the way to beat

the uninspired trap

is to write and post

even if it's crap*

why must you chase

the curse of perfection?

when the worst case is

you'll taste of rejection

so you'll get no likes

from those who read it

well at least you're writing—

and they can all eat shit.

rather be a writer

who some other writers block

than paralyzed in tears

with that dreaded writer's block

*such as this poem

1/21/2025

If it's just

You and me

I think I'd rather

Die alone

No not because you're

not good enough

But because when I'm

With you

I'm at home

When It's time

I'd rather be

Far away far from

What's known

So let me go let go of

Set me free

Go be on your own

You're free of it all

Chose how it goes

And keep me out of it

Wether you rise

Or just let it all fall

“And so it seems I must always write you letters that I can never send.” Sylvia Plath really nailed it there, huh?

Sometimes, it feels like shouting into the void is all we’ve got left. So, here I am, penning this because I don’t know if tomorrow is going to be a TikTok dance or the Hunger Games.

Civil unrest. Sounds like something we’d skim past in a history book, doesn’t it? But nope, it’s our group project now. And, let’s be honest, humanity is that one guy who ghosted the group chat after the intro meeting.

Everywhere I look, it feels like the threads holding us together are fraying. Not to be dramatic, but can we get a return policy on this timeline? People are stocking up on canned beans and ammo like we’re all extras in The Walking Dead. Meanwhile, I’m over here Googling, “What plants can I eat in the suburbs?” Apparently, not many.

It’s wild to think that in 50 years, some kid might be writing their AP U.S. History essay about us. They’ll be sitting in their AI-powered chair, drinking ethically-sourced algae milk, typing, “In 2025, society was chaotic AF.” (Yes, the “AF” will be considered academic language by then.)

I want to believe this is all just growing pains...that we’ll figure out how to listen to each other again, to empathize. But some days, it’s hard to see past the shouting matches on TV and the doomscrolling. Like, where’s the adult in the room? The one who’s supposed to clap their hands and go, “Alright, folks, let’s calm down and fix this.” Oh, wait. That’s supposed to be us.

Honestly, I’m scared. Scared that we’re forgetting how to be human to each other. Scared that the bridges are burning faster than we can build them. Scared that the next headline will finally be the one that breaks us for good. But if I let that fear rule me, haven’t I already lost?

So, I’m writing this to remind myself that even when it feels like the world is spinning out of control, I’m not powerless. None of us are. We still have our words, our actions, our choices. And maybe just maybe...those little acts of kindness and courage are enough to keep the wheels from falling off entirely.

Anyway, thanks for reading, even if you’re just me rereading this someday in a bunker lit by flashlight. Here’s hoping the future looks a little brighter than the dystopia I keep doom-imagining.

Stay awkward, stay hopeful.

-Me

My 20 Mule Team Über

January 19, 2025

None of my cars work

Half have a defective chip

Made of Unobtainium

The other half

Are just (currently) a pile of junk

They are all for sale

As a mechanic's special

Or to part out

I have been single handedly

Been keeping Über in business

Now I want a piece of the action

Introducing my 20 Mule Team Über

Guaranteed never to stall

Will always pass inspections

Never will be caught speeding

Requiring no license

Both fuel and emissions

Are biodegradable

Will pull for both

Carrots and apples

Sketchy dispositions

Easily assuaged

With more carrots and apples

And an occasional rub of the ears

So,

Coming to a theater near you

And other public parking lots

The latest and greatest

In on-road and off-road

Transportation

My comrades in arms

And not a stubborn one in the bunch

what was i thinking

course these pants don't fit

tight like they gonna burst

always ridin' up my ass

i just can't walk right in 'em

struttin' with my knees up high

tryin' to loosen my stuff down there

all twisted up like

some sad piece of giant linguine

oh why did i walk so far from home

to go shopping

i coulda ordered

now it's itchin'

no please don't start itchin'

oh look at me in that shop window

ridiculous

everyone knows

i gotta scratch it

i gotta pull it

i gotta straighten it

no don't grab it out here

oh god i can't take this

somebody fucking shoot me

1/18/2025

Sunset in the Agave Fields

January 17, 2025

I see Death on the horizon

Waiting patiently for me

He is in no hurry

Neither am I

Death keeps his appointments

With meticulous accuracy

Not a redundancy with him

More of an ego driven necessity

I, on the other hand,

Know what awaits me

But before I close the distance

I take notice of the vegetation

I enjoy tequila in all varieties

I am also a chemist

With more glassware than I can carry

I have a little time on my hands

Distillation is my craft

Death takes notice

He may even want a taste

Curious for someone without taste

The agave are the gifts of the gods

Matched with my favorite food

Paella

I might stretch this homestretch out a bit

I choose the metaphor for myself

Because it may be the last choice I ever make

Death has seen this before

But, not from me, not in this way

Sulozowa, Poland

January 15, 2025

My cropping and rotating (to fit) of this picture does not do the photo justice.

