what a sick coincidence
some cruel ******* joke
crafted by the god
he so desperately believes in


why would he want me
when he has two daughters
one he’s molding into everything
i refuse to become


the other still clings to his shadow
like it’ll keep her warm
telling me to be more forgiving
as if he ever earned a single ounce of grace


where was he when i needed a father
not a ghost with loud opinions


he disappeared
then returned
acting like he deserved applause for showing up late
to a life he walked out on


you don’t get to pick which parts of me you accept
and still try and call it love


i’m done pretending this day holds any weight
that it means anything more
than a simple *******


i made it without you
and that is the only thing
worth celebrating

my birthday falls on father’s day...
how poetic

for a man
who gave me life
but never showed me how to live it

and when he came back
he still wasn't really there

he doesn't like who i am
as if love should come with conditions

i learned how to raise myself
from the ruins they left behind

funny...
how father’s day reminds me more
of what i survived than what i celebrate

The brokenness of our emotions
Keeps me forever in motion
Caught in the current of affection
Drowned by the spirit of your transgressions
Holding tight to my own distorted truth of you
Whose love was one I thought through
Stabbing in the depths
Tossing me off the cliffs
Strangling my wounded heart
To leave me helpless from this gunshot  
To use my love as the confidence for another
Leaving me to look at your cracked love for this other
Bitterness doesn’t paint a pretty picture
The stench of this anger has created this creature
The beast hides from behind this mask
Never living up to its task
Scaring the scars of others
So it doesn’t have to face it’s true colors
The mind of a man had dissipated
Into something the author couldn’t even have anticipated
Waking up
Tears drifted into perspective
As the soul became protective
Hoping this love became lost within the past
Hoping the years have created the illusion at last
Of wondering, did I make you up?

your own demons
give you strength
when there’s no one
to hold onto
that’s why they’re
so hard to let go.
your demons reek fire,
and your energy flares to life,
angry hatred is stronger than ever.

I cry for countless things
For birds with broken wings
For toys left by growing kids
For discarded wedding rings

I cry for characters on screen
Personas I've never truly seen
Whose stories echo familiar
With wisdom that I might glean

I cry for broken hearts
For unsuccessful starts
For fields of wildflowers
That are staked then ripped apart

I cry for rivers that can't be crossed
I cry for things not yet lost
And even within remarkable love
I cry, knowing what love will cost

I have a friend who cries
For rose-tinted skies
For the first looks given
From a newborn babies eyes

She cries for happy endings
And noble, generous spending
She cries for torn friendships
That are slowly but surely mending

She cries from staggering laughter
Or jumbled kitchen disasters
Or while attempting obscure talents
That we both know she never will master

I think it's something special
To have tears so freely deployed
At the sight of heartbreak and beauty alike
What a gift, to cry for joy.

What I see in her brings tears to my eyes
I crave that untethered jubilee
And in my longing, I realize
The beginnings of it in me

I cried in silence again.
The tears streamed down
And made puddles on my carpet floor
I'm lying on again.

I watched the minutes change again.
Somehow the clocks go from five thirty
To nine thirty in an hour;
I've been on the same assignment.

I took a nap this afternoon again.
But I didn't even turn out the lights,
I don't know if i fell asleep
Or if I was just falling like I was the rest of the day.

My sweatshirt sleeves are wet again.
It's too hot out to wear long sleeves
But I sweat through it anyway;
I'm just cold.

My room is scattered with mess again.
Bugs crawling, biting at my legs
As I'm lying in my bed, awake,
Because I'm living a nightmare.

I'm not happy anymore.
But don't think I ever was,
I'm not sad, not quite,
Don't know who this world was made for...

But I don't think for me.

Today I did take a trip down Ashen Row,
Stepping 'cross stones both cobbled and cold,
Each pebble and brick laced with poverty's woe,
Observing nothing but starving children and dying old,

They stood with eyes hollow,
Hands that shook, knees bent,
Mother's clung to babes in sorrow,
Radiant once, now ravaged, spent

Sobbing beneath their weighted sin,
Too weak to fight, too strong to sleep,
While sunlight cowered behind silver skin,
And the wind could only scream and weep,


Bawling through streets-unheard, passed by,
While we moved in polished deftness,
Preferring the chatter of the spry and sly,
Master of our chosen deafness,

We saw the world in colours two:
Those of our gods, gold and might
A hungry child remained untrue
A whispering ghost beyond gilded sight,

Too small to matter, now ghosts. Denied.
No trembling limbs, nor fleeting breath,
Only shadows stretched, and rain replied,
With air, and stone, and death,

Now crime blooms where hope fled,
And Avarice wears high its sulfur crown,
We traded Saints for Lords of Greed instead,
And cast the cries of hunger down,

Yet on the road of stone and chill,
Danced a Fool, with iron will,
In colours too wild - too many to name,
He spun beneath painted acclaim,

His eyes sparkled, as though they knew,
What stars confess to chosen few,
He danced a wild and holy rite,
His shoes sang sorrow through the night,

The wind grew still to watch him spin,
The skies drew back, and smiled within,
And stone - from its cold unyielding throne,
Would hum unknowingly beneath his tone,

Each day I passed, each day I heard,
A hidden grief in every word,
His body spoke with frantic grace,
A mourning song, a laughing face,

Which god he served, I could not tell,
What vow he made, no tongue could spell,
But once- so fleeting, fierce, and bright -
The sun broke through, and dark turned light,

He could not end hunger's ache,
Nor mend the homes the rich forsake,
But when he danced, it seemed - it seemed -
The weary world itself then dreamed,

And for that grace alone, for a Fool's soft art,
I hold him sacred in my heart,

For he made stone sing - in ancient tone -
As if it crowned a long lost throne,
Whispering dreams forgotten, known.