I saw your reflection in the mirror,
and in that moment,
our hearts met.

We became friends,
two hearts carrying the same wound.
We spoke of our parents,
gone too soon,
their absence a silence
we both carried inside.

Loss was our common ground,
a language we understood
without needing words.
But grief is heavy,
and broken hearts cannot
always lift each other.

We were fragile,
fractured in ways love
could not mend.
We could not be the cure
for what time itself
has yet to heal.

And so we drifted,
not from anger,
not from fault,
but because sorrow
was the only thing
we truly shared.

Forgive me…
I had only a broken heart to give,
and all it could offer
was less than you deserved.
I wish it could have been more.

forgive me…

I told you how you rescued me.
In my darkest hour
you were there.
A light that cut through the shadows,
A path I could not see until you showed it.

I had built my own prison,
Walls of habit and shame.
I trapped myself in addiction,
The chains I swore I wasn’t wearing.

But you were there.
You saw me falling,
And with your gentle touch
You pulled me back
Not with force,
But with grace
I didn’t believe I deserved.

Without words,
With only a look
I knew I was safe.
I will never forget.

A rusted spoon on the windowsill,
coffee ring stamped into cheap linoleum.
You hollow out the morning with your hands,
counting cracks in the pavement like prayers.

I never wanted the altar you made of me,
a bent spoon, a crumpled shirt, a late rent notice.
You press my name to the inside of your lip,
taste of pennies and burned toast, and call it faith.

When I leave the house stays small and cold,
the radiator clicking Morse about how you failed.
Your eyes become coin slots~only quarters fit,
only the exact change for another minute of me.

You sleep with my jacket on the floor,
its zipper still holding the shape of my breath.
Dried flowers in a jar on the dresser~petals like ash~
you water them with cigarette smoke and promises.

At three a.m. you whisper my address to the dark,
map the route by broken porchlights and one working stoplamp.
A bus sighs by; a dog barks and then forgets.
You trade your teeth for another swallow of me.

You barter trust for a paper bag, a folded bill,
your father’s watch, a photograph with the face cut out.
When the fix arrives it’s clinical~cold metal, a light~
and you flinch, surprised that salvation tastes like copper.

Later, you sit with your palms full of lint
and call it worship. I am the sermon you cannot keep,
and you kneel on a kitchen floor that remembers rain
and smells like old milk and the sound of the phone you never answer.

You call me love.
I answer in the echo of a slammed door,
in the way the curtains never learn to hang straight again,
in the slow, patient theft of everything you were.

I speak your name with honor,
not as a shadow fading in time,
but as a light that still burns
in the marrow of who I am.

Your strength was never loud,
it was steady,
quiet as sunrise,
strong as earth beneath my feet.

Your hands bore the marks of labor,
but they held me with care,
building more than a home
they built a son who still carries you everywhere.

Since the world has turned,
seasons passing,
years unfolding,
yet your voice lingers in the silence,
your wisdom steady in my choices.

And now
hear me when I say this:

I am known as your son!
I am proud of your legacy!
I know the power you carried to love!

They still speak your name
and I will never let it fade.

So on this day
your day
I don’t mourn.
I rise.
I celebrate.

For though heaven claimed you,
earth still bears your name.
And as long as I breathe,
you live.

Christian nationalists have crowned Donald Trump
as their new Christ
because he is everything the first one was not.

Jesus was poor.
Trump is rich.
Jesus was meek.
Trump is a bully.
Jesus lost.
Trump obsesses over winning.

If Donald Trump and J.D. Vance met Jesus today,
they’d ridicule him
a single, childless hippie
preaching peace in sandals.

They’ve rejected the Sermon on the Mount.
Turn the other cheek?
They scoff—
“That got us nowhere.”

To them, love is weak.
Mercy is soft.
Kindness is woke.

They look down on Jesus
because he was poor,
because he forgave,
because he didn’t fight for power.

Religious authorities don’t own God.
Don’t own Jesus.
Don’t own America.
And they **** sure don’t own you.

Ask yourself:
What does your church fight for?
Which of Jesus’s teachings justify your politics?

Toxic fundamentalists
has Jesus become just a mascot
for a mean little club
that preaches superiority over service?

Christianity was never about dominance
but transformation.
To go beyond rules,
beyond borders,
into a deeper, truer love.

An action-verb love.
A doing kind of love.
Not performative purity
but radical compassion.

