There was an old cat lady,
Everyone thought she was crazy.
Who needs ten cats?
Didn’t care for her reasoning,
Too busy judging,
They didn’t care that,
Her husband had died,
And she was keeping his memory alive.

While the adults kept their distance,
The kids of the neighborhood were fascinated,
Especially the cat lovers,
Though the dog lovers were interested too.
She would sit on her front porch,
Smile and wave,
And on summer days,
Make the children lemonade.
She would tell them stories,
Of her adventures on this Earth,
Their imaginations running rampant,
From her descriptions.
They would listen,
To both her and the cats they would be petting,
And hear their purring.
Those were the happier times.

Over the years,
The old cat lady,
Grew even older,
And moved slower.
Yet she still sat on the porch,
Greeting the kids that walked by.
When they saw her smile,
Their worries and anxieties were left far behind.
Her lemonade, divine,
Along with her key lime pie,
Dining to die for.

She remembered each child’s name,
And would even give the gifts for Christmas,
She didn’t want to see them sad,
They were just kids,
And life hadn’t started yet,
For them.

She rocked on her rocking chair,
Cats sitting everywhere,
Purring contently,
As was the old cat lady,
Enjoying every moment,
Though her lover was long gone,
She found a new purpose,
And her sorrows passed on.

The kids were now in high school,
Still visited every now and then,
To brief her on their lives,
How she valued that time.
They were all so different,
Each student was unique,
With their own special interests,
She prayed that they would succeed.
On Christmas Day,
They surprised the old cat lady,
With a gift from each of the former kids,
Scarfs and mittens,
Chocolates,
And blankets,
And even sweaters for the cats.
The old cat lady cried happy tears,
For the first time in her life.
She was content,
She felt alive.

Then as summer showed its face,
One blistering day,
The old cat lady,
Wasn’t rocking on her porch,
The cats weren’t purring on her lap.
There weren’t any sounds coming from the house,
The lights were off.
The students broke the front door down,
And searched the house.

They found her on her bed,
Surrounded by,
Her furry friends,
They were snuggling,
Wishing,
Their owner would awake,
But she was dead.
She had gone,
In her sleep,
Peacefully.
The students cried,
As they dialed,
The police,
They took her body away,
Much to her cats’ dismay.

The funeral was rough,
Adults not feeling bad enough,
For they had been too afraid,
To get to know the old cat lady.
The students cried,
And covered their eyes,
They couldn’t believe,
She had died.

The students would take turns,
Going to her humble abode,
To feed her cats,
Since nobody wanted them,
Not that they wanted to leave their home.
Yet, when they went inside,
With food in hand,
They were surprised,
To find,
The cat bowls filled with food,
And lemonade prepared.
She figured it was,
The least that she could do,
To ease their hurting minds…

When people ask my favorite color,
I often say red or green,
And while I adore them,
It’s a lie.
Then after the conversation,
I wonder, “Why?”
Why did I lie?
What point did it serve?
I question and question,
And this is what I can confirm.

I’m afraid,
Afraid of being judged.
Afraid of the pointed fingers,
And the laughs.
Afraid of being shunned.
Afraid of the chastisement,
And the thought of being outcast.
Why so many fears,
Stem from something so trivial?
I couldn’t answer,
It makes no sense!
Yet something so small,
Feels so consequential,
Making a mountain,
Out of a molehill.
Seems to be my speciality,
Unfortunately.

Perhaps it’s a lack of self-confidence,
So I’m bound to hide any part of me.
That way if I get insulted,
They aren’t addressing me,
Just whatever I told them,
I control the narrative.
How long can one accept,
Living their lives as someone else?
It would feel more freeing,
To stop the lies,
And tell the truth,
But is it worth the risk?
Is the exposure worth the glamour?
Is it worth…
Being me?

I remember when we all had to wear masks,
I hated it.
Yet when the main force of Covid passed,
I kept it on.
Slightly suffocating,
******* all personality,
‘Til I’m nothing,
More than,
Another face,
People pass,
Perhaps a glance,
If I’m lucky.
It’s not as simple,
As just taking the mask off,
If it was,
Do you think I would’ve kept it on?

