In this season of my life I’ve found myself afflicted with the same struggle so many writers before me have come upon. The strange and imperfect jewel that is a growing understanding.
I’ve not lost the ability to see the things worth seeing or feel the things worth feeling (yet),
But the ways in which they feel worth saying stray farther and farther from me.
Nevertheless I see the value in trying.
Chronology seems loosened, the strike points of times hammer as it forges the sword of our lives, seem far harder to organize when I look back on it all. The monumental, mountainous, climactic moments of yesterday become peaks in a mountain range that fades in the rear view.
And with the context and clarity of hindsight, The less sharp ridges and waves get lost within themselves as time wears on.
They say it all makes sense eventually,
and that the somewhat predictable (and at the same time chaotic) ups and downs of our day to days give way to an organized and beautiful progression over time. A song that until all the instruments have joined the chorus, sounds like pure cacophony.
That’s the jewel, the front row ticket to life’s orchestra. There was a time when I would’ve had advice for the director. Now I seem only able to sit in awe at his mastery.
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 12:54 PM UTC
I haven’t felt a pressure like those eyes in such a long time,
A beady, untraceable, but most definitely knowing glance
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 11:05 PM UTC
It’s important to try to see the god in things,
I’m not really religious these days,
And I never studied theology in any capacity,
But,
God,
Religion in most senses,
as far as I can discern,
Is at the end of the day,
A source of peace,
A fire to warm our hands around,
A bench to take the burden from our knees,
Something we can use to rally ourselves on the inside,
and carry on.
And I’m not the first to say this,
But that’s why I see god in the eyes of a friend I haven’t spoken to in years and still knows me better than most I speak to daily,
In the sound of my niece's excited rushed voice as she tears open gifts on Christmas morning,
The inconsistent and creaky vibration of my tower fan as it stands watch over the otherwise silent darkness of my room at the end of a long day,
What is god to you?
Jan 28, 2024
Jan 28, 2024 at 9:41 AM UTC
As another year has ticked by,
This one was especially a blur,
And For a long stretch of it,
The days passed like breaths in an
anxiety attack,
Quick and sharp,
With little lasting impact,
I realized recently how much of my last year was spent toiling. Giving myself fully to something in the hope of being better again.
Carrying my candle,
Trusting the process.
In the end I’ve not a lot to show for it but **** did it feel good to feel a fire for something again. In some sort of roundabout way I ~Feel~ as though I’ve ~Felt~ very little at ~All~ this year. Which is a statement that marks this year as standing in stark contrast to the previous one, and is only true romantically.
I had a dream about cutting my hair,
And hating the results,
I googled the meaning and supposedly it can mean taking control of your life,
Or
Supposedly, that you’re having a hard time with a decision and your subconscious is telling you to think twice about it.
Among other, assumably equally applicable interpretations.
I think it’s because I have been thinking about cutting my hair a lot.
I’m not sure what the next year will hold,
I still warm my hands over the wick of my candle,
Hopeful as ever to see another year tick bye.
Dec 27, 2023
Dec 27, 2023 at 9:44 AM UTC
I used to write such beautiful things,
About such beautiful things,
On and on would go my enamored rambling,
Like the longest winded songbird on the years first Snowy morning,
My head would spin as I turned to take it all in,
The blur in my eyes as they dart from side to side could lead a Pagan to consider a God,
Each microsecond my eyes could process could’ve been framed and hung in a gallery,
Each with its own placard listing important details, noting the set and setting of each shock across the meat inside my skull,
I used to write such beautiful things,
About such beautiful things,
But a beautiful thing about those beautiful things,
Is that even if you close your eyes and do your best to ignore them,
Or lie to yourself and try to see them as ugly,
They are still there, waiting for you to peel your eyes back open,
And remind you how beautiful,
This whole thing is
Dec 4, 2023
Dec 4, 2023 at 11:49 AM UTC
It’s still such a conundrum,
The way it hurts to remember,
But to die at the the thought of forgetting
Nov 9, 2023
Nov 9, 2023 at 8:04 PM UTC
It’s been a long time,
And by now I’m mostly numb,
But still,
Watching you bleach the canvas,
Watching you clean all the stains,
Like a thief hiding every scrap of evidence,
Ridding your legacy of all our transgressions,
My throat tightens,
My eyes water,
My nose burns,
It’s fine,
Pinky promise,
I’ll keep my pieces safe for us,
Pinky promise.
Sep 7, 2023
Sep 7, 2023 at 12:11 PM UTC
I shut you out of my life as a last effort,
Some sort of dead man’s hand,
Now we don’t speak,
Now I write all the things I wish I could say to you here,
And hope maybe, you’ll see them,
And maybe you’ll read them in my voice,
And for just a second,
I’ll occupy your thoughts,
And you’ll think back to all the good times,
The way I do so often.
Jun 28, 2023
Jun 28, 2023 at 10:59 AM UTC
Ive stopped making poems and art out of everyone I encounter beyond the surface.
I’ve stopped making myself a Martyr to my own feelings,
I’ve stopped forcing gorgeous jewels upon the crown of regular people.
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 1:30 AM UTC
Its been a year,
and what a year its been.
thinking back on it all, its a dream really.
The skies were clear, the clouds rolled bye slow,
aside from some squalls barely visible from shore,
the sea was calm.
Everything changed for me in the spring.
It was 4 months of the most painful growth I've ever known,
during the brief moments of reprieve Id lay in beds of clovers, the flowers and grass embracing me like old friends.
Then the summer came,
it was hot, and rainy, and the sweat burned my eyes,
The cicadas screamed into the evening as they felt the sun for the fist time all year.
I fell hard and let myself rest. The blood from my hands ran a deep red, a reminder I was only human and the proof I was still so alive.
Jolting awake in the quiet fall mornings felt like the end of a loud heavy metal song.
The sudden and sharp juxtoposition was an unexpected but welcomed moment of quiet.
those sunrises were, crisp and the clouds were nowhere to be found. as the temperatures dropped The world turned an odd cheap sepia hue, like one of those tacky old timey photos you get on a family vacation to tennessee.
Winter seemed to clear away the clutter of it all.
What was so seemingly right and seemingly wrong, crystallized over night, politely frozen in time for me to take careful note of.
The voices of people I love swarmed my ears as the holidays rolled bye.
what a year its been,
my hair has grown so long,
my smile lines have grown deep,
I can hear the wind picking up outside,
my eyes are open wide,
facing forward, ready for the show,
as the storm rages on.
Mar 26, 2023
Mar 26, 2023 at 4:24 PM UTC