Because love is the true religion
that actually works.

How did we get here
where loving your enemy is weakness,
and loving your neighbor is radical?

They scorn the teachings of Christ

not because they don’t understand,
but because they don’t serve them.

Christian nationalism isn’t about Jesus.
It’s about the pursuit of power.
And power is their only god.

I remember you, Mother,
not in fragments, but in fullness
a presence woven into my days,
the shelter of your arms,
the steady warmth of your gaze.

You loved me,
you nurtured me,
you protected me,
never too close,
always just enough freedom
to let me grow,
while knowing you were there.

Others knew you differently
a sister, a friend,
a confidant, a soul with laughter and sorrows.
But the mother I knew
was the same for each of us

my brother, my sister, and me

you held us all in equal light,
loving and nurturing,
carrying our fears as though they were your own,
holding our small world together
with nothing but tenderness.

Many years have passed
since that August day you left,
yet your love lingers,
a thread I carry still
a quiet strength
that shapes who I am,
a light I cannot lose.

O Mother,
though the years widen their distance,
I remain your child,
cradled by the memory of your care.
Your love is mine forever,
and through us,
you live on.

I am not of faith,
I am of reason.
Where others find comfort in belief,
I search for clarity in proof.

Faith asks for trust without sight,
a leap into the unseen;
but reason keeps my feet
on ground I can measure,
on truths I can question,
on answers that withstand the weight of doubt.

Religion begins
where explanation ends.
It thrives in silence,
in the places where reason cannot speak.
For many, that silence is solace.
For me, it is emptiness.

I do not deny the light that faith gives to others,
but my light is inquiry,
my prayer is understanding,
my devotion is to logic,
my worship is in truth revealed
through patience, thought, and proof.

I am not of fait,
I am of reason.
And in reason,
I find my peace.

The memories I hold fast,
gathered as a child
when time moved slow,
and every breeze
was a new lesson whispered.

The slam of the old screen door,
a bird’s familiar song,
a scent that pulls me back,
the smell of breakfast rising
from the kitchen,
as I rubbed the sleep
from my eyes before school.

These were the treasures,
but as a young man
I had no time to open them.
I was running headlong into life,
chasing work, love,
the next horizon,
while those memories waited patiently,
content to live beside me,
quiet as shadows
until I was ready to see them.

But now, as an old man,
I move more slowly.
The chase is behind me,
the horizons have been met.
Now I pause,
I listen,
I lean into silence,
and there they are again:
the echoes, the scents, the songs
I once outran.

For every small detail
is a doorway,
a hidden passage
to where I once belonged.
A secret trip
to long ago.

When you’re too afraid
to let them do what’s right,
too afraid yourself
to do what’s right,
yet you watch
watch me tear myself apart
to do what you’re too afraid to do.

I do what’s right.
Not because it’s easy.
Not because it’s safe.
But because silence
has never saved a life.
Because silence
has never broken a chain.

Your fear is comfortable
it sits quiet in your chest,
keeps your hands folded,
your head down,
your conscience clean.
But my fear has no such luxury.
My fear wears a target.
My fear walks into rooms
already judged,
already tried,
already sentenced.

And still—
I rise.
Still—
I speak.
Still—
I fight.

Because racism doesn’t die
from the whispers of the timid.
It doesn’t vanish
with well-meaning thoughts
and quiet prayers.

It dies
when courage is louder than comfort,
when justice is heavier than excuses,
when the ones who were afraid
choose to stand anyway.

So don’t tell me
you’re waiting for the right moment.
Don’t tell me
it’s complicated.
Don’t tell me
you don’t see it.

If your eyes are open,
then your silence is a choice.
And if your silence is a choice,
then your fear is complicity.

I will not tear myself apart
to stitch together a world
you are too afraid to build.

Do what’s right.
Do it trembling.
Do it unsure.
Do it afraid.
But do it
because racism will never fall
by those who watch,
only by those who act.

Until you…
I had never known
what makes a heart truly beat.

You are the glow
that awakens my spirit,
the tremor beneath my feet,
the hand that steadies me.

Until you…
I had only dreamed of love
a longing I could never hold,
an image I could not release.

But now I stand before you
not desperate, but whole.
Ready…
to be the best of me.

So I vow,
to honor the love you’ve shown me,
to cherish the joy you’ve given me,
and to never forget
that until now…
I had never known
a love like this.

