beauty, love, poetry, Uncategorized

a glove

Imagine a soul

Like a glove

Turned inside out

For so long

Its forgotten itself

We’ve all been there,

Awkward and marked like

Cain for failing to deliver

A fitting sacrifice

Yet all around

Over

Within

There is love,

And the courage to love

And despite all evidence

To the contrary

There are a million

Tiny acts of kindness

Like stars

And through them

Through one another

We make the darkness

A little less dark,

And the glove

Still fits my fingers

The material breathes

And so will I

And so will you.

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poetry, Uncategorized

Funeral

I know I’ll leave

Things unfinished

Things unsaid

And all I’ve held in

Will rot with me

I have wondered who’ll

Mourn me

My children,

Eyes darkened in the

Way only grief manages,

Will I die a good man

A good death?

Will those who’d spit

In my face

Spit on my grave?

Will some part of me

Live on beyond my

Children?

There’s a good way to

Go as yet and these questions

Aren’t offered in self pity

Because there’s a sweetness

In being temporary

But will you kiss me

Again?

Tell me I matter

One

Last

Time

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poetry, Uncategorized

Quiet

Everything’s got the

Volume muted

Each breath is a grateful prayer

Deep in the pages of a book

I’ve been pursuing,

Chapters stolen like kisses,

I look good today

Even if it’s only me

Who appreciates the effort

Alone but not lonely,

Replenished in regal solitude,

There are irritations and

Challenges,

But I’ve lost the taste

For victimhood,

Here is where my soul resides

And if someone sees it

I hope they smile

And slip into the warm caramel

Of my attention

My company,

Another page,

Another cigarette,

Borrowed awhile

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blogging, creative writing

Four Years

Forgive the navel gazing, but I got a notification I’ve been writing on here for four years.

There’s 1100 of you who follow me. I’m not sure how many of you are still reading or writing here at all, let alone reading my work.

For those of you who are:

Thank you.

Writing is my purpose, but it’s not always an easy one to walk. I take a tremendous amount of joy in it but it lends itself to external and internal frustrations. It is a constant education across a variety of areas. It’s changed me as much as I’ve changed it, and there are those who would characterise it as a flaw over a virtue.

I would write if no one was reading. If you are, if I’ve entertained you or made you feel something, then it’s all been worth it.

Here’s to another four years, if the platform lasts that long, or becomes extinct.

It’s a rough time for a lot of people, it always has been but art is something we use, whether consuming it or making it, to learn from the bad experiences and celebrate the good.

We’re all just walking one another home. I’ll tell you a story along the way, if you’ll keep walking with me.

Thank you.

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men, politics, Uncategorized, writing

Incel

I don’t write this from an elevated perspective nor in judgement. My relationships speak to the good and bad we

I don’t write this from an elevated perspective nor in judgement. My relationships speak to the good and bad we all face, and I’m informed by my failures as much as my successes. I’ve rejected and been rejected, it’s the latter which informs this train of thought.

Most people weren’t aware of incels until today if they are at all. It is short for involuntary celibate, a designation made by men who haven’t been able to form romantic or sexual attachments at all. They congregate online, Reddit and there’s a lot of resentment expressed there. Hatred, in a lot of cases, and it leads to expressions and calls for violence. That’s a surface level interpretation of a subculture so infused with irony and sarcasm but there’s one of them who’s made it happen. I won’t write his name down because he’s a symbol now, an apogee for a situation where everyone has been throwing opinions around. There’s been a consistent narrative of mockery and emasculation to push and it comes from left wing/liberals (which I’ve considered myself to be albeit with some concerns) Is it any wonder they developed into an ideology which leads to murder?

Rejection is not an excuse for acts which impinge on the lives of others. Rejection hurts but it teaches by it being a painful experience. When lobsters lose mating competition battles with other lobsters, they shrink in size and experience depression (they have similar nervous systems as human beings) and slip down the hierarchy until they win again.

What if they never win? I wonder if it is something there, but it denies their humanity, and these days it is easy to forget we’re talking and commenting on the words and actions of other human beings. I feel disappointment because anger won’t solve this, and neither will love. There are winners and losers in everything, and perhaps they brought into the illusion of equity our culture espouses in terms of love.

Is it entitlement? If some cultural expectations and tenets of love are an illusion, then the idea might seek to plant roots in the soil of young minds and create an expectation of sex, or love by the virtue of approaching with it in mind.

