Easy 2 Love & Save 2 Hate
Hate needs a hearth to catch its spark,
A floor that holds when things get dark.
It wears the face of righteous blame,
But underneath it’s grief in flame,
A sadness shouting to be heard,
A hurt that never found the lost word,
So it throws stones
At anyone with softer bones.
You are the door they love to slam
Because they know you’ll take the ram.
Not because you beg for blows,
But because you never close.
The coals they grip to make you sear
Are coals they never learned to steer
Toward light, they only know the pitch,
The arc, the fury, the switch
That flips from ache to aimed attack,
And calls the burn a way to act.
To hate takes fuel. To love takes breath.
Hate is the louder, hotter death;
Of something tender, pressed and shoved
Out through the mouth as if it loved
To wound, and you became the place
Where all that pressure finds its space.
You hold the heat without a cry,
You let it pass, you don’t ask why.
Feed the fire and it climbs the wall.
Receive it still, it starts to fall.
Temperance doesn’t swing the blade;
She opens wide and lets it fade
Through her like weather through a tree,
And what was rage turns to the sea;
That wears the rock down grain by grain
Until the stone remembers rain.
So easy to love, you never lock.
So safe to hate, you take the shock
And stay yourself beneath the storm,
A quiet center, true and warm.
Epistemic drive is the psychological and social hunger to understand, acquire knowledge, and resolve uncertainty. It is essentially the internal engine behind "epistemic curiosity"—the deep, intrinsic motivation to truly know how things work or to discover the truth, rather than just collecting surface-level facts
The pack is not a ladder climbed by teeth.
It is a den, a pair, the pups beneath.
The ones who lead are parents, not a prize.
The young look up, then leave to lead new eyes.
To admire is that yield, a borrowed pace:
another’s finished form allowed its place.
Not worship, not a cage, a season’s loan,
until the hunt is learned and you have grown.
Some never take the posture. Early harm
taught them that looking up would bare an arm.
They audit every howl for hidden knives,
and spoil the strong so nothing larger thrives.
The disperser is different. Grown, they go,
not scornful of the den that taught them so.
They will not stay a pup to please a throne,
yet once they followed, and the skill is bone.
The captive rival never had that year.
Unrelated, penned, they learn to dominate by fear.
So every excellence arrives as threat,
and envy cuts the thing it cannot get.
Call it orphan, critic, rebel, shade.
Call it a type, a sign, a blood displayed.
The antigens do not decide the heart.
The cage, or kin, is where the posture starts.
A wolf does not idolize the sire.
It follows while the following is fire,
then answers, farther off, another’s cry,
and stands where younger wolves can look, and try.
