a little insight can be dangerous

The basics

Adversity should foster enlightenment,

diversity should be embraced,

education is a necessity

and happiness is a choice.


(False) bunny love

His affection always eludes me
But not for lack of trying
His endless chatter slips into repeated attempts
to open my soul and mind.

I confused his kindness with thoughtful interest
carefully crafted responses seemed to imitate compassion

But the conversations were constructed to placate, not to soothe
Words were never offered to comfort, merely to pacify and deflect
False consideration masked the true intent to manipulate

My foolish heart didn’t recognize what’s now achingly clear
His words, so full and meaningful when forming promises of indefinite companionship –
And yet, the same mouth spilling such kindness and promise
never hesitated when saying goodbye

The audacity to offer condolences and feign tortured grief
as if causing heartache could be easily forgiven
as long as it was bestowed with well rehearsed phrases
and offered with a promise of future false friendship.

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a lonely truth(bunny)

i seek companionship (in haste) to avoid loneliness
only to find a deeper solitude … in isolation

too ashamed to admit a decision made from fear
too naive to recognize a commitment without a bond
too fearful to believe the separation is only temporary
too numb to notice that option just slipped away.


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Photo by Joseph H. Davis Jr.

Photo by Joseph H. Davis Jr.

I know what I told everyone
I’ve repeated the lines in my head so many times

I was beginning to question the stranger spewing the well-rehearsed story
from lips that resembled my own

my story grew tiresome and depressing

Common sense screamed in my ear to move on without remorse
retrospect is a cruel and unforgiving viewpoint
my heart will always offer a compelling argument for impetuous behavior

a dull pain still lingers
so hard to understand how illusions create such realistic side effects

call it instinct or intuition

what once was justification for the inner thrill
became an appreciation to understand the inner peace
only found
at the right time
(not then)
with the right choice
(not him)

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the truth(bunny) you long for …

the bitter taste left behind by the sour words you kept repeating has faded to reveal someone different
the resentful cynic you feared might make a home, wandered off to join the utterances of a jilted heart in vain

… and then you have that moment of clarity ..
I had to go through that to understand this.

Photo by Joseph H. Davis Jr.

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truthbunny’s homage to a genius … Bukowski


“The public takes from a writer, or a writing, what it needs and lets the remainder go.

but what they take is usually what they need least and what they let go is what they need most.”

CHARLES BUKOWSKI, Notes of a Dirty Old Man

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the Versatile Truth(bunny)

Versatile Blogger Award

Versatile Blogger Award (Photo credit: It’s Great To Be Home)

A couple of months ago, I found myself diving head first and eyes closed into the world of  blogging. My ‘public’ literary contributions up to that point were limited to stale requisite business proposals at work or cryptic social media updates – ah yes, masterpieces that only a mother could love .. well, assuming your mom was also your boss or she actually knew how to use her Facebook account…

Nope, I was a total newbie to this groovy scene. Without any expectations (or even a plan), I decided to share my thoughts, inspirations and my heart.
Two months and a little over 20 posts later … I’m still finding my way and my voice. The best part that I never saw coming were the incredibly talented bloggers I’ve met in this short period of time!

One in particular. An amazing woman and a clever fellow blogger, shareenayoub, just nominated me for…

The Versatile Blogger Award!!

I’m not sure where to begin with my appreciation, but I suspect the best way is a sincere “Thank You” and a promise to keep earning this awesome nomination. Shareenayoub, I am honored and grateful for your support

If you haven’t seen her blog, then you must check out her brilliance:


This nomination is truly flattering … and a little scary because I’m also supposed to share 7 things about me that no one knows (and I had planned to keep it that way) …

Oh well, here goes:

1.  I’m a documentary freak.. My entire Netflix queue is filled with every documentary available at any given time. Pick a subject, any subject. If someone has made a documentary about it.. I’m sure I’ve seen it. (trust me, they make ‘em about everything from sushi to porn)

2.  I love to floss my teeth .. aside from sounding like I’m trying to impress my dentist, at least this factoid is a healthy one.

