Life slows, and finally, when we need it the most, seconds before we might explode, we find the time to reflect. The repressed self pulls at us, guiding us to where we need to go, hammering us with what we’ve been avoiding. We almost forgot, we were making friends with our own Shadow, before she punched a hole in our soul and we willingly crawled on our bellies through the hole to make sure she was okay. Oh how the Shadow has grown now. And he’s more distinct—more defined—

Give me a minute or two and I’ll tell you about the man from Mount Hope You see, he started as God’s biggest joke Sad, scared and all too aware His breaking dreams were stacking up Weak, anxious and broken The man from Mount Hope stopped hoping Laughed at Underestimated Hated The man limped through life, Head down, hood up, headphones in, Society didn’t make sense to him So he ignored them, Listening to nothing but his soul He dug a hole Down Down Down he went Alway

Our most authentic version of ourselves is never the comfortable version. How could it be? In this country, we are sold comfort in every ad we see, yet, no one is authentic. Everyone is comfortably uncomfortable living someone else's life. In a society that does their best to mold us to the collective will, how could our authentic selves be comfortable? How would that even be possible? . . . Where is the space for us to bloom? There is none. In psychology, they tell us th

“Empathy without boundaries is simply self-destruction.” - Random dude with glasses. Whoa, that’s a hard hitter, my guy. Take it easy on me. Don’t come at me with ‘destructive empathy’. Just let me be. I just want to be. Let me exist just like this, even if it is destructive . . . Shit. We can’t just be, can we? . . . I see. Everyone is a little wonky. But she still loves me . . . doesn’t she? “Someone punches a hole through your whole life and you crawl into that hole, sear

He always was supposed to love her shadow. One day we will shrivel up and become old. Our spines will curve. Our hips will ache. We will need canes. We will have to squint to read things. One day it will be hard to hear. And we will probably smell funky to the young people. One day our skin will sag, and the bags under our eyes will be so sunken in; they won’t even believe us when we tell them we used to be young and beautif

Today it's the violin that moves the pen And with my left hand The demons and darkness rise And with my right hand The light and hope Rage against the forever night Nothing is planned Everything is improv It all stays more real this way A spontaneous series of events Chained together Creating a human A human capturing a moment By cementing his emotion A grain in a hourglass Stretching out for eternity Hungry for immortality While being burnt out of from the day-to-day Di

The Willow watches the lovers make promises they can’t keep. And the Willow weeps. The Ponderosa wakes to the songs the birds preach. Old songs of two souls entangled fill their seeds. Planted deep in the earth lies the dreams we dare not speak. The sun sighs before she shines, And the moonlight lingers at the dive bar past closing time. The stars cry, shooting across the sky, wishing lovers had more time. Music transcends space and time and moves the hollow heart beat. Wh

Like a lion, I rip apart this cinnamon raisin bagel, before plunging my face into this coffee, lapping up the sugar and caffeine. I wipe the cream cheese off my face with my sleeve. The lady across from me looks disgusted. I reckon she’s never seen a free human before. The coffee shoots through me, so I pull out my pecker and piss on the floor. She’s never seen a free human before . . . I stand on the table and do a cartwheel, and I feel free— I feel like me. This is it, this

I’ve talked enough. I’ve said my peace. I am in pieces. I have to get the dark out of me. My own mind has let me down; It got me here and then turned its back to me. This is my fault. I did this. I thought myself into misery when I could’ve been happy. This damn pen And everything I imagine. I asked for love. I asked for someone special. I waited and suffered for it. I fought for it. I lost so much to get it. And once I finally had it . . . I pushed it away. I swear I am okay

I suppose we never do find our soulmates, do we? . . . But, only because soulmates aren't found, they're made by two people choosing to build something special together. What we’ve been looking for was always lingering inside of us. The magic is who we choose to be, not in what we feel. CH 9/7/26

