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Your soul descends into the ancient, subconscious cave depths if you truly, sincerely want to know yourself. Where there is no longer any calculating, manipulative evil, ambiguous promise phrases, or fabulous illusions of appearance, only the rock-hard, almost visceral absolute Reality. Not even the allure of flirtatious smiles that want to flirt with you can take away your life-weary skeptical mood, there is no disgusting nauseating taste of evening tales.

There is no honeyed, glazed flattering voice of eternal immortal loves, because truthful holy words are faithful to themselves and to you, and mean stripped-down simplicity. It would be good to have a protective, savior Angel, who would stand in front of the door of your life with a sword in a kind and direct way, and would protect your eternal childish self within you, and would open the tiny key to your secrets only to those with truer hearts; who would tell you, urging patience to your restlessness, what is the only secret of a more real life.

– They will embrace you like the dormant ivy vine, with their promises of more beautiful, more livable things, which would lead you back into the cold and often monotonous prison walls of reality. On the misplaced paths of your mood, you can only allow the Kind One to follow you, sniffing like an adorable little animal; even cat-like early morning absences cannot hold you back completely if you want your life to finally get back on track. Mutuality or continuity?! When which?!

You would ask and secretly it happens pitifully that you don't even notice and are forced to interrogate yourself. Will the small, flat gaps between people, social, emotional, and so on, be bridged, or will the prairie and asphalt jungle ocean collapse into a salty, uninhabited sandy desert?!
Nothing in life comes easy
There are things that make us stumble and fall
We all want things that come free
We want life to answer to our beck and call
But that’s not how we grow
We have to go through things that make us struggle
It may sound cliche
But what doesn’t **** you makes you stronger
The bad things we experience don’t stay
Things will get better after
After you gain that worldly wisdom
The kind of wisdom that comes with experience
There are times you will feel like a victim
It’ll feel like your life is going through turbulence
Just know at the end of that is a blessing that is there to earn
We always must remember to live and learn
I had a conversation with my younger brother about anxiety and fear earlier and he gave me some scriptures to help me through that so I was feeling inspired to write this.
Odalys 1h
I’ve been the storm, I’ve been the tree,
Breaking down and breaking free.
The deeper pain, the higher climb—
My soul’s grown wiser over time.

I don’t just bloom—I rise, I bend,
A story still I’ve yet to end.
High thoughts
Knowing is but a strange
For I believe I
Know more about me
Than anyone knows me

Yet this, a falsehood
For I do not know me
I cannot comprehend me
For years of infancy

But my mother
She knew me
Before I knew life
Whatever I think, I say it and mean it.
I wear my heart on the seams of my sleeve.
The coming wind holds my poems and their meanings,
Like smoke, I let it pass over me.

I follow every laughter, every melancholy feeling.
I tread every road that I ever see.
To be alive is to bear the searing
Fiery breath of what caused us to be.

I, that hold the cold of summer leaving,
Can only sense that I hold my poetry—
That which I hope has sailed with the weary,
That which I dread always follows me.
Whispers of fire and smoke trail behind the steps we cannot see—carrying burdens and blessings alike. This is the breath that births and haunts.
Who in this world could claim the right
To define what is a memory?

To be able to see what others can’t see,
To be able to smell flowers in dreams—
We are all a walking treasury.

What magic we make that grows with age
And creeps through our melodies,

That trickles from books, from lasting looks, from yawning gentle poetry.

What words can change in an hour or an age
Of long past tales and history?

Can we remember or try to dismember
The meaning of a eulogy?

Do we surrender to cold December
And live again in memories,
Or wish that someday we break asunder
And become immortal memories?
A quiet reflection on the elusive nature of memory — how it shapes us and lingers beyond time.
At Last:

The day's end has come,
let's head back home.
To receive hugs,
let's give those kisses,
it's today's celebration.

The day concluded,
caresses arrive,
in the sweet home.
With so much love,
amidst the fire,
in your home,
the coolness,
of the breeze,
of love.

Welcome,
to your house,
with love,
to enjoy,
it's the party,
of life.

It's the family,
with the children,
with your friends,
in well-being.
That is happiness,
enjoy the home,
and life will smile upon you,
in sweet love.

In the home,
of fire,
of living,
warm,
life,
with
cold
and
heat.

"Yes, life is simple… but it can also be fabulous."
July 23, 2025
saint 9h
i was small when you chose me.
a ribbon tied beautifully around my neck,
shaking in a box
the sun too bright for my eyes.
you smiled,
and i mistook it for kindness.
my forever home.

i learned quickly
that love can wear faces.
that hands can come down hard and still call it discipline.
that food is not promised, even if you sit.
even if you beg.
even if you try to be the best boy.

the chain outside never rusted faster than my hope did.
i stopped barking for help when no one came.
just curled tighter,
colder,
quieter.

you taught me fear by name.
it was yours.

when i peed on the carpet,
it wasn’t defiance.
i just couldn’t hold it anymore.
you never let me out.
but you held my head down like my lungs were made to drown.
and i thought,
maybe this is what love feels like to monsters.

you forgot to name me.
so i named myself sit.
so i named myself stay.
bad dog.

i chewed the furniture once
not to destroy,
but because no one left me toys,
and my teeth ached with the loneliness of growing.

do you remember when i licked your hand after you hit me?
i do.
i thought maybe if i gave you all of my love,
yours might finally stay.

they say dogs are loyal.
but what they mean is:
“we forgive the unforgivable
with our tails still wagging.”

i would’ve died for you.
but you made me live like this instead.

and now i sleep in silence
a small grave behind the shed,
where no one visits.
where no one remembers.
but i remember.

i remember everything.

and still,
i hope your next dog knows only warmth.
and that if ghosts have teeth,
mine are dull.

because i only ever wanted to be good.
even if you never said i was.
a sad narrative from a faithful friend.
Beneath the tree’s cool, leafy shade,
The cold wind wraps me in her grace.
She soothes my grief, she makes me whole,
Mother Earth's love reaching deep to my soul.
I am partying hard,
every day and every night
at the Festival of Poetry
- the festival of my life.

My bracelets are
flickering in the moon.
I am singing and kissing flowers,
they are making me bloom.

I am drinking the sweetest wines,
that have ever been made.
I am ecstatically dancing
with naked silhouettes.

I am partying hard,
every day and every night
at the Festival of Poetry
- the festival of my life.

Spilling the ink of joy
until my very last breath.
There won't be any hangovers,
any post mortem regrets.
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