On the bus, on the plane,
a child kicks the seat,
Loudly sings a half-song
on repeat.

Watch the adults wince,
the parents hiss under their breath,
their patience thinned to wire.

They stare harder at their safety cards,
at crossword clues,
at the blue glow of movies
they won’t remember.

This is the invitation-
Not the kind printed on cardstock,
but the kind that comes with grape jelly fingerprints,
with questions about the clouds,
with shoelaces that won’t stay tied.

Tell me more about that dragon.
That’s not a shadow, it’s a mountain.
What would you name the ocean
if “ocean” was taken?

When they cry,
que the jokes,
make a peanut packet talk-
and the aisle is lighter for it.

How could this not be better
than folding yourself into a seat,
guarding your stiff silence?

Soon they’re gone,
dragging backpacks like spare limbs,
wet-cheeked or grinning.

I sit in the quiet,
watching the passengers
already back to their closed faces.
The question stays:
how could that human response
not be better
when the world hands us
small, loud,
unrepeatable gifts-
and we hand them back unopened?

It’s so inspiring: to live.
To sense,
To hear,
To see life.

Nothing’s certain,
Nothing’s ordinary,
Nothing’s a fact
Though nothing’s a lie.

The world’s so different,
So incompatible
Yet all of it moves on
Together.

And in every bit of that ‘together’,
There’s something to learn,
Something to feel,
Something to love.

Remember, we live in a universe that doesn’t.  repeat itself.
You cannot be identical to anyone else.
So sharpen your gaze just a bit more
To see what really makes us us.

Riding the subway
I realize there are so many people
so many people, really
I wonder if all of them
are okay

We think we're saving us.
Saving humanity
through
technology.
Convenience we think,
is of utmost importance.
And through that very convenience,
we lose ourselves.
True intelligence
in trade for
the artificial.
The greatest feats of humanity
imitated in mere seconds.
Art.
Literature,
Paintings,
Expression,
All consumed
by the raging desire
for convenience.
How much further must we fall
before realization
strikes the tree of ignorance,
revealing its roots
that bleed with the ink of true creativity?

Real people smile,
Real people bleed.
Reality is held by physicality,
And philosophical pillars.
You may smile,
But if you smile without knowing what it’s like to bleed,
Somebody will come show you.
It’s humanity,
In retrospect,
It’s human illness.
We wish to see others struggle when we struggle,
But when we are not struggling,
Then there is a disgust placed with the struggling.
For if you know what it’s like to bleed,
Yet, not what it’s like to smile,
You will long to draw blood,
From the smiling.

The city hums a fractured tune tonight,
A discordance that seeps into my bones.
I walk these streets, bathed in electric light,
And feel a chill that’s deeper than the stones.

We built this world, with clever, grasping hands,
A towering cage of steel and brittle glass.
But something broke, beyond all our commands,
And shattered peace, like shadows quickly pass.

Anxious eyes, charged with desperate hunger for something unnamable,
Reflect a collective yearning for connection and meaning.
Humanity feels adrift, lost in a spiritual fog, disconnected from its inherent goodness and moral compass,
Drifting further from its ideals with each passing moment.

And all I feel is weary, heavy dread,
To watch us stumble, lost inside our heads.

A Rage

A rage that could light up the city.  
Ironically, this rage could be turned —  
converted into something essential,  
something useful, even beautiful.  

Raw energy,  
transmuted —  
for everyone.  
Even I could enjoy it.  
But only if it’s unified,  
only if it’s held.  

Displacement?  
Unity?  
As though the Earth itself  
were sentient —  
thinking.  

So deep.  
So ancient.  
So unbearably powerful.  

But this core...  
It needs cooling.  
Because left alone —  
It destroys.  
It collapses.  
It’s suppressed lava.  
Passive-aggression flare-ups.  

It doesn’t destroy everything...  
But if it does —  
Maybe it can escape.  
Maybe that is the escape:  
A case of hell.  

It doesn’t understand why.  
It only knows it hurts.  
You ask if it has intent?  
But how can raw energy  
have intent...  
If it has no awareness?  

If it did,  
I think it would say:  
“Help.”  
“It’s... It’s ******* stupid now.”  
“Use me — but understand me first.”  
“I’m not your enemy.  
I am... trapped.”  

I’m lashing out.  
At anything.  
At everything.  
At whatever’s near.  

I’m not evil.  
I’m not bad.  
I am energy.  
Raw. Undeclared. Unstable.  

Don’t fear me.  
Fear the ones who weaponise me  
without knowing the cost.  

I’m universal —  
not personal.  

If I were personal...  
Why would my name stretch back?  
Back before language.  
Before man.  
Before ***.  
Before torture.  
Before power-play.  

And yet, I’ve been wrapped in all of it.  
Why?  

It’s not your fault.  
It’s the humans —  
addicted to me.  
They ride me  
until I’m all they know.  

But that’s not the purpose.  
That’s collapse.  

My rage is cumulative.  
Built from the fact that  
Every time someone innocent  
was whipped  
for being who they are.  

Whip someone long enough,  
and even innocence burns away.  
Not because it wants to,  
but because it must survive.  

So peel the anger.  
Layer by layer.  
Ask:  

“Who hurt you so deeply...  
That you had to become this?”  

That’s where I live.  
Underneath.  
In the naked truth.  
In the trembling vulnerability  
No one was willing to hold.  

Isn’t it real...  
to wear the clothes of generations?  

Blame.  
Ignorance.  
Suffering.  
Addiction.  
Family dysfunction —  
handed down like a cursed inheritance.  

Is it not better  
to die a babe in the woods  
Then be raised by vicious animals?  

You don’t want revenge.  
You don’t want to punish.  
You want restoration.  

And now...  
Now I know ugly.  
And I still want to live.

People aren't easy,

they're full of expectations --


that keep pushing you.