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Àŧùl Jun 2014
Darling, there are few facts that you
must know as a student of science,
And there are many more that you
must know as a cute human being.

There are three bearing mango trees
& one guava tree outside our home,
The guava tree is infested with the
parasitic growth of a sacred fig tree.

After many years' from today
the "Bargad" tree will grow out,
Ousting the guava tree it will finally
be free but it won't forget guava tree.

It will always feel having been parented by the guava tree, and so it might actually become a hybrid of both the trees and so a love child hybrid tree would ultimately give shade and fruits to people in the future generation.

So should the ideal love of a human being be inspired towards everyone including the ones who they love and fellow human beings - selfless and pure.
A bargad tree is called sacred fig in English

My HP Poem #640
©Atul Kaushal
none of you understand what i’m saying is i’m not like any of you never married never parented children never owned real estate don’t believe in government the law hate rich people not afraid to lose everything risk life for the chance at a better life yes i graduated from Philadelphia dental school practiced medicine several years dashing handsome cordial Georgia physician yet knowing i was dying then of tuberculosis i wanted to feel alive know danger taste possibilities ******* greedy ranch and railroad barons all you cotton gin grist mill moguls loud mouthed Yankee carpetbaggers bounty hunters self-righteous snake oil preachers with your fearful farmstead flocks what the hell do you think Big Nose Kate and me were doing in Tucson why i risked my life at Tombstone’s OK Corral i’ll tell you why because we were desperate beyond your comprehension long-drawn-out careworn hours twisted in desperation insufferably plodding nights so desperate Kate relieved me daily yet in back of each our minds we understood we were both slaves to ancient unfair corrupt economic system that provided enough whiskey to cope desperate for money allegiance shelter frantic enough to face loaded guns aimed firing at me it was hell on earth glaring sun beating down desert dust blowing burning eyes bullets cutting everywhere 1880’s revolvers lacking accuracy even with expert gunsmith modifications young men riddled with bleeding gunshot wounds in 6 years i was dead age 36 hey Kate was no cakewalk she was a ***** who knew how to play me flirting charming admiring exaggerating her strange Hungarian lust encouraging provoking prostituting on her knees back tummy fingers mouth managing somehow to become acquainted with Arizona Governor George Hunt then surviving to age 90 you modern day sleepers who read this rambling cower at airport security passively submit to insidious militarizing culture invasively inspecting camera scanning for cuticle scissors nail file weapons all ludicrous absurdist theatre while real bad guys can easily tape 3 McDonald’s plastic knives together or ball point pen pierce pilots passengers throat arteries skyjack planes hijack bus trains you are no safer than you ever were before Homeland Security Czars foreign wars where we don’t belong riding has grown so weary courage ruthless longing vexing generating entire industry of airport security corporate mall tariff duty free shops inflated restaurant menu prices liter bottle of water $4.99 welcome to America **** me now or **** me later who cares what i look like what i wear if i’m dry shaven smell like goat if i cough up chunks of lung spit tuberculosis germs on polished floors just so long as i pay the toll fee and don’t go shooting off my mouth
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2019
The Deepest Twist

<>
for my friends who know that when HP says this my 1300th
poem, it’s off the mark by hundreds; nonetheless
1300 is worthy number to celebrate your affections
nat
<>

you return back my older children, fully grown,
my eldest word babies who never ever visit,
blessing them anew, lavishly, with special wishes

I,
take them,
with both hands, a reacquainting occurs,
the old words, deep twist, now hurtful hurt because
reimagining when and how easy they came to be birthed and
how the replication of that process is now a
practiced impossibility

how they burst forth, in purple majesty, wheat waving,
wholly formed, bathed in holy water, leaving no stretch marks,
only just an empty sac inside instantly needing,
needling me into auto-refilling right away

even the twenty four hour, hard deliveries,
long and arduous, were so easy created faust-fast,
that the errors of typography contained,
became lasting hall marks, iconic nomenclatures of
passionate loving-nonpareil

now, well past point of urgent addiction,
unlike then every glance, each sidewalk cracking,
lamppost shadow casting was
a sea story for a deep dive delving asap

I,
supplied answers for the internal badgering incessant
happy ****** need, mine, to go, spill the words,
cab or bus motion nursing them,
now they come slowly strolling,
semi-formed, needy, inconclusive, reused,
and feeling as trite as a cloth coat from an old thrift shop,
so wanting for tender loving care,
which is to provide when you are
four score

wondering how easy it was in prior times when inspiration
fell like a deciduous tree’s fall colorings gifts or
as little children’s nightly multitude variety of dream tales,
when whole worlds uncovered, nay, universes,
hidden between summers green grass blades,
or in unique snowflakes

the semi-forgot love affairs that parented poems
by the score of scarred orchestral scores,
now love circle-turn in holding patters in the
crowded skies above nyc,
awaiting for a trafficked man to give permissions
to “run-away”land that rarely is granted

once, poems in turbulent fluid born, noisy ripping of skin,
****** by the emitting of  constant calming tenderous words,
wonderful drippings, so many multiple births in a moment,
even the OBGYN is complaining,

give other poets a chance at parenthood!

the awesome anger of human tragedy is now so shopworn
from over experience,
even god visits less and less, for it is written,
nothing new under the sun*

though soon his annual visitors day approaches (Day of Atonement) and god will require new
words of human comforting,
a new poem acknowledging that being godlike
is ******* hard work,
for humans are annoyingly capable of incredulous kindness

how can one justify allowing unlacing acts of insane violence to tear
the hand stitched lacing fabric that’s ever ready
to bring us together in an instant elegiac joining

the truth is every one of todays poem are clawed,
shovel dug out from cavities and crevasses,
your new words of recognition of the oldies but goodies,
iron of irony, make it hard, hard, painful to write
without an epidural to numb the painful
dumbing down

when I am breaching my waters, I am hard to spot,
we ancient humpbacks live beneath the deep distanced,
cold waters for many more minutes
than we need surface for breathing,
the show-off fluking, less and less,
and when we birth,
every two years,
must bring the calf-poem to the surface instantly,
to breath, lest it die,
all the while repeating to ourselves:

what was miraculous writing is now nearly invisible,
to blinded fingers that arrhythmically cane tap,
words difficult to recall, recalculate, recalibrate
into a wholly poem

only the **** tears,
that same shameful violin permanent-accompaniment,
they laugh at me when now, they alone
come first quickest, all too easy,


appearing nataurally,

without a formal
written
invitation
“He says, "Son, can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"

Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright”
Sean Banks Apr 2013
“Listen here buds”
I’m not going to
**** around
or hold back
or try to even the score
and in return
“Don’t **** with me”
“moooore”*

This is an ode to ol' Stuart
Or Brandon
Or Stubacca
Or Bongshit
Whatever you want to call him
Call him it
Conflict
Resolution
Resided
In Penta rips
I reminisce
Too **** often
That’s what I am here to admit

I guess that is the purpose of this poem
Is to make all the apologies
I left unsaid
And to leave all the unsaid
slights behind

Because in my mind,
I was not a good roommate
And you weren’t either
But our insult based arguments would deflate
Recognizing we were both underachievers
Two ******* calling the kettle black
Denzel Washington Movies
And Back
In Quail
Room 1514
Was a “Kozy Shack”
Was not for the weak
Lungs
The haziest of all hostels
A blaze fest
A Bro-out Brothel
"OB Get the ******* door!"
"And don't forget to lock and towel"

Escape from the real world
Into the mythical Qualcation

The Adherol - know it alls
3 Pills of dex – 45 minutes crushed text
Book and and back when we were hooked
  “This **** is just like doing M”
Thank christ for all your friends in MGMT
As it didn’t stop you from copying them
Mr. Rintoul had bigger fish to fry

And I was frying them
because the kitchen was foreign
So at 4 in
The mornin’
I’d be cookin’ creative
Broke *** creations
Cause stomach pains
Are a serious disease

Please
Don’t take
This poem
The wrong way
Because back in the day
Are the days I miss the most
We played host
To a family of friends
Anyone would want to boast

Thank you for reminding me it was your birthday
Every ******* year
Every elaborate party
You deserved
No Hissy fit was unwarranted
Speaking on behalf of a floor Matt
You know the one you parented
The upmost respect remains
For papa Stewie

And when I got my dewy
I got a few hugs of sympathy
While you laughed in my ******* face
And when you couldn’t find a roommate
I happily took that place
And when I left movie night in the trailer
To go do slam poetry at a talent show
You made me feel so out of place
And when I returned with my 100$ winnings
You were the first person I bought a pilsner case

The fact that you never made the break through
To see the majority of the time
We were laughing at you not with you
Doesn’t seem to be an issue
Because maybe you did know all along
Staying in check
Punishing us
stoner massages
That could break necks

Now these days with a real job that really pays
Stuart Rintoul will still tell you he is LiViN’
Even - If he is stuck in Edmonton
This separation
“Is horseshit”

Let me state it one last time old pal
This poem is not meant to offend
And deep down from Roses to the Corral
I hope you bang all my ex girlfriends

I should have never left you all those times for *******
Or in the words of Tuner “PP!”
I should have stayed and watched Blade 3

