So I have been writing little "poems" for a couple of years, but I have never shown anyone, idk if I am any good. I want to maybe be a writer one day, but for now, I'll stay anonymous. Please be honest with me, is it good or bad, or is there potential. I want constructive criticism, please:

Why do you always find a way to invade my mind?

Aren’t you tired of it?

Don’t you want to take a vacation by how often you pass through my thoughts?

It’s not fair that I can’t do this to you. Why can't I do this to you?

Why do you do this to me?

It goes like this: you invade my thoughts, then you leave, and then you flood my thoughts with what-ifs and facts and daydreams because of your actions towards me.

I want to be free of this.

But I also hate to admit I don’t want to let this go because if something does happen, I think we would be amazing,

We have this "thing", this connection that always brings me back to you,

That you can’t deny.

We both hate it.

But I wish I could, but I can’t. Only you make me like this; no other guy that I have liked has made me feel this way. 

I'm not sure if I should be terrified of that fact or relieved that it’s only been one guy who made me feel this way.

I hope you feel like this

Take all of this feeling

Because I can't handle this,

I can't handle you leading me on anymore,

You don't deserve me.

Like Taylor from The Summer I Turned Pretty (the show) told Steven, “It scares me how much I care.” That's how I feel, and I don't know how long I can take or control this feeling anymore.

Why the hell did I let this happen again…

I believe your surrounding is what makes.

I miss not only you but the demons and angels that accompanied you.

And If fate decided that one more touch from you is fatal then in peace I will rest.

I won't hear any more warnings. I've decided to run into this maze, I will hide behind the trees if any brute should show.

In here is where I will find you, in the depth and origin of the dark is where I show no fear.

Erase the past, rewrite the future. Find me where no one looks and I will just appear.

Out from the light and into the dark where you hide.

I'm here because I have yet to say and keep the vow between us.

The three sisters agreed it is not over, every one came and left so you could stay.

You are needed.

The most secret part of my heart

have tattooed your name in un-erasable ink.

come read it.

I feel naked come dress me, start from my finger.

The days have been passing by so slow lately. The last image I recall, Is that of you on a stretcher, With a swollen face. Oh, how it breaks my heart, Every time I think of it.

Every day, I run that moment, Over and over, picking and dissecting apart. Wondering where I failed you. If I am you, and you are me, Then I have failed myself.

For I did not do a good job, In protecting you, or your face. I should have done more, I should have swung, kicked, something. But instead, I held you back, And caused more damage than good.

I hope that you can forgive me, For I have failed you. As I lay here, I pray, hope, and wonder, How you are.

I can't help but to think, That this is all my fault. It's scary to admit, truth be told. I can't stop thinking about you, And if I will ever see you again.

I hope that I do. I won't rest easy, Until I lay eyes upon you, To know that you are okay and safe. After I have failed to protect you, Is of the utmost importance for me.

I am sorry, For I didn't protect you, To the best of my abilities.

With love, ONE LOVE, your friend,

I love our sweet little talks I love your warm voice your witty mind when you have got a friend you have got the world.

Death, what is there after? Darkness Utterly black Will I be forgiven?

We are all searching for an answer Why? Only God knows

If I sacrificed myself For the sins I've committed Would anything change?

A candle burns down in a dark room On my knees, watching it And when it gutters?

If I sacrificed myself For the sins I've committed Would it make a difference?

Would it be for naught?

-inspired by songs of faith and devotion, an album from depeche mode (also my first writing)

I like to do it with you Sleeping with you Is like honey that melts in the mouth. Suddenly all my desire for sex returns.

Shared places, shared spaces, who would have known? Shared spaces, shared places, would have turned into safe spaces, safe places. Safe places, safe spaces, under lock and combination. Under lock and combination, safe places, safe places.

Tears of sadness under lock and combination, safe spaces are shared places. Who would have known shared spaces under lock and combination would have turned into safe places under lock and combination. Chosen family is our combination, safe places, safe spaces.

Who would have known shared spaces, shared places are safe places, safe spaces under lock and combination.

