#reclamation
What will make my life worth living
with ‘The Great Pain’ that’s yet to come?
I’ve stewed
I’ve mused
my mind’s diffused
all the good things that I’ve done
… I could split the atom
… I could heal all cancers
… I could solve World Wars
… or a formula for happiness
But my mind still fuses
in loops
and confusions,
chasing impossible goals
and wishful delusions…
To make my life worth living…?
To make my life worth living…?
To make my life worth living…?
STOP!
Wait.
Recalibrate…
New sights
New sounds
New people
New towns
I do have a life worth living…
And I ****** LOVE IT !!
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 11:52 AM UTC
The architecture of the ghosting was a silent room,
with the doors removed and the windows painted shut.
Out in the street, you tell a story with a missing ghost,
while I am here, still breathing in the gaps.
I turn to the one still standing in the draft,
the one whose pulse is the only clock left ticking.
I tell him: “The silence isn’t an empty vessel;
it is the heavy, solid weight of everything that happened.
You are not a footnote in a book they burned.”
So I begin rebuilding the room myself,
brick by honest brick,
naming what was taken
and what remains.
The gaps are mine to shape now –
not as wounds,
but as openings.
I step through them
into a story you cannot rewrite.
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 4:23 AM UTC
Withered waiting wanting willing
Nothing ever calms, nothing stilling
swirling lazy lackadaisical circles
around a mind bent by shame
Wishing worry was a whisper
That never knew my name
Regret remorse reviling rewards
That never felt like anything
other than a sharpened sword
Feeling nothing but the sting..again
Words echoed in the chambers
of the hallowed halls
wisping wallows from the sorrows
that never forget the calls
Cawing clawing caving collapsing
in upon myself.
Always awkwardly awarding Ashley -
Another place on some dusty shelf
Hatred harmlessly holds hostage
All of my memories
Stroking them strangling them -
"Wrapped Lovingly -"
Dec 9, 2025
Dec 9, 2025 at 5:38 AM UTC
They cannot stop you
Or they would have already
Still, they will try.
Will you?
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 2:02 PM UTC
I stare at my feet
My home where I should be
Magic is dead here
Alagaësia calls me
I speak in the ancient tongue
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 5:40 PM UTC
I have these…childhood memories.
I remember;
Tears.
Fear.
Raised voices.
A broken windshield.
A singed curtain.
Broken hearts.
Broken vows.
And so, so many broken promises.
A room that was mine and also not mine.
A door that never felt like it closed.
Walls that learned to listen.
Drawers that held their breath.
I learned silence like a second language,
and tried to follow your lead.
Your voice became my voice.
I smiled when I wanted to frown.
I made myself smaller
in places that should have been safe.
“She’s my favourite.”
So I escaped
to where you couldn’t reach me—
in the corners of my mind,
to stories that never knew your name…
or your kind.
Places you could never follow.
Worlds that felt like mine.
I remember your hands—
not where I want them.
I remember the sharpness
of footsteps in the hall.
The sound of keys—
how even that
could make my stomach drop.
"Is this going to be a good night,
or a bad one?"
And I remember his voice,
too close again.
I hoped, stupidly, he might’ve changed.
But he hasn’t.
He never will.
And when he spoke, I trembled.
Not because I didn’t know—
but because I did.
Because I’d heard it all before.
Those saccharine words,
dripping—
sickly sweet…empty.
"I'm sorry,"
falling out of your mouth
like it cost you nothing.
And I used to hope you meant it.
That maybe this time
you’d keep your word.
But you didn’t.
You never did.
Another promise,
broken.
I trace the shape of the memories
only when I choose to.
Some still ache when I touch them.
Some don’t belong to me alone.
But I am still here.
And this room—this one—
is mine.
You haunted everything.
But not this.
Not now.
This part of me—
is yours no longer.
Not in this room.
Not in these walls.
Not in me.
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 6:55 AM UTC
Even though they control my *****
claim over my lootie,
and they attempt to gaslight my sovereign multifrequency
I haven’t forgotten I am a certified Duesy!
You’re bumming off me, little mousie.
Even if you thought I was a loosy,
I adore my *****
I mean just look at the way it oozes,
sweet nectar that makes you goosey!
I’m too busy
keeping you alive from my *****
Orgasming at light speed to my divine presence, to behold you’d require a diamond koozie.
Call yourself a flouzy
for not respecting this sequency.
If you truly had one too, you’d understand why I am reclaiming my dignity.
They want to own what they do not revere in secrecy.
I can’t be bothered to slow down for you to drain my juicy.
I am too in love with my *****
They try very hard to downplay my power, so sussy.
Bow down or drown in this *****
Ordained into structured flowies,
life is mine, fulfillment With me can be so easy.
But if you’re not with this *****
don’t get too close you Will get dizzy!
