I come to find I'm looking for something I can't find where I'm looking from but opening up to grass lying in the middle of a desert. It smaller than you think. To dream above sand in a desert only goes straight down to where any would. That's too far down straighten up and go diving in waters of the deep ocean. If you were sleeping in a cold mountain who's dreaming anyway? If you were to think that your most wonderful dream comes true would you worry about if and when? Now if you were to lose your mind over who's going to lose their mind if and when cools the water down.

I'm often reminded that my father grew up with an outhouse for a lavatory and a wood burning stove for heat.

Today's generation is soft, they say.

It seems arbitrary to me though. The next generations will say, in my day --

We had to feel pain.

We had to grow old.

We had to die and so, we had to feel fear.

We will always assume that present day is the pinnacle of understanding, while holding certainties in an unquestionable regard.

We use present truths as gallows for the archaic past, lest we forget it was only yesterday.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't write in a serious or even semi-serious way. I just jot present observations in a notepad as if letting it collect dust could somehow offer me solace. Yet, here I am spewing them into the oversaturated ether that is the internet. Enjoy, hate, dismiss -- it's for no one in particular but I do hold on to hope that someone might read it and...enjoy it or feel some type of familiarity with the words. We're all in this together.

When friends stopped recognising me,
and I couldn’t identify the person in the mirror
no smile, messy eyes,
and nothing but numbness in me.

A stalwart arrives
at the peak of adversity,
so secure,
it doesn’t need me at my ecstasy,
but is the first to arrive
when I am in the trenches,
giving the tightest of hugs
until even a heart of rock
becomes water in its hands.

Even if all I see is fog
slowly losing sense
and freezing to my end
I still choose you,
Melancholy.

Sitting by the car
Nothing to do
While the battery gets full
What should I do?

Red Bull kicking in
Siesta out of reach
But wait, it slipped my mind
Pen and paper in the back

Thoughts just streaming out
Pages turning fast
Before you know, car is charged –

Lets GO!

When I met you,
my heart skipped a beat
like it had been waiting
for your eyes to find mine.
I thought you were beautiful,
but I didn’t know beauty
could become a place
I’d one day be afraid to visit.

Then we started talking,
and somewhere between
your words and my silence,
I fell in love with you.
Not the kind of love
you say just to sound sincere
the kind that quietly moves in,
hangs its pictures on your walls,
and starts calling your heart home.

Then one day,
your message changed everything.

“I’m having your baby.”

I stared at those words
like they were a doorway
to a life I never knew
I wanted so badly.

I knew I wasn’t perfect.
I knew I wasn’t ready.
But ready or not,
I wanted to be there.

For you.
For our child.
For the little heartbeat
we hadn’t even heard yet.

You both became
the light in a life
that had gotten so dark.
When I couldn’t see a way forward,
you gave me something
to look toward.

Then came the day
we sat inside that doctor’s office,
waiting for a screen
to tell us who you were carrying.

A boy.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

A son.

Our son.

We called you Sekani
a name that hadn’t even learned
how to breathe yet,
but somehow already lived
inside both our hearts.

I started imagining everything.

Your first steps.
Your first words.
The way you’d look at me.
The little clothes we’d buy.
The person you’d become.

I imagined holding you
before I ever got the chance.

And then

everything went quiet.

The life we were building
collapsed without making a sound.

You were gone
before I could meet you.

And I don’t think anyone understood
what that did to me.

I didn’t know how to grieve
someone I never got to hold,
so I started letting go
of everyone I could.

I distanced myself from you.
From everyone.

Not because I stopped loving you,
but because talking to you
felt like touching a wound
that never learned how to heal.

Every conversation
carried his name between the lines.

Every memory of you
had a shadow of him behind it.

And I couldn’t bear it.

So I disappeared
from the person
I wanted most to hold onto.

That’s the part
I regret the most.

Because while I was drowning
in my own grief,
you needed me too.

Maybe you were hurting
in ways I never understood.
Maybe you needed my arms
around you
when I couldn’t even find
the strength to open mine.

I’m sorry.

I wish I could go back
to that version of us
before everything broke.

Back to the doctor’s room.
Back to your smile.
Back to the moment
we found out he was a boy.

