The Weight I Carry (And What It Costs)

The past is not behind me—
It walks beside me still.
It speaks in quiet moments
And bends me to its will.

It lingers in the sterile light,
It echoes in the hum
Of monitors and whispered prayers
When hope is all but gone.

The present isn’t softer—
It pulses through the pain
Of patients breaking in my hands,
Of lives I can’t sustain.

But I know how to sit with fear,
I’ve breathed through it for years.
I’ve felt the dark press on my chest
And fought back drowning tears.

PTSD has marked my soul,
But made me sharp and kind.
I see the wounds behind the words
That others never find.

In scrubs, I’m strong, I speak with calm,
I know just what to do.
At work, I give what’s left of me
To help someone pull through.

But when I cross the threshold home,
The weight becomes too loud.
The walls expect a gentler me
Than what I’m still allowed.

The stress I never fully name,
It follows me inside.
And suddenly, the smallest things
Feel like a wave, a tide.

I’m not as soft, I’m not as still,
I shut down when you speak.
I’ve run dry from giving all day—
There’s nothing left to leak.

And though I love with all I am,
Some nights, I disappear.
Not into war zones far away,
But right beside you here.

So if I seem a world away,
Or cold when I come home—
Know it’s not you I push against,
Just the silence I’ve outgrown.

The past still lives inside my bones,
The present takes its toll.
But loving you and healing too—
It’s both my wound and goal.

And all I ask is that you see
The fight behind the face.
I’m learning how to carry less,
And come back to this place.

So hold me when the light runs low,
Remind me love is near—
That even when I give too much,
There’s still room to be here.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Ordinary men.

When naked, it's striking: thin --


muscular bundles.

I wear lace like armor, heels like blades,
Lip gloss sharper than your daddy’s blades.
I twirl in silk, then break your pride,
A sugar-coated storm you can't survive.
You wanted soft? I’m softly cruel,
Bat my lashes while I bend the rules.
You prayed for a princess? Oops, I’m the queen,
With a pink smile hiding something mean.
You say I’m “sweet”?
Then why are you scared to sleep?
I haunt your mind in perfume and pearls,
A girly goddess wrecking worlds.
I'm the nightmare in satin and glitter,
The pink poison that makes you bitter.
A dainty danger with diamond claws,
Dancing pretty while I break your laws.
My body’s a temple, my stare’s a spell,
I'm heaven and a touch of hell.
Celestial bodies dress in pink—
We’re everything you fear to think.
I sip champagne while I watch you squirm,
Smile so sweet while I make you burn.
Twirling through chaos in ballet shoes,
This Barbie bites—and you will lose.
I laugh like wind chimes, cut like knives,
Your fragile ego won’t survive.
You thought I was sugar, soft and small?
Darling, I’m the one who ends it all.
You wanted nice? You wanted tame?
But I’m the spark you couldn’t name.
Wrapped in pink, I run the game,
A girly flame you’ll never tame.
I'm the nightmare in satin and glitter,
The pink poison that makes you bitter.
A dainty danger with diamond claws,
Dancing pretty while I break your laws.
My body’s a temple, my stare’s a spell,
I'm heaven and a touch of hell.
Celestial bodies dress in pink—
We’re everything you fear to think.
Donald Trump thinks he’s bold and rich,
But he’s just a scared, misogynist glitch.
Spray-tan clown in a suit too tight,
Cried “fake news” ‘cause truth burns bright.
He built his name on girls' disgrace,
While hiding fear behind his orange face.
Talked like a king, ruled like a joke—
Guess what, Donnie? The throne just broke.
He mocked our rights, laughed at our tears,
But we’ve been rising for centuries, dear.
Your walls? We crush them.
Your lies? We hush them.
Your era’s over, pack your ties—
This is HERstory, and we cut ties.

molded,  
      measured,  
            carved.  

           (cut down to size.)  

    a rib for eve,  
          a waist for venus,  
                 a bust for dionysus,  
                        a jaw for adonis.  

what is a body
if not a mirror?
if not a stage?
if not a cage?

    they say,  
             make yourself small.  
     they say,  
             make yourself more.
     they say,  
             make yourself worthy.  

break bone,
burn flesh,
bind, pinch, peel, pull —
closer. tighter. smoother. thinner.
broader. harder. taller. stronger.

     (they will still call you too much.)  

a scale is an altar,
a waistline a prophecy,
a mirror a judge,
a calorie a sin,
a muscle a shrine.

   and you?  
          a lamb—  
               fattened, then starved,  
                    offered up,  
                        to the god of empty stomachs,
                        to the god of unyielding fists.

who taught you to love your body
only when it is leaving you?

    who told you hunger was holy?  
    who told you pain was power?  

who decided a man is only worth
the space he conquers,
and a woman is only worth
the space she does not take?

and why did we listen?

I was chasing a perfect picture of myself
till now
Fooling myself, I thought the outward was the answer
Realizing the impermanence of our bodies
Sends warm shivers and prickles down my spine.

Where one is fighting gravity
Another one is fighting life itself
One may embrace poverty
Another one may struggle in rich hell

As strong as grief
The body will let go
Our minds repeat
The patterns ever-slow

This night's embrace
May only cause surrender
The outward image
Dissipates in madness

And only thing alive -
Quiet awareness.  
What's missing?
Our joy in hearts -
Therein lies only sadness.

I walk through hallways
White lights, Marble floors,
And portraits on the walls
Of girls covered in moths
The contrast to their eyes
Resting on their lips like morning dew
Drawing up tears, as if nectar

I think through hallways
Many have stated that
A moth is drawn to a flame
But I recently learned
A moth is drawn to celestial lights
And though a flame can mimic celestial lights
It is not a celestial body

All the girls are celestial bodies
And all celestial bodies are covered in moths

Shapes shifting through the sheets
of paper, in my dreams
soft pillow seams, we move like a gentle
firey breeze -
your shape consumes me.

I have never seen volcanoes, yet my
thoughts erupt in shapes.
What is it to desire a shape ?

A venetian spell of curved brushes to cheeks,
dreaming of the days and weeks I could
lay, still, yet volcanic, staring opposite your face, in embrace and tracing your skin with my finger.

Like a brush stroke,
my muse

what is it to loose the memory of a body?

Every trace and touch
each mahogany blush
within the rush of lust,
a cosmic trust between body to body
and mind, to the Hearts’ justice.

A sketch,
first love.
I cloak and glove the painting of you
moving through new shapes away from
view, yet sometimes with solemn and blue, sly Fate washes water-coloured visions and crimson hues through my mind and i’m reminded of each line, curve and shape.

Oh desire ! What a profound honour
to know a body beyond shape.