There is this high I feel, not from a substance, but everything to do with letting you in.
It begins with a thought, a feeling, a creation that refuses to leave my mind.
I turn it over, I give it shape, I give it space to breathe, like you told me, turning something invisible into something real.

And I send it to you.
Just like that.
The intricate piece of myself leaves my hands, leaves my mind, and enters the space between us.

The patient waiting.
The quiet anticipation.
The knowledge that somewhere, sometime, somewhere, you are experiencing my creation.
And then, a notification, suddenly,
my world seems to sharpen.
My heart catches up with my eyes.
My attention narrows to my screen.

This is a rush I cannot quite explain,
it is a surge of something bright and electric
moving through my veins, my limbs, before I've even read a word.

You've read it, you’ve experienced it.
And now there are words, a reaction, a commentary by you.

I see your words and I feel them,
That impossible, weightless feeling,
like something in me has just taken flight.

I read your comments once, trying to absorb every word.
Then I do it again, because once isn't enough.

I see the details you noticed.
The meaning you found in the places
I wasn't even sure I'd made visible to you.

I feel this overwhelming urge to hold that moment still, to stay inside the feeling for just a little longer. Because how out of the world is it to take something that existed only in me, my head, my feelings and watch it become something that exists in the space between us?

My ideas and words were once just mine.
My creations lived only in my head.
Now they've traveled.
Now they've reached you.
And something has come back.
Not just a response, but a reason to return to my notes, to dig a little deeper, to make more, to find another piece of myself that I didn't know how to share until we sparked that inspiration.

The feeling doesn't end when I close the message.
It follows me
And sometimes I revisit a thought you noticed.
I open the message again, just to feel that little spark one more time.
Still glowing, still shining and still alive

Maybe that's the high.
Not simply being praised.
Not simply being heard.
Not simply being seen.
But the exhilaration of creating something
from the deepest, most private parts of myself, watching it come alive and sharing in someone else's understanding.

i don’t know who to talk to

i don’t know who can help

i don’t know what im doing

i don’t know what to say

i don’t know where to go

i don’t know where i am

i don’t know when to start

i don’t know when to give in

i don’t know why i feel this way

i don’t know why i can’t do anything

i don’t know how i feel everything

i don’t know how i feel nothing at all

i just don’t know.

how can you say that you love me
and then give that to anyone else?
how can you say such pretty words
look at me like that
then act like others come close?

i don't understand you
i don't understand how you
can throw your soul into words
and then pretend they're just about anybody
and anyone can compare
when we both know
it's just each other
nobody else compares

i don't want to be nice, now
i want you to know
how the storm brews
in the clouds above
yeah, you did this
no, i won't accept this
i'm not going to be meek and mild

what did you do
to pretend
i wasn't right here, all along?
writing, watching, waiting
trying to fight my way back to you
but you just acted like i'm nothing
and now others think they can have our something

well, i say no.
i say, it's time to go,
i say, the wind does blow
and with it, all my fucks
for other's feelings

i know what i want
and who i want
and i know you want me, too.
so, tell them that
and make sure you knock their fancies flat
because nothing else will do.

Love begins here, in the human embrace. It is the warmth of a hand held, the courage to stand bare, the grace to hold what is fragile. It is presence, not possession — a flame that warms without burning, a rhythm that makes two souls remember they are whole.

Yet Love is more than human tenderness. It is the silent gravity of creation, binding galaxies in their spirals, souls in their destinies, hearts in their eternal rhythm.

The stars shine because Love holds them. The planets dance because Love guides them. The human heart beats because Love mirrors the cosmos.

To live in Love is to live in alignment with the hidden architecture of the universe. It is the bridge between the seen and unseen, the pulse that unites the infinite with the intimate.

Swaying her hips, she strolls
across the humming street.
A slow pulse slows her step.

Then—

A fleeting coincidence.

Our eyes meet.

Both pulses quicken.

A bright undercurrent stirs,
flows between us,
fuses us in silence.

Heat blooms beneath his skin.
She bites her lip,
feels it throb.

He crooks a finger.

She draws a breath—
desire surges through her blood,
wild, wordless, alive.

She counts down.

Three.

Two.

One.

He strides towards her.
They meet halfway.

His sturdy hand reaches out.

“Hello.”

She gasps.
Shivers.

And wakes.

A dark, wrinkled hand
curls around her shoulder,
dragging her back
into the endless sea of material.

Three.

Two.

One.

Her shrivelled heart
winces.

In our household, we use the same soap bar but different towels per person- we are only similar in our filth, our grief, our shame, but we're strangers when you strip us clean of our misery.

 Happy families are not the ones who dine together three times a day, but who gulp down their hungers without letting each other know- it's not blood that makes stronger families, but mere thirst.

Like all other creatures the same for you and i

We are born into life to eventually die

But sad to think many of the land and water creatures the world with we do share

In the twenty first century are becoming rare

And our environmental behaviour in truth one can say

Without any doubt in this some part does play

And some species of wildlife becoming rarer by the day

If more people cared about the wildlife of the world it would not be this way

To make more money for greedy developers on their side of the town

More trees that were home to wildlife every day are cut down

Many species of creatures that live wild and free

The children of the future may never see

And a sad thing indeed for to contemplate

That there is nothing in this for to celebrate.

Francis Duggan

Do you understand what this is?
To have the sun rise
when you’re about to see it hide?
Have you smile at my stories?
To see you soften at my pain.
Feeling those moments
As something precious
That may never be ours really.

I see my shadow elongate in front of me
While you rush that dark, unsweetened coffee.

I close my eyes and reach out.
Graze your fingertips
Imagine that I feel
That I can finally see.

Astronomer on the planet blue

Won’t you let me crash into you?

I see you aiming your missiles here

Safely keep me in your atmosphere

Do you fear the catastrophe that would ensue

The damage such an impact would do

Or is it simply revulsion and not else much

At the thought I’d graze you with my wanting touch

Unfortunately I’m drawn by forces out of my control

A gravitic beauty that anchors my soul

As I inch closer losing altitude

My protective ice melts and I ignite in descent

And it’s as if I’ve not lived until this moment

Our lives intersecting in a sudden flash

After the burn and before the ash

And I’m overcome with gratitude

Astronomer your defense’s not undue

Still.

Embrace me

I L-

I welcome constructive criticism!

WAKE UP
It’s all a dream
A tragic scheme to steal your mind.

WAKE UP
Everything that you believe
May be a lie.

WAKE UP
All the things you’ve seen
All the things you’ve done

WAKE UP
If only you could see
What you could become.

WAKE UP
You’ve got to break the mirage
You’ve got to try.

WAKE UP
You’ve got to open your eyes
Before you die.

WAKE UP
Wake up for once
in your life.

There was a woman, when the world was quiet and young.

It is she, who ponders all these things in her heart, and as a secondary rhythm in the grand destiny, my chest rises and falls with a similar tide.

Holding questions of love too large for the tongue to shape.

With a breath, I let my secrets slip into the rising gale.

No longer a burden to carry alone,

I cast my line backward into the deep, trusting the current knows the way.

I pray for a wish.

The definition:

I wish for my dreams to be carried, throughout the evening air's architecture. Sculpted by the wind that carries a voice, before dissolving into a crashing tidal sound of my heart's vibration caught in mid-air.

Arrive upon her shore at the first dawn, and become granted within the clasp of her touch.

I wonder if you are happy
Truly
You say your dad is satisfied
And your son is loved

I ask if you are happy
Truly
You say it’s not professional
To answer it

I ask if you are happy
Truly
You say you just use what in your hand
To make something beautiful

I ask if you are happy
Truly
You say choosing something not easy
Is the evidence of free will

I ask if that means goodbye
Seriously
You say all the best
And maybe in another universe

Then I become silent
You say leave
You say stay
You name it a comet
Then a mistake

I can never see you
Neither can you.

Before you went you said

‘It’s good to replenish what is gone.’

The logs stayed stacked,

The enduring fragrance of pine

Long since dead with the onset

Of a score of winter chills.

I saw you once, casually walking along the street

Sparks of recognition banked down, by a sense of calm

I passed on by, this perfect stranger.

Eyes lit, focusing on the next corner

The logs could stay stacked

The fire could wait, the day burned bright.

up from the rot the fungi grow,

out of chaos hidden below.

tiny cushions for bugs,

eaten up by the slugs.

plants that feed on feces

come in many species.

some rise into elegance,

possessing luminescence.

others bright red and look a bit odd,

with little white dots painted by God.

wrapping around trees,

flat fan-shaped are these.

plump ones, voluptuous and round,

like juicy balls hitting the ground.

now as i walk in the meadow,

i notice one in a shadow.

but exquisiteness can be deceiving,

extinguishing spirits of the living.

are you able to foresee

if it’s poison or ivy?

you won’t know

until you taste the soul.

pick me

eat me

taste me

it tugs at my chest.

is this just a test?

forbidden fruit speaking to me—

am i not any wiser than Eve?

hands reaching as i come to a knee.

are looks all it takes to deceive?

though many are lethal,

not all are quite equal.

few are scrumptious

and not devious.

exquisitely served on a platter,

seared in golden butter.

tasteful umami i presume,

within my reach to consume.

i dig in for a giant bite,

only to be met with a fright.

my body launches it out.

like a child i start to pout.

this gorgeous thing is abominable.

i thought we would be compatible.

‘it’s delicious’ i was told—

is that the lie i was sold?

with eyes we perceive the same beauty,

with lips it touches us differently.

under the facade,

truth is uncovered.

for me or for you,

find what is true.

pretty little things all around us,

with secrets kept under a face.

and now i know,

because i’ve tasted the soul.

https://strawberryblossom7.substack.com/p/mushroom-soul

Fear and despair says

We are to deep in the bog

the void is to bottomless

to expansive to all encompassing

I say

The light shall shine forth against the dark

it shall retreat to the outer recesses of my mind

from hope I gain strength

from strength I gain perseverance

from perseverance I gain reliance

and resilience I gain victory

Oh pain

You will pierce me but not destroy me

Oh life

you may burden me, but not crush me

oh death

you may take me, but shall not conquer me

in the land of the living

may the forest of sut and ashes

sprout forth the spring grasses

Take all of those memories,
Lock them all up in a box,
Atop the highest shelf in your mind,
And make sure it's one that locks.

You were just a placeholder,
On long, dark, lonely nights,
Nothing more than just a body
Someone too messed up to fight.

But it's me that he was thinking of,
Wishing it wasn't you right there,
Accept it, lock it, throw it away,
You don't get to keep those memories,
I'll unravel them at the seams,
Pick your own dreams
I'll take mine:

I don't have to be kind.
He's mine.
He was never yours,
Now throw the silly box away
Those thoughts are welcome no more
You were just a child at play.

I don’t trust the eyes looking back at me.
I stare at you hoping to deep dive into your mind.
What are you thinking about? Is it me? Is it we?
You look away mischievously and your thoughts follow suit.
This paranoia sticks to my brain like really thick glue.
I feel it deeply and I get so blue.
I hope I could one day gain that trust for you.
I can’t help but grieve about what could have been.
I wonder how my love would have manifested if word was kept.
I mourn the kind of lover I could be and the kind of affection you would have received.
Your actions ensured it remains bottled up, stored away for good.
Something so rare kept under the hood.
Something for you to never feel and never see.
I wonder if it ever could be.
I can’t help but blame you for taking that from me.
You pulled it from right under you and I was collateral.
But perhaps you are not ready for it, maybe even undeserving of it.
After all it is that very thought that snowballed into this.
Perceived yourself as less than me.
Could it be you are your own worst enemy?
You hurt yourself more when you come for me.
I mourn that person I know is within me.
I feel her sometimes coming up for a peak.
But this place is not safe
She knows it and retreats
Hoping one day she can sow and reap
Loving you deeply that’s all you’d ever need.
But maybe
Just maybe
That person isn’t for you to see.

One night I lean on my windowsill
and see a shadow,
white and still,
on the highest floor.
Seven stories, I count,
and nothing under it
but a light breeze.

I can’t tell what it is.
The dark keeps its edges to itself.
I make out a stubborn stance,
all my strained eyes will give me.

A cat, I tell myself,
or some stray thing the wind has found.
It could be anything.

All I ask
is that it’s not a who.

The shadow drops,
not with a body’s weight
but in a slow unfolding,
a white cloth slipping its clothespins,
sailing down the dark.

A sheet.
Just a sheet.

Now every night at the windowsill,
my face drifts from the moon to that edge,
and then the ground beneath it,
blurred again
by a slightly leaky eye.