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#toddler
today the sun came out & it was glorious light sparked your hair its golden glow seared at the edges curls bouncing as you swung higher and higher you giggle staring right into my heart I ask, what are you looking at you, mama and somehow on this brightest day the most radiant light is still your face lighting everything my sunshine girl
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May 18
May 18, 2026 at 10:21 PM UTC
eilley
Fresh from surgery, dazed but fine, Half boy, half noodle, sort of mine. His eyes were fogged, but wide with fate: I handed him a single grape. He held it close, the sacred bead, The fruit of God, his only need. Then whispered low, with dreamlike sigh, “You’re so…so beautiful!” - No lie. He popped it in. The deed was done. Then horror bloomed, "I ate the one!" He wept, distraught, the guilt immense, For eating beauty made no sense. The tears flowed fast, a sticky flood, As grape juice mingled grief and blood. Yet through the sobs, the hunger stayed: He ate again. (A moral trade!) Each grape a ghost, a fallen friend, The feast of tears would never end. And I, the monster, bore the blame, A genocide now to my name! He raged and sobbed, my fruitless knight, A sticky-fingered soul in flight. The orphaned stems, in silence, bled; A kingdom gone. All grapes were dead.
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Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 2:54 AM UTC
The Great Grape Genocide
At the subway station, crowded and loud, I stood with my toddler, feeling quite proud. But then came a question, clear and blunt, “When will your **** talk again?” - what a stunt! Embarrassment flooded, my face turned bright red, As people around us chuckled and said Nothing aloud, but their stares spoke for them, While I tried to hush him, the chatty 'lil man. “I don’t know what you mean,” I whispered, dismayed, But he pressed on, “In the bathroom!” he played. How I wished the ground would just swallow me whole, As passengers giggled, beyond my control. The subway ride - an epoch of shame, Judging eyes upon me, I was to blame. They probably thought I was gassy and crude, I pondered which orphanage might take little dude. As we stepped off the train, the doors shut tight, And suddenly, it hit me - I saw the light! At a gas stop, during a mommy squat, My phone in my pocket had caused quite a plot. Google Maps had spoken, loud and clear, “Please turn around,” for us to hear. But now it’s too late to explain this tale, Forever they’ll think I couldn’t curtail. My flatulence in public, or so they thought, When really, it was just directions I sought. A lesson learned in the most awkward way: Keep your phone on silent, or be the **** of play!
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Aug 11, 2025
Aug 11, 2025 at 7:45 AM UTC
Toilet Tales and Subway Stares
When she goes to sleep she babbles about today's -- experiences.
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Jul 26, 2025
Jul 26, 2025 at 3:26 AM UTC
[ When she goes to sleep ]
Your baked cheddar scented hands and your newly thinned feet Your trimmed hair strands and your smile with teeth I grew you inside, always my baby you’ll be, if I can keep you young A crooked, watchful smile and shoes on wrong feet Singing along and bruises on knees I’ve known you the longest, always my baby you’ll be, if I can keep you young If you need a hand walking along an uneven surface or help falling asleep, you’ll always know that I’m there caring so deeply I grew you inside, always your mommy I’ll be If only I could keep you young
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Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 3:40 PM UTC
keep you
⸎⟆⥉⦕⫯⟴ Ode to the Count De St. Germaine ⸎⟆ Dearest Count, I know you watch and listen. It is through you I set sail upon this ship of thoughts To you, to whom, I christen. These polysemic effulgence do, alas, waxen, wane, but seldom in vain. In antediluvian silence drawn, manifests in hyperborean dearth a logos, sir in autochthonous rebirth. Their, hierophantic murmurs will obfuscate, the omphalos of matter, still inchoate, where perichoresis in vertiginous tide the fractal that doth assuredly bide. A palimpsest of null embrace where these false augurs drink from hollowed urns, and time itself forgets to turn. Perfidious orisons, whisper-thin, in circumflected aeons spin, converging on the cusp of naught, where paradigms in silence rot. A chrysalis of paradox, enshrouds the fey, unbridled clocks, that chime in fugue, then dissipate beyond the hinge of latent fate... The pericombobulatory grand design deliquesces in auctorial decline! (Syncretic palingenesis unspools, within the aether’s epistemic pools, a syzygetic parallax unweaves the thaumaturgic spoor that time bereaves.) For naught but vacuous profundities remain, a simulacrum of the arcane mundane, where in sesquipedalian grandeur lies a syllogism clad in grandiloquent guise. Ouroboric concatenations of antinomian design, circumvolute within paracryptic paradigms malign, as obmutescent theogonic vestiges coalesce in the eidetic zymurgy of aphasic largesse. Metagnostic palimpsests, fracto-linear and obtuse, catachrestically wane in hyperchromatic profuse, whilst locutions, effulgent yet contrite, obumbrate the paramorphic tautology of night. A transcendental abecedarium, paralogical and vast, consanguineous with the inexorable umbrage of our shared Jungian past, germinates within the syntagmatic— Ever relaxed or ecstatic, Coalesced to pragmatic, Lugubriously emphatic. Within this hypostatized ratiocinative mire, where sophronistic axiom and non-being conspire, one finds but an echolalic, chimerical gleam, an ontosemantic palinode to the dream. The Archetype realized. The Alchemist mystically re-materialized. Count, oh Count. "Wherefore art thou," indeed, in this : our time of greatest need.
0
Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 4:23 PM UTC
⸎⟆⥉⦕⫯⟴ Ode to the Count De St. Germaine ⸎⟆⥉⦕⫯⟴
⸎⟆⥉⦕⫯⟴ Ode to the Count De St. Germaine ⸎⟆ Dearest Count, I know you watch and listen. It is through you I set sail upon this ship of thoughts To you, to whom, I christen. These polysemic effulgence do, alas, waxen, wane, but seldom in vain. In antediluvian silence drawn, manifests in hyperborean dearth a logos, sir in autochthonous rebirth. Their, hierophantic murmurs will obfuscate, the omphalos of matter, still inchoate, where perichoresis in vertiginous tide the fractal that doth assuredly bide. A palimpsest of null embrace where these false augurs drink from hollowed urns, and time itself forgets to turn. Perfidious orisons, whisper-thin, in circumflected aeons spin, converging on the cusp of naught, where paradigms in silence rot. A chrysalis of paradox, enshrouds the fey, unbridled clocks, that chime in fugue, then dissipate beyond the hinge of latent fate... The pericombobulatory grand design deliquesces in auctorial decline! (Syncretic palingenesis unspools, within the aether’s epistemic pools, a syzygetic parallax unweaves the thaumaturgic spoor that time bereaves.) For naught but vacuous profundities remain, a simulacrum of the arcane mundane, where in sesquipedalian grandeur lies a syllogism clad in grandiloquent guise. Ouroboric concatenations of antinomian design, circumvolute within paracryptic paradigms malign, as obmutescent theogonic vestiges coalesce in the eidetic zymurgy of aphasic largesse. Metagnostic palimpsests, fracto-linear and obtuse, catachrestically wane in hyperchromatic profuse, whilst locutions, effulgent yet contrite, obumbrate the paramorphic tautology of night. A transcendental abecedarium, paralogical and vast, consanguineous with the inexorable umbrage of our shared Jungian past, germinates within the syntagmatic— Ever relaxed or ecstatic, Coalesced to pragmatic, Lugubriously emphatic. Within this hypostatized ratiocinative mire, where sophronistic axiom and non-being conspire, one finds but an echolalic, chimerical gleam, an ontosemantic palinode to the dream. The Archetype realized. The Alchemist mystically re-materialized. Count, oh Count. "Wherefore art thou," indeed, in this : our time of greatest need.
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59
Your little eyes, Little nose, Little cheeks, Little smile, And, your adorable babbling, Will forever be rewards of love... Your little hands, Little feet, Little walk, Little mischiefs, And, your cheerful embrace, Will forever be a boon of life.
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May 26, 2024
May 26, 2024 at 5:26 AM UTC
Baby love
That's how he has been: that toddler, his little hands -- two little starfish.
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May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 2:59 AM UTC
[ That's how he has been ]
Sweet spiced cookies wafting in my nose. It draws me to the kitchen and on my tippy toes. Mama's made a special treat. She says it's still too hot to eat. I can hardly stand the wait! I bet they'll taste so great. I hold mama's apron until she gives me some. It tastes just like mommy, and it tastes just like home.
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Sep 11, 2023
Sep 11, 2023 at 7:30 PM UTC
Cookies
𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖻𝗈𝗐, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒;𝖻𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍; 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝗅𝖾𝖾 𝖺 𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌
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Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 12:17 PM UTC
neon rainbow
Clumsy in Mom's heels, Curious toddler wanders Clown-faced, smeared in rouge.
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Jan 1, 2020
Jan 1, 2020 at 1:36 AM UTC
Terrible Two's / senryu
There's this weight I carry It's heavy and exhausting It's beautiful, and quite daring It yanks me down more times than I can count Squeezes, punches, and pushes every last nerve But it's perfect on every account It's the hardest, most difficult weight I've ever carried Full of kicks and screams and fits But it's something I refuse to burry I could walk away and live a different life I could be weightless and free But this weight is worth more than my own life So I will pull it up over ranges of mountains I will piggy back it over every raging sea And if anyone tries to harm it, I would **** thousands It's the most precious cargo I could ever own It's the only I can ever have So I choose to carry it and to never be alone For its weight brings me great joy And the warmth is overwhelming So I hold tight and hold strong and enjoy For the terrain will mellow down And it will not always be this heavy So this weight I hold with love, and in it I drowne.