Yeah, I said it.
Your kids are lazy
Not because they’re broken,
But because you broke the cycle.
You gave them a screen,
Not a skill.
You gave them silence,
Not structure.
You gave in
Instead of showing up.
You didn’t wanna deal,
So now they don’t know how.

Yeah, I said it.
We bred a generation of slackers,
Who push buttons but don’t push themselves.
When I was their age,
We had summer jobs,
Cut grass, flipped burgers,
Sweated for a dollar
Because goals meant something.

You placed your child in front of a screen
Because you didn’t want to entertain them.
You didn’t send them outside to play
You coddled them.
When their grades slipped,
Did you help them?
Or just ask around,
Waiting for the school to fix it?
Now the schools are stripped bare,
Defunded and dying.
Back then, we had after-school sports,
We learned how to lose,
How to win,
How to be part of a team.
But these kids?
They show up at my door,
No eye contact, no backbone,
No clue how to speak like they belong in the world.

Now I’m training kids
Who don’t even want the keys.
They don’t wanna be the boss,
They just want the break room.
No grind.
No plan.
Just vibes and complaints
About rent,
About food,
About life
But they don’t want more,
They just want easier.

Yeah, I said it.
They wear pajamas with pride,
And call it style,
But don’t own the ambition
To move beyond survival.
And I get it
The system’s rigged.
Education costs more than it’s worth,
Healthcare’s a maze with no map,
And the ones in charge?
They don’t give a ****.

Yeah, I said it.
We are divided by design.
Because unity doesn’t win elections.
Hate is a headline.
And kindness?
That’s for suckers now.
Being cruel is political currency
And people are cashing in.

So yeah, I said it.
And I’ll say it again.
Because silence is complicity,
And I’d rather be the villain
With a mirror
Than the hero with a blindfold.

But now I’m saying this
It’s not too late.
Turn off the screen.
Talk to your kids.
Hold them accountable.
Teach them how to speak,
How to strive,
How to fail,
And still keep going.
Show them what it means
To earn something,
To dream bigger,
To stand for more than just survival.

Because the truth?
We don’t need more noise.
We need leaders.
We need parents who parent,
Kids who hustle,
Teachers who are paid,
And a country that gives a **** again.

Yeah, I said it.
But don’t just hear me
Do something.

Fairytales left there
on the hospital floor,
as a young child watched
his mother slip
from this world to the next.

Dreams shattered
of a happy life,
of holding her hand
the trembling now broken,
forever undone.

Nurses and doctors,
helpless and heartbroken,
knowing nothing
could rewrite the story
unfolding in that room tonight.

Home becomes a museum
of aching silence.
Closet doors sealed tight
for years,
too heavy with memories
and sweaters
still scented like her.

Left only
with the will to carry on,
to hold their head high
walking through school halls
where other children stare,
some feeling the loss,
some blind to the pain.

Counselors, teachers,
principals, and bosses
reaching out,
offering love,
doing their best
to stitch the wound.

But the day will come
when they forget.

Except for the ones
still walking
with the wound wide open,
a daily limp,
a raw reminder
of who won’t be waiting
at home.

Life,
short and cruel
for the ones who grieve
what can’t be given back,
who carry a love
too heavy for this world
to hold.

I wasn’t very good at it—
and truth is,
it wasn’t very good
for me.

I give too much.
Try too hard.
Fall too fast.
And forget…
to breathe.

It’s not the people.
It’s not the place.
It’s the hope I hold,
the pace I chase.
The kind of happiness
I keep reaching for—
maybe it was never meant
to be.

Love—
or what I thought was love—
left me empty.
Not whole.
And not for lack of trying.
I gave it all.
My heart.
My soul.

But I’ve learned something soft,
something real:
What’s not good for me
still hurts…
even when it looks
like love.

What is good for me?
It’s quieter.
Gentler.
Steady.

It’s the laughter
of my family.
The stillness
of the trees.
It’s in the work
that feels honest—
in friendships
that don’t ask me
to be less…
or more.

It’s peace
in the mirror.
Peace
in the morning.
Peace
in just being.

That’s what’s good
for me.

So when I go—
when the story ends—
remember me
not for the love I lost,
but for the peace
I tried to give.

I’ll leave it with you.
Soft as a whisper.
Quiet as a prayer.

That—
that right there—
is what’s good
for me.

