#stages
Once I was a caterpillar,
Curious but often naive,
Observing from the ground,
Waiting for my time to leave.
Then I was a luna moth,
Silhouette whispering to the moon,
Drawn to the heat and fleeting warmth,
Of men who did what they wanted to do.
When I was a black widow,
A man eater they'd say,
I lived recklessly in my villian era,
Until my empathy got in the way.
I think I'll try again as a hermit,
Not very brave but tired of bleeding,
I traverse through this sand,
Longing for a shell that won't demand meaning.
May 8, 2025
May 8, 2025 at 9:16 PM UTC
This walls all talk,
These halls tell stories,
But they aren't legends yet,
They can't be, she isn't gone.
These walls talk too much!
These halls tell lies!
I hate all these pictures,
Memories stolen away from me!
These walls talk,
These halls are story tellers,
If I listen for long enough,
Will they bring her back?
These walls talk dispairingly,
These halls tell somber stories,
I passed another man walking,
Is he a loner such as I?
These walls talk of her loveliness,
These halls tell her story,
I listen to their songs,
And bathe in her memory.
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 8:41 AM UTC
We are like bread.
Bread has three irreversible modes:
dough, bread, and toast.
many things in life, if not
everything in life
have many different forms.
we are all in the different stages of bread
and yet
we criticise and judge ourselves
for moving and changing
and needing a new environment.
The suitable storage for dough
differs vastly to the suitable storage
for bread
and yet
we do not mock it
but facilitate it.
We could learn a thing or two
from bread.
Oct 25, 2024
Oct 25, 2024 at 2:56 PM UTC
I'm not an 'ingénue' anymore - that’s been vitiated.
I'm not innocent, pure, naive or vulnerable -
which are technically, 'ingénue' requirements
(I don’t make the rules).
That being said, if no one has an objection,
in terms of narrative trajectory, I'd like to be
considered a 'fémme fatale' until further notice.
.
.
Songs for this:
HEATED by Beyoncé
Hysterical Us by Magdalena Bay
11am 08.12
Aug 12, 2024
Aug 12, 2024 at 10:25 AM UTC
Across the years, 400 plus, my stories endlessly play out their parts.
I played not on painted stage, but I knew the human heart -
I captured, with quill and scratch, the passions of laughter and tears.
I held up a mirror, in doublet and verse, to things unbound by years,
like the weight of grief, the lightness of love and the serpents of ambition.
The music of verse, the lilt and fall of words, hold a strange enchantment,
brief spells where fools, princes, witches and kings shared a selfsame planet.
Though my bones lay in hallowed ground, the stories I spun linger yet.
They've played out, in age after age, on a thousand, thousand stages.
It’s well done, if I say so myself, to live on, in millions of minds and bookshelves.
.
.
A song for this:
Just Like Romeo and Juliet by The Reflections
Jun 11, 2024
Jun 11, 2024 at 8:55 PM UTC
A young disciple of discipline is just,
trying to dissipate negative traits.
Hesitations of change are often in frame
but most balloons don't fly straight.
Instead there's the choice of multiple fates,
played upon through invisible games.
Who is listening, we're nowhere near finished yet, when the drifter remains in stages to claim.
Draw upon those who have taught you before, are these new lessons or echoes restored in repetition.
Persistent tricks formed from stubborn habits, hidden in-kind to the back of our brains, where a complete disregard is often retained.
Try observing yourself through the eyes of others, are you sure we're the same when shuffling states.
Jul 11, 2021
Jul 11, 2021 at 11:09 AM UTC
Is the spirit
A part of conscientiousness
or is conscientiousness
A part of the spirit?
Is will deceived
Or do we steer it?
Death can hardly
Be part of life
How can a part
Of life be dead?
If eternity continues
At our last breath
How can I
When nothing’s left?
I’m sure you know
Your words are many
Dissecting the dictionary
From end to beginning
But...
