In my journey through the depths of human emotion, I have come to understand the necessity of embracing the full spectrum of feelings. I have learned that to truly live, I must allow myself to feel every emotion, without judgment or resistance. There is no hierarchy of feelings; joy, sadness, fear, and pleasure are all woven into the fabric of my being. To reject any part of this tapestry is to reject a part of myself.

Through this reflection, I see that emotional wholeness is not the absence of pain but the willingness to meet it with compassion. When I honor the discomforts that arise, I am granted deeper access to the richness of life, and it is here that I find meaning. Avoiding pain may offer temporary relief, but it denies me the opportunity to grow and evolve.

This path requires vulnerability; an openness not only with others but with myself. I must release the need for control and certainty, accepting that uncertainty and imperfection are intrinsic to human existence. By surrendering to this truth, I find the freedom to be authentic, present, and fully engaged with the world.

In relationships, I realize that emotional intimacy flourishes when both individuals can sit with their own feelings and, by extension, hold space for the feelings of others. The bonds I seek are forged not through avoiding discomfort but through the courage to be seen as I am, in both light and darkness with in me.

I have come to understand that emotions are guides, not enemies. They are here to teach me, to lead me toward deeper understanding, connection, and transformation. It is through feeling it all; without numbing, without denial; that I find true liberation.

——————

Each emotion has its space,
each one part of what makes us human.
I carry them all,
not as weight,
but as the colors of life.

In feeling them, I find peace;
not by pushing them away,
but by living through each one.

—Sincerely, Boris

It's frantic but soothing,
Romantic but brooding,
The Whispers of the sky that whirl the clouds,
Whisp within the broken hearts,
Profound melancholy,
Our yearns,
The perpetually tragic night earns,
Thus the moon shys away,
Bribing the clouds to have it's say,
The clouds form the quit to free the moon from its guilt,
Hiding it away,
But I hope to see the moon as clear as sun,
Who knows it's worshipped,
Spilled into words of praise,
Whilst the moon sighs in envy,
Eluding jealousy a tale so refined,
Forged within sorrows it steals the light,
Wishing for the sun to set so it can have it's rise,

i feel good here, like i would like to usurp
his life and nest in it instead,
steal his habits, crafty hands,
bask in his kindness
and feel what warmth lies
inside of his body.
what do you dream about ?
i wonder how easier it truly
would feel, as you.
the rewards with no work,
how does it truly feel ?
i know your comfort had a cost, greater
than i could ever pay,
and the rest is simply your mind,
an artist
in the flesh and bone,
and i forget myself.
i envy you,
it fuels me,
thankful.

In my first sighting of you,  
I painted a picture I could not erase,  
a canvas of disdain—your dress, your gait,  
the way your laughter danced like light,  
your long hair, a glowing shroud,  
your bronze skin, kissed by the sun,  
and the flowers you nurtured,  
while I, a ghost of my own mind,  
waged war against my garden,  
killing blooms for the weight I carry,  
the burden of looking at lives not my own.  

Yet, in the depths of my heart,  
I found admiration where hatred once thrived.  
I never craved your light;  
I like my eggs with edges burnt,  
my garden a desolate expanse,  
but in this solitude, I am not alone.  
What I know is a quiet truth,  
that to admit my feelings is to drown  
into the depths of my own despair,  
but I write this, inspired by the  
long shadows of your existence,  
a reflection of my own tangled soul.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                         Those Who Stereotype “These Professors”

                                                   Exodus 20:16

These professors

Dr. Moriarty was a PFC on certain Pacific islands
Who could bayonet an enemy
Clear a jammed machine gun under fire
See his pals blown to pieces next to him
And work out subtle textual analyses

These professors

Dr. Chambers was a retired colonel of Marines
A natty little man in blazer and bowtie
Who could bayonet an enemy
See his pals blown to pieces next to him
Deconstruct the minutiae of energy distribution
And toss a foul-mouthed football player out on his sorry ***

These professors

Dr. Dale was a butcher until his thirties
When he entered college for the first time
He knew your hamburger from the outside in
The economics of building a business
He probably could have bench-pressed a Ford Fiesta
And when he spoke of Wordsworth, Keats, and Coleridge
You could feel the air of The Lake Country

These professors

“These professors” were complete men
Strong in war and word and wisdom and work
Unlike envious Unferths who learn life only second-hand
                    From Fox News and John Wayne movies
                    And closed loops of echoing InterGossip sites

you have it,
the most beautiful.
most envied,
most divine,
and even in a room
that's filled with lookalikes
you'll always be the most,
the most, the most -
a priceless treasure.
and maybe it's okay
to only be alive
through other people's eyes,
but someone's always lurking
just outside the frame -
a new obsession, waiting to be found.
most envied,
yet most hated.
there you have it,
the most unloved.