Image by Iwona Olczyk from Pixabay

Two old friends, Hank and Jim, sit on Hank’s porch, smoking cigars and shooting the breeze as the sun goes down

Hank: I have so much to do this weekend. I have to rake leaves and bring them to the compost, clean out the gutters, paint the back steps, gather…


Photo by David Clode on Unsplash

Chorus

You going to watch every word? Own me body and mind?
I’m my own master, even if I’m deaf, mute and blind
I’ll take it from here, you can relax
These prison walls are starting to show cracks
Let’s keep it going, I want you to leave me bewildered
Right now I’m being censored…


Photo by Sylvie Tittel on Unsplash

My whiteness means I am a passive carrier of a pernicious disease of social privilege.

It means I am not ashamed to be white, but I am not proud of it either.

It means that even though my Irish ancestors suffered various atrocities, hardships and modes of oppression, all that…


I woke up this morning, threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, working to summon the will to start my daily routine. It was Saturday, I could sleep in, right? But I knew from experience that sleeping in one day could throw off my entire…


I lie here, in the midst of an elaborate illusion/in a state between clarity and confusion/I have a thousand problems in need of one solution/if we proceed these chains will loosen, and I’ll have a chance to break free/if you want me to keep writing, I’m sorry, you’ll have to…


Cruel words cast callously in one’s direction by the object of one’s love, a deep shame that clings to one’s identity and makes one feel diminished and dark inside, a grief so heavy it threatens to break one’s bones and suffocate one’s soul, searing, aching, penetrating pain from illness or…


Photo by Luca Bravo on Unsplash

Stumbling drunkenly in the glow of the waxing moon
Cutting my hands on shards of shattered silver light
Reaching up to piece it all back together
But the colors of the night have bent and broken
The muted greens and browns of the trees
Lay in piles of dust at my feet
I look for salvation…


Mason was sitting around the campfire on a warm summer night with his sister Theresa, his cousin Kevin and his friends Ira and Paul. They were attaching marshmallows to long sticks and toasting them over the fire as they had done for years. This was the first year they were…


Love can seem subjective and abstract. We can study the brain when a person says they are experiencing love and notice which areas light up, but that doesn’t really tell us all that much. It doesn’t speak to the all-consuming profundity of our experience. An MRI machine or another individual…


For Todd, thank you for everything my friend

Raphael was raised in a hell realm. He was a tall, slender, ghostly-pale vaguely humanoid being whose skin glowed with a cold luminescence. He had been born into a world of savage darkness, where all entities were forced to compete with one…

Timothy O'Neill

Storyteller. Poet. Recovering alcoholic. Mental health advocate. Dog lover. It’s time to wake up.

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