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The post Upcoming Book Teaser first appeared on poetry of james f miller II.

This rat race can become hectic on the best of days. What it has become over the last couple of months is indescribable, and that’s saying a lot as I love to write. I feel my body aging. I can see it in the mirror. Where is that child who used to swear he would never grow up or get old? I genuinely miss him. End of rant and onto business.

Amazon presale is underway. The link is posted at the bottom of this entry, as well as the underlined link starting this paragraph. I’m still not even halfway done with the writing and assembling part of the process, and barely have a month to pull it together and get it edited. I have pulled off far crazier in my lifetime, so this isn’t worrying me much yet. But if it comes down to it, I will have to delay the release by a little, but fingers crossed, it doesn’t come down to that.

Of the new book, I still need to assemble some test readers, also referred to as a street team. The gist of the gig is that you sign up, you get a free ebook way in advance of everyone being able to buy (or, in this case, just in advance of it going on sale more so than it being way in advance), you read the book, you write a review that gets posted to the amazon and goodreads page the first couple days of the book being released by you. Then, if you liked it, you order a print or Kindle version. The goal is to have 10 reviews minimum, but preferably acquire at least 20 reviews that hit the Amazon book page as fast as possible, so that the algorithm will push the book, if I have done the rest of it right, which will lead to more sales and push me to a higher rank. Ideally, this pattern will continue for a substantial length of time. If anyone is interested, shoot me a message or find the application on the Books page of this website.

Also, new retail places are popping up to find any of the previous collections. Follow me on Facebook to get those links in your feed as I announce them.

The post Some babbling, some weak sales attempts, and a daunting realization that smurfs always have blue balls first appeared on poetry of james f miller II.

You Can’t Love Her Like This That is a searing poetry collection that bears witness to the intertwined fates of two addicted lovers who could neither save each other nor walk away.

Told through dual perspectives—intimate first-person confessions and detached third-person observations—these poems map the scattered fragments of a relationship scarred by pre-existing abuse, trauma carried like visible tattoos, and the relentless grip of substance dependency. What begins as magnetic reconnection spirals into repeated failures: relapses, disconnects from self and other, the isolating cage of incarceration, the aching sickness of separation. Yet amid the wreckage, raw moments of joy surface—proof that love, however poisoned, still burns.

Jim refuses to sanitize the addicted life’s tragedies: the burdens worn openly, the lost promises, the betrayals from within and without. Instead, the work confronts the paradox head-on—a beautiful disaster standing alone in the rain under a forecast of sun. Dark verses clash with glimmers of light, exposing the sickness of codependency alongside the desperate safety found in another broken soul.

For survivors of abuse and street life, for those in or after recovery navigating lingering shadows, for single mothers carrying invisible loads, for anyone who has ever clung to a person as their only anchor in chaos—this collection speaks without apology. It offers no polished cures, only unflinching witness: the struggle to surrender to love while battling the demons that make surrender dangerous, and the quiet grace of finally releasing what cannot be saved.

Raw, lyrical, and unsparing, You Can’t Love Her Like This That (approx. 100–140 pages) arrives in paperback and eBook, ready to meet readers exactly where the pain lives—and where resilience refuses to die.

Soon, I will launch the presale for this collection. Stay tuned!!!

The post You Can’t Love Her Like This That first appeared on poetry of james f miller II.

The cover reveal got off to a very late start; the email list should have just received it a few minutes ago, and the website will see it tomorrow. I will include for the website, as I did for the email list, the collection description concept that I am using to select and assemble the poems. I have shown a very small, select group of readers a very early preview of the manuscript, and if their reaction is anything like what the rest of the world’s will be, then I will have achieved what I set out to do with this book. That is to tell a relatable story from my life and experiences that can bear witness to others who have or are going through the same thing.

I never offer answers or solutions, because life isn’t a one-size-fits-all ordeal, especially when it comes to emotions, experiences, and recovery. My purpose is to let anyone suffering through similar tribulations as myself know that they are not alone. I may not have the answers, but I know the struggle. I hope that my words offer comfort, entertainment, education, perspective, and value of any kind to everyone. I think all writers and poets truly seek those same goals.

I am interested in hearing everyone’s thoughts regarding the new book concept and cover after it’s been revealed. You’ll see on the site’s community page and a couple of others a call for street team members (aka ARC reviewers). Anyone interested in that should fill out the form or contact me with any questions. It’s nothing unique to me; all writers do similar things in marketing and release strategy areas.

Stay tuned, tomorrow will be the public posting of the upcoming cover. Very soon, we will be starting the presale for the new collection. And beginning sometime in the next two weeks, I will start posting some content teasers each week until the book release. There are many contests, giveaways, raffles, and good things in the works.

The post Surely winter has to be over soon? first appeared on poetry of james f miller II.

They determined that if you did not arrive, you were not meant to be there. I dread the thoughts of others left behind. In the darkness, the light will flicker, and the thoughts will define the moments sacrificed to the climb that brought from the emptiness they who deny the sky is blue and the grass green. Forked are the tongues of the serpents that linger in the darkest corners of broken minds. There is no recourse from the torment that ties together in the seconds before the impact of the bottomless fall. The end is always near. It’s content to be a spectator on the sidelines, never wanting to be in the game, never touching the ball. Never complaining that their season was sacrificed so the bigger kids from the nicer houses could make their fathers happy and proud of what they had become. To be a fly on the wall in the circuses that we were not conditioned to be a part of would seem the most senseless extremity possible.