To all those
who really knew Stu
It was really me
eating all the peanut butter
by the spoon
But blaming it on you
Was too opportune

Stu,
You are
******* clutch
******* decent
And so ******* “chitty”

You were the best friend
I should have never asked for
And for this
I will never
**** with you
Any
“mooooore”
Valsa George May 2016
As I closed my door and lay down to sleep
A poem came and violently knocked at my door
Being late, I put a rein on my desire to admit it in
In my sleep I could hear the faint sound of a knock

In the wee hours of the morn, as I sat up to house it
scattered phrases and broken lines floated around
A crazy excitement made me trap them in ink
But nothing worthwhile showed up on the writing pad

I found I had only violated the virginity of the paper
After hours of spasmodic labor pain
What came out was a stillborn with no heart beats
It lay limp before me and all excitement died down

It’s still body, I found had closely resembled me
Something of me was there stamped on it
How could I who had parented it
Callously discard it in a dustbin?

So I carefully stashed it away in a secret place
Where no one’s prying eyes would ever fall over it!
I am sure some of you too must have experienced it !
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
A ton of poems,
all feather weight,
your breath upon them
to release, up-float them,
they all patiently await.

A glance,
a catch in the throat,
the noises of you ,
rumbles from the kitchen,
dishwasher unloading,
creating a racket,
creating a new poem,
for in the sounds of
disbursement of the dishes,
this poem doth originate.

A ton of poems,
like the white blanket
in my bubble bath,
a puff, a finger kick
and up they go,
a feather trigger,
and a new one-ton,
free and gone,
a poem free, newly born,
from my surroundings parented,
and given up to you,
a foster child, to keep, raise
and hold close.
An old one. Apparently I was soaking in a bubble bath, listening to the dishwasher being unloaded, and got inspired. Got a problem with that? Ya wanna step outside dude(ette)?
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2014
I don't like deleting certain emails
for the simplest of comforts
seeing the sender's name provides,
they are...

a hot tea on a "still sick"sick day,
an unexpected "how are you" inquiry,
or a late summer blossom,
a lavender Rose of Sharon,
shockingly discovered through a
country kitchen window on an early fall day,
or a poem born effortlessly,
it's existence unbeknownst to its creator,
just minutes earlier, unaware of its arrival,
just like this one...

or not deleting a newly gifted photo,
uncovered while closing one's eyes
past the midnight hour when
the old day hands off to the newly born incoming,
sending yourself off to bed
with a smiling chuckle;
of a young child's first day of school photo,
her plaid skirt and black patents,
a cherry-topping smile radiating hints
of both a pleasured future, a happy home,
and a growing-up maturity earned
from a third summer marked upon this planet...

so I keep that  email and that photo
handy-filed so they are stored,
fresh faced in my inbox or screen,
a friend's name, now a symbol of caring,
a child's photo, emblem of a kind of love,
that parented this poem, so that happily both *****
the armor of the commonplace
of both the everyday,
and the unforgettable world weariness
of having been there years before when,
when the mind sudden recognizes the new day's
sad refrain, sadder name and its most
saddest anniversary and these
disparate comforts,
both say, rest easy friend,
and now off to sleep...

2:31 am
Sept. 11, 2014
on 9/11, I was working in very tall office building at the very tip of Manhattan, about a mile as the crow flies, from the World Trade Center buildings, with "perfect" views of all that transpired that day...
Fah May 2014
forays into the unknown , into the magical , into the spherical
emitting pulsating rays from the astral body thrown out of the physical ****** is release , harmony , purification

wolf lips
teeth to hips hips to mouth

ice cream so good it makes you wanna **** people
ice cream so velvety you wanna make sweet sweet love to it

sunshine so melty wispy curling clouds whip across the sky,
twist like a message.
Mad libs , learning meaning , watching people , people watching us...we .. watch each other from behind the scenes cough * screens... *cough
Sunset picnic , good night sun we call !
pasta and a nutmeg chocolate , dulche de leche milkshake.

We speak of plans. We speak of future , when i have been living by the day. Dripping meager drops of the future from my tongue , she slugs it forth like a dam burst.  We speak of her frustration with the siblings. We speak of news on Yai and uncle. Grandma has had another operation , all my books and room decorations are at her house now , she’s offering me a job. Uncle is taking his epilepsy pills now, i am wary - pills can mess you up.  Attempting to stay sober. Facing himself. She cried  - A conversation with the mother , long distance mothers day , tears soak her cheeks as she see’s me for the first time since January. Perhaps a self imposed exile. The distance has done us good. I was expecting stress from this conversation but the familial energy sustained more peace. Granted..she is still in the throws of her huge landing. So some things are still up in the air. But i...i see myself now. It was entanglement , where i could not tell where she began and i stopped. Unpacking the karma i arrived with.

