There were nights I folded into myself
A silence not of peace, but pause,
Where memory clung like sweat to old Regrets,
And the dark was just thick enough to Speak.
A younger version of me still walks there,
Half-shouting at ghosts,
Half-sure he knows better.

The road I paved was not always stone…
Sometimes glass,
Sometimes the brittle hush of unspoken Apologies.
My hands, calloused from more than labor,
Have carried the sharp edges of Consequence,
Have held a child’s future like a fragile flame
And nearly dropped it once or twice.

Fatherhood did not come with a compass.
It came like weather,
Sudden and vast;
With no promise of shelter, only sky.
And still, I stepped out.
Still, I walked.

There were questions I answered with my Absence,
Lessons I taught by stumbling.
And yet each tear I have dried
Has felt like redemption.
Each scraped knee, a liturgy
In the cathedral of trying again.

You learn that love,
Real love,
Isn’t found in the perfection of the path
But in turning back for the small hand that Trusts you still.

Now, she laughs.
And in her laughter is a map
Of every right thing I did
Despite myself.

And I know,
No matter how far I wandered from grace,
It was worth it.
Not for a second chance,
But for the first time I truly listened
To what love sounds like
When it calls you “Dad.”

There are times where I’m not myself.
I walk and stroll the passerby’s
With foreign eyes
To see if they can tell.
I am a lie of omission.
Not quite the truth.
A bit of a straight arrow,
With flavorings of the uncouth.
I’m not healthy for you,  
(nor would I want to be.)
I am unattainable,
I am fiction,
I am fable.

Like. Share. Comment.
Normalize kindness.
                Normalize boundaries.
                                      Normalize normalizing.

Unapologetically me.
Living my truth.
Healing. Growing. Thriving.
If you don’t support me at my worst
You don’t deserve me at my best.

                                                                      
Mercury is in gatorade.
Self-care isn’t selfish.
Drink water.                                            
Protect your energy.

Let that sink in.
Let’s talk about it.
No one’s ready for this conversation.
Read that again.

Tag someone who needs this.
This one’s for you.
You’ve got this.
You are enough.
Say it louder for the people in the back.

Hot take:                                                      
Unpopular opinion:
My toxic trait is...
I said what I said.

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Swipe left for part 2.
No context. Just vibes.
I don’t know who needs to hear this…
…but you’re not broken.
You’re a whole-*** galaxy.

You deserve the world,
but the algorithm gave you
30 seconds of someone else’s highlight reel.

Broadcast your joy.
Mandatory.
Authenticity must trend by 9 a.m.

Good citizens post daily.
Vulnerability must be
polished,
              monetized,
                                filtered twice.

Your sadness violates our aesthetic guidelines.
Please update your face.

Be raw,
but on schedule.
Cry but just enough.
Not so much that it lowers engagement.

Remember:
Every trauma is content.
Every heartbreak, a reel.
Every breakdown,
a branding opportunity.

Comparison is community.
Scroll for self-worth.
Swipe for validation.
You are not alone.
Everyone is performing the same algorithm.

Today’s Ministry Prompt:
“What’s something you healed from just enough to joke about?”
Post now or risk invisibility.

Influence is duty.
Disengagement is rebellion.
Silence is suspicious.

You will be loved,
if the metrics agree.

Smile, citizen.
Your relevance expires at midnight.
Post or perish.
Disrupt nothing.
Conform beautifully.

#GratefulForControl
#FreedomThroughFame
#CuratedAndCompliant

You are thriving.
You are glowing.
You are trending.
You are replaceable.

He stands where silence hums against the grain,
A soldier bound by ghosts behind his eyes,
Steel threads his chest, but not his ache or strain
The faded photos whisper lullabies.
Each taped-up moment clings like prayer to wood,
Though time has thinned what brotherhood once stood.

The camo hugs like armor and like chain,
Yet every fold remembers where he’s bled.
The wall, a shrine to joy not born of pain,
Still leans with shadows of the living dead.
He guards the space where memory dares to tread,
A quiet oath still echoing, unsaid.

The mirror watches with a hollow stares
Not quite a man, not wholly lost to war.
The past reflected, stripped and laid out bare,
Tattooed with names he doesn’t speak any more.
His silence roars where once he swore with pride,
Now draped in years he never set aside.

The brothers in that photograph still grin,
Suspended in a frame, immune to dust.
But he’s the one left carrying memories of them,
Their birthdays, burdens, courage, grit, and trust.
They marched beside him, now he walks alone,
A relic housed in flesh, not yet stone.

So steel your heart, and do not call it brave
This life of war is not a badge to wear.
Each breath he takes, he pulls out of the grave,
Each smile a lie, each laugh a threadbare prayer.
The vest may guard his ribs from a bullet's intent
But never from the hollow grief of death.