I’ve been the storm, I’ve been the tree,
Breaking down and breaking free.
The deeper pain, the higher climb—
My soul’s grown wiser over time.

I don’t just bloom—I rise, I bend,
A story still I’ve yet to end.

"She is absolutely fine," they said,
"only being sappy"
"Anxiety and depression are nothing—
But an act of madness."


But whatever I do—
It is not done to be happy.
I am just finding my way
to escape from this sadness.

I.      the smell of sad

odorless colorless like *****, similar familiar sidewinder effects,
musty invasive, it has no specificity, no locale centrale, well closeted,
saddling sadding, in place, plain sighted better to toy our lives,
pervades persists, worse lingers, impervious to sprays
and even everyone’s good literature (even Will S’s),
good wishes good intentions and mood prayers
to the nearest lay god
on duty at the spiritual emergency room on weekends,
still stink

don’t think that this poem is for you; solely for the writer,
your doppelgänger ******, your mirror’s inside hiding out place,
I,
who has your sadness smell into my skin cells creepily crept
waft woof and warp wet weft-woven
into the sad receptacles hidden in my
head’s cubbies and the palms of my tree hands-covering face

there are cures so wonderful and inexpensive but unavailable
at the local Rite Aid, though they are the right aid recoverable,
so closer than close, so close that the internist
cannot prescribe them because he must inject himself first
because the live bacteria in the antidote can **** all

this odor lays down bamboo-strong roots;
to eradicate you must dig down deep,
six feet perhaps more, with heavy earth moving equipment,
uproot at the source, follow sad always all-the-way down and the root
great god gone,
but the saddest truth
stench odor yet present

When I was a kid,
emotions were
monotonous.
A candy was
just a candy.
Happiness came
fast and full.
I didn’t wonder
who gave it,
or why.
I just smiled
and ate.
Now,
I think too much
about hearts,
about hands,
about faces,
about the things
people want
when they give.
Now, a candy feels
like a trap.
Love feels like a deal.
And the world?
Too heavy
for joy to be simple.

Did you ever make it back?
Did you see everything you wanted to see?
Carve your name into the seven wonders?
Summited Everest and made it your home?
Maybe you flew into the sun
Decided it was where you need to be
Shed human form and let your soul take over
If you did make it back, and you roam like Cain
Come find me
Let me know
If you became the woman
You always wanted to be.

For the petson who gave me these words

<>
Love is:
A multi celled organism, roughly round,
but not of necessity circular,
(circular love, easily shift shapes. BE wary)
It is, both fluid and rock hard concrete,
Overly defined and/or a deconstructed aerie breeze,
unmeasurable, immeasurable,
Except for the speed of its
Arrival
and the
hurricane of its
Departure,
Unseen and the Unsound,
so soon disappeared

Surely it is sensory, for I have witnessed,
this L0VE notional I have
seen, tasted,
heard, envisioned
even actually
felt


And yet,
a grown poet shed tears,
Upon completion of a love poem,
And recipient of said poem weeps without term

getting through another day.
and the day after.,
but precision counts,

It is  the
knot of not,
the ******* exhaustion of the absence thereof,
the dulling that that hopefully
takes the edge off the blade,
but does
not,

Erased when open eyes & declare awake,
for
the duller the day gets,
the more the blade cuts ragged deeper,
its horrific edge
scratches like broken nails,
bite like jagged teeth

Stars ***** you deep,
Hugs squeeze your breath out, away,
Dreams disappear, the sweet taste, retained,
fain but faint on the edges of the tongue,
blurry but there,
silently reverberating,
and the memory of the sensation is never entirely erased,


but
getting through the day,
'tis sufficient,
even adequate
for the love of hope
the love of love,
no matter what you deny,
is the tablet swallowed unconsciously,
so getting through to the next day
is the unlocking key

That was then, this is now. The past is the past,
The pain was a storm, but it didn’t last.
I’ve healed in the sunlight, grown through the rain,
Turned all of my losses to lessons, not pain.

I’m walking in power, with peace in my chest,
No longer chasing what wasn’t my best.
The future feels golden, I’m finally free—
Becoming the version I’m proud now to be.

Sam Jennings:
“What’s coming must be new — must be strange and fitful, awkward and passionate. A lover rediscovering the world, confused by its tactless kisses, yet charmed, endlessly but
its dents and imperfections, its sadness and its religion,
the dimples where its ancient smile
~~~~~~~
Oh, how I unabashedly covet his words,
Oh, how I wish all lovers here,
the would be lovers,
the never~me-woulda~coulda~crying when & why,
dinged and damaged by
first or failed prior attempts,
the oft heard discouraging words,
or worse the chilled silence of ghosting

The new romanticism,
colored by technology, damaged by the quiet disappearance of
dropouts hiding behind untrue names,
hid behind blackened screens,
and loss of shame & embarrassment at and of
the sadness that pervades the religion of these days of
lesser actual romantic love

Embrace the dents and the imperfections,
avoid those who present measuring cups of their attractives listed in priority order qualifications,
indeed
realize that it is within the dimples and smiles,
most genuine.
lies the yellow brick road
to the red rubies,
adorning the crown we seek,
of good love, true love,
with all of its accompanying
imperfections
unhid inside the dings, dents,
even inside the dimples and smiles.
and your own starry scars,
for who among can free admit,
it's imperfections that are
the most inviting
to only love poets

Like a hat,
That never had a head,
I lay upon a double bed.

A melancholy feeling of loss,
We are the riddles
That we came across.

Thoughts keep running in my head
Never getting tired
Obsessive and  despairing
Scarring and impairing
Just when I think I can’t go any lower
I get buried one more foot under

You Got me running around like
I'm in a CARNIVAL MAZE,
Looking all DISORIENTED,
DISTRACTED and DAZED,
I Don't know where to go,
I'm not sure what to do,
Keep running into these DEAD ENDS,
I don't have the SLIGHTEST CLUE.
I'm stuck in this MAD HOUSE,
I need to find the WAY OUT, but
If I stay on the RIGHT PATH,
I'll find the CORRECT ROUTE!!!


B.R.
Date: 03/24/2023