Your world teeters on the brim,
Washing away with every wave.
Soaked with suds that numb the skin,
Deluded just to soothe the sting.

You drown yourself in alcohol,
A sea you drink to flee the day.
Each sip, a tide that pulls you in,
Further from the shore, astray.

You think the burn will cleanse the ache,
That silence lives in every glass.
But pain still floats beneath the foam,
And truth returns as shadows pass.

The mirror ripples when you look
Your face a blur, your eyes unsure.
You wipe the steam, but not the truth;
You’ve made escape your only cure.

Yet no wave washes guilt away,
No ocean swallows hurt for good.
To heal, to break the deepest spell,
You’ll have to see just where you stood.

Not in the drink, not in the night,
Not in the lie you try to sell
But in the stillness, in the light,
When you begin to face yourself.

You didn’t want my love
just everything else.
Took my time, my peace, my pride
Then whispered poison in my friends’ ears,
Made me the villain while you played the bride.
But when I finally found my voice,
And faced them with truth, not noise
They saw me still, the same old friend,
Not the broken man you tried to end.

I think about giving
If I had something,
Something that makes me happy
But what I like to do
Is hold joy in my mind,
Keep it there,
So I don’t drift
To thoughts of my own fate
That unknown answer
That waits in silence.

Because I have nothing.
Nothing that’s mine.
Nothing to give.

But if I did
If I did,
I would give it.

And that,
That giving,
Would make me happy.

We met on a cruise, the stars overhead,
Where laughter was shared and kind words were said.
In oceans and sunsets, I saw something true
But nothing as stunning as finding you.

We wandered through cities, through rain and sun,
With every new place, a new page begun.
You showed me your world, its warmth and its light,
And I offered you mine, with my heart held tight.

We’ve tasted new foods, we’ve lost track of time,
I’ve learned that your suitcase is bigger than mine.
You’ve taught me that love is both tender and strong
A dance through the chaos, a soft steady song.

And now, in this moment, as I look in your eyes,
With friends and with family beneath open skies,
I promise to love you, to cherish and stay  
Through every tomorrow, beginning today.

Wherever we go, whatever we do,
My heart is my compass, it always finds you.
So here’s to our journey, just starting to run…
You’re my greatest adventure. You’re my only one.

The pleasure found in a like-minded friend,
Where words aren’t needed for time to transcend.
Nurtured in childhood, wild and free
A bond as old as the tallest tree.

We ran like puppies through the pines,
No path to follow, no need for signs.
Branches bowed as we brushed by,
With nothing but laughter beneath the sky.

We chased the wind and played pretend,
Each game we started had no end.
Side by side, we roamed for hours,
Wading through streams, picking wildflowers.

Not lost, just far from grown-up plans,
Just boys with bark-stained knees and hands.
In the woods, we found our place
A world untouched, our sacred space.

Now older, with the forest far,
I still recall who we were, we are.
For in my heart, that trail remains
Two boys, one bond, and no restraints.

And women, they watch with tender eyes,
Not quite sure where its magic lies
They may not grasp the way it grew,
But they smile, knowing it’s something true.

“Waiting on a Wee One (O’Brien’s Lass)”
with love

There’s laughter in the kitchen,
A hum in every hall.
The O’Briens are all buzzing
Awaiting someone small.

The kettle sings more sweetly,
The days are dressed in cheer,
For a miracle is growing,
And her debut time draws near.

We toss around sweet names like Maeve,
Saoirse, Niamh, or Róisín
Each one like a lullaby
For the baby of our dreams.

She’s Irish, she’s a wonder,
She’s the first of Alden’s line,
With a dad like kindhearted Kevin.
This child is sure to shine.

She’ll bear the name O’Brien,
With pride and grace and grin~
A fierce and gentle warrior,
With all her roots tucked in.

So Alden, through the cravings,
The waddles and the sighs—
Know every ache and flutter
Brings you closer to those eyes.

And Kevin, soon you’ll master
The swaddle and the song—
You’ll rock her through the midnight hours
When the nights feel extra long.

There’s magic in her heartbeat,
There’s stardust in her kicks

And a family here behind her
With open arms and tricks.

We’re counting down the moments
‘Til we meet this mighty lass

The very first O’Brien girl
To shake up all our past.

So here’s to joy and diapers,
To bottles, love, and grace.
We already love her dearly
Though we’ve yet to see her face.

