line on what and how to be
Not an inch your ideals bend
And no broader your wits extend.

But I don't just mean that you're strange
Every reach in history builds your range
But break your limits for once,
Let your instincts run amok; advance.

An outdated rule,
So many written by fools.
Once again,
A familiar attempt to suppress.
When power is weakly held,
Those who could claim it,
Are weakened.
Yet, no hand keeps down the spirit,
No chain nor cell.
What we long for,
We shall have.
In the face of desecration,
Flames must rise,
From the ashes of the Absolutarian.

If electric bicycles
Are not technically vehicles;
Then they are subject
To the same rules, protections, and treatments
As that of pedestrians & traditional cyclists.

If electric bicycles
Are technically vehicles;
Then they are subject
To the same laws, accommodations, and treatments
As that of operators & traditional motorists.

You can have elements of either
Without the full embrace of one,
But this creates confusion.
Not only on the part of the individual,
But legislatively & judicially.

You weren't supposed to do that
There were rules, guidelines
You can't just waltz in here
And break every word
No
You were given instructions
How to handle with care
There were expectations
You agreed before entering
Yet
You didn't just trash the place
You left devastation, a mess
Breaking every piece, every rule
You weren't supposed to break me

I've learned that when times are hard,
The healthiest thing to do,
Is to cut yourself off from everyone,
Until your very last bond fades away.
But that's an example of how,
Not everything we learn is true,
Or at least should be followed,
As if it were a brand new rule.

~
It should be stark
and unprovoked,
yet fight to conceal.

It should justify
its intrusion
by layering
new narratives:
each a wonderland,
each a poison.

It should spring
like a cat,
cloud like doubt,
evaporate like
cigarettes at dawn.

It should backlight
truth, fictionalize
history.

It should undo
reality, drift into abyss
with the Lady of Shalott.

It should lead
the march into the sea,
it should die gracefully.
~