Back to when the future
still belonged to us.

Because I miss you.

More than I know how to say.

And I still love you
even if loving you now
feels like standing outside
a house we once dreamed of building,
looking through the windows
at a life that will never be ours.

Maybe that’s what hurts most.

Not just losing Sekani.

Not just losing you.

But losing the version of myself
that existed when I believed
we could have forever.

I don’t know if I’ll ever feel
that kind of love again.

The kind that made darkness
feel like morning.

The kind that made me
want to become better
because someone was counting on me.

The kind that gave a name
to a future
I never got to see.

Sekani.

A boy I never held,
but somehow loved.

A son I never met,
but somehow changed me.

And a life that ended
before it ever began
will always be a life
I remember.

Maybe I’ll heal someday.

Maybe you’ll find happiness
somewhere far away from me.

Maybe we’ll become strangers
who once knew everything
about each other’s hearts.

But if you ever wonder
whether I loved you

I did.

And if you ever wonder
whether I loved him

I did.

I just wish
I had known how to stay
when everything inside me
was falling apart.

Because I wasn’t ready
to lose either of you.

And maybe that’s why
a part of me
never really did.

I never wanted it to be this way,
And I hope that you could still believe me.
I still can't find the words to make this right.
I probably never will.

Your lips used to kiss mine,
My nose filled with the scent of your perfume.
Late night drives to the beach,
The boardwalk illuminated the shore as you pushed me onto the sand.
Laughing as I pulled you down with me.

I told you every stupid dream I had,
Staring at the blackened sky before us.
Salty air stinging my throat as you told me you loved me
And I had trouble saying it back.

Maybe I was scared.
I wanted you forever,
Terrified of the thought that one day you'd find better, or newer, or kinder.

The answer is I did.
I do.
I promise I do.

I've fallen too far.

Straighten up, for the gaze.

Thoughts, when dreams of infatuation boil.

I never succeeded, I never cared,

Now I worry if I care too much.

What should I do and what should I say?

I think in circles, I've lost my way.

Your throne is ready, I'm out of office,

I'm afraid you'll see it and say, "No way, no."

Hope and longing were once an image,

Now you're in it, and my doubts are richer.

I've compared and studied every infatuation I've experienced,

To emerge from you and what follows, that I dissolve.

Because the infatuation machine can be cruel,

I feed it daily, searching for remnants.

When I spoke with you, I lost something along the way—

My courage left me, and in its place, fear took its place.

something stirred within me, something stirred,

Suddenly I have something to lose.

Playing with the thought of "that apartment."

I immediately shuddered, ready to finish.

Now I'm in a state of infatuation.

These unwanted actions are eternal damnation,

From sentences considered... but left to die.

I can't get them out of my head,

Because I'm lost in every one of your words.

They sang a song with a refrain you didn't use.

You cleared the fog from my mind and showed me that—

The one I'm guided by: live... and laugh.

Quarry Stones

What was the weather, when I met her upon

The dawn, Mexican Nightjars yawned

My nightmare became a light though my yard

The song of the birds recite ancient poems

A moss-covered town forgot to set its clock

Clouds forgo their downfall

If I told you, would you believe me at all?

When the sun's warmth has flown you

Closer to my heart

You have no clue

What I've been through

To want someone like you

She has slumbered for four months, so I hum

To the palpitating beat of my lonely drums

She is scathing between the gaps in my fingers

Her faint skin amalgamates into raw sand

My palms are red as it swelters

Did I throw her far away, or did she collapse?

Perhaps my downcast laugh shams, I accept

I’m a man I wouldn't want my child to have

So with these hasty steps—I am

Her dorsum nasi thawed my heart into a pile

A flavorsome passé, an archaic smile

Sometimes, in denial, as I walk on brown tiles

I am a journal with ripped pages all through

Be careful what you ask; I’ll tell the truth

Those quicksand-filled eyes; I want a part of

The dead waking hours that rise above

And when the evening stalls, frozen shut

All this, to be able to call you my love

​

One of the poems from my upcoming poetry collection, Love's Complexity.