Mom let you know the anger of dad
Stay out of his way and never be bad
Questions are futile
Eat your greens
The answer is simply life is a dream.
Dec 11, 2020
Dec 11, 2020 at 6:57 AM UTC
O' brother
Today is the anniversary
of the day you were born
But Fear not
for I have a Present
It is a cake obviously
Never doubt me
never
Either way
cake
For you should feed your Gluttony
And though I ate nine-tenths of the cake
you still ate
O how kind I am
How much more Retribution
truth
But I am higher of that
Regarded as Saint
that is what kindness I have
O' brother
I write to you today
for my anniversary of the day
I died came
I have seen a ******
I have seen a robbery
I have seen the cruelty of humanity
But all I am and is a bystander
who keeps His Head down
With mediocrity
and hypocrisy
Ego dominant
while the Id is miniscule
Either way
It seems that
I can't show my kindness no more
O' mineself
I have a confession
I may see the trash
out of all the trash
and though the foggy mirror
blurs it
I Still See
Mineself
For even though
I have saved a kittens life
I have saved a boys life
I have saved a girls life
I have saved an adults life
I have saved my ego
I have saved my Id
How more trash could I be
I can't say sorry
no
I can only say that I am no more
a saint
a bystander
just the trashiest
of all trash
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 12:53 PM UTC
_‘First, the toilet paper panic.
Then a cleaning frenzy,
followed by a baking bonanza.
Now, slow-cooked casseroles
seem to be on the menu.
It's like the seven stages of grief,
…in groceries.’_
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 12:39 AM UTC
Creeping frost
Cold and hard
As charity or jewellers knives
Which melts and quickly turns to flame
The *** that boils
Magnesium hot
Phoenix bright
Cold tears
Sticky with regret
Which sooth and calm
Balm for the soul
Beneath the skin
And healing can begin
Jan 9, 2020
Jan 9, 2020 at 3:52 PM UTC
There are seven stages of grief
The first being denial
We deny that we are here
In this hell on Earth
We deny that some of our family members have been taken into the hands of death
We deny that we went through what we went through
In hopes that we will forget it ever happened
The second is the pain
The pain comes when it finally hits
Your family is dead
You will never be that same happy kid as you once were
The happy-go-lucky kid you were before the camps
The realization that your body will never work the same way
The next is anger
The frustration you have been holding back
Not at the Nazis or the Germans
You are frustrated at yourself
You are mad at yourself for being in that situation
You do not know why you are mad at yourself
But you refuse to place the blame anywhere else
The next stage is depression
The hole in your heart where your happiness used to lain
The realization that you are now by yourself and there is no one who will understand you anymore
No one will speak the language that us survivors speak
No matter how good of a therapist you are
It is a foreign language only select few speak
There is another stage we went through
The upward turns
The realization that you will be ok
You realize that you do not need your family to be ok
You do not need anyone who survived with you
You only need yourself
And that is all you have
There is another stage
This being particularly the hardest
It is working in an everyday life
With your new setbacks and PTSD
The new you starts to work properly
There is one more stage
It is acceptance
You finally accept what happened
You accept the fact that everything that you went through
Is not fiction
It is real life
You accept the fact that we went through inhumane treatments and tortures
And we accept all of it
We realize and accept that we were almost all killed off
Weather by sickness or ******
We accept we were the lucky ones
And never look back
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 6:46 PM UTC
I won’t lie.
Once those eyes met mine,
I imagined.
When I watched you run your hands through your hair multiple times,
I daydreamed.
But when I saw that genuine smile and laugh you gave once I made you laugh,
I fell.
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 9:51 PM UTC
it's crazy to think
some people's lives just started
some people's lives just ended
all over the world.
a celebration of life has begun
a mourning of death has begun.
no matter your age
no matter what stage of life,
everyone's still learning.
experiencing
healing
growing
making mistakes
maturing.
sure some have it easier than others
sure some have it harder than others
but in the end,
we have the chance to live
to live as in to be present.
we are here on this earth
while others aren't
recognize your opportunity
to be.
