Stuff
a small word for big stuff
we call it stuff when words feel tight,
when naming stays polite,
too sharp, too close — just too much to see.
so stuff will do, for now.
stuff drifts in slow, a shape is found,
slips past plans, ignores sound,
we find it settling,
pretending it’s always been this way.
some stuff is kind. some stuff is rough,
some days the bad feels far too much,
even hurt, without touch,
edges soften around it.
because at the end, when all noise is done,
when all wanting comes undone,
so truth be told — stuff is just stuff,
sometimes it’s plenty,
just maybe it’s gold.
Other prose and poems.
Nothing truly leaves — it just changes how it stays.
If something moved in you — a silence that whispered — I’d love to hear it below, or in my DM’s.
All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery
This poem feels like someone quietly admitting that life sometimes grows too heavy or too tangled to name out loud.
It captures the way “stuff” becomes a soft refuge, a small word we use when the truth feels too sharp to touch directly.
There’s a gentle honesty in how these unnamed feelings drift in, settle, and pretend they’ve always belonged to us.
The poem understands how emotional weight can slip past our defenses and take shape before we even notice.
It holds space for the days when even the smallest hurts feel oversized, yet still allows room for tenderness.
The way it speaks of rough and kind “stuff” feels deeply human acknowledging that our burdens are rarely simple.
It treats our inner clutter with compassion, as something messy but familiar, something we learn to live beside.
The final lines offer a soft exhale, reminding us that once the noise quiets, our “stuff” loses some of its power.
There’s a quiet wisdom in accepting that not everything needs a perfect name to be understood.
In the end, the poem suggests that even the vague, unspoken parts of our lives can shimmer with unexpected gold.
oh I really like this, Mark..! it’s doing that sneaky thing where it pretends to be small and then suddenly it’s holding everything 😭
“stuff” as a shelter word is so real… like when you’re not ready to open the box so you just label it *stuff* and slide it under the bed.
I love how it drifts in, settles, acts like it’s always lived there~ very accurate behavior for feelings, btw.
and that ending turn?? calling it gold without making it shiny or precious-for-show. just… sometimes what we survive with is enough.
soft, thoughtful, and quietly clever in a way that keeps echoing after you finish reading...