Perfect
As amazing as that word may sound,
No one truly lives up to it—
Except one person:
Him.

With his clever jokes,
His nerdy facts,
His endless stickers—

He’s unapologetically himself.
So perfect.
So him.
Good at everything.

Ask a question—he’ll know the answer.
Drawing? He can do it.
Music taste?
Uniquely out of the blue—
A song you’ve never heard,
But suddenly love.

He walks into a room,
And somehow, the world gets quieter.
Not because he demands attention—
But because he deserves it.
A calm confidence.
A gentle strength.

He doesn’t try to be impressive—
He just is.
The way he laughs,
Like he means it.

The way he listens,
Like he cares.
Him.
Sweet.
Charming.
Kind.
Gentle.
Smart.
Steady.
Warm.
Real.
Perfect.

And if he ever doubts it—
If he ever wonders who he is to others—
He should know:
To me,
He’s everything.
He’s my perfect boy.

Words were spoken so smoothly.
Conversation was flowing graciously.
Attraction was arousing so maturely.

Until Casper flew in –
Turned the lights out.
Erased every word spoke.
Deleted from existence.

In the mirror, a stranger stares back with despair,
Eyes searching for answers, but finding none there.
The laughter of youth feels like a distant refrain,
As he grapples with sorrow, heartache and pain.

In dreams he glimpses a life filled with fire,
A heart full of passion, a soul that aspires.
Then reality pulls him in, a heavy cold chain,
As he awakens to the silence, the echoes of disdain.

Every day feels like a loop, worn and frail,
A race with no finish line, where he struggles to prevail.
He ponders his journey, the path that he walks,
As shadows of uncertainty, swirl in his thoughts.

Once vibrant with laughter, his world now feels bare,
His personality has faded, his happiness is rare.
He clings to the memories that slip through his fingers,
The love he once felt, now only lingers.

He watches life pass him, a truly sad sight,
While he remains in the shadows, far from the light.
Just when will he find, the love that he seeks?
His future seems glim, empty and bleak.

In the depths of a sunlit glow,
Numbers dance, putting on a show,
Staring at screens, words in a jumble,
A writer’s mystery, a poetic tumble.

Diving deep in alphabet soup,
I watch my partner in a sunny loop,
Soaking in rays, vitamin C,
While my fur baby lives carefree.

Days drift by with a gentle sigh,
As I sort through thoughts that flutter and fly,
Filling my pages with dreams and schemes,
Preparing for challenges, chasing my dreams.

An unexpected guest, black and white,
Visits my world, a playful sight,
He comes and goes, a brief delight,
Bringing laughter, turning day into night.

In this cozy space where ideas inspire,
I weave my words, my soul’s desire,
Amidst the chaos, a tranquil scene,
In the heart of creation, I find my dream.

My Greatest What If

I wish I could write to you.
I wish I could tell you the things I’ve done lately—
the small victories, the quiet moments, the ways I’ve grown.
I wish I could talk to you,
just to hear your voice,
even if it came with that fake enthusiasm you used to give me.

In another life, I would’ve taken the risk.
I would’ve chosen you.
Shared my thoughts, my fears, my dreams.
But this world keeps spinning,
and I still can’t spin you out of my mind.

We are connected.
By what, I don’t know.
Maybe our souls just recognize each other.
Maybe we are star-crossed lovers,
meant to feel it,
but never touch it.

I long to reach out to you—
but it’s dangerous.
I long to share my accomplishments,
but I can’t.
It’s as if I serve a life sentence—
one where the silence protects everything and destroys something too.

No matter what happens in this life,
a piece of me will always love you.
You are my greatest what if.

My agrees with Miss Swift-
“2024” was a very cruel, cruel summer…
Though in spite of making sound choices,
Has been made and proved to be so much funner!

A great experience of God’s talents-He gives from on high above,
Was just yesterday, last day gone-yet 1st 7 of 50 books-printed strong love!
An awesome convention by the Sword of the Lord-Walkertown North Carolina,
I wanted to go year after year-But now no PO to block my son clear!
So we both went with great cheer, filled-in-the Spirit while drawling near!
For God said “Do” and He will “Do” the same-with no shame of any tears!

…Only happy ones inside!

The day in Cleveland, so minute far off-Solar Eclipse hit the mark…
Yes, the same time to celebrate 4 years dry-
No alcohol in this body of mine!
T’was April 8th!!!

Also while so hot, yet the water was cool,
Came the baptism of my son-so exceedingly cool!!!
He got a license, he got a car, and a house for to stay-
God has blessed his Obedient way, without any sorrow of the day!

Also for me-my 3rd study course complete,
Finished Application-with only one left to meet!
So soon I’ll be done-steady moving to go on…
Walking with my Gal Wisdom-She to me is so very strong!
It’s simple Love Dear-for the mighty to hear!

Picking any one from all this fun-out of sober memory…
Would be like putting a kid in Charlie’s Chocolate Factory-
And tell him to pick his favorite, very best tastefully…

Yea, I know-Mission Impossible!
But what IS probable here-
Is that “2024” turned out to be…
My very best year!!!

12-18-24

Some assumptions about
Me being careless because
I now, care less, about others opinions.
It’s nobody’s business what I’m doing
Or consuming. Assuming I care,
The lesson you’ll learn. Is be safe
As we leave far from near.
So… Be safe!!! As I drift off into the distance.
It’s just an experience of our existence.
If you care? Be carful, until we meet again.
Our mind carries our memories.
I’ve cared and carried. With some I did it
Carefully.

A light shines through the window bright,
As you lie there, lost in the night.
Gazing up at the moon’s soft glow,
“Wow, isn’t it pretty?” you whisper low.

The air so thick, it clings like a dream,
You breathe it in, caught up in the theme.
“Is that what I think?”—a giggle escapes,
Realizing you’re just a bug that shapes.

Oh, how cute are those fireflies’ gleam,
Reflecting memories, like a childhood dream.
A jar in hand, capturing the dance,
Nature’s magic in a fleeting glance.

The sounds of the wild begin to play,
While the magic box whispers night away.
In the cool embrace of this tranquil space,
Our flickering flames find a new grace.

Is nature ready, with arms open wide,
To heal our hearts from the depths inside?
In this tropical paradise, let us weave,
A tapestry of hope—together, we believe.

Loved ones surround me,
Their eyes soft with hope—
Heart-shaped and heavy.
They dream I’ll become
What they never could.

Expectations chain me,
But still, I love them—
How could I not,
When they stand so proud,
Their backs straight with belief?

Yet maybe, in their gaze,
There’s more than weight—
There’s warmth.
And maybe I can become
Not what they were,
But something just as bright.

I’ll rise—not as their echo,
But as their answered prayer.
A voice forged from silence,
A path that’s mine alone.
Carrying their hopes
Not as chains—
But as wings.

Words that cut like glass —
Sharp, unseen.
Expect too little.
Hope for the best.
Treat each wound like all the rest.

They stain your heart,
Make it bleed.
Crack your ribs,
Leave your soul in need.

They break you down —
But still, you rise.
Because in the end,
They’re just words,
Just words.
So treat them that way.

Don’t expect too much.
Expectation is the root of all pain.
And words that cut like glass —
Still shatter just the same.

As I lie among the sighs,
Gnats swarm and flash before my eyes.
Beside me, my cat, a quiet sage,
Absorbing life without a wage.

Humidity wanes as evening falls,
I ponder what the kitchen calls.
“Shall I cook or seek a quick delight?
Avoid the heat, embrace the night?”

How lovely it must be to be
A pet, with meals provided free.
Only giving love, those “motorboat” purrs,
A life of ease, amidst the stir.

The screen glows bright, a familiar sight,
Yet in its glow, there’s little light.
Replaying moments, over again,
Can joy be found in the mundane?

I watch the air conditioner hum,
Working hard, day after day, it’s come.
To shield us from the flames that rise,
I wonder, if it spoke, what wisdom lies?

Who knows the thoughts of one that cools,
Amidst the heat, a silent jewel.
A life like this, a curious blend—
In purrs and sighs, perhaps we mend.

I think I’m addicted to nicotine—
that high feeling it gives you,
that bliss,
that feeling where you’re floating—
your soul floating outside your body,
looking down at you,
watching you try to cope with slowly losing yourself,
as it floats farther away—
all by just making that loss more severe,
or, we may say, more desperately needed.

You think nic provides you with comfort,
since, as the smoke fills your lungs,
it feels like a warm hug—
by the lungs, straight to the heart.
It feels like that hug you eagerly craved as a child but never got the chance to receive.

So, you try your hardest now
to make up for all the hugs to the heart you never got to have,
to make up for the loneliness you felt as a child,
to make up for everything you used to try to do to yourself
in the middle of the night,
all alone in your room.

As the smoke fills your lungs
and the nic starts to hit—
affecting your consciousness and logic—
you feel detached.
At peace.
At least for a little while.
And as you watch your soul swim away from you slowly,
outside your body,
swimming farther and farther,
swimming faster and faster,
the more you smoke—
the higher you feel and get.

All you want is to see that soul gone.
Disappeared.
Dead.
In reality, that’s all you’ve longed for,
yearned for,
since you turned nine.
And through not being able to kill yourself—
kill your soul—
you enjoy losing yourself,
losing your soul,
for at least a few cigs a day.

Call this addiction.
Call this drug obsession.
Call this anything you want.
But I’d like to call it survival.
Because without nic,
death would’ve had its hands engraved in my soul,
refusing to let go,
clutching my body,
and reaching for my soul,
a long time ago.

I wouldn’t be here now.
I would’ve been dead—
unalived by the same hands—my own—
the same ones that used to cut and burn my body every single night,
thinking it was the only way I could feel something, other than numb.

