That mug is mine,
I don’t care if it's not clean.
Sugar, tea, and cream—
will do just fine.
Feb 5
Feb 5, 2026 at 10:33 PM UTC
My Keys and the Letter,
can't leave without either.
Also need my wallet,
that should be all of it.
Keys, drawer next to silverware.
Letter, on the table,
I’m aware—
Wallet, in my jacket pocket.
Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 9:52 PM UTC
The click of a brass pen,
worn-in with years of writing.
A life etched with its ink,
in letters composed during late nights.
There is no distance my letters won't reach.
When we meet again,
we will pick up where we left off.
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 9:23 PM UTC
When I started, I wrote to free my mind
of unwanted thoughts.
To lock away—and never find
those self-views so spiteful and cruel.
I write now, to store away
life's highs and lows.
Should I forget one day
my memories enclosed?
Jan 24
Jan 24, 2026 at 10:26 AM UTC
Self-worth hung on productivity.
A boss without empathy
places unrealistic deadlines.
Showing initiative by putting in the hours.
Compensated by promises of monetary gain and titles,
I give myself to thee.
In the name of the Company Project,
We pray.
“Let us communicate, facilitate, and collaborate.”
Months spent at home,
the same 12 hours reclaimed,
allow leisurely written poems.
I dedicate myself to
dinners with family,
poetry nights,
and lazy curiosity.
Returning once more—
no longer devout.
clock in—
clock out—
I do not pray to thee.
Jan 20
Jan 20, 2026 at 9:40 PM UTC
Born a blank slate to her Creator,
a boastful parent.
Raised a devout servant
to Holy Femininity,
by the labored artist.
The humble Artist expresses
intricate descriptions of their work,
ignorant of interpretations that do not align.
A daughter's delicate confessions of love,
drafted, eager for her response.
Intrusive prying eyes opened to the truth—
Their work was revealed to be tarnished and depraved.
Drafted confessions burned,
The Artist’s life's work set aflame.
“Worthless,” painting turned to Ashes.
Honestly sketched—
She remained discolored,
discovered by a gentle admirer.
“What beautiful artwork, I’m going to frame it.”
Confessions of love redrafted,
she professed to her with a kiss.
vows spoken, and a family built.
Free of Art Critics.
Jan 19
Jan 19, 2026 at 3:58 PM UTC
I love my wife in ways I never loved you.
I desired to feel wanted by you,
For you to desperately need me.
Wishing you’d cherish my words
above all else.
Youth rewards intensity,
distorting love and devotion.
She vowed to want me
and only me.
I’m appreciated, not needed,
Wrapped in conversations for hours.
She loves me in ways you never could.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 9:42 AM UTC
You’re not well,
I know that.
It wasn’t your choice,
And it wasn’t mine
If it’s not a choice
why does it feel
like it is.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 9:40 AM UTC
Think of me the way I think of you,
Endlessly and all-consuming.
Picture me when you get ready,
when we sit in class,
or walk the halls.
Think of me
until I am all you see.
When you fall asleep,
dream of me.
When you-
if you-
think of me,
do I make your heart fall like mine?
Am I just a passing thought,
when you remember to think of me.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 9:38 AM UTC