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designed our brother designed a bathtub that couldn’t hold itself in any position long enough to keep god’s gaze in the injured overlap of stillness as paroled by a creator stuck in a shape-addicted form

designed our sister designed her sister as a crying joke inside of a third sister whose hearing loss created the moon

designed the moon designed an egg to break the ribs of the moon
You cheated in our relationship
You said one thing, and it was actually for another
Supposed to be number one
Turned out into no number at all
I was put on pause
You were the cause
Always stepping out
Here and there all about
Mr. ******* and Ms. Slinger
Decided to investigate
Catch you in the act
Wasted no time
I found your address book
It wasn’t hard taking a look
Went on the mission quest
Spotted you sitting at the bar with some other women
Drinking to your heart’s content
Time was my pursuit
You acted surprised
You didn’t realize, but a camera pointed and now there is proof you cheated
Every excuse you tried
Nothing you said made any sense
You were busted on the spot
Now who is locked out now
Your female split and left swiftly
Never to return
When will you learn?
Now have a new attitude
As for you, now a conclude
Found someone else who loves me for me
He knows how to soothe
His dancing is ever smooth
A cheater locked out and loss
I was the forbidden force
Alone in your mess
So long sucker, you didn’t do your best
I could care less.
 Jul 23 Emirhan Nakaş
kevin
Another shuffle of lobbyist homekey fraud

This is a violation yet to be named

That's free speech

Economic independence of thought

In how many square feet of homeless shelter is fraud and criminal contempt legislated?

In what square foot of homeless shelter is fraud not legislated?

These people have homes

They are forcing into the shelter and operating an illegal business.

Invading shelters. Obstruction and extortionist agenda

3779 characters left
These messages are being captured and archived in compliance with the Presidential Records Act or the Federal Records Act
Perchance God created this world
For you to bless its ground.
Perchance God, with the love He holds,
Believed that you must be bound.

So He stole all your love
And hid it far from view,
And now you walk the earth
Without feeling in truth.

Perchance He’s in endless doubt—
That one day, you’ll forget
What He did, and what He does—
Oh, it fills Him with regret.

So He fled within the stars,
And to work was He set—
To amend and put to right
Eons of secrets.

For from your love He shall create
Everything that ever flew—
Every red, wine-rich fruit.

And in His need to express His self-hate,
From all the silent tears you abate,
God channeled all His sorrow through—
Creating that beautiful, tender morning dew.
A soft imagining: that even divinity may carry regret—and that the world’s beauty may bloom from sorrow stolen in silence.
 Jul 23 Emirhan Nakaş
saint
i was small when you chose me.
a ribbon tied beautifully around my neck,
shaking in a box
the sun too bright for my eyes.
you smiled,
and i mistook it for kindness.
my forever home.

i learned quickly
that love can wear faces.
that hands can come down hard and still call it discipline.
that food is not promised, even if you sit.
even if you beg.
even if you try to be the best boy.

the chain outside never rusted faster than my hope did.
i stopped barking for help when no one came.
just curled tighter,
colder,
quieter.

you taught me fear by name.
it was yours.

when i peed on the carpet,
it wasn’t defiance.
i just couldn’t hold it anymore.
you never let me out.
but you held my head down like my lungs were made to drown.
and i thought,
maybe this is what love feels like to monsters.

you forgot to name me.
so i named myself sit.
so i named myself stay.
bad dog.

i chewed the furniture once
not to destroy,
but because no one left me toys,
and my teeth ached with the loneliness of growing.

do you remember when i licked your hand after you hit me?
i do.
i thought maybe if i gave you all of my love,
yours might finally stay.

they say dogs are loyal.
but what they mean is:
“we forgive the unforgivable
with our tails still wagging.”

i would’ve died for you.
but you made me live like this instead.

and now i sleep in silence
a small grave behind the shed,
where no one visits.
where no one remembers.
but i remember.

i remember everything.

and still,
i hope your next dog knows only warmth.
and that if ghosts have teeth,
mine are dull.

because i only ever wanted to be good.
even if you never said i was.
a sad narrative from a faithful friend.
We packed koi fish in a suitcase,
for some lost reason
That they’d help move our undead bodies
into transforming light
is thrilling— thrilling— magical thinking

The light only lets
a fine gleam off water
play with a fish’s ambition to enter
the cold— coldest— moment of its short existence
before the weight of a dragon is suffered forever

We packed koi fish in a suitcase,
for some lost reason
That anyone here could even ride upon a dragon
into myth
is so far surpassing delusional thinking

We’ve been pushing around boxes
Towers and causeways, and carpeted birthways
ellipsed in front of the fish’s vision
So it’s no ones fault for hoping
at one point immaculate doorways would open

A Calypso or a curved back could never stop
the disturbing of corners, or the rhythmic surf
thralling koi all morph within a charging breath
but for not the movement to **** at our fins,
then amidst, lo, immaculate doorways-went

