Inside a Poet’s Mind: Too Sacred to Write About

Up to a few weeks ago, I used to say that whoever enters into my life must accept that I am a writer and will express myself in writing. That means I would write whatever I have to, no matter what is said about them. But with time and new experiences, beliefs change.

I’ve been seeing this guy for a month now, and it’s been quite great. And I like him so much, that what we have feels sacred. He is special to me, and I don’t want to do anything to fuck it up. That include being hesitant from writing about him, about us, because there is a lingering feeling of ‘wrongness’ to write about something so sacred.

The second of the ten commandments in the Catholic religion is “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain,” and that’s how I feel about this guy. I shouldn’t be revealing this thing I have with him to the world. I want to keep him to myself, and to not expose him to the world in the intimate way poetry does, because, he is the most intimate part of my life.

I never really felt like this with anyone before. Perhaps I don’t want any of my words to affect what we have now or in the future. But this blog post, as anonymous and secretive as it is, is my first step to writing about him in public, and I acknowledge that he could be reading this. And I know in the future, I’ll succumb to writing more deeply about him, and all the things he makes me feel. For now, he’ll be my secret to cherish.

Thinking of You

Pluck my hair
                        as if it were wild weeds
                        overgrown on my scalp.

Carve a slit
between my pecs,
            rip my chest apart
                        and watch my heart
                        drop onto your feet.

Play with it
            like a football,
                        kick it around
                        until it’s bruised
                        & bloodless.

Shove acid
            down my throat,
                        watch my mouth foam
                        & my body convulse.

These are the only ways
I’ll stop thinking of you.

A list of my featured works is found in Publications, including my full-length collection, Welcome to the Sombre Days (2018).

First published by Royal Rose Magazine.

Royal Rose

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Photo by Stefano Pollio on Unsplash


Ghost (noun):
a being who has passed away
manifesting themselves to the living
for reasons they will never know.

Ghost (verb):
to write as an anonymous author,
letting others take credit for your words,
including subtle critiques of politics
without putting yourself in danger.

Ghost (verb):
to suddenly disappear from a relationship
without an explanation or reason,
then avoiding human confrontation,
pretending to have mysteriously died.

Ghost (noun, you):
Flashbacks of the two of us,
an image haunting me every day;
your voice echoing in my head,
making me hate myself
for all the mistakes I ever made
(the biggest one was trusting you).

Ghost (verb, you):
to have the pain linger around,
waking me abruptly from a nightmare,
cutting over the unhealed wounds,
dictating how strangely I act around people
because I am afraid of getting hurt again.

Ghost (verb, you):
to disappear or vanish the way you did,
running away with stolen money,
blocking any channel of communication,
erasing the love we had once shared.

Ghost (wishful noun):
I try to think of us, to think of you,
instead, I picture a fragmented soul,
a manifestation of your worst.
It is that ghost who torments me,
riles me up with anger and hatred,
makes me wish you are just a ghost
who is now harmless and dead.


For more poetry, check out Jeremy’s Published Works.


I will let you slit my wrists,
watch the blood spatter
as I lay lifeless in its pool.

I will let you take away my life
if it means you get to have
the happy ending we always dreamed of.

Find the liberation in my death.
Flutter like an innocent butterfly,
amidst the floral aroma
forget the stench of my rotten body,
the vivid hues of petals
override the memories
of the trickling blood you shed.

Unrestrained –
live your life
as if it never was
a part of mine.


My newest poetry collection is available on Amazon (paperback) and Kindle (e-book). Read more about it at Welcome to the Sombre Days.

When You’re Gay

When you’re gay
dating is just the same
as if you were straight.

instead of holding hands,
you walk behind him
to avoid being harassed.

instead of gazing deeply into his eyes,
you make sure no stranger is staring
before you go in for a kiss.

instead of enjoying the bliss
in a loving embrace,
you protect yourselves
from the man with bulging eyes
who repeatedly shouts
at the top of his lungs:
“The bible clearly states,
one MAN and one WOMAN!

Then, you spend the rest
of your evening
calming down your date
who no longer feels safe
being held in your arms.


This poem was first published on Steemit.

If you would like to support me, check out my book The A to Z of You and Me, which is available on AmazonKindle and Barnes & Noble.

Spoon and Knife

Dinner is set on the table,
a savoury aroma wafting
through the dining room.

She takes out a spoon and a knife,
as she sits down asks
why her hands are holding a spoon
and not a fork.

Goes back to the drawer,
forcibly opening it,
cutlery clinking loudly
as her eyes narrowed down.

Her tongue rants to her husband
about how he misplaces things,
turning her home upside down.

His fists slammed on the table,
plates vibrating
as words fly over them
like air missiles in a world war.

Without pause,
each threw words
as if they were blades,
dodging hits and
launching sharper ones back.

Her face froze pale
as blood stained his white shirt
with a knife pierced through his heart.

Screaming, she ran towards him
held her spouse in bloody arms,
as his eyes closed.

Regret viciously trembles her body,
in the sorrow of the tragedy
she draws the knife out of his chest
and stabs it into hers.

They never meant
for cutlery to come between.


Prompt for 19th January 2018: Blink

My book The A to Z of You and Me is available on AmazonKindle and Barnes & Noble.

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