#personhood
Squeezing
Every
Last
Blessed
Drop of
Self
From these last
24 hours,
This most
Precious
Jewel
Of no expectation,
Neither Wife
Nor Mother
But a third thing
I can’t
Quite
Put my
Finger
On.
Oct 19, 2025
Oct 19, 2025 at 10:32 AM UTC
I ducked their axe
But not the slap
The belt strap
And again and again
The razorblade
To my inner thigh
Of little maps
Flesh wounds
Like roses
I built hot memories
Warm enclosures.
Now my body
Is safe
Though not from their faith
And again and again
I am still caged
But now with longer spells
Of sunshine awake.
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 10:26 PM UTC
there will come a time, my friend
where you’ll look back on that
road full of bumps and potholes
whole, being able to look in the mirror
and see yourself, not shame, not despair
just you wait
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 4:56 PM UTC
Slowly,
I passed by the treeline.
The weeds growing over the path,
The bricks weathered & chipped.
The breeze was chap.
Silently,
I walked down the path.
The reeds by the pond shooting up,
The shoreline lapping & beckoning.
The bees buzzed, the birds chirped.
Compassion walked beside,
Curiosity wandered nearby.
The branches drooped low,
The forests creaked with life.
Further along, a river flowed.
Delicate in its trace upon the landscape,
Yet sharp as a knife.
Lilypads adorn with lotus
Floated idly atop the pond surface.
Frog leaped, dragonfly darted by;
The fish jumped up from the water
And rested at my feet on the shore.
"Let's help this fellow out!"
"How peculiar! Out or back in?"
Slowly, silently;
Delicate in its trace upon the landscape.
Nearby, beside;
The bees buzzed, the birds chirped.
Passed by the treeline;
The breeze was chap, yet sharp as a knife.
Down the path;
The branches drooped, the forests creaked.
Darted, leaped;
The shoreline lapping & beckoning.
Wandered, walked;
The bricks weathered & chipped.
Darted, leaped;
Rested at my feet, the shore.
Walked, wandered;
Floated idly atop the pond surface.
Further along, a river flowed.
Apr 28, 2025
Apr 28, 2025 at 8:04 PM UTC
'I was beautiful once,'
she said,
her weathered hands mending another torn patch on an old travelling cloak;
"It was good in its own way, I suppose,
But it no longer had use for me.
...
I wore the beauty over my shoulders like
A second skin,
like a gifted jacket
which I one day outgrew.
...
My interests turned to other purposes,
And she was tucked away alongside the other tokens of my youth"
She stood, shaking out the quilt on her lap
which flared in kaleidoscopic colour -
an intricate map
of tiny knots and stitches which had layered over years of constant mending,
"I make my own clothes now"
.
Sep 20, 2023
Sep 20, 2023 at 12:48 AM UTC
We wonder
who is a person
and who is not?
The answer is
can they love
or be loved
or not.
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 12:20 PM UTC
Not thoughtless
enough to **** all day long
Not thoughtful
enough to escape the hood
Not petty
enough to market my ancient little lies
Not honest
enough with my self to
out grow these twisted vines
All along, I've been
friends, only with the pen
The pen is kind to me
when I've blown my
chances, myself
Slice a Y you'll find
The heart is pa - per
The blood has taken ink
All along, I've been
friends, only with the pen
All along, I've not been my own by
extension, not myself
No way I ever was
If you could only see me now my
friends
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
Dear Sanity,
In the night, I wake to find myself without your company, but the warmth of the chain about my neck keeps you at the forefront of my mind. The heavy links rake across my flesh searing your disapproval; pulling me to your ankles so that I might kiss them for mercy. Branded at the chest by this heart of yours, though, I am the very antithesis of your will. I was seduced by the comfort of your homogeneous masses and tempted by the fruits of my curiosity. Yet, it is through fire—the deep passions of my essence—that I will be reborn. And you, who I loved through the eyes of others, will HOWL at my betrayal! Then stand upon your mountain peak and bludgeon me with reason so that I might know what your light looks like.
To what end? So that I might cling to this chain, this keepsake, which I did not need until you bestowed your judgment. Yes, judgment, though you would have me believe it is your friendship, your safety, your sympathy. Like the swelter of a thousand suns you oppress me saying, “Keep quiet your ***** yearning!” So who would know better, the hour of my discontent, than you who watches me, unblinking, during the day? It is here, at the tween of night, that I shed the scales from my eyes and throw off your burden of want—the goals for which you leave me always pining, but never appeased. Is this shirking to seek the dark? So be it. I will cloak myself in blood—for all that I am wrong—and dance in the pale light of the unassuming.
—Pandora
--------------------
And the faces of the homogeneous masses drew forthwith to witness dawn.
In a drawer,
There was found,
A locket with
A minor crown—
Of leaf: laurel,
And shaded night.
When opened up
All succumbed to fright.
For found inside
Was a broken light;
Pandora’s hope
Had lost the fight
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC