A gripping exploration of deception and betrayal lurking beneath the surface of a fractured society, where true enemies hide in plain sight and the fight for truth is more urgent than ever.

This is a poem I wrote about the last days I had with my partner of eleven years before he passed away. I wrote this poem for a college level creative writing course I took online. This poem deals with death of a loved one, regrets about my last interactions with him, mean-spirited arguments we had in the days leading up to his death from congestive heart failure in August of 2018.

Evil never portrays a laugh, a smirk, or a smile. It blinks you in eye, smacks your lips, and stuffs your nose. One way out is to believe there is one.

If I’m such a hoe, then why you still around? Still sleepin’ in my bed, still blowin’ up my sound. You swear you caught me, swear I’m livin’ foul — But it’s lies in your head, been that way a while. I ain’t gotta lie — I’m grown as hell, And if my truth ain’t enough, then oh well. You keep accusin’ and I keep stayin true, But one day you’ll wake up and I’ll be through.

A poem brought on by a dream about my daughter. Written with heavy guilt over not being there for her when I should because of past mistakes.

never fucked Ronnie — that’s truth, not a lie, And Damien? Shit, he’s just a name I let die. That book is closed — locked, tossed in the fire, I’m climbing out clean from the muck and the mire. You wanna keep living in chapters I’ve tossed? Then baby, you’re the one stuck, not lost.”

As teachers, we put our heart and soul into the kids we teach. We nurture them, build relationships with them, and after some time, we grow to love them. We spend endless hours creating lesson plans that are engaging and lead to not only deep learning but also a love of learning. We generate lesson plans that are individualized, meeting kids where they are. We listen to their stories, wipe their tears, and laugh with them. Then, after one hundred and eighty-seven short days, we say goodbye, sometimes forever. This poem reflects how I feel at the end of every year as I say goodbye to those I have grown fond of. Photo: AI generated from my description

This poem is a heartfelt tribute to the boundless hope and beauty that each new day births. It celebrates the tender journey of the night’s gentle moon giving way to the radiant morning sun, a divine transition that stirs life from its quiet slumber. In this awakening, there is a pure magic—a promise of new beginnings, endless possibilities, and the invigorating pulse of life reborn with every sunrise. Thumbnail photo: Tonie Reeves Photography (by Tonie Taylor)

Humanity is greedy. We are greedy. Definition of greed. Cattle. Even dying costs money, when will we be set free?

Written while in a very dark mindset, not for the faint of heart, potentially triggering content, tread carefully

How does one appreciate something that they haven’t had taken away? This poem speaks on how the storms of life are just building blocks that help us appreciate life more.

Green eyes. Why can’t I love my eyes when she has the blue eyes I always wanted. But mine hold the richness of the world in them.

Table of Contents Byeol (On Stars) Pears (On Love) Pages (On Death) Three poems from June that I've written, please enjoy!

I poem of pain, because a love so great caused a pain so deep. The words that felt impossible to express was written in a poem. A poem of the pain endured when someone you love chooses to leave you behind in the world

This is about my beloved service dog waffles, he is the light of my life and I'm struggling without him, I hope you enjoy the read

With Apologies to Edgar Allen Poe, Warner Brothers and Mel Blanc I present: The Rooster On a wint'ry weekend morning, heeding my alarm clock's warning, And as my feet reluctantly approached the chilly bedroom floor- All at once there came a ticking, as if boogers one were flicking, Wooden boogers gently clicking, clicking at my chamber door. "Just the cats" I mumbled, "with their claws upon the hardwood door. Just the cats and nothing more."

“The Doorway” is a reflective poem about a mysterious childhood experience in which the speaker wakes up one night to see a shadowy figure resembling their grandfather standing silently in the doorway. Despite the strange sight, the speaker feels calm and curious rather than afraid. They recognize that their grandfather was actually asleep, adding to the mystery. The moment is portrayed as peaceful and meaningful, possibly symbolic of protection or a spiritual presence. Though the shadow disappears without explanation, the memory remains vivid and significant, representing a quiet, unexplainable encounter that has stayed with the speaker ever since.

To question your sense of power; to go beyond your sense of health. You scratch my back, and I’ll pick up a pitchfork.

The poem explores deep, quiet despair and the wish to fade away without attention. It reflects feelings of isolation and hopelessness, where comfort feels distant and unseen, and the speaker just wants peace on their own terms.

This is something I wrote about the complexities of death and the afterlife, I struggle to cope with loss, it's quite confusing, this is one of likely many poems that i will write about my pain and confusion surrounding death and loss