You come back
with apology-sized crumbs
after the feast is over,
after the house burned,
after I screamed myself hoarse
inside the silence you chose.
Now you want to “make it right.”
Now.
With what -
your spare change of effort?
Your clearance-bin remorse?
Too little.
Too late.
Too ******* convenient.
You could have helped
while it was happening.
While I was bleeding in real time.
While I was asking - clearly, repeatedly -
for presence, for action, for backbone.
But you had priorities.
Better places to be.
Louder distractions.
Easier choices than standing with Me
when it actually cost you something.
You swear you’d “never hurt Me.”
You begged Me to trust you.
And then you proved
with surgical precision
that your words are just perfumes
sprayed over rot.
Because here’s the truth
you keep tripping over:
intent doesn’t bandage damage.
Promises don’t erase neglect.
And love that only shows up
after the suffering
is not love -
it’s reputation management.
Don’t stand there now,
hands full of excuses,
acting shocked that I’m done listening.
Your actions spoke.
They shouted.
They made themselves perfectly clear
while your mouth kept lying politely.
So no -
don’t ask Me to accept
this last-minute performance
and call it accountability.
You weren’t absent by accident.
You weren’t ignorant.
You just didn’t care enough
when it mattered.
And that is the wound
you don’t get to heal
with words.
Dec 22, 2025
Dec 22, 2025 at 4:22 PM UTC
You said you care - but only when it’s easy.
When storms rolled in, you traded anchor for escape.
Left me standing in the wreckage you helped create,
chasing distractions while my world burned.
You keep spending promises you never earned,
writing checks of loyalty that your actions bounce.
You call it space - I call it absence.
And absence, unchecked, grows teeth.
Because when you disappear long enough,
hearts stop waiting.
Love turns inward, stitching itself into armor,
closing ranks where your name once fit.
You think convenience is harmless -
but it hollows you out, one excuse at a time.
You forget: even wells run dry
when you only take and never pour.
And consequences? They don’t ask permission.
They come wearing every goodbye you shrugged off,
every trust you let rot.
One day, you’ll reach for warmth
and find the cold you taught us.
Dec 22, 2025
Dec 22, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC
You walk when the fire’s at its peak,
when the walls are caving, when I’m weak.
"I’ll be there," you swore - just words, just air,
while you chase your wants, leave me there.
You light the fuse, then turn your back,
watch the wreckage, never look back.
"I’ve got better things," you sneer,
while I drown in the wreckage here.
But the ground you stand on? It’s thin, it’s cracked,
every bridge you burn won’t rebuild back.
The hands you push will never hold,
when the storm you fed turns ice-cold.
You take, you take - you never give,
but the well runs dry when you live like this.
The love you squander, the trust you break,
will haunt your hollow when you’re wide awake.
One day you’ll call, but the line’s gone dead,
no voice to answer, no hand to tread
through the ruins of the life you made
just echoes of the promises you betrayed.
So run, go chase your fleeting high,
but the cost is written in the tears you dry.
The ones you left? We don’t forget.
And karma’s patient - you ain’t met her yet.
Dec 22, 2025
Dec 22, 2025 at 11:39 AM UTC
You say love like it’s a charm you can hang on a keychain,
but you treat it like loose change
spent fast, forgotten faster,
dropped in the cracks when something shinier hits the floor.
You trigger storms you never plan to stay through,
light the fuse, then check your watch,
deciding you’ve got “better things to do”
than stand in the fire you helped ignite.
You call it timing.
I call it abandonment dressed up in excuses.
Because when you leave at the moment I need you most,
you don’t just walk out of a room
you walk out of trust,
out of credibility,
out of the version of yourself you pretend to be.
And the people closest to you?
They don’t break all at once.
They erode
grain by grain
until one day you reach for them
and find nothing left but dust
and the echo of your own choices.
You keep pulling out of the work
but expect the relationship to stay full.
You keep withdrawing
from a bank you never deposit into,
and then act surprised
when the account hits zero
and the vault slams shut.
You say one thing,
do another,
and wonder why the bridge collapses
when you’re the one
who kept loosening the bolts.
Consequences aren’t punishments
they’re physics.
