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\n \n \n \n Palindromic Angel\n \n \n \n \n 7d\n \n \n \n
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\n Love With No Destination\n
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\n I am holding a love
with no destination.
It floods me without warning,
fills me with purpose,
With all the fire of arrival, and nothing waiting on the other side.

No, he is not
waiting at the gate.
He\u2019s nowhere.
And this love,
it\u2019s too vast for my body,
too loud for sleep,
too loyal
to walk away.

This grief,
this relentless, boundless
love was meant to land
in his heart.
Always.
Instead it circles inside me,
wings beating
against bone,
a bird
that can\u2019t find
a place to perch.

I can\u2019t destroy it.
I won\u2019t.
It\u2019s the last thing I have
that still knows
his shape.

But it\u2019s heavy.
It trembles.
It begs for release.
And I am breaking
under the weight
of what cannot be given.
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\n For a reading of this poem please follow my instagram: @incruable_poet\n
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\n \n #sad\n \n #love\n \n #loss\n \n #grief\n \n #heartbreak\n \n
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\n Continue reading...\n
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\n \n \n \n MacGM\n \n \n \n \n 7d\n \n \n \n
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\n A Hound's Hind Legs\n
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\n I remember your paws going from softly thundering up to crashing down the hallway,
and every game of chase you grew too old for.
I know about the ferocious but tender decision to set you down.
This time there is no need to struggle to get up.
Your wobbly memory survives in the rugs that were put down to help you walk again.
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\n \n #loss\n \n #grief\n \n #dog\n \n #love\n \n
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\n Continue reading...\n
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\n \n \n \n William A Gibson\n \n \n \n \n Jul 4\n \n \n \n
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\n This Steel Pan\n
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\n Steel pan in roadside dirt,
just beyond Exit 11: Quartzsite,
sun bouncing off like a flare.

Handle loose, rim dented,
but not ruined;
still whole enough.

It felt like one I swung
at Tomaso\u2019s,
sweating
through the rush,
that night
we plated sixty covers
in under an hour.

Me, this pan,
were used
the way hard things are:
oiled, scrubbed,
flame-kissed and blackened.
Something thick stuck once,
then let go.

I lifted it,
right hand curved
around the handle
as though it never left.
Some things remember you
even when you forget yourself.

I set it in the backseat,
beside the blanket and bag.
thought I\u2019d clean it up,
tighten the handle,
set it on flame,
hang it by a stove again.

I don\u2019t believe in ghosts,
but I believe in steel,
in things that hold the heat
and give it back to you.
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\n Kernel of this poem resurfaced from 2004. Driving the 10 freeway from LA to PHX.\n
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\n \n #memory\n \n #flame\n \n #heat\n \n #found\n \n #work\n \n #kitchen\n \n #loss\n \n
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\n Continue reading...\n
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\n \n \n \n kortu valentine\n \n \n \n \n Jul 7\n \n \n \n
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\n the foreverth promise.\n
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\n the space in my mind
is occupied by your entity,
merging with mine.
you pose as a false god,
painting me the enemy \u2013
demanding a sacrifice
each time I resist
your quiet reign.

I enabled it.
let you have your fun.
called it inspiration,
called it love.
called it anything
but what it was.
of all my failures,
you were the most toxic one.

I gave you everything \u2013
piece by piece.
you\u2019d cover my mouth
to silence the plea
whenever I sought shelter,
with hands, trembling,
still tied to a bottle
you call the cure.

you smother what\u2019s left of me \u2013
dressed in ebriety,
hiding the abuse.

and I need to say goodbye.
not because I want to.
but because I\u2019ve had enough.
of you hurting me,
of you driving me
to hurt myself.
you\u2019re costing me everything,
and the loss is exorbitant.

I\u2019m not just saying goodbye to you.
you\u2019re exiled.
your velvet threats,
your sugar-coated grip \u2013
banished.
it hurts me more
than you think.
but this time, it\u2019s final.
because I\u2019m not ready
to see the aftermath
if it isn\u2019t.
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\n this one is about the last fight.
july 7, 2025\n
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\n \n #addiction\n \n #alcohol\n \n #recovery\n \n #toxiclove\n \n #love\n \n #aftermath\n \n #loss\n \n #grief\n \n #movingon\n \n #exile\n \n
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\n Continue reading...\n
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\n \n \n \n d\u00e9a\n \n \n \n \n Jul 7\n \n \n \n
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\n the land he loved\n
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\n this land was his cathedral\u2014
he walked it like scripture,
hands buried in the soil
like he could forgive it
for everything.

but i cannot.

i return barefoot,
each step a needle
of memory.
this place opens its arms
and i flinch.

the room has a new bed now,
but the shape of that day
still lingers\u2014
the soft collapse of his chest,
my ear pressed
to the drumbeat ending.
the air stilled.
the house exhaled.
and didn\u2019t inhale again.

i sleep among ghosts
with no names,
only weather.
wind that hisses
through broken fences,
shadows caught in the corners
like secrets he never told me.

he loved this place
so fiercely
it must have hurt\u2014
maybe that\u2019s the only way
he knew how.

i keep trying
to separate the man
from the ground
he bled his days into.
but it\u2019s all roots now.
it\u2019s all entangled.
and i lie here,
still listening
for a heart that isn\u2019t mine.
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\n on being back in the place where i watched my favorite person die\n
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\n \n #grief\n \n #loss\n \n
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\n Continue reading...\n
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\n \n \n \n alex\n \n \n \n \n Jul 6\n \n \n \n
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\n Unspoken Words\n
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\n Of all the things I never said,
I wish I\u2019d told her
\u201cI love you\u201d
before he did.