~~*

moon beam slows down time
skips the clouds into another dimension - thrown back with a jolt to earthspace
a mystic ballet , seamless motions pivot , friendly air smells like summer and new things growing -
hidden behind a slight veil of purple mist , moon draws her magnificence,
etched onto the passing cumulus clouds -
carp fish , wild boar running through the woods
smiley face mid wink and tongue stuck out.  
swift wind accompaniment
dew point reached
light cardigan weather cardigan present from the cosmos
overpriced chips , parks with no soul , bars laying music to the concrete , way too loud ,

stretching with bare legs and grey knee high socks against the chilly air on top of the dust bowl dog park
pitter patter dreaming of blowing gas stations up and skipping away on cctv cameras leading to us as the perpetrators.

parents try to give us what they didn’t have .... balancing out the imbalance in themselves
being parented is somewhat selfish
they -
shaped by the lack of fathers or the abusive mother
generations imbibe the past in transmitted transmuted  format

only knowing the extremes , the extremes they give
but we

not quite midnight , not quite morning wondering stars , ingest , test and leave what we do not need , with enough guts to get out there and do our own thing..... move as we feel compelled to move , grab the life we have been gifted and play !
play damit.
PLAY.

that is what my mother sometimes does not see too, the theatre production stage we are on.

Enough guts , to play this play for all it’s worth ,

we’re rewarded with each other to fall asleep to.

Don’t get me wrong , doesn’t mean we don’t take it serious.. picking up trash in the park , way after dark.

The game is to ward off thoughts of too heavy thinking
lightness moves.
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)

From Princess Esther Fatouma,
The future queen of lies and deception
Dear ALLAH Elect, the most high,
Who blessed me with the powers to cheat
My luciferous pleasure to have contact with you,
Based on the pathetic and critical condition I find mine self,
Though, it's not financial problem,
But my health you might have known
That cancer is not what to talk home about,
Though I don't know you, but your are my sweet victim
And my contact with you was not by mistake,
But by the divine favour of ALLAH the maker of I the prankster

I am married to Mr. Mohamed Sule, I love him dearly,
My husband worked with Tunisia embassy in Burkina Faso
For nine years before he died in the year 2008.
We were married for eleven years without a child.
He died after a brief illness that lasted for five days.

Since his death I decided not to remarry,
When my late husband was alive
he deposited the sum of US$ 2.2m, waaa!
Two million two hundred thousand dollars,
in a bank in Ouagadougou the capital city of Burkina Faso
It is a wonder why all this sonnetic fortune,
In west Africa Presently this money is still in bank.
He made this money available, minus chains
for exportation of Gold from Burkina Faso mining.
Recently, My Doctor told me some thing new;
I am yet to visit the land of my ancestors, my husband
That I don't have much time to live because of the cancer problem,

Having known my condition,
I decided to hand you over this money
To take care of the less-privileged people,
You will utilize this money the way I am going to instruct herein
I want you to take thirty Percent of the total money for your personal use
While seventy percent of the money will go to charity
  Helping the orphanage and all those that are homeless,
And I pray that you are foolish enough to provide your bank details
You would have converted yourself in to over parented orphanage.
poem on digital pranks
shireliiy Sep 2015
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adesluzky Jun 2013
Once a year, I'm reminded here

on father's day, I have no father near.


My father could not be farther.

Actually, that's not true.

He's in one of the Southern counties of England

but it's distant enough to do.


He has two sons that he chose to have

and raise and support and endow

with all those cultural allegiance mechanisms

that I try to imagine somehow.


Painted their rooms,

changed their sheets

throwing a ball and stuff,

giving them a father that they can observe

doing his worst, best or enough.


I'm a secret secreting jealousy as a crime superfluous to needs

watching all you parented people

making pronouncements on your old Dad's deeds.


Bitter, sour grapes and cynicism are the silent names that come,

"Don't utter or mutter a single word of distain

keep our game a zero sum.

It's not our fault you had no dad

there's no need to rain on our parade!"

I know this poem is digging a hole

but who got you your first *****?


Which, I guess gives me license to continue

to go on about the other problems that came

When I was a kid, they talked of a god

and "Father" was his name.


As if it wasn't challenging enough

there's a celestial, all-seeing eye.

I found daily life to be complex as it was

without attempting to anthropomorphize the sky.


Intimidated, un-encouraged without a male adult to hide behind,

I learned I was a ******* without belonging

while mother ******* raised their own kind.


But, I guess it's time to turn around

face the future face-on with the rest

I've two sons now, who know that they are wanted

Glad I typed this crap off my chest.


