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Andy Denson Mar 22
change is the only constant
but being is open-hearted
& loving more.

i don’t want to be so
drunk
that i wake up in gun hill road.
home on new year’s day. 7 am.

for me, you can always reclaim a
sense of sanity
even in a time of chaos.

there are many things that
one
cannot reclaim.

why should i try?
if those things are gone…

did i need them in the
1st place?

self-worth comes back.
things get stolen.
for something
new.
This poem reflects on the tumultuous journey toward sobriety and self-discovery. It grapples with the desire for change, the fear of losing oneself, and the realization that some losses pave the way for newfound self-worth. The imagery of waking up on Gun Hill Road symbolizes moments of reckoning, while the contemplation of what is truly necessary invites readers to consider the essence of personal growth.
Andy Denson Mar 22
inspired by tony labrusca's portrayal of josé rizal

babae likes me contained.
me—a tupperware full of lumpia.
i'm soggy, *****.
*****—inday—i'm gwapo. fried uy.

sorry. soggy.
druggy. sorry.

my chest tattoos?
yes, they can be removed.
will that be provided in my—

nevermind. thank you.
she opened her purse.
hard candy.

waving me away.
sorry carb-eating lad.
she is just ******* hard candy.
cgeh. babay. cgeh bi.

jose, they say you wrote novels.
but i wonder—
did you ever write yourself out?

did you watch your own ink
bleed into the soil?
did you wish for something softer?

in the way i am devoured. hero forgotten.
in the way i am swallowed
whole—one piso coin
by lovers, by history, by a name
they gave me before i ever
spoke too. ii
This poem weaves together personal identity, societal expectations, and historical resonance. The imagery of food (lumpia, hard candy) juxtaposes with themes of erasure and visibility, tying into both personal struggle and the weight of history. The references to José Rizal invoke a parallel between artistic creation and self-sacrifice, questioning how much of oneself is lost in the process of being seen.
A splintered moon shatters in my eye,
its fragments sinking into the marrow.
Beneath, the earth cracks open,
teeth gnawing at roots that had no names.

My breath is smoke,
dissolving in a throat too old to speak.
Flesh crumbles like ash,
a flame that failed to burn.

A voice calls from the dark,
but it is dust before it reaches me.
I am left—a map of wounds no one can read.
Mark Wanless Mar 16
forbidden conscious
who said that you were naked
we did
iannogueira Mar 16
I hit my leg against the bed,
A sudden pain began to spread.
Perhaps it rose up from my soul,
A jolt, a snap, the greatest show—
My femur’s way to pull me back
And show me I’m not whole.

Then later on, you called my name,
And I agreed to play your game.
We talked, we laughed, we shared a kiss,
But I still felt no trace of bliss.

We made love, you held me tight,
Then fell asleep while I stayed wide.
I watched you breathe with quiet eyes,
While yours were closed to all the night.

There’s so much salt within my tide,
Yet I can’t sink, though I have tried.
Perhaps I think that love and pain
Must wear the same poetic chain,
Or beauty needs a tragedy
To make it feel complete to me.

It’s all I know, it’s all I’m worth,
You said I’m perfect, but since birth,
I’ve only ever been designed
To be a thing you leave behind.

Sincerely, I am just a verse,
A secret poem, soft, immersed,
Beneath your sheets so clean and white.
And though one line may break its rhyme,
It tells me joy is bound to find
Us both, in time, despite kismet signs.
Monika Mar 8
Change has been my lifelong foe —
We've been at war since forever ago.
Been in battle ever since I gave life a chance,
It was the only way for me to take a stance.

Losing control — my worst nightmare
That's a recipe for disaster, right there.
Getting consumed by the fear of the unknown,
Back at square one, no matter how much I've grown.

So every step, I measure twice,
Safe for now, but skating on thin ice.
Always making sure things fall perfectly in line,
Mapping my path, watching out for a sign.

Yet roads will twist — they always do 
No matter how well I plan them through.  
Now a higher power has taken the wheel,
Swerving, getting tortured by the despair I feel.

Unfair how time wields a ruthless hand,
Undoing all the things I have planned.
A single crack and the flood pours in —
Chaos ensues, and mayhem within.

One wrong move, one shift too steep,
And I’ll be falling, falling deep.  
They say that change can set you free —
But freedom feels like losing me.  

I'd rather chain myself in place,
Than gamble all I can’t replace.  
No script survives, no maps stay true,
Control dissolves — as I do too.

Too late for salvation — there's only grief
But perhaps it brings a strange relief. 
For change may call, but I won’t flinch —
You'll have to escape my grip, inch by inch.

And perhaps one day, I'll make my peace
No longer holding on, ready to release.
And maybe I'll even learn something from it,
Like that by losing the game, I've also won it.
They see me with hands on the wheel,
feet steady on the gas,
a woman who conquers,
who builds,
who signs papers with a name they say will mean something.
They speak of my future like prophecy,
a business to run, a world to own.
They dress me in ambition,
in power,
in a suit that doesn’t fit my skin.
The woman I was meant to be.
She stirs sugar into coffee,
presses her lips to a child’s warm forehead,
sits by a window and watches rain make poetry of the streets
Yet their voices are so loud,
so certain,
that I cannot even whisper what I want.
So I nod, I smile,
I let them build this version of me,
one brick at a time,
until I am buried beneath it.
And maybe one day,
I will forget the woman I could have been,
the mother, the homemaker,
the quiet kind of happy
and only remember the one
they never let me become.
I wanted to be a river,
carving my own way through stone,
but the world built dams,
redirected my course,
taught me that freedom has rules.
I wanted to be the artist,
to paint in colors only I could see,
but they handed me a template,
said, "Fill inside the lines."
Every day, I push against the shape
they force me into
and every day, I bend,
just a little
more,
until I wonder if I am still me
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