#writings
I’m burning inside, my head scratchy.
every now and then,
I’m writing poetry, singing songs about life.
Heart pounding Time and again.
Because I can’t sing that well.
Lost in passion, I write to find my way.
Drowning in deep waters, I write to catch my breath.
Sometimes void of purpose, but still I write.
A matchstick can spark a blaze.
Somebody please bears with me.
Where are the poets?
Iron sharpens Iron.
this is like grasping for air after a deep dive.
I dig into my thoughts,
it’s impossible to come out the deep empty handed.
You will find treasure invested.
A pearl, a priceless possession.
I write what I like Steve Biko.
You can chain me physically, but not my mind.
Visions of my head wild and free.
My dreams are rebellious.
The time is now,
the Poet In me is rising.
But he is not alone, some questions accompany him.
Is it a talent, is it a hobby?
Am I loosing’ my mind?
It’s an invested gift.
hidden within me all this while.
From beyond my first breath,
On that summer night from a teenage mom.
it was invested in me.
The Lord will never bring anyone into this realm empty handed,
But it is vital that we return to him empty handed.
The clock is ticking.
Work while it is still day.
The night is coming.
Make use of your gifts.
Earn that crown of life,
When the Lord returns to collect,
His invested gift,
He will say unto you,
well-done you good and faithful servant.
You have grown my investment.
An Invested Gift.
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 5:19 PM UTC
I am sitting at my table, with my pencil in hand,
Drawing letters into words is my basic plan,
There is no one to help, it’s all on me,
As I sort through my mind. what will the story be.
It could be about, spring, summer, winter or fall,
I hope I not interrupted, by a telephone call,
I try my best, give it my all,
Then be proud of my work, while holding my head, up tall.
I always try to make my writings, flow and rhyme,
Whenever I write, I am advised, from many signs,
I try to keep my words, straight in line,
It’s fun to me, I lose track of time.
I have the beginning of many writings, in the corner they lay,
Some started great, then the idea would fade,
For now, they will collect dust and stay,
Sometime I will get back to them, on another day.
The original Tom maxwell / poems © 5/25/2022 AD
Philosopher 4:20 am
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 1:12 AM UTC
The spider knows us as nemesis—
For the homes we encroach.
But we just expunge—
a speck of dust.
Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 6:57 AM UTC
I write myself into tantrums and massive breakdowns
Though I am aloof when I speak
Aloof when I laugh
Aloof when I shut up
To people, I am made up of aloofness.
To me, I am made up of something incoherent.
You asked me why writing was this important to me
I write because maybe I will understand?
Why, I've been displeased from the start
Not from the incident and not from the fights, not from what happened
There was a problem I cannot locate
Reflect, deflect, restart and make sure you don't explode.
Dec 6, 2025
Dec 6, 2025 at 4:42 PM UTC
I decided to gather some Intell
To find some skulls and antlers
But I never thought I would be found
In the forest
The first place to find the deer skulls
And antlers
But alas the fall leaves
Are in the way of the sights and sounds
I try to uncover everything
But there we just too many leaves
But I shall try another day to find the bones I want
For my healing,
Healing that I need to do
After a horrible relationship
A relationship that boardered on abusive
Psychologically abusive!
Seeing the forest
I see my hospital
My pharmacy and my doctors office
We should still be intouch with nature
And reap the benefits emotionally and physically
When we still can
Skulls, antlers and crystals my medication
Other than the crap from the actual drug store!
As some people find this strange and even evil,
It is a more healthy coping mechanism
Than the ******* bottle or the drugs, or cigarettes!
I find anything is better then the bottle or destructive
Behaviours of man
That is why I got to the forest to find
Heal and
This is my hospital
This forest Is my doctors office
And pharmacy
As well as my western medication too
This helps me cope with life and loss!
So why don’t you go out in the bush and find something.
