Psalms In The Heart

The Thoughts I Swear Are Mine I wake up swinging before my feet hit the floor Heart on guard like it’s been here before Every sound a threat, every glance a test Every breath measured—no time to rest Coffee tastes like worry, news tastes like war Even silence feels loud to the core I call it instinct, I call it “me” But it’s always choosing who I should be Fight if I’m cornered, flee if I’m weak Win the argument, or don’t even speak Every memory sharpened into a blade Every joy taxed, every pleasure delayed I swear these thoughts are mine alone Built of flesh and blood and bone Don’t tell me different, don’t cross that line Ain’t nobody telling me these ain’t mine But watch it closer—real slow, real tight Same reactions morning and night Same heat in the chest, same closing jaw Same story repeated like unbroken law It tastes like fear with a prideful grin Smells like control dressed up as “win” Feels like pressure behind the eyes Like I must defend just to stay alive Then one day—nothi...

Torn between desire and fate Filled with rage and hate Wanting to break totally free From all this evil inside of me I wake up tired before the day begins Fighting the weight of my wants and sins Bills on the table, blame in my head Words I regret that I wish I never said I say I want truth, but I bargain for ease I pray for connection, then beg for my peace I swear I’m done running, then turn at the gate Cursing the road while I tempt my own fate The ego screams loud, “This pain isn’t fair” It counts every loss and keeps perfect repair It says, “You deserve more—why suffer this way?” So I feed it excuses and call it a day But somewhere between the collapse and the cry A quieter question slips gently by “If not for yourself, then who will you be When the work demands honesty?” I start to see cracks where the light gets in Not fixing the mess, just owning the sin I stop asking why this weight is mine And ask how to walk it one step at a time The rage slows down, becomes something ...

If Not Me, Then Who In the beginning of the work I wake before the light, Hands already clenched in habit, Bracing for another fight. If I am not for me, then who? No voice replaces mine, No one carries my resistance, No one crosses this line. The day collects its payment first, Bills, bodies, time, and pride, I promise I’ll be better today— By noon, that promise died. I speak of faith with a bitter tongue, Say “trust” but check the lock, I pray for light while guarding Every corner of my stock. I want the end without the road, The crown without the fall, I want to love without surrender, To give without losing at all. The ego does not go quietly, It fights like it’s the truth, It calls surrender weakness And humility abuse. It counts my hours, tracks my gain, Keeps score of every slight, It says, “Protect yourself first,” Then calls that wisdom, not fear, not fright. This stage is dry and unforgiving, No poetry, no glow, Just teeth clenched through responsibility With nowhere else to ...

  The System (Transformed) The system is beautiful—until it breaks your spine, Perfect in design, cruel in its timing divine. It hands you victories just to watch them decay, Then asks who you’ll be when the comfort’s stripped away. We learn what to expect, or so we pretend, Until the lesson demands what we refuse to bend. Together we promise we won’t look away, Yet neglect creeps in softly, day after day. Highs lift us up till we swear we can fly, Lows come at night with no reason why. The sages warned us—this road cuts deep, Not a path for the strong, but for those who can weep. Through writings we read and experiences we feel, We swear we see truth, we swear it’s real. Then life peels the mask, slow and precise, And shows us our faith was a bargain, not price. Climbing over the ego—don’t dress it as pain, It’s choking on pride while screaming for gain. Every step upward costs something you love, Every demand comes stamped from above. Faith above reason sounds holy and clea...

  “FULL LIKE A POMEGRANATE” I filled my hands with holy deeds and prayer, Stacked mitzvot high like I was going somewhere. Counted my steps, my pages, every move, Certain the weight of effort proved the proof. But late at night when no one else was near, A quiet voice exposed the lie I feared. Not what I did—but why I always came, Not love of Him, just love of my own name. I gave, I learned, I sang, I bowed my head, But fed myself with every word I said. Each act was dressed in light, so clean, so bright, Yet underneath it all—I served my bite. A pomegranate split, so full, so red, Each seed a deed I proudly thought I fed. But juice of deceit ran down my hands, I saw the truth I couldn’t countermand. I wanted Him to serve the life I chose, To bless my plans, reward my righteous pose. I worked for pay, for peace, for holy gain, And called the bargain “faith,” and hid the chain. Then mercy struck—no thunder, no escape, Just seeing clearly my own twisted shape. I couldn’t fix i...

  The Road to February He marked the date and closed his eyes, A distant land, a hidden prize. February whispered soft and real, A pull he could not help but feel. But months before the ticket’s name, The world leaned hard, the fire became flame. Work piled up, the hours grew long, Every step forward felt somehow wrong. Money tightened like a clenched fist, Bills lined up, no room to miss. A newborn cried through sleepless nights, Love was full—but heavy the fights. His wife spoke truth with fear, not blame, “A child needs you—this isn’t a game.” Her words cut deep, not sharp but fair, Responsibility thick in the air. Inside his heart the question burned, Is this desire selfish or earned? He didn’t answer, didn’t pretend, He went instead—to the Ten, his friends. He didn’t ask for coins or ease, He asked for strength, for what to see. He laid it bare, the doubt, the load, The fear of failing both paths he rode. They didn’t promise, didn’t plan, They held his heart like only f...

How does one choose a new group it feels like looking into alphabet soup i know it don’t mean to find new friends so how does one truly begin not by faces, not by names not by comfort, warmth, or claims not by who makes room for me but who bows to unity i step in quiet, without demand no flag raised in my hand i don’t ask who welcomes me i ask where pride won’t let me be i listen more than i explain let confusion work its grain where resistance starts to rise truth is closer than my eyes no promises carved in stone just showing up, unknown if i can serve the aim, not self that’s the first brick on the shelf and if the road feels thin and bare that’s how i know the work is there