3.  I went to a fortune-teller/psychic many years ago and still try to recall if any of his predictions for my life have proven to be accurate thus far.

4.  I say a little prayer every time I see an ambulance roar by with its sirens blaring.. someone’s mother, father, sibling or child is in there and … maybe it could help?

5.  I miss school. Yes, a career is nice and pays the bills, but I’m a sucker for education.

6.  I’m a hopeless romantic that hates ‘chick flicks’. Okay, hate may be a bit strong… but let’s just say that I believe a good action flick is totally ruined when they insert a silly love story to attract the female moviegoers. Ummmm, no.  Let me enjoy the hot shirtless leading man fighting off evil (and yes, he should remain shirtless throughout) without the distraction of some random helpless chick arbitrarily inserted into the story for no particular reason than to distract him from saving the world… without his shirt.

7. I know almost every word to almost every cheesy eighties pop song in existence and will happily sing along whenever and wherever I hear one…until someone asks me to do karaoke. That’s where I draw the line.

Thanks for letting me (over)share.

Please check out these amazing, entertaining and equally versatile blogs – they all rock and deserve this honor:

1.  You’re Just a Dumbass

2.  Word Musing

3.  The Return of the Modern Philosopher

4.  I am Marcello

5.  Miles to go before I sleep

6.  Professions of a Paranoid Perfectionist

7.  Sex and the Shameless

8.  hastywords

9.  Prego and the Loon

10. HarsH ReaLiTy

11. Maggie Mae I just Say This

12. The Grimm Report

13.  A Place of Inspiration

14.  Reasonably Ludicrous

15.  thejournalfiles



The Gift

Given freely to one
unaware of its worth,

He is a child with a new toy
eager with anticipation
and limitless fascination,
bursting with unrestrained delight
and endless curiosity.

She cautions him,
“Don’t break it, it’s fragile”
words often uttered
but rarely heeded,
a phrase often discarded too quickly
by the careless hands
that embrace the new gift.

His excitement
is not considerate of caution,

since the object of this game is…
the game itself.

“It’s safe with me”
The promise seems genuine,
spoken with sincerity attributed
to child-like naïveté,
there’s an insatiable desire
to conquer the elusive prize

And yet, she offers it willingly …

Embraced with delight and adulation
no one else has it but him

‘It’s new – It’s mine
Let’s play!’

It’s just too delicate
… a brief pause …

The flicker starts to fade,
the novelty dissolves,
his grip loosens
and the once-coveted gift
is casually tossed aside,
slowly falling to the bottom
of the toy box …

this ‘toy’ is no longer fun
now that it’s broken…

20130128-225009.jpgPhoto by Joseph H. Davis Jr.


the hard Truth(bunny)

“As long as you have certain desires about how it ought to be, you can’t see how it is.”

— Ram Dass, Be Here Now

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The Poker Player

He sits down at the table with unparalleled confidence
His wits as sharp as blades,
his skills finely tuned and his stacks
piled high before him,
failure isn’t an option
or even a passing thought

This early in the game,
Clubs are all he seeks
He dances with delight as the flop promises the thrill he eagerly awaits…

He grunts in disbelief
the thrill was fleeting,
the cost only minor.

Next hand.

Diamonds… he recalls the advice
from a seasoned shark
Diamonds melt the icy gaze of his elusive adversaries
the toughest read is now transparent,
all he has to do is lead the hand
and close the deal…

He sinks into his chair.
It seemed so promising,
so real,
so close
His stacks dwindling – he’s not done.

Next hand.

His wisdom now emerges – replete with cynicism
New strategy…every expression
carefully calculated and deliberately devoid of expression


He sets out to diminish his previous setback in Spades


He’s patient and floats around the turn…

But now he couldn’t tell
He stares woefully at his Bachelor Hand…

His well-crafted strategy, pulled from his hands and promptly discarded

Final hand.

Contemplation now replaces impetuousness
Focus now replaces impatience
Understanding now replaces irrationality
Drawing from a wealth of experience … but limited reserves

He is playing with Hearts now,
the risk is greater – so is the reward

he glides down the river
and finally enjoys
the intoxicating thrill of this game…

He won…
her heart

… with pure luck.



