Category: Uncategorized

Turtle on the rock
Sun beaming down on hot day
A turtle basking

Torrential Downpour
It is getting dark outside
Water everywhere

I feel the cool breeze
Despite the sweltering heat
A sigh of relief

The Bees are Buzzing
And come to me while I eat
My breath comes heavy

The smell full of smoke
I feel something in my lungs
Wildfire smoke arrives

Scorching and humid
Wiping the sweat off of me
The heat wave is on

Once upon a time
so very long ago

Death courted sisters
In tale little know

He came upon a garden
where two girls often dance

Sibling beauties both unique
despite their mirrored glance

Beneath the stars of universe
in grass of shimmering green

They laughed and played most joyfully
In meadow so serene

Enchanted by their glamour
intrigued by their caprice

He sat and watched them silently
for their frolic brought him peace

Yet in Grim Reaper’s heart reveals
no nihilist is Death

A simple dreamer who yearns for life
this seeker of our breath

But time, it turns as always,
and shadows must descend

He knew one day the meadow s song
would echo to its end.

Yet daring not to take them,
he wept behind a tree,

For Death had found in mirrored souls
a glimpse of what could be…

If
each one is told to draw
their own portraits
i will look for fraction of water
nearby, vindicate the coldness in my eyes
let my finger linger through deepness
of this river, wake up my shadow
one day i slept knowing another portrait
is fetched into gleams on the shore
it always say anything lapping
is a boy saving his face from being washed
away, that day i know the ruthlessness
of water, i drew it over and over again
until the shores become snippet of starshine
how can one envy whole sets of pain
if you only care to know why my face jump out
of water to laugh and laugh, you must know
what eats a man can eat a mountain four times
faster than him, i know 7 years later
the portrait will recoil in the wind
tired of carrying water on its face
it will dry up, erect the lamplight on it
and sit imitating how you will wait to draw
your nicest portrait in the water
until one finger rusted, until you jump out
and promise those behind you
to keep part of their smoke, not this water
I
know.

I don’t always see it.

You’re just the guy I live with now.

We’re great at coordinating schedules,

And splitting up the childcare,

And having meals together.

And life with you is normal.

Not boring, but comfortably predictable.

Then sometimes I get glimpses

Into how much I mean to you.

I switch our shoes and I see

The sacrifices you make for me.

How much effort must it take for you

To be so gentle with my fragile self.

The mental acrobatics it takes

To look out for two souls at once,

Both yours and mine.

The longer I consider it,

The surer I become–

I could never be married to myself.

I simply wouldn’t succeed–

It’s delicate work.

In word and deed,

It’s you, I need.

Thought I was ready for love
Time for my fairytale story—
Ball gowns, slippers, and doves.
Thought the frog I swiped right on
One day a prince would become.

Croaked all the promises
I’d been longing to hear–
So I put on red lipstick,
Donned a lace gown,
Set the trap.
Sealed the marriage contract
With a lipstick autograph.

At first, I didn’t notice
The magic wearing thin.
When I broke out in rashes,
He bought cream for my skin.
He said I just needed glasses—
It was only my eyes
It never was him.

But one day I finally
Awoke from the spell:
True love is not magic.
It’s never enough on its own.
Can’t transform reality—
Saw the frog in true form,
Not the prince
In my fairytale dreams.

Too tired and empty
To keep playing pretend.
I’d handled frogs before;
I knew what to do.
Went back to biology,

Sliced him open in two.
Saved only four parts,
Threw the rest in the waste.
He truly was hazardous—
Let the Bunsen burner blaze.

Can’t go back in time,
Can’t take away the kisses.
But I’ll sit down as I eat
This plate full of leftovers—
Double breaded and pan-fried
In my seasoned cast iron.

Man, I love frogs.

Carrying your lifeless body in
A flash before my eyes
A bomb
Detonating my heart from my chest
But only yours stopped beating?

“I would take years off my life to give you.”
-Understated at best
I would have given you my life
So I could save myself
From living in a world without you

Performed by Val Cole

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Trauma greets me in the morning
Growing legs and stretching to lay beside Grief and I
My spearmint tea is poured with with tears of solitude steeped into my being

My phone dings, a message from the socials

this “relative” seeking to be absolved
“Hey I saw this *grief story* made me think of you (from a person I haven’t heard from since 2 days after Dad died)”

Next a message from 3:06 am…
“I know I haven’t been there for you with your grief after your dad. I hope you’re doing better”

The closer to the holidays, the closer I am to the realm of Dante’s Inferno.

So many levels to choose from…

So this is like the ex that called me out of my name once, 4 days after my Dad died. We then broke up.

This is like the man that I thought was a friend when my sister was experiencing that aneurysm (2 months after Dad died) but showed me his unsolicited penis and opinion instead.

This is like the person I thought was a friend told me, I don’t want to be around you when you’re like this. Can we try to see where you’re at in a few months?

This is like when that other “bestie” never initiated contact. Never uttered a word. Nor the other bestie because “I was a downer”.

This is like when I needed support and love and was met with the attention of my lonesome loneliness.

This is the part of the story where I can’t make this shit up,

They’ll say it’ll get better. I’m waiting now like I’m waiting for the 14 trying to get to work. Hummingbirds knew to find the best method of recovery —fly in any direction but love yourself enough to leave

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Once,
There was a poor little boy
Not poor in coins,
But in comfort.
Not poor in food,
But in love.

He had a mother
Who held a bottle
Tighter than her children,
Who traded bedtime stories
For silence
And babysitters.

She didn’t know
The sitter wore a smile
Like a wolf wears fur
Pretty, but hiding teeth.

The poor little boy
Was left in that house
Again
And again
And again
His body learning
What his mind couldn’t name.

In school,
When the word “sex” was said,
He tilted his head
Like a puppy chasing a sound.

“what’s that?”
He asked, honest,
Small.

The class laughed.
A boy yelled:
“when a penis goes in—”
And the teacher turned,
Just in time
To hear the poor little boy say,
‘oh, I’ve done that heaps of times at home.’

The room froze.
The teacher didn’t.
She pointed to the corner,
Not the pain.
Punished the words,
Not the wound.

He grew into a teenager
With shame in his bones.
Carrying hands
Taught by trauma,
Not by consent.

He touched someone wrong
because someone had touched him worse

The school system failed him, just like his mother failed him.

He grew up
But never out
Of the ache.

Years passed,
He wore cologne,
Wore muscles,
Wore confidence
Like armor
Over an abandoned child.

He became a man
Who never let women leave
Not because he loved them,
But because he feared empty rooms.

He cheated not for thrill,
But for survival.
If one left,
Another would still be there
To say
He mattered.

But he didn’t believe them.
Not really.
Because how do you trust
A kiss
When your first touch
Was betrayal?

He told women he loved them,
But didn’t know what love was.
Just that it sometimes came
With skin
And silence,
And left
Without warning.

He hurt women
The way he was taught love feels.
Then hated himself
For becoming the echo
Of someone else’s crime.

He’d lie awake sometimes
Beside a warm body,
Colder than he’d ever felt.
Wondering
If the boy inside him
Was still screaming
In the corner
Of that first classroom.

Wondering
Why nobody came.

He tried therapy.
Walked into the office
With trembling hands
And sat down
Like a guilty child.

He said,
“I don’t know who I am
When I’m not being touched.”

He said,
“I think the first woman
Who loved me
Was trying to erase me.”

He said,
“sometimes I don’t want to exist—
But I’m too stubborn to leave.”

The therapist said,
“you were hurt.”
He shook his head.
“no.
I was made that way.”

And still,
Some nights,
He dreams of the sister
Who said “I got you”
And didn’t.
He dreams of the girl
He hurt,
Who looked at him
Like he was the monster
Under her bed.
And he wonders
If the monster
Had a mother
Who drank herself numb.

The poor little boy
Never really left.

He just grew taller,
Learned to flirt,
Learned to fake charm
And hide the rot.

But when the lights go off
He’s still there,
Knees to chest,
Waiting in silence, for someone
To come back,
And mean it.

But in the silence, all the things we didn’t learn, remained.

Because all he ever wanted
Was for someone to stay
After they saw
Everything.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Like the tides, life rises and falls.
At times, you’re soaring—
High,
Reaching toward the endless sky,
Your crest catching golden light,
Dancing in the sun.

And then—
You’re pulled low,
Crashing down,
Breaking hard,
A surge of force,
Scouring shores,
Leaving driftwood behind—
Fragments of dreams
That once were ships.

We, the sailors,
Adrift,
Charting unknown paths,
Searching for home,
Holding on
Just to make it
One more day.

And then comes the stillness—
A hush.
Waters calm,
Sky mirrored in a sea of blue.
No wind. No fear.
Just peace.
Just breath.

So when the skies darken,
And storms begin to howl,
When waves rise tall
And clouds press down—
Hold on.

Be strong.
The ocean cannot break you.
The storm cannot drown you.
Because you know:
Beyond every wave,
Stillness waits.
Peace returns.