March 17, 2026

there are so many things i’d like to be doing
at all hours
of every day

writing

sewing

creating

flying

hanging out with friends

organizing my bookshelf

contemplating the mysteries of the world and the universe

and/or

just cuddling with my spouse and our animals

but i must participate
[albeit lightly]
in capitalism
and this country
[no matter how much i disagree
with so much of it
fundamentally]

and that includes having commutes
where many of my hobbies
cannot come out
and
an end of the day mind-numbing
exhaustion need that can sometimes only
be fed by silly stardew valley video games
and
a constant reminder in my head that
if i can’t make money off of a hobby
it’s not worth investing in
and
i hate that last brainwashing bit most of all

hobbies are hobbies for hobbies’ sake

i could tell you the benefits to heart and mind health
and creativity and the like
but
that gets us farther away from the point
which is that being alive
is about being alive
and sometimes we just gotta vibe
with the aliveness
that we have
and make a little shitty drawing
that makes us smile while we’re doing it
and makes a friend smile when they receive it

that’s what living is all about

[not capitalism
not capitalism
not capitalism]

March 15, 2026

hold your breath

count to ten
and count to ten
again

breathing reminds you
you’re still alive
though you’ve spent your whole life
dying
to die

compose yourself
expose your insides
for art
for payment
for friendship
for funzies
for a dare
to anyone out there
who may feel the same way
[though it’s so lonely
in one’s own mind
it’s impossible to imagine
finding company]

wander around
while catatonic to the ground
and know
it’s all in your head

[which is somehow supposed to make it
easier]

[what do they know]

March 13, 2026

it’s chilly again
this morning

we had our peek into what
the rest of next season will look like
i could even feel my mood
shifting
upwards

and now it’s cold once more

the dreary, winter sky
the brisk winter air
that slices your face if you don’t cover yourself well
and the hopelessness that accompanies it all

[i wish i could enjoy
anything
about winter

but my soul was made for
anything
but]

March 12, 2026

poetry-writing
poetry-thinking
poetry-mulling and pondering and shirking
duties to home and work
in order to write and ponder and mull and think
and write some more

i really do need to
see if anyone else would ever
want to read these silly poems

where do i even start to look
when i don’t have a social media
in which to peruse
and obsess
and screenshot
and never ever ever apply to?

March 11, 2026

loom
lurk
live, laugh, lobotomy
the dark humor of
the millennials who can say
“tumblr raised me”

or maybe we raised tumblr

it’s always hard when the similarities
squeeze logic
from the picture

[i’m rambling
i’ve lost the thread
of this poem]

high ho
a pirates/actors/writers/millennials life for me

March 10, 2026

my own imagination
is a fickle, fickle place

sometimes a comfort

sometimes an anxiety-ridden nightmare
full of all the fuel i put into it
over years and decades of
self-hatred
and self-loathing
and self-harming
and imploding
and all i thought i’d want to accomplish
and all i still want to do
but am frozen to
the spot when i try to try

maybe
as with the imagination
i just need to keep on
gently
trying
and exploring
till i find a neat little [abandoned] space
and sit inside it
for a while

March 9, 2026

imagination

figments fleeting by

a socked foot slipping past the corner of your eye

an echo of your own voice, continuing on and on and on

and the raptured words of someone you don’t even know
swimming in your
mind

~~~

i suppose i’m doing
exactly
what he invited me to do
[which is pretty cool]

~~~

if i can’t explore
abandoned buildings near me
i can at least explore
the abandoned ruins
of my mind

March 8, 2026

the rapture didn’t come like how we’d been taught

we thought
standing around
perhaps asleep
perhaps in prayer
we’d
just be levitated from our bodies
up
and up
and up to heaven
instantaneous
immediate
immaculate

but the rapture took so damn long

trekking from old homes to new ones
each more dilapidated
less clean
than the last

there was very little sleep
and even less prayer
towards the end
crossing borders
swept into vans
when least expected
[i suppose at least that one
was instantaneous
and immediate]
[but the insides of those vans
could hardly be called
immaculate]

and now here i am
being told that this final step
is the real rapture

but haven’t i been told that
for each step of the way

i’m starting to stray from my faith

and this tiny cup of gross-smelling liquid
barely coated by some sickly sweet scent
over top of it…
i thought the rapture was something that would happen to me
but it looks like i happen to it
i control it
but maybe
just maybe
i’m sick of all this rapturing

maybe i wanna try my luck, after all this time, with the heathens