Five Poems from the Past
Updated: Sep 16
Here's an entire assortment of poems I've shared at one point or another on social media. Now, they can have a home on my own platform. Fair warning, I often don't rhyme. I did write a sonnet (today actually), but it's not here. I also wrote a super badass sonnet in high school and I lost the only handwritten copy I had of it; still upset about that.
The Last Colossus
[Facebook Post Originally Shared on September 24th, 2017]
Context: A modern connection to the famous Emma Lazarus poem etched upon the Statue of Liberty. I ended up reciting this poem at the University of Kent for Phill Jupitus — it was quite the downer after the five-minute comedy set I had just done, but he loved it just the same. This is also the first time I've ever chosen to ascribe a title to this work.
Tempest-tossed, I wearily plant myself beneath frayed copper;
Dreams swaying from torn pockets; withering hopes cowering beneath the sweat of lonely enervation.
My feet rest upon broken promises — upon the soil of lies.
I have miraculously shattered bonds of suffering, carnage, intolerance; only to enter a prison.
For this fabled symphony of liberty bows to a cacophony of shouts and sounds.
Divided. Depraved. Decaying.
Where black is less than blue.
Where no means yes.
Where tears soak trails of forgotten shame.
Where guns and guts are the Word of God.
Where love is conditional and prejudice is the air we breathe.
Where “American” bears more worth than “Human”.
Yet still, I wait beside these sunken sunset gates, dreaming, toiling.
Though I am reviled by the “Real Citizens”, I go nowhere, nor yield an inch.
My value will not be determined by a pledge, a flag, a war, a song, a nation, or a group that blindly worships such things.
My value is inherent, manifested in what I give of myself, for all others.
Whether Damascus, Durango, or Detroit be home — this is my land.
Today, it has been stolen; my ideals ridiculed; my religion perverted; my children blamed; my families deported — kept on opposite sides of worthless walls, abandoned and attacked on distant continents in the name of freedom.
But I will never surrender my inviolable right to tomorrow.
The mighty woman trembles.
Her robes are fading.
The torch is dim.
Oh, Mother of Exiles, awake! Enlighten the world! We are shivering together in darkness, praying for a spark.
Congregation of One
[Facebook Post Originally Shared on December 14th, 2017]
Context: I just felt like writing this one day. I haven't actually given it a title until right now.
The stained glass was frayed;
Shards, coldly embracing their neglected fate.
Bloodied hands revealed themselves bent over the remains, incensed by impulse.
“It will be perfect”, cried the pastor, sifting his palms through the thorny heap.
Eyes callous, mind rigid, heart exclusive — his utterance was the candor of those who live within years yet are not alive; those who know persons yet not people; those who nurture notions of sacrificing self, wholly serving suffering humanity — yet reject the undesirable.
“I know best”.
“You must do it this way”.
“Her identity is invalid”.
“His existence is unworthy”.
“They are not welcome here”.
Eternally preoccupied by ceremonial ornaments and ornamental ceremonies —
He never realized the Cathedral was empty.
Still Waiting: A Response to Langston Hughes
[Facebook Post Originally Shared on September 2nd, 2025]
Context: I often think of Langston Hughes as my favorite poet, and if you also know his work, you'll see how this entire thing continually pays homage and acts as a direct companion to several of his writings.
You lamented your exhaustion,
Didn’t you,
At a world so bad
And brackish and base?
We take our knives,
So many times,
Chopping and dicing through
The core of the Earth —
Searching for answers
We already have.
We always find the worms.
We never spare the rind.
Now you are gone.
Now I am here.
The world is very much the same.
But that was never the point,
Was it?
In every line you penned,
In every idea you’d defend,
You challenged us to see
The darkness we would prefer to ignore —
Yet you also encouraged us
To live in it.
You identified
The dreams deferred,
The seeds in need of planting,
The raisins wilting in the sun,
The America that never was
And yet must be.
You dismantled
Our comfortable myths,
Our eternally persistent injustices,
Our endemically pervasive illusions,
Our endlessly enabling inactions —
Not to make us wallow in despair,
But to give our convictions a wallop.
You showed us
Life,
As it is,
Glorious and grotesque.
Hope and humanity are built upon pain —
The friends we loved who went away,
The starvation of tomorrow's bread.
From the little things to the big,
When the shoe string breaks on both your shoes,
When fear stifles freedom,
Our experience informs
Our capacity to commune.
That’s why you had us
Understand the visceral pang of adversity
And reject
The supposed necessity of subjugation —
So we might
Be a little more hopeful,
A little more human,
And a little more neighborly.
So we might think difficult thoughts
And enact even more difficult actions.
So we might execute extraordinary tenderness
In the extraordinarily everyday.
You lived here.
I live here —
And I will wander this
Beautiful, ugly world
With your affection and your fight.
I will not abide the darkness,
But I will exist in the reality of it
As I will equally inhale
The aromatic air of joy.
Because of you —
Even when everything seems
Repugnant,
Divided,
Hopeless,
Bitter,
Lonely —
Somehow, don’t know why,
I keep thinking it won’t always be like this
By and by.
Yes, we are still waiting
For the world to become good
And beautiful and kind,
But in the meantime,
May it be good sometimes,
May it be beautiful sometimes,
May it be kind sometimes.
Until we change
The forces of cruelty and conceit,
May we never let them
Change us.
There’s nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Harsh though it began,
Let it end softly,
And ever softer still.
I love my world.
Untitled
[Only Shared to Close Friends on Instagram Stories]
Context: I was real heartbroken when I wrote this one a good few years ago now. I'd developed unrequited feelings for someone who'd been in my life for several years. It didn't work out.
If someone out there is hurting right now, I hope you get some hope from this poem, not necessarily from the content, but by comparing its sense of finality with where I'm at now. In the years since, I've dated again, I've felt again, I've experienced the whole emotional spectrum of affection again.
Seriously, life goes on. It feels like you've lost someone who was one in a billion, who was unique in the universe, but don't underestimate how cool humanity is, or how vastly distinct and meaningful each individual is. You will find someone breathtaking, who is simply a joy, who is quirky, kind, sincere, funny, fun, free-willed, intelligent, radiant; someone whose imperfections and supposed shortcomings somehow make them even more wonderful. The best people often don't love themselves as much as they should, or they even view themselves as toxic when, in fact, they are the biggest breath of fresh air around.
Yes, I'm alone, romantically. I don't have that relationship yet. But I need to be content, and despite the occasional frustration over this lack of love, I do feel an assurance that something good will happen; so long as I am true and fair to myself. At the end of the day, there's only one person each and every one of us must be with for every last hour of every last day — ourselves. May as well learn to not hate what we see in the mirror.
Everyone who is brave enough to care about someone so much has been somewhere like this. I'm here to tell you, if it didn't work out, it wasn't meant to be. Something better is coming. Someone better is coming. Be patient, be open, be you. Write about it. Writing (and time) brings closure. Wounds and vulnerabilities breed wisdom and maturity. I think there's a lot of beauty in my words, even if that beauty was from a place of sorrow; and at the same time, I've moved on. Moving on, picking yourself up, trying again, being available, being ready for whatever happens next is so important. And hey, this is life. You might get real hurt again. You might get real hopeless again. I know a thing or two about that, welcome to anxiety. It's like the Alice in Wonderland quote — "she generally gave herself very good advice, though she very seldom followed it."
Just remember what you've learned, let yourself feel everything that must be felt on those lowest days, know your recuperation isn't going to be linear, trust in your friends, embrace the conflicting ideas and feelings, hold on, try your best. It's going to be okay. You are made of stars, you're the only you, you contain multitudes, all that jazz. Sorry, this context has been longer than the poem itself!
A hurting heart for someone who was never actually beside you is silly, sure
And real, too
What I felt long ago, and what I feel now, is authentic
My daily thoughts, still constantly drifting toward you, are blissfully, painfully genuine
My affection is irrationally elaborate, yet honest, stainless in intention
Your reserved spot, encircled by my heart, is one of perpetuity
Words will never describe your significance in this universe
Love is too weak a concept to express my conviction, my commission, to believe in you
Everything you are is everything I could possibly imagine...
...And every morning, as I wake up and you're not there, the radiance of what I wish would be meets the shadow of what is
Each new person reminds me they're not you
There are so many others in this world, I'm aware, and I sincerely try
Even still, I can easily count the individuals who've been as eccentrically, enchantingly perfect as you:
One
Untitled
[Facebook Post Originally Shared on June 11th, 2015]
Context: This poem is, as of 2026, over 11 years old. I was a teenager when I wrote it. The whole thing is horrifically sappy — but it was the first of mine to ever be published, and I believe the sentiment is genuinely sweet despite the lack of nuance.
Different minds, different places
Different lives, different races
People always find a way
To say we're all not the same
But beneath the social labels
Beneath the physical mold
There is nothing that divides us
We are united as a whole
Hatred may abound
Wounds may often bleed
But deep down it is found
We're just people in need
And what we need isn't darkness
Nor animosity
What we need right now is solace
Love and harmony
An arm to hold, an ear to hear
A gentle heart that's always near
So open your arms and make a friend
Place love where it's easy to find
'Cause there never ever comes an end
To the pow'r of being kind
Terrific material that speaks to heart, mind , and soul. Would love to see these published in a traditional format. But then, I’m old-fashioned😎