So much life is brewing inside my *****
It’s ironic, all these dictators came through my *****
My lips spit you out even though you pretend to be so bossy.
True Power can’t be manipulated you fool, I’d be triggered too if my mind was that lousy!
Are you put off yet, *****
Awww, don’t be so fussy!
Thaw that heart out it’s too icy.
GET OUT of my *****
go elsewhere to be pissy!
Just not on my planet crazy,
you’re on your last mercy!
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 11:11 PM UTC
I gave too much, I see that now—
My time, my light, I don’t know how.
But now I choose to call it back,
And seal the holes that formed each crack.
They took my softness, stole my peace,
Demanded more, and gave no ease.
Their chaos isn’t mine to bear,
Their wounds aren’t ones I need to wear.
I’m not your friend, I’m not your crutch—
This soul is sacred, not a clutch.
From now, my light is mine to keep,
You’ll haunt no more the way I sleep.
I felt the drain, I felt the cost,
But now reclaim what I had lost.
No more will guilt or shame remain—
You’re not my burden, not my chain.
I cleanse the time that left me frayed,
The debt unpaid, the trust betrayed.
I take my power, my love, my fire—
I rise above, I climb up higher.
This wound will close, and I will shine,
This soul, this work, this light is mine.
And never will I serve once more
A weight that shakes me to my core.
Mar 29, 2025
Mar 29, 2025 at 3:16 AM UTC
I am not up on the bima
A cantor sings in his baritone voice that I do not have and I am not up on the bima
I am not up on the bima
“What’s the right choice to make as Jews?” the rabbi asks and I am not up on the bima
I am not up on the bima
I cut my hair and I “don’t have time” so I am not up on the bima
I am not up on the bima
It isn’t fair I’m scared of what’s mine and I am not up on the bima
How can I be up on the bima?
Sacrificing myself? Do you want to cut me in half so I can be up on the bima?
How can I be up on the bima?
I stand back by the shelves, away from the staff and I am definitely not up on the bima.
When will I be up on the bima?
Next Shabbat or years from now when I am welcome up on the bima?
When will I be up on the bima?
When my life is taught, all of it, not just some when I am up on the bima
I see others up on the bima
There’s never beings like me up on the bima
I see others up on the bima
Then I start seeing YOU up on the bima
I am not up on the bima
But YOU are. You’ve cut your hair, but you are not scared and YOU are up on the bima
I am up on the bima
Through your spirit because we are all one when there is someone up on the bima
I am up on the bima
Because you are there and we share not only a G-d but a pride in ourselves standing tall up on the bima
I am up on the bima
And if there is one place I belong, it’s: UP ON THE BIMA
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 6:39 PM UTC
Labelist theory states:
If a person is labeled something they are not and they don't agree with, one day they will stop defending themselves and be exactly what they are accused of being.
I'm being called an arsonist by a jury of my peers. By a jury of people who hang with me but now listening to someone who solely wants to see me dangling. I find myself constantly trying to protect my image like copyrights. But no matter the protection plan I enstate, I always find my name somewhere being defaced. I guess respect, loyalty and friendship wasn't enough to protect something like that. If it is then why am I catching charges. Why am I catching OJ treatment when yall say I will be missed like Ladanian on the chargers. Why is action only taken when the news say to take someone out like Michael Vick and not when a player asks you to look at the real problem like Colin Kaepernick. Maybe I'm not the one on trial, maybe this trial was a trial and error to see if this jury was a jury of my peers in the first place. And if this is the case then this a mistrial because I won't allow people who say they will miss me like Ladanian to the chargers be the same ones to take everything I worked with to another area code and call it by the same name. You can foot me the Bills because this is a OJ glove that I see fit. I am arsonist to the ties we had because that same rope won't be my nuse. I set fire to all your expectations of me because I won't watch my name get defaced like your personal property anymore. I accept your label for me with open arms because there is some borderline truth behind every sterotype, rumor, or lie because I have found mine.
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 12:14 PM UTC
I burn **** between my lips.
one by one.
******* them down with skill.
Skull to lungs,
ashes to ashes.
I am the smoke of myself that
gathers deep inside
and prowls out, darkly
like faceless men at night
sunken in city pavement,
pacing towards desire.
And so the word saunters and spirals,
clouding upwards
from my red hot tongue.
I watch it as it leaves me.
I lick my lips of the sting,
and ash drips on my shoe.
I take a deeper breath.
and look ahead.
perhaps smiling,
perhaps darkly.
As it twists itself into nothingness,
sinking headlong,
like the private history that it is,
into the ignorant, pretty sky above.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 3:25 PM UTC
You praised my heart and helping hand
And for the longest time I could not understand
How any of that could make me special
Until you used those words to describe her
And how perfect she is.