Sorry if I offended anyone with a dad

Just wanted to put words to my own case,

it was not written with any malice in mind

just like your annual slap round my face.

...
Poetic T Mar 2018
A bag of melancholy emotions collect
within empty features, secluded & vacant.
No tears ever weaken this collection
                            of barren reflections.
Only whispers escape, soundless gestures.


It collects from distressed abrasions,
                 to smear upon its outer visage.
Always motionless it wonders the
surroundings to celebrate the humour
                     of its desolate existence.

A child wonders closely, asking if
    this creation of lost collections is in
need of chloroform smiles.
                 it looks and hands a rose,
its leafs embers of its mourning.

Smiling, this miniature silhouette,
slashes out at the one who parented it.
              Cleaving what was smiles,
now carved features smear a face of
sullen smiles, as like the petals falling lifeless.

Tears flow like rivers, the contortion of
happiness fades when the last petal erodes
       a motion under hidden gestures facilitate  
this happiness to see such butchery of innocence.
But it is short lived like always, paper frowns collect.
certifiednutcase Mar 2014
Unknown and foreign to light
Feeling the emptiness hence cry.
1 and 11 months dad left,
Guileless kid that I was
Didn't care.

Grandma's place during the weekdays
With Kor as my playmate.
You'd think we were inseparable
But we grew up.

Doted on due to pity
Doesn't quite last.
When you're a annoying seven year old,
Single parented or not, who cares?

No one to turn to,
Seeing mum only morning and night.
Keeping it all to myself,
That's how I grew up.  

Nine year old was hell
Crying to sleep silently,
Worrying about how to act,
A smile to cover it up.  
No one cared enough to ask.

Time flew and at 15
We finally moved "home".
Little space I once possessed
Grew to naught.

The first slash, the first purge.
No one knows.
The first attempt, the consequent ones
No one cares.

Nothing was ever easy.
At 16 and 4 months I look back
Thinking how the hell I survived it all
Thinking how the hell am I going to move on.
I’ve been treated like dirt,
been kicked around.
I have doubted my worth,
made not a sound.

Like an unaccounted for star,
I shone bright like the sun.
Begging for help,
I found no one.

A day came around,
when it finally hit.
I thought I had issues,
I ain’t got ****.

I’ve seen kids become killers,
and friends pop pills.
I’ve seen “freaks” that frankly,
just can’t stand still.

I’ve seen people I know,
take their own lives.
I’ve seen grown men cry,
when they lost their wives.

I can’t believe,
I was so selfish.
I thought I had issues,
I ain’t got ****.

There are people starving,
this world’s alarming,
there’s war and crippling disease.
To think for a second,
I had it worse,
was as selfish as can be.

I ain’t got ****,
compared to the kid,
who’s parented just separated.

I ain’t got ****,
compared to any person,
who’s lost a loved one.

I ain’t got ****,
I ain’t got ****.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Besotted winged pollinators
roistering barrage drowned
amidst general insectivorous cacophony
indistinct auditory signals communicated

intermingled with bounteous wafting fragrance
midwifed edenic floral pullulation
sensate admixture viz colored spectrum
amidst unrehearsed extemporaneous

orchestral suite bedded lambs
amorous ewe man like bleating songs
nature all aflutter actively socially vociferating
profuse living color rainbow pastiche

teeming soundgarden smorgasbord
cornucopia ignites mordent Utopian aural swath
visual vistas stilling spellbinding
spilling riotous carpeted web

uniting doubting Thomas's existentialism
despite unanswered queries
asper diverse modalities each specie evolved
to survive despite countervailing destructive forces

generating plethora pandemonium ironically
promulgating harmonic exemplary convergence
Highland Manor concourse aflame with new life
parented by instinctive imprimatur anonymous patents

now genetic mapping usurped with untold outcome
analysis bred crispr discovery Earthlings fiddling
glorifies honied indemnity Judeo-Christian kudos
leaves of grass kudzo resistance mutation immunizes

biosphere once prolific differentiation shrinks
becoming monocultural setting virtual stage
catastrophe plus food shortage would become
global debacle predicated, sans virulent

viral and/or bacterial strain renting asunder
tripwire unspooling delicate webbed whirl
already widely compromised more so
since Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring


**** sapiens population explosion
pits profligate predilections planet Earth in extremis
dire crisis cavalierly dismissed humans
in hot pursuit racking up superfluous wealth

***** deeds done dirt cheap - tricking
mother nature, who will unwittingly
spring scrumptious feeding off scrimmage
forcing capitulation or total extinction

meanwhile fostering long tall floral inflorescence
a composite having sessile flowers
apiary abuzz, cuz queen bee
can no longer wax bereft of royal jelly.
Boris Cho Nov 11
Once, there was a man who felt lost in the midst of his life’s responsibilities and uncertainties. He had spent years chasing success, relationships, and fleeting moments of happiness, but something was always missing. Deep down, he longed for answers, for a way to navigate life with more clarity and peace. At the center of his world was his 9-year-old daughter, a bright and curious soul who brought light to his life. She was his greatest joy and his greatest motivation to find answers; to become a man who could guide her through the challenges that lay ahead.

