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I did my best and it was
Good enough for some
But not good enough for the entire circle.

I apologize to those passengers of Life
Who did not or could not see
The percipience of my nature
For they were involved in furthering
And sustaining their own
Patches of life and rightly so.

They blamed me for
Mismanagement of my own life
Which may have in some way
Ruffled the feathers of their opinions
What they saw as mistakes
I saw as vehicles to freedom
What they regarded as foolishness
I considered as creativity's spur.

The width of Raison d'etre is wide as sky
The length of choice is unfathomable
The height of desire reaches the stars
The Sun, its Planets and their Moons
Devices for every nature's florescence
Difference is not a defense
For claiming quality
It is the hallmark of creation's artistry.

The crisp of January and August's heat
The abundance of Autumn
And Spring's colorful spirit
Testament to the unstoppable diversity.
That Toothpick was like an emoji

What became of the elderly man who habitually lingered outside the pub, a toothpick perpetually perched between his lips?
I often pondered the significance of that toothpick—it seemed to serve as a silent emblem, a mysterious token of his unspoken thoughts.

As children, we absorb the world around us, processing our myriad experiences as we grow. When we reach adulthood, we find ourselves striving to unravel the complexities of those early moments.

I’ve always been captivated by the habits of grandmothers, particularly the way many would discreetly tuck their money beneath the layers of their skirts. I can still picture her, clutching her cherished apron, its fabric soft and faded, evidence of countless meals prepared with love. Even when we navigated the lively streets of the city, that apron was her unwavering companion.

Now, reflecting on those customs I once found peculiar, I recognize how the toothpick and the hidden money represented their ways of coping with life’s myriad challenges. The old man who so often graced the pub’s entrance has since passed, joining countless others who have left us. We gathered to honor their lives, sharing fond memories and kind words at their funerals.

Yet for me, the echoes of their lifestyles continue to resonate, capturing fleeting moments of nostalgia that refuse to fade away.
Brave birds bop 
On bare branches outside;
Grandpa’s dominating morning —
Grey and makes everyone flee.
Logic larks: get up and walk, see!
But bed, with an abundance of blankets
And rain, lots of rain, drips don't be insane,
Get warm!
Despite this, cold sausages and coffee call:
“Eat me!”
And I do oblige.
Dear Rosemary,
Your scent is so lovely;
Piney and fresh
I want to mesh
Your menth with mine,
You taste really divine 
With lamb, red wine and more
You linger in my garden galore.
I will live on
with or without you.

I won't cry,
I  won't die.
I will live on
with or without you.

With you, life can be
a smooth journey.
Without you
it will be lonely,
but
I will live on
With or without you.

My life is not mine alone -
It's tethered to my family and friends.
For them,
I will live on
with or without you.
Inspired by a comment by Mr. Val Roy. Thank you.
 4d
1DNA
You dont trust
Because I lack experience.

I lack experience
Because you dont trust.
I am controlling myself:)
Roar...
Wild, uninhibited: free.
Living authentically me.
Ready for more?

Moving beyond fight, fleeing and freeze,
To green pastures,
Living beyond disasters,
In peace, free to feel the gentle breeze.

Risk...
Pulses surge,
New thoughts emerge — 
There are no boxes to tick.

Reward...
Works expanded,
Creativity flows,
Freely as the wind blows,
I move, no longer stranded.

Just freedom to be,
Imperfect, in deficit,
Out of control: incomplete.
Opening up to unforeseen possibilities.
This poem was inspired by a prophecy spoken over me.Enjoy
 5d
Traveler
Crying victim as they’re supporting mass victimization.
Time to tune in to another station.
A higher frequency,
a balanced beam..
Only a fool takes one for the team.

Stress is energy being ****** away, another parasitical entity being fed..
Stop listening to the voices in your head..
Road rage is an early death.
Traveler Tim
Loose curls —
found scattered throughout 
my house
DNA traces —
Declaring existence
Beyond these poems;
Manifestations.
And fleeting interactions
In tight and wide-open 
Spaces.
The King's Birthday long weekend is proving to be a good muse.
Thank You for the pain —
Thank You for Your wisdom.
Thank You for the angst —
Thank You for letting it run its course.
Thank You for Your grace —
Thank You for letting me be,
fancy-face and free.
You are gracious and kind.
You are loving, Your words bind.
You are tender.
With no remorse, You're re-making me slender.
Your fingerprints are love marks all over;
Kisses from heaven.
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