I feel like I’m floating in the middle of the deep ocean

blue, I keep things right for myself.

At any minute, things are thunderous. I can relate, It’s one of those things the ocean can’t help.

I see the storm head and the waters gilt and jolt me with it. I panic the same when I discover someone new.

The stormy weather leads me to the underwater graves of ships that never made it to land. Lasting spirits of the widows perched on hollow wood that gives false hope that understanding.

I am my vessel returned where the weather is going to take command.

My feelings about myself —it’s like an ocean; idolized as calm, but widely known to be disastrous.


What a day

What the time?

I know that day!

You left me.

In the morning,

There was a little shine.

You regret me.


That’s the stint,

No severe hints.

You out walked on me.

A beautiful day.

A glorious way

To shun me.


Flora Mill had always loved the quaint courtyard with it’s weak, tame trees. It was an excellent place for her to feel sad peacefully alone.


She was a cunning, snotty, drunk with dark eyes and a stout, hairy body. Her paid friends romanticized her rude, snappy ways as her being curt and to the point. Once, she saved a kitten stuck in her tree. That was her saving grace for the rest of her life. Otherwise, she was unbearable at most.

Flora walked over to the bench to reflect on her elegant surroundings. The clouds danced like drunk people only looking to have a fun time on the dance floor and nothing more.

Then Flora saw something in the distance, no, someone. It was Wendy Golora, a tight bodied author with toned arms.

Flora gulped. She was not prepared for Wendy

Flora stepped toward her house as Wendy stormed closer, Flora could see the mad gleam in her eye.

“I am here because I want revenge,” Wendy bellowed, in a brash tone. She pushed her hand against Flora’s chest with all her might. “I hate you, Flora Mill.”

Flora flung back, keeping her pride and her clothing together. She crashed hard on the ground. “Wendy, I wanted to be friends,” she replied.

They looked at each other with remorse feelings. They were like two adventurous, afraid mice hopping from corner to corner at a crowded party looking for food droppings, which had jazz music playing in the background and two friendly cats each hunting to the beat of the mouse.

Flora regarded Wendy’s softened brow and toned arms. She held out her hand. “Let’s not fight,” she whispered, gently.

“Hmph,” pondered Wendy.

“Please?” begged Flora with puppy dog eyes.

Wendy looked defeated, her face blushing like a rosy, bottom kettle.

Then Wendy came inside for a nice glass of wine.

False Engagement

Never look to jump off the ledge to prove who you are. When calls of identity are mixed with a judgment of being someone you don’t know exist within you. The best thing to do is to not engage and walk away. People will use you what they want from you, true. That does not mean that you have to further engage in the destruction of your character because you decided to do something that abruptly stopped the claims of false engagement.

Arranged Rumination

The only proof I have that you still think about me

is the burden in my soul

that I still think about you


I know my hand through this,

the constant pain I put myself though

im used to it.


The constant lamenting I do

I can’t go through this


The proof in the routine, however.

I can make due with it.


8:07 P.M.

“Get over it!” is what she says out loud when her brain overloads with thoughts. She can’t forget about the things she should have said and the things she should have kept to herself. All she really wants is a redo to curse people out when she felt powerless and bullied into dignified silence. She is usually up all night going over fake, triumphant speeches in her head. The way she would let them have it if she had to do it all again.

Deep down she feels silly for not jumping when she knew the ship was going under. The times she never listened to her intuition when it was begging her to be herself. The fake relationships kept up for appearances, her logic knew she should have left alone. However, she also has blame in it too. She stayed in the planned destruction, knowing the kinds of animals she was training. But see, she wanted to be entertained. She wanted things to report back to any gossiping hen that would listen.

She didn’t want to make a change because that would be too hard. Instead of letting go and getting on. She knew what to say and do in order to retell victimhood stories filled with unbeknownst deceit and betrayal to any blathering hen that would let her belt it out. It is ironic she is upset when the chaos goes her way. She is in denial, she is a foolish woman who always plays the victim; remember what I said about people who gladly walk in the fire? She’s the kind to let things burn, as long as she can cry on the news how she lost everything including her lighter.

In Dreams

I pictured us together in daydreams, you know–fantasies.

I would buy him myrrh as if he was divinity.

So, when reality touched me to see where he was giggling.

It killed me to see, how little I live in totality.

The Time

It’s the hurried sensation that was wrong

the feverish fantasy I refused to deny

the fire in his eyes

the tired rings I spun my lies

the times I refused the care

the fun we had in underwear

the other lies I passed time with

the time you took your pride and precious time with you

and said goodbye to my unstable tides

and here I blame everyone for my strong desire to destroy.




Donate to paypal.me/sekeh


Wake up and remind yourself no one loves you.

Brush your teeth—scrub any evidence you care about your appearance.

Dress in linens that nurture your invisibility.

Eat compliments as sweet insults.

Greet the nothing of a shell you are. Promise to return with Milk.

Brave a day out; you rest your mind no one thinks you’re interesting.

Work on the bubble that glorifies your lack of teamwork.

Take a break from all of the stress to hate yourself a little more.

Massive overtime jeweled.

Retreat back into self; long for something, you sense you don’t deserve.

Pray a different voice commences.

Assert each message and sleep.

Dreams are dense, forgetting you live.