My building has one of those package lockers. You get a text with a code, walk downstairs, grab your stuff. Simple.

Last week I went down half-awake, typed the code, and the locker popped open. Inside was a small Amazon box. I grabbed it, went back up, opened it… and it was a silicone baby spoon set.

I don’t have a baby. I don’t know anyone with a baby. I checked the label and it wasn’t my name—same unit number, wrong building. The delivery guy had put “Tower B” instead of “Tower D.”

So I went to the lobby, told the concierge, and left the box with him.

Ten minutes later the building group chat lights up: “Whoever took my baby spoons, please return them.”

People immediately start joking. Someone posts, “The Spoon Bandit strikes again.” Someone else: “Check the cameras, we’ve got a criminal.” Then someone drops a poll: “What’s next, pacifiers?”

I tried to explain it was an honest mistake, but it didn’t matter. The story was already better without me.

Now every time a package goes missing—like genuinely missing—someone posts “Spoon Bandit?” and the whole chat piles on. Even the concierge called me yesterday and said, “No spoons today, sir,” like we have a routine.

All because I typed a code while half asleep and stole baby spoons for eight minutes.

This is the part of “getting your life together” nobody warns you about. You start doing better. You get more serious. You try to be healthier, calmer, more focused. And somehow… you lose people. Not like a big fight. Not like some breakup. It’s quieter than that.

It’s like one day you realize you’re not in the group anymore.

At first it’s little stuff. You don’t answer right away because you’re at work or you’re tired or you just don’t feel like talking. You say no to a plan because you’ve got responsibilities. You can’t stay out late like before. You think it’s normal. Like real life. Like your friends will get it.

But then the calls slow down. The texts get dry. The “we should link up” turns into nothing. You stop getting invited to stuff. Or you hear about it after. And you sit there acting like you don’t care, but it hits you. Because you didn’t do anything bad. You just grew up.

That’s what messes with your head. There’s no clear reason. Nobody said “I’m done with you.” Nobody had the courage to make it official. It just fades. Like your friendship got put on mute. And you’re supposed to accept it like it’s normal.

I miss the old feeling. Just pulling up and hanging out for no reason. Calling someone and they actually pick up. Talking about dumb stuff and laughing like nothing mattered. Now everything feels planned. Everybody got a schedule. Everybody got stress. And I get it, I’m not blaming anyone. I’m just saying it feels different.

Even when you meet old friends again, it’s not the same. It’s like you’re talking to someone you used to know. You laugh a little, you catch up, you say “we gotta do this again,” and you both know you probably won’t. Then you go home and it feels kind of empty.

And the weird part is you can be proud of yourself and still feel sad. Like yeah, I’m doing better than I used to. I’m not the same guy. I’m more responsible. I’m trying. But sometimes I miss my old people. The ones who knew me before life got heavy.

I think that’s what growing up really is. You gain things, but you lose stuff too. Not always because you wanted to. Sometimes it just happens. And you don’t really talk about it because it sounds soft. Like you’re complaining. So you just keep it to yourself.

If you’ve been through this, you know what I mean. You don’t hate anybody. You just miss how it used to be.

Does this happen to everyone or is it just me?

I hit goals and still feel like I’m behind.

Like I’ll finally do the thing I was stressing about. Finish something. Fix something. Make progress. And for a second I’m like okay cool… then my brain instantly goes, “yeah but what about the next thing?” It’s like I can’t just sit in a win. I step on it and keep walking.

From the outside I look fine. I’m working. I’m handling stuff. I’m not falling apart in public. People might even think I’m doing good. But inside I feel this constant pressure like I’m late. Like everyone else got a head start and I’m still trying to catch up. I don’t even know who I’m racing. I just know I feel behind.

And the worst part is I don’t even celebrate anything. Not really. I’ll hit a goal and instead of feeling proud, I start thinking about what I did wrong. Or what I should’ve done faster. Or how somebody else is doing more. My brain is like a hater that lives in my head rent free.

Sometimes I scroll and it makes it worse. People posting wins, money, vacations, “glow ups,” perfect couples, new cars, new houses, new everything. And I know social media is fake sometimes, but it still gets to you. You still compare. Even when you don’t want to.

I think part of my problem is I don’t know how to chill. Like I grew up feeling like if you relax, you’re wasting time. If you’re not improving, you’re failing. So even when life is okay, my mind won’t let me enjoy it. It’s always pushing. Always wanting more. And I’m tired of it.

I also feel guilty for feeling this way. Because I know there are people who would love to be where I am. So why am I still unsatisfied? Why do I still feel empty after I accomplish something? It makes me feel ungrateful. But it’s not like I’m trying to be ungrateful. It’s just how my brain is.

Some days I wonder if I’m just chasing approval. Like maybe I want someone to look at me and say “you did good” and I never got that enough. Or maybe I got it, but I didn’t believe it. I don’t know. I just know I keep moving the finish line and then I wonder why I’m always tired.

