This page holds poems written in 2010 and 2022; years marked by rupture, reflection, and emotional unrest. Rage, sorrow, sappy longing, and quiet depression thread through each line. These are not polished declarations. They are emotional artifacts.
Some verses burn.
Some ache.
Some simply exist because they had to.
Let this be the place where feeling is not filtered — only remembered.
Hating You
Roses are red, violets are blue,
these could be the reasons why I hate you.
You pay no rent and lie through your teeth,
like a frog in a frying pan beneath
a flame you lit no shame, no class.
Actually, more like a big mouth bass.
You pay no bills,
yet chase cheap thrills.
You ruined my wedding day,
and shattered my family’s holiday.
You’re ugly outside and in,
a walking storm of spite and spin.
You twist the truth, rewrite the scene,
and still pretend your hands are clean.
You give my mother heart pain,
make her lose sleep, drive her insane.
Could these be reasons for hating you?
These statements and allegations are true.
I’ve done the math, reviewed the facts
and you’re the source of all the cracks.
You make my family ache and stew.
This is why I am hating you.
Friends
Friends are just a word, however
it means a lot to one who has none.
Friends are like flowers; they blossom and bloom
into something special, but only for a moment.
One moment they thrive, the next they wilt,
and the silence that follows can feel like doom.
Friends are just people, yet to have an equal
brings a kind of quiet joy.
Even one true friend can fill the empty spaces,
help you move, help you breathe,
help you get things done.
I say this because I have few
but the few I have are enough.
They are true.
They come in different shapes, colors, stories,
and somehow that makes them greater.
Some people gather crowds,
but for me, four is just right.
I have room for more,
but you must be something rare
to catch my attention.
Maybe you love poetry or art,
or maybe you carry a spark of passion
for anything at all
just something worth mentioning.
Friends are friends, no matter the distance,
no matter the background or size.
To see honesty in someone’s eyes
is to be given a quiet prize,
one that lingers through the end of time.
This is what everyone hopes for,
whether they say it or not
a word that stretches far beyond itself:
Friends.
Our Fear
Confusion lurks among the best of us
as we rush through each day,
scavenging for what we need,
moving through the darkest woods
with only instinct as our guide.
Yet sometimes, in that shadowed place,
we stumble upon a quiet honor —
a small reminder of virtue and pride
hidden where we least expect it.
We ride the waves of something older,
a spirit tied to earth and stone,
the breath behind all living things,
a presence shaped by storm and calm,
by wildness and wisdom alike.
So let us raise a modest feast
to greet the turning of the year,
and hope that sorrow fades enough
that sadness becomes the least
of all our fear.
The Enchanted Moon
Dance the dance of many
with time enough to savor
the life that was given.
The knife is no longer needed.
We pleaded for acceptance,
but it never came,
only the quiet weight
of old resentments.
Dance beneath the light
until the dark thins away.
Let it fade,
let it fall from your sight.
Step again into the glow,
where shadows soften
and the night remembers your name.
Dance upon
the enchanted moon.
