Standing on the Bridge We Burned

We cannot return to the past
No matter that the regret lasts
Or that penance drips sorrow

They fear us because we are the shadows
Color of the night
We are the offspring of the stars

But we are not a generation of peace
Misplaced rage
Some say -stupidity-  yet just ignorance.

We don’t think, just speak
We don’t ponder, just tweet
Thoughtless mind, empty chatter.

Image source:

Mocha #2: It’s Official, I Guess… [I Know but Cannot Say]

It’s Official I Guess…

Is there a right way to talk about preferred names and pronouns in the workforce? Is it even anyone’s business? 

As of a few days ago, my work world has been informed of my preferred name and pronouns -different from the legal ones.

I’m not sure what to do with that.

It was kind of involuntary. My new job segments into 2 sets of peer groups. I’d informed one peer group since I’d felt okay sharing and it was my first time saying it OUT LOUD to work colleagues and having them call me by my preferred name was… the best feeling ever!

I just started working with the second peer group and was more occupied with bare necessities, like office space, where to eat, where to park, who do I work with, etc.. I hadn’t really gotten around to notifying this peer group and set of supervisors about this information.

But the peer groups chat with each other, and before I even thought through how I’d approach a conversation around my pref. name and such with the second group, I got a text asking me about it.  I briefly explained, impromptu, while resisting the urge to apologize (knee-jerk reaction is to apologize for nothing).

I kinda feel mixed about it, because it was outside of my control and it was an involuntary conversation rather than a proactive one. And I feel awkward. And such.

And, I hadn’t even figured out if this was something I even wanted to do -work and personal life are separate, right?

I’m a planner. I want to really think things through before making a decision about anything. Especially this sort of thing which would impact every facet of life. I don’t need extra -isms: I’m already on the docket for racism, sexism, sexuality-ism, personality-ism, religionism, wrong-place-wrong-time-ism,  etc. etc..

Now, I get to add genderism, awkward-ism, underlying prejudice, extra levels of difficulty and how will this impact my job role?

I don’t want to be the “new curiosity in aisle 3” so to speak. I just don’t want extra attention when I want to live my life. I hope this doesn’t become a thing where it’s the queer elephant in the room during conversations.



I Know, but Cannot Say

I stick to poetry much of the time lately because I’ve been struggling to write the stuff in my mind. Why?

Because it’s not like anyone is going to read it.

Because the big data collection peoples/companies will simply scoop up my brain to analyze my likelihood to buy [insert-product-here].

Because it’s a control thing?


If  I could, I’d talk about my old job, how much it killed parts of me that I didn’t even know I had, or that I took for granted. Nothing like the first job fresh from uni to kill your soul. How I can’t get that enthusiastic about anything anymore since I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop and for someone to start screaming and calling me shit. Waiting for the shunning and isolation, for everything to be insufficient and for promises to be broken.

I guess I’d talk about the isolation of being in a culture that isn’t supportive of me. Breaking away from the structure of religion, and going back to my parents’ house every once and awhile with them staring at me with these eyes of “you’re going to hell”.

Like I don’t catch every time they say “god willing” or “May the lord bless you” or “may the lord be with you” -fuck that! I don’t need a lord. I don’t need a god.

No one’s there for me, I don’t need anyone like that.

I just need a good friend. But those are nearly as hard to find as an honest politician. Unicorn.

I’ve pursued that unicorn, that dark horse with a conical sword on its forehead. I wanted to be its passenger, so bad. I couldn’t chase it, couldn’t lasso it down. A fucking mockery.

Often times, I’d catch a rhino instead. Ungainly, endangered, and ultimately someone else’s property.

If I ever do catch that unicorn, I feel like I’d need to break its legs to keep it mine. Then it wouldn’t be a unicorn. But it would be mine.

Hi. I’m worth more.