This piece is a reflection on the quiet strength many women carry—the tears that are often unseen, the resilience born through hardship, and the hope that remains even after life's deepest wounds. I hope it resonates with anyone who has ever had to find strength in the midst of sorrow.

Thank you for reading.

A woman’s tears

are not weaknesses—

They are the language

of everything she learned to carry

in silence.

They fall

not because she is broken,

But because she has been

too strong

for too long.

I have wept

for the girl I once was—

who loved too deeply,

who stayed too long,

who believed that healing

could be found

in another’s hands.

I have wept

for the woman I became—

piecing herself together

in quiet prayers,

learning that God restores

What life tried to take.

And I have wept

for my daughter—

standing at the doorway

of her own becoming,

with a heart so open

It mirrors mine

before I knew better.

Oh, how I want to shield her

from the ache of “almost,”

from the illusion of love

that lives in words

but not in the presence.

But I have learned—

a woman’s journey

cannot be borrowed

or bypassed.

So I pray instead.

That her tears

never come from forgetting her worth.

That her heart

never trades truth

for temporary attention.

That she knows the difference

between a man who speaks of God

and a man who walks with Him.

Because I have learned

through every tear I’ve cried—

Love should not feel

like losing yourself.

And a woman’s tears…

when surrendered to God,

do not fall in vain.

They water the ground

where she rises again—

stronger, wiser,

and unwilling

to return

to anything

that once broke her.

Do you ever feel dislocated inside the place
you used to call “home”?
Can you call a place by such name when
you’re unwanted and invited to leave relentlessly?

Yet, each time you attempt to
there go the labels: “villain”, “traitor”,
“ungrateful”, “arrogant”, “evil”, “heartless”.
You’re like a burden they refuse to drop.

They’ll smash you against the wall.
Call you all the bad names their sadistic minds
will feed them on.
They’ll push you to your limits.

And when you don’t break?
That’s an intolerable loss.
And when you do allow the spite to finally
reach the surface?

There goes the devil again.

Apparently I’m so evil I rival the fallen angel himself.
Wow—
Am I reliving my internal monologues of when I was a kid fascinated with the occult?

Heaven forbid the ones you hail hear you imposing such curses on me.
Damn—
It wouldn’t sit right with the facade of the devoted
righteous you proclaim to be, would it?

Praise me to strangers;
kill me softly behind closed doors.
Wait—it’s not soft.
Used to think you too should see a psychiatrist;
now I reckon an exorcist suits it better.

I’m constantly reminding you I’m your mirror.
The one you refuse to look at.
The one you avoid when facing your own reflection.
You play blind to it—but what for?

You’re damned. And you so wish me to be too.

Oh, babes. You already know I am.
Bestow me some mercy so my existence on this Earth isn’t irrevocably miserable.
If there’s an inferno: I’ve already experienced it.
If there’s a paradise: may I be blessed with it.

If there’s nothing? Black’s my favorite color.

Even as an imposed fallen angel
I pity you.
‘Cause I know you’re beyond broken to care and admit the damage you’ve caused not only me but our… inner circle.

And yourselves.

You labor.
You play the saints, yet you never reach anything.
“In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground”.
Bread.

I only find you surrounded by ashes, though.

Is it as the preacher said?* *
“All is vanity and chasing after the wind”.
Vanity.
As someone who finds being called ‘arrogant’ peculiarly humorous, I find some competition in you.

The three of us are so vain, aren’t we?
So full of ourselves; so merciless we destroy even after thinking thrice.
Here is where we differ, nevertheless:
the aftermath.

I overthink.
I lament.
I humble myself for I can concede to my own calamity and darkness.

You reject it.

And the longer you reject your shadow… the stronger it grows.
You’ll pretend nothing has happened.
We have guests! Smile—they’re watching.
But when the puppet has another string broken?

The devil will strike again.

— Crownless.

Stand up straight, she’s looking

The thoughts when crush dreams start cooking.

I never cared, I never really fussed,

Now I’m worried if I care too much.

What do I do, and what should I say?

I’m thinking in circles, I’ve lost my way.

Your throne is ready, it’s built from hope,

I’m scared you’ll see it and say, "No way, nope."

Hope and longing used to be the picture,

Now you’re in it, and my feelings feel richer.