Sep 15, 2019
Sep 15, 2019 at 11:25 PM UTC
Humans
of different ages
learning and experiencing
growing and evolving
through different stages
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 12:19 PM UTC
The womb is a tomb
of contemplation.
Where birth is a reality,
of perspective.
And death is a realisation,
that nothing lasts forever.
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 5:35 PM UTC
It’s funny,
I’ve tread the boards before .
Yet somehow,
The stages feel very different.
The funny thing about grief
Is the brittle nature
Of the acts you battle through,
Back and forth,
Round and round.
Denial is my personal favourite
Because for that time,
Nothing is real.
Within the eye of the storm
You feel almost safe somehow,
And yet,
Before long
Anger bubbles.
Effervescent rage takes over,
And screaming, shouting, swearing at the world
Is the only course of recompense.
For everything is wrong,
Everything is pain,
And it sears white hot
Through all doubt.
But
It only lasts for so long,
So you beg,
You bargain for some peace;
Some change of circumstance,
Some hope.
Anything you have to offer,
Everything in fact.
For you are tired,
So very tired,
And the unfairness of it all
Weighs heavy on your heart.
So heavy depression creeps in
And as you lie awake at night,
The black dog crushing your chest,
You question everything.
How you could ever hope
To pull through this cloud?
You question,
If you could ever see the sun again?
They are painful
Whirling round and round
Flipping back and forth
Replaying the scenes
Painful and necessary
For the grief appears
For many reasons
And a knife in the back;
The heartache that follows,
Is kin to this storm.
I know there is one more act to play
But I haven’t learnt my lines
I’m not ready for opening night
I have no acceptance yet.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 7:58 PM UTC
God, this hurts.
It's terrible and heart-wrenching.
To believe the moments we had weren't worth anything.
Or were they?
I have trouble discerning.
I wanted love that didn't make me feel patronized, used, discarded, and broken.
Would it make me happy?
Would it make me feel more alive to be away from you?
Would I find someone that deserves me?
How can I say this respectfully?
Without putting down our moments together?
I hate you.
I hate you so much to the point that I want you out of my life.
To the point I can say "You can die!" ad I wouldn't care.
You made me bare,
all my emotions and time,
while you sat in silence.
This is when I CAN'T remember.
These were the moments I CAN'T surrender.
Therefore, I smile when I look at you but feel like throwing up in a corner.
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 4:25 PM UTC
-on the spirit of passion
My life had ended, so I felt,
when your eyes found mine.
You dragged me up to heaven
- the heat caused my will to melt.
My reborn self drowned in your beaming eyes.
Your ardent face steamed away my flesh;
my spirit, pure and longing, stood naked
- only at your service now, only yours my ties.
Let me take the final step, I cried.
Unshackle my heart, unwrap my love,
undo the border between you and me
- our nova will disrupt all selfhood that we hide.
My love flamed high towards your feet above.
It burned itself and turned to ashes,
its sole remainder its humiliated, aching root
- and still a new twig grows from the stump of love.
How could I ignore your whispering song?
The voice of your leaves filled my head,
you took my hands, you bowed my knees -
a gardener's prayer makes a tender love grow strong.
A storm shook my spine and my sacrosanct place!
The more I pressed my face against your trunk,
the clearer I saw two radiating planets rise
- attracting me with liberating gaze.
It's you, and you, and you, my beloved friends,
it's the asking glance we see in each and all.
My life has ended with my questions now -
now that your responding eyes found mine.