So… you’re having a baby? Oh heavens, oh dear!
Prepare for the chaos, the diapers, the cheer!
There’ll be giggles and burping and onesies galore,
And toys you will trip on from bedroom to floor.

You’ll learn to survive without sleep (more or less),
You’ll Google strange rashes and babyproof stress.
You’ll master the swaddle, the bottle, the “shhh,”
While whispering prayers during midnight **** squish.

Your fridge will be filled with things puréed and bland,
And “me time” now means wiping spit off your hand.
Romance might be “Did you wash the pump parts?”
And “date night” is counting your baby’s heart farts.

But through all the madness, the bottles and binkies,
The strollers, the coos, and the blowouts in pinkies.
One thing stays true as the months pass you by:
Your village is here. (Yes. We mean us… hi.)

We’ll show up with casseroles, wipes, and advice,
(Some helpful, some weird, and some… not so nice).
We’ll offer to babysit—yes, even at two!
(Okay, maybe three. But we’ll show up. For you.)

You might roll your eyes, wish we’d give you some space,
But we’ll still be lurking with gifts and a face~
The face that says “Please… just one cuddle, I beg.”
We don’t need much. Just a sniff of a leg.

So Alden, dear Kevin, from now till you’re grey,
We’re here every tantrum, each night, every day.
You’ve got this! But when you feel tired or small.
Don’t forget: You’re not doing this solo at all.

We’ll be right beside you, and yes, slightly pushy,
With pockets of tissues and cheeks that are cushy.
We’re family, we’re loud, and we love you like crazy~
And honestly? We just want to hold that baby.

Oh child,
so young to be alone,
no means to cope,
left sobbing on gravestones,
void of all hope.

Now searching for a home,
the old one now torn,
wanting for what’s gone,
lost is the memory
forlorn.

When all those who passed,
love’s shadow is cast,
young sorrow to last,
Left aging so fast.

Safer
without the one
who claimed to make us safe.

You enriched those
who tithed to your cause,
while silencing
every voice
that dared to speak
against your racism.

You stripped the rights
that held the powerful in check
eliminated
what bound the governed
to justice.

You cast long, dark shadows
over refugees
our laws once shielded.

You widened the chasm
between have and have-not.

Propitiated wealth
while deep pockets
overflowed
on the backs of the broken.

And still,
you called it freedom.

But I know
it would be
a better world
without you.

Last night, I found it hard to sleep,
Your memory continued to creep
Into my mind you found a space ,
A joyful spot where memories chase
The thoughts I simply can’t escape,
Down deep into my happy place.

A vision of you danced all around,
An angelic form without a sound.

You kept me staring all night long,
That memory played like a favorite song.

It’s morning now, and I embrace
Those dreams that showed this Angeles face.

The tone of your sorrow
I could not shout above.
It was buried…
too deep.
Like tears the soul forgets
to weep.

There was sadness in your eyes,
but only in the shadow you cast
when the light
tried
to love you.

You were the only one
the only one
I ever loved.
But I couldn’t break
the hardness of your heart.

I couldn’t shake
the silence
that stood where tenderness
should start.

Yes
you shared your love with me.
But even love
couldn’t undo the ache.

Some wounds
they’re just
too proud
to break.

Changing the Message
We need to change the way we speak to our children.
The stories we hand down—the warnings, the guilt, the fear—they shape not just how our children see the world, but how they believe they’re allowed to exist in it.

If we change the message, we can change perception.
If we change perception, we can change the future.

Too often, we speak in threats:
“There are too many people.”
“There isn’t enough to go around.”
“If you don’t act now, it’ll be too late.”
“If you don’t obey, you don’t deserve love, or joy, or even salvation.”

Even religion, once intended to teach love and restraint, has become a source of shame.
Yes, faith gave us structure. It helped early societies define right from wrong.
But today, that same faith—especially in the form of Christianity—has been co-opted.
Twisted into politics.
Wielded as a weapon.
Used to divide, to judge, to impose guilt instead of grace.

People are made to feel like their worth is tied to obedience.
Like their future depends on conformity.
And like the only way to be “good” is to believe exactly what they’re told.

That is not the message we want our children to inherit.
That is not the kind of future we want them to build.

We must evolve.
Keep the compassion. Keep the reverence. Keep the community.
But strip away the guilt.
Cut out the fear.
Unravel the political agendas wrapped in scripture.

