Ecoheretic

Category: passion

  • My poetry is dead

    To those who pick themselves up in silence, un-noticed, lost, but won’t give up

    I know how it is

    To go through the daily ritual. Unwilling to yeild, but exhausted and tired

      Some of us with partners that are cold and frigid, not giving empathy, affection or love shut themselves off from you, then you shut yourself off
     
    Others, who are single, but with the same fire in your heart, to give it all, but nobody to accept your power and love, you shut yourself off

    You feel deeper, down to the working foundation of others, to touch, express your heat.

    Open nerves, always giving, just wanting that touch, the lips, the pressure, to taste, to experience.



    ©️ Jacob Pickard. 2025.

    1st published on Substack

       

  • EROHERETIC – Hunger 🔞

    HUNGER

  • King of Fools

    Every space in my life is filled.

    Except for the most important space, which has been void for ages. The void is immense, and I doubt now it will ever be filled again.

    Things, nicknaks, books in towers, shoes upon shoes, pans atop pans, prints upon prints. So many “things”. Things purchased not out of need, but to fill someone elses void. Things saved and forgotten in boxes, to collect dust for nostalgia? Need?

    No amount of organizing, cleaning, no matter how much you do ever matters, nor works. The teetring mountain of things will overwhelm you, it will tip over on you and you will become lost in the clutter.

    When you realize that you are part of the clutter, just another thing with no space left for self. So you forget who you are, and give up more space until you are part of the background, part of the clutter in someone elses life.

    Then you become the house, to hold the clutter. The Foundation, encompassing all, keeping things safe, keeping the peace, like Atlas all of the weight is on your shoulders.

    Then you disappear, until you speak up, only to be given a performance to pull you back,  to get you to go silent, to forget again, to meld back into the clutter. To get you to be a creek in the wood of the foundation on a freezing day.

    Woe, my story is the story of millions of others, both men and women, i know im not alone in this tale. Just another fool/tool; be it fear of being alone, or keeping your honor and word out of pride, or not giving up in the face of overwhelming defeat. Where is the logic in any of that when you finally realize you are a thing? Knowing that you are a provider, a foundation, the protection, but not valued or recognized for any of it, or shown real affection or love. You are just a thing to be used for the comfort of others.

    This my dear, is what fools do. Maybe im the king of fools. To know the truth, walking that fine line between speaking truth to power, but at the same time knowing you’re the punchline of the biggest self-owning joke of all time.


    Actually, on second thought, Mike Ness can keep his crown. I have no need to be the king of anything.

      ©️ Jacob Pickard. 2026.