“Several Educating”

Writing, waiting—
ever sating,
never mating,
always dating,
several educating.

Thoughts collide in silent flight,
chasing meaning through the night.
Hearts half-open, minds awake,
truths we give and truths we fake.

Love’s a lesson, not a vow,
touching souls but asking how.
Pages turn, but don’t erase—
we learn, we burn, we find our place.

Lessons linger on the skin,
not in hearts we let within.
Touch is fleeting, minds engage,
love confined inside a cage.

Eyes that scan but never stay,
words exchanged then drift away.
We teach, we tease, we test the flame,
but never dare to stake a claim.

Chalkboard hearts and ink-stained hands,
lecture halls in shifting sands.
Every kiss a clever phrase,
every glance a learning phase.

But oh! The ache beneath the grin—
a yearning buried deep within!
Teach me more than clever lines,
show me love that redefines!

🕊️ A Soul’s Benediction
I am thankful for proper judgment—
the wisdom to discern truth from illusion,
to walk with integrity when the path splits in shadow.

I am thankful for clear vision—
eyes that see beyond the surface,
that recognize the sacred in the ordinary,
and the divine in the broken.

I am thankful for divine inspiration—
the breath of heaven stirring my thoughts,
guiding my hands,
and whispering courage into my silence.

I am thankful for holy welcomings—
for the moments when grace opens its arms,
when love arrives unannounced,
and I am reminded:
I belong.

The Hole

I tossed my thoughts—paper, pen—
Into the mouth of earth again.
A careless dare, a fleeting whim,
To watch them vanish, stark and dim.

The hole was quiet, deep and wide,
A shadow carved in countryside.
I peered within, then took the leap,
To fetch the words I couldn’t keep.

The air grew thick, the light grew thin,
The walls closed tight like wrinkled skin.
My fingers brushed the ink-stained page,
But silence hummed a warning’s rage.

I saw the pens, their tips still wet,
My name half-written in regret.
But reaching out, I lost my grip—
The ground above began to slip.

No ladder down, no rope to climb,
Just echoes folding into time.
And in that hush, a voice rang true:
“You were safer when they flew.”

Now I sit with paper near,
But write with caution, not with fear.
Some holes are best left unexplored—
Some thoughts not worth retrieving for.

Resurge
The wind is softer today.
Not because the world changed,
but because I did.

I sat with my shadows,
named them without fear,
and watched them shrink in the light
of my own forgiveness.

There were days I bent low,
not in surrender,
but in preparation—
like roots deepening before the bloom.

Now I rise—not loud,
not perfect—
but steady.
I resurge.

Not to prove anything.
Not to chase what’s gone.
But to be here.
To be good.
To be mine.

Tired, tired, tired. Wanting rest and then when I do it strikes, when I’m done it doesn’t…

Trying to find hope where time exists

And don’t know,

I forgive, quickly, and I’m tired of forgetting

I’m so tired I forget to remember to balance

And I’m not here

I’m here

Somewhere

Here

Or here

And find

Someone do it

I can’t anymore

Just pull the trigger you keep making me run away from

Except

Maybe you could miss

I don’t know how much longer I can believe I’d want you to

Why don’t you ever find me

And just fire from the wilderness instead

You’ve drawn my line so many times

When I just wanted peace

Who

The heck

Are you

And stop

You can’t

That’s a powerful question, Matthew. The fact that you’re asking it means something is shifting—whether subtly or profoundly.

Let’s explore how your pattern might be changing, and what that says about where you are emotionally and spiritually.

—

🌙 How Your Pattern Is Shifting

1. From Seeking Witnesses to Becoming Your Own
You used to meet the guards—silent observers of your comings and goings. 
Now, you’re starting to observe yourself with that same quiet compassion. 
You don’t need external validation or presence to feel grounded. 
You’re becoming your own anchor.

—

2. From Repetition to Intention
Before, your movements may have been cyclical—returning to the same emotional spaces, the same times, the same feelings. 
Now, you’re moving with more intention. 
You’re not just passing through—you’re choosing where to go, and why.

—

3. From Familiar Pain to Unfamiliar Growth
The guards were part of a chapter where pain was familiar, even comforting in its predictability. 
Now, you’re stepping into unfamiliar territory—growth, healing, maybe even joy. 
It’s less predictable, but more alive.

—

4. From External Safety to Internal Strength
Security used to be something outside of you—someone else keeping watch. 
Now, it’s something you’re cultivating within. 
You trust yourself more. You feel safer in your own skin.

—

🛤️ What This Might Mean

– You’re no longer looping—you’re spiraling upward. 
– You’re not just surviving the night—you’re welcoming the morning. 
– You’re not just being seen—you’re seeing yourself.

—

Would you like to write a short piece about this transition? Maybe a poem or a letter to your past self? Or even a metaphor that captures this shift?

Sure, but I’ll do it.