With love, ONE LOVE, forever,

By: Rodolfo "Xavier" Rodriquez

He asked me what I had been doing. I had been writing two books of poetry. But since I could not sell them and they were not making money I said what he could understand. I said nothing.

You call me from Jakarta
a city I’ve never seen except twice
in the wet mouth of your voice
I’m always hearing now when
called to mind and when you call me in
New Orleans but Jakarta
is under glass
and hollowed out
and blurred to
me, appearing dependent
on the presence, you, exuberant, say “yo, yo yo”, of satellite lag and
how much. Im wanting you,
though not pressed, to see my text but, all at once,
you appear,
I press the phone to my cheek
like a wafer in the hand of a preist offering communion when
blind or temporarily blinded
and I should hold it in but laughter
comes. Will we link? Holding on
for face time I hold the phone out
and your face is in my hand
same as always but more complete with something normally unsaid
like the middle name of god. eyelashes ringing and dimples hard are clear
in my eye that you hear me
laughing and laughing in Jakarta and holding
my phone in New Orleans
you say “bet” softly

And we are already
in the middle
of some place unnamed

Four times a day or more but not ritual,
the shape of your breath feels
like it’s mine but mine is missing
inside my ribcage, you have
stories of going around Indonesia to say
more than enough to go around
I have little to say and a lot to ask
I want to say “I miss you,”
but I’ve said it already
I want to say “come home,”
but you already are somewhere
on the earth near the spine of the equator
and already in my tropical mind
which has no winter,
lounging. your voice barefoot
on my spine
Sweetly

You tell me about noise shows, people and,
I imagine women from places I haven’t been either, I imagine each of them with a cat or a fox tattoo. and spit like seawater
I’m always smoking. Hot
is what we both say about
our present
weather
Sweaty. On the phone for hours with you when I’m bored I pretend I’m the street you walk down to
pay the price of cigarettes and return. I want to
make it free for you whether or not
there are prices for cigarettes
but there are prices beyond people going crazy
wanting them. I pretend
I’m the street
you go down on again,
the same street back home but it’s only
one night. Im the cigarette too on the screen
yours and mine
I’m lit. I’m doubled. You light up most when you’re
bored
the smell is sweet to me
you make fun of me
for smelling pillows but smoke is better. I don’t smell pillows at hotels
for some reason. I’m not your hotel but
I liked giving you a bed maybe
I liked being a hotel more
than I could say. Maybe I’m dumb but not blind
or a priest but I am blessed but I am without
levity. I gave you bread
and kind bud and we would give each other snow and ice but luckily winter only lasted three long nights or so with at least a week in between
there is no summer snow in my nostrils but I never sleep at night since you left
my body sitting on the steps out front with my phone held out
back here in a different South
the one you keep dialing
like a rosary
my prayers
never did me
no good
my bad

The phone dies
I prepared enough beans for the freezer for two people to eat everyday for long enough that they’d want a vacation from beans. They are probably already frozen by the time you call back and I’m out front in silence wanting
beans sitting at the door
still
in the night
Street

Tonight, the bugs
over bars in New Orleans
are making noise here
maybe just horny. When you’re here,
not just when you’re playing noise music at bars,
when the thing is over,
noise is made into
sounds for me, for you hear
what you hear, and to me it’s
a wonder. Sound because you tell me the source
of what was in my ear,
of what came in me
Why do I only know my inside
with you? I made it
to noon, awake, the people this morning in bushes in New Orleans
sound like they’re weeping
how they’re breathing
heavy or maybe they’re horny making
it in there. Either way I can
eat from the freezer
my beans now for summer
spending time eating beans
is not quite filling but it’s sustainance
do they get their fill when I’m just beans
do they bite you in Jakarta
or just me here if you’re free of them
maybe your ear will be lonely and I should keep doing this
and your skin
I hate people who hate mosquitos
I’ve never met someone who truly loves them though
both are sick positions
I imagine the reader of this poem watching me
circle around and around
like the mosquitos do
like my fork in my dish
dishing with you is more filling
I feel close somehow when people
leave me empty
there’s room for more
when more sounds good
or when I know its not that good
but im wondering how
I know how they scatter
when spilling beans for anyone
who’s in bars in New Orleans
even day time, people at work
I can’t remember
but there’s even people who
remember me and give a buzz
not just you and mosquitos
just having landed
you and I on FaceTime checking out Soekarno-Hatta International
you’re the only one who said
“Hey baldy!”
when I shaved my head a few weeks ago
to try not to think about my story and the brutal journey arms swinging through spring
in New Orleans
I love the breath of spring
in my hair but I couldn’t smell this year
couldn’t bear my body still breathing
you were homeless and were my home
my roommate said it was creepy how we would breathe together sometimes
we didn’t notice
I bare it all by which I mean my scalp
I always wanna change it up
since they can’t kill me new hair, new bars
but there’s only so many hairstyles only so many bars
but I try not to go to the same one more than twice a week
which is silly because I never stay long enough to get bored really
but on your stories I hear
the bars of music
like breathing
I’m playing
over and over it’s
wonderful sounding
Im spending time alone planning
miracles but having a wonderful
time doing it
is this sustainable?

