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.

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.

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.

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’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.

I was tasked to clean it up
but the mess?
It wasn’t mine.
I stepped right into your ****,
you led me,
right into it.

Now we both reek,
covered in the stink
of choices I didn’t make,
but still, I’m forced to sink.

You lit the fire,
I brought the hose,
but somehow I’m the one exposed.
You played the victim,
I played along,
now I’m left wondering
where I went wrong.

They point at me
the smell too strong
but they don’t know
who led me on.

You wiped your hands
while mine stayed stained,
you walked away,
and I remained.

Cleaning up
what you left behind,
still gagging
on the ties that bind.

So next time you’re looking
for someone to save
remember:
even heroes
get tired of graves.

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.

Hackles darned and threaded tight,
Dubbing blends to shape and hide,
Hook disguised as nymph in flight

The bait,
The lure,
A scaled-up knight,
Who swims beneath
The sun’s bright gleam,
And hides within
The water’s dream.

My rod pulls back,
I give a cast,
Ten to two, then two to ten,
I let the fly drift past.

It drops in place,
No sound, no trace,
No tug, no pull, no race,
Until I twitch and snap the slack,
The hook sets firm,
I’ve met my match.

The water slaps,
I hear my shout,
A trout! A trout!
I dance about.

I tug the rod,
I turn the reel,
A fight too strong for me to feel.

And when the net secures my prize,
I stop,
and look into its eyes.

Compassion, sudden and alive,
I free the hook,
I let it dive

We’re both really lucky you and me
Until tomorrow,
We are both free

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.

I left you
standing on the hill.
Not in anger,
not with hate—
but with the quiet ache
of knowing I could not stay.

I told you
it would never be my home.
Not because it lacked beauty,
but because it lacked foundation.
Still, you asked me to stay,
to shield you from the wind.

You wanted a protector,
a wall against the storm,
but I am not the wind’s master.
I am not the mountain.
I cannot hold back
what was always coming.

I watched as your hill
began to erode—
not from neglect,
but from the nature
of what it was made of.

I tried to build it up,
to shape it into safety,
to sculpt from sand
a fortress strong enough
to hold us both.

But you can’t build forever
on something that washes away.
And love,
as much as it longs to stay,
needs something solid
beneath its feet.

So I left you
standing on the hill,
not because I stopped caring—
but because I finally saw
I was sinking too.

Yes, I’m dining alone.
Thank you, fine sir—
This table I’ve known.

I take in the room,
Parties fill every chair.
Happy couples swoon;
I see their sad stare.

Yes, I’m dining alone,
Not by choice—but by fate.
The lonely diner atones,
Sits quiet, in place.

When your child was born,
you laid her on a blanket on the floor.
You crouched low,
looked her in the eyes.
You goo-goo and gaga’d to draw her in—
you came down to her level.

As she toddled through your home,
you dropped to one knee,
met her where she was.
You spoke gently,
corrected softly,
always guiding her—
down to her level.

As she grew,
your words stayed kind,
you negotiated with patience,
nudged her with wisdom—
still
down to her level.

But now she’s grown.
A woman, yes—
but still your child.
And now, you talk to her as your equal.
You try to relate adult to adult.
But you forgot
to come down to her level.

Because even now,
she looks up to you.
She needs your words
not as a peer,
but as her parent—
measured, loving, grounded.
Down to her level.

I’m sorry your bond is broken.
Not because you changed,
but because you couldn’t find
that shared ground again—
that quiet space where love meets understanding.
Because you didn’t
come down to her level.

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.

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.

Scraped knuckles,
Flesh torn
The work of shovels,
Then rake the thorns.

I scar the ground
Where roots are born,
Worms wiggle no sound
Giving life now reborn.

I picked stones in windrows,
No boundary before
But laid them by hand,
Now they form the field’s shore.

My back now bent,
Like the *** in my hand,
I plan to seed
Soon, corn will stand.

My skin now cracked,
Like sun-dried clay,
Hands gnarled and split
From each long day.

The sun carves lines
Across my face,
Like furrows dug
A farmer’s grace.

My spine curves low,
Like the rows I’ve sown,
Each step I take
Fields carved in stone.

On bended knee,
With ***** I tear
This burnt earth
I shape with care.

Each wound I earn,
Each line I wear,
Marks the bond we share
Me and the land laid bare.

The harvest feeds
What labor yields
But worn hands must rest
Like fallowed fields.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

Hiding my sorrow,
no one sees me there.
No one will notice—
I’ll hide my tears in my hair.

I watch and I wonder
if anyone cares.
No one will notice—
I’ll hide my face with my hair.

The world feels so empty,
and I’m lost in the air.
No one will notice—
but maybe… someone might care.

They speak in Scripture,
but they govern in greed.
They wear the Word like a badge,
but never bleed for it.

They promise morality,
but legislate division.
They quote the Sermon,
then sell the sword.

They say “God bless America”
but mean “God bless our base.”
They stir the faithful—
not to save,
but to sway.

And still,
the churches cheer.
Still, the crosses wave
on lawns and bumper stickers,
as if Christ Himself
endorsed a party line.

But Christ healed the stranger.
He fed the poor.
He turned over tables—
He didn’t sit at them
and bargain for votes.

They don’t walk with Him.
They walk ahead,
dragging His name
like a flag.

Not one the same,
But all as one—
Different paths,
Same rising sun.

Thinking thoughts
That feel aligned,
Needs not one,
But all combined.

We eat to live,
We sleep to dream,
Our voices clash,
Yet still, we scream.

A cry is heard,
A hand extends,
The hurt we feel—
The heart that mends.

We rise, we fall,
We learn, we grow,
In separate soils,
But roots still show.

And in the end,
We all return—
Ash to ash,
And urn to urn.

Not one the same,
But all the same.
We bear one name:
Human.

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.

We are born with kindness in our hearts,
a quiet urge to give, to share—
but giving all would leave me bare,
standing where the weary start.

So many turn their heads away,
passing by with lowered eyes,
ashamed of what they can’t erase,
of empty hands and silent sighs.

Some pockets hold only dust and air,
while mine hold coins, a privilege earned.
I ate with ease before I shopped,
no fear my fortune might be turned.

I do not judge, I do not scorn,
but pity lingers in my chest.
Their path is one I’ve never walked,
yet sorrow whispers, manifest.

If I had wealth, would I bestow
or clutch it close in quiet dread?
It’s hard to know until you’re there—
just like the ones who beg for bread.

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.

If today were my last, I’d live with no regret,
Embrace every sunrise, every sun that’s set.
Reflect on each step, each joy, each pain,
In the dance of life, sunshine and rain.

Each breath a treasure, each heartbeat dear,
I’d savor the moments, hold loved ones near.
With laughter and love, and tears that fell,
In the story I wrote, I’d find farewell.

For life is a journey, a winding road,
With burdens shared and kindness sowed.
So if today’s the last, my heart would say,
I’m grateful, I’ve lived well, come what may.

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.

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.

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.

Love sent me searching, longing for more,
The kind that don’t knock—it kicks down the door.
The love that you showed me was twisted, confined,
Not trinkets or words stitched frozen in time.

Love is a feeling, it crawls down your spine,
Fills up your heart, takes hold of your mind.
It’s not always gentle, not always kind—
Sometimes it hurts, leaves pieces behind.

Love sends you reeling, hoping to find
A flicker of joy from someone in time.
But love made you angry, it tore you apart,
And the love that you gave me—
It bruised my heart.

Not of my kind, not born from the same—
I’ve learned that now, it’s not all a game.
But it’s hard to show love when you think you know how,
When your past plants a flag and won’t let you bow.

I learned from my father, my mother was kind—
Their love carved a space that lives in my mind.
So the love that I carry, the love that is mine,
Is gentler, is deeper,
It’s not of your kind.

Words chosen with care,
left behind like whispers
scrawled in a quick hand,
on paper torn to look like a heart.

Held to the sun,
a love-shadow cast,
heart drawn in mustard
on a sandwich half-masked.

Steam on the mirror,
a whisper of grace,
uplifting words
for the start of your day.

Etched in the sand
before tides sweep by,
written in smoke,
love’s note in the sky.

Scraps of paper,
notes left everywhere,
have outlasted our love
but still linger in air.

May I Be the Last Thing on Your Mind
As you end this day and slip into sleep.
May I be the calm that softly finds
Your resting thoughts, where silence runs deep.

May I be the peace where your dreaming starts,
The hush that lingers, warm and kind~
A whisper held in your quiet heart,
The very last thing on your mind tonight.

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?

I gave you my love—forever.
But forever was mine to give.
Now loneliness is my forever,
And alone is mine to live.

I gave you my heart—forever.
My heart was mine to give.
Now broken-hearted is my forever,
And heartbreak is mine to live.

So different,
But so much the same.
We don’t walk the same path,
But we came from the same name.

We find strength in numbers,
Power in presence,
Comfort when we gather—
A sacred kind of essence.

The wisdom of our fathers,
The stories they told,
Passed down like treasures,
More valuable than gold.

We’ve stood in different places,
Lived in different lands,
But still—
We carry the same name
With the same proud hands.

The miles may stretch,
But they can’t erase
The blood we share,
The bond we face.

One name.
One line.
One heart.
One flame.
Different faces—
But the fire’s the same.

Yes, we are family.
We wear it like a crown.
The Goodrich name—
We hold it down.

Our roots run deep,
Our love runs wide.
Whatever may come,
We stand with pride.

So here’s to the name,
And all it became—
Different, yes…
But built the same.

You capture my thoughts
Held fast by your presence,
A mirror of our moments,
Lost in conversation’s essence.

Late for class,
Floating through the lessons,
Images of your silhouette
Dancing in my mind.

With no hope of reprieve,
I surrender completely
To the one who derails me,
My favorite distraction.
That… is you.

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.

I write this in the eye of the spiral,
Where every thought is gospel
And every whisper is war.
Where sleep is for the sane,
And I?
I haven’t met sanity in days.

I built kingdoms out of caffeine and chaos,
Prophesied truths at 3 a.m.
Scribbled scripture on sticky notes
And left them like prayers
On the altar of my kitchen counter.

I am brilliance undone.
A floodlight in a room of candles,
Burning too bright,
Too fast,
Til even the shadows weep.

This is my testament—
My confession wrapped in fire.
If I crash,
Let the wreckage teach you something.

I don’t find it hard to be sober.
Being social and sober
that’s the hardest part.

It seems like everyone has a vice.
They call it “Cali sober,”
but I can’t do that either.
If you’re masking pain with anything,
you’re not sober.

I stopped drinking on the road,
living a life of quiet solitude.
Hotel rooms, empty diners.
I’m not the type to drink alone.

Even eating at the bar feels heavy,
lonely beneath the hum of televisions
and clinking glasses.

I have friends.
But when they drink,
I shrink.
I always want to leave.

I’ve always been anxious,
but now it’s sharper
more present,
more real.

It’s been a year
since my last drink.
Twelve months passed quickly,
but the pride remains.

Clarity came soon after,
clear as the sky after rain.
But being social
still feels like walking into a storm.

Because everyone drinks.

I’m not the one to call them out
when they get loud,
when they stumble,
when they slur.
But I no longer want to be there.

So I stay home.
Alone,
more than I’d like.

Searching
for someone
who sees the world
the way I now do.

I find myself
on the outside looking in,
like standing on a porch
at someone else’s party,
hand raised to knock.

I peer through the window:
laughter, smiles,
cheers rising like music.

But I don’t knock.
I don’t go in.

I didn’t stop drinking
because I had to.
I wasn’t destroying myself,
not exactly.

But in hindsight,
alcohol lit too many fires
I spent years trying to put out.

And that,
that’s the hardest part
of being sober:

Living in a world
that drinks
like it breathes.

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 asked me—
Where do your words come from?

My heart.
My brain.
My mouth.
They move together—
like rhythm, like breath.
When I speak,
I don’t plan the stories…
They just
come
out.

From the memories—
The ones I carry,
the ones that carried me.

To those who built them with me,
walked beside me,
loved me—
then pushed me
out.

You’re still there.
In the stories I tell.
In the moments that rise up
like waves I thought had passed.

Friends—
They’ve given me the words,
the courage to speak
without the shadow of doubt.

Spirit talks—
In the echo of every footstep taken,
in the silence between
laughter and tears.

That’s life.
Right?
That’s what it’s all about.

We all feel the same things—
joy, heartbreak,
the ache that sits just under the surface.
But we hide it.
We hold it down.
And doubt?
It doesn’t walk alone.
It comes
with company.

So let’s talk.
Let’s remember—
what made us happy.
What made us cry.
What made us doubt everything
we once believed in.

These are our building blocks—
of motion,
of emotion,
of memory.

This…
this is the story.
This is what life is all about.

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.

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.

“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.