Trapped in an overthinking mind,
Thought circling,
Swimming fast through the ocean,
No chance of escaping.
The sharks are hungry,
Ready to fill me,
With doubt,
Concern,
A lack of self-worth,
And the biggie,
Anxiety.
If I try to swim away,
I’ll be eaten alive,
Torn apart,
From the inside out.
So at least for now,
My mind is a prison and I’m never gonna get out…

Last year around my birthday,
I wrote a poem similar to this,
Titled “Am I Good Enough?”
A simple question.
I came to the conclusion that I am,
But if I hide, inside,
Is that really living life?

Some lessons that I’ve learned,
Sometimes it’s best to walk the road alone,
The road less traveled,
The road no one else goes,
But the one which will lead you home.
People aren’t always reliable,
Me included,
It’s guaranteed,
Eventually,
They’ll let you down.
And it will hurt you,
When they do,
But they’re human too.
Who make mistakes,
And have regrets,
Filled with stress,
And aren’t perfection,
Despite what they may say.

I often think,
And dread,
What people think of me,
A broken tragic thought,
Excessively haunting.
I think the consensus is,
I’m a stuck-up, narcissist,
Trapped in my own head.
They wouldn’t be entirely wrong,
But I swear,
That’s not me…
I fear that people think I’m too good for them,
So they don’t even bother to connect,
That feeling spreads, and before you know it,
There’s no one left.
In reality,
I’m not that great,
Subpar, at best,
Scraping by with gifts,
I misuse and don’t understand.

I’m painfully introverted,
My shell is very comfortable,
What’s not to love?
Then the loneliness creeps in,
And while I may be satisfied with myself,
People need connection.
Though I don’t need as much as most,
I still need connection.
Yet, I fear,
There’s few who get me,
For me.

I try not to be a pleaser,
But when you’re desperate,
And given attention,
You’d be a fool not to accept it.
Yet, most don’t have the purest intentions,
And abuse,
And misuse,
The kindness they’re given.

I’m tired of sitting in my tower,
Watching from my balcony as others shine,
Questioning if I could do the same,
If I could be half as bright.
As they say,
Sometimes you have to make a leap of faith.
So I will,
I’ll fall,
Not caring what’s below.
Isn’t it better,
To be yourself,
Rather than die a character?
I’ll land on my feet,
And run to the rest,
To prove that I’m worth,
To be in their presence.

So sayonara, somber sorrows,
Farewell, fleeting fear,
Attack, anticipatory anxiety,
And believe,
Things will be fine.
I hope you see,
That the simplest things to confess,
To the overthinking mind,
Can tear me to pieces,
With nothing left to find.

I’ll be myself,
For all I can be, is me,
And though sometimes I may despise me,
I wouldn’t want to be anyone else.
So…
My name is Reece Allen Ellison,
And my favorite color is…
Pink

Heart breaks, stomach aches
Throwing stones, breaking bones
Living life, free of strife

Moment makers, deal breakers
Starving lately, give it to me straightly
Life uprooted, final resort executed

No one around, no more frowns
Happy world, softly curled
The end of being, the start of meaning

The hardest emotion to understand,
So much more than just holding hands,
How mesmerizing when done right,
Not when every night’s a fight.
It can last decades,
Or a matter of minutes,
Of course for those whose love is so short,
I think they don’t understand it.

Love is more than just a feeling,
It’s a promise,
A commitment,
A pact between two lovers,
To try their hardest to make things work.
You don’t just let it go,
When someone else catches your eye,
That just shows,
You weren’t ready for the next stage of your life.
It makes you scummy,
Immature,
At least to me.
And what you felt wasn’t love but what we call,
Infatuation.
You saw a pretty face,
And thought that meant forever,
Till you realized that,
There’s more fish in the river.
You didn’t care about personality,
Or charm,
Just a short-lived burst,
Of so-called “Love,”
Breaking more hearts than one.