We are not here to raise children who cower.
We are here to raise children who create.

So I ask again:
How do we change the message?
How do we raise a generation that is grounded in truth, guided by empathy, and free from inherited fear?

The only thing
I’ve ever truly had to give
is myself.

A piece of me,
left behind in every place I’ve been,
in every hand I’ve held,
in every heart I’ve touched.

I gave all I had
freely, fully,
without expectation.

But there are those
who thought I did not give enough,
so they took
what they needed from me.

But what they took
was always mine to give.

That~
was my gift.

Heart breaks
Lonely, without a sound.
Not heard,
Only felt.

Days drift alone,
No conversation
To carry the hours.
Phone: silent.
No name lights the screen.
No voice checks in.

Walks empty.
Hands open.
Voice still,
Directed elsewhere.
Even the echoes
Have grown tired of me.

Doors stay locked.
A lifeless home.
One light remains
A lonely shadow
Flickering on the wall,
Moving only when I do.

The coffee brews for one.
The bed sleeps cold on one side.
Laughter is memory,
Tucked in the corners
Like dust I never clean.

Time doesn’t pass here
It settles.
It lingers
Like smoke
In a room without windows.

I talk to no one.
I answer to silence.
I smile at strangers
Who never look back.

And still,
I wait,
For footsteps
That never fall,
For a knock
That never comes.

You visited me last night,
In your angelic, glowing light.
I saw your shadows dance with mine,
Your golden hair, a holy sign.

Your smile, it wrapped around my fear,
A gentle pull, you drew me near.
No need for words, no need for sound,
Your presence was where peace is found.

You brought me comfort, soft and true,
A moment shared with only you.
One I won’t forget or hide
It lives in me, it grows inside.

Your hand reached out to calm my soul,
In silence, somehow made me whole.
Your aura wrapped the night in grace,
I saw the stars light up your face.

To be with you
it stilled my mind,
A sacred hush, a rare rewind.
Though brief, your light erased my fear,
And left a warmth that lingers here.

When morning came, you slipped away,
But I still feel you in the day.
So if you can, return in flight
And find me on some quiet night.

My past haunts me.
I don’t even like to sleep anymore
’Cause when I close my eyes,
Every face,
Every life I interrupted,
Every soul I shattered
Comes flashing back in the dark.

I’ve learned to live with it,
But I’ll never forget it.
I can’t break any more hearts

Not when I still hear the ones I broke
Beating in the silence.

The trail of tears I left behind
Revisits me nightly,
And I walk it alone.

I am envious
Of the way you captured your lovely butterfly,
How love landed gently,
And stayed.

I envy the ease with which you open your heart,
Unfazed by fear,
Unshaken by doubt
Just love,
Pure and proud.

You move through the world
As if joy is your shadow.
Even your silences feel like songs,
And I find myself humming along.

This envy I carry is golden
Not sharp,
Not cruel,
But warm.
A soft glow cast by the brilliance of your love.

To witness it
Is to believe in it.
And though it’s not mine,
I am grateful to stand
In its light.

Think, they need only to understand
Understanding means commitment
One side or the other
There’s no middle ground
The victory of the conception
Means the distinction of the other
The diminished responsibility of proof, just the response to obey
The scale of disenchantment and disillusion that will follow
The manipulation of Ferber
When the political forces seek loyalty above compassion
Correct positions aligned will come to the poet to the intellectual
Not abstract to be the mouthpiece of the tyrant
Once the voice of the abstract people
Now slaves to their cause
A scapegoat for their errors
An undeclared war on society
Pitting those who will gain the advantage and to those who will find discrimination, disappointment and depression

Ignorance will be the death of our democracy

If you go, you’ll never come back
Not whole, not unchanged.
The wind will take part of you,
The silence will teach you your name.

The trees will whisper truths
That cities never speak.
The stars will etch themselves
In the corners of your sleep.

And when you return,
You won’t know how to explain
The way a mountain
Made you weep in the rain.

If you go
You’ll never come all the way back.
Some part of you will stay
Where the world still remembers how to breathe.

No one holds the key to this door.
Not you, not me
Because we chose to close it gently,
Then locked it, lovingly,
From the inside.

Together, we stepped past the threshold,
And left the world behind.
No fear, no need to turn the handle,
No exit in our mind.

