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I've been right here
Waiting
Wanting
Longing
Long past forever
Wondering
Wishing
Lusting
Allow me one day past never
To win you over for the rest of forever
Before you close the book on this chapter
And once again I have to find another happily ever after

©2024
https://youtu.be/q067Au9GA-g?si=VZC-v8SnXGx5xP-X

I'm lucky enough to live in a city with a great poetry scene (and more specifically the Dayton Poetry Slam open mics) which ive recently started attending... last time i went one of the people who runs it asked if he could play the recording of this poem on the radio (which I'm beyond excited about) sometime in September (date still TBD)... bear in mind this was 2 weeks before my first visit to the psych ward and about a month and a half before my first attempt (since I was a kid), although im doing a bit better now. This is what I'd originally written to say beforehand (but got too nervous 😆):

This one isn't really my best or favorite but its definitely my most personal... I've struggled with suicidal thoughts and feelings for almost as long as I can remember, tried to **** myself when I was 9 but wouldn't acknowledge it to myself as a serious attempt til I was in my early to mid 20s cuz I didn't get hurt... then it wasn't until I looked back on it and realized that no, I definitely was trying to (which is part of how I came to realize I have bpd since I shouldn't have reasonably wanted to or tried to at that age like I did)... unfortunately the feelings have never gone away, and although I haven't tried again since then I have gotten pretty **** close. It seemed like things had gotten better for a while, then worse, then better, then worse again... but I've been holding out for things to get better again and I guess what I'm really trying to say is just that so long as you're still holding on, things can get better again. It may not feel like it for a long time and the whole time you might be asking yourself if it ever can but so long as you're still holding on things can get better eventually (in ways we may never expect), but if you give up too soon you'll never see it happen. So just hold on.
https://youtu.be/q067Au9GA-g?si=VZC-v8SnXGx5xP-X
We've been apart
now for a while, and
the pain has begun to
subside. But today, something
triggered it all fresh
and sharp.

I ran across some
pictures of your
****** that you let
me have.
It makes me sad
to look at them
for hours on end.
I may be reading
too much into the
three different views,
but in one of them,
your dormouse seems
to be whispering,
"I miss you, Thomas,
we had so much fun,
you and I."
In another shot,
the light hits little Jezebel
just right (she loved it when I called her that.)
And I swear it seems as though
she is pouting like she's sad too.
And the third picture is
the hardest to view of all.
It's in black and white
so it has that artsy film noir
look to it, like a sad French
mime. Quite artistic as far as
closeups of vajayjays go.
It has a fussy, pouty
look to it, with a twinge
of anger, as if to say,
"why did you break up
with that great poet who
idolized me, and took such glorious
pictures of me." It seems to be
beckoning, "Please take him
back, maybe if you do,
he won't drink so much and
disappear for days on end
with your car, and then come
back smelling of *****, and
old painted up ******."
It breaks my heart
to look at that one.
I'm almost crying as I write
this because Jezzy looks so sad, and
lonely, and a bit angry at
you for selling my collection
of baseball cards.
Check out my you tube channel where I read this poem and others.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnWn7sX-Y4E
This isn't a poem.  It's an invitation to check out
my youtube channel where I read my poetry.  Hope you like it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1khU1Mo5AKE
Students everywhere feel a close relationship with summer. It develops early and you never lose it. It’s durable.

Let's  poeticize..
It was a youthful summer of unblemished mirth.
In play, our youthful hours were freely spent.
We bore such idleness - we were indulgent.
Until Lisa confessed she was less so content
and longed desperately for a ‘wholesome reunion’
with her love (Dave) and to resume that courtship in the same
fevered spirit as when they last parted, in Paris.

“Life’s complicated,” Lisa offered, at the end of our talk.
“So complicated,” I agreed.
It’s amazing how quickly a plan can coalesce.

ANNND, we’re back in Manhattan, at Lisa’s (parents) 50th floor residence.
I asked Karen (Lisa’s Mom) once, “If you own this (a floor of a building) is it called an apartment, a condominium..,” my voice faded on the question.
“A residence,” she answered after a moment’s thought. She’s a lawyer.

Georgia got too hot. Not to dwell on the grotesque side of girlhood - but enough sweat already.
Shakespeare (Henry IV) wrote, “sweat extraordinarily, if it be a hot day.” Yep, done that - for really.

In lieu of all our pains, we now want AC, high-end amenities, constant concierge services and stunning views.
We’ll be back in New Haven in nine short days - and back in class in eighteen.
Call 911, someone’s stolen our summer!
.
.
Songs for this:
New York City Serenade by Bruce Springsteen
New York State of Mind by Billy Joel
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08.10.24:
Durable  = describes things that last (Accounting 101, see Durable Goods, tax purposes.)
I'm not an 'ingénue' anymore - that’s been vitiated.
I'm not innocent, pure, naive or vulnerable -
which are technically, 'ingénue' requirements
(I don’t make the rules).

That being said, if no one has an objection,
in terms of narrative trajectory, I'd like to be
considered a 'fémme fatale' until further notice.
.
.
Songs for this:
HEATED by Beyoncé
Hysterical Us by Magdalena Bay

11am 08.12
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08.12.04: vitiate: to ruin it or render ineffective
some nights fold in on themselves
after too many years and decades
spent emptying oneself for others

like old letters re-opened accusing
from where they'd been laid to rest
found in yellowing files and folders

debris stirring from the shadows
unsettles the window ledge dust
irritating the membranes of scent

as memory floods with questions
tagging along like curious children
squabbling about whose fault it was

that we sit writing with brimming eyes
with the kind of solitary regret and shock
that comes when bodies in a silent house

wander around aimlessly trying to fill time
with their pointless pursuits and blinded eyes
imagining just another hit from some website

will stave off stories of their past they shelved
for nights like this when the spectres return
to bring the bill from aged secrets banished
his days were few
when shadows came
to bring the tempest rains
to infiltrate a lad not even two

he learned to have a song inside
that danced and skipped along
no matter what that day
or night would hold

so when the sticks
arrived from monsters
with the thing that stood
and poked up right inside

the songs would play to quiet
the tearing pain that broke the door
where they would come to shove
themselves on toddler flesh

how long will he
with gentle life
be robbed
once more
It doesn't just happen in less 'civilized' lands, low-socio-economic areas, or with alcohol misuse, but even within the well-to-do civilian populations, organized child abuse rings operate targeting a boy or girl's earliest days, for the sake of power and profit. There are more slaves now than in past eras. Some kind souls want to help but most victims remain unseen, and few incidents are reported. Every prophecy in Scripture has come true, so may this one also eventuate soon for in a restored earth where respect reigns for all: "They will do no harm nor cause any ruin" -Isaiah 65:25
I yearn
to make the sun shine
so I can see it reflect
in the lights of your eyes
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