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.

I am worthy of her love. She is worthy of my love. I attract what is meant for me. She loves me. She can't get over me. I can’t get over her. We both know we belong together. She can't resist this pull to me. And I am addicted to her. The Universe/God has us together for a reason. We are a beautiful couple with limitless potential. I love her. She loves me. We will be together. She misses me too much. She aches without me. I drown without her. I am the perfect partner for her

Huh? . . . they invited me to their wedding? That’s a little wonky. That smells fishy. It’s their second time getting married. Honestly, I am pretty damn surprised they invited me. I am a bit of a wildcard when it comes to her. I could do anything. I could show up naked and object. I could expose everything. I could parachute down from the sky and steal the bride. Her and I never did anything right. No, we did everything wrong. We dated too soon. We lived together too early

Tell me something Anything Because lately I’ve been all or nothing for a lady And losing her in slow motion like this Is making me a little crazy So feed me something new Tell me something funny Let me read a new story Keep the news and keep your views Read me some inspiring poetry instead Come and find me I’ll probably be in bed But every now-and-then I’ll be at a coffee shop or a bar Or at a park with a book Knock on my door Give me a call

There is a secret city in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest, where everyone who lives there owns a few money trees, planted in front of their million dollar home, next to their three $80,000 cars, obviously. The folks that find this city are given secret seeds to the sacred money trees. It’s their ‘reward’ for finding the hidden city. They just have to sell their eyesight to receive them. Most do. A few turn away. Most plant their sacred seeds and wait for them to gr

So many others out there suffer—probably everyone. Yet, I focus almost solely on the suffering that belongs to her and I. How selfish of me. Easing the suffering of others through a few words glued and stitched together, is probably better than focusing on her and I. I've forgotten about you. I've forgotten about the zoo (society). I wonder what you are going through. . . It’s been awhile since I looked out this window. Jeez, it's dark out there. To my surprise, it's a s

It's right before the sun rise and you've spent an eternity searching for the light, fighting against the forever night. You shiver. You tremble. You growl, like a wolf calling to the moon. You call for the sun to rise. There are no stars in the sky tonight. It is the blackest of blacks—the darkest of darks. If you can just make it a few more minutes you’ll feel the sun rays on your skin again. Just a few more minutes until the sun rises— until the light shines. It’s

Do we always believe the person we are in love with deserves the very best? But, how much do we have to love our own selves to believe we are what they deserve? Or, will we always believe they deserve better than us? CH 4/19/26