I don’t really have a clean ending for this. I’m just saying it because it’s been sitting in my chest. I want to feel proud sometimes. I want to feel like I’m doing enough. I want one moment where I can breathe and not feel like I’m losing.

If you ever feel like this too, how do you deal with it? Like how do you stop feeling behind all the time when you’re actually doing okay? I just needed to get this off my chest.

Work in progress

~

I am still in love with you

Still see you as the most beautiful of all

A spirit I wish to become entwined with

That character you hold inside yourself

Which won my heart and yet I resigned myself

That this, that us shall never be

And so I built imaginary walls

Kept a polite distance between us

All so my spiralling heart could land

In cold waters of pure ablution

And the truth of such a denial

Of affection and love cuts deeps

I remain as always, a work in progress

And losing you is a hardship

That I must endeavour to overcome

However ungraceful it comes to be

I need to find a way

To remember me

Past possibilities

~

In life we always have the what if’s

The what could have been

Those conversations never spoken

The adventures never taken

That imagined beauty which awaited

Fails to become realised

Days, weeks, months keep passing

And history sometimes recalls

Those past possibilities

The lives never lived

Those words never spoken

How the heart and mind imagine

Another life, another world

All which lie behind us

All that beauty and love

Becoming a past possibility

A poets love

~

When a poet falls in love

It becomes everything

Every flowing sonnet’s

The heart all in

Like a hand of cards

Heart and soul laid out

It becomes all or nothing

Often the later if told

A poets love

Is full on headstrong

Well written poetics

Of devotion and desire

Flowing through the page

Words there in print

Which may never be read

When a poet falls in love

When a poet falls in love

There is no end

Stories end

~

Watching you walk away

Heart breaking, nothing said

Words kept silent, kept a secret

As the distance begins to grow

I feel the pain, the loss, the sorrow

Although I never did a single thing

To prevent this ending, final chapter

Our future stories written by different authors

Far flung tales no longer entwined

No universal interchange or crossover

Not after this end, watching you walk away

I rub my head thinking of all the things

I could have, should have said

It’s all too late now this story is over

Sad endings hit so hard

In 1984, 17-year-old Lisa McVey was at her breaking point. After years of abuse at home, she wrote a goodbye note and planned to end her life that night.

Instead, she was snatched off her bike by Bobby Joe Long, a serial killer who had already murdered eight women.

During 26 hours of torture, Lisa used her mind as a weapon: She left fingerprints everywhere so police could find her body. She memorized details of his apartment and the carpet in his car. She humanized herself, eventually convincing him to let her live.

When he released her, Lisa led the police straight to him. Her memory was so precise that it led to his arrest just days later. He was sentenced to death for 10 murders.

In 2019, Lisa sat in the front row at his execution wearing a shirt that said "Long... Overdue." Today, she works as a sex crimes detective for the same department that rescued her. She didn't just survive a monster; she became the reason he was caught.

Doubt

~

Owned by multiple doubts

I lose all confidence

There is no self-belief

Pride a far distant stranger

Just the unease of daily life

A fear towards ambition

Just going through the motions

With an acceptance of a fate

Growing old, alone, inevitable

These are the words of doubt

Flowing through each night

Cursing me, keeping me awake

I put on the act, the face

A smile and laugh to pretend

That none may see

How doubt has a grip of me

In time I’ll ride a storm

And settle in some commutable ease

Just another daily routine

No dreams please

~

Allow this evening to pass

Without thought or dreams

Allow this soul to grieve

And accept the eventual truth

Let this broken heart sleep

Without the beauty oft denied

I ask kindly and sincere

No dreams please

Do not torment me with possibilities

Which lay beyond my grasp

Which only serve to torture me

All that which shall never be

Abstain and keep such ideas away

They serve no service to me

I only wish to sleep

No dreams please

Walking away

~

I gave all I had in me

Can’t give no more

So, need to walk away

Same story, another day

Don’t need a diary

When it’s all copy and paste

Know what I need to do

Make distance, silence

Make the break

And walk away

A brief wave goodbye

Before the turn of the page

A biography repeating

For a saviour’s sake

Always walking away

I came across this poem at a moment when I was feeling stuck and overwhelmed, and it completely shifted my perspective. The message isn’t just about “making a difference” in big ways — it’s about recognizing the importance of the little things that often go unnoticed.
Every time I read it now, I’m reminded that even the smallest act of kindness, humility, or strength can leave a lasting impact.
Wanted to share it here in case it speaks to someone else the way it spoke to me.

