Hey

Time Traveler's Lament

On these jagged, ancient rocks, a prehistoric tableau sprawls out. Pteranodons wheel above, their shadows flickering over the shore, while I stand alone, marooned in a time that refuses to claim me.

The wind, a biting whisper, salty and relentless against my wetsuit, slips into my bones. Beside me, a Stegosaurus, its plated back a silent testament, offers no solace, only a stark reminder of my misfit existence.

I've wandered these timeless paths, among creatures that shouldn’t know me, their eyes glinting with curiosity that edges into indifference, reflecting the isolation that binds my soul.

It seems the world has decided: I am best left alone, a misplaced wanderer, standing firm on rocks that jut into a sea that swallows my cries with indifference.

In the distance, the sky bleeds into the somber hush of dusk, where pterosaurs vanish like dreams slipping away, and I, a solitary figure in black, a mark of modernity against this ancient backdrop, feel the deep, abiding sting of never being enough, never quite cool enough to belong.

The ache is a constant companion, a yearning for community, for a partner, always just out of reach. Each face turns away, each heart remains closed, as if I’m perpetually falling short of some unspoken measure.

i gave you my best years, wrapped them in gold foil

and you tucked them away, said

"not now, maybe later"

but later never comes

and i'm left with my heart

dangling on your hook

somehow I allowed it to happen

you do just enough, lover, to keep me

in your orbit, a moon circling

a planet that never looks back

i'm a shadow, caught between

your daylight and dusk

and it’s lonely here

so lonely i can taste it

bitter on my tongue

your love is a riddle, a puzzle

i keep trying to solve

but every piece i fit

leaves another gap

and my worth, my self

is rewritten in your hesitant hand

letting you do this to me

was easier than a breath

like falling asleep

in a garden of weeds

thinking they were flowers

i let the roots wrap around me

until i couldn't tell

where you ended and i began

my years, my time

slip through the cracks of your fingers

like dust, like whispers

and i'm left clutching

the memory of what could've been

i am adrift, submerged

like that day in the sunlit water

sparkles dancing over me

as snakes slither, unseen

a picture of calm

while the current pulls me under

drowning in a sea of snakes

your promises, your touch, your words

coiling around me, pulling me deeper

until i can't breathe, can't see

where hope begins and despair ends

you redefine me with every silence

every half-smile, every almost-touch

i burn bright, a firework

that you never stop to watch

and time, that thief, steals

my best from under your gaze

still, i linger

hopeful, foolish, aching

for a change that never comes

learning too late

that love should be more

than a waiting room

a silent cry

The Adventures of David

Here, beneath the waves, David's heart breaks and mends, over and over. A constant rhythm like the tide, in and out, in and out.

You are the dark water, David. You are the escape from love that burned, from a heart cracked open. You put on the black suit, mask your face, dive deep.

There is a mermaid, fierce and regal, with hair like midnight and eyes that see through you. She says, "Come, child. Dive. Let the salt heal you, let the sea take what you cannot hold."

You follow her, because what else can you do? The whales moan like old ghosts, their sorrow a song you know too well. You swim through their dirge, flippers slicing through grief.

A submarine glows gold in the abyss, like hope, like a new chapter. You crawl inside, fingers trembling on the controls, steering towards an unknown that feels like a second chance.

You, Odysseus in scuba gear, seeking not home but a place to forget, to drown the echoes of love lost in the blue. The sea, wide and welcoming, cradles you in its cold arms, murmurs, "You belong here."

Every dive is a reclamation, a declaration that you are more than the boy who loved and broke. You are David, adventurer, the one who dared to rewrite his story in the ink of the ocean, in the language of the deep.

In a world where my mind often feels confined, I find an escape, a place redefined, Amidst ancient giants, where solace I find, A sanctuary for a troubled mind.

The sun warms my skin, a gentle caress, Dinosaurs soar, their presence timeless, In their ancient world, my worries regress, Healing the trauma, easing the stress.

By the water's edge, in their majestic flight, I find peace, in their prehistoric light, A moment of calm, away from the fight, In this ancient realm, everything feels right.

The pterosaurs glide, whispering tales of old, Their serene world, a refuge from the cold, In their presence, my heart is consoled, Escaping the trauma, in their embrace, bold.

My 400 hugs

In the quiet shadows of quarantine’s hold, Where friends drift away, and time grows cold, I found solace in grooves and the stories they told, Four hundred vinyl records, my memories unfold.

Each disc a refuge, a haven, a friend, Spinning tales of jazz, where notes ascend, Disco beats that made my spirit bend, Back to the nights that seemed never to end.

Loneliness lingered, like a shadow’s embrace, But music filled the void, a comforting space, The needle dropped, and in its trace, Echoes of home, a familiar face.

Jazz whispered secrets, in saxophones’ sigh, Trumpets soared, like dreams in the sky, Piano keys, soft as a lover’s goodbye, Each melody a reason to try.

Disco lights danced, though the room was bare, Their rhythms vibrant, beyond compare, In each beat, I found a flare, Of the life I missed, the love I’d share.

Vinyl spun stories of times long past, Of laughter and joy, meant to last, In their grooves, my heart was cast, A collection of comfort, unsurpassed.

Through COVID’s long nights, as I stood alone, These records were my flesh and bone, Reminding me of the warmth I’d known, Of friends once close, of a distant home.

Four hundred vinyls, a symphony, In their embrace, I found my plea, To dance again, wild and free, To the disco’s beat, to jazz’s spree.

The Analog of Self In the lens, I see myself multiplied,

A chorus of me’s, each one justified,

Through the click of a shutter, a moment confined,

Yet endless in layers, both real and designed.

With Photoshop’s brush, I blend and I blur,

Crafting each version with a flicker and stir,

Film captures raw, every flaw it reveals,

A truth in the grain that digital conceals.

Each portrait a question, each edit a quest,

For the place where I fit, where my soul finds its rest,

In shadows and highlights, my story unfolds,

A mosaic of selves, both the young and the old.

Like film in the darkroom, submerged and transformed,

I find who I am as my edges are warmed,

In negatives, positives, a spectrum of me,

Emerging from chemicals, finally set free.

Photoshop layers, like chapters in time,

Reveal every facet, each climb and decline,

In self-portraits, I see the world and my role,

A mirror reflecting the depth of my soul.

Through lenses and pixels, I start to perceive,

The place where I’m anchored, the truths I believe,

In the merging of mediums, my purpose, I find,