My moon is waning
My strength is fading
For once, I will not fight it
My patience is thinning
My light is dimming
My fire has turned into embers
He set the times and seasons
He set my month into rhythms
With tides that rise and tides that fall
He makes me lie down in green pastures
He leads me beside still waters
He restores my soul
He made us, not we ourselves
We are creatures, not machines
And we must rest before we run
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 4:00 AM UTC
My hair stands taller and taller
As the day goes by
Every strand a seedling
Reaching for the sky
My hair stretches, my hair shrinks
Coils like vines intertwined
Undeterred by gravity
Reaching for the sky
Jan 28
Jan 28, 2026 at 2:37 AM UTC
The woman that you envy cries herself to sleep
The woman that you envy fights with her kids
The woman that you envy cannot make ends meet
The woman that you envy feels tired and lonely
That woman that you envy is a human being with tender wounds that you cannot see from your side of the fence.
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 4:55 AM UTC
I can still smell the smoke
From the last wildfire
Still see the bones
Of the homes that it burned
My lungs are still healing
My throat is still scorched
By love unrequited
A flame uncontrolled
My hands are still blistered
I know where this goes
So I am not touching that
With a ten foot pole
Dec 29, 2025
Dec 29, 2025 at 5:57 AM UTC
Snapchat, crocs and scooters
I never would have guessed
Of all the trends, through all the years
These three outlived the rest
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 8:21 PM UTC
We were told freedom would make us artists.
We were told freedom would set us free.
But freedom made us consumers—
scrolling, streaming, drowning in plenty.
Peak content.
Peak noise.
Attention—the last currency.
And we are broke.
Then came the machine.
Infinite. Bespoke. Frictionless.
The tribe dissolved.
The story fractured.
Each of us—
a society of one.
Do not mistake this for culture.
Culture bleeds.
Culture resists.
Culture divides.
This is mimicry.
This is slop.
Outliers cribbed, stripped,
and rebranded before the ink dries.
This is the singularity.
Not awakening.
Collapse.
Not tribe.
Not ritual.
The machine as tribe.
Self-satisfaction—tribe enough.
But listen—
creativity still breathes.
Not to be seen.
Not to trend.
But to testify.
To mark the ruins.
To scratch in the stone:
A human was here.
Do you remember?
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 12:57 AM UTC
I thought grief was:
A river to cross
A mountain to summit
A trail to walk
Now, grief is:
An outstretched hand
A delicate dance
With an old friend
Soon enough the song will end
But until then
I’ll learn the steps
The rise and fall
The ebb and flow
Until the final note is gone
Aug 24, 2025
Aug 24, 2025 at 2:18 PM UTC
Resting between the sky above
And the ocean underneath
Vast expanses, stretching further
Than the eye can reach
Buoyed up by Something
That I cannot see
Floating feels like faith
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 6:11 AM UTC
My single friends want to be married
My married friends want kids
My friends with kids need money
My friends with money are single
Jul 5, 2025
Jul 5, 2025 at 8:47 AM UTC
Sow in tears, reap in joy
Spend your years in the soil
Pull the weeds, pray for rain
Prune the leaves, while we wait
Soon enough, roots will grow
Don’t get weary, this, I know
God is not inclined to joke
We will reap what we sow
Jul 3, 2025
Jul 3, 2025 at 6:29 AM UTC