#ive
Self harm is not only cutting it’s hitting and biting and burning and hurting your self but mostly cutting people think hurting them selfs is better than getting professional help in reality it’s worst your wrist are covered with cuts from self harm this is why you should get professional help some people can’t get professional help because they don’t want their parents to know and that’s understandable but at least have someone to talk to and if you don’t always text me x
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 6:19 PM UTC
I wait patiently
But still eagerly
For your touch on my skin
Your mouth on every part of me
Your hands holding me down
I want so badly to be claimed
Punished
To be marked and abused by you
Eat my sins and take your payments
Treat me as I deserve for what I've done
Break me
Liberate me.
I am no good
Better me
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 1:29 AM UTC
in my own mind;
au contraire,\to be fair
if i get up to
medi ochre
I’m so embarrassingly pleased
generally,
gotta lie down
and take a nap
after a violent
sneeze
as self punishment
for my outrageous egotistical
shame shame shame
on me he he
~~~~~
will somebody put this
on a t-shirt & pleeze
and mail it to me?
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 9:41 AM UTC
Let's fight over dirt about what's underground
Let's work on bombing hospitals so we can play a few rounds
Let's ****** one thousand children just to take out one
Let's liberate the people by sneaking them under our thumb
Let's make the world better after we purposely made it worse
Let's spread the good word using an orange hearse
Let's die for Isreal so Jesus can come back down
(Who's gonna tell Hegseth that he's poor and brown)
Let's use hideous creations to decimate beautiful things
We can rebuild civilization on top of dead human beings
Let's start a war for peace so the oil tycoons get rich
Just send the poor to die for money and **** two birds with one whip
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 5:10 PM UTC
these are the scientific observerations I’ve
witnessed, recorded, tallied and allowed
to impact my judgement
compiled upon my diurnal voyages in the sea of humanity across the cityscape of my birthplace
this not a disclaimer, for I neither disclaim
or claim anyone, as my own, more a clearing
of the chest, that also clarifies the senses, to better observe, interpret and weigh subject to
human biases and frailties, which makes for
better poetry
<>
A women. a mother, beside her a daughter,
of the horribilis annos age of early teenhood,
her face a dull rose~pink, obvious tear streaked, but what strutk me odd, the mother
sits at a 90 degree angle, face turned down and away
and I suppress my urge to comfort the youth,
that things will by law custom history and
natural law of the philosophers, perforce
she~teen will survive, even prosper, as I speculate what ailment specific has caused them to sit on this bench, by my river shared, and find no comforting by its majesty, it’s current sweeps away the debris of worried fears, returns wisdom perspective, and all this will pass by my inpressed guarantee upon the air we both share full of
promise
but i am puzzy by the mother, who drapes
not her arm around, nor speaks as if she knows that volumes, pyramids of words have a pointed top, past which they can go no
further
sympathetic for I have comforted many,
and well cognize the tipping point when
the intersection of frustration, exhaustion,
and love succumb to the knowing point,
that only antibiotic soul salve is time,
and the silences of caring even when
unspoken
but I walk past, for in new york city there are
big boundaries one rarely crosses until and
unless invited
as I travel my well worn path on a sunny chilly October day, when one is capable of
delulding oneself that summer gods and
light
and warmth yet exists,
see many; the handsome and the overwhelmed, who move in vacuum tubes
of isolation, observing the First Rule:
Make No Eye Contact!
a safety device to preserve you in a protective bubble of safety from the uncontrollable,
the risks of possibility, for failure has so
many imagined risks, and it is so much easier to imagine the worst, rather than finding tokens of the best humanity can offer
I know this rule well, for my experimentation
includes my walking with an always smiling
face, that ranges from whimsical to fantastical,
but for the little children who give me an unutterable joy, as they explore the world
with no hesitation and are yet unaware of the First Rule, not due to arrive to another decade
once in awhile other observers, see this well,
handsome,well maned, old man with the
fixed smile from the tiniest corner of the nearest eye, and cannot help, but instinctively
return this breach of the lonely peace the
river ample provides
and you tally this reactionary outcome and
well versed in statistical theorem, can safely
report that the frequency of said occurrences
is .01%, with a degree of confidence after numerous walks, that 99% this the best this occurrence that can be obtained
and you ask if this is a poem?
as you ask so often, when I lead
you down this gated garden path of my
envisioning walks, where I pluck poems,
good footed or bad, from the steady
breeze that whisks away my tears,
from whatever source they be triggered
sorried dad, or glad, joy or the Oy! of pain,
and apologize to old codgers with too much time on their minds, about its failure to be be brief, but grief is never short or sweet,
and when I'm on my knees still trying
to understand the ticking mechanism
of the human heart, there just never
seems to be enough letters in the alephbet
to say all that needs saying…
after I-deliver a real cup of
strong, no milk to the barely
roused woman, will dandy don
safari hat, binoculars, freshly scrubbed face, attach that grin to my outerwear, go forth and catch one or two stripers, perhaps a catfish, or
a porgy, a smile and even a poem too…
oh,
and yes,
this too, an only love poem
for us all*
Oct 9, 2024
Oct 9, 2024 at 8:42 AM UTC
Oh,
my dearest,
Humans ain't even enduring,
then how are we envisioned to
have endless instants.
Moments,
treasure and worship,
such that it prevails eternally,
It's the only way it abides.
isn't it so outlandish to lament on
past moments by neglecting the present?.
Live in the moment,
grasp devotion, yearning, enchantment
and sparks.
only those moments get you
lessons,
not what a triumphant businessman
orates.
