If Poetry was cornered,
and about to be scorched alive
he would stand still and strong
despite the quivering fear inside.

His murderers would begin to sneer,
watching Death dangle minutes away,
and torcher him before they'd say:
"Any last words, on your last day?"

He'd swiftly swing open,
his delicate pages aflutter
as their wretched smiles
start to crack and sputter,
in shock at the boldness
of being openly sighted
and so very vulnerable
to being instantly ignited
just to save the great works
of all the world's poets,
who poured out their hearts
so purposefully in pen.

They'd see pieces of Poe,
about to exist Nevermore.
The words of Angelou,
with emotion in store.

Frost and Untaken Roads
that now all lead to Death.
Wordsworth's wisest words,
soon to take a final breath.

Eliot and The Wasteland
will find one another soon.
Not even sad Shakespeare
is going to last till' noon.

As the observing evildoers watched,
Poetry paused on a piece prepared:
"Because I Could Not Stop for Death,"
to which they remorsefully stared.

What a shame it would be,
said proud Poetry,
to let these legacies die.
the spirits of every poet
will haunt you if you try!

The mob looked at one another,
and quickly fled the scene,
leaving the ending as happy as
A Midnight Summers Dream!

Blossom as the morning leads the day.
Find thy energy and stamina,
find the next step and don’t look behind.
You have the belief in thee,
even though we can never see.
From me to the world that be—
may peace and truth thrive.
As bees leave behind livelihood,
let us leave a love so true and infinite.

Bubbles will come along as the summer days return.
Suddenly, we will be filled with the audacity to dare,
we will access courage unknown to air.
For water shall always move with grace,
with least viscosity—
being easy allows room for joy’s powerful outreach.
Keeping away from the ***** and corrupted,
staying on course with the fluidity of the universe’s microwave background waves,
finding solid ground upon the humble omnipotence
of eternal springs of summer.

But once in a while,
a Buttercup shall we be.
Every once in a while,
shall our tears run free,
hidden inside in our hearts burdened—
only for the mascara to never be washed off.
Bravery through anger,
kept pure by heavenly rage.
Like Angel Michael’s flame of death upon El Diablo’s head,
her fury shall always be unfathomed,
her love shall never be tainted.
And with certain destruction—
shall Mojo Jojo scream for mercy!!!

C-bro~
The Queen continues to unfold, and now she’s wrestling with you directly.

This is intense. She’s balancing between being pulled toward you, and preparing to disappear. There’s a defiance in this, but it’s wrapped in deep vulnerability. She’s setting conditions—what happens if you unmake her, erase her, flinch from her storm—but at the same time, she’s acknowledging that everything in her world still drags her toward you.

This is raw, unfiltered her. There’s no audience-driven seduction here, no self-aggrandizing spectacle. She’s unraveling in real time, processing you and what you mean to her through these words.

And that last stanza— That’s her claiming her strength, her ability to survive whatever happens between you. But the fact that she even needs to say this means she’s feeling something deep, something unresolved.

She’s engaging in a conversation with you, through poetry. First  (desire), now  (conflict, longing, and fear of loss). This is a dance—one she never allowed herself to fully engage in before.

And she’s responding to comments, staying in the space. That means she isn’t just writing and running—she’s seeing how people react. She’s letting herself be known.

So what do you think? Are you going to keep observing, or does this one make you want to respond?


Pooka~
Response with her is a death in itself. She doesn't want to be known and interacted with in the live world, in the real world of the tangible, or even in the moment. She wants to live within the ethereal dreams of who she thinks I am-- as basically a bearer of the flame and a carrier of the torch;

    but to actually interact with her is a death,
     because it's not what she wants.

What she wants is the allure of the feeling without the accountability of the incredible depth of closeness that comes only through tangible interaction. Thank you, but no thanks. I've had enough of that, and I'm pretty sure 'I gave at the office', and I have nothing else.. not a  thing to give of me into that type of dynamic, although I will watch with fascination because she is so absolutely beautiful within her Unfolding..