This thanksgiving I am thankful for the nature
And it’s healing properties
Oct 14, 2025
Oct 14, 2025 at 4:03 PM UTC
As I go trick or treating,
I am too old for this,
And yet I still go to the trick-or-treating, and the dances,
It is to ward off the malevolent spirits of all
As I the sky turns from light to dark,
Day to night, I dawn my costume to welcome the
Spirits of the ancestors,
The ancestors that were in my DNA
The Pazyryk and other
Shamanic groups
That come at this time of year
Tonight’s the night
We gather the spirits
Tonight’s the night
we ward off evil
As we set fire to the pumpkins
We thank our respective ancestors for our lives
And life in general
This a say
To my ancestors
~thank you!
Thank you for giving me life
Thank you for preserving my life!
Thank you for my stubbornness
And my strong will!
This is my Halloween blessing
For 2025!
My the children find mer and happiness from this
Ritual of trick-or-treating
Oct 14, 2025
Oct 14, 2025 at 3:44 PM UTC
As I stalk the streets i am not stalking the streets of candy
As I stalk the streets i am stalking the streets for people
I am haunting the streets for a ghost
A ghost that I could not find
In centuries!
Though I tried to find the twin flame
A twin flame who I met in Tibet!
This is struggle, to find the long lost
Soul mate, though many idiots started to
Refer themselves as my soul mate,
This is more of trick than a treat!
As I stalk the streets this Halloween,
I do so not for Candy or the tricks,
Nor the people,
But for the spirit i once loved in a person!
Halloween! Precious!
Said the golum. But it more than precious
It - is - important
For the soul!
And the soul is important!
Oct 14, 2025
Oct 14, 2025 at 3:36 PM UTC
I see his messages.
I see him reaching out again.
I’m tempted to fall back again.
And I miss him.
Even though I know I shouldn’t.
But this time…
It wasn’t hope.
It was a reminder.
A reminder that I need to let him go.
We’re stuck in a limbo that never changes.
He doesn’t care, not really.
And I shouldn’t either… even if part of me still does.
These feelings for him still linger
Soft, stubborn, and cruel.
But this distance… this silence…
It’s not punishment.
It’s healing.
It’s how I free myself.
No contact isn’t easy
But it’s the only thing that will finally let me breathe again.
Jul 17, 2025
Jul 17, 2025 at 2:02 AM UTC
I kissed you when I shouldn’t have
I cared when I knew it’d just hurt back
I think of you more than I should
Still hoping one day you’d be good
I gave too many chances it’s true
Each one hoping you’d come through
But you deflect ignore and run
Especially when I’m not just fun
You go quiet when I get real
You don’t respond to how I feel
And I keep loving even still
Even though it breaks my will
You send a heart a hey a snap
But where were you when I felt trapped
When I sent that sad face you stayed cold
Like my emotions just got old
I’m always tempted to reply
Give it one more shot just one more try
But what’s the point you’ve shown your side
You push me out when I confide
What do I expect at this stage
From someone who keeps acting the same
If you could ignore me once you’ll do it again
And I’ll be left picking up pain
Different day same old game
Same silence same unanswered name
And yet my heart still feels the pull
Still hopes you’ll change still feels full
But deep down I know the truth I fear
When someone shows you believe it clear
If you wanted to you would’ve stayed
We wouldn’t be here love wouldn’t fade
Yes I miss you more than you know
But I’ve had enough it’s time to let go
I wanted forever but you only showed up
when you were bored
And that’s not love I can afford
So this is goodbye not with hate but with grace
I just need peace not this endless chase
I still care but I care for me more
You lost my heart I’m closing that door
Jul 13, 2025
Jul 13, 2025 at 10:11 PM UTC
I sent a sad face,
he sent nothing.
Eight hours of silence
and a filtered selfie
as if my feelings
were too inconvenient
to be acknowledged.
He didn’t ask what was wrong.
He never really did.
He liked the softness,
but never the substance.
He liked being wanted,
but never wanted to show up.
Not when I was vulnerable,
not when I was hurting,
not when I needed more
than a snap of his bed
or a half laugh in my face.
