I can write about twelve of them
but not about one
Three go to sadness
one goes to fun
one goes to anger
one goes to idiots
one goes to rush
two go to happiness
one goes to floaters
one goes to stoicism
the one I can't write about
is Joy- it's always hidden
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 8:13 PM UTC
what a waste of time
fun in the moment
Joy can not climb
love is a hill
go down from the bedroom and read
are you listening still
love is a skill
best in mediation
like a drug, prescribed by some shadowy, scrunching, salesman
bent on levitation
what a waste of time
all alone and on your own
moan moan
what a waste of time
Apr 14
Apr 14, 2026 at 8:45 PM UTC
"For I am going to do something in your days
that you would not believe,
even if you were told."
Some fight to be remembered.
Some slip,
and tumble downwards.
The path of the rough hill-
of jagged thistle.
that they plow through
and blow thistle to us all
a pain we must remember better then a fight.
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 6:53 PM UTC
On Turning her up in her Nest with the Plough
Wee, sleekit, cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie,
O what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I *** be laith to rin an’ chase thee
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
I’m truly sorry man’s dominion
Has broken nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
‘S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin’ wi’ the lave,
And never miss’t!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin’:
And naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin’
Baith snell an’ keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste
An’ weary winter comin’ fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.
That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter’s sleety dribble
An’ cranreuch cauld!
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft a-gley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promised joy.
Still thou art blest, compared wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, oh! I backward cast my e’e
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 8:50 PM UTC
i know you probably won't see this
but i just wanted to say
thank you.
thank you for reading with me
thank you for being obsessed
with the same books i am
thank you for telling me your weird theories
that i've already come up with
thank you for getting me through every day
thank you for still being here
to help me through everything
i hope i can help you
when you need it
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 8:46 PM UTC
in the time of the perfect map
the sails have been set
but I don't know where I'm going yet
over the waves I float
as the map tells me more
not daring yet, to reach for my oar
for if my oar hits the ocean wrong
or if my eagerness too strong
gone, gone with the map
gone, gone with the peace
gone, gone is the silence, my centerpiece
across the strait, perhaps
is a perfect golden isle
but some other will find it soon
as I follow the file
what could be forgiven
if i threw the map into
the deep depths of the water
from the deepest solitude?
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 8:15 PM UTC
But such a feeling
Can not be put into words.
So why should I try?
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 8:26 PM UTC
The first spring rain
patters softly on the glass
until a quiet settles
with no gradual courtesy
and all you hear
is a faraway gutter
carrying all winter's ice and snow away
and a drawling fan
of constant hope
Mar 12
Mar 12, 2026 at 4:35 PM UTC
The man seems only happy to explain
"In our world"
he said, glancing quickly at the judge
"we don't let those people meet with others"
He pointed at a group of white-clad men in the corner
"These scientists have found it shuts them down quick,
quick and easy thats what I like to say.
Just gotta take everything they love"
The bald man laughs.
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 4:16 PM UTC
There's a curtain between us, me and you
So what else could I do?
but build it up
till the red bricks stretch to the white clouds
and you can't tell them apart.
What happened to my people on the other side?
What happened since we had to hide
from their yacht club?
Their towering windows from here to the shroud?
and you can't tell it apart.
I had to break the windowpane to build the wall
Are they still standing tall
in their gilded dust?
My tongue was salted, cut, and disallowed
and you can't tell us apart anymore.
We are the white clouds
We are the bluebirds
They are the red wall
They are the black blur.
and you can't tell us apart anymore.
We are the mighty
They are the proud
We are the ready
They are the loud.
and you can't tell us apart anymore.
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 9:17 PM UTC