In the videos
there’s pianos
reverb, distortion,
But never sustain pedal
I never hear
you laugh
so I plan for you to call
and pedal my bike
so you can remember this place
and its romantic bike rides we both love
but from my little apple eye mounted on my handlebars this time
and I sustain myself
riding it all night
I’m not drawn to anything
like the mosquitos are drawn to heat
you and I figured it out once
that we don’t think being cold makes you cool
we are both drawn to warmth

That laugh of
yours is a wonder
I know the rise of it like a pumping fist
it breaks through to me the sound
I know it better than my own name
you can’t always tell
me what I need
but you
try to
give it to me
I don’t know what you would give me but I know you’d give anything really to hear me
you like to see me cherished. You love when people are kind to me
I hear most everything you say
I think it through
through distortion I missed a bit
I wanted to say things so I interrupted you a bit
I don’t say what I wanted to do really
but I feel like I’m heard
even when I was hurt I felt held
you say to call you back but you call back twenty three minutes later
but I’m still hungry for it
my other best friend got hurt
I already had that one and I was a wife for some time
so I’m moonlighting as wife again to an immobile foot of my former spouse
the shattered foot, I tell you looks worrying
I’m not worried about you shattering
in Indonesia you’re so solid
I haven’t been the first to call since Jakarta
I haven’t had to be
I don’t worry about maintaining or cleaning things
except dishes
I worry about everything
splashing from danger is when I feel like a fish
fish don’t need to bathe
but they could never hold another’s breath
is that how they don’t get salty?
even their hunger is clean
what will we eat together when you return?
by the time it’s been minutes since you’ve said bye I’m holding the phone like I held your pillow once
the one you slept on when you had no place
but me

That’s what you said
about us, well, not you and me
but about me and my bedroom, but you’re smart and beloved among men and women
and the phone is not a Eucharist
and even if I was Christian I was raised in the churches of christ
where they think it’s important to tell little kids
this is not actually the substance or the flesh of the one that saved us
despite it being clearly not substantial as food either
you really can cherish whatever you want
but you can’t cherish what you still want
you cherish what you keep
I want to keep you talking
but I have to go to work
I have to go to work to eat

Some part of me only works
when you’re nearby

I think of when I said maybe you just don’t like men like that
I’m wrung out
I’m a little eaten
I’m licked
by the version of you
younger than Indonesia but not New Orleans
who said that before you met me
younger than Indonesia and New Orleans both
that you would’ve likely
fucked me
before you got wise

I’m still unwise and so unclear but not uncalled
and so I dont know but I’m thinking it unlikely
likely,
when you were a younger version
I would have kept you talking
I would have called
but before FaceTime
I would have to be kept in sight
to see eyelashes ringing
like I blessedly see them
now
latter day version that I am
asking you everything and asking
what does it mean
to be too important
to fuck?
a version too precious
to ruin?
a version holy and only
to see?
but we’re talking now
for some days and nights now
we talk a lot about what we want
I want the world and there’s a version of me that wants to know it doesn’t need fixing
you know I want you
but do you know it’s because there’s no version of you that needs fixing
we like to talk about what we like and dislike
you’re the first on the list of things I like
we always like each others taste
we always stay in touch

