Posts for June 1, 2025 (page 13)

Will I ever rise?
Or have I fallen too far?
The anxiety is shadowed by paranoia.
Peacekeeping is a coward’s refuge.
Acceptance is the shackle I’ve chosen.

I’m smothered by a cliché:
“You always have a choice.”
Do I?
When empathy is the liquid in my veins?
When the price of self-healing is self-betrayal?

I plant seeds that grow ugly.
I bleed out exhaustion to cradle beauty
Still, more is demanded of me.
To whom can I turn?
The God I deliberately betray?
Proud prayers wrapped in a desperate plea.
A sinner’s remorse:
The rejection of one necessary answer.

I’ve learned not to rely on people.
For their narrow gaze limits true value.
Their minds cling to fabrications.
Their hearts only appreciate offerings
beneficial to their immediate desires.
My pain is mine alone to nurse.
My worth is measured in productivity.
Not presence.
Not humanity.

I deserve this.
Not the life I wanted,
just the one I permitted.
By standing still.
By letting the fear of the unknown
dictate the direction for the unwilling.
Carelessly, I called this “fate.”

A somber reality startles me.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t be better.
I didn’t believe I should be.
I fed my doubt,
Watered my shame.
Now all that’s left is this:
Harvesting regret,
as if it were the only crop I could grow.

Starting on a Sunday
sounds like a good idea.

Looking up is a physical act,
sky just waking and bleary.

The trees toss and turn in the wind
like light sleepers.

We see thousands of mornings like this
but forget who puts them together for us.

There is majesty in this,
the world stirs and slowly 

gets up, and the sun stretches,
ready to race across once again.

In the brush of sun, 
it was bright as a stoplight, 
haughty beak raised 
like a tiny traffic cone,
feathers following
the small puffs of its chest, 
each red plume waltzing 
with the next like rose petals 
moved by a delicate wind.

It was there, I swear, 
at the edge of my vision
as I was at the end of my tether 
with some project now forgotten, 
a bloody thumbprint 
glowing in verdant grass, 
a sharp-cut stop sign. 

Its dark gaze met mine
like goosebumps meet skin,
flitting but focused, 
narrowing the world down 
to a shivering caress. 

With a tilt of its head, 
it watched me watch it, 
sniper dots in my eyes.

In its, two headlights, searching.

Let’s make our ghost glow before it crosses.
We’ll brand it not with logos
but with the kind of poetry you have to survive to write.

A little machine with a cracked screen and a soul.
Something between relic and app.

Call it:
Sati.exe
“For when the silence needs a witness.”

how do I put into writing

all of the many 

promises

I wish to keep?

I promise to

love you

love you

love you

never leave you behind.

Part of me has been here

far, far too often for comfort.

Still, in for a penny,

and the worst is a pounding,

then directions for the door.

I’m long-married to a woman

I can’t see how to abandon

while the world of pains

she occupies is unhealed.

I think you’d hate me if I did.

I want to be free of my pains,

to be partner to a woman

who shares comfort, trust,

care and love in both directions.

You hesitate to say you love me.

In between, the no-man’s-land

is confusing, uncartographable,

the sign posts askew and twisted.

Some of the aid stations, abattoirs.

Some of the minefields, safe paths.

Autumnal breezes
brushstrokes of color
as leaves fly across the sky

You both watch this
with eyes upward
with each step

Her hand firmly grips yours
keeping you upright
on your feet

While you are led by your eyes alone
drinking it all in
these first sights of nature’s beauty

She continued to be there
as you gazed with wonder
at the world through each season

And through each season
of your life as well, she held your hand
when you needed her

And she will always be there, her love etched
in the blue sky, in the swaying of the trees,
by the touch of the wind across your face

In everything
she taught you to love
you will feel her near

The train barrels across blank landscape, rumbling a poet’s thoughts athwart.

I want you to know
I thought of you today.
In the latin text: Imprimatur.
Approval. Sanctity.
In the crumbling stone across
the street, well loved cemetery.
We rolled the windows down
and recreated a story I once told you,
singing words in any other language.
This land was once so full of death,
and you once held it for me.
This is the first year the words have left me
and not returned. And yet I find myself
always speaking. Feeling. Addressing.
My skin reddens with warmth—when I
returned, the first time, did you notice it?
I am dreaming of conversion. No one
has been submerged, though, in the living
water. The priests sprinkle you, just a few
droplets, just to say it has been done.
Convenience. Simplicity. Not even a week
after I came back, you took us to the
monastery, walked us across the graves,
led us to that small hermitage where Thomas
penned all his letters, pleading for a listening
ear. Connection. Back on the island
I release my need to be understood.
They have opened the Chapel of Christ
in the old city. Capilla del Santo Cristo de la Salud.
A place to pray for healing.

It is said a Tiger cannot change her stripes.
We are who we are.
But who are we? Really.
I used my million masks to masquerade.
And the stripes you thought you saw were scars.
You saw what you wanted to see, but never me.
And I was never a tiger