BY A BOY WHO CHOSE SOLITUDE

I never craved penthouses kissing the clouds,
nor mansions where silence feels cold.
I worked through storms,
not to rise above the world—
but to step away from its roar.

All I ever wanted
was a wooden hut in the hills—
where rivers laugh like children,
where the wind hums forgotten songs,
where rain feels like the sky washing off
what hurt the most.

The sun…
a father’s hand on my shoulder.
The moon…
a mother watching over dreams.

In cities, I wandered,
craving their lights,
but never their noise.
I loved them—
the quiet ones, the old ones,
where people moved like whispers.

But even there,
I couldn’t find the silence
that lets you hear yourself think.
So I built it—
in my mind first,
then in the earth beneath my feet.

Why?

Because I needed a place
where my voice echoes back to my ears,
so I know I still exist.
So I know I still feel.

I am tired of competition.
Of proving.
Of performing.
I want a life like a straight line—
not because it's boring,
but because it's honest.

And love?
I stopped chasing it.
Because no one holds hearts like I do.
And mine—
it’s not made for games.

It's fragile.
Like sunlight on still water.
It breaks quietly.

So I gave it back to the only hands
that never dropped it—
my own.

In solitude,
I found my teacher.
My shelter.
My self.

Now I know what I want.
Now I know who I am.
And when I sit, alone, under the rain,
I don’t feel empty—

I feel home.

My fear is you
It is rare
But when it is me
It is true
My fear is me
It is rare
But when it is you
It is true

I am still a work on
progress,                                                        ­                      
                                          ­                                                                 ­       
some mistakes but no
regrets                                                          ­              
                                                  ­                                                            
Pushed myself through the
unknown,                                                         ­       
                                                                ­                                                 
 proud of this person &, how I've
  grown                                                         ­     
  I hold my head up, stand up
  straight                                                      ­                      
                                                                ­                                                  
doing my best, no inner debates                                                          ­            
                                                    ­                                                                
No excuses made as I forge ahead                                                      
                                                                ­                                        
Learning & changing everyday                                                         ­                 
                                                                ­                                              
loving myself, I'm on my way

Waiting for the one,
Single perfect moment when I,
Finally, feel free.

When I breathe and it,
Feels like I am alive and,
Everything is fine.

When that moment comes,
Appreciation will spread,
Smiling happily.

The mediocre march into oblivion
while watching Tik Tok videos
and never reading a
book or writing a
poem.
They don't know
the difference between
an orchid or an iris.

The mediocre march into
madness sleeping until
noon, while neglecting
Bukowski and Mozart.
They don't know how
to play an instrument.
No idea what a C
major chord is.
But they know all
the emojis.
The sad sheep masses
don't
know the difference
between a Van Gogh or
Monet painting, and a
digital reproduction on
a coffee cup.
Their phones look
like grotesque growths
attached to their ears.
Everyone should
contribute to the
cosmic dance,
Carpe Diem
*******!

Grain soaked in salt spray
Yet firm beneath the feet,
Find reasons for best salvation
The second ship scuttled
So, then, stand a third.
         A fourth.

Halted in haploid afterglow
A single heritage, halted ambition.
One path to a keystone past
Tethered to the tossing waves.

In your heart the hardest rains;
a springtime tempest made of weapon-weather

The whale's road you wander,
Searching for slumbering reasons;
I name you "Somnambulist."
Asleep in the dreaming, but weakened awake.

Ghosts and beasts know--both aware of your diploid scheming
Two paths to ******* dreaming
Twin protrusions in fate's firm fist
And deepest waters crash and strike
against smallest frames, the quivering wave oak.

Each one alone among the swan-way's waves.
Same way as in wending through life.
              Just as in dying

They enter my home,
Cheap suits, bad cologne.

We talk, endlessly
Needing to break for water,
Laughter and short jokes
But the tone never truly shifts.

I hand them the keys
So they can open the doors
Chat histories explored,
Timelines secured,
Screenshots validated

They ask me if I feel threatened,
I protest that while I do the focus should remain on kids
They offer information not yet known,
I take in the aroma of such sweet tea
And drink it down with a knowing nod.

They show me things not yet seen,
And I confirm the rhetoric used to abuse this barely teen.

They thank me for my time,
And I am greeted by another offensive word
Of cheap cologne.

The walls get smaller for a predator
When they become the prey
You can fool yourself into finding Jesus
But the law won't let you get away if you pray

The walls close in on a cyber-stalker
See the news has broken all over the place,
And you took the liberty to threaten me while they were over the shoulder
How do you feel knowing that it's almost over?

The walls are closing in
And the arms are breaking through,
Soon you'll smell the scent of cheap perfume and cologne
And once the dark shadows rip you from your skin
Know that the monster you chase is the one in the mirror
If truly sober, homer, d'oh yourself while tyring to see clearer.

The wheels of justice move slowly.

What can't my hands hold?
What my head and heart can.
My favourite things are not those that fit in my palm.
It's sun on my face and a sea dip - ice cold.
It's leaving to hike with no route and no plan.
It's loving someone too quick and too soon.
It's laughing so hard that my breath gets stuck.
It's laying beneath a pale white whole moon.
It's believing a little in fate but never in luck.
It's knowing in darkness there's beauty too.
It's believing in nothing and taking comfort in that.
It's in wanting a soulmate but not knowing who.
I'll never desire anything more than a feeling
In my insatiable heart forever to hold.
If it comes with a memory there's nothing more appealing.
To me those things are as good as gold.
A better gold that my hands can't hold.