it's official
it has been
a month

a whole,
wild month
but still a month

a month of
countless words
and
hundreds of views

though the question is
what is the point of this?
i've been here a month
and i'm still not sure

do i write here
just so
i have an outlet?
to get these feelings out?

am i here
to seek acceptance
to find people who feel like me
or who appreciate my thoughts?

am i just here
to feel wanted and understood
to hear praise and
watch my views climb?

is this a way for me
to say things to people
that i don't have the courage to say
in real life?

or am i here to help
diffuse my anger
and dull the pointed edges
of my soul
and try to put together
the shattered parts of me
by accepting them myself?

1708

Witchcraft has not a Pedigree
’Tis early as our Breath
And mourners meet it going out
The moment of our death—

The hate is there, buried, vaguely on the surface,
deterring, detached, detesting and serving its purpose.

An invisible web of lies is what’s broken and blind,
within us, without them, a situation, foreign and undefined.

Pleasure rising as intolerance and indecision placates,
I look to my greed, my selfishness and wants as I advocate.

A knot of trust, tried and true, with a twisted unrealistic worldview,
Let’s continue, retry, forgive and see nothing new in round two.

Clutch to hope and wonder what about life makes it so unfair,
Getting answers to questions that no longer matter, I swear.

Undone and forgotten, you’re everything that I wished removed,
I’ll stay with you to make myself unhappy, even if my heart doesn’t approve.

I place the blame for troubled times on situations out of our control,
It was those eyes, that smile and false promises that put good decisions on hold.

Our love was relevant, once, before nature took its course,
We were unstoppable until we became unlovable,  such an unnatural force.

Teach me grace, give me mercy, use your words to fan the flame,
Take my pride, lend me leniency, it’s our disregard that’s to blame.

I’m the rock, sturdy strong, crashing waves the least of what’s breaking,
A steady stream of forgettable memories is all that we’re making.

419

We grow accustomed to the Dark—
When light is put away—
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye—

A Moment—We uncertain step
For newness of the night—
Then—fit our Vision to the Dark—
And meet the Road—*****—

And so of larger—Darkness—
Those Evenings of the Brain—
When not a Moon disclose a sign—
Or Star—come out—within—

The Bravest—***** a little—
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead—
But as they learn to see—

Either the Darkness alters—
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight—
And Life steps almost straight.

1695

There is a solitude of space
A solitude of sea
A solitude of death, but these
Society shall be
Compared with that profounder site
That polar privacy
A soul admitted to itself—
Finite infinity.