My newest hobby is telling people
that I have a prom date, watching the drift of mouths
and listening to the refocusing
of eyes. I'm sure they don't mean
to be rude but they certainly make a good show
of their unkempt reactions.

"Really?" comes the pestilential chorus
as trains of thought rapidly switch tracks.

One stalwart, you may shudder
to hear this, expressed profound
disgust when I disclosed the girl's identity.
"I wasn't aware they let lesbians go to the dance.”
he says and I: "Well, you'll find
they cannot bar the doors to any
sort of trash. You're going right?"

Not a thing about this business seems (to my joying eyes)
quite belonging to its proper world. Yes, it's really me.

I, the wandering ******-shaman,
must look quite at odds in their view;
despoiling the *** ritual
by stepping out from behind
the moon's galling rind of half-light.
To beat at my own tides? Oh, god!
The quiddity of my queer mind
is sacred like a water-walking rumor.

I find myself betrothed behind my back,
my role is sealed ere tightness shows a crack.

The way that I know, you're knowing me.
Was the older me.
That old is over, see.
There's a few mistakes god needs to oversee.
I’ve done such bogus things.
I repent in the words of my poetry.
Refocusing.
The direction of a reflected
soulless me.
Misguided and couldn't hide it,
I wasn't fighting,
the vices holding me,
back
and whats sad is that these manic laughs,
as ecstatic as they come,
stem from the fact
that I'm feeling like crap
sad sap, too fast to play dumb
sad-sack ,
trapped rat
thats numb to the things that once would make me run.
Rock bottoms not a problem for my partna
who’s drug drama and habits are this fun.
These rhymes that I've designed inside my witty mind
redefine what is brand new.
The reflection of perfection,
the best is my profession,
and the rest belongs to you.
The professors teaching lessons,
of transgression in repressive,
unimpressive
back road routes
perspective is subjective but
effective in selection
and reflection of the truth.

Truth.

Desperate for a ray of sun they turn ruthless.
Each stone shares a similar desire of the heart; only to be ignited by a distant star.
Without a glimpse the stones feel useless.

Comforted by resemblance they seek something more,
Lying like millions closer to the shore.

Stones beam brightly when chosen by the sun.
Others lurk in the shadows waiting for their time to come.

The light shines upon the chosen few.  
Misery is bliss as the spotlight moves on cue.

The world continues to spin refocusing fast.
Time moves on without care for the past.

The sun re-selects nearby stones to consume.
While those who still sparkle anticipate their pending doom.
No longer the flavour of the sunlight’s hour.
All glimmer on the surface fades, fame wilts like a flower.

Left with nothing but burns on the skin.
The darkness takes over and the coldness sets in.

Waiting there all decrepit and used they look nearby,
only to see their comrades blinded by the bright sky.

The shadowed stones know the score
that those still shining choose to ignore.

The world continues to spin refocusing fast.
Time moves on without care for the past.

Hidden far from the shore behind the rushes  
lies a stone perfectly pure, protected by the bushes.
Its unique appearance needs nothing more,
unlike those pleading by the shore.

The world continues to spin refocusing fast.
Heedless of its limelight, this beauty will always last.

A drop of rain splashes onto his cheek, it is brushed away as the others had been, it had been almost three hours but still he waited, casting his eyes around the vista in front of him, refocusing his gaze through the telescopic sight and along the now wet steel of the rifles barrel, blue-black in the tiny gaps between the camowrap which merged with the foliage of his cached viewpoint, as the crosshairs snapped into clarity, He felt comfortable that he was well hidden from prying eyes, waiting was almost a meditation to him over the months he had been tasked with this duty he had grown to love the solitude it was a time to reflect, a time to listen to the birds and insects as he waited like a wild cat moving very little, almost  still and at the same time his mind concentrated on the target, the rain was getting heavier now although he had picked this spot at the base of a large plane tree, sheltered from the weather under the spreading crown of well-leaved branches, long bull grass directly in front of him he was warm and well protected by the elements with only a few drops of rain falling annoyingly on his cheek...,