Highschool’s the precipice,
Of people who don’t know what they’re doing,
I guess you have to learn somehow,
Or you could just bide your time and wait,
Save the slander and the drama,
And keep yourself from crashing down.
People together one day,
Broken up and bitter the next,
Could you even consider,
That a relationship?
What happened to commitment?
What in the world is going on?
Sometimes it feels,
Like I’m living in a breakup song.
There’s only so much empathy,
One can feel,
For those who do the same thing,
Over and over again,
Expecting something to change.

Some people are purely content,
To remain single,
Their whole lives.
I respect it,
But can’t understand it.
Do they ever feel lonely,
Like they want something more?
Or are they too scared,
To reach for the double-edged sword?
For fear of the cut,
Or the pain that follows,
Little do they know,
You can’t have one without the other.

Some people believe that love is just romantic,
So they misunderstand when people say to love one another,
Platonically exists,
And in some ways,
Blossoms brighter than the rest.
Just having a good friend,
Who’s there when no one else is,
That kind of relationship,
One of dreams…

Hollywood always shows,
Overly romantic couples making out in the hallway,
Overly romantic at least to me.
They say there’s about five different love languages,
I’d say I’m a mixture of a few.
I wouldn’t be one for touch,
Or one for getting excessive gifts.
I’d rather be a help,
And be reminded how much I mean,
With some words of affirmation,
And some quality time,
Sounds like peace to me.

There is one I adore,
There was another,
But the feelings faded,
And the others grew stronger.
However, like I did before,
I’ll bite my tongue,
And not say a word.
Waiting for the feelings,
To subdue.
To cowardly to confess,
How much they mean to me,
Too much overthinking,
About if they feel the same way towards me.
Why does this have to be so hard?
Rejection is a pain that leaves a nasty scar.
Is it worth it to take the risk?
Or better to kick myself later as the feeling friskily,
Leaves me?

I used to think love was overrated,
Especially at my age,
And while I still do,
Upon recent overview,
Of friendships,
And addition of loneliness,
I question,
My previous,
Motives.

I need someone who understands me,
Someone who cares for me,
Even on the days,
Where I don’t see,
What they love,
They stay…
They don’t run away,
Just cause it’s hard,
They stay beside me.
Someone patient,
Someone kind,
Someone willing,
To stand by my side.
Someone to inspire,
A book of their own.

I believe true love is out there,
You just have to be patient enough to keep looking,
Despite no results.
There’s someone out there,
For you…
Probability almost guarantees it,
There are billions of people on this blue planet.
A lot who are lonely,
And looking,
For you…

I’ll never understand,
How some people confuse,
Abuse and misuse,
For love.
The people who take it,
Too nice and too forgiving,
And sometimes have nowhere to go.
The world would be a better place,
If the abusers and misusers,
Were erased…

Despite what I’ve said,
About immaturity and scumminess,
Yes, I understand,
Sometimes it’s just not meant to be.
But when people go around,
And do the same charade again,
Empathy dies,
Replaced with karma,
Who never lies…

There’s a rant from a poet,
Who wants a feeling he doesn’t fully understand.
Yet he longs for it,
Hoping it finds him,
He’s reaching out his hand,
Waiting,
For someone to take it,
And tell him that they love him,
For who he is,
All of it,
The good,
The bad,
And the ugly,
Because the truth is I’m a mess.
That is what true love is,
Unconditional,
And so,
So hard,
To find,
Amidst a pile,
Of broken,
Bitter,
Hearts.

There’s nothing that gets me more excited,
Then hearing we’re eating,
Grandma’s biscuits this afternoon.
Whether morning, evening, or night,
I’ll eat them at any time.

So many stories,
Of a long life,
I can barely picture.
Ones filled with joy,
Humor,
Pain,
And grief.
How I delight,
To hear her tales,
Whether tall or not.

Every year,
She visits her sister,
Out in Michigan,
And they go on a trip,
To Arizona.
If I was her age,
I wouldn’t want to move,
I see the pain,
Behind her smile.
I know, though,
As long as she can,
She’ll visit her sister,
In Michigan.

During the summer,
When things seem to slow,
She’s there with activities,
To mellow out the flow.
Yet sometimes, I admit,
I complain and I groan,
A foolish mistake,
The effects not yet shown…

We’ve been through a lot,
She’s seen a lot more than I,
Yet we share that connection,
That connection,
Of family tied so tight.

