James Ambrose

Preface​

These pieces come from growing up around things I didn't ask for; patterns I'm still trying not to repeat.

I'm working on my anger. On my reactions. On being better.
Some days I get it right. Some days I don't.
But I keep showing up to the work.

This is a snapshot of that process.

Foreword​

This piece is a conversation I've had in silence for years.
This is about Fear. The version that wears your voice, edits your personality, and calls it protection.
Sometimes the bravest thing isn't being loud.
It's showing up.

Foreward​

I didn't set out to write this piece.
It came through me the way exhaustion does
slow, quiet, and absolute.
Like many, I've been watching the world lose her shape
truth hollowed out, care turned into currency,
and suffering dressed up as inevitability.

I kept seeing the same pattern,
not just struggle, but design.
A wheel doesn't spin by accident.
It's built, maintained and greased with silence and fear.

This piece is an allegory,
but it's also a journal.
The devil in this story doesn't carry a pitchfork.
He signs contracts. He smiles in debates.
He thanks you for your labor
and leaves you with just enough to keep you alive, yet tired.

I wrote this for those who feel the weight but can't always name it.
This isn't a battle cry. It's a dirge for the living.
Because pain is not the end of us.
Because even ground-down voices can still hum.

And some songs
are stronger than the wheel.

Preface​

English is a mutt.

She's a language that has been borrowed, stolen, and redefined so many times that it's hard to tell where it came from. She's a patchwork quilt of cultures, histories, and sounds. She's a linguistic dumpster fire that somehow still manages to be beautiful. Part Germanic growl, part Latin lace, with a touch of French flirtation, Viking vigor, and pure phonetic betrayal.

Welcome aboard the syntax spiral.
Please stow your logic in the overhead bin.

Preface​

This poem was born from a war I fight that no one else sees.
It is about weed, yes.
But more than that, it's about the slow unraveling of life when an escape becomes routine, and routine becomes a prison.
It's about being surrounded by smoke. Not just in the air but in the mind, the mirror, and all the moments that matter.

This is me. Trying, failing, and trying again.
I choose to keep trying cause when there is peace and clarity I remember what it's like to be me.
I remember who I am when I'm free.
I miss that man.
So I wrote this to bring him back, and keep him around.

Emi is the kind of person who surprises you. Not because she changes, but because she finally lets you see what was always there. She's stepping into the light, joining communities she once only watched from afar, making a name for herself where she belongs.

She is quick-witted, impossibly funny, and—despite her best efforts—endearing when drunk.

A mix of warmth, mischief, and competitive fire.

She is still growing, still unfolding, still learning how to take up space. But make no mistake—Emi is already brilliant. Already strong. Already exactly who she's meant to be.

This is for her.

In every life, there exists someone who brings light by simply being. This poem is for Anna, whose nurturing spirit, resilience, and warmth have made a house into a home. Like a flower that draws strength from the sun yet remains delicate in its beauty, she embodies both tenderness and remarkable strength.