Here is another place I want to visit.

Everyone lives on the same street.

Imagine being a visitor and not needing directions other than go left or go right.

Everyone owns a sliver of land behind their home,

On one very long street.

All you will require is a numerical for the address.

Imagine a letter being sent from 203 to 1402.

Such simplicity on the envelope.

Such simplicity most likely reaches into other areas of life.

One would expect this to be true.

One would wonder why such a place exists as a singularity and not as the rule.

My Retirement Plan

January 13, 2025

Playing chess at dusk

Losing every single game

Still writing all night

I never thought I’d cry on a park bench. Not me. Not the one who always seemed to have it together, always knew the right thing to say. But here I am, staring at cracked pavement and rusted swings, and the tears just won’t stop.

The United States is not united. Were we ever? Maybe. Maybe there was a time we were fooled into thinking we were. Or maybe we just ignored the cracks, hoping they wouldn’t spread. But now it’s impossible not to see lines drawn so deep they’ve become trenches. Everyone on one side or the other, yelling across the divide like they’ve forgotten we’re standing on the same ground.

It’s exhausting, isn’t it? This endless noise. Everyone shouting their truths, everyone convinced they’re right, and no one really listening.

I can’t help but wonder when we got so lost, when we started looking at each other and seeing enemies instead of neighbors. When we stopped believing that love not anger, not fear, but love was the greatest thing we had to give.

I look around at the world, and it feels darker than it ever has. Like an eclipse is swallowing everything good and bright, leaving us in shadows we don’t know how to escape.

But maybe that’s the point of the dark. Maybe it forces us to see what we’ve been too scared to face. Forces us to stop pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. Forces us to look in the mirror.

I think about those mirrors. About the face staring back at me every morning, tired and worn, and how easy it is to avoid the questions I don’t want to answer. Have I done enough? Have I stood up for what’s right? Have I loved the way I should?

The answer is always no.

Because it’s hard to love, isn’t it? Real love. Not the kind in movies, but the messy kind. The kind that makes you forgive someone who hurt you. The kind that makes you see the worth in someone who doesn’t see it in themselves. The kind that makes you take a good, hard look at yourself and decide to be better.

“If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make a change.” Those words hit differently now. It’s easy to talk about change. It’s easy to say the world needs to be better. But doing something about it? That’s the part we’re all afraid of.

Because change isn’t comfortable. It’s painful. It’s messy. It’s looking at the people who scream at you across that divide and realizing they’re just as scared as you are. It’s realizing that the only way we climb out of this darkness is together, even when we don’t agree.

And it’s realizing that love...fragile, fleeting, precious love isn’t just a gift. It’s a responsibility. To see someone else’s soul and remind them of their worth. To let someone else see yours, even when you’re afraid they won’t like what they find.

I think about the little things: my neighbor who brings food to the single mom next door, even though they argue politics like it’s a sport; the librarian who stays late so every kid has a warm place to study; the man I saw on the news who carried strangers to safety during a flood. Heroes, all of them. And not a single one wears a cape.

The rain starts to fall, soft at first, then harder, until I’m soaked. I don’t move. I just let it fall, washing over me, carrying away all the fear, the frustration, the anger.

We’re falling apart. I know it. You can see it in the headlines, in the way people look away from each other on the street. But what if falling apart is the only way we can come together?

Maybe things have to break before we can see the pieces that still matter. Maybe we have to lose the light before we remember how to find it. Maybe the soul has to feel its worth, not in the easy times, but in the hard ones.

I stand, dripping, my hair clinging to my face, my breath sharp in the cold air. I don’t have answers. I don’t know how to fix this broken world.

But I know this: Love will always be the answer. Not hate. Not fear. Love. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

Because the darkest nights? They’re the ones where the stars shine brightest. And maybe, just maybe, we’re not falling apart. Maybe we’re falling into place.

Consolation Prize

January 12, 2025

I appeared on a game show

I wanted to win a new car

My spin offered me a chance instead

I answered two questions correctly

I won a trip to Venice

Three questions and I would have a new BMW

Does anyone know the capital of Madagascar?

Can anyone spell it correctly?