“What came first – the music or the misery? Did I listen to the music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to the music? Do all those records turn you into a melancholy person?”

A rhetort.

Your words fall empty, a mask to obscure,

The truth I know, steadfast and sure.

You speak of “authority” with hollow pride,

Yet I see the cracks where your stories collide.

It seems honesty isn’t part of your commonwealth,

You’re far richer in tales than in truth itself.

The facts remain, no matter your spin,

Deception may start, but it won’t ever win.

While peace may guide where we must cross,
Respect is earned, not built on loss.
Cordial, yes — but trust won’t renew,
For honesty matters, and I see through you.

Jokerman. 2025, NFS.

 

An Open Letter to Past Loves

Thank you for showing me how to be myself — whether or not that was your intention.

Your choice to love me — and later, to leave — taught me as much in joy as it did in heartbreak. You cracked me open, made me stronger, and reminded me that sometimes, survival demands a little armor.

I’m sorry if I wasn’t what you envisioned, if my quirks clashed with your expectations, or if I let you down in ways I never meant to. Please know I gave it my all, even when it wasn’t enough.

I don’t know if I ever cross your mind, but you drift through mine sometimes. I think of the moments we shared, the ones untouched by the ending, before everything unraveled.

There’s no bitterness here though — only gratitude. You left your fingerprints on my story, and for that, I’ll always be thankful.

— Me 

Sisters

You rise with the sun, eager and bright,

A song on your lips, a smile full of light.

And you linger, dreaming as long as you dare,

Stretching the moments, with no time to spare.

You find solace where the world is still,

A quiet embrace, a heart to fill.

While you, ever restless, resist staying still,

Dancing through moments with untamed will.

Your days unfold in worlds you design,

Imagination your guide, your spark divine

But you, my sweet one, with boredom to bear,

Seek something unseen, yet always there. 

Night falls, and you sigh, soft and deep,

Snuggled in quiet, you welcome sleep.

But you, my lively, untiring sprite,

Push back the shadows, resist the night.

Different as dawn and dusk may be,

You’re both beacons, shining brilliantly.

Forever cherished, endlessly true,

Two shining souls, uniquely you.

The Seven-Year-Old's Itch

You spend your days unlike any seven-year-old I know —

TV? A shrug. The Switch? Left untouched.
Barbie? A fleeting ten minutes before dismissal.

You squander the hours,
claiming boredom, pacing the room,
uncertain how to fill the vastness of time.

Did I fail you, little one?
I know the fire your mind holds —
a spark of creativity waiting to ignite,
a passion still untapped.

Should I have taught you the art of stillness,
the quiet comfort of one’s own company?
So, when boredom presses its weight upon you,
it wouldn’t so easily conquer your spirit.

Or is it something more?
A longing for treasures just out of reach,
or dreams too vast for your young heart to hold?

I hope it’s the latter —
a spark for what’s yet to unfold.

For stillness and quiet,
those ever-faithful allies
are constant companions —
never straying, never abandoning,
always yours to embrace or endure.

5:00 AM January 1st, 2025

You woke as softly as you had drifted,
caught in the in-between,
where darkness lingers,
and morning’s edges blur with sleep.

Bleary-eyed, your thoughts clung to
promises made to yourself in slumber —

cinnamon rolls, donuts, and juice.

And there I was,
duty-bound to fulfill your quiet wish.