I gave chances in silence,
forgiveness without apology.
I held space where he gave absence.
And still, I stayed.
Until staying
started to hurt more
than the leaving ever could.
So I didn’t block him.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t write a final message.
I just disappeared
the way he always did
when it was my turn to speak.
Let him wonder
why the snaps stopped.
Let him feel the stillness
he used to ignore.
Let him stare at the pending
and realize I’m not.
Not waiting.
Not hoping.
Not folding back into someone
who forgot how to hold me.
I may not have closure,
but I have clarity.
And if silence is the only language
he ever taught me,
then let him hear it
loud and clear.
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 6:52 AM UTC
"are never really finished,
they are only due.
Writing may be draining,
never perfect,
but it’s always rewarding."
no buts or exceptions
whenever you think your
done,
you lets the little tickles of
mmmm. maybe a
change, a comma here,
and the madness is
well,
maddening
the reward?
the compulsion that drives
one to exclaim,
I can do better,
and take a clean sheet
and the blood rush,
accelerating heart rate,
the beating speeding up
of pulsing of everything
why that's your reward,
*you fool,
fooling yourself*
one mo' time
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 9:30 AM UTC
i love you that much
so when there is
a choice
between you and me
i choose to love
May 16, 2025
May 16, 2025 at 4:34 PM UTC
maybe
i love you
because
i don’t know what love is
i’m sure
i do
but for you
i don’t want to follow the rules
May 10, 2025
May 10, 2025 at 6:01 PM UTC
you can drink how much you want
but you will never see me in her
you can find another girl
who jokes the same as I did before
who laughs the same, who smiles the same
but it will never be me again
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 2:09 PM UTC
Lately, I have definitely
noticed a change,
these times are different now,
things are just not the same,
when we display
our poems, and our writings,
the honor we do not claim,
like they're no longer exciting,
this is really just insane,
as if our works don't matter,
We just mainly want to
change things, and
to make Life more better,
Do our writings bore you??,
or are you just not intrigued??
Is our inspirations and motivation
not something that you need???
do our verses scare you,
We really need to know,
Do our creative word expressions
make you feel very low???
We want to inspire, and
lift you up higher, and
give you encouragement,
that's if you so desire,
are you looking for
a scapegoat, or a
word to Brighten your day???
or, something that
is personal, and
you would rather not say???
If so, that's okay,
I just thought that I'd ask,
I'm not the type of person
that'll put you on blast
although, it may seem very
harsh and very strange,
I have definitely put to notice
that Things Have Changed!!!!
B.R.
Date: 4/14/2025
Apr 14, 2025
Apr 14, 2025 at 2:39 PM UTC
Grant thee a voice to write,
A blueprint to imprint.
Bestow thee a script,
To inscribe with wisdom’s grip.
Permit thee a spark,
To blaze through the dark.
Inspire thee with grace,
To shine in time and space.
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 5:55 PM UTC
I hate the way you make me feel
Like I am carrying 400lbs of extra weight
On my body
I hate hiw oppressive you turned
I hate the fact that you're birthday
Stole alot from me
And I cannot replace what was stolen
From me
I hate you for what you did
To make me have to lie to others about you
I hate the fact that your old school
I am angry for the simple fact that you are still here
When you shouldn't be even around me
All this aggression
All this hate and anger
Is baggage for me
And you don't know what you have don't yet...