I’d talk about how the theme so far is to crumple oneself to fit in or get used to being alone. I pay for my individuality with company. Cause I’m too much, not enough, inappropriate, or something.

I stand in conversations, silent, and staring at the people around me like “who are you?”, “why are you faking it”, “why are you asking so many questions, I’m not that interesting”. It’s like mentally stepping back to the corner of the room, just watching and observing and analyzing.

Imagine being at a party. You go in, you don’t know many people. You grab a drink, smile, and embed yourself into a conversation or two or twelve. Plastic crinkles in the background and you realize almost suddenly, that the whole room is filled with mannequins. Mannequins you have nothing in common with, that are impossible to connect with, that speak another language as part of a foreign species.

Nothing to do except leave.

But I can’t leave my life.

I’d talk about how life feels like hostage negotiation. Picking and choosing battles, except the battles are life and death. I could die walking out my front door just because of who I am. Being okay with that.

I’d talk about how we are all tadpoles in the boiling pot and we’re close to 100 degrees Celsius, and 212 degrees Fahrenheit. No one’s going to jump out, or say anything. So we’ll all die together. Goodbye planet earth – we’re going to be sun 2.

I’d talk about life being the structure of our own unique cage. You’re born in one, then you build one for yourself. With your style and aesthetic, one that you can stand to live in. The bars are habit, the ceiling is you saying “I can’t”, the walls are your perceived limitations, the floor is the core of your spirit.

Build it right, it can be a prison or a home.

There’s so much I could talk about. But it’s not like anyone wants to hear it.

I have so much love to give. But it’s not like anyone wants it.

The beauty of the future is that it can change. I’m not waiting for it to change. I’m growing me to become a evolved self. The core of me is alive and real and won’t ever die.

The only thing that dies is my faith in humanity. In love. In friendship and brotherhood.

Maybe I’m in the wrong part of the world for humanity.


Iced Fire

I have all your secrets
I hold them in the palm of my hand
Will you stay
Or should I leave?
Or should I never plan to succeed?
Perhaps I will find purpose
In the echo of your steps
Leave me again, leave me forever
Ever undone.

I could never find the words
That would make you stay
The devil swore I was meant to be alone
And chuckled when he escorted me back
To my cage
I wasn’t meant to be embraced
These arms harbor brittle branches
Never the warmth of a soul.

I hold these memories close
But like ice and snow, I could never
Manage to get warm
When will my bones freeze
Until I cannot feel
All the wounds that never heal?
The only thing more familiar
Than the taste of my blood
Is the gentle caress of your dying love

Like a candle burning out
Cling to the last vestiges of your presence
Before the altar of the forsaken
Ravens wait to pluck and tear
And savor a heart that was never there
Broken like our vows
Shattered with our distance
Did I stay, or did we both walk?
Did you stay, was I the one who walked away?
Did we both go our separate ways
Who stayed and who was left behind?

Repercussions are naught but concussions
A lurid reminder of the impact of your love
Why warm my flesh when you’d only
Freeze my bones with your absence
Take your flame and fire
Leave me to the graven plaque
Let me crack in the silence
And cave in the solitude
Let this stolid breath
Fade away into nothing
The fog of lust against the chilling chains
Of forbidden kisses

The torment of mentioned lines
Review the whispers for lies
Can it truly be so innocent?
As a farewell? A goodbye?
A never see you again?
Just because -what was the cause?
Why did you leave?
Will knowing salve this cold
Or just jut an icicle
Into my veins.

Intensely turquoise and covered with frost
Surrounding the void holding all I lost
The final flicker dies
Crackling shudder
Sprout frigid wings
I’ll be your snow angel
With you I melt
The ice will keep me whole.

Were We EVER Ready?!

Death is the date you forget
The promise that time corrects
None can dodge their fate.

Death is the silent sniper
When ready, aim then fire
No one is exempt from this tax collector’s tally.

Death floats in on quiet wing
To ease the final moments’ sting
Into a final peaceful solitude.

