A Pillar of Salt

Remember Me Kindly


You are not family

“You have to earn that”

You are just blood

Do you even know what it means to be family?

Do you know what family is?

A light shining in a house

bright and warm

a fire in the hearth

where home is

where mother father sister brother is

where you are

where I am


hugs denied

hugs forced upon us to our joy

the anger and sadness too

that is family

running into the night

no shoes on

promising to not look back

of course you look back

and stop

you backtrack

tears in your eyes running crashing down your face


you are ashamed

you look around

you slump slouch

head down

you turn back

you return


it is what calls you home

mother father sister brother

gone away

but will come back

will be seen again

someday somehow

I try to write something substantial while I wait

I am not sure if I succeed.

I was Nightingale. I was Sin.

It was a story of people, gods and, maybe… even monsters. It was a poem meant to explain me away. It’s time to give up on this… these hands… these words. They were never the right ones and no one was ever there to listen. I never gave up on my dreams. I never had one. Not that anyone ever asked or has or will. And maybe it’s time I admit this to myself… I am the monster in the closet with the lights out screaming with its mouth closed and eyes open. You should have named me the same as my box my closet. I know I am nothing no one. It doesn’t hurt anymore maybe it never did. And monsters its like me we don’t go home. Because there is no home to return to… I may be allowed a place to rest but it isn’t home. That is something I was born without. Why did you birth me? I never asked for this. What should they call me when I am dirt dust? That’s easy. I ask to be called Sin. But then it will rain. Sin? More like it. Home… it’s like rain or snow… it’s a fleeting feeling or maybe that’s just my wishful thinking hoping someday someone will think remember me… cry for me sit with me hug me hold me never let me go… instead you told me you hated me worse you were indifferent you laughed in the face of my sorrow. You never noticed anything. By the time you looked over I was broken into a million little pieces if not more and you sneered down at me and called me Liar called me Jealous called me Brute. And somehow all those pieces you could not see never saw they managed to shatter break even more. Splinter me again and again. I don’t know really what more I can say… you are just like yours those who call me Brute to you. You don’t see me. You don’t understand. Don’t you get it? I could never be jealous of you or anyone… jealousy requires competition which means we’d have to be similar or after similar things etc in life… it’s been 28 years and you still don’t see…? All I want out of life is silence quiet… I dream of birds and their songs. I made you tea. I was Nightingale. I was Sin.

The Crossroad

I guess this is where the road ends. Where will you go? I’ll sit here at this crossroad… I’ll sit here for a while… maybe forever. And the sky it was always too wide too vast and clear for me. Suffocating bringing me to my knees. Grinding my face into the dirt. Ashes cover me cover you. Except I stayed was buried under while you kept on kept running. I tried to raise my head only for it to be brought low once more. Broken hands. Broken feet. Will they ever be fixed? I wonder while knowing no no never. Wooden hands and wooden feet. And this puppet I have become or perhaps always was. One day it will burn. I stare at the sun allowing it to blind me pretending that it’s burning glare is kindness. I wonder if that is love? If that is what it’s like? And when I burn I wonder when I am ash if the wind will take me up into that sea that ocean above me that made it hard to breathe. And yet I can’t help but think that my ashes will never stir that no wind will take them up or anywhere nothing will be moved or grow from them. Mother please become wind become thunder lightning all that moves and is. Just please… little one little girl don’t stop but you already have and not a whisper of you shall there ever be.

little boy smile live RUN

little boy





down those

gravel hills




tears run


your brown




you always had

such long beautiful/handsome?



your eyes

lit up




for you


for your smile


I’d kill


I’d die


for you


be safe


we forgot



your happy




your awkward



your soul


so perfect


to me







and I


I am

at fault



My words

have helped/hindered


created this


this sad/scared



You who have no need

of me

of anyone

of the world


often I think


if I go


when I am gone


perhaps you will smile


and learn/remember

how to live



Notes on: 1

People don’t exist in a vacuum… perhaps, this is why I conceptualize my characters in conjunction with other characters of mine? Vesper cannot exist without Cael and Veran, nor can the latter pair exist without the other.

Dawn cannot exist without Dusk, which led to the creation of Geminus.

Sevanne “Sex” cannot exist without him. Nor can he make sense without the former.

Enz exists in relation to her roommates and friends etc. As they do in relation to her.

The only character that has seemed to exist without being tied down to any other character is Nox “Sami”, but even she eventually became intertwined with the other characters, Gaia especially.

her name was

Her name was Skye.

In your dreams in your mind.

you imagine sometimes that maybe life could have turned out differently for you

but you always feel strange and try to stop the unwanted thoughts from returning

to you it will always be odd to want that want something different than what you have

something you cannot really understand having cannot really understand even wanting.


The Black Ribbon.

It is a symbol of remembrance and/or mourning.

I feel like I should wear one, find one… instead i settle for simply wearing black. All black. maybe there is some color to off-set all the darkness but even then… one could hardly argue all the black i wear. i am monochrome. i am monotone.

i think of my mother. mom. mommy. my dearest brightest person. gone. i want a take-back. even though i know that is not possible not gonna happen. not this time. there is no way to go back to start over not this way not in that way.

it will be like this now forever or as long as forever is for me. it is a life sentence a rest of life sentence.

i think of me and my life. the past. i think of little me. treacherous little me. i should have listened to mother more or at least even a little. i would not have been so broken then. i try to tell myself these things but even then i do not cannot understand.

How? That’s not true… that’s not how it works how it ever worked.

life was not fair to me but it was not fair to any of us. life screwed us all.

and all the unspoken secrets the words that drop from your mouth silently but travel from your eyes. the accusations the sadness uncontrollable grief the why did i never asks why couldn’t i have at least tried for closure? but you know that was never you never what you were there for. even if sometimes you wish it was.

To the Man who Named Me

To the Man who named me Bastard

Why did you never love me?

Why did you never try to even speak or see me let alone know me?


Why was I never good enough?

Not even for you?


I am named sacrifice


you didn’t want me

Daddy didn’t want me

Nor did Mommy


You couldn’t give two shits about me

Daddy thought I was an annoying pretentious bitch


Mommy hated me


I wrote this for you


Yeah you were right. I was going to write John before I was called out and ridiculed for it… so instead I wrote Joe in 2005.

Not that you ever cared


Is it weird that I wish you had?


That your indifference makes me feel especially worthless?


I guess I am what people call ‘unloveable’.


To the Man who called me Bastard.


To the Man who made me Bastard.

The Dark Letter

I wanted to be Professor X when I was a child… I also had aspirations for world domination as a toddler tends to have… as I aged I began to see how insufficient the x-men were. I wanted to be Cognitio, a character I created when I was around the age of 8. He was a genius. My friends when I was 15 said they found him freaky and that he was the one to watch. I was offended. Maybe that’s why I wrote all those emails to Joe Samaritan and then to Joe American. I took on the name of my mother father. It was 2003. It took you about 9 years… sometimes I wonder about that most times I don’t. Christ in all… that is holy… I never understood the notion… but that’s not to say I never wished to. If I had to pick a letter it still would be X. But games are for children aren’t they?

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