loving you feels like standing in the rain
calling out to someone who never turns around
like i am always a few steps behind
always almost reaching you

you never ask me to stay
but you never ask me to leave either
and so i stay
hoping my presence fills the silence you do not know how to speak through

i see you shut down
fold into yourself like a house with no lights on
and i wait outside the door
cold
but willing

sometimes it feels like i give you all my warmth
and watch you wear it like armor
never noticing the chill i am left with

i want to be angry
i want to scream that this is not fair
that love is not meant to feel so lonely
but instead i go quiet
and keep loving you in the only way you seem to allow

and maybe you will never say it
but i think you know
i think you see all that i carry
all that i lose to make space for your silence

and that is enough

i wanna scream
and shout
and let it all out

we all talk
about the now
being in the know
knowing where to go
going where we already know

where is now?
geographically, not mentally.
where must i be
to be present
presenting the PowerPoint
my life on display
is it Jakarta? berlin?
baku, beijing or dublin?

how is now served to you?
any dietary requirements to be aware of?
hot or cold? or even, lukewarm?
is it customized to your liking?
or unaltered? half cooked?
medium rare?

do you tip the server
of your now dish?
or consume it
on your genetically altered past plate
with your fragile future fork
knowing when you're done
you'll pay the bare minimum?

when you purchase your now house
and live in it with your now wife
and now kids
with a cute now dog
will you wonder who lost their now
so you could have yours?

Listen.
Stop not listening.

I’ve been tapped.
Sap bleeds.
It stings where sweetness lives.

Give me your ears.
I’ll torch ‘em to caramel.
I don’t need your lips,
your yowls, your static.
But taste.

Just ******* syrup.

Your screech gnaws
at the stem of my melody.

Eat the fruit.
Chew the pit.

This dreadful old woman yells on her phone,
All her hate echoing through her trailer.
Nothing is enough for her high "standards."
Always too little or too much talking.

She laughs a rancid, wheezy laugh,
Poking fun at the less fortunate and disabled.
Slurs are a part of her daily vocabulary,
Towards others, towards her own grandchild.

Despite being a woman she hates them,
Wishes they would stay home, out of her way.
"Women shouldn't drive, shouldn't lead, shouldn't..shouldn't..."
She sees herself exempt from those rules.

She lounges on her couch,
Scrolling on her one-of-many smart phones,
Insulting others for even daring to look at a screen,
While the small blue screen lights her wrinkles.

Lies and hate blast from the TV,
All are pale privileged men full of hate,
The only ones she listens to.
They preach their superiority over all.

She loosely holds her vape,
Between her rough and bony fingers.
Somehow convinced it's not smoking.
While vapors surround her and cloud the air.

Anyone and everyone different is her enemy,
You must be a white, Christian,
Republican, straight, cis, able bodied,
Citizen to gain any respect from this wretched woman.

The truth is only what she likes,
Only what she agrees with.
She closes her ears to logic and empathy,
She feeds on the hate of those like her.

I do not like my grandmother.

I lit a candle, hoping You’d see the smoke
Whispered Your name when the nights felt too long
Kept a cross beside my bed like it could heal me
But my prayers just echo back like I’m the only one here
I forgave when it hurt, said “Amen” through the pain
Thought if I knelt long enough, You would explain
But silence is louder than thunder tonight
And I’m tired of folding my hands just to cry
They told me You listen
But I’ve been screaming in whispers
And now I’m a solar flare, burning with rage
You left me in darkness, now I light up in flames
I begged You for mercy, You gave me a cage
I used to believe, now I curse Your name
You watched me fall, and You just stared
Now I’m rising, untamed, in a solar flare
I gave You my secrets, my hollowed-out trust
I carved out my soul and called it "faith" just because
But You sent me storms when I needed light
And I waited for grace that never arrived
Do You hear me now?
Or am I still just too small?
'Cause I’m a solar flare, glowing with scars
Every unanswered prayer left a burn on my heart
You watched as they broke me, said nothing at all
So I built a cathedral from ruins and ash
Did You ever love me, or was I just noise?
A flicker in the void, a child with no voice
Did You test me for fun, or were You ever there?
Was I your mistake? Did You even care?
I shattered in silence, begged for a sign
And You gave me absence and called it divine
Well now I’m not begging—I'm breaking the air
Let heaven shake—I’m your solar flare
Now I’m a solar flare, a fury untamed
You let me burn, now you’ll know my name
I begged for Your mercy, I begged for Your care
But all I found was a void and despair
I gave You my trust, and You left me there
Now I rise, I burn—watch me flare.
I prayed, I cried, I hoped for a sign
But You gave me nothing—now this flame is mine.
And I’ll burn, I’ll burn, I’ll burn...
In a solar flare…

You probably think
that I go around
thinking about how
Bukowski would approach
what I'm trying to say
well, I don't.
Yes, he's my favorite poet
and I respect his work
and the amount of honesty
he puts in his words
but if you think
that I don't know
that he *******
sprinkled on his work
and that he exaggerated
his life style, stories,
poems, novels.
then you haven't
read enough
of his work
(or mine) to know
that me and Charles
are nothing alike
and that makes you
irrelevant.

A sack of flaming dog ****
on someone's
welcome mat
ready to be put out
by the home owner
who will stomp you out
look at their shoes
and look at you
rinse you off
with the backyard hose
and forget that you
ever bothered him in the first place

within a couple of weeks.

And that's what makes you
my eternal enemy
because no one cares
about your opinion
of my work
and how different
and unique it is
from Bukowski's.
And if that's true
then the chances are
no one else will either.
God has doomed me
to be a hell of a writer
who can see right through
your lavender
infused poetry—
Leave it for the tea bags.
That's the prospect
I'll have to live with
as I am right now
at 4 am
while I stare at the walls
my dog twitches
while he sleeps on the floor
and while he dreams
insomnia
keeps me company
while it rains.

Oh, and *******.