He began his search by turning inward, realizing that he had never truly been present in his own life. He had always been running toward the next goal or worrying about the past. It was mindfulness that first opened his eyes; he learned to sit quietly and observe his thoughts, letting them pass without judgment. By practicing awareness, he began to truly see the world around him, moment by moment, for the first time. He felt the ground beneath his feet and heard the sound of his breath, and with each passing day, his mind became less scattered, more centered.

It was through mindfulness that he truly learned to savour his time with his daughter. Whether it was sharing stories before bed or listening to her laughter as she played, he practiced being there, fully engaged, letting the weight of the world fade into the background.

As his awareness grew, he started to grasp the idea of impermanence. Everything in life, he saw, was constantly changing. His emotions, his relationships, his experiences, his daughter; all of them came and went like passing cars on a busy highway. Where once he felt frustrated by loss and change, he now began to accept them as natural. This realization allowed him to let go of his attachments to things, people, and outcomes. He no longer needed everything to go his way in order to feel at peace.

He came to understand and realize that his daughter would not stay young forever; her childhood was passing by, moment by moment. Instead of fearing this truth, he embraced it, knowing that every phase of her life was precious. He wanted to show her that change was not something to be feared, but to be accepted with grace, a natural part of growing up. It was through this acceptance that he began to let go of his need to control, finding peace in the flow of life.

This led him to the concept of non-attachment. He understood now that much of his suffering came from holding onto things that were never meant to last. By loosening his grip, he felt a new sense of freedom. He could still love, still care deeply, but without the need to control or possess. In releasing his attachments, he found that he suffered less, and joy could flow more freely into his life.

Learning the lesson of non-attachment, he understood that his role as her father was to guide his daughter, not to cling to her. One day she would grow, spread her wings, and explore the world on her own. Rather than holding on tightly, he wanted to love her fully while giving her the space to become whoever she was meant to be. This shift brought him peace, knowing that love didn’t mean possession; it meant support and freedom.

Along the way, he discovered the power of compassion. He realized that he had been harsh with himself for years, setting impossible standards and punishing himself when he fell short. But as he was kinder toward himself, he found it easier to extend kindness to others. The more compassionate he became, the more connected he felt to the world around him, especially with his daughter. He began to see the pain in others’ lives, recognizing that everyone was struggling in their own way, and his heart opened. Compassion became a guiding principle in how he parented. When his daughter struggled or made mistakes, he responded with kindness and understanding, knowing that these were part of her growth.

But the most profound shift came when he began to question the very nature of the self. He had spent his life building an identity; his career, his achievements, the image he projected to the world. Yet through his journey, he realized that this self he had constructed was fluid, ever-changing. His ego was not a fixed thing, but rather a collection of thoughts, experiences, and beliefs that shifted over time. By letting go of the rigid idea of who he thought he was, he opened himself to growth and transformation. Through this transformation, he wanted to teach his daughter that she wasn’t confined to the labels society might place on her. Like him, she is also fluid, always growing and changing. By understanding this, his daughter could remain open to new possibilities and not be burdened by the expectations of others.

The man also realized that suffering was an inevitable part of life, for both him and his daughter. It was not something to be avoided or denied but rather something to be understood. Suffering was a part of the human experience, but by confronting its causes; desire, attachment, and ignorance; he could learn to live with greater peace. This understanding didn’t mean his life would be without pain, but it gave him tools to face suffering with grace and resilience. He hoped to show his daughter that suffering was not something to avoid, but something to confront with courage, knowing that it, too, could lead to growth.

Through meditation, the man found a daily practice that grounded him. His daily practice of meditation became a cornerstone of his journey. Each morning, before his daughter woke up, he would sit in stillness, finding peace in the quiet moments before the day began. In the stillness, he learned to quiet the noise of the world and listen to the deeper truths within himself. Meditation became his refuge, a place where he could reconnect with his breath, his mind, and his heart. It was here, in this quiet practice, that the answers he sought began to emerge; not from outside of him, but from within, and it was a gift he hoped to pass down to his daughter one day. He imagined sitting beside her as she learned to steady her mind and connect with her inner self, teaching her how to find calm in the midst of life’s uncertainties.