Death trails fingers through rough cotton sails
Monitors and machines pump and wail
Roll call sounds through each flatline.

Live by the sword
Die by the gun
Bullets are forever.

For all the posturing and politics
The glories of dynasty
Fade into the sands of time.

No one is left behind
But everything remains, to find
A final separation of man and possession.

A final surprise
In dull empty eyes
Death will literally take your breath away…

As the dive from the beach
Robs you of your final speech
Let the waves comfort you now.

As your shallow husk
Is buried without fuss
Take your grudges with you.

Death makes even religions a liar
The final equalizer
Prince and pauper fall as one.

Chase with desperation the chalice of immortality
Ignore the human fallacy
To waste precious time in futility.

But isn’t Death just a carriage
A taxi you missed today
That may ferry you tomorrow?

Life as He Knows it

He wakes up, head throbbing with pain
Barely questioning the why of feelings obtained;
Brain checks out of the morning routine
Just get out the door, sight unseen.

Get to a place he can truly despise
Do all he can to not close his eyes;
Hope for a better change of pace
Knowing he’ll never leave this place.

Glaze through it all, abide by the rules
Unique to him, enforced by the fools;
Staring out the window of his prison
Giving up hope than anyone will ever listen.

Is it time yet to go? No, not even close
Sit back and try to just make it the most;
Exhaustion creeps in, slowing the run
Regardless of wind, rain or sun.

And when he finally is free, finally home
Weariness drags, he just wants to be alone;
Pass out in bed, wake up at night
Try to make do with the boredom in sight.

He makes do with the empty dial tones
Of strangers hanging up their telephones;
Candles flickering with an anemic glow,
Somewhere in the darkness, a bell tolls.

He shivers –here –with his empty arms
A vagabond bereft of all his charms;
He knows how it ends, he knows how it goes
He knows how this story comes to a close.

It ends in the morning when the sun comes up
After midmorning showers and chipped teacups;
It ends with him walking out the door
Taking a flight, to never return anymore.

It ends on the shores of a silvery day,
When crustaceans and dolphins come out to play;
It ends, not with an echoing scream or a bang-
But the drawn out silence after the last bell rang.


The Doors

Is it a hall or a corridor?

I can’t seem to find the end.

I reach the doors of walls.

A handle in brick refuses to open.

Denied again, I reel in pain.

The door is never meant for me.

The beauty beyond was never mine.

Alone in the echoing halls, I wait.

The silence smoothers my breath.

Ice steals over my shoulders.

Will you hold me, winter? Will you never leave me?

Melting around me, I drown in the ripples.

The statue stares imperious and I wonder

How it can stand so strong all alone.

Does it help, that it is carved from stone?

The impossible pedestal remains beyond the remnantes of memory.

How can you be at peace with solitude? I scream.

Teach me…I whisper. Teach me to be ice and stone.

To put away this sorrow I’ve called my own.

Allow me to be content with my fate and succumb to these bindings.

Or cut me free at last.

“This Folder is Empty”

“Empty spaces fill me up with holes”
~Incomplete by Backstreet Boys

I clicked on “My Pictures”. This folder is empty.

I clicked on “My Music”. This folder is empty.

I clicked on “My Documents”. This folder is empty.

I clicked on “My Downloads”. This folder is empty.

I clicked on “My Desktop”. This folder is empty.

Suddenly, I felt like crying. I don’t want my folders to be empty! Why are they empty?!

Continue reading “This Folder is Empty”

Mother’s Day: Atomic Fallout

Lay on the guilt trip. I can take it. I’m a camel that needs just one more feather -but I ain’t gonna break. Can’t break what’s broken bitch!

Sometimes Gunter remembers the past and it cumulates to one simple truth.

Mother is the giver and taker of all.

Growing up, he struggled to understand that the nice mother and the…not so nice Mother were in fact one and the same. Mother giveth and taketh away. Mother loveth and hateth. Mother builds and destroys. Mother hugs and hits. Mother veers from extreme to extreme.

