My Father’s Laughter  

I walked

into the wild

and the trees

welcomed me

with open

branches

and open

heart

ON THE BRINK

Standing on the brink

A humble grail in hand

Contemplating that clink

According to thy command

Boisterous play, or high jinks

As the mist begins to clear

I await in the morning chill

The Passover of my fear

Oh! Silently, in the still

Whether far or near

©Johnny J P Lee

19 September 2024

A Gogyoshiren Poem (10)

Photos Credit J. P. Lee

(Man on a cliff, unknown source)

defeating myself

i unclench my fists. 

my skin takes a gasp of

breath. begs for a release

from this constant tension. 

i release the weakness 

that lives inside me. turn away.

~K.T.

Words all jammed together.

No room in your mouth

for all your heart's burdens,

they spill out. A red mess.

There is no vacancy in me,

empty as I am. 

I have no price.

You can't stay.

@trash-ainu and @constancya

I don’t need therapy. I need my husband (archive of our own) to return from war (the server is currently down) and come home to his devoted wife (an ao3 user who was in the middle of reading a gay sex scene). it’s been almost two years (20 minutes) since he (ao3) has been taken from me

roles reversed, crumbling in dust enough to cave in the lungs of titans. don't force me to breathe anyway, it's pointless in the grand scheme of cigar marketing. all for standing outside and watching the rays of sun stretch their limbs and lie down for the evening but the true beauty comes when all the pawn shops facing east are religiously nocturnal.

a hopper of trains, we can be out of here, we can be slugs happily avoiding the minefield of saltshakers set up to watch us perish. a tale as old as grandfather's medals, tears stinging eyes, hometown roaches feasting on nuclear Thanksgiving; part the lips and caught the tongue trembling common knowledge. that the boxing gloves hooked on the wall have touched their fair share of tender cheeks and retiring will only cause the maroon to solidify.

nap away the wrongdoings of foreign-feeling nausea. spin the story like a top on the evening reporter's desk laden with load-bearing ash-pokes the size of his ideals surrendering to keyboard gestures of love and floundering reputation.

There is a hidden softness to the winter, though, like the underbelly of an old matted cat.

Fragile Animals, Genevieve Jagger

I feel like more people should see this.

Burn away my cache of lies to make room for your butterlies Flora grows, fruit will bloom in what I had built to be a tomb

Spin me left, dip me right. Dance with me into the night.

and when we stop to rest our eyes, your heartbeat will be my lulaby

writhing, decaying in endless cycles