Sunday Confessionals : Answers

Photo by Oloriel: visit her HERE

Implacably Human

The dawn settles

pensive and oyster-shell pink

into the stinging arms

of another edge-less morning.

Each day I wake up

drifting from one

dream to another,

transparent and ubiquitous

like a jellyfish.

It was the lies

that caused the breach

not what those lies

sought to obfuscate.

It is always the lies

but no one gets that

they think

trust is lost

in the imperfections,

in the momentary cruelties.

We all lie.

When I say

I am certain

that is always a lie

because I never am.

I don’t know

means more

than pity anyhow.

I don’t know

is implacably human.


I want to hear

nice things.

I want to be

spoken to the way

a child speaks

when blowing off

the head of a dandelion.

I want the dusk

delicate and womb soft

to envelop me

but mostly it is the moon

that I want

tremulous, pock-marked, inconstant

to fill me

with her mournful, pink cries.


Photos Yoga Room

First let me apologize for the quality. I think my daughter dropped our camera because certain things are not functioning. Also it is winter which means it is either dark or the sun is directly at eye level and I am not a photographer so I have no idea how to compensate between total blackness and blinding whiteness.

The first one is the window (blinding sun) Sam ordered a shit ton of scarfs and I used them to make the treatment. I can’t sew at all not even basics so they are just tied lol
In the next shot you see the wallpaper, the cork flooring, and my shrine which is currently on a table but I am hoping for a shelf to add more room
This is the light but that is pretty hard to see so here is the website image. I can’t have hangy lights in my exercise room they will just be in way
Then lastly we have so many scarfs I made another window treatment for a smaller window


Pink Tinged Rose

If it was up to me

I still would not choose

Your version of individuality,

Society has nothing to do

With humane interaction.

Society is comprised

Of unsustainable priorities

That leave the barer empty.

Empty people need only apostrophes.

Glitter is favored to marrow

And when the lights have gone out

A thigh can serve as a torch

No matter how dead the eyes.


There is no space for a heart

When the ego is a colossus.

Perfection cannot be defined

By human standards

It is the greatest deceit

To convince an audience

That they are neither accurate

Nor original and that they

Must change if they are ever

To be realized.


To remain day after day

Broken just so, scalpels tearing

Scarlet rainbows from a heart

That castrates itself

Far more than a tenet ever could

In a room without witness

In a ritual of self hate.

What a grotesque buffet

What a cruel prayer to insist

Manufacturer’s error

When the intended use

Is so wholly disregarded.


What if I am the purpose?

What if I must exist

Poor symmetry and all

What if pain comes

From aversion to itself?

What if right and wrong

Are sometimes reversed

In moments of intense fear

When the world is viewed

From the palm

Of an obfuscating recoil?


I know who I am

Without being told

Without definition

I still exist

Everywhere I look

A mirror illumines.

The road is my map

The tongue my serpent

The hands can either be

Dungeon or platform

Depending on

Their orientation

And intent.



Would I rather be free?

Or would I rather be you?

A uninhabitable paradigm

An ideal buried

Within linen and flesh

A coffin snuffing out

The very source of life?

I’ll take my chances

Without a script.

Attendance Mandatory


Love is not a ghost

That comes in the night

Unbidden to each threshold.

It does not assimilate

Within a vacuum

Within a box

On a doorstep by mistake.

If it entered accordingly

Would reason forgive

Its omissions?

The poor etiquette?

The stalker whose fantasy

Manifests only

In motionless portraits?


Love can be spontaneous

But it craves attendance.

A thought unaired

Does not a conversation lend.

Participation should never be


There is something to be said

For a man who extends

His hand, his heart,

The breath of his being

But there must be someone

Sentient to receive it.

An archetype

Is a bleak alternative

To authenticity.


I am not much of a photographer, I have very unsteady hands but I want to start using more of my own work. If you have art or photographs that you would like for me to feature with a poem please feel free to email me or comment. I will link your site.

Where’s the prompt?


Encase you missed the announcements. I have started a prompt site!

Which you can find here


Rather than have 1 weekly prompt. I now have a prompt for every day of the week! I have even brought in some talented writers to help with both hosting and managing the site. Everyone is welcome to participate. There are no obligations/requirements. Pick and choose the prompts that intrigue you. The time limit for each prompt is 1 week but you know me even if you posted late I would still read and comment to your entry.

Here’s the schedule

Monday- Wordle (hosted by Yves)

Tuesday- Photo Prompt (hosted by Yves)

Wednesday- Haiku/Tanka (hosted by Anmol)

Thursday- Short Stories (hosted by Oloriel)

Friday- Fairytales (hosted by Anja)

Saturday- Shadorma (hosted by Bastet)

Sunday- Freestyle (hosted by Yves)


Photos from my city

DSCN1549I live very close to this church and it is inside of a park that I visit frequently

DSCN1559I walk over this bridge regularly on my walks with Isadora

DSCN1567Very cool area there is a system of bridges and lights in the evening it is very beautiful

DSCN1270This is a sign? that appears before the Viking runes that I find cute

DSCN1283Isadora balancing still at the rune site


These are just a few photos from my world I have more but I am not confident in my photography skills yet and well I can’t upload too many at one time because of loading issues