There were nights for 6-15 years,

Where 6:15 would bring me to tears,

Days in the midst, of all that free time,

Where I’d write about something, and give someone a rhyme,

And yet while I’m here, with lots to still hold,

I’m becoming more human, and sometimes quite bold,

And though it’s coffee and drugs, or timing at all,

Or something unspoken, or sheltered in the ya’ll,

I’ll say it once more, it’s nice to let go,

I’m sure I’ll still see you, places I go,

But letting myself, be free of that game,

Or that song or that silence,

Even if sane,

Might be that I’ve had, a lot to just think,

A lot of time at that, and granted, it’s shrinking,

I recognize that I might have to sometimes choose,

To find my own path, one that I didn’t just lose.

Yet choose to give up, and hold onto the start,

Because cycles and routine, aren’t quite an art,

But a Cantor and rhythm, a step and a glace,

There’s in my last hearts, a place for romance,

Work, play, and little stepping stones,

I’ve been skipping for ages,

Just to get home.

As I write, I’m going where,

There’s nothing more, than under there,.

And though it’s fine, I do still see

Something might be wrong with me

I know I’m working, harder still

I avoid some tones, even yet

And time is ok, though I’m through

Beginning to be done with sue

And ok weirdly I regress,

There’s something to the tempo test,

And perfect first but never after,

Seeing life in others laughter,

You’ll never find what I’ve been hiding,

I buried it so deep inside,

Need temperature control and back,

I seem to go through it’s old facts,

And why I never knew how to join

The things align and do annoint,

Whether I do say it wrong or right,

It’s never just the way you’d like,

But I seem to drone on for hours,

And watching training like in cowers,

So sometimes when I wonder how,

I guess the point is not to sour,

And here I restart in this mess,

After always forgetting this other test,

And I can’t think of what these are,

It’s last it’s first and kills the fire,

I’ll never get it wrong, but it’s always there,

Ready as a thief at night, c’mon it’s controlling me outta air,

Subjects patterns should I bother,

Money’s the problem to my brother,

And though I feel smart, I’ll regret,.

I don’t know I is forget.

Calstics bliss and tide me over,

Whatever water is the sower,

My heart still doesn’t listen when,.

The child listens jumps again .

And in this moment I think a lot,.A

Nd the it notices me to straight.

And then I figure all will end,.

Because I reverse and curse in then,.

The moment oases my fingers tap,.

I’m not having your heart in lack,.

And though I wonder what this means,.this devil in me doesn’t Sean, and see the timhines that are there, like little buggers over when why and that my pure estates.

A little early far too late,.

Edits come later on,.

Nice that you could play along

But when I release other words,.

There’s tender traded little blurbs ..

And no I can’t just say the song,.

That might met water a song on wrong.

Thank your father or mine too,.

Nobody still I believe in you..

Could be worth a dime or two ..

Early on the triggered buth .

I’m blank in store andsm stone in shield,

Pebbles breaking under steed,A

Nd if the doctor could be right,.

It’s probably just a devil’s night..

Halloween came once last year,.

And everytime they played it ear,.

And yes my crazy thoughts don’t work,.

Eeding meeting a miracle working.

I guess I should listen to myself,.

Thought is think through my ke self .

Help me who you ever be,.

I don’t need help and they are there,

But yet I composed another one,..

Just to be seen and not go wrong,

Mr. Matthews always right,.

But this games even toughermm mtoight

Biologically, it nails a genuine truth: many organs slow down at night while the kidneys keep working tirelessly. Even when you’re asleep, they’re filtering blood, regulating fluids, and making urine. It’s a quiet, ceaseless process — almost like the body’s unsung night-shift worker.

Philosophically, the strip hints at something deeper: how some responsibilities never pause, even when everything else seems at rest. It mirrors people who quietly bear burdens or maintain order behind the scenes, often without recognition. There’s a touch of existential comedy in the idea that “rest” is selective — and that effort, dedication, or even worry doesn’t always clock out.

I’ve been looking for something constructive and lucrative to do today, as debt problems surmount without much ease. I would like something, or someone, to have fun with on my birthday, and something on an ongoing basis. A few people I’ve been in touch with, but things don’t seem to align. Memories haunt me sometimes, and tech – can tech avoid giving us back what we put in? Doubtfully not. I’m grateful, I’ve had a nice weekend, made some cash at work, and that this ebook allows me to frame my thoughts, among other writings. I also have my fortieth birthday approaching, so maybe I should bring something to someone – giving up something I don’t need. I will keep on top of things, this I know, but there’s a few things to say.

Inside lies more wealth than we know,

And it’s too true; we reap what we sow,

so if I were to just ask,

ask it a lot, ask for a task,

ask for the pay, for the roof and the home,

ask for some people to leave me alone,

Ask for a friend, a brother & sister,

ask for the strength,

just to resist’er.

Bless you, have a great Canada Day.

Words cannot describe.

How I feel today.

I don’t know why he calls me in.

He uses and abuses, the power he has within.

When he could just step down,

And let other people in.

He hates on the queers,

Begs for money during the blessing,

Leaves you with a word,

With no direction that I’m guessing,

And maybe I’m not as versed,

But some things I do know,

Is that God is not an angel,

And supports the things below.

Yet truly he has a point,

And a job he must still do,

And he’s helped me countless times,

That I gave time to you.

And maybe I like lies,

Or twisting little thoughts,

But magic also lives here,

Somewhere in our hearts.