#unique
IT is quite spectacular
I speak Afrikaaps
our kitchen's vernacular
1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 3:57 PM UTC
You can have
OBSESSIONS,
in your
BEAUTY,
as if you are trying
to IMPRESS,
nice fitted clothes,
dresses, and
outfits of sorts,
sometimes
could go
OVERBOARD, and
having
you looking
HOT MESS, but
it's okay though,
just find your
RIGHT STYLE,
just keep
searching for your
look, and
you will fill
out the
PERFECT PROFILE,
WE ALL
HAVE A LOOK,
OH, YES WE ALL DO!!!
JUST SEARCH
HIGH, AND
LOW FOR IT, AND
THEN LET
IT WEAR YOU,
NO TIME FOR FEELING LOW, OR
FEELING
SAD AND BLUE,
LOOK FOR
SOMETHING
THAT WORKS, AND
WATCH WHAT
IT WILL DO!!!
FROM THE TOP
OF YOUR HEAD,
TO THE SOULS OF YOUR FEET,
TO MAKE
AN EXPRESSION
OF SOMETHING
SO UNIQUE,
FASHIONABLE, FLAIR, AND
OH-SO-CHIC!!!
KEEP BUILDING ON THAT,
THEN YOUR LOOK
WILL BE COMPLETE!!!!
B.R.
Date: 5/10/2026
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 10:26 PM UTC
Life is just a theory, no real rules to the game,
You wake up each morning to embrace the world this day
Remembering your path is yours, unique in every way.
Some of us are comfortable chasing money or fame,
Your life is unique to you, your own goals, in this cosmic game.
Each of us is different, each set apart, one people one existence,
So many works of art.
Each of us is different, and that’s what makes it fun
So when you wake up in the morning, don’t feel you have to run
Take life at your own pace, don’t conform to the crowd.
Remember you’re uniquely you, stand tall, be proud
You have experience in this game, that only you can see,
The steps that put you where you are have helped you learn and see.
Don’t worry about the future or linger in the past,
Each of these experiences was never meant to last.
Only to help you learn and grow, a short stop in the game, part of the flow
Life moves on, each step you take, moving you closer to that next goal or decision to make
So be confident in the present, you’ve played the game this far,
Don’t compare yourself to others, don’t set yourself apart
Each of us is a unique work of art, a piece on the board made specially, each one to play their part.
Get up this morning, take on the day, remember you’re you for a reason,
Unique in a wonderful way.
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 9:01 AM UTC
The rivers rush and fall
and through their waters I see clarity.
The swish and splash and swish and splash
brings their magic to new worlds.
I am like the rivers;
Every day is a struggle.
I work and work and try so hard
just to keep up with the words that they all tell me.
I push the dirt along my banks
endless rocks pummeling throughout me.
I’m stuck in a stream of societal expectations
where I can never ever be free.
Every river tells the same story.
Every river flows through the land.
But maybe your story can be different.
Maybe you can finally take a stand.
You don’t have to be a river.
It’s the waterfalls that really pop out.
People travel over new lands
just to see their waters shout.
Break yourself free from the current.
Make the dirt flow to your command.
Someday your waters will rush down cliffs
and into people’s hands.
Be a waterfall.
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 12:49 PM UTC
There are many syndromes,
Rare and exquisite,
Hard to develop,
Hard to rid oneself of.
You may think you’re dead,
You may think you’re disproportionated,
You may not be in control,
It’s only a draw of luck afterall.
You may hear bombs and other going offs,
You may experience shutdown while living,
You may see imposters in those you love.
It doesn’t matter what, take your draw.
Your voice may become foreign,
You may become a sleeping beauty,
You may become intoxicated at random,
Preparation is not granted.
These are all syndromes,
Rare, unique, extraordinary,
Death may come with all.
Feb 25
Feb 25, 2026 at 2:11 PM UTC
I entered my room despondently
and bolted the door behind me.
I tried walking to my bed
but then my legs gave in
as I slid down against the door
down to the floor.
Then the tears came pouring down
along with it memories of the recent
dispute with my parents
that drove me running to my room.
"Why can't you just be like your siblings?"
the incensed and disappointed voice of my
father came drifting in the memories.
"Why are you so different from
everyone in the family?"
echoes, the concerned and tear-driven voice
of my mother.
And everytime, every single time
I wish to reply them, but words
are lost, silenced, and even ignored.
I yearn to ask them who it is
that defined that I be like the rest
and walk the same path they tread;
who it is that defined I can't be different.
Feb 16
Feb 16, 2026 at 2:13 AM UTC
This is the person I am
Not the person you want me to be
I will always be myself
I'll always just be...
