just walking along,

random thoughts

a dusty path

accompanies me,

every so called weed

with each stem

of each leaf,

i peer intently,

micro shade

protection from the far away star,

our sun

for the ants beneath

tiny particles are there,

beneath the ants' feet

to exude infinity for me

plate tectonics beneath,

magma, . . .

beyond the particles,

beneath the ants' tiny barbed feet

i pass, . .

to the electron,

the neutrino,

the g particle and light years beyond,

to spirit,

to that which is the source

of life . . .

. . . from somewhere in the cosmos

a bee arrives,

to my realm of being

for just this one moment . . .

you ever wonder

about honey?

how insects create it,

no accident

a human chemist's marvel, . . .

it's a wondrous syrup,

sunlight passing,

translucent through it,

when held up to the light,

is amber golden

luscious sweet . . .

. . . the bee,

pubescence on every part

of its well sculpted body, . . .

antennae,

flecks of pollen on each hair,

its brain perceived,

under an electron microscope

is utterly complex,

beyond mere flippant understanding,

yes,

my memory serves me well,

. . . communication

intelligence,

blood flows through it's capillaries,

i submit,

a divine creation

. . . honey,

ohhh, it's so sweet,

flavorful,

like no other sustenance

more than mere food

i suspect it was created

to satisfy more than only hunger,

it's a delight

to the taste

to the brain,

electrons cannot taste,

random chance produces,

only what already exists,

and then

with no so called, perfection,

no divinity of life in themselves

sensation,

every thing i see

on this walk

is a real phenomenon,

not accidental

not self created

or self reliant

though but an infinitesimal,

an utterly tiniest of tiny of tiniest,

speck of physical reality

here i stand,

contemplate,

it is very very real

i am on a spinning orb

beyond description

every nook and cranny

every depth

every height

foaming sea,

dome of sky,

heat and cold, . . .

the majesty of life

all colors

scents

rocks

living things myriad

such wonder

limitless beauty

electrons have no life

they are the pieces

which provide the physical framework

for the spirit which provides the source

of life

only the beginning

i am alive

the bee,

the plant

the inert minerals

woven together

provide me with meaning

and beauty

a juxtaposition

to the complexity

of all the goings on in the world

beyond my grasp,

. . . however,

here is peace,

for now

this orb

this world

was miraculously endowed,

with wonder

i have found a niche,

a quiet moment

reflection and peace

i am thankful for simplicity,

for the knowledge and sense

that God exists

who is no theory,

who lives,

who loves us

after all,

he created us

we learn to live in your denial

when your words don't match your eyes

with the intentions that you hide

behind your pretentious alibi

we learn to live next to your lies

reading meaning behind your disguise

remembering that you chose to stay

remembering living through that day

we learn to live

and still to love

even when your words try to push and shove

we keep you near, your lies, our love

My Dearest October,

With every leaf that falls and every whisper of a cool breeze, my heart flutters in anticipation of your arrival. You, October, are the embodiment of enchantment and the very essence of autumn's grace. Oh, how I cherish the way you embrace the world in a tapestry of gold and crimson, as if nature herself were adorning her finest attire for a grand ball.

The scent of pumpkin spice and freshly fallen rain permeates the air, and the gentle rustling of leaves beneath my feet is a sweet serenade that lulls my soul. It's as if the world itself is whispering secrets, sharing tales of transformation and transition.

Your skies are painted with the warm hues of sunset, and the stars, on crisp, clear nights, twinkle like celestial gems, beckoning us to gaze skyward and dream. The harvest moon rises, casting its ethereal glow, casting shadows that dance in the silvery moonlight.

In your embrace, I find solace, as if the very universe conspires to create a haven of tranquility and reflection. October, you offer us a momentary pause, an opportunity to savor the simple joys of life: a steaming mug of apple cider, the comforting embrace of a cozy sweater, and the joy of carving pumpkins with loved ones.

Your essence, dear October, is a symphony of beauty and melancholy, a reminder of the ephemeral nature of all things. You are the bridge between the vibrancy of summer and the stillness of winter, a precious and fleeting moment in time.

Oh, how I adore you, October, and the poignant poetry you write across the landscape of our hearts. In your embrace, I find a connection to the past, a reverence for the present, and a yearning for the mysteries of the future.

Yours, with all my heart,

[Maher Ali]

My Dearest Brother,

Yhough we may have a different Mother,

You're my brother just the same.