He was a long way from the constant 28 degrees celsius and sunny days of his homeland  and his lovely Angela, how he missed her infectious laugh and freely given affection..".shake yourself up man you need to think of the job, you're not here to be emotional ! "

He blinked and refocused as he opened his eyes and stared through the cross hairs he saw a shadow shape change, a movement, he took a deep breath and flicked off the safety catch, gently squeezed the trigger and held it almost like the clutch on a European Manual car engaged in a hill start, two camo-clad figures emerged armed with assault rifles, (check - AK47 not accurate over this range - no immediate danger. ) Then he saw his target - a man in his fifties, long flowing silvery white hair slim build, dressed in black, this time looking like a special ops crew member without the training, ' thwack thwack ' one  bullet in the body and one in the head, his target was down even before his bodyguards had realised, beads of sweat formed on his brow as he buried himself deeper into the ground, keeping just one eye on the target zone, counting mentally and trying to keep his heart beat as slow as possible, he waited for the bodyguards to choose a route towards him, 17 seconds after the shooting "what were they waiting for?" At last they broke off in differing directions leaving a way through for him to get to his extraction point, deftly he dismantled his ****** rifle with controlled actions practiced time and time again -automatic now! 21 seconds he moved away stealthy stealing the space around the trees, a shadow in the depths of shadow melting into the undergrowth, he hears shouting and confused conversation.

In his new hiding place now waiting, completely merged into the darkness unseeable by the untrained eye, wait he must as he presses the button on his wristwatch to activate his extraction beacon it is now 43 seconds after the target had been eliminated !
Later sitting on the nearest seat to the open door of the Seahawk 27 minutes after the last shot -all in a day's work soon he would be on the deck of the aircraft carrier at anchor in the gulf of Aqaba, the debrief done and then home to his lovely Angela.

But until then he needed to ride the storm of palpitations, sweats and waves of anxiety and the deep dark mind that always accompanied a '****'..

withered eyes a
crescent moon of
dusk under the
pupils red lightning
cracking across
blank pages born
from some unseen
space beyond the
corners

when the head lolls
back the neck snaps
to refocusing on the
unseen nothing in
the physical to grasp
at looking through
all layers of deceit
at an inside a
center that cannot
exist but is always
there

motion is the mirror
the frame the negatives
rolling seamlessly teeth
and sprockets a perpetual
rotation immune to friction
faction and conflation

singular in its mindlessness
just an eye bloodshot with
nebulae as everything
collapses in on itself at the
speed of light passing
through the central retinal
vein feeding information
into the unseen center of all

I called on the wind
Maman would have had a fit
I called for the wind by name.

I asked her today
Please sing my song to the world
and just like my hair she curled

Noisy spirals, like
lunar periods tidal.
The wind spoke in mania

She's shouting, howling.
A drunk Father passing through
A scared Mother beating you

Momentarily
Wind made me god, and I was
bigger than I ever knew

I am powerful
and destructive, tormented
still by being invented

Then manifested
in earthly form as human
ever striving for balance

When inside of me
Equity had been replaced
Now anger stood in its place

Personified, I'm
Refocusing my compass.
But to where do I set course,

What is my purpose?
Concerned with Identity
To seek out Serenity

This was last Christmas - 39 days ago - doesn’t that seem like ancient history?
We were in Lisa’s (parent’s) 50th floor flat, in Manhattan. It was mid-morning, we’d done the present thing, and it was coffee time. At 42°, the city was surprisingly warm, drizzly, and the weather service had issued a dense fog alert.

I had wanted a white Christmas and there it was, about 20 stories below us, a vast, dense, whipped cream sea of white stretching off into the holiday. The fog's surface wrinkled gently in places, revealing glimpses of the Hudson River, like an artist's fleeting brushstrokes. The pea soup brume undulated, like lava or a living thing and reflected the murderous morning sun like a mirror, making it klieg-light bright. Glare gives me headaches, so I had to avoid looking at it.

Lisa (one of my college roommates), her little (14-year-old) sister Leeza and I were spread out, under beige, vicuña throws, on one angle of their huge, white sectional couch and Lisa’s grandparents were nestled on the other.

