After The Moon Falls

The transmutation of someone else’s pain into: 

light,

    Into love,

      Into art,

It is a new concept for me.

    To love unconditionally;

To–

. . . I don’t have this in me anymore.

    I am not a poet any longer. 

I am not a writer. 

   I am not a fighter. 

I am not a father. 

    I am not a lover. 

I am barely a friend. 

    I am hardly an Uncle. 

And I am a terrible son. 

I don’t know what I am. 

   I don’t know who I am. 

I don’t have a plan. 

The transmutation of someone else’s pain

Into:

   light,

    Into love,

      Into art,

   So they can heal,

Is a new concept to me.

    To love unconditionally.

To–

I really can’t do this.

   I don’t feel it.

I don’t want it.

   I am not a writer.

I am not a poet.

   I am not a fighter.

I am not a father.

   I am not a lover.

I’m not a healer. 

But,

    I do still love her. 

Love or fear?

  What will it be, my dear?

     Do you live from a place of love or fear?

You only have two choices here,

      Love or fear.

How do you treat others?

    How do you treat yourself?

      How do you grow?

       How do you change?

Is it through love or fear?

     How do you live?

How do you see the world?

   Are you closer to love or fear?

Life can be reduced to a simple question, my dear,

    Love or fear?

Fear or love?

    Opposite ends of the spectrum, love and—

I am so sick of being in my own head. 

I don’t want to feel certain things so deeply. 

I don’t want to grieve. 

I don’t want my words to hurt others. 

I don’t want my core wounds exposed by her. 

I don’t want to be what I am. 

I don’t know if I can do this anymore . . .

Forever is a long time.

Eternity isn’t conceivable.

Infinity doesn’t fit in our little human minds. 

I won’t live forever. 

But, I will be sorry forever. 

Even after I am gone;

After the sun has exploded;

After everything has turned to dust;

I will still be sorry.

Even then,

At the end,

As I lay in my hospital bed,

I will still be sorry.

After all the wars are over;

After all the stars in the sky dim;

Even after the moon falls,

I will still be sorry.

Even on my wedding day,

As I reluctantly marry someone else,

I will still be sorry.

I should just tell you—

I don’t give a shit anymore.

    I don’t care.

These words are meaningless.

    Everything is an uninspired line.

Everything is broke.

    Fake words.

Fake hope.

   Fake writing.

Fake trying.

    Just

Pointless 

     Typing . . .

The beautiful lady, with a gorgeous smile, came over to my place.

    We talked for six hours straight,

and she kept saying,

     “We can literally manifest ANYTHING.”

Her ex lives across the street from her. 

    She’s been in love with him for years. 

But he runs away from her love out of fear. 

     She loves him fiercely, even though he pushes her away. 

She believes in love. 

   She believes in the two of them.

  I am rooting for the two of them.

    I kind of admire her relentless deduction to unconditional love. 

But she has spent years watching other women pull up to his house, 

   Not leaving until the sun—

Fuck love, dude.

   Fuck love.

Fuck poetry.

   Fuck books.

Fuck writers.

   Fuck couples.

   Fuck music.

Fuck Valentines Day.

    Fuck romance.

I can’t keep doing this.

   I can’t.

. . . She told me to apologize,

   And I know she’s right,

I just don’t want to do the right thing anymore.

“Every person is a lesson,” the bratty blonde said to me. 

“You sound like my ex. I am no one’s fucking lesson. I am a person. I am not here so someone can use me for their own growth. I just want to be, without anyone expecting anything from me. I am not here to heal others while I lay drained and broken on the floor. That’s not what I am meant for.”

“Ew.”

“Ew? . .  Ew?? Ew to you.”

“Jesus, dude. You have issues.”

“We all have issues.”

“You’re a narcissistic asshole.”

“Piss off.”

“Good riddance.”

I don’t want to say goodbye.

   And I don’t want to apologize.

I don’t want to let go.

   And I don’t ever want to say hello to her again.

But . . . that is all an elaborate lie.

   I am just hurting.

I am just having a little death.

   I’ll be fine.

I’ll be okay.

The nice lady, 

   with the great smile,

      said, 

“Holy shit, you are the divine feminine in your situation and your partner is the masculine. It’s a role reversal. You are supposed to show her what love is. You are supposed to provide a safe space for her healing. The Divine Feminine heals, balances and awakens the Divine Masculine. You can provide the compassion, emotional depth, and safe container needed to transform wounded, rigid, or ego-driven energy into sacred, purposeful action. Whoa . . . Trippy.”

I sat there and tried not to hear her. 

“You need to apologize,” she said, becoming more and more animated. “You need to align with your higher self. You can’t keep living with this weight inside of you. Speak your truth. Free yourself. Live from love, not from fear. That’s the only way to live without regrets. That’s the only way to live a life well lived.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. 

CH 3/8/26