There was an older man who was not very liked.
He sits and draws cartoon characters based on his childhood abusers, often saying their names out loud.

He remembers people who have passed away and calls them "*******."
He sometimes feels like crying but holds back, worried he might not like the taste of his tears.  "his tears taste like bitter memories of his parents' criticism:

I haven’t seen my friend Eugene for several weeks. He is in the hospital with pain no one can explain. I miss our chats in the dayroom. I especially loved seeing his face light up when we talked about his Aunt Harriet and Uncle Jack, about her favorite cookies and his fishing trips at the lake with them.

Eugene never had good things to say about his parents. His father told him to ******* to relieve pressure, and his mother told him to run from the bullies. His therapist constantly told him he wouldn’t amount to anything, which made him angry and sad.
He sometimes wishes he had never been born because he feels rejected and looked down upon.

I care about my friend. Sometimes we talk about poetry. I gave him my favorite pen to help him express his feelings.
Poetry is important to me, and I choose to show empathy.
We need to share the stories of those who cannot defend themselves.

That was in 2017; he is long gone, my friend Eugene; however, I will never forget our small talk.  

Continue to rest in peace, my dayroom friend.

I’m back once more.

I spent a long night contemplating which people to remove from my life, the ones who drag me down.
It’s time for a transformation in 2026, a chance to relieve the pressure in my chest.

Like a Maidenform bra that left an imprint,  
What a relief it is to let them go.  
My poem captures both my spoken and silent reflections.  
You may hear my island accent as you go through it.

This past year has been good for me, despite the COVID-19 pandemic that struck in 2020.  
I had a breakdown yesterday, but today I feel somewhat clear-headed. I can truly recognize certain people for who they are: bullies.

I’m refreshing my social circle for my new friends. I haven't shed many tears this year, as I’ve cut back on gambling and focused more on saving, which is positive. Unfortunately, my *** life has plummeted like the temperature in New York to freezing.

My poetry stays authentic and unrefined, yet my smile has grown friendlier towards strangers. I believe I’m starting to appreciate humanity again.

I still have a long journey ahead to rebuild something called trust. I spent another long night reflecting on my strengths and weaknesses.
Growing up, I cherished the biblical tales that resonated with me.
In many instances, the weaker characters are often taken advantage of by the stronger ones; being vulnerable can lead to exploitation, diminishing our self-worth and power. For what? A fleeting moment of intimacy?

Did you notice my tears in my writing? No?
It's not about what you glance at, but rather what you perceive—Thoreau.(quote)

While you gaze up at the ceiling, mulling over your thoughts, the three parts of your brain are functioning together.  
Nevertheless, weaknesses can cause them to drift apart, making me feel as if I have lost touch with myself.

Today is for me to hear my voice. Farewell, my lover; greetings, new friends. Hello, new friends.

In the profound darkness of a frigid night, I can hear his labored breathing. He appeared to be worn out yesterday. Today, I find myself fatigued by the wounds of love, exhausted by my inability to trust in this concept we call love completely.
Love is meant to be gentle; love is meant to be forgiving. While he longs to cuddle, I simply desire to rest. Inspiration for a poem strikes me unexpectedly, often during the most mundane moments.

I cherish his smile; I enjoy the sensation of his rough, unshaven stubble against my skin. As I write, I continually reinvent myself—Joy Harjo. Yet, with each word, I also remember the struggles and painful moments I’ve encountered. I think back to betrayal—Annie Lander.
It wasn't merely infidelity; it was the haunting vision of my partner engaging intimately with others, eliciting their cries.

My restless thoughts persist in posing questions that elude answers. Still, I have sought divine protection for my well-being. May my fears transform into verses that help me grasp why the most agonizing experience on this earth is to love a man.

“Sometimes, giving all of your love isn't much to save a good soul; it demands soul for a soul as fair payment.” — Gurusharan Singh

Did I have years of experience, or was it just a mix of daily habits? I must have learned something, as my confidence has gone down. Memories that hurt come back to me suddenly, and I struggle with them every day in my love life and at work.

Here I am, getting older, feeling like I don’t really care about what happens after I’m gone. Just put me to rest under a tree.

Talk to me, my inner child. Connect with me like you used to. Were you helping me or leading me astray? I have many stories to share. Those who tell the best stories often pay close attention to their craft.

Speak to me; I was so naive and lost during those uncertain times. What did I have to go through to make a living? Those voices, those faces, those people who hurt me—where are they now? I’m still dealing with the trauma.

Speak to me, my inner child. My poetic voice mixes with my feelings in slow motion. Coyote and I walk the streets of Brooklyn fearlessly. I proudly embrace my blackness by choice. Coyote, I would rather walk alongside the tiger.

Now they watch everything I do—my online posts, my TikTok messages. Once again, no edits, just AI filters. Lamb of God, I look to you.
I was once scared of my inner child.

Love is thinner than a piece of cheesecloth,
transparent yet confusing to navigate.
More conservative than a political debate
More hearts are broken than mended
.
I am determined to search globally for an end to this love.
We desire it fiercely and embrace our fate to heal humanity.

Love may be a fleeting remedy,  
Yet we pursue it with fervent desire,  
Yearning to feel complete.

How many times must someone
How many times must we yearn to feel complete?  
How many times will we be let down by this thing called love?  
He loves me, or he doesn’t.  
I love him, but he chooses to reject my advances.  
His heart clearly desires someone else.

Love is a cross that many of us must bear.
It can be a profound and challenging burden to carry.
However, I feel empathy for its victims in relation to what we call love.
Love cannot be controlled or confined.

In the chill of a dreary April day,
I find myself wandering through the dimness,
My eyes were straining in the absence of light.
As I approach the door, a sense of familiarity washes over me, pulling me back to a time of comfort and solace.
The thought of retreating to the inviting embrace of my warm bed beckons me like a gentle siren, contrasting sharply with the biting cold that surrounds me.
In this moment, I realize that in this vast expanse of uncertainty, there is only one clear path to follow—one that leads back to the refuge of my blankets and dreams.

69 Ways to Please Your Lovers**

Amidst the silence, a sound arose, and there we were, lost in each other as I wove a poem of passion, letting your strokes guide my words and capturing the magic of our moment.

Yet, a wave of guilt washes over me: I haven’t reached that blissful peak. This realization leaves my poem incomplete. I crave that 70th way to truly satisfy my lover and make this experience unforgettable.