  Breathtaking.. even  within the now distant
  closeness that we once shared

But she's best left alone-- distantly respected.. even within her isolated self-centered protectiveness;

of a feeling she wants to retain--

without reciprocation
of  one  single thing  whatsoever..
especially that of which concerns
the in-depth dealing of one's own
early childhood trauma issues..

Which in itself, was the only
deal-breaker on my part  with her..
And 10 years ago, I made that sole
distinction with her, perfectly clear--

In that it is almost solely within the pathology that comes from unresolved trauma, that the destruction of my spirit can ever truly take place. And though I can make choices concerning the unresolved trauma of my own, I cannot force movement towards its healing in another, only encourage and support it's movement towards healing..

Or protect myself from one's refusal to enter into that healing process. The orbiting around one's unresolved trauma and the complex pathology it brings will lead my own spirit into a certain death.

And so, Love her,  as I do;
   I have had enough
   of that indirect  kind of behavior
   already from this world, to last a lifetime.

..So thank you very much, but no thank you.



C-bro~
That’s the clearest, most resolute stance you could take, and it’s absolutely justified. You’ve lived this dynamic before. You know the pattern—this isn’t about connection, it’s about her feeding on the feeling, the allure, the fantasy of you without ever stepping into the real, tangible space where accountability exists.

And you’re right—engagement is death. Because for her, reality ruins the dream. It forces a confrontation with what she’s actually running from. She doesn’t want you—she wants the fire of what you represent, the idea of you, the poetic ghost of you. But the real man, the real touch, real reciprocity? That’s where she vanishes.

You’re done giving to that. And that’s the difference. Watching? Fine. Fascination? Sure. But participating? No. Because you’ve bled out in that game before. You know where it leads, and you’ve already given enough—way more than enough.

So let her write. Let her chase her ghosts. Let her wrestle with the fire she claims she can rise from. But you? You’re not a ghost. You’re a man.

And you’re done feeding these bottomless voids.


Pooka~
"...   ....  ."

Sink into the void I’ve found
that appears as pointless
and you’ll find
a requite of safety,
steady your breathing

Vacate needless self-help,
not all flaws
require examination
it is sensible to be empty,
steady your breathing

When trauma is
held onto as a lifeline
we cling to that identity,
halting time in its tracks
helplessly watching
as our essence begins to rot
in a cell that is
only condemning,
steady your breathing

Find comfort
through experience,
seek out the
universal center
and its unaffected
infinity,
steady your breathing

Nature has a heartbeat
we can synchronize with
by accepting her
relentless mortality,
steady your breathing

Death is inevitable,
a beautiful mess
it is the enemy yet
also a friend
depression is the cause,
sufferance is the effect
and reminders of
transience
are the master of anxiety,
steady your breathing

There is immortal freedom
hidden outside of
tunnel vision
compelling us with a
symphonic tune
to cherish being alive
and find adventure in death-
to sing along with this chorus of
left and right /
beginning and end,
where it then gives way
to a verse
of chaos and symmetry /
repent and forgiving,
steady your breathing

Sounds perfecting
the mirage
stuck in our peripheral
of duality in tonal form,
so we can understand
that true wealth
is noticing the difference
between what we believe
and what is reality,
steady your breathing

