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You know they love you
When they let you
Ugly cry
Into their new clean crisp
White shirt
With makeup on.
Too focused on the rules
Too worried to shine
Too scared to admit

Yet the light shines
And doesn't give up
And the Kind Yety...
... Wakes Up.

After MGIOVANNI.GL/A
Thank you man
Purple with pink bands streak across the sky

The purple has a hint of gray
It looks like a Monet painting which sets the stage for the coming night

The streaks in the sky create a look that is almost unreal in its beauty

Nature is an absolute artist second to none
For the last in life
Born in waiting lines
Standing in lines
Dying in lines

A song began from love
Soundtrack of the forgotten
No time to see
No time to stand still

Life is stress
The clocks called us yesterday
Today phones are screaming
Rush as a code

Their minds heavy with lead
Their eyelids weighed down
And children roam the land
Hating their fathers

So generations die
To become secrets
For the last in life
Born in waiting lines
For The Last In Life
 2d Zeno
yndn
XXX
 2d Zeno
yndn
***
for almost 30 years
my trauma of what my father did to me
still haunts me
one time, I was asleep,
dreaming,
I saw a child being beaten by my father
as it turns out, I am that child
and an adult me, stood from afar, frozen
cannot move, cannot speak

as if, it was a reminder for me to see
that not everything is meant to be forgotten
even I could not distinguish it
that am I in my dreams or in reality?
It felt surreal,
since dreams are just an imitation or mimicry of the reality
It was hard for me to fathom
why did these things happen?
Is there a purpose?
Or is it for a reason?

my battle scars are still there
how I wish that the young me
is not all bruised and abused

I wish someone out there helped me
when they heard me screaming for help
but they were too afraid to come by

In his eyes, I can see
that he did not love me
Is his definition of love about abuse?
or is it a mere facade he masks

every time I look at him as my father
he was never a father, but a figure
that every time, I see him
holding a knife, a belt or anything sharp
to whip or hurt me
I shiver from the memory
by thinking about it
it gave me horror

I built up my walls so high
I built my standards so high
that no one could ever climb on
to ruin it for me
but it did break down
until I met her.

everything changed,
every kiss and hug feel like home
a comfort I was longing to find
that even if it led me to unfamiliar places
meet a lot of different faces
she is still that woman that gave me joy
that gave me light
loved and accepted me
embraced me as a whole,
though I felt shattered and incomplete
but without her, life was meaningless.

That was when I decided to say that she is the one for me.
journal of the physically abused man.
They come with lofty thoughts,
burning away caring hearts,
melting down steel in the forge of Hephaestus:
individuality, critical thinking.

Carving the stone with faint whispers,
then with audacious, arrogant songs.
Words offer a sinister image of meaning,
multiplied by lost hopes, by longing.

The green-eyed monster walks,
hand in hand with the vicious chants,
muddling the calm of deep waters,
vanishing beliefs of solidarity.

Saying goodbye to tender softness,
giving away our pieces to the abstract,
cutting and throwing into non-existence
what once felt stable, what was given.

With grudge and pain, setting up barbed wire
for what was done in the past.
Passing by, you can’t shout
still, you need to defend yourself.

Looking deeply into eyes, we could
touch the essence, written in the gaze,
to read between the words, hidden stories,
but it’s already forbidden.

How difficult it is to truly accept,
with an open mind, an open heart,
in this cloudy, dense air of misleading stories

Another Human.
 2d Zeno
janie lay
i want to peel your skin back
and reveal your deepest sweetness.
to look at your veins
and memorize their paths.
maybe then i’d understand
why you are so rough on the outside.
it takes a lot of work,
digging your fingernails into the flesh,
pulling and pulling until you are bare.
but it is all worth it;
to visit your center,
to break past what conceals you,
and take you apart
slice by slice.
The summit looked so far away
We started walking anyway
Sometimes we spoke
Laughing and teasing
Sometimes we fell silent
Looking and listening
Sometimes we needed a brief rest
sip of cool water
granola snack pulled from a pack
Then back to the hike
Walking and walking
As the trail ascended
Navigating rocks and sand
One step and then another
Until we looked up and realized
We made it to the summit
The place where we started looked so far away
from the top where we now stood
Thrilled with ourselves and the view
Happy to have made it there, together
The land never looked so alive
the sky, so blue
As it did from that summit view.


© 2025 Joan Zaruba. All rights reserved.
This poem narrates my experience walking with family to the summit at Airport Mesa in beautiful Sedona, AZ.
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