If "Headshots" was the attack, this entry is the post-production. It analyzes how the "Lens of Obscurism" is used to crop reality. It documents the refusal to be the "subject" of someone else's distorted portfolio, finding "refulgence" (brilliance) in the messy, unedited self.

Passivity is not merely the absence of action; it is an active imprisonment. This entry documents the "recidivism" of the anxious mind—the habitual return to the safety of doing nothing. It explores the "oubliette" (a dungeon with no exit) constructed by the self, where the "quit" takes the wheel and apathy actively hunts down human will.

The camera is rarely an objective observer; it is a tool of exclusion. This entry examines the "framing" of a narrative—how specific angles and lighting are manipulated to create a "flagitious" caricature of the subject. It uses the mechanics of photography as a metaphor for the "smear campaign," exploring how a Prime Lens (a fixed, narrow perspective) cannot zoom out to see the full context of the human spirit.

I beg your pardon. You came to me, darling. You've made a mountain out of a mole hill. You've questioned the days' somber. And to think, you've looked at me to undress days in and days out, and STILL, I am just another woman in your dainty curtain call of a bed.

Love is sacrifice, love is never saying no? Love is bitter sweet. This poem is catastrophic. A melodramatic way of explaining what love can look like sometimes and what it may feel like when one sided

Love isn’t perfect. It has flaws. This story is about a boy and a girl choosing themselves over love. But is the pain worth it? Both are spiraling in pain and misery but still long for each other. Maybe lust has gotten to their heads. Maybe they’re so close but just so far. Maybe they’re just not for each other. Maybe they’re perfect for each other, just not at the right time. He’s shaken her up and she’s exploding, reflecting on her bad choices. Will they make it ?

Hi Im just writing about thing black teens go through at a young age that shape them to the men's they become.

​We've got some stories, you and me... Tales of chaos, close escapes. This is a tribute to the love forged not in safety, but in fire. It's about a loyalty built on the dirt-packed ways, through bending luck and changing shapes. Outsiders only see the dust, but we know the truth: every close call, every storm, was a hammer strengthening a bond written in lightning strikes. This is a promise: "I'm your ride or die, and that's the only truth I'll show. #Poem #NotASaferLove #RideOrDie #ChaosAndCloser #Loyalty #WrittenInLightning #Soulmates

I wrote this originally after my first Nar-Anon meeting. A support group for family/loved ones effected by drugs and alcohol. He is just one of my qualifiers. A word used instead of addict, or drug abuser. Where I knew that something was off from the very beginning. I still fell very quickly. It wasn't until after we were married I knew for sure. Granted our meeting one another, engagement, nuptials and now I guess the end. All happened in record time. At least for me and many I know. Perhaps if I/we were stars in Hollywood. Or stars period. Our relationship would be considered a great love story. And the length of time wouldn't even be brought into question.

Have you been made to feel you are too much? Or are you with someone who just isn't enough? The simple things! If those aren't reciprocal. Honesty, genuineness, consideration, understanding and self responsibility. Being accountable for the only one you are responsible for. YOU! You cannot love the red flags out of someone. Believe me if it were possible. I would have been successful. You also can't carry a relationship. It takes two! Two heads are supposed to be better than one. No ones wants should come before a person, human being, your partners needs. That's it and that's all. Nuff said!

It shouldn't be painful to care or love someone. I don't regret anything. Of course I can't rewind and rewrite the past. Of course I can't make things different. As much as it hurts. Love doesn't disappear because it is one-sided. Love doesn't mean that I should accept less than what I give either. And neither should any of you. Love yourself first and it will always find you.

Trigger Warning: Loss & Suicide This story is deeply personal. It’s about someone who changed my life — my best friend and mentor, Tyler. I’m sharing this not to focus on how he passed, but to honor how he lived — his kindness, his strength, and everything he taught me about being myself. If you’ve ever lost someone to suicide, or if you’ve ever felt alone in your pain, I hope this story reminds you that love doesn’t end — it just changes form. Tyler’s spirit still lives on in small moments, memories, and the lives he touched, including mine.

The poem is about two friends who are buying a substance for use later on. The subject is speaking from a point of view of themselves to the reader and the other precipitant.

Women's emotions compared to water, are we too much for men, for ourselves even? Have men become weak and soft, afraid to confront our ever changing emotions and needs.

This QR code was created for quicker access to my work. You can also follow my Instagram account @t.i.mberg

As a young person going through life without a clear path it is hard to manage and cope with things, especially when something traumatic happens to them. In this poem it shows a struggle that most people go through without a helping hand or a voice, it shines a light on emotional struggles and the feeling of abandonment by someone that is supposed to be your up guiding support but doesn't acknowledge it. But, a long the way you find a love that feels that void and helps with struggles and healing.

This is a small essay my English teacher from last year had her students write. I wasn't particularly proud of it then, but I like it a lot more now.

When you have kids impatiently waiting, you start to think. We parents think we have the perfect timing for our kids- God is the same.

Love is the most beautiful, hurtful, stupid, fun, amazing, crazy, happy, sad thing you can ever experience.

Earlier, you stopped by. I saw you standing there. How long had it been since I'd last layed eyes on you? It was almost like a dream— the kind where you lose what you once loved after waking up again.