oh, to fake personalities.
isn't that such
a grand deed?
i mean,
out of a thousand faces,
you choose the one
who endures but pains.
of all the faces,
you chose the one
who is most different from yourself
just for other’s sake.
isn’t life so
beautiful?
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 5:53 AM UTC
Perhaps, the best part of my eccentric day
Is the spoiled produce thrown my way
It certainly beats the recurring taste
Of mouthfuls of the local animal's waste
Locked and shackled, lambasted example
A deviant to expectation made so ample
A place where your mind perhaps might sample
Awkward & annoying fires to trample...
Locked in my stocks, an opportunity
To witness the neglected periphery
My judges, my captors, their sensory
My jailor's excuses to keep me from free
In my confines, alone to atone
I solitarily spectate the damage shone
Everybody grabbing to have their own
The place conquered by hearts of stone
And I weep. I am the Fool.
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 5:50 AM UTC
there once was a girl
with silk clouds in her head.
going to school was
the death of her
because humans
are so loud.
they destroy everything
without a single care
in the world.
that makes her so,
so stressed...
so everyday,
she runs to the bathroom
to rub and shake,
and shake,
and it itches off the pain.
And it rains,
and it rains,
and it rains...
or maybe it snowed
because everywhere she goes
a track of flakes
roam around.
my people aren't used to snow.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 8:37 PM UTC
Hey! **
Watch where you go!
From deep down the ocean,
A little fish rose!
At dawn, it acts like
any of it’s kind,
But turn down your shoulder,
and it chooses to bite!
It grows legs and fangs
sharp talons and fright
It kills every body
that catches its light!
Oh, what should we call it?
A name full of pride?
That’s right! Its Kayla!
The Tyrant’s Demise!
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 12:04 PM UTC
the friction between unlubricated parts
is so intense
that it feels as if a
hot wire is winding its way
through my gyri
human entrails could be
the spinning pieces
that break away from my intricate design.
if the gears could truly be aligned,
does the pain of the cogwork
mean that I am truly alive?
or is this training of
the creaking of rotting iron?
SORROW: TO BE DEFINED
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 5:41 PM UTC
embodied metaphors negotiate
with my knees
I or the other I have become
a language I forgot to speak
this skin is an archive of neutrino collisions
unmapped gardens
scars that hum like bees
please do not disambiguate my words
who is this ghost seeking a shape to hold
what is this rhythm
dressed in echoes and dust
I pour my breath into the rapture of noon
I can feel the weight of being
in the pulse of a stone
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 7:24 PM UTC
the Hour walks on the staffs of meadow
each causing an equal resonance.
step
the notes float and reveal
creatures within.
the herbs grow flourishingly
and the fruits are sweet and fresh,
beaming through the wonders of nature.
(don’t mind external
residue.)
a Hobbit walks along the grassy forest’s
non crackling floor that all grows and falls.
it grabs the cultured plants,
herbs,
leaves
and puts it on their
picnic basket
for a well-made relish.
(the ******* ones were
left unseen.)
the water is fine.
it’ll make some pretty good
tea.
but how many drink it?
and tend to it?
smashing bay into digestible mush?
so why not have more?
warm the kettle,
use all we got.
after all,
nature rebirths.
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 12:17 PM UTC
I never understood
Why people hate change
They want things to stay the same
A life constant tame
Yet change offers a new horizon to behold
Out with the safe, the constant, the old
Be careful not to throw out the baby
With the bathwater knowledge for-told
The one constant thing
In life is change
You can live with
Certainty, believing
Your thoughts
Are correct and true
And that’s all you knew
You don’t know what you know
Until you realize
The parameters of understanding
Your comfort zone
You don’t know
What you don’t know
Until you realize
You don’t know it
And then, in fact,
Through realization not
Lack of procrastination lightbulb ON
Epiphany moment, YOU KNOW IT!
The dichotomy of knowledge
Boggles the mind
Constant change, you will find
pandora’s box Until the end of time
I never understood Why people hate change
They like things comfortable Not rearranged
Something new can be strange
But isn’t that the name of the game?
FOOTNOTES
I’m trying to identify all of my poetry. I want to have an example of each different type. These
Notes are for quick identification and compiling.
A four line stanza is a poem, called a quatrain
By definition, it is exactly 4 lines
Often following a specific rhyme scheme
not limited to AABB, ABAB, ABBA, ABCA
I encourage you to
listen to the music
FIRST (Loudly)
Then read the poem
Inspired Songs
1)Here we go round in circles 1972
By Billy Preston
2) Playground in my mind 1972
By Clint Holmes
3) A spoonful of sugar 1964
By Julie Andrews (Mary Poppins)
Fun Fact, the song was inspired by the polio vaccine administered on a sugar cube during the 1960s
“A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down in the most delightful way”
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 5:55 AM UTC
The screen shines bright in the dark room.
“I want to do stuff.”
Stuff, you say, you
check not, you peck, you
expect.
You wreak.
I refuse, you confuse
if I love you. I cannot
defuse you, I cannot
amuse you–
unless I yield
to you.
I cannot–
Your words pile like boulders
on my shoulders, pain
so great you create.
I cannot–
I shed off the boulders
one by one,
I cannot–
it starts to feel colder;
my bare shoulders, soley
for you. I cannot–
intimacy, soley
for you.
I cannot be with you.
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 5:54 AM UTC
In a field They set her down
and named her, softly: Flower.
They wanted Form to gather there,
and Time to lock her hour.
They said: Remain. Be visible.
Be Something We can keep.
For what is held belongs to Time,
and what is Named, stays deep.
and yet
water knew
no single clock
no edge of then
or more
she did not measure
what passed through her
nor weighed
upon a shore
she warmed before
the hand arrived
moved on
without a claim
and touched the earth
altered it
beyond the mark of name
beyond the reach
of shame
They called her selfish in her flow,
They named her greedy, too,
for keeping all her ways within,
with naught for Them to view.
They raised Their ledgers up to her,
demanded she be still:
“Take shape. Be held. Become complete.
Submit yourself to will.”
and yet
water does not choose a form
that time can close around
it does not break
the living stream
by fixing
what is found
what passes through
is not undone
nor kept
as something owned
it lingers only
as a warmth
a memory
untoned
it was not flight
nor turning back
nor failure
to remain
a tenderness
so absolute
it couldn’t close
to name
For what is held becomes a Thing
that Time will wear away.
and what refuses
being kept
does not begin
to stay
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 8:41 PM UTC