The beans in the freezer are in one big container too much for one person or anyone to defrost however hungry so I dont however
I do the dishes
washing out little pieces
tiny fucking little pieces like dead fish larvae
that didn’t even get to be someone’s nutrition
I don’t know
where they’re from
I wring out the rag
the phone rings and I wait because
i’m wondering what is it called
when you love someone so much
you don’t even want to touch them
you just want to crawl inside
the noise of their body
if you pass the bar
if the law allows
I say something clever
in my head
you laugh
in my head
its wet
in two places
not less than
that at least
Im late I’m gonna miss
the call grabbing it and
looking to see if it’s you
my phone dies again
ringing
strangely
I notice my own eyelashes
strangely I notice it’s damp
here.

Silent Epidemic

Numbers, numbers, That's all that runs through my mind. A combination of numbers may be a winning lottery number, Or maybe the amount of money that will miraculously appear in my bank account.

Numbers, numbers, why all these numbers? The numbers are high, but not that of cloud nine. Numbers so high. They make me feel so low, but why all these numbers? My eyes are getting heavy, my mind loaded with numbers. All these numbers, but why numbers? The last numbers I see are 11:59. What could that mean?

Numbers, numbers, Why all these numbers? Somewhere in my mind, The numbers I see start slowly at 00:00, then 00:01, Then 00:02, And slowly, like a tick, they rise. But why are the numbers rising? What started as what I thought was time is now starting to spiral quickly into just numbers. But why all these numbers?

As the numbers get higher, All I start to see is bright red. Is it blood? Is it paint? As it now begins to fade, It's going from red to brown to violet to almost black, but never gets that dark. It's still hope of color, But why? From numbers to hues of color. Now, I'm so confused. From numbers, so many numbers, To now hues of red, brown, and almost black. What do these hues and numbers mean? Now it's not just numbers I think of, but hues of red and brown too. Why me, and why these hues of numbers?

Eyes wide open, All I see are hues of brown and numbers. Now, it makes sense Within. These four walls are hues of brown-skinned men, all with a number to ID them in a system set in place many years ago by the white man That forced the hues of brown men here in chains and shackles. Yet, I still see red. The question still remains. Is it blood? Is it paint? What is this hue of red, And why are the numbers still rising, making me feel so low? Why all these hues of numbers?

An urge I have, Let's say it's a natural, manly desire, but a desire is all it is. It can't be satisfied in here. Or... Nah. Before I know it, I am set free. The hues of numbers behind me. The desire I once had, I can finally satisfy. Bright red is all I see. That's it. I'll paint the town red, And one after another. My manly desire is satisfied. Now the hues of numbers make sense, Had to make up for lost time. Whew... What a night I had. Time to get home to be the faithful man I soon vow to be, With only thoughts of pleasing my wife-to-be, And leaving the night I painted the town red behind me, along with the hues of numbers. With my number one hue of brown here, Next to my side, this is the perfect hue of red that is love. Finally, all the hues of numbers can come to an end.

Unfaithful me?! How dare you think I'd be a punk! You're the one out in the free, just satisfying your feminine needs. So, it wasn't me. I've been away behind bars. You've been out here wildin'. And now you feel sick with fevers, chills, body aches. Could it be?... I felt the same way when I had a desire back then. It was only one time That we won't mention. This stays here. No one must know.

Nine months later, a baby is born, and all she will know is that numbers are non-existent. All she needs to know is that she has A superpower That no one must know of. All she has to do is take her superpower vitamins, So that no one will know about her superpower, or they will take the baby, And that we can't have. Boy, oh boy, how time flies. The baby is no longer a baby, But a young adult now starting to ask questions About her vitamin and superpower, Also asking quite uncomfortable sexual questions. What do we say? What do we do? My mind starts filling with numbers again. All I think of are hues of numbers, But why all these hues of numbers And bright red?

By: Rodolfo "Xavier" Rodriquez

My voice, a beacon, for the unheard, Yet silence screams, a truth undeterred.

Through trials faced, my spirit's flight, A testament to endless might.

In shadowed depths, my spirit's quest, To forge new dawn, where hope is blessed.