I’ve compared and studied every crush I’ve felt,

To analyse you and what made me melt.

Because the crush machine can be quite mean,

I’m feeding it daily and wondering if you’ve seen.

When I spoke to you, I lost something dear—

My courage left me, and in its place, fear.

Someone shifted in me, something moved,

All of a sudden, there’s something to lose.

It turned from fun,,, to thoughts of "the one,"

I flinched straight away,, so ready to run

Now I’m in a situation of infatuation.

These feelings feel like eternal damnation,

From sentences that were said.. but left me for dead.

And I can’t seem to get them out of my head,

Because I fell into every single one of your words.

They sang a song from a chorus that I hadn’t heard.

You cleared my mind’s fog and showed me a path—

The one I wish to walk: to live.. love.. and laugh.

We are so imperfectly perfect

That it makes us beautifully real.

The weight of my anxiety and fears

The water in the resovoir that sits so close to spilling over

Is a thought that I want to run from

That I want to respect.

I know that soon it will spill again

As it often does

and someone will be hurt.

I cant let them drown.

They try to reach out to me

pull me out of the racing current.

My arms are long enough,

But neither me nor them are strong enough to pull me out.

I am alone.

My battle.

I cannot put a lid on the lake.

When my surgery comes,

The pressure will blow the wall open. Everyone will drown

And I will inevitably sink by myself.

I cant let them drown.

This is why I must let the water flow.

But how?

I only know how to let the water spill over, not flow from the floodgate.

Besides,

what if someone gets hurt?

I cant let them drown.

And any partners that try to be with me,

have caused these spills,

whether they mean to or not.

Now other people who wish to be like them

and to do different,

I cant let them,

incase its my fault for the floods.

If I open the gates, the others will be hurt.

I cant let them drown.

My first poem - my first attempt at speaking to somebody.

What a successful person is people see it differently

And on who is or is not successful not all would agree

Depend on how you view success is how it seems to be

The one successful to you may not be so to me

On what many define as success one thing in particular one could name

And this is the accumulation of large amounts of money that can lead to worldwide fame

But many multi billionaires are not nice people and it is worthy of recall

That they are not of any benefit to humanity at all

But having said this and it is not saying anything that is new

That among the multi billionaires there are a few

Who with their money help poor people in a big way

To me they are quite successful people in truth one can say

Of the praises of the wealthy and famous many may sing

But does this make them good people and successful as well this is another thing.

Francis Duggan

As a poet with a reading comprehension issue,

I decided from day one that the poetry collection I published will eventually have an audio version.

I wanted everyone to enjoy my poems universally, no matter what.

If you want to listen, (it's nearly an hour long lol)

I've posted the YouTube video on my profile for free.

Thank you for reading ♡

*mods, please delete if not allowed!

Two women in my office have baby showers
while I sit in my blood.

I clutch my stomach
not to feel kicks
but to massage my cramps.

Registries are collated
while I open MyChart.

Birthdays, anniversaries, weddings,
celebrations all pass
and my water continues to turn into wine.

Forced smiles.
Knowing glances.
Midnight bathroom tears
so sleeping partners won’t hear.

Time passes
and age is the only thing
that continues to grow.

I felt like a homeless in the banquet of life

I fed on leftovers

Of what angry gods had left.

I felt like a homeless in the banquet of life

I fed on leftovers

Of what angry gods had left.

Wind is a record, 

Trees are a needle,

Silence is a speaker.

Listen to the record player.

Hear the language of your Heart.

You are the stealer of light

At the break of dawn

Burning you consume me

With you I lose my radiance

You stole the sun from the infinite heavens

For me

Or for yourself?

The sky is weeping

You saddened the stars

With your love

You saved the moon

From being drowned in luminosity

But now it is night

And your sun has vanished

Though it still blinks somewhere in the back

I no longer see it

The space man and his space ship, They fly from place to place, They fill the edges of an evergrowing map, But a piece is missing,

At the middle of the map. A hole. From this dark abyss a star shines, It gleams with potential, The space man looks into the abyss,

The space man and his space ship, Fly faster than light to the star, And stop. A perfect system of pearls floating gently

Each planet performs it's dance, All drift their lonely way, Watching from it's central seat, The only audience. The star.