A ‘Style Council’ playlist was playing on the room's sound system. Leeza had picked it and it was a great groove.
When “The Story of Someone’s Shoe’ ended, Lisa said. “That song’s so beautiful, honestly, it’s really lovely.”
“On God,” I agreed, (I’d introduced Leeza to ‘the Style Council’ last fall).
When Leeza said, “I forced you guys to like it, and now you do,” I just rolled my eyes.
“Well, your taste is usually so awful,” Lisa pointed out.
“My taste doesn’t need targeting here,” Leeza said defensively.

We all had our tech out - we young-ins were on our laptops; the grandparents were deep into their phones.
“I need to pick an elective,” I said, scrolling through the class catalog, “any ideas?”
“I took psyc 275 last term,” Lisa offered.
“Learn anything interesting?” I asked.
“Well, apparently Freud’s mom was hot,” Lisa said, distractedly focused on her laptop.

A moment later Lisa reported, “Texas Republicans are banning books about *******, because who does THAT anymore?”
“Women are getting ******-on by Republicans,” Leeza pronounced, and her grandma flinched as if slapped.
“Revelations,” I agreed. “We’re definitely getting ******-on by republicans,” Lisa undogged, while stretching.
“I think Republicans are the American Taliban,” Leeza pronounced, as if she spoke for all of Gen-Z.
“It’s a continuous topic on campus,” Lisa acknowledged.
“I’m not ON campus,” Leeza reminded us.

For a hot minute, no one said anything.. then.

“This is just my year, of, like, realizing stuff,” Leeza said.
“Oh, she’s realizing stuff,” Lisa moaned in fake sympathy.
“Her tenets are forming,” I commented dryly, like a news reporter.
“A year of realizing.”  Leeza reiterated urgently, like that was forEVER.
Then, refocusing on her laptop, she said, “I’m picking a song!” and ‘Water’ by ‘Tyla’ began playing.

Our solitude is always set to music.

Drowning in my pillow,
waking up
realizing that this
isn't me.
I am watching life
flash.
Days from sunrise to set
people,
places,
ideas...
Thinking of what should
have happened
but
what really occurred.
I keep re-reading this chapter,
like some emotional teenager.
The next chapter is
being drafted,
everyone has their pen.
They're scribbling.
What are they doing?
Should this be different?
Is it this hard to move on?
I am becoming restless,
tossing and turning.
Sun bursts through the curtains.
Slowly moving my eyes
to the music of
Mozart,
refocusing on the bottle of air-freshener.
Oh,
what another day.

pandering to the lowest common
the red headed ******* brays into the void
faceless masses screech back from the darkness
begging to be fed again, shown light
offered dignity…but this day has not come
instead
the beast feasts on those least able to protect themselves
the laughter follows… --
pretentious preacher gargles wine
claiming the blood of Christ flows within him too
favored and chosen by god, we must obey whatever tomfoolery
this sociopath lays at our ingrown toenails
dried skin flakes away in the warm breeze
as displeased fleas flee the scene
no longer able to **** the impoverished blood
their hunger turns
refocusing
looking to those in power
and them which control wealth gap policy –
reptilian overloads bathe in the blood of Amber alert victims
drinking deep discontent and discord
while spreading disease through dog spit
…… my how the Americans love to give their puppies kisses on the mouth
The greatest nation pays tribute to the false image of evil incarnate
Some give this face to Obama,
others see it in the smile of Donald Trump, me,
I see it in the eyes of the apathetic child
too worried about the new call of duty game
to care if a flag means slavery
or black people are disproportionately shot by cops
to quantify, at my age, anyone under 25 is a child
sorry, youngin…  --
witnessing women liberate themselves so extremely
as to have ***** grown in laboratories
I hope unicorn women are in our future,
with big floppy black *****
surgically attached to their foreheads
this idea will certainly get them through that glass ceiling
as no one will stand in the way
for fear of being thrusted upon
by the new secretary …….
……….
Did I have a point? –

I refuse to listen to the self-harming negative talk in my mind.
I keep refocusing my attention on how I want to talk to myself instead.