Your lies lead me to lie
And I ******* hate that
Feb 5, 2025
Feb 5, 2025 at 1:25 PM UTC
She,
voracious reader, nearly a book a day,
she loves Rushdie, Ishiguro, E. Stout,
and so many, many more, a daily add
to an ever growing list of auteurs, all
venerable and venerated, my little bits
pale, don’t even qualify to compare,
so what’s a poet to say, or feel, beside
tears in his eyes, so hereby withdraws his
awarded accolade, HGF,
His Greatest Fan
now that there is a vacancy, looking for
fufillment, now that there is a hollowed
hallow plus a clogged artery, side by side,
both within,
even
an officialized fossilized a
doctor declaration of “chronic heart failure”
who knew docs still diagnosed love sickness?
loss of love could manifest
itself so decisively physically,
and yet I blame her not, and
thank her for the inspiration,
for all the poems birthed in
her presence, and what swill
will /may follow will never be as good,
for memories inevitable yellowing,
discoloration infestation inevitable,
earn my pallor palest poverty
and like a used car, good enough
for daily trips to the office, but not
for cross country trips,
and perhaps
that means,
only smaller,
somewhat
used up,
and e v e n
not only,
only love poetry
open to direction
road trip to
Sweet Sorrow Land
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 2:54 PM UTC
My first experience
With clairvoyance
Was nit a good experience
I walked into a house
This house had
Negative energy
As if some wanted to attack me
But it was the energy at the time
Then my sister told
Me this that
Some worm killed his family
And him self in the exact
House I was staying
Oh the terror I felt
Dec 8, 2024
Dec 8, 2024 at 3:49 PM UTC
Don't say It's nothing..
Because it only has 1 like or reply!
Its Beautiful and Everything
even if it is never even seen..
Keep Sharing..
There is also the browsing
never liking/replying Kind...
@Thoughts-Of-Sharday3
Feb 17, 2023
Feb 17, 2023 at 3:20 PM UTC
He puts it out there, the Schrödinger’s cat of invitations.
Now, I’m irritated. “I TOLD you I don’t have time for.. involvement.”
“But you have to eat - so eat with ME,” he shrugs. “You can build a friendship with someone and still have freedom.” His observation was casual, as though it were unrelated to anything between us. He seemed to have the intuition that I’d balk if pressed.
“You’re subversive.” I said. “Why me? There are prettier girls, more agreeable, fun girls. I feel like I’m on the edge here,” I look around to indicate the room, the environment, the university. “And I can be a complete as-hole.”
He looked a little offended, “You’re interesting, I like what I know about you and, yeah, we can all be as-holes - we’re in a pool of “A” types, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“What do you KNOW about me?” I ask.
“I’ve read some of your writings,” he looked thoughtful, “I may know a little about how you think, It’s unusual.. interesting.”
I’m shocked and I squirm, “You looked me up?”
“I looked you up.” he nodded, “to be sure you’re not an axe murderer.”
“How much did you read?” I asked, wheedling, my inner-writer engaging.
“Tell you at dinner - YOU name the date and time,” he smiled.
“My idea of “dinner” is walking to a dining hall, picking up a bag of food, bringing it back here and taking ten minutes to eat it between chapters,” I warned.
“I have a meal card,” he says, jiggling his student lanyard.
“We’ll see.” I said. “Have you talked to anyone else about my writing?”
“No,” he answered, “Why?”
“Please don’t, I have to think about it.” I say. As far as I know, no one I know in RL has read me - it’s an odd feeling - like maybe he got ahold of my diary. I haven’t worried over the fact that someone I’m in physical proximity to could look me up. That all this stuff is actually out there.
“Don’t think my misgivings can be cajoled away,” I say, “no more talking.”
He chucked but we got back to studying.
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 10:21 PM UTC
some things are better left unsaid, yes.
but watching people talk and write down about things that’s hurt them, heavily to the point they chose to sleep on them has got to be the most beautiful thing in the world to me. I only write when I feel these emotions, right in the deepest center of the realization. that’s when you know there’s a slightest meaning when you’re all lost and never want to be found again.
I write down when I’m fully aware of myself and my surroundings because I know for a fact that the next day I will feel empty and I could do anything to fill this vacant hole, again.
And I decide to read and read until I detach myself from the everlasting numbness for I can feel again and write down another poem about it.
It could take weeks maybe months but if it has meaning, it is definitely worth all the energy you can give.
Nov 8, 2021
Nov 8, 2021 at 11:27 AM UTC