You push people away long enough,
they stay gone.
You treat love like a convenience,
it stops showing up.
You prioritize your wants over their needs,
and eventually
there’s no one left
willing to pick up the phone
when you finally need someone.
Because every time you walked out,
you taught them how to live without you.
Dec 22, 2025
Dec 22, 2025 at 11:37 AM UTC
You don’t get to prioritize your wants
and call it freedom
when it’s built on my unmet needs.
You don’t get to leave
right after you light the fuse,
right after the ground gives way,
right after you promise, “I’ll be here,”
and then decide your time is better spent
anywhere but where you said you’d stand.
That isn’t accident.
That’s choice.
You taught my nervous system
what your words are worth
thin currency,
inflated lies,
promises that fold the moment
they cost you comfort.
You pull when you’re empty,
but never refill the well.
You feast on access, loyalty, forgiveness,
and call it love
while contributing nothing but absence.
You say care,
then vanish.
You say family,
then choose convenience.
You say I’m trying,
then repeat the same damage
with better excuses.
Here’s the consequence
no one warned you about:
People don’t break all at once.
They go quiet.
They stop asking.
They stop trusting.
They stop building a future
with someone who treats them
like a backup plan.
What you dismissed out of convenience
learns to live without you.
What you sacrificed for “something better”
becomes something you’re no longer invited into.
What you drained without giving back
closes the tap.
And when you finally need
what you trained others not to offer
patience, presence, grace
you’ll find only distance,
earned honestly,
paid in full.
Because love is not something
you continuously withdraw from
without deposit
and expect to remain solvent.
And loyalty is not endless
when it is repeatedly abandoned.
You don’t lose people suddenly.
You teach them
over time
that staying costs too much.
And eventually,
they believe you.
Dec 22, 2025
Dec 22, 2025 at 11:31 AM UTC
Part One: The Throne of Chains
You’ve built a throne from rusted chains,
Demanding blood for ancient stains.
They didn’t do it? Doesn’t matter.
Their peace is just a thing to shatter.
You wear your trauma like a crown,
To keep the "guilty" kneeling down.
"You owe me," is the holy rite,
That justifies your venom’s bite.
Inherited sin is your favorite tool,
The vengeful god, the bitter fool.
Force their knees into the dirt,
Until they’re mirrored in your hurt.
Keep stacking bricks of cold disdain,
To build a kingdom out of pain.
You call it justice, call it right,
To turn the world away from light.
But as you watch the dominos fall,
And shadows stretch across the wall,
Remember as the bridges burn:
It’s finally your hollow turn.
You won the war, you claimed the prize,
Of empty hearts and darkened skies.
A master of a graveyard floor -
Exactly what you hated more.
Part Two: The Weaponized Wound
You don’t wear wounds -
you weaponize them.
Call it justice, call it history,
call it "what I’m owed."
But all I see is a fist
clenched around a debt
no one ever signed.
You stare at strangers
like they’re guilty by breath alone,
demand apologies
for crimes you can’t even name -
then crown yourself righteous
when they refuse to kneel.
You don’t want repair.
You want confirmation.
You want the world to break its spine
to fit the shape of your bitterness,
to nod along while you burn the house
and call the smoke proof.
Your hatred isn’t principled -
it’s convenient.
A ladder built from blame,
each rung another human
reduced to a lesson
you never intended to learn.
You say they owe you,
but what you mean is:
"I deserve to be above you."
And every forced confession,
every coerced agreement,
every silence you mistake for respect
feeds the lie that you’re winning.
Look around.
That echo you call power?
That’s isolation learning your name.
That domino line of justified cruelty?
You tipped it yourself -
and now you’re shocked
it won’t stop falling.
You confuse dominance with strength,
resentment with clarity,
rage with resolve.
But supremacy is a hunger
that eats its host first,
and entitlement always starves
in the end.
So keep demanding.
Keep pointing.
Keep rewriting the past
until everyone else is the villain.
Just don’t pretend you’re building a future -
you’re only perfecting the art
of standing alone in the ruins,
still insisting you were right.
Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 10:58 AM UTC
Part One:
Winter Solstice on the Columbia Plateau
The desert has gone quiet
in that way only winter knows
a hush stretched thin across the basalt,
like a blanket pulled up to the chin of the earth.
Frost feathers the sagebrush,
each branch a tiny cathedral window
catching the last scraps of dusk.
The air smells of stone and sleep.
Your breath rises
a small, wandering animal
seeking shelter in the starlight.
The cold here is ancient.
It moves slowly, like a glacier remembering itself,
curling around your ankles,
tugging at the hem of your coat
as if to say:
Stay. The night is long, but it is not lonely.
Above you, the sky opens
a black bowl rimmed with fire,
Orion sharpening his belt
against the edge of the horizon.
The Milky Way spills across the dark
like someone knocked over a lantern
and let the sparks run wild.
And in this vast, frozen quiet,
a warmth finds you.
Not sudden
more like the slow bloom of embers
in a stove you thought had gone out.
It gathers behind your ribs,
spreads to your fingertips,
wraps itself around your shoulders
like a friend’s coat
offered without a word.
Here, on the longest night,
in a desert that pretends to be empty
but is full of breath and waiting,
you are held.
The earth tilts.
The stars lean in.
And you
you glow like a coal
the solstice refuses to let go.
Part Two:
Solstice Snuggle in the Sagebrush
Tonight the desert is wearing
its biggest, puffiest winter coat.
Every sagebrush has a frosty hat,
and the rocks look like they’re
tucked in for bedtime.
The air is so cold
it nibbles your nose
just a tiny nibble,
like a curious Mose
saying hello.
Your breath floats up
like a little cloud creature,
stretching and yawning
before it drifts into the stars.
If you listen close,
you can almost hear it whisper,
“Wow… the sky is HUGE tonight.”
The moon hangs low,
round as a cookie,
and the stars sparkle
like someone spilled
a whole jar of glitter
across the dark.
And right in the middle
of this big, chilly desert,
a warm feeling finds you
slow and soft,
like a cozy blanket
wrapping itself around your shoulders.
It says,
“You’re safe.
You’re glowing.
You’re part of this night, too.”
So snuggle into your coat,
wiggle your toes,
and let the longest night
give you a gentle hug.
Tomorrow,
the sun will start coming back
but tonight,
the stars are keeping watch
just for you.
Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 10:50 AM UTC
Absolutely NO
For the love of all that is holy
absolutely NO.
Not a pause.
Not a maybe.
Not the polite lie that wears a smile
while sharpening its knife.
NO
with the weight of history behind it.
NO
with the echo of every boundary
I was once too tired to defend.
This is not hesitation
this is judgment.
This is the door slammed
before the storm learns my name.
NO to your hunger.
NO to your entitlement dressed as need.
NO to the quiet erosion
you call compromise.
For the love of all that is holy
I have bled enough
to know the difference
between mercy and surrender.
NO is sacred.
NO is a spine snapping back into place.
NO is the prayer that saves me
when yes would have been a sin.
Say it clean.
Say it loud.
Say it like a bell in a burning church
calling everyone home.
Absolutely.
Unapologetically.
NO.
For the love of all that is holy, absolutely NO
the words detonate in the chest,
a flare shot into the night
to warn the trembling world
that a boundary has finally learned to roar.
NO
like a door slammed so hard
the hinges remember it for generations.
NO
like a match struck in a dry forest,
a bright refusal that refuses to apologize
for burning.
For the love of all that is holy,
for the love of the small and stubborn self
that has knelt too long on gravel,
for the love of the quiet creature inside
who has swallowed storms without complaint
absolutely NO.
Let the syllables crack like thunder.
Let them echo off the ribs.
Let them be the first true prayer
you ever spoke
with your whole, unshaking spine.
Dec 20, 2025
Dec 20, 2025 at 2:25 PM UTC
For the love of yes,
I tear the caution tape from my ribs
and step into the pulse of the world -
raw‑knuckled, wide‑eyed, unrepentant.
For the love of yes,
I kick the locked door until it remembers
it was once a tree,
and trees know how to open.
For the love of yes,
I let the wind rearrange my name,
let the future drag its chair closer,
let the impossible clear its throat.
