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MacGM 5d
I remember your paws going from softly thundering up to crashing down the hallway,
and every game of chase you grew too old for.
I know about the ferocious but tender decision to set you down.
This time there is no need to struggle to get up.
Your wobbly memory survives in the rugs that were put down to help you walk again.
In the depths of depression,  
when the world feels heavy,  
a small gesture,  
a warm smile,  
can lift the weight.  

Offer a hand,  
share a moment,  
plant a seed of kindness  
in someone else's heart.  

In giving, we find light,  
as the darkness loosens its grip,  
and together,  
we rise,  
woven in the simple threads  
of compassion.
I've found that when I'm feeling EXTREMELY depressed it really helps to first, list out loud 12 things I'm thankful for (anything from my bed, to my parents, friends, roof over my head...a person could list hundreds if you thought hard enough) also I try to think of something nice to do for someone. Anyone. I've found it sometimes more rewarding to anonymously bless someone. I dunno, if you can use these suggestions to your benefit, than please do...it seriously helps me, at least for a while, when I'm extremely low. 🤷
You give me life,
While he tries to ***** it out!

You build me up,
While he tears me down.

You bring clarity,
While he stirs up confusion.

You repair,
He retorts.

You restore.
He doesn’t stand a chance in hell!
From the archives…
Bootleg ***** in America has gone by many nicknames, from Blue Ruin, Moonshine, Mountain Dew, Coffin Varnish, Old Be Joyful, White Lightning, Rotgut, Popskull...


Queens and fathers, merchants and poets -
all seek appointments with Dr. Popskull,

when these days brim with fresh anxieties
that won't stop piling atop last nerves;

when sunrises now sizzle, haywire,
bringing bills and bad news, too soon by half;

even the weeks and months are mouthy,
won't shut up with their stubborn griefs.

Blue ruin brewing in the clawfoot tub -  
Old Be Joyful swigged sweet tot by tot -

bay *** blind in the corner store -  
Dr. Popskull fills prescriptions as fast

as dollars. The evening vanishes -
happiness is borrowed from a future self.
Nosy 5d
She never comments.
Never signs her name on my board.
She just sits quietly in my silence,
gathering something that once gathered me.

Now I find myself
hanging in her gallery of words—
a whisper, reposted,
a breeze tucked between stanzas.

Each hush she curates
feels like a fragment of heartbreak,
a delicate recollection
made sacred in its echo.
A quick poem in ode to the one reposting my art.
Memory is a punishment
Forgetting is a crime
I still remember.
The sadnesses in old songs.
Still tug my heart strings.
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