The mountain moved! I swear the mountain across the river moved! You see, I asked for it to. It was blocking my view of the sunset. So I closed my eyes, and in my mind, I kindly asked the mountain to move. It moved a couple miles to the left. I swear it’s true! The mountain really did move . . . I wouldn’t lie to you! I am only slightly drunk; and yes, I’ve fallen down; my head did hit the ground; I am seeing double; But still! I made a mountain move by just asking it to! How

“Be still And know I am God.” 300 trillion living cells make up me, and I, them. I speak to them. I really do. I speak to them just like I speak to you. It’s true. And I tell them, “Be still And know I am God.” When I slow life down, My mind Gives me a pocket of peace. When I slow life down, My mind allows me to speak— And agrees to listen. I say, “Be still And know I am God.” As I shake in the cold shower, Freezing my balls off, I tell my body, “Be still A

Talk shit about men and you’ll get a few snaps Talk shit about the government and you’ll get a few claps Talk shit about white folks and you’ll get a few toasts Talk shit about the rich and you’ll be sure to be a hit Talk about how we are all sad and on drugs and a few are sure to come up to you afterwards and give you a hug Talk shit about the ignorant and the intelligent, and you’ll gain everyone's respect. Sprinkle in some sex And maybe a few of your kinks And feel the

You lazy sonofabitch. When are you going to get off your goddamn couch and take a risk? How much longer are you going to wait for it? Go take it. Become it. Stop being a coward. Drown the doubt. Now it is the time for radical action. Put down your screen And find out what your life means. Jump. Fly. Live before you die. You will regret the chances you never take more than the mistakes you make. Be brave. Take the stage. Drop the mask. Act as if it’s inevitable.

To sell a soul— Someone else's or your own— For a coin or two, Just to get ahead in this Zoo, It is a tragic waste of a good soul; yours and theirs. It is not what you were meant for. It’s not who we were meant to be. It is simply Conformity. Your time is the real currency; So is your attention. Don’t you dare waste it. The wheel spins; Turn and face it. Money is a funny game, It’ll take a good kid, And make the man he’s

I wonder what social media would be if we posted all of our lives and not just the prettiest and shiniest moments from it . . . This is all fake, and it's also very real. It's a sleight of hand - an illusion. It's a mirage and a facade. It's birthdays, vacations, sunsets, celebrations and promotions spun back on a looney loop. Honestly, to me it is selective honesty; a mask; a display; a stage. Show me all you

Staring at a picture of her and I, I start to feel alive. She pulls away. She hides. I am too much; Always too much for the wrong lady. Gray hairs on my chest now; This one drives me crazy. This love is toxic, But some poisons heal. This love kills, And heals, And repeats; So I let it kill me. Like my boy Dostoevsky said, “I ran into love because I needed it to destroy who I used to be.” This love doesn’t let me rest peacefully, It demands all

After working with people who have disabilities for the last 6 months, I can honestly say, the biggest disability a human can have is a bad mindset. Also, I’d like to add, I’ve been given the ‘R’ word pass. They accept me as one of their own. Just thought you should know. ✌️ CH 5/28/26

Burn me down Bury me six feet under the ground Strip me bare Expose everything Throw your stones Take my home Delete everything I claim to know Take my heart, rip it out of my chest; Watch it pump; Watch it bleed What do I really need? Kill the boy I used to be Let him go; Let him die; Murder my fragile identities Drown me in your love Poison me with your pain Let your true self push me off a cliff Let me fall Leave me lifeless Suck the air out of my lungs Break my bones

I get older in the winter. And younger in the summer. . . . That’s it. That’s the poem. . . . . . . . . . You can leave now. . . . . . . That’s really it. . . . . . . I get older in the winter. . . . And I get younger in the summer. . . . . . . As a result, I never age. . . . It’s true. I’m still Clint Haugen. Nothing about that has changed. I never age. . . . . . . I just change the way I behave. I just interpret the

If I choose myself, If I really choose myself, Then I am choosing the me that loves you; Because I do love you. So how can I choose myself and not love you? It is the ‘I’ that loves you—the ‘me’. ‘The myself’ that I chose is so in love with you. I can't choose a version of me that doesn't want to share a life with you because that version of myself doesn't exist. That isn't me. It's a fantasy. I, Clint Haugen, love you. If I choose myself, than I choose you. It’s inevitable

The 12th grape. This lady just asked for my 12th grape I’m pretty sure that’s December . . . But, she’s cute, And I either hooked up with her or her twin sister a few years ago, And we are under a table together, As midnight strikes. My date, who isn’t this lady under the table with me, Gave us all plastic baggies with 12 green grapes in them. She instructed us to eat them all as soon as midnight hits. Apparently it’s some tradition from somewhere—I wasn’t really listening, I

The Blackbird has to learn that intimacy isn’t a threat; that being close doesn’t mean losing herself. She must learn to set boundaries before shutting down, instead of disappearing when emotions rise. The Scorpion has to learn that love doesn’t have to be chased. And that space

How do we start again? Can we forget the past? How long does a love like this last? Should we give us another chance? We’ve changed, haven’t we? It won’t be like it was before. It could be less. It could be more. It could be completely different this time. What does our love bloom into now? Is it stronger than it was? Is it more steady? Are we ready? We tried to let go; We tried to move on; But here we are again, Knocking on love’s door. It w

The dying star was a blue blur in the telescope As soon as he said that we’d be looking at a dying star, I felt uneasy. A strange dizziness hit me in that small observatory. A dying star?? . . . A dying star? It felt like something I shouldn’t see. The death of a star . . . Who wants to watch anything die? Let alone something as beautiful and mysterious as a star? Not me. Not I. I don’t want to watch an angel die. I’d rather not be here when the dying of the light finally

One towel was all I used to own. Now I have four. Last summer, when she came and stayed, she had something to say about my lonely towel. I went to work the next day, and when I came home, I had two more towels in my bathroom. I only ever needed one towel before. I’ve always been my own company. Someone else was always missing. I just never knew who. -CH 4/26/26

How does one even practice poetry? Bad poetry is almost universally hated. Most people are terrified of writing bad poetry. Few are dumb enough to let their pen freely move across a page. And almost no one loves themself enough to read their words while on a stage. I swear Jane Austin said something about how quickly poor poetry can kill a romance. But good poetry can give the illusion of real romance. It’s a trap—a trick. Still though, in this greedy and mater

The professor paced back and forth in front of his students. 60 minutes of psychology had already spouted out of him. He was animated. His hands were constantly moving as if he was orchestrating a symphony. Passion was oozing out of him. He stopped pacing and saw the hand raised. A young man was waiting patiently. The professor called on him. He stood and asked, “The depth of my consciousness causes me to suffer . . . Is it a blessing or a curse to feel everything so deeply?

There's a sweet old lady who lives in the sky, on top of the clouds, collecting the wishes thrown down wishing wells. She saves them for ‘rainy days’. One year ago today, I made a wish, throwing everything I owned (even my bed and my clothes) down a well. I had wished for a magical kind of love. Today it rains. It rains and rains and rains. A chilly wind cuts through whatever skin is exposed. The rain is almost snow. Where the hell did the sun go? I look up to the sky and

We didn’t end up together. It all fell apart. She didn’t come back. There was no playlist We missed our moment. There were no apologies. There was no forgiveness. It all faded away. I didn’t listen to her favorite band over and over again. I didn’t let her back in. I ignored all of the sweet and dark beauty inside of her. I didn’t love her. And she never loved me. I stayed away. She stayed away. It was okay that way. There was no reconnection. We aren’t quantuamly entangled.