For the love of yes,
I refuse the smallness offered to me,
I choose the spark over the shadow,
the leap over the ledger,
the living over the lingering.
For the love of yes,
I rise -
not clean, not quiet,
but certain.
Dec 20, 2025
Dec 20, 2025 at 10:26 AM UTC
(The Silly Little Snowflake)
Oh, I’m a silly snowflake,
I wiggle when I fall,
I bounce off all the rooftops
’Cause I can’t steer at all!
I tried to land on Santa,
But I bonked him on the nose
He sneezed me into orbit
Where I spun like garden hose!
Now I’m zooming past the reindeer,
Doing loop‑de‑loops in space,
Waving at the planets
With my frosty little face!
But when I see the children
Making snowmen down below,
I divebomb like a giggle
And I finally stick the snow!
(The Gingerbread Rebellion)
The gingerbread cookies are staging a coup,
They’re climbing the cupboards and stealing the glue!
They’re riding the spoons like they’re magical sleds,
And wearing the sprinkles like crowns on their heads!
They’re shouting, “No baking! We want a vacation!”
They’re forming a crumbly new cookie‑nation!
But once they get milk and a warm place to sit,
They crumble to giggles and call off the bit.
(Rudolph Lost His GPS)
Rudolph lost his GPS and flew into a tree,
Dasher’s tangled in the branches yelling, “Why’d you follow me?”
Santa’s spinning in a snowdrift like a jolly red balloon
They’re gonna need directions from the Man up on the Moon!
(The Sock That Ate Christmas)
A giant fuzzy Christmas sock escaped the laundry pile,
It gobbled up the ornaments and burped them with a smile.
It swallowed half the presents and the cookies on the tray
But when it tried the fruitcake, it ran screaming far away!
(Santa's Sleigh has Training Wheels)
Santa tried a brand‑new sleigh but couldn’t make it fly,
It wobbled like a shopping cart and bumped into the sky.
The elves slapped on some training wheels and shouted, “Try again!”
Now Santa pedals through the clouds like he’s five years old again.
(Frosty Throws a Tantrum)
Frosty didn’t like his hat, he said it made him itch,
He stomped around the snowy yard and flipped the light‑up switch.
The snowman lights went blinking and the neighbors all woke up
But once he got hot cocoa, he finally shut up.
(Candy Cane Sword Fight)
Two candy canes were arguing about who tasted best,
They crossed themselves like swords and poked each other in the chest.
They clattered on the table till they snapped into a pile
Now they’re peppermint confetti and they’re sticky all the while.
(The Elf Who Wouldn't Go to Bed)
An elf stayed up past bedtime just to finish wrapping toys,
He taped himself to everything and made a lot of noise.
He stuck his hat to Santa’s boot and glued his sleeve to snow
Now he’s the Christmas decoration no one meant to show.
(The Reindeer Who Wanted a Snack Break)
Comet said he’s starving and refused to pull the sleigh,
He plopped down in a snowbank yelling, “Feed me right away!”
They bribed him with a carrot and a bucket full of hay
He trotted off contentedly and saved the holiday.
(The Carolers Who Forgot the Words)
The carolers were singing but they didn’t know the tune,
They hummed and mumbled nonsense underneath the winter moon.
They made up silly lyrics about penguins wearing hats
And somehow everyone agreed it sounded better than the flats.
(The Snowball that Wouldn't Stop Rolling)
A tiny little snowball rolled away from mittened hands,
It gathered up the mailbox and the neighbor’s garbage cans.
It swallowed up a snowman and it gobbled up a tree
Now it’s the jolliest avalanche the town will ever see.
(Mrs. Clause's Cookie Catastrophe)
Mrs. Claus was baking when the oven went kaboom,
The cookies shot like fireworks and bounced around the room.
They ricocheted off candy canes and knocked down Santa’s chair
Now Santa’s wearing frosting like he’s going to the fair.
(The Christmas Tree that Wanted to Dance)
The Christmas tree got restless and began to tap its feet,
It wiggled all its ornaments and shuffled to the beat.
It twirled around the living room and jingled every bell
Then tripped into the eggnog and declared, “I’m doing well!”
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 11:41 PM UTC