And then, was nice mother actually being nice? Or cunningly manipulative?

He tried to forget, he tries to forget. Because he is a person of tally and numbers. And with surprisingly good memory despite himself and his attempts to forget.

If he truly remembers everything he forcefully buried, it would cause a volcanic eruption of epic proportion.

It’s not just words, it’s not just actions, it’s not just force and intent. If it were but one, he’d be fine. He can take beatings, he can take mean words, he can survive lack of freedom. But put them all together and his tolerance burns to ashes.

So, with all the history between them, they -really he- is one uneasy truce away from severing their relationship permanently and finally.

Know what Gunter used to dream about as a kid? Changing his identity and disappearing for good. Changing his name and reinventing himself in another place and time, untouchable and free for once. Deep down, he’s still that kid with a dream and a fistful of coins in his piggy bank standing outside the house at 2 am searching for a reason to go back inside and stick around.

And he’s running dangerously low on reasons.

What really blows his mind, is that she doesn’t appreciate what she has. Instead, she focuses on what she didn’t get.

Mother’s Day 2016 is a prime example of this fact.


“On Mother’s Day, which is today I listened all day for a call from all my children. Guess What?


At 4pm I received a phone call from you and after talking for 45 minutes I received a “Enjoy your Mother’s Day” at the end of our conversation. I quickly responded with a “Thank you” because I was in shock. There was no “Happy Mother’s Day”. No -love you mother you’re an awesome mother. I guess I’m dreaming with the thought that I am a good mother. Guess what? I am now awakened out of my dream and its reality.

At 6:30pm, I went on the computer, do you know why? To see if there was a card; handcrafted that you wanted me to guess was there. Guess what? There was nothing. I have got it!!! While at college, you would buy me gifts that I pay for. I asked you to delay that till you’re working. Now you’re working, I’m totally forgotten. I’ll cherish the thought.

Just telling you how I feel.

Not upset anymore since I’m giving you this card on Mother’s Day.

So Happy Mothers Day!!!

Even so…Love always, Mother.


Yeah… she’s lucky he calls at all (doesn’t bode well for her birthday). Better save his money and intent and just don’t bother.

Because she is his mother, Gunter won’t get up and retort in kind. He’ll just say that he doesn’t care, that she’s lucky he attempted. And he’ll save the energy next year.

Happy butt-hurt Mother’s day. Mother should go adopt some kids who will do everything she says. Go buy some robots that will obey her commands. Go find a puppet she can manipulate.

Cuz he doesn’t give a shit.

Gunter can never win. And this is not a game he even want to play.

Being his mother doesn’t mean he owes an immeasurable debt. He’s done his time, she’s gotten all she can get from him. He has nothing left for her here. Just a hollow ear and an empty mouth.

A mannequin head immune to her call. Happy chatting.

“You don’t have to like me, go love someone else.”
The Truth by Kevin Gates


The sky never looked so empty. I never felt more alone.

I brushed back its hair, his crystal sharp blue eyes met mine in acute astuteness. Past the facade, I saw it’s savage grin feasting on my flesh. I could no longer feel my broken body steeped in the swamp where I had fallen.

“Surely, if there are devils, there must be a god…”

My mutterings breached his nostrils. My heavy arms clasped him tightly- the moonlight filtered through the willows. The stench of death seized my lungs with a final crushing exhale.

His teeth jab ice into my veins.

~Story in 100 words, prompted by Preacher (2016):

After a supernatural event at his church a preacher enlists the help of a vampire to find God.



Ugh!! I wish I could just be original without having to worry about being unoriginal.

So often, I feel like a copy of a copy. In the most real of senses.

After overcoming the standard childish narcissism, I swung into the complete opposite spectrum. I’m merely a plagiarism. 

Continue reading -Unoriginal…