Subtle.
Alterations.
Synaptic
tinkering.
Through
the eyes
soaking
the mind.
Hypnotic.
Subtlety,
incrementally
pushing the
envelope.
What’s now
normal,
not so much
not long
ago.
Slow alteration,
slight
reprogramming
charts a
new course.
New paradigms.
Mind manipulation,
hypnotic.
Behind the
curtain levers
pulled.
Buttons
pushed.
Puppeteers
dangling
worlds
on a
string.
Eyes transfixed.
Hypnotic.
Information
streaming
altering
controlling
­populations.
Promoting
humanity against
itself.
Refocusing
tendencies.
Biofeedback
effecting change.
Using instincts
to ******,
control.

She laid curled up on his bed with a blanket haphazardly covering her.  He had mindlessly thrown it in top of her, after she complained that it was cold, instead of taking the hint and moving to cuddle her. Instead of saying something bratty, she resolved to forget about it and shoved her face back into the feed of badly cropped stolen memes.

The room was otherwise filled with a comfortable silence, except for her occasional giggles, probably due to watching silly cat videos on Instagram as she always does, and his yelling at his friend Spider on Xbox. Or was it Lizard? It was some odd name of that sort.

While spending time together, there was never a need for them to constantly talk or look at one another, even though she couldn't help but steal glances at him from time to time. Even in their own two worlds, they were still able to find comfort merely in the other's presence.  

Her calf was closely nestled against his sweatpant-covered thigh, that being the only physical contact between them, at the time. Yet, he would periodically let go of his controller, reaching down with his right hand to squeeze her ankle. Before refocusing his attention back onto the screen, his thumb would stroke her skin.  A simple, reassuring touch to let her know he was still there and hadn't forgotten about her.

After a while, however, she grew dissatisfied with the brief touches he offered her, so she shifted closer to him, lifting her thigh over his. Content with this new position, she went back to her phone, resuming the YouTube video, an episode of a food series called "It's Alive!" She had recently discovered it and had already watched many, if not all, of the episodes currently posted.

All the while she was caught up in the countless spices and ingredients being thrown around, he had already caught onto her tactics.  Even though she didn't realize it herself, she was slowly positioning herself in a way where he would be forced to pay attention to her.  When she shifted onto him more the second time, he barely spared her a glance, with an amused expression on his face.

"Tell me," Said the Eagle. "Can you see better than me? For even perched upon my mountain cliff, I can see the sea."

"Oh?" Said the Poet. "You have good eyes indeed. Do tell me now from your mountain cliff, what else can you see?"

"Hmm?" Said the Eagle. "I can see the trees and the many scores of fruits, hidden beneath their leaves."

"Impressive!" Smiled the Poet. "Quite impressive indeed. Do tell me now: Why you hadn't seen those two children, taunting that poor crab by the sea?"

"What?!" Cried the Eagle. "That cannot be." Refocusing his gaze towards the sea.

The Poet pointed. And over there by the trees... you hadn't seen the harvesters busy at work, beneath the leaves.

"How?!" The eagle began to scream. "Your vision poet, it's an eagle's dream."  

"Whatever do you mean? I am a poet, remember, this view belongs to only me."

"We poets have two pair of eyes, that we use to see; one for reality, and the other for dreams."

"Never share your triumphs with those who never respected your trials. Some only appear for the applause, but never for the preparation."

_Ayna Denisse Mestio Moncenilla, LPT (2025)

That quote somehow rings in my mind.
They’ll show up when the confetti falls.
They’ll post the pictures, tag you with words like “so proud,”
as if they were part of every sleepless night, every bruised knuckle,
every moment you wanted to give up but didn’t.
They’ll stand there smiling in the light,
yet they were nowhere to be found in the dark.

They didn’t hear the silence after every rejection.
They didn’t feel the ache in your bones from grinding day after day with nothing to show for it.
They didn’t watch you pour every ounce of yourself into something that the world kept telling you was impossible.

People love the victory lap,
but they won’t walk with you on the uphill climb.
They’ll sip champagne at your celebration,
but they weren’t there when you drank bitterness and swallowed your pride.
They’ll cheer when you’re crowned,
but they never stood beside you when you were crawling.

