#innermonologue
evaporating breath—
life’s a stretch before the day even starts;
by the end of it, I’m carried out on
a stretcher of my own exhaustion.
my exhaust blowing back at me,
annoyed with itself;
or maybe it’s me; annoyed with me.
trying to be so much to someone…
comes off as too much— clingy, needy
a six-disc changer stuck on repeat,
while I ride passenger in my own skin.
and it’s uncomfortable being me;
off track— scratched records
for the record, skipping alongside
every step I take. the moment the wind
blew— I turned blue; night blues,
mid-thought, no warning.
mundane things, trying to make them
mean more, to seem more… but she
doesn’t seem that interested anyway.
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 2:37 PM UTC
Over the bar, or better yet…
“he’s over at the bar.” Over his limits;
watch & listen...but listen to what
you watch, when it turns to gossip.
Watch what you say, like time is timing
every word your tongue tries to portray,
or betray through your lips. While keeping
focus on what matters most, costs more
than it pays; still… pay attention!
Five to nine, working a nine to five,
just to work on the work of art I'm
becoming: just that guy— but not
your man; “it be like that sometimes…”
Hard to be a man everyone understands;
in a glass bottle, a version of us that leaks;
Emptying a tear-duct tank…then duct-taping
a mouth, so nothing real escapes.
Say less— feel more… or feel less,
and say nothing at all. Just a couple sad
drinkers, smiling too loud, yelling too much…
At the bar, over the bar...
never quite past it.
Apr 16
Apr 16, 2026 at 3:35 PM UTC
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
I write this out of desperation
a final attempt to be absolved
before whatever comes next.
I write so you may pray
for a sinner without a name,
one you cannot — and must not — search for.
I was baptised, Father.
Finally.
Among thousands,
washed clean, made new.
So I believed it counted for me too.
I believed I was new —
until the purity I wore
was stained by a night
I never asked for.
So I’ll confess my present sin,
for my past has long been forgiven.
Where do I begin?
Perhaps with the least devastating.
I was pregnant.
With a child I feared,
and a child who would have feared me —
born from a moment that broke me.
And the man who caused it
lies beside me now, still.
His silence is the only mercy
he ever offered.
No, his end wasn’t gentle.
But it felt inevitable.
Why am I writing this?
As I said — prayers.
I may spend the rest of my life in prison,
if they find me.
It’s possible.
I acted in a rage I didn’t recognise,
and in the chaos,
I lost the child too.
My child.
Strange how the word
finally feels real
now that it’s gone.
So these are my confessions, Father
the ending of two lives:
one innocent,
and one who had long abandoned innocence.
P.S.
Forgive the stains on this page.
They aren’t mine.
Apr 15
Apr 15, 2026 at 4:58 AM UTC
Find me at 27— still feeling like 23;
pretty free, caught in a pretty fear…
Just a flower afraid to lose pieces of its skin
to the wind; growing— yet gripping tightly.
Thinking of all the work I should be doing—
old skin starts to shed, yet the tools still hang
quietly in that same shed.
My mood is a masterpiece waiting to be written;
the future of my career, ironically involves content
being written… but somehow still left unwritten.
Somewhere between being Christian and missing
what’s written; scripture slipping from a memory
that remembers only when convenient.
Stones unturned—yet still crying out;
and if I stay silent long enough, even rocks
will praise louder than the weight of my doubt.
23 reasons sitting in a 27 mind— with 30
knocking at the door, timing me… like
I’m slowly running out of time.
But struggles don’t age— they stay present;
maybe I’m not that old— just aware of the
seconds I’ve already spent.
No one feels old when standing next to someone
older— “you’re still a baby, my son,” the old man
at the bar said. And for a moment… time
loosened its grip from around my head.
Apr 14
Apr 14, 2026 at 4:03 PM UTC
Words: sword Breath: shield
My breath in words— is a pause,
before a line cuts deep; it could pierce
skin… I let it wait for a worthy moment.
Give me a moment to compose—
poet with a baton, writing in the right
key; the door only twists if it fits.
The silence of the yard:
field of responses, kept in the backyard.
A mouth wide open; but where others
spit, ***** stain…
I water, filter, and maintain.
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 3:46 PM UTC
I kissed two girls, but couldn’t tell their flavouring,
like mixing two liquors; burns the same…
but I still call it my favourite thing
Calling me passive— I’m a passive drinker;
I sip, don’t settle… yet let it settle in you.
A skin healer— with no need to touch, to touch
you; I let you listen, feel the moment crawl under
your skin— tongue tracing the tips of your ear,
spelling soft sins in syllables.
Light a flame beneath your breath— watch it arch
into fire; we trade spits of passion, water for thirst…
yet still leave each other parched.
You call me hardwood— I don’t rush to leave;
I just stand there… firm in silence, roots deep
in habits I won’t break.
So spread yourself— like leaves in their fall;
no resistance in the letting… just the sound of giving
it all. But if I don’t stay the extra hour—don’t mourn
the moment after I leave... I was never built for
permanence, just presence.
Still— won’t you spark something in my trunk?
pour a little more fuel in my tank… I run better
on desire than I ever did on love.
"Soulmates," we said it like scripture; but
cellmates sounds closer— locked in a cage
we called, "connection," serving a sentence
that felt like a just one.
I keep giving love commas— pauses, chances…
but it keeps handing me a full stop.
I chase it— they tell me, “fool, stop.”
Still… I park in your spaces when you ask for
space— stay just long enough to be remembered…
then I DELETE you before you can do the same
to me.
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 2:22 PM UTC
Selling mind and flesh; sold too much time…
now I’m a wreck; a crash-out on your shore—
:so be sure to love me; I arrive in waves
Love me like a rocking boat, paddling alongside
a magnetic wave— your smile pulling me in,
reeling me from a once serious face.
Facing your fears to be near your feels—
feels like cold feet finding courage; still…
:leaping from earth, jumping off the
porch, in training to fall— repeat.
How I need a coach, riding coach to confess
these emotions; or riding coasts in bottled
emotions— timed, primed… all just
waiting for the right place to burst.
Tell me, would you love to fall in love first?
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 12:28 AM UTC
Not every first appearance impresses—
like walking into a church where nobody smiles;
:everyone working on themselves, but no real
service with a smile. And I know my first appearance
didn’t give you one, yet you stayed; more than a
visitor, while I remained a bench warmer in your life.
Doing the disservice of trying to ruin you—
when I should’ve rune’d you... once an innocent
wreck, crashing into guilty pleasures; my guilty
conscience…for not spending enough time with
you— not enough of me in your all.
Our final moment could be the start of it all—
and maybe I want to see you all, before we
lose it all. Fall into my trust— lose your all in
a trust fall; let your body confess what it’s been
holding, let me hear every unspoken call.
Where leaves meet their fall, they don’t
question the letting— and winter’s fall is only
a season… so stay a little longer—give it
your all; maybe, just maybe… something in us
still grows through it all—
—or we become the “almost” that had it all.
…and just like that—this is the end of service.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 11:59 AM UTC
Rollercoasters; rolling coasts across an emotional
spectrum; coast to coast the backside of a speck—
:a kick to the ****** to wreck them
into perspective.
Message of advice? I text them— but these notes
note me more than they help them; self-addressed
envelopes, stamped with things I never said out loud.
Maybe I’m just a noun— or a verb mid-becoming,
with too many adds before I add up, add-ons—
advertised into an adverb, modified by everything
that modifies me.
Adding verbs to sentences, trying to sentence
a word from the Word; naming meaning like I own
it… like language won’t one day outgrow me.
Faith-full. Hope-full. Grace-full—
until I lessen them… faith-less, hope-less,
grace-less— suffix stripped, self-slipped.
Up and down this rollercoaster— no safety bar
for the soul; just loops of who I was trying not
to throw up who I am.
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 5:23 PM UTC
What am I
but something that kept going
after it should have stopped
something that learned
how to exist without being felt
What am I
but a shape with no center
held together
by habits that forgot their purpose
I remember trying
I think
there was a time
when things meant something
when words weren’t measured
before they were spoken
but that version didn’t last long
it kept reaching
and every time
it came back with less
less certainty
less voice
less of anything that made it real
until eventually
there was nothing left to take
and that’s when it got quiet
not peaceful
not calm
just empty
the kind of quiet
that doesn’t ask questions anymore
because it already knows
nothing is coming back
you call it different now
like something is missing
but you watched it leave
piece by piece
moment by moment
right in front of you
and you let it happen
maybe you needed it that way
something easier to hold
something that wouldn’t push back
and I learned
I learned how to stop reacting
how to stop needing
how to stop being anything
that could be broken again
so now when you look at me
and try to find what’s wrong
there’s nothing to point at
no anger
no noise
no fight left
just something that stayed
after everything else
was worn down
so if you need a name for it
if you need something to blame
call it what you want
call it cold
call it empty
call it gone
but don’t pretend
you don’t recognize it
you were there
when it was made
and if that makes me the villain
then at least this version
doesn’t feel it anymore
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 2:39 PM UTC
blinking in and out of days—
a strobe-lit
existence.
time doesn’t pass,
it flashes...
wandering toward
the promise of a quiet finale,
as if rest were a gift
one I could unwrap
early.
to search for unity
among the ones
who left—
grief gathers us all
together, like dust
in corners.
hunger clings—
emotions, underfed;
licking sweetness
from practiced
lies.
there's a pie on the table—
everyone’s dipped
their *****
fingers in.
what was warm
is man-handled —
what was whole
is shared
thin.
aching for closure...
the curtain falls shut,
the day collapses—
lights out.
dark, until tomorrow
strikes a wire
inside my skull.
a flicker...
then—
another light bulb
burning again
...a light bulb moment.
Feb 18
Feb 18, 2026 at 2:22 PM UTC
Drank a whole year at twenty-four,
Almost thought my liver forgot its job.
Fingertip burns; losing streaks,
******* rivers of regret;
I can't swim through.
Christian tears only fall
When I’m bargaining with God...
It’s human.
Heaven’s promised tomorrow,
The next day feels like hell.