Her eyes were
the most exquisite shade
of cerulean blue.
Her daughter\u2019s are too\u2014

I remember
the day she arrived,
the day you slipped away, too.

Lost on October third,
two thousand twenty-two...
Could you have stayed
if I\u2019d told you?

Every day then\u2014
and now\u2014
I wish I\u2019d gone
to see you.
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\n \n #love\n \n #loss\n \n #grief\n \n #unspoken\n \n
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\n Continue reading...\n
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\n \n \n \n mysterie\n \n \n \n \n 5d\n \n \n \n
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\n ONE FOR THE BOOKS\n
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\n hey,
future me.
it's july seventh.
and this year has
definetly been one
for the books.

im lucky enough
to still have the friends
i do
because everybody
started turning their backs
on eachother.
and that made me very
anxious
to lose someone
i love.

america might be slowly
dying a painful death.
the climate too.
australia is
or was
trying to follow in
america's footsteps.
women are slowly
losing
their rights.
a possible war.

it's not the greatest time
to be alive.
but it could be worse,
and honestly,
i think that's the only way
im getting through it.
because,
i have it good.
some people don't have
what i do.
and it makes me feel
horrible
when i realise
im taking it all for granted.

i hope the air is safer
a few years from now.
i hope america has
a better life.
i hope women have
their rights.
i hope the earth
isn't suffering so bad
from the climate crisis.

but i can only hope.
and draft this text.
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\n TEXTS NEVER SENT. 5.
date wrote: 7/7
edit 10/7: last entry of texts never sent :(\n
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\n \n #climatecrisis\n \n #future\n \n #war\n \n #loss\n \n #friendships\n \n
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\n Continue reading...\n
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\n \n \n \n Bobcat\n \n \n \n \n Jul 6\n \n \n \n
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\n A Memoir\n
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\n I wrote a note in my head,
Folded it inside my ribcage.
It said, \u201cI can\u2019t keep fighting
With a heart that always breaks.\u201d

Mom never stayed,
Dad was just a silhouette.
And I swore I\u2019d never
Repeat all that ****

But I guess I did.

We screamed in courtrooms
Over a child I never got to see grow.
I traced his name in the frost
On my rearview window.

I lost him before
I got the chance to lose myself.
I kept his photos
In a box on the bottom shelf.

And I almost left a letter
Where the liquor lives
Something about being tired,
And out of reasons to forgive.

I almost slipped into silence
Like snow on rusted rails,
But I heard a little laugh
That cut through all that pale.

\u2019Cause your brother said,
\u201cDad, are you okay?\u201d
With a look in his eyes
Like he\u2019d lose me that day.

And I lied at first,
But then I cried like hell.
And in the quiet that followed,
He said, \u201cThat\u2019s okay as well.\u201d

There\u2019s a million ways
To leave this place,
But only one
To stay with grace.
And it\u2019s messy, and it aches,
But it\u2019s real.

So I burned the note
And kept the flame,
Lit a candle
And whispered your name.

I never got to hold you
Like I wanted to
But your brother held me
Like you probably would\u2019ve too.

I left a light on,
Just in case you find your way.
I\u2019m still here,
And I\u2019m trying..
Most days.
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\n \n #fathers\n \n #day\n \n #loss\n \n #son\n \n #kids\n \n #depression\n \n
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\n Continue reading...\n
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\n \n \n \n Ma'ya\n \n \n \n \n Jul 5\n \n \n \n
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\n Our Last Bouquet\n
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\n The roses never asked,
Why you didn\u2019t return home.
It just bloomed and died.
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\n The petals fell slow,
Each one a mute final word,
We could never say.\n
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\n \n #haiku\n \n #loss\n \n #relationship\n \n #emotion\n \n #flower\n \n #nature\n \n
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\n Continue reading...\n
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\n \n \n \n Steve Page\n \n \n \n \n Jul 5\n \n \n \n
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\n The song or the girl?\n
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\n Some songs have a girl's name.

And I wonder
what came first?
The song or the title?
The passion or the girl?

I expect it was the latter,
followed by the sorrow.

And I expect the words
were found much later.
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\n What do I know? I'm no song writer.\n
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\n \n #song\n \n #writer\n \n #love\n \n #loss\n \n
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\n Continue reading...\n
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