One of her sons,
Fell in a hole,
And picked up a bottle,
And sold his soul.
I know it wasn’t my fault,
And out of my control,
Yet the way I reacted,
To his actions,
Haunts my soul.
Where he used to reside,
Gutted and reformed,
Filled with fabric,
Waiting to be used.
Sometimes I walk into that room,
To remember…

Even when she’s hurting,
And she can barely walk,
She’ll fix up a supper,
Before you can stop her.
Her stubbornness incalculable,
A trait passed to my mom,
And my brother,
And probably me,
I can’t deny,
Sometimes she worries me.

I’ve already witnessed the end,
On my dad’s side,
The lots, eighteen in all,
Or so I thought.
My neighbors to the right,
Shield your eyes…

I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,
When she leaves us behind,
I’ve questioned myself,
Late at night.
I know it’s part of the process,
But that doesn’t numb the pain,
If anything, the inevitably,
Makes it twice as agonizing.
I don’t tell her my worries,
I don’t want to see her cry,
For if she does,
I will,
And we’ll both be a mess.

She’s read my stories,
I haven’t sent her a poem,
Scared, and nervous,
About this side of me.
The part kept hidden,
Until the clacking of keys,
Not a fear of acceptance,
But a fear of worrying.

So for now,
While she’s here,
My sweet,
Mommom,
I’ll enjoy,
Your biscuits,
And your sweet tea.
I’ll push the dark thoughts away,
We’ll cross that bridge someday,
But that day is not today,
So I’ll push the dark thoughts away.

Grandparents,
How special,
How precious,
And finite.
How I love mine…

A wolf,
All alone,
On his lonesome,
Waiting for prey…
Wondering if love,
Is worth the pain…
A sheep stranded far away,
From its herd,
The strangest sheep you’ve ever heard.

This one thinks for itself,
Despite the stereotype,
Of the mindless zombies.
This one thinks it’s something else,
The first of her kind,
Her childish pride.
Her herd says that love is a lie,
A double-edged sword,
A failing dance,
They advise against,
Searching for true love,
A foolish gambit.
She thinks she’ll break the mold,
Be something more than what she’s told,
But her beating heart will be her demise,
As the wolf takes its prize.

The wolf steps out from the forest,
With a coy look on his face,
The sheep is surprised,
And capsized.
She’s been thrown into the waves,
Her heart betrayed her in a million ways.
With a look of interest, she approaches,
As the wolf prepares his script,
He smiles and winks, checking the boxes,
As he licks his lips.

He says,
“Haven’t you heard,
About the predators,
That roam in these woods?
What’s a thing such as yourself,
Doing this far away,
From the herd?”

She says,
“I’m not afraid of danger,
I’m here to break the mold.
You don’t seem quite as scary,
As the elders foretold.
I find the flock a burden,
Following a fool’s lead,
I am an independent,
I’ll go where my heart and mind agree.”
The wolf smiles with glee,
His prey is his guaranteed.

The sheep notices scars,
One on his ear,
And one by his heart,
She empathizes and opens her own,
Ready to hear the stories unfold.

The wolf smiles and points at the one at his ear.
“This one’s from a coyote who cowered in fear.”
He pointed next to the one by his heart.
“My mom tried to tear me apart.”
The sheep’s soul aches and groans,
Feeling empathy for a wolf unknown,
Smiling softly she asks for his name.
“Anwir,” He says and bows his head.
“Amora,” She responds, bowing along.

Time moves on,
And the pair grow close.
Their love so strong,
It could be a blaze,
And turn the woods,
To an ashen decay.
If only it was,
More than a farce,
Made up by a wolf,
To lure his prey.
So he plays his part,
His life was a stage,
Waiting for the sacred day.

The wolf offers to walk the sheep,
To a place where silence would creep.
The sheep agrees,
Calls it a date,
The wolf smiles with glee,
Sealing the sheep’s fate.

He leads her along,
A stream and a meadow,
Where they got along,
And grew closer together,
All part of his master plan,
Buying time,
To lure her to her end.