Here, inside this quiet space,
Our love is free to grow
Unseen, untouched, uninterrupted.
Just us.
And that’s all we need to know.

We’re not locked in out of fear,
But by choice, by trust,
No need for a key.
This room was made for us.

Me and my anxiety,
We’re friends now.
I’ve spent so much time with you,
Might as well shake hands.

Me and my sleep disorder,
We’re friends now.
The bags under my eyes
Are just part of the outfit.

Me and my fear of driving,
We’re friends now.
I grip the wheel,
While everyone else becomes a threat.

Me and my eating disorder
We’re friends now.
Hunger feels like control,
And silence tastes like victory.

Me and my multiple personalities,
We’re friends now.
At least I’m never alone,
I kinda like them.

Me and my bipolar,
We’re friends now.
Two versions of me
Taking turns with the microphone.

Me and my schizophrenia,
We’re friends now.
I talk to the shadows,
And Granger always listens.

But me and my depression..
We’re not friends.
I’m tired of your weight,
Of waking up with you sitting on my chest.
You don’t talk, you just stay.
And I’m so **** sick of you.

I watch the ones I love
Drink slow,
Then slip-
From laughter into spectacle.
Bright-eyed,
I see too much.
Not by choice,
But by clarity I didn’t ask for.

They celebrate,
And I’m there-
But I can’t quite be there.
Their fun feels foreign,
A language I’ve forgotten
Or never learned.

Voices rise,
Inhibitions fall,
And I smile out of place,
Wishing I could feel
What they feel.
But I can’t.

I made a choice
That separates me.
In a world drunk on escape,
I choose presence.
And it feels like exile.

I’d find comfort
If they saw what I see.
If they stood where I stand.
But I am.
A strange creature,
Craving connection
But fearing the cost.

I don’t choose not to go.
I just… can’t.

Then it turns:
The stumble, the slur,
The ***** on the floor—
And still,
I stay silent.
Because judgment is lonely
And honesty isn’t invited.

I’m searching for truth
In a world that’s intoxicated.
And that’s
My struggle.

You were drawn to my shine,
To the light in my steps, my aura, my time.
You walked beside me all the while,
Curious-why do I smile?

I spoke of joy, of a heart that glows,
Of peace within, the love I know.
But you had none, you’d lost your spark,
And sought to ***** out all my dark.

You didn’t want to see me grow
You only came to steal my glow.

Life is funny like that.
It spins you in circles
then asks why you’re dizzy.
Gives you a heart,
then dares you to guard it.

I was never sure of myself,
just a constant echo of “maybe” and “not yet,”
all that doubt
stacked high like unpaid bills
and broken promises
to the person I was supposed to become.

Never had the money
to take the next step,
never had the nerve
to leap without the net.
So I stayed.
Right there.
Stuck in the space between
what I wanted
and what I feared I’d lose.

I let you go,
but only halfway.
Held on with one hand
while waving goodbye with the other.
Not because I stopped loving you,
but because I couldn’t bear
to be the reason you broke.

I didn’t wanna let you down.

And still, I kept living
Even when falling felt like flying
without the freedom.
Even when the silence was louder
than the words I couldn’t say.

Life keeps changing
no warning, no manual,
just motion.
Fast.
Relentless.
And sometimes cruel.

But I fight to stand tall
in the shadows of my own doubt,
hoping..
no, believing
that maybe one day
I’ll break through it all.

Because life is funny like that.
Sometimes, the fall
is just the beginning
of the rise.

All we have left is a photograph
Where memories live, where shadows last.
Bell-bottom jeans with embroidered patch,
“Magoo” stitched neat on the pocket flap.

A smile wide beneath round-framed glasses,
A knit cap perched as each moment passes.
A snapshot kept so time won’t erase
The lines of love etched in his face.

My uncle’s shadow, soft and thin
Rests on my cheeks, my chin, my grin.
My auntie says I’m much like you,
With kindness clear in all I do.

You left too soon, a fleeting spark,
But I hold you still within my heart.
Though years have flown and time has passed,
The McKenny name and love will last.

Who are they calling Them?
Like Them doesn’t have a name.
Like Them has no story.
Like Them just appeared one day
uninvited,
unwanted,
unwelcome.

Is Them different than me?
Does Them not bleed red, dream big, cry soft at night?
Does Them not hold memories the way I do
with trembling hands and silent prayers?

Who are they talking about when they say Them?
Oh… Them.
The neighbor. The worker. The mother. The son.
The one who speaks with a different rhythm,
prays with a different posture,
loves with a different fire.

Why are you so afraid of Them?
Do you think Them will replace you?
Take your place,
steal your space,
erase your name from the page?

There are fewer of Them than there are of you.
But still, you tremble.
Still, you point.
Still, you speak of Them with spit on your tongue.

You use harsh words to describe Them.
But I know Them.
I’ve laughed with Them.
Worked beside Them.
Heard Them sing when they thought no one was listening.

You claim strength,
but your fear betrays you.
You built this nation on the backs of Them.
Sent Them to die in wars you declared from safe rooms.
Expected Them to serve your plate,
then disappear before dessert.

But don’t you still need Them?
To harvest, to heal, to build, to teach?
To raise your children
and bury your dead?

I don’t want Them to go away.
I like Them.
I am Them.

And maybe…
maybe you are too.

I’ll call you a sucker
But that ain’t quite right,
You reek of betrayal
And swallowed the light.

Did you drink the Kool-Aid?
Bow low, kiss the ring?
Now you’ve got buyer’s remorse
Feel the blade as it stings.

Are you a loyalist,
Blind in your grace?
Ready to bleed
Just to save their face?

You’ll take the bullet,
They’ll walk away clean.
You die for a cause
They live like kings.

You’ve been duked, my friend
Sold out and used.
The crown they wore
Left you bruised.

MMR.
Three letters.
A shield forged in science.
But you turned your back,
Called it poison,
Chose pride over protection.

You read one blog.
Watched one video.
And suddenly,
You’re wiser than the centuries
That buried children
By the thousands.

You walk freely,
But carry death on your breath.
Invisible.
Unknowable.
Unforgiving.

The infant at the store-
Too young to be immune.
The neighbor with chemo-
Too weak to fight.
The pregnant nurse-
Counting heartbeats
That may never take their first breath.

You say,
“It’s my choice.”
But your choice
Becomes their grave.

The virus doesn’t care
What you believe.
It only cares
That you were kind enough
To let it in.

So when the fever comes-
When the rash blooms
Like fire under your skin-
When the breath shallows,
And your lungs forget how to rise-
Know this:

You could have stopped it.
You could have been the break in the chain.
But you chose to be the link.
And now,
You’re the strain.

I wish I could
But you’ll soon see,
The words don’t always come to me.
I stutter, stall, unable to rant,
And what I’d say, I simply can’t.

I don’t speak much,
Though I wish I might,
But my thoughts don’t land just right.
From brain to mouth,
There’s something lost
A moment’s pause,
At such a cost.

They call me quiet,
Say I’m shy,
But they don’t know how hard I try.
To shape my thoughts into a stream,
To speak aloud what I dare dream.

I long to stand
And boldly say,
The things I hold back every day.
A public speaker, I’ve wished to be,
And I’ve worked hard in therapy.

They taught me breath,
To roll each sound,
But still my voice gets turned around.

So if I stutter
Please just know,
It breaks my heart
To let it show.

To simply speak
As you all do
To say what’s real,
To say what’s true.

But I stay silent,
Face composed
The quiet one
That no one knows.

You said it so well
Love…
It’s not just a feeling.
It’s a force.
Profound.
Precious.
The kind that reaches deep,
that doesn’t flinch when things get hard.

Your parents
they gave you a glimpse
of what love looks like
when it’s real.
When it’s patient,
when it’s not performative,
but lived.

They showed you
what it means to be seen,
to be chosen again and again,
not because you’re perfect,
but because you matter.

And now,
you carry that vision
a love that’s sincere,
pure,
unshaken by storms,
unafraid of silence.

It’s what we all want, isn’t it?
Not the fairytale,
but the truth.
Not perfection,
but presence.

So if the road feels long,
if hearts have closed
and promises broke,
don’t lose faith.

You-
the one who believes,
who dares to dream of something more-
keep walking.
Keep loving.
Keep becoming.

Because love like that?
It doesn’t just appear.
It arrives
for those who are ready
to receive it.

And you will be.

I’m always in love.
There’s no means to its end.
It’s in my message,
it’s in my head.

It’s the beat that I tap,
it’s a smile on my face.
I’m always in love
there’s no way to replace

I’m always in love.
There’s no point where I stop.
I fall to my knees,
I throw you my heart.