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A Muffin, a Note, and a Whole Lot of Nothing

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I didn’t lose her. She was never mine to begin with. What I did lose was time, energy, thoughtfulness—and, if I’m being honest, a little bit of dignity—trying to get close to someone who never really opened the door. Back at the end of April, I finally asked out a woman I work with. Actually asked. No games, just: “Hey, I think you’re pretty. Wanna go out sometime?” She said she’d like that. The next day, she tells me to keep it quiet at work and drops this curveball: her kid is on house arrest and needs 24/7 supervision. That sounded... complicated. Part of me considered backing off. But I figured—how would I feel if someone walked away from me over something I couldn’t control? So I stayed open. Figured we could at least talk, maybe grab lunch, hang out at work. She started calling me after she got off work—couple times a week. Our convos flowed. She mentioned one day she doesn’t always stop to eat, so I started bringing her snacks. Nothing major. Grapes, a muffin, an ene...
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The life I’ve "earned."

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  “This is the life I’ve earned.” I’m 37. Single. Broke. Living at home. Driving a car I didn’t want. And despite everything I’ve done, this is where I ended up. I work hard. Always have. My parents drilled that into me. Doesn’t matter if I like the job or not—I give 100%. Every time. No shortcuts. No slacking. Just clock in, show up, do the work. I've done it at retail stores, restaurants, corporate contracts, HR firms, freelance gigs—you name it. And after all that, I’m still making around $17/hour. This… is the life I’ve “earned.” I’ve got a degree in Business. Minor in HR. I’ve worked in recruiting. I know the tricks. The buzzwords. The algorithms. I’ve read all the blog advice people throw around like gospel. And it doesn’t work. It’s a corporate game where the most “optimized” résumé wins—not the most capable person. And the worst part? Everyone has something to suggest like I’ve never tried the obvious. “Just network!” Oh, thanks. Never thought of that. 🙄 In college, I d...
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Snapchat Vs Plants

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Something Had to Die Yesterday ...and it was my Snapchat. Because it was either that, or those stupid fucking plants. I’ve put too much time, energy, and money into something that now just feels like a slow-motion failure. Not because I didn’t care. I did. Maybe too much. But effort doesn’t always mean success—and that’s a hard pill I keep choking on. I’m not trying to become some master grower. This wasn’t supposed to be complicated. It was just supposed to work. But I overdid it. Made the wrong calls. And now I’m left watching something struggle to survive that I can’t fully fix. Snapchat just seemed like the safest thing to destroy since I hardly use it. The plants didn’t do anything to me—I did it to them. So I let the app go instead. It’s what I had to do to keep from becoming hateful and killing something out of spite. This isn’t a victory. It’s not motivation. It’s just what I had to do to not quit everything.
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Hope in a Cage

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They want you quiet. Comfortably numb. Grateful for scraps and too tired to run. They hand you a screen and call it a life, Feed you distraction to dull all the strife. But you? You dream with your fists clenched tight, With blood in your mouth and your jaw locked right. You feel too much. You think too loud. You see through the fog they’ve wrapped 'round the crowd. And yeah— you’re stuck in the land of the free Where freedom costs your soul, plus a fee. Where hope is taxed, and rest is rare, And dreams are sold at boutique fare. But still, you dream. With calloused hands. With rent past due and no real plans. You build escape in whispered lines, In jokes, in rants, in crooked rhymes. Because dreaming here isn’t weak, It’s war. A quiet riot beneath the floor. And if one day you break away, Take a brick from the wall they made you pay. And use it well. Make it count. Build a door so someone else gets out.
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Held Hostage by a Maybe

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I don’t know why I’m drawn to her— maybe it’s the way her spirit hums in a frequency only my chaos understands. Her smile? Electric. Her gaze? Intoxicating. And I can’t lie— I’m hooked. Not like an addict, more like a scholar obsessed with a riddle too ancient to solve. She makes me wonder what her kiss tastes like— if it’s soft like closure or sharp like goodbye. What keeps her up at 2 a.m.? What wars does she wage behind closed eyes? Her silence— it doesn’t push me away. It invites me in, but never past the foyer. Just enough warmth to stay, just enough cold to question if I was ever meant to belong. She’s a cipher, and maybe I’m too much of a question mark to be her answer. Maybe I’m not what she wants. Maybe I never was. And still— here I am, chasing echoes of something that might never be real. A loop I can’t exit, a thought I can’t kill. Part of me wants to walk away. Save myself the heartache. Save myself from myself. Because left to my own devices, I could build shr...
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No Mercy for the Silent Man

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It’s hard being single, pushing forty, in a world where a man must be everything— but never too much of anything. Strong— but not so strong that you seem unreachable. Vulnerable— but only in ways that don’t make her uncomfortable. Lead— but never dominate. Provide— but never complain. We’re told to care, but not so much that it feels like need. To speak, but not so much that it steals her voice. To protect, but only from the things she agrees are dangerous. We carry expectations like bricks tucked in our ribs— smile through stress, laugh through pain, and call it “being a man.” We’re told to want a family, then sacrifice time with them in the name of duty— yet still be present in every way that counts. We are supposed to be the calm in every storm, the rock in every tide, the wall that never cracks, the fire that never fades. And still, we must never look tired. We love without condition, forgive without limit, and fall without safety nets. We are taught to carry the weight of the worl...
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