Sunday first, Mondays again.
Fall to my knees, fall out of my pleas;
Jack of all trades, jacking myself up
Just to cope; barter trade myself
Just to get by; I rearrange stars
Behind closed eyes.
Please Lord, take me back home
To that poem— lost in its world,
Far from this broken one, in pieces...
I broke down in my very first poem
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 4:03 PM UTC
I’ve hurt others, yes.
But the harshest words
the sharpest judgments
have always been mine.
I say to myself
what I would never say to anyone else.
I hunt my mistakes,
hold my failures like evidence,
measure myself in ways
I would never measure another.
And still,
I wonder if I’ll ever forgive
the only person I’ve been too cruel to:
myself.
Feb 4
Feb 4, 2026 at 9:28 AM UTC
Features beyond a resting place — a search for hope drawn on my
face. In some way, I’ve lost direction; so wherever the river flows,
that’s where my thoughts are drawn. __Pause__. One, two, three.
I forget what comes next. Even boxed in, life keeps folding me into
new shapes — creases of maybe, edges of almost. My armies of
failures find their formation, ready to march without hesitation.
I keep umbrella terms handy for days like this, when words drizzle
but never really pour. I’m under the weather, I'm just _overthinking,_
awake with my fears —and even open eyes still dream, though it’s
mostly reality forcing them to blink.
It would prove handy to try and start an open-handed conversation
with myself, but my inner voices keep putting me on hold. Engines
rev, motivation hums, but procrastination presses pause; and then
everything idles.
I was meant to write this earlier, but time said: “Rest a little longer.”
And I listened, like I always do —finding comfort just beyond this
resting place.
Nov 8, 2025
Nov 8, 2025 at 12:29 PM UTC
To feel like a thin book of virulent darkness —
each page trembling under the weight of light.
The future reads me back like a thriller; every
silence a plot twist, and every sigh a cliff-hanger.
Suspended against a cosmic backdrop — a man’s
visible teardrop, feels heavy as the first raindrop.
And each day, a new palace of strange clouds arrives,
_unprecedented_ — flooding my soul and mind.
I dance to the rain’s percussion —each drop striking
its own torrents; and to rent a place in your thoughts
has built a home I can’t evict from my own head.
And before the breath of a dream abandons me,
press a killing kiss upon my lips —smother the ache
gently, unbothered, unanswered.
For this flower, let the questions rot where they bloom;
and let the mystery be the only mercy I have left.
For I’ve learned to live without the knowing, content
in the suspense of it all —the few riddles that refuse
to die keep me turning the pages, for who knows what
waits us tomorrow, and what quiet ending
the dark will write.
Oct 20, 2025
Oct 20, 2025 at 4:16 AM UTC
Sometimes, life gets too loud.
It makes me feel like an empty soul;
filled by pools of people and drowned by waves of noises.
Walking back and forth, without knowing the right direction.
My own voice seems to be muffled along the way;
Just like a broken record, its vote couldn't be heard clearly.
Sometimes, life gets too loud.
I choose the mute option.
Perhaps, I just craving for a moment of silence.
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 9:03 PM UTC
I’ve lived my life in the pursuit of the truth,
(You can’t handle the truth.)
Constantly looking for an ounce of proof
To confirm my narrative.
**** you’d be a good politician-
If only you had the stomach for it.)
I’ve lived my life inside my head
(Tell me about this place you live-
Is the space a shoebox or ******* massive?)
Fighting my corner until my knuckles bled.
(Your knuckles bled, eh?
Surprised you put in that much effort.)
I’ve lived my life trying to be right
Because to be anything else
Is unacceptable
And frankly, it is not in my blood.
(Oh, sweetheart, there are a lot of things
That are not in your blood.
If only you knew-)
I’ve ignored so much
In pursuit of the truth,
In pursuit of my truth.
I’ve walked with my eyes and ears closed
Assuming that the cars would miss me
If I wander too far to the left.
A lot of the time my pursuits fail,
But a lot of the time I am successful.
This time, I have read all the books
And my senses are opened.
So please tell me, how come
When I’m proven right,
When I’ve gotten what I wanted,
It cuts me just as deep as when I’m wrong?
(You seek the truth,
But you do not truly seek it.
You seek the easy truth,
The convenient truth.
But sometimes, that truth does not exist
And you must brace yourself for that.
You are capable of that,
For you are stronger than you realize.
To hurt is not to be wrong,
It is to be human,
To feel,
To be alive
And be aware of the fact-
Not such a bad thing to be,
If you ask me.)
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 12:04 AM UTC
WHAT the heck is going on with you, not able to make use of yourself of others, just totally hollow, you are off your rocker, not even knowing what to do with YOURSELF, that's foolish!
So? What do you want to do now? To get angry with yourself, to swallow down, to kick into the air, the usual stuff?
Somehow despicable, don't you think? Ridiculous, by no means at all as you want to be, right?
You know what? Its up to YOU!
Exactly.... a bit slow on the uptake?
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
"She didn't mean anything."
My dear.
She was never supposed to.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 12:11 AM UTC