I always took the blame,

For every little lie.

You're not a bad guy,

You just took the wrong path.

I experienced your wrath,

but it was just a cover up for your sadness.

In this world of madness,

you were my sanity.

Even though you may lack humanity,

You tried not to let me experience your brath.

Though some may call you a sociopath,

I call you my brother.

Today’s Fuck the World Day.

Today’s I wish I had a punching bag day.

Today’s if you get in my way I’ll explode, I don’t care who you are or what weapons you’re packing day.

Today’s the thirteenth anniversary of my failed marriage.

A few weeks from today is the fourth anniversary of my dad’s death.

And I have to take care of my four young kids and my elderly mom who has no memory and my work’s picking up and I’m taking over for a retired guy,

And I have an electric turn off notice because I haven’t been able to get gas and electric started at this new house and I’m paying for two houses and four kids and a deadbeat soon to be ex wife and I can’t afford the lawyer anymore and she won’t sign the divorce papers and I don’t know where all this fucking money is gonna come from,

and I’m holding up the world like Atlas, bringing down the temple like Samson.

A few weeks from today is the two year anniversary of the day my wife told me she was gay and wanted a divorce

and she’s still here and I’m still supporting her

like that cockroach, that rat, that scratch you just can’t itch.

Today’s the day I just picked the scab off again.

Today’s the one year anniversary of the last time I tried to kill myself.

Today’s I’m a nuclear missile heading for everything, a powder keg of gun powder and piss and vinegar, a super nova exploding colors into space day.

Today’s I used to love fall and the changing leaves with my favorite orange and yellow colors and hiking and camping in the mountains by a cool crystal lake and the cool air and the smell of fireplaces and pumpkins and apple cider and cinnamon but this shit sucks day.

Today’s I genuinely don’t give a fuck about anything anymore day.

Today’s I’m Doctor Doom, The Master, Thanos, and Darth Vader all rolled into one day.

Today’s seriously, don’t get in my way today day.

Today’s some bitch just stopped in front of me when I was trying to pull out from dropping my kids off at school and she’s just sitting there so I’m staring at her unflinching burning a hole through her head with my laser eyes day.

Today’s I so so so want to explode day.

Todays I’m so crazy my head hurts and my vision’s blurry and maybe I have a tumor I really really hope it’s a tumor because that would explain a lot day.

Today’s how the fuck am I gonna end this poem day.

Today’s is this even a poem at this point I think it’s more of a rant day.

Today’s this day fucking sucks day.

Today’s no really it does day.

Today’s if you smile at me I’ll knock that fucking smile off your face day.

Today’s I want to punch a baby kitten so don’t become that kitten day.

Today’s I really don’t want to become an angry, evil mother fucker but the world is blackening my heart and my soul so fuck you day.

Today’s I really hope they don’t lock me up and throw away the key day.

Today’s piss and vinegar day.

Today’s my god I really don’t know how I’m going to go on like this day.

“You would have saved me?” I ask, my shoulders pulled hesitant. Scared, like an over-beaten animal, caged again, although my words are pleading like a loving lapping tongue.

“I would have died trying.” She says.

I taste the sugar on my lips, cold. Like cough medicine- nurturing but not numbing. So I take to nursing my wounds in a desert wine I could rummage from the cabinets, while the music in my headphones deafens- I beg, at least, that it kills whatever cells house your touch, taste, smell..

"I will do better. I promise." "I am in therapy for you." "Give me a chance.'

I offered the chance to my phone, that you never called. That you left me waiting for weeks on. That you chastised me upon. Yet, you beg. And when I do indulge- when I do love you, there is something missing. On the tip of my tongue. Perhaps the solid foundation, or your genuine interest. It is dulled sometimes, by the desert wine or a bad day when I seek you out. You promise to visit, though you will pretend you don't know me the following day. You make me a playlist, although it is not songs I enjoy.

You want me without reason. Without knowing me. Because you are lonely. And when you asked, would I save you.

I answered in truth.

