When Fern replaced Jack,
There was no turning back.
It felt like an attack,
And then the friendship cracked.
As the people chose their factions,
And Jack found himself alone,
He came to the conclusion,
Breaking free from his delusion,
That the only person’s word that he could count on was his own.

It happened rather fast,
A single moment passed.
A new transfer student,
Felt that he needed to be included.
He didn’t want to be alone,
So he found the nearest friend group,
And hoped they’d take him as their own.

He walked to the group,
Who were trapped in their coops,
Scrolling through their tombs,
Not having anything to say.
Fern cleared his throat,
His anxiety was flying high.
As he stuttered,
“H-h-hi-hi.”

The group was surprised, someone new had bothered,
To approach them,
Especially someone so nervous.
They pondered,
What his ulterior motive was,
As they looked him up and down.
Fern frowned.
Were they judging him?
His hands shook,
As sweat trickled to the ground.
Eventually, Jack got up,
Took his hand and shook it.
“I’m Jack!”
The moment,
That Jack wished he could take back.

Freshman year went on,
And nothing consequential changed.
Fern grew closer to the group,
As life kept turning the pages,
Of their stories,
Growing closer to the heartbreaking ending.

Sophomore year began,
And Jack noticed that things felt off,
Not oppressive,
But enough that he wanted it to stop.
Fern brought another friend along,
And Jack found himself sitting alone,
Fern’s friend just seemed more interesting,
Than Jack ever was.
Jack’s friends used to talk to him,
Then they didn’t.
Jack figured out right away,
That this was how it felt to be replaced.

So Jack went out of his way,
To avoid his “friends” every day.
If they didn’t care,
He wouldn’t let it tear down his sails.
It hurt,
But he knew he’d heal.
He’d leave them behind,
Clawing at his heels.

When Fern replaced Jack,
There was no turning back.
It felt like an attack,
And then the friendship cracked.
As the people chose their factions,
And Jack found himself alone,
He came to the conclusion,
Breaking free from his delusion,
That the only person’s word that he could count on was his own,
And that was okay!

his words tangled into his heart, pulling and strangling his blood.
the ink would spew through his eyes, and when he got his hands on paper,
haunting tales of sweet creatures and punishment from devinity.
his stories meant more then anything they taught us to learn.
his words were the things that he left behind.

You smile as my iris go wide,
watching me stir wake to the realization
you are once again by my side.

In another life I would've jumped out of bed.
But in this one I am paralyzed;
I'd rather lay here with you instead.

Its not often we find ourselves lost to time
like this.  
A soft caress, a kiss.
Your head nestled on my chest.

You close your eyes
slipping-it seems-back into deep rest.

I like moments like this best.
Its the greed in me that ponders how to
prolong this state of superposition.
Not really asleep nor awake.
The world hasn't claimed stake over us yet.
With dejected protest,
my mortal form rejects the cold logic
that this scene- like a dream,
no beginning or end, only lasts
a few seconds more.
You yawn and I gleam how this will all change.
I feel the heat of an asteroid erasing
my world of the dinosaur.

You tease as you stretch,
something about how loud I snore.
In our sunday morning jest I see
infinite solutions,
stitched together, like the seam work
of your favorite duvet.

(With all these diverging paths,
how can I only pick one way?)

I know what's coming next,
can hear what you will soon say.
It's reverberating in my ears already
as you ponder the problem of wasting away
on this lovely,
summer day.

Your form is obscured from my vision.
A silhouette deciding between jeans or a dress.
Fighting with your hair, proclaiming it a mess.
The whole of you obscured by the wall partition.

You blow a frustrated raspberry which
makes me smirk.
Mutter under your breath,"I guess this will work."
I hear you ruminate in the restroom,
pairing accessories with a flowery blouse and a pencil skirt.

All the while humming a tune from a song
we both know.

Its time now.
Time to let that sliver of a scene we shared earlier go.
I can feel warmth through our window.
that moment I loved has grown into something new,
and I'm left with the dissatisfaction-no,
that is a childish reaction:
even though that scene is gone I know I tried.

Fully dressed in the doorway she chimes,
"what would you like to do today?"

I cover my head.
Playfully hide in the shelter of our
satin white sheets.
Shaking my head from left to right.
A seance with the ghost of where she used to be.

I can't decide.

-

My one regret is the bloodline I derived from
I’m not a pedigree or a monkey’s uncle
My father is a penniless swami
My mother is a peace creep
We live up the river,
near a civil war battle ground
When there is a downwind,
the water has a polluted, toxic smell
A few years ago, I needed a pair of glasses
Never received them,
No insurance, no money!
My mother ***** slapped me a few times,
thinking that would help straighten my eyes out
Now I have short eyes!
****, she’s dumb.
My brother, who is three years younger,
Is a laughing child
Anything someone says, or does, he laughs
Through the years he was whipped, punched, beaten and dragged in the mud by a horse
he’d still get up and laugh
One bizarre thing he still does is hover on the side of the outhouse
He enjoys listening to someone **** or ****
I call him the bathroom slunk
Growing up over here is rough
We have a dead car,
that sits on bricks waiting for a set of tires,
and an engine
The trailer we live in,
is a ramshackle nightmare
Lots of junk and brick-a-brac’s,
decorate this two room trailer
We do breed chickens
Were all chicken lovers
Chicken for lunch, dinner, as a pet and for target practice
Easter Sunday is around the corner
We don’t attend church or get all dressed up
Our Uncle who lives down the river,
Takes his small, dilapidated boat and docks near our place
We call him the pirate, since he has a wooden leg,
and always wears a black eye patch
He’ll bring nothing but himself for our Easter dinner
Overall, I’m a pretty happy kid
In a better world I would just like to have something besides chicken for dinner.

+Asked from a butterfly: "how was the trip?"
-Responded with a regretful sigh:
" the roughest part was not knowing what's going to happen after cocoon!"

Adrift in shadows, hollowed by the night,
Yet gratitude still flickers, frail but bright—
A thirst for dawn, though weighed by whispered sorrow,
We clutch the fraying thread of tomorrow.

The ache of absence hums, a silent hymn,
Melancholy’s wine pools to the brim.
But in these ruins, treasures softly gleam:
A map of scars where longing dared to dream.

Our story trembles, ink on splintered wood,
Yet pulses warm where hopelessness once stood.
The thread, though thin, spills gold through vacant air—
A silken ladder climbing despair.

We’ll stitch the rift where darkness bleeds to blue,
And weave the tale our hunger dares renew—
For even fractured light still claims the skies,
And dawn persists in tired, stubborn eyes.

My story is becoming

I feel it in the wind

It beckons to my soft heart

And aches within my soul

My story is becoming

I see it in my pen

The way words form together

The way that they begin

My story is becoming

So listen for its whisper

I hear it quietly yearning

It waits for me to answer

My story is becoming

Though I don’t yet know what I will write

I know that it is forming

Beyond my very sight.