Category: Poetry

The White Knight


He dons the armor polished to a mirror shine.
He sharpens the sword he draws without prompt.
He mounts his charger and takes off to battle.

He does not think of relying upon others.
He does not allow contemplations of defeat.
He never hesitates, never questions, never retreats.

His thoughts are on one thing, and one thing only:

The Maiden.

She did not anticipate his arrival.
She barely hears his declarations of fealty.
She is not necessarily interested in his courtship.

Her citadel is strong in and of itself.
She is a nation of her own making,
Neither needing nor wanting a suitor who pines.

Yet the knight persists.

He draws his sword, shining in the sun.
He holds it aloft, his voice raised.
“My sword and heart are yours!” is his cry.

He does not wait for her response.
He knows his actions will win her.
He turns the steed towards the mountains.

He rides, undeterred, towards his intended foe:

The Dragon.

It shifts slightly in its sleep.
It sits atop a hoard, a clutch of eggs.
It protects its home as it slumbers.

It is awakened by a shouted challenge.
It opens an eye to see the figure at the mouth.
It blinks in confusion at the accusations.

The knights lays into the dragon with fury.

He hears the cries of pain as roars.
He sees blood from scales and presses on.
He feels righteous in his searing anger.

He plunges the blade home over and over.
He ignores his arms turning to lead with fatigue.
He does not stop when the dragon wheezes a final breath.

He spits upon the corpse of the parent and protector.

His chest swells with pride.
His body returns to its steed.
His spurs catch flesh and prompt the return.

He goes, now, to claim his prize.
The maiden to whom he is entitled.
The heart of the bepedestaled woman he adores.

He has no idea of what he has truly left behind.
He’s ignorant of the cost of his actions.
He cannot and will not see how toxic he has become.

He does not care.

That dragon was his to slay.
That maiden is his to bed and wed.
These things are his to take for himself.

He is entitled.
He is righteous.
He is The White Knight.

And he is everything the world tells him a man should be.

The Challenge

Dueling Pistols


I challenge you.

I may hear you across a room.
Read your messages or tweets.
See you in a mirror.

Doesn’t matter.
I demand satisfaction.

I challenge you to love.
Let compassion prevail over myopia.

I challenge you to change perspective.
I know another’s shoes don’t fit;
that they’re painful and weird,
especially to walk a mile in them.

I challenge you to walk in them anyway.

I challenge you to silence your fear.
Allow light to dispel the shade
you’d throw on another.

Would you want another to diminish your shine?
Then I challenge you to not diminish others’.

I challenge you to rise above your bullshit.

I challenge you to be mindful.
To listen to the lessons of music.
To say “I will survive”.
To break “the sound of silence”.
To remember that you’ll never know
“who lives, who dies, who tells your story”.

I challenge you to unchain your heart from the pain of the past.

I challenge you to learn from failure and doubt.

I challenge you to move in the direction of tomorrow.

I challenge you to embrace the joy of simply being alive.

I challenge you to take up arms, to rail against ignorance and indecision, to fucking fight for yourself.

I challenge you to believe.
Believe in yourself.

And if you’re gonna dig,
I challenge you to dig for the heavens.

The Fire

The plan was that I’d just go away.
That I would cease to exist.
They would blow out the fire inside of me.

They’ve never seen fire like mine before.

This isn’t a campside fire.
This isn’t a flicked Bic.
This is not a yule log ready for chestnuts.

I don’t burn like those fires.

My fire comes from deep within.
Stoked by years of grief and anger.
Fed lies and tears and the ichor of lost love.

I burn like the core of the earth.

In that fire I am forged anew.
Tempered, beaten, squelched, and ignited,
Over and over, day after day, without reprieve.

I am someone you’ve never seen.

My kindness has been mistaken for weakness.
I’ve been cuckolded, manipulated, pushed to despair.
Voices within and voices without conspiring to end me.

Underestimating me is your biggest mistake.

I slay the voices within when they get too loud.
I shove cowards and abusers out of my life.
I fight until I bleed to keep faith with true friends.

I have not given up on happiness or love.

I will continue to burn like no other fire.
I will remain this terrifying beacon in the night.
Catch the scent of my flame on the wind.

And follow it.
If you dare.

Dealing With Frustration


This week has been incredibly frustrating for me. A number of deeply honest and emotional posts all over social media combined with all sorts of self-care oriented shenanigans and missteps that lead me into a downturn. I’m still navigating the dark and bullshit-smelling waters of bipolar depression, and as a result, I don’t have a great deal to put here regarding the nature of frustration how it applies to my life. Short version? It sucks.

So I don’t have a great deal to put here, but hey! It’s the first of the month!

Click the image above to see me read a poem I wrote around Christmas of last year. It has nothing to do with Christmas. It has everything to do with something else associated with that date.

And click here to watch this week’s vlog. I’ve also got a playlist of every vlog! You can find it here. While you’re there, subscribe to the channel! Support my Patreon! Send me presents, dammit!

Anyway. Have a nice weekend.

Poem: “It’s 2015”

In addition to the vlog, on the 1st of every month, I’m recording the reading of a poem I’ve written. The first one, here, was written around the time of my last birthday. I don’t imagine to have great skill as a poet, as longer-form fiction has long been my writing focus, but I hope you find something worthwhile in these stanzas.

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