
A quiet reflection on the unseen labor, patience, and the strange truth that some things only happen when no one is watching. A whimsical meditation on waiting, work, and the invisible forces that keep the ordinary world moving.

I make the storm on purpose. I don’t wait for it. I shut the door in my head And let the pressure climb Until the air starts to move On its own

Every day brings a new atrocity—and a new justification. A poem about noise, lies, and refusing to mistake exhaustion for consent.

Things feel bleak and biblical lately—politics, hate, the world unraveling. Not a sermon, but a whisper of survival: not yet, not like this.