And that’s the thing — they can’t respect your triumph if they never respected your trials.
They can’t value the crown if they never carried the weight of it. The truth is, some people aren’t in your life to support you — they’re just waiting for the moment they can be associated with your success.

But my victories are not party favors to hand out to the undeserving.
My success is not a photo opportunity for those who never showed up when it counted.
If you didn’t sweat with me, cry with me, or sacrifice with me — you don’t get to stand next to me when I win.

So no, I won’t water down the meaning of what I’ve earned by sharing it with those who only appeared for the applause.
My story belongs to those who stayed through every chapter — not just the happy ending.

Another memory that still clings to me is the day I told my father I wanted to join the AFP.
I expected encouragement, maybe even just a small sign of belief. Instead, I was met with criticism.
He looked at me and said I could never make it — because I was poor in math.

That moment taught me something: not everyone you expect to believe in you will actually believe in you.
And sometimes, the people closest to you are the quickest to plant doubt in your heart.

So now, I’ve learned to keep my plans close to my chest. I don’t announce my dreams.
I don’t give people the opportunity to dissect them before they even begin.
I will disappear for a while if I have to. Work in silence.
Return when I’m ready.
Not for validation, not for approval — but simply because I choose to.

And yes, I will forgive them for what they said, for what they did during my toughest times.
But I will never forget.
Forgetting means erasing the lesson,
and I owe it to myself to remember.
Not to hold a grudge, but to hold on to the strength it gave me.

I learned that silence is power.
That not everyone deserves a front-row seat to my journey.
That the fewer people who know my plans, the fewer opinions I have to fight against.
I learned that it’s better to surprise them with results than to give them the chance to **** my motivation before I’ve even begun.

I learned that some people would measure you by your weaknesses, not your potential — and that’s fine.
Let them.
Their disbelief is not my burden.
Their doubt is not my truth.

I learned that disappearing is not running away.
It’s regrouping, refocusing, and rebuilding without the noise.
And when I come back, it will be on my terms, at my own pace, with proof in my hands and pride in my chest.

I learned that forgiveness is for my peace,
but memory is for my growth.
I can release the bitterness without erasing the lesson.
I can move forward without giving them the privilege of forgetting what they once said.

And most of all, I learned that I don’t need their applause to keep going.
My drive has nothing to do with their approval — it’s built on the fire they once tried to put out.

I learned that my own family could take advantage of my wins — proudly telling other people about my achievements in public,
as if they were always behind me,
yet criticizing me in private when no one else could hear.
I learned that some people are more concerned with how your success reflects on them than how it truly feels for you to earn it.

I learned that a license, no matter how hard you worked for it, is not a golden guarantee of a job.
No. For me, it’s not a finish line — it’s only a ticket.
A ticket to knock on the next door,
to apply for another career, to open another path.

I learned that life doesn’t reward you just for passing. It rewards you for persevering.
And sometimes, the very people who celebrate you in front of others will be the same ones who try to chip away at your confidence when the crowd is gone.

That’s why I’ve stopped telling everyone my plans.
I don’t need their premature opinions or their silent sabotage.
I’ll speak when I’m ready.
I’ll show them when it’s done.
And they can tell the world about me again — but this time, they’ll have nothing to do with the victory they’re bragging about.

This experience somehow humbles me.
It reminds me that no matter how much doubt or criticism comes my way,
I am still standing — and that’s enough reason to be grateful.
I’m grateful for the lesson I learned along the way,
even if it came wrapped in pain.

On this bumpy road, I have met all kinds of people.
Some quietly waiting for me to fail,
others hoping I’ll make a mistake just so they can say they were right.
I’ve met the insecure ones — the ones who try to dim someone else’s light because they’re afraid to ignite their own.

But I’ve also learned this: it’s not my job to fight them, prove them wrong, or carry the weight of their insecurities.
Let God deal with them.
He sees their hearts and mine.
And I am secured, safe, and unshaken in my Creator’s presence.

I move forward not with bitterness, but with peace.
Not with vengeance, but with the quiet confidence that no matter who’s watching,
I walk this path with God beside me — and that is more than enough.