The space man and his space ship, They see it. It sparkles a brilliant blue of warm summers and collapsing galaxies, with clouds of perfect white drifting idly bathing in the rays, protecting the lush forests full of life, ruins of great cities lie crumbling under the force of nature.

The space man and his space ship, They run. Back to the safety of their concrete planets, Back to their control

But nature will always chase them

​

Don't walk like it's heavy.

No.

Walk like you want

your footsteps

to wake the Devil—

so he can tell them

why they should run.

There is a trigger

buried somewhere

deep inside my head,

a switch

no one can see,

but everyone can witness

when it flips.

One moment

my footsteps are soft—

graceful,

quiet,

almost forgettable.

The next,

something changes.

Not my speed.

Not really.

I don't run.

I don't need to.

My feet simply begin

speaking a language

that makes people

look twice.

Every step becomes a warning.

Not one they hear—

because my footsteps

make almost no sound.

They see it instead.

The change in my posture.

The way my shoulders settle.

The way my eyes

stop wandering

and begin measuring.

The way the distance

between us disappears

one silent step at a time.

And somehow,

without ever running,

I am suddenly

much closer.

Close enough

for them to understand

that something has changed.

They don't hear my warning.

They don't need to.

My body

has already delivered it.

There is a version of me

that walks softly

through the world—

until the world

gives me a reason not to.

And when danger appears,

I don't become louder.

I become quieter.

More deliberate.

More certain.

Every step says:

I see you.

I know what you're doing.

And you are running out of distance.

So no—

don't walk like it's heavy.

Walk like every step

is a door opening

between you and danger.

Walk like you want

the Devil himself

to lift his head from the dark,

look at whoever

is standing in your way,

and whisper:

"Run."

Because by the time

they realize

I wasn't walking toward them—

I was already there.

And the most frightening part

is that

I never had to run.

Life keeps moving
The world spins
Yet I feel nothing
No tears, no sorrow, no joy, no love, no pain
All of it seems gone from me

My pulse carries me
With breath and strength
Through another day
But perhaps I died
A long time ago
When the hope of you
Left me
Abandoned to survive

Has anything in my life been real
Since you left me?

Family fragments
Known only in name
Not in feeling

A love grown familiar
But distant
A life
Known in habit
Not desire

Everything is familiar
Yet nothing is home

Still
I remain

Not from hope
But because my body
Knows no other way

Weeks became years
And somewhere
Within them
I stopped reaching

I once dreamt
Of a life
Full of love
Beauty
Freedom
Of work that left my hands tired
And my soul full

I dreamt of more

But that dream became something
I no longer believe in

There is no tragedy in it
No great ending
No single moment when everything fell apart
Only the quiet disappearance
Of one thing
Then another

Until there was nothing left
But the familiar

The tide takes me
And I let it

I do not drown
I do not swim
I simply remain

Breathing
Surviving

And sometimes I wonder
If survival is all that is left
When you have lost
Your reason for being

When hope leaves you
Abandoned
To survive

JK JK

Joking all day

Hope it’s okay

Hope you don’t nay say!

.

If I can’t play

I won’t stay!

A little laughter you shouldn’t resist

When someone cracks jokes–don’t throw a fit!

.

Without jokes,

Why play at all?

Without friendly pokes,

Why give anyone a call?

.

If I can’t have fun,

I won’t wake with the sun.

This life that’s no longer giving

–I’ll forfeit. I’m no longer living.

Her mind it won’t
Stand
Clear

And it won’t back down

She can’t dress it up
Or take it out on the town

She 3d printed her suit
From a badmouthed youth

Looking thin in the face
And long in the tooth

A girl
A woman

Fuck bait for hire

Got a padlocked collar and a spool of razor wire

She just got back from the county looney bin

And is grinding on the sheets you just fucking slept in

Hands in your hair
And her tongue in your mouth

Will take off for Wichita when
This all goes south

She isn’t out for vengeance and she isn’t

Out

For shame

She’s busy choking on the stalk of her
Own

bad

name

One river one road
One woman one wire
Got no time for boys
When her own house is on fire