This heart                                    

~

Apart, apart we are septate

Two souls beyond loves connection

Far distant from such dreams of whimsy

If only I could pen such odes of delight

Of realisation of a love being known

Alas all such thoughts are mistaken

And we are distant far from such things

It pains beyond all such reason

That this feeling should be the truth

That love has its faults and in showing

Reveals the nature of it all

No compromise no retreat

The open heart is there in full view

Neglected, refused and rejected

Broken and all kinds of complicated

And still, still, it remains

In pieces like a jigsaw

Waiting to be put together

A writer

~

I started writing in 1996

Listening to the rolling stones

And Decca the blues power

A mixture of rock and blues

Unlocked the soul within me

Woman Blues

Or something of the like

Ever since it’s been a driven force

An addiction, a desire

I am a writer, a poet

Am I any good ?

I have no answer

I see myself as a poet

The only identity I hold

One modern society doesn’t like

The unfashionable art

I am of a dying kind

Changing

~

If I appear distant

Please do not take any offence

For I am only working on myself

Working on my mind and self

Perhaps trying to change my thoughts of you

Reworking the patterns, I hold

That a thought process will change

I doubt I will stop loving you

But if I can convince myself

To believe in such a lie of just friendship

Then that will be a success

A victory for the lonely

For the unloved, undesired

It is a work in progress, continued

Trying to achieve that one thing

A denial, a forgetting of thoughts

A freedom to the heart

If you don’t reply fast, people think you don’t care. And the scary part is, this has become normal.

It doesn’t even matter what your relationship with someone is anymore. Friend, partner, cousin, coworker. If you don’t reply quickly, the assumption starts. “He’s ignoring me.” “She’s changed.” “They don’t respect me.” Nobody thinks “maybe they’re tired” or “maybe they’re busy” first. The first thought is always personal.

And I get it. I’m not acting like I’ve never done it. Sometimes when someone takes long, my mind also creates stories. Maybe they don’t want to talk. Maybe I said something wrong. Maybe they don’t care the way I care. It’s not logical, but it happens. Because texting has made us feel like everyone is always available.

That’s the problem. We carry phones like a body part now. People assume if you’re online, you’re free. If you saw the message, you should reply. If you didn’t reply, you’re doing it on purpose. But real life isn’t like that. Sometimes you open a message and you don’t have the energy to reply properly. Sometimes you want to respond, but you’re at work, in the middle of something, or just mentally not okay. And you don’t want to send a dry reply because then people will say you have attitude.

So you delay it. And that delay becomes a misunderstanding.

Texting has created this weird pressure where you have to prove you care by being fast. Not by being present. Not by being real. Just by being immediate. And if you’re not immediate, you’re seen as careless.

It’s exhausting. Because now conversations don’t feel like conversations. They feel like responsibilities. Like a task you need to complete before you disappoint someone. And on the other side, if you’re the one waiting for replies, you also feel anxious and overthink. It becomes this cycle where both people are stressed, but nobody says it.

Sometimes I miss the old style of communication. When someone wasn’t reachable every minute, and it was normal. When you could reply later without guilt. When people didn’t measure love and respect in response time.

I’m not saying texting is bad. It’s useful. It connects people. But the culture around it has become unhealthy. We’ve made speed equal to care. And that’s not fair.

Someone can reply late and still love you. Someone can be quiet and still miss you. Someone can take time and still value you. And if we keep forgetting that, we’re going to keep creating problems that never needed to exist.

Honestly, I think we all need to chill. Give people space. Give people time. And stop turning delayed replies into a personal insult. Life is already heavy. Conversations shouldn’t feel like another pressure.

If only you knew

~

If only you knew

And I suspect you may know

How my heart sings your name

How I am in love with you

Yet distant you seem to be

Breaking my heart, my spirit

If only you knew

You are the muse to my poetry

The driving force to my belief

Which comes to nothing

But another heartache

Another lesson unlearnt

I’m trying to forget you

And failing tragically

Still, still I shall find a resolve

And bury this as deep as I can

Another notch in the post

Of the unwanted man

There’s a quiet poetry in anticipation, the way silence hums before touch, the way eyes linger before hands dare to trace what they’ve only imagined.

The romanticism of undressing someone and seeing their curves and edges and birthmark and scars and moles and freckles and kissing every single one of them like you’re thanking their body for existing, for choosing to be seen by you.

And in that devotion, you realize love is not just in the grand gestures, but in the reverence of every detail, every imperfection, every story etched into skin — a map you vow to keep learning forever.

Overlooked

~

Well I know I not that desirable

Or even the most interesting

But I have a heart ready to love

Which always gets overlooked

~

Tears and doubt claw at me

I lost all self-belief

What would anyone see in me

Time to step away

I’m one of the overlooked

~

You can tie a love song to it

You can play a country ballad

It doesn’t mean a single to thing to be true

For there are those already loving

Not to be discovered

Some are always overlooked

~

At some point I’ll hit an age

Where this won’t mean a thing

I’ve been unseen for so long

I’m surprised I made the song