Like a stone, We sink like a stone. Another rock at the bottom. It’s numb down here. Ghosts of what we would’ve been circle us. Unfulfilled dreams and promises haunt us. The Reaper hunts us. Time moves so slow. It’s cold. We never could live a shallow life, But this is too deep. We took it all too far. The masks we wear are cracking. The performance is done. The next act waits in the distance, unwritten. We threw our wishes down

Chapter 24 (Untitled Fantasy Novel) Someone started to pound their mug onto the table, chanting ‘speech’ with each pound. Soon, the whole room was doing it. Mr. Freedom popped up on a table, standing on it with a mug of ale in his hand. The room went still, no one moving or speaking, everyone waiting on his words. “. . . I asked a man once, “‘What is freedom?’” Do you know what he told me? He told me that freedom is mathematics because abstraction frees him from the shackle

“God will punish you by giving you everything you ever wanted,” he said to me. He was a retired boxing champ and he was sitting next to me, talking casually. I ordered a whiskey and drank it nervously. He was so damn intense. “God will punish you by giving you everything you ever wanted just to see if you can handle it—to see if you really want what you ask for.” “Huh,” I said, looking at my glass, shaking it so the cube of ice rattled around. “What we think we want in lif

Paint your dream house, that was the assignment for the group of kids in the small art room. My kid was just sitting there, staring at the wall. I’d ask him, “Do you want to draw?” and he’d just shake his head. “Do you want to paint? Do you want to do any art?” Nothing. So I’d go back to reading Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland and wait. He didn’t move. Eventually, I set my book down and decided to try to lead by example. A house with Kaitlyn, in the country, with a flower

“All great artists have popcorn.” “Really? “Yep.” “I’ll remember that.” “Write it down so you don’t forget.” “Right. Good idea.” “Should I use this color?” “Do whatever you want. I won’t ever stifle someone's creativity. Be free to express yourself however you need to.” “I think I’ll color this one as a pink polka dotted dragon.” “Polka dot’s? Are you— . . . I love the idea. Let’s see it.” “And this one will be gold with black stripes?

The bar’s chatter pinballs in and out of my ears. One conversation catches in one ear before another conversation catches in the other ear. They hit each other out of my head before I can focus and hone in on one of them. It’s almost white noise. 40 year old music plays from the speakers above our heads. My beer sits in front of me; half full or half empty, I’ve never been able to tell the difference. I can confidently say that half of it sits in my belly right now. It’s 1:20

I’ll leave the porchlight on for you so you can find your way home in the darkness. And if you stumble through the night I’ll come and help. Lean on me, as we limp back home; as we find our way to the light again. And if you are too drunk And can’t drive, And everything inside of you is breaking, So you sit on the curb outside the bar, And cry, I’ll come and pick you up. I’ll take you home. I’ll be the porchlight. I’ll be the lighthou

Love her like a rose But don't you dare trim her thorns She grew them for a reason And if they bite you It's probably because someone tried to pluck her once or twice Instead of letting her be free to grow Love her Shine for her Be the soil Be the water she needs But let her grow Whatever way she wants to Be her home Not a cage Fake flowers displayed on a stage can’t grow But she is a rose Be gentle with her You two are in this together Be patient And kind Lust for her mi

I've hurt myself much more than you ever could, Love. I’ve been colder than the worst winter we’ve ever had. I’ve burned hotter than the bluest of flames. I went insane at a hauntingly young age. There’s an itch stitched behind my eyes whispering to me, telling me to misbehave. There is nothing you could do to me that I haven’t done to myself already. This life was always heavy. And I used to be lonely. There’s no blood left to bleed inside of me. And I don’t ask for hel

“I don't know how anyone can work a full-time job and have a hobby, Babe.” “I feel the same way. I wasn’t made to work forty hours a week.” “I can’t find the time to write. I don't have enough energy for anything else besides working, minimal exercise and a fading social life.” “There aren’t enough hours in the day.” “Imagine what it will be like when we have a baby? And then a toddler?” “We won’t even have time to breathe.” “How will we manage?” “Insanity?” “Maybe. I’ve been