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Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 11:52 PM UTC
Heavy Love
He rejected me like As if I were the vegetables Mushed together and scattered Across the play board At a toddler’s dinner table.
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Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC
Playboard
Giggles from the child as water runs down her back, matching the swinging wind chimes just outside the wide-open window. Her mother smiles, her shirtsleeves rolled up and yet wet and covered in tiny bubbles. The white tile around them glistens in the sunlight pouring in, and I, the grinning dad who just got home, stand in the doorway, softened clay. My wife, my beautiful wife, looks up at me and says “Hey honey,” and runs another small jug of bathwater over my baby’s soft head of hair. The little one trickles out “Hi Daaaaddy,” and giggles again, as her mother scrubs her little back and shoulders. Seeing this scene in front of me, my eyes water slightly. I pull it back in; after all these years it’s still difficult for me to simply be joyous. Nonetheless, there is an ache in my heart, the ache one feels when they first fall in love, and I am standing here falling all over again. I roll up my sleeves and drop to my knees, and give my wife and my sweetie the biggest pecks I can muster, and clean her delicate little arms. The mother pours another jug, and once again, this little darling angel, like wind chimes swinging outside, giggles.
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Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 6:49 PM UTC
Giggles
The toddler walks with no grace, back and forth as he does his waddle. Sticky somethings upon his face, happily drinking his bottle. Once so small wrapped in his swaddle, looks like mom I can see it clearly, cute little boy looks like a model. The one I love so dearly. The toddler points at his chair, he knows I understand his need. I pick him up and put him there, he knows its time to feed. I try to help but let him lead, getting it in his mouth well nearly. I cant believe this is my seed the one I love so dearly. The toddler starts to rub his eyes, l can almost open my wine. I sing him gentle lullabies, I'm thankful that he is mine. Like an angel he'll always shine, it is so sad he will grow yearly. With each step I'll make sure he is fine, the one I love so dearly. When he grows up I'll miss the hugs, I wont wake up so cheerly. I'll miss him being scared of bugs, the one I love so dearly.
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May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 9:41 PM UTC
Ballade To My Toddler.
drip, drip, drip, there's a little water dropping from the sip, sip, sippy cup, spilling out and sopping in your lap, lap, lap, so you stand instead of sitting, so the wet, wet, wet patch is drying off (permitting that the sun, sun, sun is up high and the sky is clear), you run, run, run, to the arms of your mummy dear, and tap, tap, tap, on the bottom of your sippy-cup, drip, drip, drip, now you'll need your mum to fill it up.
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Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 1:58 AM UTC
drip, drip, drip
My life was beneath the abyss in extreme darkness. The rays of hope and light seemed Insurmountable to attain. Swoon in timidness, I lost my way to get out of it. The toddler within me absconded. Letting me to find my very own way Of exploring the resounding truth of peace and love.
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Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 11:51 AM UTC
L I F E
A toddler with a stick poking holes in wet sand; Making short lines and squiggles which waves wipe quickly away.   When his toes have been tickled and sand rises up around his tiny feet, the boy falls backwards onto his bottom. There! Did you feel it? The universe stops– Then begins again - with delighted squeals burbling forth as the water moves around him licking his skin – and a thousand small kittens tumble away.
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Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC
Ephemeral
This young man in front of me Nor care nor hate A sense of indifference A sense of unfamiliarity I don’t know him He doesn’t know me I don’t love him as much I doubt he does as well In my dreams This young fragile baby in my cradle The tiny tot, grinning from ear to ear, an injection of innocence Replaced with glum How reality hits How life hits hard Carefree laughter As replaced by swear words Where did that little boy go? I miss him dearly Stroke his hair, watch him while he sleeps I miss him dearly... Keep coming to my dreams, little boy That’s where you belong now Life
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Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 2:26 PM UTC
Where Did The Little Boy Go?
Remember before the Days of darkness Rise, there used To be brighter times? The days of Skinned knees and Dancing in the Autumn leaves Haunt my teenage Dreams. Back to when Sesame Street played Endlessly on the Family T.V. and If Daddy watched it One more time, He'd **** near Scream. When Mama had Her Canon in my face And I'd hide in The tiny spaces; Appreciating the simpleness Of my childhood Resting place. Before reality set In and rattled My toddler brain; Before the world Would turn Cold and "how Big the sky was" would Just become Another midnight Thought. How could I refrain From such beautiful Memories when They're still Haunting my Teenage dreams?
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Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
2002
Sorry sweetheart mommy was drunk last night Had too many alcohols and she couldn't fit all of the fruit snacks into her mouth before she passed out that's why the bed is covered in them yes you can have some
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Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
fruit