Me
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 8:40 AM UTC
Breakups are normal
Heartaches are normal
Goodbyes are normal
But what we had
Was more than normal
Dec 11, 2025
Dec 11, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC
delightful descent
fleeting forms floating falling
~snowflake silhouettes
Dec 6, 2025
Dec 6, 2025 at 1:23 PM UTC
May just arrived,
Always perfectly on time.
The flowers start to bloom,
Their petals spread just as stars scatter near the moon.
So many different kinds,
Each leaving a particular imprint behind.
Roses, rich in red,
Make the most uncomfortable flower bed.
Sunflowers, so loud and bright,
Start to droop by the end of the night.
Hibiscus, tropical and pink,
Wither away when the sun begins to sink.
Hydrangeas, gorgeous and wide,
Full of toxins that cause others to fall behind.
Humans are like flowers —
We’re all different types; some bloom, some wither,
Yet we still end up together.
We’re all gorgeous, inside and outside;
Flowers just have certain seasons when they thrive.
Don’t fret being unique —
You have a color people seek,
The grace that makes a bouquet beautiful and complete.
Nov 2, 2025
Nov 2, 2025 at 11:45 AM UTC
Nothing has ever been built this completely by a single creator with dedication, focus.
The visual, auditory, and literary elements connect. Every stroke of paint, every musical note, every line of dialogue belongs to the same coherent, cohesive, living universe.
And yes, characters actually die and stay dead. (Star Wars: Bletch. I was a lifelong fan of the original trilogy until that nonsense.)
I talked previously about the irreplaceable nature of my actual combat experience — the fact that I’ve actually done martial arts, ring fighting, boxing, wrestling, sword training. I’ve put on the armor. I’ve ridden the horses. I know it at a level that no one else who has ever written about it knows. I am an active-duty combat veteran.
Okay, setting all that aside: even if I didn’t have that, it would still be better, because the plot is better, the individual motives of the characters are better, the character arcs themselves are better, the plot arc is stronger, more exciting, and better. The characters are deeper, as well as more relatable. There’s more to the whole body of the work — how and where it most counts.
Consider this: I not only wrote the books, edited them, and published them myself, but I also created drawings, paintings, digital renderings, sculptures, and animations of all the characters. I also created a full-length symphony and choral soundtrack of all original music compositions.
Nobody else has done that. All they did was create a manuscript, get it to an editor and a publisher, and then get the funding behind the project.
The only thing I’m lacking is the one major thing all those so-called greats had: financial backing and a foot in the door or a silver spoon in the mouth. The hype machine is the only thing I’m lacking. I’ve done more than all of them combined by the first half of book one, hands down. Don’t believe me? Buy it and read it. The only thing I don’t have is the hype.
I’m winning the case for Worlds of Within being the greatest and best universe ever created, and I’m proving it the best way possible — by putting in the real blood, sweat, and tears. Why is it so much better, and how? On every single level. The time, the care, the patience, the love that went into it is greater than any other author who’s ever even attempted it.
No universe, not Star Wars, not Marvel, not Tolkien’s name-list walkabout, not Martin’s unfinished mid-tier burnout, not Herbert’s eighty-three repetitive, useless, unwanted rehashes. Rowling, with her more-than-borderline plagiarism and theft — no original ideas, no original concepts, nothing from Hogwarts to the wands to witches on brooms. It’s all from older material.
This work does not have a single chosen one in it. No worn-out tropes, ever. It’s not a lame “magic fixes everything” cop-out either. Nor is it a dressed-up rip-off of known myths or folklore. Definitely not a horrendous, unreadable, punishing, inane slog of boring Tolkien and Martin-style phone book lists of bad fantasy names.
I mean really? A name? That’s your whole character? One name, once, filler space — why should I care?
Nothing has ever been built this completely, with this much intelligence, planning, skill, and care. Not by any other single creator in all of recorded history. Nothing comes close to my dedication and focus. And all of it from someone with class, style, and a high standard. But the best part? Zero compromises.
Give it a try and tell me if you didn’t enjoy it more than all those other versions of “Barney with a sword.”
Oct 8, 2025
Oct 8, 2025 at 4:28 PM UTC
We may have the same eye's
but I use mine differently
We may have the same heart
but I use mine differently
I'm Different cause I do things differently
I'm different cause I wear things differently
I may stand out differently in many ways
but I love it
and I love being different
I Am Different
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 1:25 AM UTC
he grew
in the shadow’s cradle
where light was a stranger
and silence spoke in thunder.
among the red flames,
he stood
a dark flame itself,
unyielding,
sharp as obsidian.
not softer,
not less
but forged
from the stillness
between storms.
his roots drank from broken earth,
his veins held stories
etched in crimson glass,
fractured but gleaming
a quiet war
etched beneath his skin.
they called him wild,
a thorn without a rose,
but he was more
a sentinel of shadows,
a keeper of scars,
a guardian of unseen battles.
he bled without sound,
he bore his fractures
like medals of fire
each shard a testament
to survival,
each wound a map
of the battles he won
without surrender.
he did not seek to belong,
only to endure,
to thrive
where others would break,
to bloom
like the black thorn
that thrives
in the night’s embrace.