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
Right when your head hits the pillow and your eyes close,
You are in the first stage of sleep so just suppose,
That someone drops their phone or decides to throw,
Something at a wall, you can easily be woke,
If you make it through this stage without waking up,
Your heartbeat will slow, and your eye movement will stop,
Preparing for deep sleep as your temperature drops,
Possible hallucinations made of mental props,
The very next stage is stage three,
Now you have drifted off into deep sleep,
Delta waves and smaller fast waves,
Intermingled going every which way,
And then stage four is basically the same,
Waking from this state, you’ll end up dismayed,
And disoriented for a few minutes,
You’ll wish that all five stages got to a finish,
The fifth and final stage is rapid eye movement,
Eyes move from side to side and we’re assuming,
That it’s because of the intense dream being perceived,
Then you’re soon to wake and consciousness is retrieved.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
Remember man; when you were young; a helpless baby
And its uncertain; if you will survive or die young maybe
You want a good posture but you couldn’t sit yourself
You wet and excrete on your nappies and you couldn’t clean yourself
Your bones and muscles are weak; with low resistance
There’s nothing you can do on your own without assistance
When you’re hungry; you can’t tell or feed yourself
You can’t concede a solid food; there is no teeth in your mouth
Then you start growing up and you start to crawl
And every time you stand up; you can’t move; you’re scare to fall
He’s scare to take a step; he needs a help to walk
Now this kid is developing and growing tall
Now this kid is grown up and he is mature
He walks around, dine along through sea and shore
He boast around and regard himself independent
He goes up and down thinking he’s something special
He act like he made himself and forget his origin
His earlier age of stand and fall; he’s forgotten everything
But soon you’ll get to a stage of trash and no road
If by chance you live long and has the chance to grow old
And once again you will be dependant and weak
You won’t be able to stand or move unless you’re supported by stick
And once again you can’t stand you’re scare to fall
You can’t take a step forward; you need a help to walk
Upon your bed lying helpless; unable to perform your role
Death stood by your head; waiting to take out your soul
And that’s his end; now again your soul is relaxed
Just like a kid; now again they give him a bath
His body is under the ditch; six feet and his soul on the other side
Now he understand the reality of living under the sand
Your wife, children and friends and wealth are all gone
That’s when you will understand the concept of life is not fun
You’re alone on your own under the last mansion
And the company that remain is your good and bad actions.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
Journal entry #14
(Forgiveness)
To the girl I use to be....
I forgive you.
We all in some point in our lives, fall in love with an ******* who wouldn't know a good thing if it slapped them clean across the face.
It wasen't your fault.
You did what you were suppose to.
You loved him with your whole heart.
And it wasn't your fault he was never deserving.
Go ahead..
Go live your beautiful life.
You got this.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 12:44 PM UTC
First level was simple denial,
I argued with myself for awhile,
counted each and every bathroom tile
while I waited until sedated so that I could smile.
I felt the anger twinge inside myself,
I cursed all the time spent seeking wealth,
and bathed in loathing for my careless lack of health,
and my inability to ever ask for much needed help.
They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
but when my number's up I won't try
I won't fight; I'll have no punches to throw.
Five stages and seven hells,
turn the pages and hope it sells.
Next was bargaining but I had nothing to give,
no reason to be here, no reason left to live,
but I took my chance on a lie a and fib,
and offered up my heart along with a shred of rib.
Every layer always gets warmer,
until it surely burns your skin,
you'll find the next is worse than the former,
is this the punishment for sin?
They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
but to say life is short would be a lie,
'cause some of us just feel it's too slow.
Five stages and seven hells,
open the cages and ring the bells.
Depression walked in like an old friend,
it was no big change, there was no letter to send.
I realized I was defective with no chance to mend,
my spine officially broken even though I didn't bend.
Then acceptance finally washed over me,
with a conclusion some things are just not meant to be,
I didn't bow my head or fall on one knee,
words can't describe that feeling of being free.
They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
I hope to find a comfortable home in the sky,
or atleast in soil for something else to grow.
Five stages and seven hells,
I'll live through the ages, constantly shedding my shells.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 5:33 AM UTC