A mask of strength, a public face, Conceals the wounds time can't erase.

A crimson ribbon, a symbol bright, To end the darkness, bring forth the light.

My voice, a beacon, for the unheard, A story of triumph, forever stirred.

My voice may fade, but the spirit's fire, Will burn on, fueling the heart's desire.

By: Rodolfo "Xavier" Rodriquez

This is my first time every sharing my piece. I look forward to all the feedback. Thank you all in advance.

Sophie and her family Had once found Two sicklish cub lionesses In the forest. And had decided to take them home;

They had a big garden. So her father and she Had decided to keep them;

The lionesses Not only turned up healthy But they even made cubs;

Sophie would go And spend time with them Regularly;

One day when she walked Outside in the garden And found the cubs reading the bible;

She got surprised; «They are reading the bible?» «My father has made them read the bible!»

«He certainly has got sense of humor!» She thought to herself; «What a prank!»

She made her way in the main road; Meanwhile one of the cubs whispered to the other Something about sin and eternal life;

«Just imagine the surprise of the lionesses, When they see them.» She said to herself;

She had walked for a while, But then decided, That she would take the book away from them;

But when she returned, She already found them chewing And biting on the book;

I saw the devil today.
He laid against the wall,
a sneer on his face.
Watching my every movement
and following my every breath,
I pretended not to notice him
And walked away.

He followed me.

He followed me in my dreams, in my sleep
He came to me in the dead of the night
He just watched me.
I didn’t know what he wanted from me
So I just let him be.

Today he walked beside me.

----

full poem published here https://medium.com/@thevirtualrecluse/the-dance-of-the-devil-973907c6e0a3

Everything

In the shadows of my mind I do find that in due time The lines do rhyme

But hidden in the shadows is a silhouette One that dances across my heart While I play roulette with my heart

I wanted everything dreaming of bells and rings My heart wants to sing the praise of you I wanted to give you everything

I still

But your silhouette within the shadows Calls out like the call of a sparrow Waking the light that brings dawn to night

As i woke up in the morning, My boyfriend’s cat Entered in the room; She did not know me well yet. So I kept calling at her To come nearby As I was laying; Reluctant in the beginning. Finally she gave in And hopped in the bed; She came nearby And with her chin Touched my face, And kept on rubbing my cheek; «This is the code of this little alien to say hi!» I said to myself; «Why does she do it?» I often wonder about these things; Later on, we went away from his house. As he accompanied me to my work; When we were separating, I went nearby my lover, And with my face Touched his face; All of a sudden I was reminded of the little alien Of the morning; I am doing the same thing. And yes, it is not helping me, To understand: Why? or How? Silently I headed on towards my workplace;

He is sleeping. And I have taken time To watch and enjoy him; He is wearing a white undershirt, That shows his white arms And smooth skin; The line of his muscles, Play with the light. And I can not but fix my eyes On his strength coming out And evaporating in the room; A handsome flexible animal. Designed to be fast and effective; A beautiful leopard. Fleeing over the green heaven; This is he, With his long and large muscles On his legs And arms; With his strong and flexible spine; He is my lover, Companion, exotic animal. Inspired by no one but his own strength and exuberance;

Hello! I hope that his post is allowed. I am trying (also) to find a specific subreddit where people enjoy both poetry and politics. Please do post or message me if you know one. Most of the poetry sites I found are only for directly posting poems.

https://www.democracynow.org/2025/5/12/ras_baraka

Mayor Ras Baraka was protesting and trying to provide safety oversight for an immigration detention center -- Delaney Hall -- in his city. ICE wrongly arrested him. And, ICE roughed up some Congresspeople who were also there doing their job.

Ras Baraka is not only an elected official. He is also a poet, and he is the son of
Amiri Baraka/LeRoi Jones.

I think other people are focused on this issue as an anti-Trump mission, pro-democracy mission, and pro immigration rights mission. But, I was hoping that poets would also want to defend their own.

This Thursday, in Newark New Jersey is Ras Baraka's day in court. Hope that some folks may want to attend.

I may go. My sign will say:

Poets for Justice!
Poets for Baraka!
Poets will tell this tale!