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 6:43 PM UTC
she bloomed
in the hush of night
where the sun dared not reach
and the wind whispered secrets
no red petal could keep.
they called her strange
a shadow among flame—
but she stood, velvet and midnight,
thriving
where silence kissed her roots.
among the red,
she did not wilt—
she shimmered.
not in gold,
but in obsidian grace
wrapped in the perfume of grief
and galaxies.
she was not less.
only different.
a hymn of thorns,
a waltz of ache.
the roses around her
spoke in bright laughter
but she sang
in echoes—
in lullabies
dripping from glass edges
still stained
with the stories of those
who held her too tightly.
there was beauty
in her breaks—
shattered, yes,
but glinting with stardust
and crimson.
she had bled
where no one could see
and still
she stood.
not because she was untouched
but because she was unclaimed
by ruin.
she was not born to belong—
she was born
to remind the world
that even darkness
blooms.
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 6:44 PM UTC
Living life is a painting scheme,
Creating colors to cover up the blanks,
Trying our best to break away.
We re-saturate,
The bleak shades of our face,
Replacing something organic,
With chemical compounds.
Suddenly evolving beyond natural gleam,
Distorting to fit twisted cookie cutter shapes,
We execute the order,
Of this lustful modern god.
There was beauty in the earthen iron's shape,
Forgotten glory, bent to grim reality,
Turning away from standing in the looking glass,
Becoming indistinguishable again.
Jun 24, 2025
Jun 24, 2025 at 4:14 PM UTC
Your smile brightens the room,
like morning light spilling
through open windows,
chasing shadows into corners.
It weaves warmth
into the fabric of the day,
each laugh a gentle ripple,
softening edges of worry.
In that glow,
the world feels smaller,
and hope sways
like a flower dancing in the breeze.
Jun 15, 2025
Jun 15, 2025 at 9:35 PM UTC
I found
black dots of mascara falling off your eyelashes today
you’re still perfect
no matter how many times you take the same picture
in the same room
with the same perfectly dolled
face
no matter how dark the sky is behind you
the beauty rays of light
illuminate
your scrumptious lips
May 20, 2025
May 20, 2025 at 3:56 PM UTC
There was stillness, all was held in place.
Untouched beneath the world’s design.
Particles drifted in quantum space.
Slates unmarked by hand or time.
Trauma struck as it cracked, it would stir.
The mind betrayed and the self, unmade.
A tremor passed like my whispers slurred.
And from my depths, the void would invade.
fractured pulses spread and came apart.
The fixed quantum law began to bend.
Reality unravels, alongside the heart,
broken strands of thought began to descend.
Screamed echoes take a visual shape.
Waves collide in the fractured pulses.
What once was whole, begins breaking down.
Protections kept, now stripped from their holsters.
Energies spin untethered, unbound.
The self just dissolves, with no grip to keep.
The sky starts crying with quantum sound.
as shadows stretch by a time growing deep.
The mind, a mirror, shattered and gold.
Reflecting a new empty void from within it.
Each thought disperses and shatters its mold.
Where once was trust, now grows resentment.
A field of force has been left unstable.
Blackening a heart that is no longer true.
Where once was love, now hate fragmented.
The self, adrift. Forced to weather through.
In my withering thought, the echoes still roam.
Their dreamscape heaven has been swept away.
The pulse of life now hardened to stone.
My silhouette dwells in the shades of gray.
And still when my skies cry with quantum sound,
The whimpers of essence frowning frail and thin.
The hope that was pure can no longer he found.
The self is restricted from all it might have been.
♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
Apr 27, 2025
Apr 27, 2025 at 4:34 PM UTC
If penning my faith
In my Savior is a crime,
Then I’ll commit it—
Again and again.
If voicing the weight
Of my Lord is a felony,
Then let me indulge—
With joy in my soul.
Gifted are His children:
Some take the podium,
Some shape minds,
Some lay down in service.
Yes—
Gifted am I,
To masterfully imprint
Words that travel nations,
Writing His kingdom come.
Fulfilling my calling—
The Writing Evangelist.
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 5:42 PM UTC
We all want to be U n I q u e,
while still following the crowd,
don't be afraid to stand out,
don't be afraid to get LOUD.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 1:22 PM UTC