There are illusions which kill people.

These are boys grown older, but not up. No one starts them into manhood, so they try to figure it out on their own and on the nights when it difficult to breathe when you’re nursing the bitter sting of loss, these ideas, these other people come to you like a fairy tale and they lure you in.

I wrote about this because things like this happen and you see blame but not understanding, and it given under the auspices of grief but its politicized and used to berate men. People die and we use it to hurt one another.

Rejection hurts but love hurts too. They are beautiful and painful kinds of hurt, and to use them as a means to make other people suffer betrays what happened.

Ten people won’t get to feel love or rejected again.

Fourteen are suffering more than most of us will ever know.

There’s lots to go around but at least we should be kind to one another.
face, and I’m informed by my failures as much as my successes. I’ve rejected and been rejected, it’s the latter which informs this train of thought.

Most people weren’t aware of incels until today if they are at all. It is short for involuntary celibate, a designation made by men who haven’t been able to form romantic or sexual attachments at all. They congregate online, mostly Reddit and there’s a lot of resentment expressed there. Hatred, in a lot of cases, and it leads to expressions and calls for violence. That’s a surface level interpretation of a subculture so infused with irony and sarcasm but there’s one of them who’s  made it happen. I won’t write his name down because he’s a symbol now, an apogee for a situation where everyone has been throwing opinions around. There’s been a consistent narrative of mockery and emasculation to push and it comes from left wing/liberals(which I’ve considered myself to be albeit with some concerns) Is it any wonder they developed into an ideology which leads to murder?

Rejection is not an excuse for acts which impinge on the lives of others. Rejection hurts but it teaches by it being a painful experience. When lobsters lose mating competition battles with other lobsters, they shrink in size and experience depression (they have similar nervous systems as human beings) and slip down the hierarchy until they win again.

What if they never win? I wonder if it is something there, but it denies their humanity, and these days it is easy to forget we’re talking and commenting on the words and actions of other human beings. I feel disappointment because anger won’t solve this, and neither will love. There are winners and losers in everything, and perhaps they brought into the illusion of equity our culture espouses in terms of love.

Is it entitlement? If some of the cultural expectations and tenets of love are an illusion then the idea might seek to plant roots in the soil of young minds and create an expectation of sex, or love simply by the virtue of approaching with it in mind.

There are illusions which kill people.

These are boys grown older, but not up. No one initiates them into manhood, so they try to figure it out on their own and on the nights when its difficult to breathe when you’re nursing the bitter sting of loss, these ideas, these other people come to you like a fairy tale and they lure you in.

I wrote about this because things like this happen and you see blame but not understanding, and its given under the auspices of grief but its politicised and used to berate men. People die and we use it to hurt one another.

Rejection hurts but love hurts too. They are beautiful and painful kinds of hurt, and to use them as means to make other people suffer betrays what happened.

Ten people won’t get to feel love or rejected again.

Fourteen are suffering more than most of us will ever know.

There’s lots of it to go around but at least we should be kind to one another.

 

 

 

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beauty, love, masculinity, poetry, Uncategorized

Regal Pronouncement

I need no grand

Displays

The reward is in

The process,

As I write,

So I love,

Live and die,

Disposable to society’s

View but I am a king

Whose kingdom,

Is in the light of my

Eyes

The turn of my smile

The strength of my hand,

Ask my enemies,

Over my friends,

Defined by neither

Too closely,

You step into my

World and bring only

Yourself,

It is enough to build

A world within.

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men, poetry, Uncategorized

Pockets of Hell

They bear

The same face,

Pinched and disconnected,

Cans clutched

Like child’s toys

Lines carved into sallow cheeks

Eyes looking out

At a past too

Much to bear,

I used to believe

Hell was a place outside

Oceans of coruscating fire,

Souls writhing in

Torment

But I know different,

It’s a thing we create,

Small pockets of

Despair

We step over on the way to

Kinder places,

I’ve been there,

And I’m not smug

For having escaped,

Kindly to those trapped inside,

But I watch someone

Talking about white male

Privilege as she glances

At her phone,

Sips coffee from a branded cup,

Walking past those of us,

Former and current

Occupants

Of Hell and I wonder what

Her version resembles,

And whether it

Looks like Hell to her

At all.

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