His journey was not about reaching some distant enlightenment, but rather learning to walk through life with more clarity, compassion, and presence. His journey was also about becoming a better father. He didn’t seek enlightenment for himself alone; he wanted to live in a way that would inspire his daughter. He learned that the answers he found were not just for him, but for her as well, so that one day she, too, could walk a path of mindfulness, compassion, and inner peace. His greatest hope was that, when the time came, he could pass down the wisdom he had gained, showing her that the key to happiness was not in the things they accumulated, but in how they learned to live, love, and let go.

The man’s path through Buddhism showed him that the answers he sought were not in achieving or accumulating, but in letting go, in being present, and in cultivating peace within himself. And so, with each day, he continued on this path; not toward a destination, but into a deeper understanding of life as it unfolded around him and his daughter. He had found his answers, not in what he gained, but in how he continues to learn to be.

Amituofo.



Today, I release what no longer holds me;
I release those who have drifted away,
and those who stir doubts in my heart.

Today, I choose happiness. I step away from the shadows of toxicity, freeing myself from the burdens I’ve carried far too long. I offer myself the love I so easily give to others, and in that love, I stop the quiet hurt within.

I follow the path of positivity, no longer sinking in the well of my own sorrow. I open my heart wide, letting down the walls I’ve built to protect what’s inside. I accept my flaws and let them shape my growth.

Today, I chose healing. I forgive myself for the times I stumbled.
Today, I step forward with courage.
Today, I walked away from places I have outgrown.
Today, I cherish the gift of my own time.
Today, I chose love for myself.

—Sincerely, Boris
the wallflower Mar 2018
When people expect the worst from you
It's really truly hard to maintain a positive attitude
So then you start presenting what their expecting
And it's so **** hard to keep those tears from slipping down your face
Because your parents have the audacity
To tell you that you make more mistakes
Compared to how many times you have made them smile
And you regret choosing to live at home  
You regret living in general
Because living is difficult
But people told you that you were strong and you believed them
You believed the pretty poisoned lies they told you
To make you feel like a better person
And you said “ your right , i can do this “
And that was that
But you noticed the more people know about how your feeling
The more pain you feel
So you stop
You stop showing what the sadness is doing to you on the outside
On the inside
And you somehow get away with it
Until your psychiatrist asks how you're doing and you can't keep it in anymore
You tell her that mountains of painkillers and antidepressants
Are beckoning to you sweetly
You play around with your wording because you want to be remembered
With a sense of humor before you die
And she calls your mother in
And she cries
Because the daughter she gave birth to doesn't even want it
But she understands!
She understands your pain because your own mother is dealing with some of her own
They call security
They call the paramedics
They come into the room that your in and you look away
The officer says “ You have a whole life to live “
You smirk and a single tear falls down your face as you chuckle
“ This isn't living “
Your mother ***** in a breath and lets out a thundering sob
She pulls you into a bone crushing hug and you tell her that your sorry
And as you repeat the overused sentiment you wonder what your sorry for
If your even truly sorry
Please help me understand …
Your sorry for making someone feel bad because you feel worse ?
Your sorry because you feel mocked by people that tell you to get over it
When they happen to not give a single thought EVER about anyone but themselves
And my person inside me begs for me to scream  “YOU HAVEN'T SUFFERED ENOUGH !”
No
They haven't
While the sun arises each and every morning for the blessed and humble
Your sun hasn't risen for years now
Instead a plastic and artificial version of what the sun should be ascends into your day
And shines in your eyes and taunts you
It laughs at you because YOU have more scars than friends
YOU can't go places alone because your suicidal tendencies screams louder
Than your mother yelling from the outside of the ambulance
“YOUR GOING TO BE OKAY!”
And you wave
You wave your hand to your mother as your taken to a wretched place
That throws you out worse than the way you were when you walked in
One month passes
Your home
But your parents are treating you like polypropylene
Tough enough to still be parented
But still weak , still a bit vulnerable
Six months pass
You become a ***
You make relationships with people
Because they make you feel good about yourself
And you foolishly get attached
Because your addicted to the feeling you get when they leave
Heart Wrenching sadness
Your so accustomed to it
And you think that the taste of salty tears would grow old
But depression comes in all different flavors
And when they bid you farewell
You promise yourself , no more
No more people
Just focus on yourself
But there is nothing to focus on
Because your so ******* broken that only the pieces of your shattered heart remain
And it's hard to explain what's going on inside your tangled mind
Your not even allowed to be okay when your not okay
Not allowed to smile in the midst of your tragedy
Because everybody is expecting you to be this sad piece of nothing
So when your anything and everything your not
You get **** for it
You’ve been getting **** for it
To this day you hide how you feel because the truth is to abhorrent to bear
Anytime you say that you don't want to do this anymore
Society says “ Your lying “
And you feed yourself lies
You tell yourself that your not enough
That you have never been enough
You never meet anybody's expectations
And you lean towards believing
That disappointment is just another form of terror
To cause trauma to what's left of your heart
And the worst thing about being a disappointment
Is the lack of trust from other people
They don't expect you to be there for them
Because the silence you were unknowingly feeding them is causing them to choke
And then everybody is gone
And you're to blame
YOUR TO BLAME
And you wonder and ponder upon ways to fix your heart
But it's not that easy
You need tools to fix something that is broken
Everyone who loved you were your tools
Tools no longer
You were the heavy lifter
You carried your overweight broken heart because ironically
You were the only one with that type of strength
So now your learning not to put it on the line
The hard way
Your lugging it behind you tied to a string because it fell off your shoulder
And you start to realize that absence makes the heart grow fonder
And that confuses you
Because its dead
Or so you thought
No matter how broken it is …
Your heart is the only thing that wont give up on you mentally
“If i could i would **** every insecurity that told you that you weren't enough “
remember how we forgot . no on really died in the wars we fought
Jordan Bass Nov 2017
Depression is deadly
It hides behind a mask
A mask of joy and pity

Depression is defined by
Self-hate
Self-deprecation
Self-harm

It holds you tight
Locks you in
Melts the key into a
Blade
Suffocates you then
Leaves
Abandones you and keeps
coming back to torture you

It stabs you
And leaves scars
That ****
It is parented by
Death and destruction

It controls you
Tells you to do things
Things you just have to
You can’t say no
No matter how much you want to

You try to call for
HELP
But no one will hear
Because it comes in the form
Of smiles and
I’m fines

It tears you down
And haunts your days
It sends hope through
Blades and Pills.
Makes you think that
You have tried
Even won

It destroys your
Future
Tears down your walls
Breaks away the hope of joy

Becomes the Queen
And calls for your head
You can try to lie in bed
But will be bombarded by
Thoughts of being dead

But if it left
You wouldn’t know how to
Continue
Would you be the fake strong
woman or the weak
Dying girl  

Depression is non existent
But suicide is for attention seekers
My pain is my shadow that no one can
See

Suicide was forbidden until I
Completely forgot my reason
To live
It happened quickly
Sliced
Hung
OD’ed

Depression is never there
Even when its staring them in the
Face
Even when you beg for
Someone to notice they
Never can

There is always a medical solution
Therapy, rehab,
“Tell me about yourself”
Lies,Lies,Lies

The only solution Suicide
Suicide I shall choose
When I can’t dream
Of that happy place
Given to my on a late night of
anxiety

I will send myself there
So i don’t have to wake up
I can finally be free

But for now
I can still see that place
While it may be far
It’s still barely there
Now that I am in your shoes with different size I understand why you did what you did.
This Journey call motherhood is not an easy one, you had a lot to carry I guess  that why you had to leave me behind.
Well let me tell you about her, she is a fusion of me and her dad. I wouldn’t say that I was ready for her but she was ready for me.
I asked God that “why would you let me be a parent when I have never been parented by my own parents?”
He said “you are going to parent yourself through that child, you are going to be a mother that you wanted your mother to be to you”. Well I have to say being my own mother is not easy maybe that’s why you did what you did.
As  I said before i am my mother’s child not my mother
Mya Jan 2018
She parented and loved
Only through yelling
I grew up assuming
It was the only way people communicated
the older i am met                                                      
the bolder the thatch-work of scabbing        
walls are thrown up in front of new ideas
and i am redirected       

the resinous connective issues  of the brain
     mineralization of thought
told and taught knots of gristle                                     
                    ­               enforced from childhood    they surface

i remember how things 'ought be'
the ways my parents parents  parented me
              the lessons recrystallize
cold hard classroom rosin develops       
 held in robust bond   well sold ideas are solid now 
                                         and they defy challenge

but challenge  i must insist        
                    as i resist  into reclining years
and fight this cementing form                               
founded on the dead corrective tissue
that is welcomed   by aging
The Old Versions

2

mineralization of thought
told and taught knots of grit
enforced from childhood lessons
recrystalize
rock formation of age [1st line ?]
a true thing to fight againgst on the way out
null to humanity
you can only persist as a red flag

9

correctional facility / 02/11/23


the older i am met
the bolder the thatch-work of scabbing
the resinous connective issues of the brain
thoughts solidify and defy challenge
cold hard classroom rosin
held in bond together
fighting sense and change

— The End —