Tornline

I've been reading poetry and other literature from Ukraine and Gaza in wartime and I'm amazed by the raw humanity of it all.

I'm already bored with you. You're obviously following my posts. Have fun with that.

Do you not believe in Santa either? Why don't you talk about how you don't believe in him? You don't even know me at all.

Most intellects do not believe in God but they fear us just the same...-Erykah Badu.

"Because there are no atheists in war, after all. Shield and protect us Lord," from Ukranian writer Ella Leus.

These buds are obscene, daring to rise like a Phoenix, bursting forth from the dead, tiny Jesuses, rising up from their eternal sleep, that isn't so eternal!

All that trauma? Burn it. That's where you'll find the light. That's when you will see.

Are beautiful Mexican women the only ones who sing while washing dishes?

I don't care for poets who capitalize off their family's trauma or struggle in a condescending way. Save that for your diary or therapist.

After reading Sara Borjas' poem "post surgery my mother promised to change again" I find the speaker very condescending towards their mother after surgery, and their grandmother, and frankly I want to write a poem entitled, "post birth, the mother wished she had an abortion again."

When will boyfriends understand what to do with a sad girl?

How long I been reading and writing.

I almost caught a poem flitting in the empty spaces, clinging to the wet of shaking umbrella. It's shadow a sigh of relief smothered in a closing Cafe door on a stormy night. Jingle, she's here. She tiptoes on eggshells, and she means what she does not say.

On my morning walk in the hood, I dodged a Crack head scavenger and a skunk. My heart wants to connect my head says not today.

He sells bottles of my sweat, 2 for 25 or 3 for 50, and he isn't afraid to collect, rings me like a sponge, I'm not afraid to get wet.

Please look past the color of your skin. Mexican people are being profiled, and the Mexican mentally ill are ignored. We're not white enough, we're not black enough. And no one sees us.

I don't know why I often feel like I don't belong. Except with my books and my journal. How have I become so solitary?

YouTube video by The Smashing Pumpkins - Topic Stumbleine (Remastered 2012)

youtube.com/watch?v=pbrv...

I remember dancing with a pretty girl to this song. Where is she now?

Reading philosophy now magazine on the unhealthy political accusations and/or cancelations we're having. Instead of actual conversations.

Sincerity isn't the same as being factual.

Often when we discuss or debate fashionable politics, we are only building the one percenter's pedestal higher than our opinions.

I think Aristotle disliked poetry because it can be a tool against tyranny. I always thought political philosophy needs to be dressed in fashion, at least apply exfoliator and lotion. Too dry.

Made my son pig n a poke for breakfast. From supernatural episode the mystery spot.

Is spring slow or fast? I like to think it's frolicking, leaving a trail of bloom.

YouTube video by fionaappleVEVO Fiona Apple - Not About Love (Official HD Video)

youtube.com/watch?v=u09s...

After a breakup, it's even worse when you don't have a broken heart.

Memory is always faded, but I ponder on moments in my past that I wish I cherished more when I was in their presence. Be in the now. Right now I'm listening to r&b drinking some wine, listening to my brother and mom in the background, with the smell of dinner cooking, the sound of my son laughing

I want you here, even when I'm gone. I want you here, when there is no one around. I want you here, when God is a no show. I want you here, even if all I get is to see your breath fogging up my rear view mirror.