And that is the paragraph on how you broke my heart for the first time ever.
But even in my darkest hour, my darkest day
Your doings could not take my humor away.
I am more than what you did to me,
I am more than what you made me feel.
Even when you broke my heart
I could not be mean enough to try and tear you apart.
I cried so many tears,
But for the next few years
I wished you only the best.
Even after you left that gaping hole
Right there in the very centre of my soul,
I could not hate you, never hate you
Because I loved you, always loved you
Beyond your kind heart and helping hands
Your everlasting patience and my high demands
You understood me like no one else had ever done
You listened to me when I was undone
You cared for me when I broke down
And then you took my heart, my very crown.
You broke my heart, my spirit, my pride
But the one thing you could never take from me is my reflex to fight
I'll fight your impact, your demeanour, what you made me feel
I'll reclaim what you took me from me and reveal
Once and for all what I know to be my greatest strength
My love for myself. And that can really
For real
Unlike you
And what I once allowed myself to feel for you
Last the entire length.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 9:37 PM UTC
It's time to burn the bridges I built
While you were widening the gap.
It's about reclaiming parts of me
That I trusted you to hold.
It has nothing to do with you.
You've done enough damage,
This is my fire.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC
One man alone...emerges
seeking to claim His own
Barely, yes
but still breathing
Desolations disgrace
is what has been shown
Clawing up from where
crushingly abandoned
Sure to escape
the horror the man
He has known
Describe Him
despicable rejected
Quite altogether forlorn
Surely far lower
than hopeless
Still advancing steadily on
There is not one
that He can call out to
Neither friend
nor family or home
Ignoring
the laughter of cynics
Oblivious
to the jeering of scorn
The continuous
critical whispers
only lengthen the sojourn He is upon
But still through
the music of His conscious
His soul cries
a sad quiet groan
The total
incalculable sorrow
of all the man He has borne
Finding
yet always pursuing
Searching for all
His destiny has sworn
One man alone......emerges
Seeking....... and sure
to reclaim His Own.
-R.
(06)
TX
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 2:06 PM UTC
Maybe it's too late for us
But it's not too late for me.
I'll save me.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 4:25 AM UTC
The break room Nazi's run around
turning off the dripping taps and turned on lights
While in all the other rooms and grounds
sprinklers dripping water and everything's so bright
The erstwhile logic, saving a dying ant
tiny and minuscule, void of better thoughts
As in cities and towns, it's not insignificant
children dying, hungry and for naught
Everything is precious and everything is rare
everything a snowflake or a single grain of sand
Unique to every venue as nothing can compare
saving every single creature and each and every man
Reality a nightmare to conservation's contrived
doing what we can saving because we care
As down to the last, not everyone survives
yes, yes, I know, life's never ever fair
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 2:04 PM UTC
The woods have become denser
Where roots have gone deeper
Lost between the intricate mesh
Of the branches and that hold
Embracing each other in a synergy
Here the lost soul is looking for a way
To navigate between the labyrinth
Ideas and thoughts are not porous
Ground realities have become grim
Recoiled are the roots deep within
Looking to move away from the lacunae
As the woods come closer and grasp
This soul has no answer to the questions
Pertinent doubts are raised
No looking away from the harsh world
Feeling crushed between two realities
A hallucinatory phase feels so real
Nothing but prisoners we are
Caught between the woods of reality
Souls filtered us through travails
Here are the sediments seeping
Deep into the ground, where roots reclaim
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:31 AM UTC
I don’t know how love works.
But I know I left you on a Sunday after spending six months trying to shove the words that escaped me into the dozens of envelopes that you had sent over the last six years.
I don’t know how loves works but I know that Christmas Eve, when you held me and I cried, it was because I was already losing track of your world map hands as you navigated the clams in the soup your brother made.
I don’t know how love works, but I know that over spring break, i bought flowers i knew you wouldn’t even like to say I’m sorry, even though I knew I was just trying to make things better temporarily until I got the courage to say goodbye.
I don’t know how love works, but I know that when you force feed yourself a certain amount of affection, your body starts to reject it. You can only fill up so much artificial substitute for love, like cotton candy filling up my head and grape flavoring spilling out of my mouth all over your bedsheets like the time i was drunk and spilled hot chocolate with marshmallows and you yelled at me like they would never be clean again.
I can’t love a terrarium. I get too frustrated with things I can’t touch. I can’t fill up any more phone calls with rainstorms and giving up.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
is there a word for the way it feels to cry in front of the Water Lilies in the museum?
is there a word for when your teeth taste like blood from getting punched in the heart?
is there a word for the moment when you say the last words you ever wanted to say to the boy?
there should be.
maybe then I could understand what it takes to tell someone that you hope they wake up feeling alone.
Who I’ve become is someone I respect.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC