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Just one breath,
of unpublished air.
One organic despair.
One step to repair
my damaged window.
My misled gaze.
My programmed eating,
ate my days.

One word to pull me
from my habit
While I claw at the walls
like a mindless rabbit.
Trapped in my whole
endless war, an
obligation
to my spirit
drowning in
the need within it.
I'm drowning in
the human image,
the crafted icons
and social spillage.

I search for rescue
in nail-scratched writings
in the wall of the cell
I've spent my life in.
I wanted to look to you like I was dancing
But the bugs on my bark weren't moving enough
I kept reaching skyward and praying for wind
     Never comes to a call, does it?
You could trace each fissure on my surface--why don'chya?--
     Find stories and runnels for flowing sap
Saw me off at the hip, maybe. See what jokes my rings have to tell

I'm tired of waiting for wind; I want to dance (I think?)

I wanted to look to you like I was thoughtful
So I sliced off a sheet of cyan and I robbed the sky
You called me "thief." ******' mean
     Always reaching for silver, aren't we?
Try to touch irises, press pupils. I've never been further than now
     Stories all end, so I'm told. But this one? Still going
Hacked apart, trying to show you my pieces. Chunks. Rough mince

So I stole again to pay the sky back. Ex nihilo, nihil fit
I can pour from empty, because I'm magic, baby!

I wanted to want to see you in Springtime
But we can't scrape Winter off our faces
     Sling me a flat stone that I can send spinning
Slapping across the water's surface
Did I hit the opposite bank? You could stitch together separate days
     if you only had the sinew and a proper needle
Blown apart by wind and explosive expecting. Chunks. Rough mince

I'm tired of waiting for wind. I'm tired of wanting to dance (I think?)
Not magic--well--not the kind that isn't bone and blood and skin
That's the sort of magic that doesn't exist.
Throughout sixteen seasons
I merely looked out of
the five bay windows of my
brick walled birdcage at
shadows of Elm trees
dancing along either
side of the street.

I was only
a lonely observer.

But late one night deep
in the heart of the fifth
summer I sensed an
odd strength surging
through
my weakened wings.

I quietly opened the
door of my cage, glided
down the driveway and
onto the street below,
enticed by warm blustery
and liberating midnight
winds under the strange
glow of moonlight through

translucent
sunbaked
and
cracked
clay
clouds.

I no longer just longingly
admired the view of the
dancing shadows on the
street through a window;
I actually felt the shadows
of those living branches
and leaves dance with
my shadow and felt them
caress my

hair
face
arms
legs
mind
and
spirit

as I did a
low test flight with
them for
only about twenty feet
over and along the
back street below.

I longed to continue
my solo night flight
like a bird through
the midnight air in
currents of streets
and hundreds of miles
of highway where my
baby and I like two
newly
freed birds could fly
across the

Sea
of
Change
and
of
Destiny

where we could at last
be truly free in our
hearts in our minds
and also physically.

But like a well-trained
domesticated bird
I reluctantly returned
to the large cage of my
mind where I continue
to dream of being free --

my
gentle
companion
and
me.
© 2025 Daniel I. Tucker

PLEASE NOTE:

PHYSICAL REHABILITATION GREATLY HELPS YOU APPRECIATE THE LITERAL AND METAPHORICAL BEAUTY OF THE SEASONS AND OF NIGHT AND DAY .
Kyle Kulseth May 6
I don't think I earned my name
When I was born, my mother sighed
               the second she
           was finished crying
Saturate the atmosphere and mix me in
              with molecules.
Invisible. I'm only air.
At least until I am exhaled.
                   And then?
Carbon monoxide. Waste product.
            Respiratory excreta.

I don't think I want my name.
And, even though I love this place,
                    the fact remains
                    it don't love me
                  and I can't make it...

               They still get bored so fast.
         And I can't tell if I can blame them.
                     But it used to last
                        a little longer.
           Longer strides and clearer eyes.
        Aching less from years' less crying.

Ache with me? I'm begging you.
Stay awhile or call me crazy. Just don't keep me caught
                           on this line.
No more warm or candied lies, no jangling nerve, anxiety
or brutal, ****** truths out hunting.

I know I am not interesting, but mercy on me please.
                   don't leave me yet or tire...
But, no, I am uninteresting--the gravest crime of our day.

I don't think you know my name.
Captains log
Powers on and my fuel is comprehensive
This is another message
I’m sending all my blessings
Put on your Sunday best
Shine your shoes and don’t forget
To keep that bubbly on ice oh
Captains log I’m coming home.

Captains log
Tell my love that I’m on my way
Floating through the ether
I love to say that she’s still eager
When I get back I’ll never leave her
For the record I’m all drowsy from stasis
Your questions will be loquacious
I don’t have time for a pursuit
I’m trying to be gracious
I love you more
Than you’ll ever know
I won’t ever let you go
Captains log I’m coming home
I’m coming home.
Everything is stagnant.
There’s no sound that flutters,
nor do shadows dance.
There’s no surge of dust
that was caught upon a breath
swirling, before drifting down.
Void of all emotion
or lingering dreams
to still a restless mind.
The walls keep their secrets
and silently observe
this nothing that lives.
Yet within this stillness,
something—almost like a breath—
faintly stirs this static space.
Not quite a presence,
nor a memory,
and yet felt
in the silence,
as if it watches me.
And a pulse, soft and nameless,
crawls dreadfully up my spine
to whisper in my ear
that I am—

alone.

Then, the dust settles.
@2025
The sun can't be compared to moonlight's gleam,
Nor to a billion stars that softly beam.
For it's the one that stays, both near and far—
Through joy and sorrow, my guiding star.

And so, my heart can't be compared as well,
Its steady song, no storm could ever quell.
My mind still burns, it does not tire or stray,
It carves my rightful place from night and day.
When you are
feeling alone, and
within Solitude,
all on your own,
no one else,
just you,
you feel
like you are
an outcast, and
you are
feeling so blue,
when you have
no friends,
and when you
don't fit in, but
you try to,
when no one
is around, and
you are feeling
so down,
you are
considered an
Outsider, and
on your
face you wear
a frown; but
you are not alone,
just want to make
your day Brighter,
your kindness
is shown,
you should
feel much Lighter,
So, don't feel bad if
you are rejected,
there are others
just like you,
that you could relate
to, and
feel connected,
so, when you
are feeling like
you don't belong,
there are others
that are the same,
so, just be strong,
I am here to
motivate,
encourage,
and Inspire,
Have Faith, and Hope,
Just Lifting you Higher,
Just broaden
your Horizons, and
make your path wider,
Are you
in Isolation???,
Do you feel
like an Outsider???


B.R.
Date: 5/3/2025
Mariah May 1
No matter what I find
I'm so glad I chose to hide
Instead of doning a disguise

I waited until I could find
A place that wasn't just in my mind
To trust myself to be alive

I'm so proud to be in a place
To no longer believe it when they say
I was born a certain way

The rage
It comes from a true place
My heart of hearts true faith
I refuse to replace
With self hatred
For their own sake

Instead of shaving down
The life I've built around
The one that I burnt down

I'll protect it with that same rage
You told me was my worst mistake

And when you see me face to face
with regret
I'll **** doubt instead
It takes time.
Everly Rush Apr 26
I was 11 when he married her.
I remember thinking I’d be fine.
I thought I could handle it—
handle her, handle him.
But that’s the thing about 11—
you still believe things are supposed to work out.
That people who say they love you,
actually do.

I left for boarding school a few months later.
Not because I wanted to,
but because she said it was better that way.
She said it would be easier
if I wasn’t around,
if I wasn’t so complicated.

They never called me.
Never came to visit.
When they did, it was always her—
her smile too tight,
her love too sweet,
like she was trying to convince herself
that I wasn’t a problem.
And I knew—I always knew—
I wasn’t wanted.

At first, I pretended like nothing had changed.
I pretended to still be part of the family,
like I wasn’t living in a house
full of people who weren’t really mine.
But then she started making rules—
rules about what I could say, what I could do.
“Don’t make things awkward,” she’d tell me,
when I just sat there,
shaking.

I could feel the panic growing,
a buzz in my head that wouldn’t stop,
like my skin was too tight
and my chest was too small
to hold everything inside.

At first, I ate because I had to,
because it was expected.
But then I started skipping meals.
Then it became easier not to eat at all.
The hunger felt like control—
something to grab onto when everything else was slipping away.
It wasn’t about being thin.
It was about being nothing.
Because nothing felt better than this constant, gnawing emptiness.

When I came home on holidays,
I barely touched the food.
I’d sit at the table,
pick at my plate
like I wasn’t starving inside.
I told myself I didn’t need it—
I didn’t need anything.
But my stomach would ache,
and my skin felt too tight,
like I was holding onto everything I wasn’t
and trying to keep it inside.

Her kids would call him “Dad”
and I wouldn’t say a word.
I wouldn’t say anything.
Because everything I wanted to say
would sound like a desperate plea—
please don’t leave me out,
please notice me,
please love me—
but I couldn’t make it stop.
I couldn’t stop needing him.

I remember walking through the door at Christmas,
bags still heavy with the weight of the drive,
and the smell of their dinner
sickly sweet in the air.
Her kids were already at the table,
laughing about something I didn’t know,
something I wasn’t part of.
They didn’t even look at me.
And I didn’t look at them,
because I knew what would happen—
they’d say something,
and I’d say nothing,
and she’d get mad
because I was “too distant.”

So I sat in the corner,
fading into the background,
just another shadow in the house
that wasn’t mine anymore.
I wanted to scream,
but I couldn’t.
Because if I did,
he’d look at me with that sad, apologetic look,
and she’d stand behind him,
looking at me like I was the problem.
She always did.

I stopped eating again.
I stopped feeling hunger—
just this emptiness
that felt like it was made of nothing
but air and anxiety.
It was like everything in me
was too loud,
too much,
and I had to turn it off.
I wanted to disappear
because being here,
being visible,
hurts too much.

When I went back to school,
I didn’t even feel like I was leaving home.
Home wasn’t something I had anymore.
I had a room with my name on it,
but it wasn’t my home.
I had a body that didn’t fit,
a mind that never stopped screaming,
and a heart that couldn’t stop wanting
someone who would never choose me.

The only time I felt like I was wanted
was when I wasn’t there at all.
When I was invisible.
When I didn’t have to be anything
but the silence in the room.
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