i was “born” without lungs
gasping for air
and while they grieved for me
i pushed air throughout my body.

june 20, 2024, 6pm.
you did the bare minimum
and i have been obsessed with you.
months. you, of all people.
and when i have told my friends they said
“him, of all people?”

april 29, 2025 and many days before that
my friends called me a *****.
that word is red and bold and ****** and italic and underlined and highlighted and- *****.
im 14.?
to all the mothers out there- god(?) bless your hearts,
how would you imagine
your daughter
a *****? (i know im not, but what am i if not society’s opinions?)

…November (?) 2021 until now (every moment every second of my waking and sleeping being)
i think about it.
i think about him.
he should be in jail
and he probably has a girlfriend
a wife
kids
by now.
i’ll never forget what that “man” ( if you can even call him that ) did to me
and i wonder if i told my friends
*****-callers!
what he did to me
i wonder what their faces would say
i want to see them shocked and cry and apologize for calling me a ***** (because i am not a ******* *****!!)

…the things which i held in my palm
as a young child (was i a ***** then, did i come out of the womb “asking for it?”)
always seemed so large
but they are specks of sparkling stardust in my hands now
they seem so small. (were they always?)

I AM SICK AND TIRED (only a ***** would be tired) OF EVERYONE ELSE GETTING WHATEVER THE **** THEY WANT BECAUSE EVERYONE ELSE HAS DETERMINED THAT THEY DESERVE THAT.
i wonder how many of our lives are determined by how others think of us
i wonder how many of us are others
society is not a singular being but something that is inside all of us
we are all society
(so you can all be ****** too.)
(or maybe just me.)
(just me.)
(me.)
-

-a something-year-old *****.

I can't move to you, you can't move to me
You are not here, I'm not free
I see only walls, I see only floor
My dear love, knock on my door

Are we free anymore? I’ve asked myself lately,
Sure, it seems so, but a few things are shady,
Well, more than a few; in fact most of our lives
Are controlled and well-governed like dogs kept on lines.

Last week my own neighbor was caught and arrested
For owning plants curing her cancer, depression,
Science speaks truth but the Law doesn’t mind
Their care is your sentence, not the healing inside.

We’re ruled by fear, I’ve come to conclude
It’s limiting consciousness, limiting mood
Forced to pay off all those bills in the mail
Or they’ll haul you away to community jail.

It’s not always this way—look at it like this,
We do have a large sum of freedom as kids,
We can eat, speak, dress, and play how we please
Before the real world arrives, subjugating this ease.

“Get good grades in school, be quiet, and listen,
Better cut the tomfoolery or end up in prison,
Repent all your sins or you can’t go to Heaven”
...Are drilled in our heads by the time we reach seven.

Yes, it is fear; now much clearer to me,
Yet sadly too subtle for the masses to see,
Some of us hope that things will get better,
So we dogs may finally stray from our tether.

I sit in the day room of
cell block one in the county jail at
4: 30 am.  It's quiet, almost serene.
All the other inmates are asleep.
I wait for breakfast: two hard-boiled eggs,
a doughnut, juice, and milk.  
Once a week we can order books.
They will deliver them today.
I'll get Bukowski, Steinbeck, and Cervantes.
The remaining six days will
fly by.
When I'm released, I'll go under
the bridge—steal wine and
stay drunk.
I'll eat every three or four days.
It's January with record-setting
frigid temperatures.
Survival will be a challenge.
There will be an ex-girlfriend to
contend with.
I'll try to get what little
clothes that I left at her place,
that is if she didn't throw them away;
she's somewhat of a **** like that.
My two best friends who stayed under
the bridge with me, died a day
apart two months ago,
so, nothing but
ghosts and memories there now.
I'm going to miss jail.

Though I'm not in jail it all just feels the same
Waking up depressed told just not to complain
A shotgun to my head i feel like Curt Cobain
Not a literal sense, but the context sustains
I don't want money, success, not even some fame
I just want to learn to play this game
Each day it gets hard i just keep  breathing
Wondering how the **** this happened, it feels like treason
From a comical skeptic to a reliable source
I question the water that was gave to the horse
Viewed as a sinner but always in doubt
"Read from the scripture and figure it out"
Nightmares keeping me awake like a proxy
SO many bad thoughts I wish I could get off me
Do your 12 steps Bob, everything is kosher
Yet I wake every night screaming still sober
A stranger does the same, and everyone wants to know her
A technicality set, a glimpse for closure
Different from most but related to some
I feel alone but second to none
Shaking again always be the **** up
"drinkings a sin" Always press my luck up
Some things I will never understand
But if it doesn't change I will be ******

Today my son
Is to be sentenced
To prison. He
Lives 23 hours a day
In a jail cell, he will move on
Steeling courage few of us
Ever have to experience.
Consider your luck.
His mental illness
never to be a crime.
Will there be light for a prism?
Where he can turn to
Other pathways
Less dark and Forge
Himself into the open
Blue sky and all the rainbows
From here on out.
On the outside we are blind
On the inside some
Are given true sight.
I cry for a rotten system
In mental health care
We own. You might
Want to pull up some buckets
For all mothers tears
Knowing the best we have
Is incarceration. How is that
America? Tired of blaming anyone but yourself?

Are you toxic or broken
Misunderstood or clearly spoken
Are you fragile, reckless or both
...Is there still hope?
I know I can't save you
Can't bail you out
I can't carry you a single step of the way
But can I perhaps
Support the change?
Can I be present for you
Can I show you grace
Could I perhaps just
See again, your smiling face?
If I stopped here, and waited a while
Would that be okay
Could you understand
My need to keep you at bay
Because I love you, I do
But I'm so afraid
To be hurt again
I'm scared to know you
But that's all I want, too.

He was in his cell
Twenty three hours a day
Never was he an animal
Yet treated as such

The echoes off the walls, bounce
The metal doors that clang, bang
Endless boredom after
All the books are read
He paces his eight feet

Gray dulls the senses
Lack of color, lack of life
He saw a bug inside
The other day, alive
Looking up at him
Another form of life, different,almost brand new
His voice filled with hope through the Pauses

It rained and the summer was hot
They were released for the hour
Choices that are made in that precious time
He went outside where there is only the cement
Laid on his back, spread his arms like an eagle, like an offering
Letting the rain Fall onto him,
just so He could feel Something