#brainfog
i am staring at the fruit bowl
where the oranges are sitting like small,
unlit lanterns.
i know they are supposed to be gold.
i know, theoretically, that if i broke the skin,
the air would turn into a grove
and the juice would run down my wrists
like a messy, brilliant confession.
but today, they are just weights.
they are just spheres of a color
i can see but cannot translate.
it’s like i’ve lost the frequency
for anything that isn't grey.
i am so tired that my heart
has gone into power-saver mode.
it’s a safety protocol i didn't ask for—
a rigid, internal six-minute limit
that expired hours ago,
leaving me in the digital silence
of a round that won't end
and a rebuttal i’m too heavy to write.
i keep reaching for the "too much,"
the frantic, quiet beauty of the disaster,
but the toggle is jammed.
i am a blueberry muffin
left on the counter after the cafe closes,
wondering if the sugar-crust matters
if there’s no one left to feel the warmth.
it’s a terrifying kind of quiet.
no gavel crack, no timer’s beep,
just the static of a mind
that’s archived the syllables
but forgotten the meaning of the words.
i’m sitting in the back of the room
with a legal pad full of blank pages,
waiting for the "out of time"
to finally mean i can sleep.
i want to want to peel the orange.
i want to be the person
who trips over their own grace
and finds it funny.
but the juice is locked behind the rind,
and i’ve run out of ink,
and my hands are too tired
to hold anything that’s still hot.
i'm just waiting for the light
to come back so i can
find the floor again.
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 7:38 PM UTC
Sunlight floods through unsteady mirrors,
Soft veins get drunk by the language of terrors.
Heart forgets to catch. Scale is broken, where numbers never match.
****** gestures, unknowingly, a mysterious frown. Head trapped underneath a heavy ****** crown.
Crown of pain, unshed rain. Merciless game, unsolved blame.
Mind trapped by chain, unresolved claim.
Waking up is dying again. Sun burns through blurry vision. Will it rain again?
Untouched, faded coffee mug. The steam curling around invisible fog. Pain paused where mind is lost.
Numb limbs move like broken ghosts.
They say it's brain fog,
Eyes distant, where unfocused vision sways.
Unknown to us how I hold together the soul who wants to run far away.
Thoughts grieve as numb. Limbs carry heavy.
When brain gets worse, No tears left to shed, no remorse.
Silent punishment by own body parts. The last bell whispers ,how we fall apart.
Apr 13
Apr 13, 2026 at 8:11 AM UTC
Maybe I’ve run out of words.
I read and I ***** and I explain,
but I’ve nothing to say in the silence,
no words seem to remain.
There are syllables,
and phrases, and complimentary critiques–
but where is my substance?
Has my brain already peaked?
What happened to the meaning?
And why am I afraid?
Words are meant for interpretation,
so why, when I share, do I feel shame?
A fear of seeming simple-minded,
of not dissecting the metaphor,
of missing the quiet sarcasm,
of reading too much, or not enough,
once more.
It’s not that I’ve gone missing,
I’m just softer in the crowd,
learning how to listen again
without needing to be loud.
I still scroll through the garden,
where poems bloom and fade.
I don’t speak, but I’m still listening–
just lost in what to say.
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 1:32 AM UTC
No need for clocks
knowing in your bones that it’s 5:01 in the morning.
Time is being kept by something else now.
Waking in the mornings is effortless and free of any anxiety.
Every soft step taken is followed with weights falling. Burdens lifted. Coffee with the women. The men outside or in the barn
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 11:17 PM UTC
Modesty blaze
Modesty haze
Walking towards the next day
Walking to struggle for something to say
Modesty blaze
Modesty graze
My left knee takes a blow
My left hemisphere full of snow
Modesty blaze
Modesty anew
Winter draws in, how time flew
Winter continues, my time to cue
Jan 4, 2021
Jan 4, 2021 at 9:23 AM UTC
Eventually my memory
will lament
in daydreams
//:.
that my pride
was dissolving in my bed,
//:.
that my solace
was pacing vehemently in my head,
//:.
that my martyrdom
was telling me I may recover,
//:.
that my return
was murmuring softly,
//:.
that my fury
was invading my hiding door,
//:.
that my frenzy
was stabbing at my scalp,
//:.
and perhaps my memory
will stutter
as always,
//:.
and I can stack my scabs again.
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 9:31 PM UTC
What stuff is this cotton wool behind my eyes?
A knit of foggy fibers holding fast my next thought.
Odd when my mind so flies;
at the age of fifty three I ought
to relish ripe wisdom & cognition,
yet here I am, forgetting where to turn
just to reach the kitchen.
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 9:14 PM UTC
An object in motion
Will remain in motion
And today I am glad
Because even hurtling
Through space and time
At dizzying speeds
Through blinding oceans
Of stars and rings of planets
And meteors and comets
(I always seem to dodge
Last second)
Even then
I know that
If I keep
Moving
Forward
I will not
buckle,
crumble,
collapse.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 4:26 PM UTC