So is it better to smoke or to die?
Is it better to smoke your life away,
trying to survive it,
or to kill yourself,
having given up on it without even a trial?

My question is:
Do we call this Addiction or Survival?
Do we call this person addicted to drugs or desperate to survive?
And who are we to judge someone,
for only ever trying to hang on,
to the loose pins of their soul
to their body?
Who are we to judge?
Addiction is survival
Survival is addiction
As unbelievable as that sounds, one can’t exist without the other.
And again who are we to judge?

I am down on my luck without a chip in hand.
Searching for answers in this shifting sand.
Settling troubles piece by piece,
Yearning for a way out, a moment of peace.

Hanging on pins, feeling the strain,
Sorting through categories, wrestling with pain.
Hope seems to fade, like shadows at dusk,
Gazing at my clock, as time builds rust.

Why must the hole be so deep and wide?
Why does the meter run out, no matter my stride?
Yet still, I cling to the flicker of light,
Holding on tight as I search for what’s right.

In slumber’s sound upon the table,
My guardians watch, ever stable.
A magical screen, their silent gaze,
While nourishment fills the bowl in a haze.
With a velcro tongue, I reach for the drink,
In this cozy realm, my thoughts drift and sink.
My language spills forth, a chorus of tunes,
Echoing gently beneath the bright moons.
Through my kingdom, I wander with grace,
Leaving behind whispers of where I embrace.
Clues trace my journey, scattered with care,
In the heart of my haven, my spirit laid bare.
Travelers gather, tales to share,
While I stake my claim with flair in the air.
In this enchanted space, I’m never alone,
For in my domain, every corner is home.

Dear Vapor,
It’s now been 22 years and you are still with me everyday holding down my anixety. My question is why are you still holding power over me all these years. My family and peers have been telling me give it up you don’t need it anymore you will feel so much better if you finally depart with it. I have even though the same thing cause of my financial budget cause you don’t understand how much you keep breaking my bank everyday I look for you in different varities but I can’t stay away. What’s your secret? I know you’re not good for me but I just don’t know how to say I’m ready to put you down for good. I’ve been looking into different options to finally have the courage to let you go but I feel that I don’t have the strength to finally put you down. I don’t know what to do or it I ever will be ready.

As I walk along the horizon the beaker boils with drips. Tensions fly to the surface when the well has finally dried up. As the routine stays the same can’t the clock move forward faster? Struggling without the help and holding on by a thread of patience, even though the patience is running thin. As the breeze slides through the pattern never changes.

Dear Unsealers,

It’s the 20th of June.

In the Northern Hemisphere, today is the longest day of the year. And in the Southern Hemisphere, it’s the shortest day.

Though the exact moment where the earth’s rays are closest to the sun isn’t scheduled until 10:42PM tonight, it feels right to still welcome in the new season.

Ninety-four days are ahead under sunshine, blue skies and warm weather. Here’s to sea breezes, golden hour sunsets and moments spent in good company. The days will go by just as fast as they’ve arrived.

This is my welcome to the new season ahead…

When day turns to night
The sun’s rays are closest to earth

A new season is upon us
The solstice, ushering in the summer

The longest day this year is here
First one, of ninety four to come

It’s a blank slate so far
With space, wide open for infinite possibility

A time of year where the world slows down
After a hibernating winter and blossoming spring

Soaking up the warmth, the days will go by fast
Looking ahead to Iberia in the fall

Summertime as a kid
was a beautiful time to be alive
Catching the sun rays amongst the face
while collecting the wrinkled water skin
from swimming all day
Running the hot pavement for a game
of tag or hide and seek
Bare feet walking amongst the cold
green grass eating the sweetest
popsicle treat
Melted juices rolling down
the little arms
Stomachs full of grilled meals and
intoxicated drinks
Laughter overflowing the atmosphere
Neighbors coming together
for a game or two of cards
Children invading the streets
with their bicycles and skateboards
Summertime as a kid
was a beautiful time to be alive

We may not do scratch-offs,
or play the “Pick 5”.
But every addict is a gambler,
Gambling with their lives.

There’s no chips involved,
No minimum bet.
We play with our souls,
We wage our regret.

Will this be the bag,
that gets you high?
Or is this the time,
you finally die?

Time with your loved ones,
is in the pot.
Maybe you’ll win,
with this next shot!

A free trip to jail,
for the rest of your life!
Just take a chance,
and roll the dice!

Your family will leave,
unless you end this charade.
Ten to one?
I like those odds!

So we take another hit,
we do another line.
“I bet they won’t leave,
just like last time.”

Will I get an empty bag?
Will the rocks be salt?
Even if you lose,
It’s never your fault.

The game was rigged!
The dealer’s a liar!
It’s all on them,
if you don’t get higher.

Whether its cards in your hand,
or a needle in your vein,
we all find something,
that takes away the pain.

There are no winners,
when you play with drugs and booze.
But gamblers don’t gamble to win,
Gamblers gamble to lose.

“The Gamble”
-Matty Jablonsky