Transcendent wisdom with a spoon is a crumpled cardboard box

“Why do you lie?” They asked the child
“To protect my self from harm”, was the reply.


Is there a place for the.truth.
1 January 2025.  

One that’s lives with pain,
Must it be hidden for shame?

Skidding on broken ice.

Snake hidden in the tree of my own thoughts,
Its coils around my knees constrict my steps.
Freedom falters,
And the bread of love turns bitter in my hands.
Each word I speak falls lifeless,
Like a wounded sparrow,
Plunging into silence.

Why do I cry?
Is it you who steals my freedom,
Or the shadows in my mind
That blur your face
And whisper doubt where trust once grew?

A storm brews in my spirit,
Paranoia’s tree taking root,
Its branches thick with imagined truths.
Am I the snake?
Is it my hand that tarnishes love,
Leaving only fragments of what once sustained us?

Still, I cry—
For love, for trust, for clarity.
For the sparrow’s flight,
For the bread unbroken,
For freedom to feel whole again

Worn Ou1
17 November 2024

Warn in. Warn out.
No clouds. Just rain
Today, naked tired.
Let the broken lie.

Casual
17 November 2024

Too much pcpcorn,
Netflix and tabled foot.
iPhone case sworn,
Anxiety *** to boot.

Winter Comes
3 November 3024

Cold deep into my glass.
Martini.
Eyes of a dead fish,
Search endlessly for peace that lasts.
Eyes of dead fish,
Listen. Unheard.

Hunger
20 October 2024

Each morning, I wake—
hungry, not just for bread or breath,
but for something deeper,
a taste of the world still untamed,
a bite of what I have yet to find.

I have walked with loss,
felt the weight of dreams half-grown,
and watched as belief slipped,
like sand through open hands.

Incomplete, yes—
but I wear it like a second skin,
not as a wound,
but as a mark of a life still reaching.

I wake, and I am alive,
hungry for what’s next,
for love, for understanding,
for the answers I will never find—
and that’s enough.

In each sunrise, I feel the ache
of being unfinished,
but I know,
there’s beauty in the emptiness.