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 21h
Nat Lipstadt
I asked a woman to change her curls to forever straight,
and offered $50,000

(a sum on my mind that day after a
particularly rough day trading),
incentive
to maintain said style in
eternal perpetuity

she has accomodated me now for over a decade+, but
every every, every now
and every then, She pulls me
closer than close,
whispers 50K~ok!,
and hits me with a
hockey checking
an enforcer's hip swaying
pow,
that be
her physio~verbal
hockey stick reminder,
that poets must always pay their debts,
and even
forever, eternal and perpetuity
are included!
&
have no legal  limitations
or
poetic exemptions


nor,
credit,
for time
served

🥴
true story
 4d
Shadows
Your chair stays untouched
I still set a second plate
Grief eats next to me.
Your voice, haunting
A dark forest in the night,
rooted in legend.
For the first time in a decade
I felt seen
I felt held
His warmth takes my darkest thoughts away.
He held me close as i try to get away
I want to stay
But i just felt too much of a betray

I got overwhelmed and scared
Not because i dont want to
But because again i'm scared  

His warmth made me hang on a little bit longer than i desired
Is it only because i felt admired?
Or maybe because its been slong time since i wanted life to be a desire

Is this temporary?
Would this go down in flames  
Would this fade away?
All i see are traitors  on the way.
Forgive me if i pull away
Forgive me if i don't stay

I want to be with u and be held again maybe a little longer this time.
Maybe consider it as a goodbye for the last time?
I promise i wasnt born like this
I was built brick by brick to be like this

Guarded like a vault
I promise its not my fault.

If i let my guard down would u vow to stay?
I promise u this time i won't hide my emotions i'll display.

i want u to fulfill this condition
never i to be abandoned
nor to be left stranded

This is my last trial
And if  if it backfires
I will finally let go as i desire

-Not A Poet-Just Struggling
like a fitted cotton sheet
tucked inside the hall closet,
stacked neat on the
bottom with the pillow

cases. She spread out
like a butterfly emerging
from her chrysalis and flew
off into the distance. I watched

her airborne. And I stood forlorn
at how she unfolded. I liked her
tight and molded when I had her
in my hand. But she had her

plans. I was rooted to
my yard like the big oak tree,
stripped of leaves in winter,
with bark splintered. She

unfolded like a picnic blanket on
a sunny day. People gathered
to eat and drink and celebrate. And I
was not invited. I sat nil and slighted.
 6d
matt r
where,honey &lemon
  is replacing the
flowersome air,where
the sea is not half
   as sugary as

this toothache way
   I find Myself in.

see,I want the some
-things
       (I want all the
  little somethings)
but nothing & nothing
   is what I,ve found.

is relief grown
in riverbeds,where   is
  content & her litter
of reminders that,'every
thing    will be   okay?

one of My
       little somethings
,to Me,       shows I am
okay, on board&sailing
           for utopia.
When it seems as though
The human coil is unravelling
And we have peaked
Our REM of creativity
And we seem awash
In half-baked positive negativity
And the whole world seems
To be drowning in self-induced sleep
While even the watchers
Seem to have both eyes closed...

Turn this thing around
And open bloodshot eyes.
Stop your own unravelling
And delve deeper into creativity.
Strengthen the bonds of your own
Exclusive and non-exclusive spheres.
Allow your peaceful world to dawn
Even though the outside world drowns
In its own exclusive and non-exclusive pool of fears.
© 2025 Daniel Tucker
We are not born with fire—
we choose it.
In the silence of doubt,
in the ache of waking pain,
we reach for a flame
that doesn’t burn,
but builds.

Some of us burn
not to destroy,
but to light paths
no one dared walk before.
We carve names into time
with trembling hands
and unwavering hearts.

Creation is not in limbs,
but in vision.
In the breath that shapes words,
in the mind that dares to dream
even as the body folds.

But even fire,
no matter how bright,
must one day soften
into ember.
Even warriors
deserve a gentle sunset.

So when peace calls your name—
when stillness becomes the goal,
not the obstacle—
may you rest with pride,
not regret.

For the world remembers
those who chose to live
with courage,
to create in the dark,
to love in the storm.

And to my friend,
who walks with wisdom and weight,
know this:

You are not fading.
You are finishing—
and every step leaves warmth behind.
This poem is dedicated to a man whose honesty lit something in me. It's for anyone facing the weight of time, illness, or doubt—and still choosing to speak, to create, to feel. This is about the fire we carry, the peace we seek, and the love that binds it all together in the end. Much respect, always.
 7d
pilgrims
First snow
Embrace the cold
The trials we endure are what make us bold

Changing face
The strange weather of my secret place
I saw in a mirror that form turns old

Cycle forward
Rearranging story of what we are told
Spiralling trail, compelled to go
Looking forward
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