Dressing the Part (truthbunny is born)

I used to believe if I donned a tutu, then I was a ballerina.  It doesn’t matter if I hadn’t danced outside my own bedroom or my family den, I was performing Swan Lake like a pro because my pink leotard, tights and slippers were a perfect fit.  Fast forward a couple of years (more precisely a couple of decades), I have outgrown the leotard and the fantasy that just wearing the tutu somehow makes me a skillful dancer.
I don’t know when my fantasies became less important than fitting in, but I do know that my concern to ‘fit in’ became all consuming.  I miss my childhood, but even more so I miss the freedom that came along with it.  The freedom to be myself, without apologies or explanations.  You do what you want, when you want, and if it offended anyone, the excuse provided by your parents could always be “she doesn’t know any better, she’s just a kid”.
Now, I have heard the argument that some still choose to do what they want when they want, but those people never admit to the imaginary barriers that confine their hypothetical free will.  With age comes responsibility, with responsibility comes restrictions.  At some point, I felt the looming pressure – from peers, school, society and professional superiors.  I was advised by this same grouping to learn to ‘adapt’ – a euphemism they so eagerly embraced.
As a result of both outside influence and self-imposed limitations, my creativity took an inward turn.  My spirit slowly confined itself to the “acceptable” level and I crafted the proper persona to carry me into adulthood.  Keeping my untamed tendencies at bay, I believed would ensure personal and professional success.
It did, so why was I so unhappy?
The more I refined this persona, the more dejected I became.  I actually believed in my own fabrication and the thought didn’t even occur to me that my sadness was triggered by the mask I created.  I needed an outlet or an opportunity to be myself but couldn’t see past the fact that I was the one who created this mess in the first place.  I tried changing jobs, men and wardrobes on a regular basis… as you would expect, each adjustment created even more chaos within.  Regardless of the increasing inner mayhem, I managed to maintain poise and an air of self-confidence.  What a show – I had them all fooled,  I?
One night, out of complete and utter desperation, I found myself in front of  my laptop crying and banging away at the keyboard without realizing what I was actually typing.  I couldn’t see the words through my tears.  Although I didn’t look at the clock, I suspect that to maintain the frantic pace my fingers kept while furiously tapping out each keystroke, such passion can only be found in the wee hours of the night.  I cleared away my tears and managed to sift through my words and, at that moment, I realized I wrote a poem.  To be more precise, I rambled on and on for pages and somewhere in the middle of the untidy heap of words that had, just moments before, crowded my brain I wrote what resembled a poem.
A masterpiece it was not, but I can tell you that when I closed my laptop and laid back down in my bed, I slept better than I had in a very long time.  I awoke the next morning (technically only a few hours later) with a overwhelming feeling of contentment and relief.
Strangely enough, I didn’t assign this satisfaction to my maniacal episode only hours earlier.  I assumed that I needed a good cry and I finally had one. My tears brought me the cathartic release that was long overdue.  That may have been true, but when I opened my laptop again, I was genuinely surprised to find that what I thought was an odd dream – unloading the overflow of my pent up emotions into the word processor on my computer – was actually a reality.  I began to read what I wrote and almost felt as if someone else had hijacked my brain to allow these thoughts to see the light of day.  It was a mess, but it was fantastic!
I started doing this almost every night, except instead of typing away on my laptop, a smart phone application became my keyboard and a new form of technology became the catalyst for self-expression.  On this tiny device, I clumsily type my notes, thoughts and frustrations with both thumbs as fast as they could move.  I realized that as long as I did this, it didn’t matter what persona I projected to the world during the day.  The perfectly appropriate woman by day could be the wild child at night – through poems, stories and outrageous ramblings.
I made peace with myself and with the persona I created.  I learned to dress the part for everyone else on the surface and let my writing ‘dress the part’ for my soul.
Photo by Joseph H. Davis

Photo by Joseph H. Davis


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