Richard W.
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richardwalsh.me
Richard W.
@richardwalsh.me
53 followers 40 following 21 posts
Creating | Recovering | Healing | Thriving
Queer on an endless journey to cultivate the happiest, healthiest version of myself and share my light with the world.

My Poetry: https://poetizer.com/author/590886091
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richardwalsh.me
Taylor Party @ The Vogue w/ @justjacobsons.bsky.social
January 25, 2025 at 3:51 AM
richardwalsh.me
Boys Will Be Boys

#Poetry #Apathy #Politics
Visuals: Blue background showing Elon Musk's ‘Nazi’ salute at an event celebrating Donald Trump's inauguration. Boys Will Be Boys by Richard Walsh Boys will be boys, Dismisses rough play— But boys become men With rough egos one day. A shove in the schoolyard, A harmless jest, Dismissed like a breeze Through the chest of the oppressed. But what starts with a shrug Soon tightens the noose. One “joke” left unchecked— What’s the excuse? Boys grow bold in silence, Each act left unsaid, And that’s how whispers of hate Find a place in our bed. A salute, stiff and sharp, Not a stumble, not a whim, But the echo of history Reaching out through him. Dismiss it as jest, Say, “It’s not what it seems,” But laughter won’t dull What the darkness dreams. When do we stop saying, “It’s not my concern”? When the books are ash And our neighbors burn? A spark doesn’t scream When it catches the trees; It simply takes hold As a quiet disease. Boys will be boys, You’ll excuse the first stone— But who do you call When the mob comes to your home? Apathy is the accomplice, The silence, the void. The world does not end Because boys will be boys. No, the world falls apart Because men stay the same, Rough egos unchecked, Turning kindness to flame. So let the warning resound In the smallest of slights: If we don’t stop the small fires, The forest ignites.
January 21, 2025 at 8:43 PM
richardwalsh.me
A poem about today: Tend Your Garden
Tend Your Garden by Richard Walsh It does no good to fret over flowers in the National Mall— not when petunias pout on your doorstep, their petals whispering stories of neglect. The world is vast, a canvas painted in someone else’s hues, but your hands hold the brush for this patch, this plot where your roots grow deep. Let the storms outside rage and run. Let their howls fill the distant skies. Here, under your feet, the soil waits for you to speak life into it. Tend your garden at home, where the weeds of distraction creep, where the earth remembers your touch even when you forget your power. Turn over the dirt, pull at the roots, feel the grit of rebirth beneath your nails. This isn’t about the applause of strangers or the glory of distant landscapes. It’s about the quiet triumph of seeds sown in solitude, of blooms birthed in the privacy of perseverance. And when the storms subside, when the last drops have kissed the ground and the clouds retreat, weary of their weeping, you will look out at the wonders that have risen in your care. Colors you’d forgotten existed. Fragrances sweet with redemption. A tapestry of life you nurtured, petal by precious petal. You’ll see then what you couldn’t see before: that the beauty of the world doesn’t start on distant stages or in national gardens. It begins in the sacred soil beneath your feet, where patience becomes power and the seeds you’ve sown whisper: You were enough to make us bloom.
January 20, 2025 at 10:53 PM
richardwalsh.me
Mentally I’m here today. Back in the cozy, quiet comfort of an isolated cabin in Gatlinburg with my boyfriend and dogs.
January 20, 2025 at 9:36 PM
richardwalsh.me
No Sunday Scarries today
January 19, 2025 at 11:21 PM
richardwalsh.me
Seeing Rod Tuffcurls And The Bench Press with @justjacobsons.bsky.social 🎸
January 19, 2025 at 12:45 AM
richardwalsh.me
New ink thanks to the wonderful and talented Shadow Cat Tattoos in Indy 🦋
November 19, 2024 at 9:11 PM