#visibility
Every book tells a story
Hard cover, modern art
Big publisher, famous author
Catchy title, intriguing story
That’s why it was on the shelf
Every book tells a story
The cover does not shout
It rests quietly in the corner of the shelf
No gilded letters, no loud promise
Only ink gently pressed into paper
as if someone wrote it just to be heard, not seen
Two books tell two different stories
not by the paper they share,
nor by hand or print
but by something quieter than design
I wonder if the honesty of ink
is ever what the world reaches for
May 22
May 22, 2026 at 1:33 AM UTC
⭐ THE POLISHED SELF™: “Safety in Numbers (Curated)” (Part III)
(Another layer of the curated self – the version designed to be seen, not known.)
“Thanks for coming –
how’s your evening so far?”
It always starts like this.
A softness rehearsed
until it feels spontaneous.
A small, human sentence
placed like a welcome mat
outside a door
that never fully opens.
Welcome.
Here, the lighting is intentional.
Warm enough to flatter,
dim enough to conceal.
Every angle pre‑approved.
Every silence moderated.
I arrive already arranged:
hair undone in the way
that suggests effortlessness,
fingers on the keys
as if music simply happens to me
and isn’t practiced
like a survival skill.
Or the violin –
tilted into that posture
that reads as devotion
but never risk.
I call her me.
She calls me content.
She never asks
why they’re watching.
She knows the contract:
I provide the outline,
they fill it with longing.
Safety in numbers –
though numbers now have names,
icons,
tiny faces offering
soft approval shaped like a heart.
They gather.
Not too close –
never that –
but close enough
to simulate intimacy.
And simulation is important.
Simulation feels safe.
Simulation performs truth
without the inconvenience of it.
Honestly, I wish
I could be like other people –
careless, unlit,
unarranged.
But that would be…
off‑brand.
So I offer fragments:
a phrase at the piano
that sounds like confession,
a bow drawn slowly
as if revealing something
I never intend to reveal.
Not too much.
Never too much.
Just enough
to imply depth
without the burden of it.
“Come closer,” I write
without writing it.
“Stay a while.”
But not long enough
to ask anything real.
I can give you something –
tonight,
tomorrow,
whenever the algorithm
permits my existence.
It’s easier this way.
With one person
there are questions.
With many
there is only response.
A chorus of small affirmations
that never quite touch me,
but orbit,
obediently,
like well‑trained birds.
Do you see?
I am alone,
but at scale.
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 10:47 AM UTC
I cast a shadow most clearly
In the light.
Better though this shadow
Then hiding in the night.
(C) - 2003
Jan 3, 2022
Jan 3, 2022 at 12:01 AM UTC
If I sit here long enough
Do I think I can force myself to be okay? I don't know.
I could still my mind for a thousand years only to find a backlog of thoughts waiting
Would my nails grow into the ground, forming roots, stability?
Would I petrify? Become so comfortable that I turn to stone?
Or would I become brittle, eroded by inaction, turned to ash that scatters indifferently
Which disguise still allows me to be seen?
Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 8:48 AM UTC
They used to mean something,
The words that I would write —
A pane of shattered glass
That filled my dark with light.
Like a refuge from the storm,
Or a beacon’s guiding light —
They pulled my wreck from midnight seas
And brought me back to life.
They used to mean something,
I guess, to some, they do —
Like flowers in a vase
Arranged for public view.
You fall in love so easily,
With every painted hue —
Your reds and yellows, greens and blues,
Are gray brushstrokes to me.
I hope this means something,
These words I’ve now restored —
A poem’s pain through which you'll see
My heart ablaze once more.
Jan 10
Jan 10, 2026 at 4:48 PM UTC
You aren’t the first to come and sit beside me
On this couch.
Others have come before you
And have left their imprint.
I do hope that you’re the last to walk in
And stay.
The way you smile
and lean back against the cushion,
You stare at me and smile as if asking, what?
The past imprints are meaningful.
Some are deeper than the last that sat
Where you’re sitting now.
I’ve learned a lot from them.
Sometimes their ghosts still
Walk in and smile.
Before stepping back out.
It’s funny how well I thought I knew myself,
Until I realized I didn’t.
But without them,
I wouldn’t have learned more about myself.
About what I needed to change,
What I needed to let go,
How to hold you
without readying myself to say goodbye afterwards.
When you first walked in,
You reminded me of them.
The ghosts that walked in
and kept me company for a minute.
To be honest, I counted the minutes until you said goodbye.
I don’t count anymore.
I’ve gotten used to sitting here
on the couch with you.
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 12:30 AM UTC
Let me say that things are strange,
I am a strange man in a strange world.
I am barely here,
A Wraith
Seen only in reflection
Moving in shadows
Seldom acknowledged
Yet sentient.
Are you there? Can you hear me?
My invisible form wishes to be seen.
My existence justified only by function.
"Love me...
Like me...
Hear me..."
I say without sound.
How can I manifest in this world?
Dec 2, 2022
Dec 2, 2022 at 6:32 AM UTC
Visibility is a choice,
But it's a choice I make for me
And for my siblings without a voice.
Many years I let my secrets brew,
Bubbling up an intense anxiety.
I trusted little with few.
I can't do that anymore.
I've bared my soul to the world,
And I won't shut that door.
Friends and family confided
In me their own pains--
Their inner world benighted.
Some said I empowered
Them to show themselves:
Seeing how I flowered.
Years I feared being me
Would hurt those I loved.
Instead I set them free.
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 4:49 PM UTC
being ignored doesn't scare me
i'm afraid of people listening
Jan 24, 2020
Jan 24, 2020 at 8:51 PM UTC
According to A: There’s no way I can be straight because I’ve dated a girl.
According to B: I’m way too straight to ever be in to girls.
According to C: That one girl I dated was just a phase.
According to D: It was just “experimentation” or “curiosity” totally natural.
According to E: I’m the token straight.
According to F: I’m to pretty to be into girls.
According to G: I don’t even look like I could be gay.
According to H: I’m just saying I’m not straight for attention.
According to I: My feelings don’t mean anything.
According to J: OBVIOUSLY I’m bisexual, why don’t I understand?
According to K: I’m just easy.
According to L: I’m only pretending to be into girls for male attention.
According to M(e): ….
What about according to me?
clearly everyone else’s opinions are the only ones that matter when it comes to my ****** preferences
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 1:19 AM UTC
When I open my mouth
And words stumble out
the wrong ones
bring my pride down south
"I'm gay"
I say
every time, every day
every way
And then I speak up
and clarify
"Well, actually
I'm bi"
I hope my shame is as discreet
I hope one day I can say it clear
"I'm bisexual, isn't that neat?"
And I hope it is so this year
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
When ink turns into fog
And you are on shaky ground
Impaired visibility
And clouded thoughts
Slowly engulfs your mind
You try to find your way
Through the unknown
No way to know
Whether you reached the precipice
Where your thoughts
Shall be history forever
Deep abyss waiting
For you to surrender
The pen you held till now
Scatter away the pages
They hold no meaning
Or, wait for the fog to clear
And walk towards the clear stream
Take a dip to rejuvenate
The soul and mind
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
The darkness absorbs light
and the day becomes wary
of the blinding glare
If you can find your way
through the darkness
you will have been a traveler
who walked neath the stars
reflecting more light
than the day can hold
letting you see clearly
the path ahead
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC