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The Dying of the Light

Sean PrunkaNo Comments

Hope right now feels like a dying light,
Trans youth are dying because the Right
Will strip away their right to live,
Not willing to even give
The smallest crumb of consolation
To the ability to live, in desperation,
As their truest self; who they really are,
A colorful bird, a shining star!
 
Women are being stripped of power,
As the Right tries to claim the hour
And a rapist sits in his Ivory Tower
Expecting them to meekly cower.
Women forced to bear the seed to term,
Even if the act will leave them dead or infirm.
They don’t care about the “Right to Life”,
They only sow the seeds of strife.
Seeking to control all the facets,
Women aren’t people, they’re merely assets.
 
Targetted by hateful laws,
We must fight! Defend our Cause!
Dying is the Light of Hope.
We must rise, not merely cope.
Rage against *this* dying light,
We will not leave without a fight.

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Watch Me Bleed

Sean PrunkaNo Comments

I don’t know what we were, or where we were going.
Maybe that’s why you left. Maybe it wasn’t me at all.
It hurt going to bed to “I love you” and waking to an empty screen.
My heart was cut open and I bled freely.
But I patched myself up. I told myself the Why didn’t matter.
The Why wasn’t mine to know and that would have to be OK.
I still missed you, but the pain was healing, my heart scabbing over.
But all contact wasn’t gone. I had your music. So I listened.
And “I was getting used to being someone you loved” all over again.
Until that song hit me.
Fuck the bandaid, you tore off the whole scab and you’re not even here to watch me bleed.
It’s not your fault though. You didn’t know I’d listen.
You didn’t know how that song would hit me.
You didn’t make me listen.
I did it to myself.
But I wish you were here to watch me bleed and kiss away the pain.

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To All the Could’ve Beens that Will Never Be…

Sean PrunkaNo Comments

We were friends.

We laughed and danced. We sat and talked for hours.
We drank and danced some more.
When you wrapped your tongue around my finger,
It became the signature on a note that said:
“There’s more.”

We were going to give it a go, to see what the future may hold.
But, weather happened. Our first date was a no-go.
Work schedules collided. Our second first date was a no-go.
Then COVID happened. And all of the next umpteen first dates were a no-go.

Then you died.

I love you as a friend.
I wish we had the chance to see what other types of love we could’ve shared.

I miss you.

I still think about the fun we shared as friends and I still wonder what might have been.
I still wonder, “If we’d had that first date, would you still be around?”
I still wonder, “Is it my fault, for not trying harder?”
I still wonder, “How could I have helped you?”

I know the answers, in order, are:
“No, probably not.”
“No, definitely not.”
“There is nothing.”

But I still ask myself.
I still feel the hurt and the questions.
And despite my logic knowing the answers —
My heart still asks and wonders.

But you’re not here to tell me, my friend,
“What could’ve been?”

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Nature’s Contract

Sean PrunkaNo Comments

The rose grows lovely and lush,
Smelling as sweet as sin.
It will bite you with its thorns.
A corpse flower, putrid and dank,
looking as lovely as a lounging lady.
The balance of beauty.

The Moon is cold, empty, and dark,
Yet glows with Solar radiance.
The Sun is life-giver and cancer-maker.
The levels of life.

Winter: dead outside, but
Snowmen and hot cocoa inside.
Spring: lush and green,
With flowers bursting at the seam.
But the bugs are back.
Swimming at the beach while sweating
and sizzling on the sand all Summer.
Autumn holds the heat at bay,
The trees turn into a bright array,
But the days are short and hide their beauty away.

Who is to choose what Life has to offer?
The light isn’t so different from the dark,
both have their ups and their downs,
they are all a part of Nature’s Contrast,
Our contract with the natural world.
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Malleable Memories

Sean PrunkaNo Comments

Harken back to yesteryear:
The joys of childhood,
The pangs of adolescence.

Revel and frolic in your visions:
Superheroes dashing about the yard,
Climbing trees that were skyscrapers.

Relive and recoil at your nightmares:
A tender note; rejected.
Peals of laughter as schoolwork is sent scattered.

As you travel back in time,
The good gets better.
The bad gets worse.

We recraft our memories each time we recall them.
Did you never scrape your knees on those trees?
Did no one ever love you back?

Memories are malleable.
We can change them.
Though they depict the past,
They are not written in stone.

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I am an attention whore.

Sean PrunkaNo Comments

I’ll cop to it. I’m an actor, a poet, a photographer, a writer. If I made time to study them properly and practice I’d be a musician and an artist as well.

Yes, I use these creative outlets to explore life outside my tiny world. Yes, I use them to express myself within my abilities. Yes, these creative outlets are fulfilling in and of themselves and I will continue to explore them and be creative with or without an audience.

HOWEVER!

There is nothing quite so exuberantly thrilling as getting feedback. Like applause, when I’m acting; or likes/loves/comments on things I’ve posted online. Even a critique, telling me what I can do better.

You took the time to appreciate what I’ve created. That is a powerful thing. I appreciate every single click, whether it’s a comment, critique, or like.

THANK YOU!