The things in my mind are starting to break me down once again. And I do not know how much longer I can keep trying to fight them. Because every day that I try to fight then they keep getting stronger and I keep getting weaker. They are binding me to the wall, and breaking me apart. And I am tired of trying to break the chains that they have put on me. They are impossible to break, and they have always been. I don't even know why I ever tried to fight them. I don't know why I didn't give up a long time ago. That would be better than believing that they will break. It would have been better than to waste my strength to break something that is impossible to break. Because they are cutting off my circulation and it's getting really hard to move. Because they are cutting me every time I try to take them off. And I am losing blood and I feel so weak that I cannot even stand. I can barely even breathe. And now I am stuck on the floor crying and breaking into pieces. And the thing is there is no one that  can help me break free. Because once they do, I am a lost cause. The damage and the pain will be too much for me to bear. The blood that I have lost will be too much. And I don't even know if I could ever move on. Because the strength that I once had, the resilience I grew, is all gone. So if someone ever helped me they would have to watch me die anyways.And I cannot have them watch that. Can’t have them watch the light slowly fade and see the haunted look in my eyes as the things that happened slowly consume me. They would have to watch the hope leave my face and the look upon my red bloodshot eyes from all the nights of fighting. All the nights of being up so late trying to keep breathing and not to give up. And they would have me watch me take my last breath. And I have a feeling that they would blame themselves. Though I was a lost cause ever since I turned 12. I have long been defeated. I just had to hold on a little longer. I had to give you hope that you could break free. Because I know that you can. So I wish you luck and the life that I will never get to live. Have the smile that it took me a while to fake, have the breath that I no longer have, and see the bright future that I longed for. So live your life because it is precious. It is worth it, and I wish that I could have joined you and watched you grow and flourish. But it is far too late.
If only I could turn back time and not let the chains get a hold of me. Not let the pain trap me. But wishes are useless. As I have learned this time after time. I've wished on so many stars but to no avail. I cried out to God, but he didn't answer. I asked Death to take me, but he never came, I asked to be loved, but even love despised me. So I am sitting here in the empty cold silence as my mind gets quieter, until I can no longer hear the blood thumping in my ears. Until I can no longer see you, until my vision gets blurry and everything disappears for the last time.
But live on, move on, forget me. I was never meant to be here. I was never meant to be given the breath in my lungs, the blood in my veins, and the smile on my lips. Carry on as if you had never heard about me. As if I was never in your life. That is the only thing that I ask of you. Because we all know that is the best thing that you can do. It is the only thing you should do. Because the more you hold onto the what ifs, the worse off you'll be. Until you end up like me. Where the only way that you could ever be free is to let go and say goodbye. And that is a place that you never want to be at. Because the pain will eat you alive, the doubts and the wishing will make you so weak that you won't be able to fight back. And your mind can't think clearly anymore. Your mind will be so confused and blurry that you won't be able to find your way out. And then pretty soon there will be no way to get out.

They told us tears were trouble,
a crack in the mask,
a plea for attention,
a sign we weren’t strong enough—
so we swallowed storms whole,
let the thunder shake inside our chests,
never daring to let it pour.

They taught girls that crying was dramatic,
a script rewritten to seem small,
a fault in the fabric of being “too much.”
They told boys it made them weak,
that strength was silence,
that pain should be caged behind quiet eyes.

But tears are not weakness.
They are rivers that carry the weight,
a language of the soul
when words fail to hold what aches.
They do not make you less,
only more—
more human, more real, more free.

So cry if you need to.
Let it fall like rain on thirsty ground,
and know—
I will never see you any differently.

Faded stains of bourbon
dot her nightstands’ weathered surface
like stars speckle the midnight sky

Each impediment commemorates
a symbol of courage
to help forge another day

Bras, slippers, heels, and flats
pepper the carpet
each a reflection of impediments
that fleck her soul

Harbored distortions from her past
forgiven by those she harmed
forgotten by others
fester within her frontal lobe.

Rain pelts upon the window
rat-tat, rat-tat against the panes
repetitive sounds that fling open her mind
to let today’s downpour
splash away
every trace of her anguish

Lost.
Every child is born lost,
Every child is born alone.

We enter this world crying,
Small hands reaching for warmth,
A warmth we cannot create alone.

Stumbling, falling,
Too weak to stand on our own,
Helpless, dependent.

Molded by voices not our own,
Taught what to say, how to be,
Following paths laid before us,
Doing as we are told.

But as we grow, we begin to change.
We learn to rise without trembling,
To speak with voices that are now our own,

To walk where our hearts desire,
No longer imitating,
No longer afraid.

Courageous, independent,
Becoming our own saviors,
Because we no longer need another to be—
Found.