The workshop of wordsmiths is letters and a prayer; it’s a segmented, seditious, sedentary lair. And the work one does in silent nights is often just as hard, as sitting in that big soft chair—blank paper, blank regard. Do yourself the favor, child, of waiting out those days. Those long dead nights of nothingness that dull your sharpened gaze. The words will come, in time to you, if only you can wait. They race across endangered tracks, trains full of precious freight. And safely they’ll arrive, my child, those words that you must write. And when you have expended them, begins the proper fight. To carve and cut and shape the script, the musings into music. To mend the broken logic and turn it into magic. The scattered left overs will dance around your feet, as you prune the plot from mere common tropes into a dazzling feat. All this you can do, and more, if only you can write. If only you can take a pen to paper and let yourself be right. And the longer that you do this, friend, the longer that you seek, the ease of easing it can only ever increase.
Don’t stop writing, child, never give it up. It’s the only way to show people how to give a ****
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 2:38 PM UTC
feeling so far away from where I'm meant to be
but not knowing where I'm going.
Just spinning around in a dark room,
spotting flashes of light in different directions,
but if I pick a direction to walk in I can't ever stop,
because what if I went the wrong way?
Going back to the start, knowing my time was wasted
that I toiled and trod for something vapid
I think that's the greatest hurt
that my faith was a mirage, shimmering
away when it grew close enough to touch.
Jan 5
Jan 5, 2026 at 10:52 AM UTC
Embryonic love is an iron box around the heart,
Any tiny shift in surroundings is arrhythmia.
I didn’t know what it was to
Bathe in the warmth of
A sunlight unceasing
Until that box came and closed off my arteries.
It is a shock to see you and I shiver with delight
But brittle, I cower from the painfully
Bright sight of your eminence.
I can forgive you your beauty, dearheart.
I cannot forgive the fear in that box.
And so I must overcome.
With a ship of cardboard and wax
Built out of hope that frailty
so despises. Journeying up and up
Burning when I draw near enough
to catch your unwittingly destructive
dismissal. Tumble tumble through
The atmosphere and gasp for
Air that isn’t present
And feel the iron box shrink
Shrink shrink and all at
Once it
ends
Sep 3, 2025
Sep 3, 2025 at 2:20 PM UTC
Primary red, deepened near black,
overcast grey, veined with blue cracks,
Aquamarine, in ocean-life tones,
with a smile, and a grin, and half-meant groans,
Dark green gaze, set into a portrait,
with lime set behind, the better for it,
Standing aside, pink hands can guide,
with a wave, or a whisper, or the twinkle of an eye
And above them all red. The truest and tried.
Eye-catching, eye-keeping, and never having died.
Together unmarried, and yet blended the same.
Not for power, not for love, not for loss or gain.
It's enough to be together.
And it's sweeter not forever.
Jul 26, 2025
Jul 26, 2025 at 10:57 PM UTC
Guilt. Ever festering, it grows. It never lets you go.
It is fathoms deep, and ever creeps,
Like canyon rivers running slow.
Guilt erodes the sanity, the gently shifting sands.
It drives away the empathy, the union of two hands.
Softly speaking, to your heart, it finds your weakest moment.
And presses firmly, hard and sharp, to end the reason for it.
Oct 28, 2024
Oct 28, 2024 at 12:52 PM UTC
Mother Dearest, Dearest of all
A helper and lover, to all who call
Mother Dearest, Life-Giver to ourselves
I don't know how to tell you
Your love is life to all of us
Mother Dearest, Kindest to the world
You'll rebuild what has been broken,
Like toy blocks fallen on the floor
Mother Loveliest, most beautiful of life
Your smile whiles away the pain,
it cures me of strife
Mother Friendliest, most caring in my heart
You've turned words into a treasure trove
A gorgeous work of art
Mother Wisest, most guiding and most fair
Although I'd object to grounding
You most of all make it seem better just to share
Mother Kindest, most helpful and most sweet,
You have changed the fields of ashen crops
To bounties filled with wheat
Mother Dearest, You're all around the best
And if you'll permit, at your behest
Mother Dearest, I'd like to carry on
For pages and pages, as ever you read on
But Mother, can't you see? The greatest Love I'll ever know, is the one you give to me.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 9:39 AM UTC
An author's power
Touched on in the past
Capable of hurting or healing
Of breaking us like glass
An author's gift
Of format and text
It's always hard to say
If they've been cursed or blessed
An author's choice
To craft sweet or sour
Crushing or lifting
Taking or gifting
Words like a rainshower
Wetting my eyes
An author's quest
A story to tell
Giving their best
An author's end
Poor or rich
Known or obscure
Still never better than the rest
Do we all or deserve better?
Do they deserve richer?
An author's life
riddled with grief
with rich, with poor, with worry, with glee
Is there hope for their future? a glimmer of happy ever after?
I suppose
One day,
We'll see
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
10:00 A.M.
Battery: 100%
12:00 P.M.
Battery: 80%
2:00 P.M.
Battery: 67%
4:00 P.M.
Battery: 45%
6:00 P.M.
Battery: 30%
8:00 P.M.
Battery: 10%
10:00 P.M.
Battery: 0%
10:03 P.M.
Notification: You have one unread message:
from Andrea
"i love you ♥"
10:03 P.M.
...
Battery: 100%
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
Forgiveness is a fickle friend
Granting second chances
Giving hope for future changes
Building us up after we've torn each other down
But receiving it is somehow harder than gifting
Acknowledging that yes, you do need forgiveness
You've messed up and it's time to own up
Somehow it's harder than apologizing
Because with an apology you have the comfort of confession
but with forgiveness you have only the journey back to trust
Decisions, decisions, trust or patience?
Earning or forgetting?
We have to choose one or the other
And yet either can be harder than the other
as easy as they seem to choose from
Enacting them remains a long hard journey,
or an easy forgetting of why you needed forgiving in the first place
Remember, remember, mistake or malice?
Anger or sorrow?
We are responsible for one or the other
and yet either is as hurtful as the other
As evil as one seems over the other
Enacting them leads to a long hard journey
or a heated retraction of care of the ones whom forgave you in the first place
Loving, loving, choice or chemical?
Lusting or caring?
We can always prioritize one over the other
and yet one is not necessarily better or worse than the other
As shallow as one seems over the other
if either piece was missing
there would be no forgiveness in the first place.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
An angry acid boils
As I felt my stomach churn
The voice of my loved one filled with tears
As against her my words turn
The day we’d feared with constant dread
The day I thought wouldn’t happen before I’m dead
The actions of that day led to heartbreaking things
I felt as though a demon, tearing away her wings
Guilt leading to my own demise
Knowing I can no longer rise
Never again seeing the light of her face
All because of the tears rolling down my angel’s face
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC