“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.

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.

In the town of York, Maine,
on these two acres,
stood the house my grandfather built
for my grandmother—
the MicMac.

As a child, I played with my sister and brother,
while my mother and grandmother bustled about:
rooms to clean, linens to wash,
the clothesline filled with sheets
drying in the summer breeze.

Grampy’s lawn tractor out back,
the Cadillac parked in front.
Family came together here—
we always knew the door was open.

This family business helped so many,
more than we will ever know.
Friends, aunts, uncles, cousins—
Grampy and Nanny Beagan.

A late-night knock on the door
delivered a message
we would never forget:
the loss of my Uncle Murray.
His memory stays
in my heart—
and on my chin.

Mary Ellen is there
as Nanny makes me an ice cream shake.
Grampy in his chair,
sipping a highball,
watching the evening news.

In Murray’s dresser,
I find his music albums—
and a pair of pants
with Magoo
embroidered on the back pocket.

A picture of Murray,
in a knit hat,
sitting with friends.

Mom and Dad are on their way to Florida.
Christine, Shannon, and I
are going to the MicMac.
Nanny always made me feel better
when I was sad without my parents.

When Mom was in the hospital,
Nanny and Grampy held us tight,
keeping our minds
from how much we missed her.

One October,
we moved into the MicMac.
Mom would run the motel
while Dad went off to work each day.

Those were good times—
with the Chick boys,
and Jeffrey next door.
There was always something to do,
a new world to explore.

We all grew up so fast,
as time passed us by.
Graduations, weddings, funerals—
we returned
to the MicMac.

Through the years,
it’s become hard
to live the life
the MicMac requires.
The days are long.
The bell will ring.
The grass will grow.

But I always hoped this day would come:
so Mom and Dad could walk away
with the pennies they earned,
and the time
to enjoy the life they deserve.

This place—
this MicMac—
has made us rich with love,
filled us with joy,
and given our family a home
only we can understand.

I will miss her.

But I am full—
with the love
that we all know
as MicMac.

Thank you, Gramps.
Thank you, Nanny.
Thank you, Mom and Dad.
Through your hard work and love,
you gave me
the riches of a lifetime.

I will never forget the MicMac.
Nor will I give back my key.

When I needed you most
there you were.

I was just a child,
desperate for love,
hungry for attention.
Should I have asked for more?

The TV was silent,
the power was out.
The fridge held no hope,
just hunger and doubt.

Food stamps for dinner?
No—sold for a high.
We waited in corners
and learned not to cry.

Our clothes torn and tattered,
no shoes on our feet.
They flapped as we walked
through the cold, cracked concrete.

Then,
a knock at the door.

We froze in our place.
Curtains half drawn,
no light on our face.
I watched through the gap,
afraid they would see
the dust, the stillness,
the nothing of me.

Laughter came easy
for children at school.
But not for the ones
raised outside the rules.

You filled your lungs
with a poisonous smoke,
while ours filled with fear,
too young, yet we broke.

I saw you fading
your chest rose no more.
Your eyes stayed open,
but life left unsure.

You chose your escape,
and shut every door.
And left us behind
with you dead on the floor.

Dear Mother,
I want to tell you how lucky I am to have such a wonderful friend in you.
You’ve shown me such strength, and I knew you would guide us down these difficult roads.
My heart goes out to you.
My loss seemed great—but insignificant compared to your loss.
I know how much you love Dad,
and I can only hope to find a love like yours.

I’m content to have known the love in our family—
the love that keeps my heart full as I move through this life.

You’ve held our hands
and guided us through our darkest times.

I keep thinking about how I will carry on
with this empty feeling of our loss.
Still, I hope you find peace, now that his pain has stopped.
His suffering is over.

He told us about the place that was prepared for him.
His faith empowers us all.
If there’s a heaven—he will be welcomed.

We must carry on.
Your strength is the power of love.

You told me:
The love we knew will never diminish.

You told me you didn’t dwell in the past,
but if you could go back,
you’d go back to have more time with Dad—
six years ago, before he was sick.
We were so happy.

I thought about this conversation
as I traveled back to California, brokenhearted,
with your words still in my head.

I was inspired by your love.
So please know—these words are from my heart.

Your loving son


Six Years Ago

Six years ago
I told you
I did not dwell in the past—
but now,
I want to travel back.

One life was good.
You chose to go.
Six years ago,
I would like to go—
for just one last
glance at you,
your shadow cast.

But now I’ve found
that time has passed.

I love you, Dad.
Maybe these memories last.

Such love you gave—
no effort shown,
with open hands,
the love you’down.    

Faithful without restraint
My loss—God’s gain.

So hold him close
where we once did.
His life, for you,
he did give.

Do my politics matter to you?
What I say,
Who I stand for—
Red or blue?

You talk down to me
when I stand up for my right.
You call me stupid,
like what I believe has no place in the light.
Red or blue.

Every conversation—
a confrontation.
We don’t listen.
We just wait to speak.
We don’t hear each other.
We don’t see each other.
Red. Or blue.

But when I show up to work,
and you’re the one on the table—
heart exposed,
life hanging in the balance—
should I even stop to ask:
Red?
Or blue?

Because out here,
in the real world,
that line we draw in our minds—
it disappears.

When it’s life or death,
when it’s breath or no breath,
when it’s me and you—
I have to be red and blue
just to deal with you.

Not because I choose to,
but because I need to.

Because underneath the votes,
beneath the noise,
we are more than colors,
more than sides,
more than lines drawn to divide.

And maybe,
just maybe,
we could remember that—
before the next fight.

Red or Blue

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.

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.

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.

She is
like a flower—
not blooming for admiration,
but blooming regardless.

Whether anyone sees her or not,
she must blossom.

Not to please others,
but to be
the most radiant version of herself.

Not an object of admiration,
but a force of beauty
and strength
for her own sake.

You sent them my way,
Put yourself in my path—
Smiled as you passed.
I missed your signals.
I missed your signs.

You brushed my arm,
Put your name in my head,
Smiled, gave me your card.
I missed your signals.
I missed your signs.

You cut my hair,
Put your hand on my head,
Smiled as you said that…
I missed your signals.
I missed your signs.

You watched me waiting,
Put your hand in my hand,
Smiled as we discovered—
I missed your signals.
I missed your signs.

You offered your love,
Put your ring on my hand,
Smiled, shared the moment.
I missed your signals.
I missed your signs.

You asked me to share,
Put us now, not me,
Smiling together.
I missed your signals.
I missed your signs.

You needed my help,
Put matters aside—
Smile fell from our face.
I missed your signals.
I missed your signs.

You should have known
Put these issues aside—
Smiled, and remembered.
I missed your signals.
I missed your signs.

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.

If you told me I was wrong,
You might be right
Truth runs blurry
In this fractured light.

Now lies wear robes,
Declare themselves true,
And I, once sure,
Don’t know what I knew.

What once was logic
Now fades and strains,
Bent by power,
Twisted by gains.

What fits your truth
Becomes your proof,
But the cut still stings,
And pain needs no truth.

You say it loud,
You say it clear
But just repeating
Doesn’t make it real.
A thousand times
Won’t make it true
A lie, dressed up,
Still won’t do.

Hunger doesn’t reason
It just consumes.
And I’ve been forced
To live in someone else’s truth.

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.

I never meant to be alone,
But life just carved that path in stone.
I’ve had some friends, or so I’d say—
But none of them would choose to stay.

I see the crowds with hearts so bright,
Their laughter glowing in the light.
They gather near the church each day,
To sing and praise, to bow and pray.

But even there, I felt no peace,
No calm, no joy, no soul’s release.
I slipped out quiet, walked away—
Still searching for a better way.

I talk to folks while on the grind,
A passing word, a glance, a kind.
But something in me makes them pause—
Like I don’t fit their world, their laws.

I thought I moved like all the rest,
But maybe I don’t pass the test.
A little odd, a bit astray—
Not built to walk their kind of way.

I wander now where silence sighs,
Beneath the stars and ghostly skies.
I hope a spirit sees my pain—
But all I feel is cold, like rain.

So loneliness becomes my friend,
A shadow that won’t break or bend.
No hand to hold, no voice to say—
“You’re not alone, come stay, just stay”

I lost my safety net
the day she left this world.
The one who caught me
when I slipped,
when I stumbled,
when I fell too far.

I lost my guard rail
the day my mother died.
The one who kept me
from flying off the road,
from crashing into the dark,
from losing my way.

Now
I’m stuck.
Stuck in a rut.
No hand to catch me.
No arm to steer me right.

And maybe
maybe that’s grace.
Maybe that’s mercy.
Because at least I’m stuck…
and not
drifting
away.

I love Sundays—
waking slow, stretching wide,
one last day to savor,
wrapped in the warmth of morning light.

But then it creeps in—
laundry piles, grocery lists,
gas tank half-empty,
a whisper of duty pulling me forward.
I hate Sundays.

Tasks complete, I stand outside,
admiring the work, the order,
knowing the week will not demand
more than I have already given.
I love Sundays.

Yet as the sun sinks low,
so does my heart—
the weight of the week ahead,
the early alarm, the Monday grind.
I hate Sundays.

But imagine if Monday was ours to keep,
a four-day week, the American dream.
More time to breathe, to rest, to live—
now that’s a Sunday I could always love.

They ask us to give
when we have so little.
They promise to protect us,
protect our way of life.

But why must we give,
when we already have so little,
and they have so much?

They say it’s to preserve a way of life…
But whose life are they saving?

Is it our way of life,
where we struggle, scrape, and survive?
Or is it theirs,
where they ask for more,
and take even more,
from those who have none to give?

If those with plenty gave a little more,
there would be food at every table,
hope in every home,
peace in places worn by sorrow.

If those with wealth shared their hands,
the world would heal
faster than it ever broke.

A better world is not beyond us,
it is just beyond their greed.

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.

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.

I see you there,
hiding from the light.
Come, sit with me.
Let’s share this good night.

The glimmering stars
shine so bright.
Look up with me.
Let’s share this good night.

See the moon flicker
as it rises to its height.
Stay here with me.
Let’s share this good night.

Now the night has passed,
Soon the sun will rise bright.
Thank you for being here.
For sharing this good night.

They ask me if I’m proud to be white.
And I pause—
Not from shame,
But because I’ve learned not to answer
Without first remembering what came before me.

Proud of what?
Of conquest dressed up as progress?
Of freedom that came with a foot on someone else’s neck?
Of laws that wrote Blackness into *******
And whiteness into power?

My people wrote the rules,
Then broke the spirits
Of the ones they feared would rise.

They burned books
To keep minds dark.
They banned reading
Because education meant rebellion.
And rebellion from the enslaved
Was labeled violence,
While the chains weren’t.

They tore families apart,
Sold children like stock,
Then centuries later
Wonder why Black homes
Are fighting to stay whole.

They unleashed dogs on marchers,
Sprayed fire hoses at children
Just for asking to be seen.

This is how I remember.

I remember Emmett Till,
Fourteen years old,
Lynched for a lie.
I remember Tulsa, 1921,
Where success was a threat

Black Wall Street turned to smoke and ruin.

I remember redlining,
Where maps bled prejudice
And banks drew lines
That locked Black families out of futures.

I remember the war on drugs,
Where addiction in white skin
Was a health crisis,
But in Black skin,
A crime.

I remember George Floyd,
Face pressed to pavement,
A knee on his neck
For nine minutes and twenty-nine seconds
A public execution
That still needed a trial
To prove what we all saw.

This is how I remember.

And today
The Confederate flag still flies
On porches,
On plates,
On shoulders
Like a badge of glory.
Some still preach “heritage”
But won’t name what it honors
A war to keep humans in chains.

They talk of “states’ rights”
As if those rights weren’t
The right to own a man.

In some parts of this country,
They still act like the South won
Like their freedoms were stolen
When the shackles came off someone else.

And racism?
It didn’t die.
It just learned how to dress.
It put on a suit,
Picked up a microphone,
And ran for office.
It showed up in school curriculums
That call slavery a migration,
Or erase Black names from the pages.

It whispers at kitchen tables,
It votes in silence,
It marches in khakis,
And calls itself “tradition.”

This is how I remember.

I am a white man.
I didn’t own slaves.
But I live in the house they built.
And every brick
Carries the weight of what was done to build it.

I’m not proud of that.
But I won’t pretend it isn’t mine to reckon with.

I am proud of my shame.
Because shame means I still have a conscience.
Because if I can feel it,
I can face it.
And if I can face it,
Maybe I can change what comes next.

I remember
Because forgetting
Is the first act of violence.
Because pretending
Is how this all keeps going.

We don’t heal
By rewriting history.
We heal
By learning to carry it honestly.

This is how I remember
And this time,
I refuse to look away.

Author’s Note:
I am a white man.
Fourteen generations here in America
I sought my family history
I choose to remember all of our history—
not just the parts that make us proud,
but the parts that make us pause.
I refuse to wash it away.
Because truth, no matter how painful,
is the only path to justice.

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

You say—
You don’t agree with me.

My opinions are heard
Engage until enraged
I’m using my words

against you.
I’m  speaking the truth
Based on facts
and you’re not using facts.
You’re repeating false claims

I’m speaking truth.
Not to win—
but because it has to be said.
Because silence
lets the lie live longer.

And when I am in power—
if I’m wrong,
then use my words against me.
Hold me to them.

I hope you do.

Because I speak the truth,
and truth must be heard.
Even when it hurts.
Even when it turns on me.

Let the record show:
I stood on truth.
So use my words—
not to destroy me,
but to remind me
who I said I was.
hood

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 asked myself daily—
What would Jesus do?

Did you read the Word of God?
Preach it amongst the followers?
Find comfort in your parish?
Fellowship in the church?

Do you walk the walk?
Or just talk the talk?

Do you follow the teachings of Jesus?
Do you help others?
Give of yourself—
The shoes off your feet,
The clothes off your back?

If so,
You walk the walk.

But—
Do you tell them of your good deeds?
Read from the Word?
Practice what you preach?
Or do you talk the talk
But don’t wanna walk?

Do you follow in His path of righteousness—
Or are you just righteous?

Do you practice your religion,
Or parade it?
Do you heed the words you read,
Or twist them when it’s convenient?

Do you show kindness to the less fortunate?
Do you care for the poor?
The marginalized?
Do you teach them the ways of God?

“Blessed are the poor in spirit…”
“Sell your possessions and give to the poor.”
“Love your neighbor as yourself.”
“The Kingdom of God is for the poor.”

Jesus Himself showed compassion to the poor.
Healing the sick,
Feeding the hungry,
Speaking out against injustice.

So remember His words—
Before you use them as your own.

Walk the walk.
Don’t just talk the talk.

“Whatever you did to one of these brothers and sisters of mine…
You did to Me.”

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.

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 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.

Hey—
Look up. Be still.
Life won’t wait and time won’t chill.
It moves with or without your glance,
So don’t just scroll—give now a chance.

Being present ain’t just “being there,”
It’s showing up with eyes that care.
It’s hearing meaning past the sound,
And feeling what’s beneath the ground.

It’s catching more than just the loud—
It’s reading silence in the crowd.
It’s not just nodding to pretend,
It’s listening like you’re with a friend.

Don’t wait to speak—
just wait and hear.
You’ll see the world become more clear.

‘Cause moments fade and chances fly,
And you’ll miss life just blinking by.

So don’t drift off or disappear—
You’ve got a mind, you’ve got an ear.
You’re not just watching—
you’re the scene.
Be part of life, not just the screen.

Be here.
Be now.
Be wide and true.
Be present—
The world is waiting for you.

I want them to shake you-
not to break you,
but to stir something deep.
To rattle you, gently,
from places I’ve let fall asleep.

To spring anger—yes—
but only where healing begins.
To draw tears,
like cleansing rain,
and decorate the silence
with something real again.

I want them to leave you wondering,
just quietly wanting more.
Not confused,
but curious—
like standing before an unopened door.

I want my words to shake you,
not to harm—
but to hold.
To bring you to the floor,
only so you rise
even more bold.

My words should empower you,
Implore you to want more—
more peace,
more light,
more truth than ever before.

To leave you hanging—
not lost,
but suspended—
in a breath,
where something new is just about
to begin.

Because words can move—
and I hope mine move you,
like kindness in full bloom,
like quiet strength
in a still room.

Our world runs on hard work
The sacrifice of self,
With no regard for safety,
Dropped into the Earth to mine coal.

Generations of miners
Uncles, fathers, grandfathers
Rose from the mines,
Their skin darkened by dust, not sun.

But who will take their place?
As generations tire,
The work remains,
Yet no one volunteers to fall deep into the Earth.

Have we denied ourselves a workforce
By coddling the young?
They sit in gaming chairs,
Lost in fantasy, where reality is not.

Unwilling to do the work of their fathers,
They’ve seen the pain,
Heard the cough,
Watched lungs blacken with coal dust—
In a society that turned its back on them.

And would I take that chance?
I can’t blame them—
I understand where they stand… or sit.
They do not know the sacrifice of kin.

They are the Yeah, No Generation.

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.

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.

I knew in a moment—
my heart fell fast.
In your eyes,
I was caught—
in a love
meant to last.

Your hand in mine,
like a thread through time.
And in that second?
The world
was mine.

You laughed
like a song
only I knew.
And I held
every word—
like it might not be true.

Each look
was a fire.
Each touch,
a flame.
And nothing we felt
ever once
felt like shame.

But your father—
he stood there
still.
With a wary stare
and a warning to ****
what we had
before it flew too far.
Said:

Love takes time, son.
Don’t chase a star.
It burns too bright.
It fades too fast.
Young love is fire—
but it never lasts.

He told me to walk away.
To spare you the pain.
To disappear
before we both go insane.

But I looked in his eyes
and I said quietly
If she’s gonna hurt,
Then let it be me.

Not the man she believes in.
Not the one she adores.
Not the first love she’s known
who then slams the door.

If I break her?
Time might heal the ache.
But if you do it…
it’s a different break.

You’ll teach her that love
isn’t worth the risk.
That it ends
in silence,
in rules,
in a fist.

Let her feel it.
Let her fall.
Let her rise,
even if she crawls.

Because love—
even young—
isn’t always a lie.
It can teach us to live
even when we say goodbye.

So if it must end…
then I’ll take the fall.

But don’t be the reason
she builds up a wall.

Let her believe
that her heart can be free.
And if it must break?
Then let it
be me.