I’ve spent this last April evening crying my eyes out

Being strong for years on end wears on one’s being

I feel weak, I feel alone, in the darkness…

Actual and rhetorical, distractions hold sway no longer

Thoughts, feelings…boiling over the edge

Why put on a happy face?!? I’ve done it for so long

It is all I know. I want to know more, I want to feel

Fifteen years of choked down anger, pain, frustration..

That is all I feel, hiding behind the hope filled smile

The mischievous grin, alive with hidden truths…

You are not prepared!

Fuck it, here it comes!

Alas, I am alone…none to share with, not to bare witness

To my truth… I am a brain injured fuck.



Self Talk

You knew, you knew from the start!

Lying to yourself only deludes your understanding 

That’s what hope does, you overly hopeful bastard

Few are prepared and none are more

Rare oils rest alone

You, one of the rarest



Pbutt and Sniperooney

“Down guys, down… Roll over!” 

“Good girl! Good boy!” Scratch the heads, the jaws, take the paws 

Grab the food, take two bowls, healthy scoops to brim filled goodness

Tails wagging, water full, take a pull, time to eat!

“Good doggies!”


Worth Is More

Stop sacrificing self for women who don’t care about, don’t see, don’t value 

Too wrapped in a world of face deep wisdom and cheap fanciful fucks

Worth so very much more, more than worthy, though 

None see nor value the gift…the folly of an intention deficient society 

Worthy of love, true love…the romantic heart holds sway.

Passed, left, discarded, overlooked, forgotten 

Romanticism is a disease, cherished…for nostalgia’s sake.



Immediacy’s gratifying armor shed for acceptance of is

What one wants is of trivial import

Energy without, comparable to that within 

Spectrum the same, though focus, the change