I’ve never felt bad about it. It’s natural; life, death, it all has its place. It was my role, and I took it very seriously. I got to choose. When, how, where. I never wanted to get away from it all. But You. How desperately I tried to stay away from You. You didn’t deserve me, but yet You danced on the line your entire life. A small glance was enough for the both of us. Sometimes I think You did it for the both of us. You destined us to meet, I’m sure of it. Because the way You “accidentally” forgot how to swim felt like a ruse, even to me. So we met briefly and then went on your way. But not me, no. I couldn't stop thinking of you. The way You looked at me with such interest, god. No one ever does that. People cower from me, pretend I don’t exist until I fit their own timeline. But you… You looked at me. After that, I was in deep. I had to see You again. Lucky for me you're not great at the cooking thing. Or the driving thing for the matter. You made me feel special. Which is why I decided to try hard to keep my distance. I didn’t wanna mess up this thing we had by being selfish. They say if You love someone You have to let me go. So why wouldn't You let me? I loved You, my dear. But You wouldn't let me be selfless. Your grip on me was strong. You tried so hard to see me. If I had a penny feels like the fitting statement for the predicament. And god I was rich off you. They also say money doesn't buy happiness… “So go, live” I said with the warmest smile I could muster. So why, why couldn't You just live? I was okay watching from a distance. The distance meant I could keep seeing you. But You had to go and mess this all up. Why?? Can’t You see I love you? Isn't that enough to keep You going? Stop it! Stop finding me. Stop knocking on my door with blood on your hands. Don’t You know I’m a selfish man? I can only fend You off so many times. The more I pushed the more You pulled. I had had enough. “Fine!” So I embraced You for all You were and You for all I am. And then You were gone. Nothing. A mirage in my hands. Nothing I could hold on to. Nothing I could look at. No one. “God what have You done my dear! What did You make me do!” Was my love not enough to keep You here? I looked to life and begged her to bring You back. I told her of our love, so pure and fantastic. But life only looked at me with sad eyes. And that is when I knew You didn’t love me, You wanted to love whatever was after me. The eternal darkness.

I am a prolific writer. I am a proficient poet. And yet...

Employment is scarce. They rather hire men- that prey on young acts and form the wrong script,

simply because they are known.

How, how, how. How do I become known?

Would it be far beyond me, to use my own blood as ink?

Perhaps it would reach the ego of men beyond me- or, beyond reasoning.

HOLLYWOOD IS OVER! they proclaim. MOVIES ARE BAD NOW.

many say. Why? Why, why, why. How do I become a writer that is valued.

I am not a writer until I am published, according to some.

So what am I? I bleed words. I am prose. But I am just a hopeful. Another waste.

I will never be chosen by those of Burton's status until I am famous.

How do I become that? Keep cutting myself until I bleed gold? Until I depend on liquor and nicotine and hallucinogenics, like that of Poe?

There is so much talent. They- the gods of cinema- are searching.

And yet...

I am buried beneath the bunch.

According to our hair stylist, my grandma and I resemble each other.

I got my haircut yesterday. All the split ends are chopped off. We both have short hair now.

My grandma lives with us now because of my grandpa’s anger.

My parents decided she couldn’t live in that house anymore. I think I was always worried about her.

When I lived with them in my final semester of college I was caught in more than a few one-sided arguments. I did my best to diffuse them every night over dinner.

I had never told anyone that I used to think my boyfriend and I were just like my grandparents. They both loved him.

I was usually only his verbal punching bag in private. No one at that dinner table - the four of us - would have understand the problem.

Two men who make messes and two women who walk behind them to clean up. Denial is a full-time job.

Two women meet in secret, covered in scrapes and bruises, to patch each other up. And we apologize to our friends for the behavior of the men we’re with.

We had to tell lies about them.

"He's not that bad - I'm actually the problem" or "I was the one who started it"

It's easy to tell lies when you don't have to make them up yourself. I was fed these words. I was just his parrot.

My grandma said she was scared of him. My mom had to explain to both of us that this isn’t normal. How she’s never been afraid of my dad.

I know what it feels like to be scared, to stay up all night in fear, to be yelled at for not coming to bed.

I learned how to make myself cry until he apologized because that was the one time he held me.

60 years is so much longer than 5. It’s hard to swim to the surface when you’re drowning in water that’s deeper.

The sunk cost fallacy. I know it too well. I’ve done this long enough not to waste it. I can fix his mistakes. I can look past them. I am a bitch and it is my fault. I’m worthless, I’m useless, and he’s perfect because he once was. I can change it, I can fix him - it became my mantra.

I became tiny, so he could fill up the space, so he could be loud. Until my voice completely disappeared and I could no longer speak his lies at all.

The snipping sound of the hair-cutting shears is crisp like the air in October. I watch the damaged hair fall like dead leaves. I smile at myself in the mirror.

I am just like my grandma and we both have new haircuts.