02.03.19

Tags

#fear, domestic abuse, homelessness, resolve

Today I live one of my greatest fears – being homeless.

No, it is not something I wanted or planned for. I can only say that I promised myself that I would not suffer abuse from anyone anymore, and that continued abuse, whether physical, verbal, emotional or pyschological will not be tolerated by me.

It has been about a week since I left, but honestly I don’t know, I have lost track of time.

And from my point of view it all sucks.

Of course, I could have stayed and continue to take the abuse.

But then if I did, I would look less like a man and more and more like a kicked dog, flinching and cowardly tuck my tail between my legs, to surrender my balls without an expression of opposition or opinion.

But the worst part is, my former best friend claims she does not know why I left.

I know I have a weak resolve on a lot of things, (especially sex). Now I’m going to find that resolve.

And hang on….

DON’T…EAT…CROW!

Tags

crow, eating crow, resolve, road

I was starving, wet and cold walking down a road.

I found a dead crow a couple of days old.

It smelled, but I ate it anyway, then threw it back up.

Eating crow, don’t do it. May not be good for stomach or soul.

01.22.2019

Tags

homelessness, poverty, San Diego, the homeless, urine, wealth

Well , this IS another fine mess I’ve gotten myself into….

I have moved to San Diego, and it turns out that the legs on that idea were, at best, somewhat wobbly.

There are a large number of homeless here, more than what’s noticeable in Detroit. And no, not all of them are mentally ill – there are some able bodied people too.

And that frightens me, not just because of my current predicament, but the state of humanity.

Because people seem ‘ok’ with that. There is a lot of wealth here, you can see it in cars and the houses, the dogs being walked down working store fronts and restaurants. But everywhere you go, the scent urine is in the air.

Everywhere.

Half Cooked

Tags

a poem about wasted potential, blacklivesmatter, half cooked, potential, wasted potential

Boiling over,

my lid lifts spilling my contents….

Spilling spilling it rolls down my side,

putting the fire beneath me,

Out

….and the life of this meal is cut short.

Uneattened.

Wasted.

Jungle?

Tags

#fear, a poem about economic empowerment, basic income, jungle, poverty, predator, prey, prose

struggling through life can make you stronger – or crush you.

Society shouldn’t be a dangerous jungle
of predators and
prey
but something that
evolves towards
transcendence….

All this bullsh😭t….

Tags

#fear, a poem about school shootings, bullying, love, poetry, school shootings, society

They’ve

cut out

my eyes and

linked images

directly to the….

I can’t believe

What I’m been

seening….

….another school shooting,

but why the debate?

Protect the children

And yet no one knows how to do that….

Develop a nourishing society that respects everyone….

No.

This not a joke.

11.29.2017

Here I am again.

I haven’t been here for awhile, due to life being distracting. Which kinda makes me feel crappy, because I use my writing for my emotions and dreams. But my poetry doesn’t make money for me, and I my job is minimum wage job sits in the middle of the day.

But while these things are true, I still strive to live my life as part of a way.

Need better time management….

Two Walls….

Tags

America is Great Again, border walls, economics, humanity, immigration, poverty, racism, walls

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

They come to the promised land,
but were turned away.

Why?

To make America Great again?

Another wall,
that keeps in people,
made from the clay of
poverty.

Some better off would
called them losers, the
undeserving as part of humanity.

America is Great Again.

Wasted Dreams

Tags

a poem about empty sex, a poem about sex, a poem about space travel, mars mission, poetry, space travel, wasted dreams

I cried,
How in my life
I will never live in space,
how I will never live on,
or visit Mars,
never serve on cargo ships
to our mining colonies.

Was Dr. Von Braun wrong?

I cried in my loneliness
between my sheets,
of empty pleasures and
and how my stomach groans
on such a diet.

They tell me,
Those doctors,
those people,
that my life is worth living.

Of poverty and potentials
unfulfilled.

I beg your pardon,
I disagree.

Waiting For Night

Tags

contrast, daylight, harshness, light, poetry, soft glow

A soft glow, versus the
the harsh whiteness of day,
the light of the lamp against
brightenning daylight
form a disappearing contrast.

Overcast and the sun
looks to be on a coffee break and
the harshness covers everything in
adsolute untruthes.

No clarity or respite from the
harshness of daylight, only
a barren wasteland.

I can not wait until night.