We gotta glorify the misery,
idolize the brokenness,
embrace the solitary,
endear the faithless souls,
because all this is what,
take you somewhere in the sky,
to thrive,
to grin,
and to live.
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 4:51 AM UTC
What words can work when you’re under pressure? and
What tongue can speak that my mind cannot utter? and
What will I be mute to and what might I mutter?
Don’t you ever wonder? and Don’t you ever think? and
Don’t you ever wish just what could have been?
Or whatever?
But what can I say? Hey, I’ve been better
This Sunday’s got me homesick but yet I’ve been home since last week
You reminded me of myself and of what might come to be
But I cannot judge because he’s just like me, a forgery
Don’t you ever wonder? and Don’t you ever think? and
Don’t you ever wish just what could have been?
Or something other?
But what can I say? Hey, I’ve been better
To see you here in person couldn’t be worse than not at all
I’d love to write a letter but you know no one does that as much, am I wrong?
Wishing we could see each other and wasn’t a young man’s brother, gained or lost
Don’t you ever wonder? and Don’t you ever think? and
Don’t you ever wish just what could have been?
And nothing lesser?
But what can I say? Hey, I’ve been better
Let’s go back to the old days where we could make each other laugh
Older now, but in our twenties, how long was that supposed to last?
Not much to look forward to except for looking up or looking back
Don’t you ever wonder? and Don’t you ever think? and
Don’t you ever wish just what could have been?
Or maybe never?
But what can I say? Hey, I’ve been better
What words can work when you’re under pressure? and
What tongue can speak that my mind cannot utter? and
What will I be mute to and what might I mutter?
Don’t you ever wonder? and Don’t you ever think? and
Don’t you ever wish just what could have been?
Or whatever?
But what can I say? Hey, I’ve been better
Dec 6, 2020
Dec 6, 2020 at 10:45 AM UTC
The end
A poignant secret
See
You're my type of breeze
The height of trees
Whispering in the arms of wind
Jan 18, 2020
Jan 18, 2020 at 11:57 PM UTC
just lie down on the smooth soil,
and rest beneath these grey clouds.
feel the rain pound your body,
and listen to its rhythmic sound.
You breathe in and out,
the sky capturing your breath,
but for once,
you do not notice,
and your veins dance with life.
you are calm, as the vines creep beneath you,
slowly pushing, tearing at flesh that was once theirs.
plants begin to burrow through your skin,
sprouting out your mouth,
your chest,
your arms.
Blooming up to the calming sky,
flowers stealing your life away,
so you can rest.
Nov 15, 2019
Nov 15, 2019 at 12:03 PM UTC
i met you in the middle of august
during the death of summer
but the birth of my life
the leaves were just beginning to turn
the shade of mustard
of my favorite yellow
the specks of gold inside the dog of my childhood
and you were a melancholy prince
a monsoon of everything I was always too busy looking elsewhere for
always on the cusp
now before my eyes it was terrifying
I was too busy in my own sadness
always teetering on the verge of the roof
more mosquito bite than girl
when they asked why I was always writing
what could I write about if I wasn't ever talking to people
no sensory experiences but the ones I imagined
a shyness of a body
a flushing fever of a person
how could I explain
spill onto the kitchen sink gripping strangers' shoulders
crying I was in love with everything
and could that be such a bad thing
I didn't want to be a wound
but there we were
stealing groceries from the store and never sleeping
inside a romantic cocoon
I would go anywhere with you
be your favorite friend
a favored nervousness inside the pit of your amygdala
if you wanted me to
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 5:08 PM UTC
Cold trails
Dark sparks
Wood chips drowning beneath waving path
No time
No chance
No opportunity left to embark
I've missed the stars
The skyward boat
It's filling mast has sailed away
And I am left standing
Beneath the reality
Of day
My reality
This day
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 3:54 PM UTC
all I've ever learned from love
is
*in the trying is the finding out
of the
all about,
losing battles to find yourself,
a war-won victor and a long term loser,
making the process new, expensive
the event expertise training
acquired to shoot your foot straight,
laugh about it when you do it again
and again
for the relearning is the crown jew-el,
that jesters rob from their kingly masters,
pride in love is the fall season preceding
Canadian winters, always thinking
you know better, be better at keeping warm,
this time which is the next time
you cannot learn from love,
cause it’s twice, two times,
never the same,
past lessons ain’t no prologue,
the body is maybe in the wafers,
sometimes vanilla,
sometimes chocolate*
and the epilogue is
100% of the
poem~songs that I love writing
and hate remembering
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 5:09 PM UTC
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 1:18 AM UTC
Something has changed
Since I last was awake
Sounds are wrong
My pulse is unnerved
My limbs are sitting strangely
The world blurs
As rain twinkles down
Crouching outside
On the edge
Of a field of weeds
I am not wanted
I do not belong
Some space is being taken
By me
That is not mine to take
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 10:39 AM UTC
is
the trying is the finding out of the unique
all about,
losing battles to find yourself a
war-won victor and a long term loser,
making the process new, requiring expensive
for the event custom made expertise trainers,
re-acquired to shoot your foot straight
and laugh about it when you do it
again and again
for the relearning love is the crown jew-el,
that jesters rob from their kingly masters,
nothing more precious
pride in love is the fall season preceding
Canadian winters,
always thinking you know better
this time
you cannot learn from love,
cause it’s twice, two times,
never the same,
the all over modifying
past lessons, so, ain’t no prologue,
the body is the wafers
sometimes vanilla,
sometimes chocolate
and the epilogue is 100%
poem~songs that I love writing
and hate remembering
or is it the other way round?
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 2:44 PM UTC