It’s no wonder koi fish have come
closer to dragons than anything’s come
That they’d be key and coach for a new home
in it’s new light
is thrilling— thrilling— actually done
from may 14, 2025
poem from the past a day #65
this is the last poem i have that was made in the past as of the date of upload.
as far as its quality of writing, i've left off on a relatively strong note.
it has a handful of captivating phrases. it was a scrap of a couple lines for about two-ish years, so i actually started it around the time i wrote Arrested Celestine and the like and that means it came out of that time of energy. but, on the other hand, i wrote the last two stanzas only a couple months ago, so i do still have my stuff, though fractured and delirious.
as for the future, my brain has taken to coming up with a never ending series of choruses and hooks, and that's what i've been writing down. at least some of that will be published, although i'm taking my time.
 Jul 23 Emirhan Nakaş
saint
my dad didn’t walk out
he just stopped showing up
and called it love.

“i don’t think he meant to hurt you”
my mom says one night over cold takeout
her voice tired like she’s run this loop before

she has.

“you know how he is”
she says it like it’s supposed to make sense
like that kind of sentence has ever held me

i don’t want to argue with her
not her
she was there when he wasn’t
she held the pieces he never saw break
but still
she tries to excuse the man.

“he worked a lot” she adds
“things were complicated”

and i want to scream
i was a child. not a complication.

she picks at her food
like maybe she can find the right words
buried somewhere between the grains of rice

i let the silence stretch long
almost cruel
trying to read her face to my best ability.
working my eyes around her stress riddled face.

“i know you’re trying to defend him”
i say eventually
“but i don’t think he ever tried for me”

she winces
but she doesn’t deny it

that’s the closest thing to validation i’ll ever get.

he used to know how to smile
used to know how to carry me
until i got too big
or he got too small in other ways

we didn’t stop talking all at once
it was a slow erosion
like sand slipping under me.
one day i looked behind me and realized
he wasn’t holding my hand anymore.

he argued more than he listened
corrected more than he cared
and when i tried to reach out
he treated me like a stranger
accusing him of something unprovable

i learned who he really was in whispers
affairs
lies
his actions and inactions

and suddenly every cold moment made sense

he is trying now
a little.
half thought texts
casual invitations

like we’re peers who lost touch
not a father and daughter
with history caked in dust and silence

but i’m older now
the door i waited at for years
has rotted off its hinges
and i’ve turned my back to it.

i no longer sit at the threshold hoping he will return.

i don’t want what he’s offering
now that it’s easy to give.

i don’t want to sit across from him
pretending there was never an absence.

i don’t want to teach him
how to be what he was supposed to be
before i knew how to speak.

i say i don’t have a father
and when people ask..
i don’t explain

because i’m done explaining.
done hoping.
done shaping myself into someone
he might finally pick.

i paint a portrait of him anyway
it’s not beautiful
but it’s honest..

i sign only my name in the corner
he didn’t earn the right to be credited

sometimes i still dream of him
of who he could have been
of the version that showed up

and when i wake, i’m disgusted
by the small girl who still hasn’t learned
her dad changed some time ago.

even in my dreams
he’s already walking away

so i stopped calling
stopped chasing

dad is not his name.
not anymore.

and i am not his to claim.
A family is no longer strange
But i lost the meaning of each member
Friends… I dont remeber
I laid down my rifle
a long time ago.
No more shouting from trenches,
no more pride in the mud.

I surrendered.

But she didn’t.

She’s still bunkered up,
hiding behind sarcasm and silence,
armed with old pain
and the ghosts of nights I didn’t cause.

So I get hit.
Over and over.
Sharp words. Cold stares.
Misfired memories that land on my chest
like shrapnel.

But I’m not backing off.

I’m crawling through barbed wire made of what-ifs
and landmines labeled “don’t go there.”

And I’m close now.
Close enough to smell the old perfume
beneath the wine and wilted willpower.

Close enough
to throw in a grenade —
not of anger,
but of love.

Pull the pin.
Say the words.
Let it explode in light
instead of fire.

Let it end this war
with something softer
than surrender.
Sometimes surrender isn’t weakness — it’s the only way to love without armor.
This poem came from a place of tired hope, trench warfare tenderness, and the kind of truth that changes you while you’re still holding it.
Written during the quiet moment before I threw in one last grenade — not to destroy, but to remind her what we once built together.
O one that holds the strands of fate
Weave this worthless soul a tale
From your fragile winding strings
stronger than armies of noble kings

Don’t let this wandering wretch be lost
Through your halls of ancient tales
With the ways of your silky words
Let my deeds be louder than storms and gales

Let my name be heard when the songbird sings
By your cold and placid grace
To your strands I hold and cling
Until you lift me from my lowly place
And be with you ever…. coiling.
A voice rises from the low places—
not to command, but to be remembered
in the story spun by hands unseen.
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