He takes her to the precipice,
With nearby mighty cliffs,
The sheep stares into,
The starry night sky.
The wolf feels split in two,
Instinct or love,
He cannot decide.
He remembers his mom,
Who tried,
To eat him to survive.

He lunges,
She thrashes,
She cries,
Her last.
“Why?”
She asks him.
He bows his head,
Before pushing her body,
Of the face of the cliff…

He sits down and gazes at the moon,
So full,
So pure,
Upon instinct, he howls,
Then it clicks,
His actions make no sense.
He flashes back to the sheep.
Smile and eyes,
That pleased him so.
He thinks of her question,
“Why?”
He starts to cry.
Love at first sight,
Ended under a starry night,
With no reason why,
Thus, is played,
The game of life…

The soldier and the poet,
Didn’t know it,
But their fates were intertwined.
Since they were younger,
Filled with vigor,
They attracted each other’s eyes.
It didn’t take long,
Till they were husband and wife,
Together, forever,
For life.

Then the bombs fell,
And the war began,
And the husband,
Had to go away.
He promised his country his life.
Though the poet pled,
It didn’t make,
A difference,
And he went either way.

The poet grabbed her pen,
As her husband trained for war,
She perfected her craft,
As her husband broke his back,
Figuratively,
With all of the attacks,
He was a part of.

She sold her poems,
Of her pain and loss,
And how she saw the world around her.
Her discontentment,
Her resentments,
And the thoughts that flew in her head.
She made a pretty penny,
But it didn’t fix the problem,
Her lover was across the sea.
But she prepared her poems,
To sing to her husband,
To ease his pained mind.

He was deployed to a war-torn city,
Paratrooper,
With parachutes,
Praying not to be shot before you hit the ground.
They had the advantage,
But the forces were stronger than they thought,
And they had heavy losses.
He lost his whole battalion.

Later he came back,
Into her loving arms,
But he wasn’t the same,
At all.
He was more quiet,
Less excited,
As he processed his pain.
He cried,
And she held him tight,
And every night,
She sang to him, lit by the moonlight.
Her favorite was one called,
“My Hero”

“Fighting amidst chaos,
Takes strength beyond belief,
And requires,
Some sacred reprieve.
I’ll hold you close,
Tell you everything’s alright,
I may not be able to change the past,
But that’s fine.
Let the memories fade away,
Don’t forget them,
But don’t let them take control of your brain.
My hero,
My lover,
My husband,
My all in all,
My everything,
My comforter.
Don’t push me away.
On your worst days,
I’ll be your hero,
Like you are mine…”

The soldier fell to tears,
Overcome by grief,
Heart filled with fears,
Wishing for reprieve.
His lover held him close,
He cried into her sleeve,
She asked him, softly,
“Won’t you tell me?”
“It’ll hurt you!” He said.
“I’ve been waiting!”
He cleared his throat,
Lifted his head,
Dried his eyes,
And mourned the dead,
He told her what,
Was in his head.
His choices filled,
With love instead,
Of pain.

She held his face,
And kissed his cheek,
And took her pen,
And wrote down,
All that he said,
Every word,
The saddest tale,
She ever heard.

But he knew,
He was safe,
In her arms,
Far away,
From bombs, and the shots,
And the blood, and the guns.
None of that,
Was here with him,
Just his wife,
His closest friend.

The soldier and the poet,
Didn’t know it,
But their fates were intertwined…

Screams thrown in my face like acid,
making my skin burn to a crisp.
Harsh words stab into me,
venom sinking in my bones,
forever engraved in my soul.

A daze clouds my brain,
I don't know what I did,
what I do know is I caused this.

The problem that everyone has,
all stems from the mistake that is me.
My presence in the room is enough to **** any mood.
I'm just sad I had to leave so very soon.

Memories blurred and tears left unshed,
Words of my existence praised with dread.
Almost as if they weren't calling me curses back then.

But over time people spat poison on my name,
I guess nothing ever changed.
But I guess this was always my fate.

I thought people liked you more when dead?
Oh, well that's a shame.  
Too bad it's the end.