Some Poetry I wrote

I am a poet, I love poetry. I have not always been comfortable sharing it with others, but here is something I wrote on August 6th, 2025 called:

5AM

It’s 5AM and i’m sober watching your location at an afters. I almost want to check on you to make sure you make it home safely since you like to drink and drive.

I realize you don’t ask me how i’m doing, only can i do something for you. You’re lying to me and i don’t know why, you’re one of the most judgmental people i know..You once encouraged me to have better boundaries with people and now, i find that i have to have them with you. I am worried about you, my friend.

A heavy worry. You worried about me too, right? We haven’t spoken in months, i’m not sure what to say. I set a boundary with you and the abusive company you keep; you violated my boundary. You yourself told me not to let people do that. I think i waited too long to tell you. You’ve forgotten now, maybe, the memories snorted away and washed down with some foggy, bitter, burning sensation.

I am grieving you while you’re here.

I’ve done this before, and been to those funerals. I don’t want to go to anymore funerals because someone i love poisoned themselves to death.

This poem was written on October 8th, 2025 after I realized that I wasn't friends with someone anymore.

this next poem is one I wrote after reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead and reminding myself that detachment from suffering doesn't stop it. In fact, it is an integral part of the lived experience in this system: to suffer.

The language of suffering

It sings through the trees, through the wings of the bees, through the grass and the leaves

Through the fervent words of a child saying: i am yussef, i am layla, i am aumar. Please don’t leave me to die. 

Heaving with the cries of a father mourning that he cannot feed his children.

Through the wails of a doctor watching her children, lifeless, in the hallway of her hospital.

The whistle and boom of a bomb dropping on an apartment building, the shell of a hospital gone now, so that luxury beachfront property can be acquired for an occupying force.

The heavy beat of a helicopter full of treasonous people, zip-tying children in the middle of the night so that capital can be sold.

Suffering weaves through the fabric of our lives.

To be human is to suffer. 

To want, to love, to desire: Is to suffer.

Sickness is suffering, health is suffering. 

Ignorance is suffering. 

Laughter at a music festival in 90 degree weather while a person you think you don’t know, yet are quantum entangled with, takes their last breath, and you choke on your spit.

Your spine shivers, your heart stutters, and your mind briefly flashes  to an image: suffering, 

A wheelbarrow full of small children’s bodies outside of a cobalt mine.

Nobody wants to suffer, but someone always wants something, for which  someone else HAS to..suffer.

Thank you.