Finding My Core in 2024

Sunday, 11:47pm, December 15th, 2025

respecting superstitions!

i shouldn’t believe it but, my superstition aids respect.
from the top i’m breathing decomposed air.
the ecosystem of an abandoned silo.
one way out,
to jump before i fall.
energy to do so has a lock on the work uncover,
u n c o v e r
i was right about the hinges,
their illusions just weren’t presented.
it’s a falsifying way to “see through”.
a finger nail in my eye, theyre closed with the mixed feeling i get when i eat fry’s.
and now, im able to interpret the emotional water heater under my stairs.
it’s saying, what you need.

Wednesday, 11:29am, October 16th, 2024

the quiet is so dense,
leaves are loud to fall.
caution in a heavy step,
heel, outside of foot, toe.
how softly can you walk?
minding the outdoor cabin,
breaths whisper in talk.

eyes closed no darkness beholds.
the moon has attitude
through each crevice told.
i can feel another’s presence.
a company we hold.
one end of our hammock shares the tree.
like mindedness endures the cold.

personhood in art is inseparable
we’re in humble abode.

just the garnish to the giddy.

breaking all my thoughts i’ve had of you.
i’m immersed in the complexity of a simple statement,
“at what point”.
the repetition of it within my head has lasted without reason.
graciously rendering my feelings to allow the substance.
closer than it has been in days
but the finale is still a tale to be told,
patience in the coasting.

the evening holds space for time,
in it i’m reminded reflection is the mirror.
i’m seeing the figure.
i figure.
my figure.

painting has held a floating dock
for the space i need in between the fever.
in the rotation
cooling temperatures lead with proclamation.
i’m here it says,
it speaks she says,
silence.
silence.
silence.
she abides.
i’ve taken the assent but with a smaller purpose.
at what point,
i suppose that is my surface?

do i lie and allow the drink of watered pigment?
by just imagining the figment.
fracture
puncture
a wound.
the colors will do the talking
and obviously i will do the walking.
i’m soaked.
i shouldn’t wait to dry while being hung.
absent
pressed
with absolute it’s obsessed.
eventually.

my table holds two broken chairs
my figure
i figured.
and the tale.
a sour feeling within your mouth.
within the hour
i won’t bully this power but,
i no longer can hold back my scour.

take the fried part away from me.
i’ve fixed my chair.
sitting upright
i figure,
my figure.

Saturday, 6:43pm, September 28th, 2025

while im painting (pt.1)

process in intentions that lead with imperative natures.
giving the chest motion through thoughts of apprehension.
lending a hand for each wrongly numbered knock on the mind.
ensuring safety of spaces were crammed into dwell.
finding comfort in a racing heart beat.
gifting it the true excitement of growth.
covered in the blanket time has weighed.
warm body, cold toes, dirty hair and clock light.

while im painting (pt.2)

hands are quick to visit the comfort of my pockets with plea.
feet like to find the space inside my leg by my knee.
silly bursts of excitement fill the space in times of need.
i force the poetry out of me like a tree.
blah blah blah, tomorrow it’s time to spill the teaaa.
but it’s not an exciting time, in fact i’d like to flee.

how to notice decomposing.

carved on my right shin,
a sore beginning to heal.

do you know,
“we are not the same person”?

hope asks in contradiction,
although speaking crisply has just winded,
can a bic lighter provide an abide
until these thoughts collide?

i’m here,
colors turning
blades crying mourning.
and a must with hospitality, aids the empty room.

soon, the button will be sown.
intertwined between threads with a knot,
the fingers have not the key but
possibilities yet grown.

green covered fabric fails to wipe the smell of patience.
and i want to say,
“i’m here”.
but my button’s abrasing
and your erasing what’s held within the rough covered,
colored in mummed gums.
punctured with what the yellow colored bones have boned.
inside my mouth, crowned with knowns, is what has been sown.

decomposing has left,
i’m here.
i’m here.
i am here.

a whole year later!

honesty,
reflection in honesty.
speaking with clarity that removes the fading.
it’s easy to notice you.
time leaves cores,
nuggets in between the moments.
i’ve been here,
through the silence,
it was worth more than i’m speaking.
putting language to my thoughts
creating an emotional admiration i’m unable to forget.
to feel this way,
removes the gray.

the life of a flower.

at the time,
a simple statement within the moment
was carried further than thoughts in my shower.
it fills the whites
between color
once used to create depth.
don’t speak now,
follow the instinct to cradle.

Tuesday, 4:17pm, August 6th, 2024

eyes on the trees.

there’s something about all of it
that makes none of it feel,
real.

the rabbit hole.

the middle is the best part, id say.
didn’t ask for it,
but the crust was cut off my pb&j.
do i eat it anyway?

sincerely, connor:

a stick bug
will not be restrained in a suit jacket.
rather strut through the weight of his loafers.
style,
with a smile.
passion,
with a little pattern clashion.
precision,
the way he walks is his decision.

All of July, 2024, Plemmirio Sicily, Italy

saturday, july 20th, 11:17pm

the wanting thought of leaving,
has left me.
ideas of staying forever,
of making this last beyond cerebral comprehension.
is that too extensive considering this was once the contrary?
rain takes my ideas and falls with them,
leaving puddles that lead to the sea.
knowledge in its entirely isn’t real.
then with saying,
i’m not.

being here i’m present,
meaning else where has been found.
a mysterious location,
that is until now.

a dream,
of being in two places at once-
has extended itself through and out of my body.
with simply,
an idea…
i’m radiating.

split me in half,
whatever it takes.
two roads are my path.

thursday, july 18th, 8:09am

if i could,
for just one day…
i’d be a fish.
you couldn’t stop me.
id swim so fast.
phewww phew pheeeew,
right past your ass.

wednesday, july 17th, 1:37am

if i hold on to what’s left of my feathers,
i can’t fly.
in the grass i lay,
nothing between me and it.
my heart is so tired,
mosquitos don’t even want the blood it pumps.
i roll my legs to the right and let my arms follow.
the light from the moon creases everywhere it must.
allowing visibility to the roly poly crawling on my finger.
what’s it doing up so late?
a half eaten peach lays on the table as i write.
each bite takes enjoyment with,
all i can think about is how good the last one was.
i’ve noticed three mosquito bites,
no matter the feeling they still suck your blood

sunday, july 14th, 7:05pm

like a tree,
from birth it began to grow.
slowly and occasionally,
a new lim,
then a broken lim.
probably from some random lumber jack,
or a not so impossible lightning strike.
tightly rooted, it asks for no pity.
it just wants to remember its 6th birthday party,
it wants to hold on to what used to be its favorite toys.
it wonders with each new lim-
will a bird bee too heavy when it lands unexpectedly-
with no time to prepare?
no time to brace itself?
and even then.

there isn’t an “even then” anymore.
the tree has grown.
shells from used chicken eggs and old cow manure were placed on her base,
allowing new lims and even leaves from the times she’s lived.

she remembers now.

a funeral was held for the forgotten,
closure,
if she wants.

All of June, 2024, Central Italy but, Mostly Rome

sunday, june 16, 12:22pm

miles away, let’s start.
today is just a part of the parts.
the arts.

all i can see is thoughts.
i’m here,
present im meaning.
but i’m leaning,
towards an incomprensibile state of being.

sunday, june 16, 12:24pm

i worry that i’m too much
but then,
am i not enough?
socially, im unable to grasp the layer between.
it should be easier,
like left or right.
but even then,
sometimes i can’t even tell you that.
i’m joking,
but reality has left my understanding.
i’m tired,
i’m awake.
i wanna have fun,
let’s see the world.
but im seeing the world now,
and i still can’t seem to understand.
who i am.
where am i.
does it really matter?
reality of the world says it doesn’t.
but i’m me,
i think.
do you even wanna know me?

friday, june 14th, 1:56pm

speaking to fill the space.
giving shapes to my words.

tuesday, june 11th, 9:08am

i want to say,
at times i wonder.
but its not at times.
it’s a fast flowing river.

weeds in the cracks,
always more to rid.

what do you think?
i wonder this.

monday, june 10th, 1:01am

occasionally i think im a red bird,
other times im stuck into the dirt-
a bug.

bellow me is the whole world.
no map,
my intuition knows the direction.
i’m in, where are we going?

else where,
the sky,
two gravel roads
and a tall tree with no room for an extra swing.
it’s a small world.
living in a caped bottle.

how can i still fly covered in mud?

thursday, june 6th, 5:50am

pair of long socks,
not so tightly rolled.
further to the left.

monday, june 3rd, 6:11am

we’re makers.
history outside of comfort is of the time.
understanding myself a little,
when saying-
i’m an artist.

terms are in juxtaposition,
who is when,
what is where.

i’m an inventor.

creators of the past,
were many shades of thrifty.

old masters married young,
grew a patch of kids,
made empires of paintings.

and, those who slit throats,
were exonerated.

reality was deranged but,
beauty was made.

im an originator.

proving myself from the learned,
palimpsest past.

bare feet take on
intention,
independence and reflection.

i’m walking up.
it used to be down,
but the past told me not too.

April and May, Fayetteville and Home

sunday, may 5th, 2:11 am

things,
the universe,
seems to allow the chance.
i wish for it,
the time,
the moments.

i want every piece.

monday, april 29th, 9:08am

cat
on the carpet

cat
being taken by everyone for love that’s forced
until he realizes he wants it
he played in her hair like a child
it was adorable when he took of her glasses
she was adorable.

she
had kind eyes,
ones that focused on you.
she folded the fact that she is an introvert into the conversation.
but, being an introvert and a people pleaser at the same time…
that’s another conversation,
one we didn’t have.
i’d love to uncover her pages.
a few were copy and pasted for me to listen to
but the real story book remained closed.

after speaking to her i realized
maybe her book is closed for a reason.
i shouldn’t open it,
unless she chooses too.
even then,
somethings are tucked away ment to be left unsaid.
if you speak one,
more follow.

one story leads to the next.

that is memory.

sunday, april 20th, 2:34pm

as i speak towards everything
and nothing all at once

my dreams appear more
than the reality of my thoughts