That said, I have two court dates this week. Fingers crossed that when this new book releases on April 20th, 2026, I am on this side of the wall. The forthcoming book will be called You Can’t Love Her Like That This. The cover reveal is still to come; the date will be announced soon. Presales will occur for this title on Amazon. It will be a wide release (available from more retailers than just Amazon) after the first 90 days.

I am looking for some beta readers, aka street team members. These individuals agree to get a free ebook copy of the book before its release in exchange for a review during the first week of the book’s release. There is a form to fill out for consideration. Name and email, and I or one of the team will contact you to explain everything in detail. If you then indicate you’re interested, we put you on the list.

The post the wonder of it all first appeared on poetry of james f miller II.

it’s best when life permits you the right to lead the dance, allows you to make the mistake of thinking. Thinking that you have figured out the next motion of movement. It lets you anticipate it up to the very second you lean in. Then, it rips itself from your arms and takes the leading role.

Is it wrong to feel that wound deep within the heart? Does the hurt hit hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs? Why must it feel like a dagger deep into the back, paralyzing you? midst the skyline, a dream stands on the verge of uncertainty. Stability is unreliable in the daily crisis of surviving in the modern world. This is true if your net worth is valued too low to meet upper-standards. why must we linger in the choke points? we react so slowly that it is no wonder why we fall behind. but there is no reverse course in this catastrophic ride. just got to sit back, relax, eat some popcorn. most importantly, friend, enjoy the ride, or what the fuck was any of this even for?

it’s so easy to forget. We easily forgot during the slow passage of busy times. Days seamlessly turned into nights. Those nights became mornings that became days again. this is the standoff against the untested invulnerability of the injustices guaranteed in the backroom politics on the front page. welcome to the political bravado of revealing the costs of the imbalance of the classes. The greed deepens the gap. It allows one to get ahead of the other, as if any of it matters. In the end, do we ever win? do we ever get tired and stand up and push back? or do we continue to cower, holding our ankles in the darkened rooms and hidden cameras? accountability is at an all-time low, a fading out trend of where ideology is outdated. We simple single votes of faceless voices dare cry for what we do fight, regardless of the outcome. We never quit until we achieve the goals we have set.

we have existed as the pawns upon the boards for so damned long. is it not time to level up to a knight?

The post the complex relationship we develop with this dance called life first appeared on poetry of james f miller II.

By no means is this the key to retirement, nor is it a record high for me, but it is a great way to roll this year down towards its end. I will take it. Thank you to everybody who has purchased a book this month or in the past. You all rock!

I don’t write to get rich (which being a poet let alone an author is a far cry from possible) nor do I write for fame (who am I? exactly), I write in hopes that maybe my words get read and just maybe they will be what someone needed to read/hear at that very moment. This just shows me that maybe that’s not too unrealistic after all

8 days to Christmas and 14 days until New Year’s Eve, what does everyone have planned for the holidays?

The post Good start to the end of the year first appeared on poetry of james f miller II.

The trick is not to get too distracted. Not to get too caught up in the things that never mattered. Not to get led astray. Avoid being influenced by the one who holds your heart carelessly. They may dangle it recklessly above the garbage disposal. It will never be about anyone but yourself when the curtain falls for the last act.

Breathe in. Exhale. Stop and pause. Appreciate the current moment before it slips out of reach.

We are near the holidays. I am days from facing the judge in a county that gets off on maxing out addicts from the bench. I would be a liar to say that I wasn’t nervous. I can’t deny that the plea deal they offered me was the harshest possible. Since when was it deemed just to max out the guy who has spent the last 226 days sober? The one who sought out rehab on his own. Why take away everything from someone trying? It makes no sense.

BUT enough of the boo-hoo bullshit whining. In the world of my writing, two manuscripts of poetry are being assembled. One outline completed for a non-poetry, non-fiction title. I have managed to read 50 books in 2.5 weeks. I have things to express beyond the prose I transcribe in here. The poetry adorns every page of my notebooks. Poetry has, is, and will forever be my life. I even went as far as to join the Poetry Society of Indiana in these last few weeks. I found a desire that burns a fire, and it can’t be extinguished.

The post first appeared on poetry of james f miller II.

We struggle through the motions like monsters. We suffer in the silence of selfless prayers unanswered by a selfish deity. We stretch and kick, fighting to stay with our heads above the water. The question remains unanswered. Will there ever be a return to simpler ways? In those times, people were kind and spoke courteously to one another. It felt like we were all in the same struggle with similar outcomes. We did this instead of passing harsh judgment against another to make ourselves feel better about our pathetic existences. What have we done to humanity?

We are nothing more than viruses. We have been programmed, charged, and released upon the world. We recklessly seek out to destroy and dismantle everything our dirty little fingers can reach. Is there not anything that remains sacred? The impact builds its potential like a snare drum hit rolling into the rim shot. Those few beats of silence weigh more than the climatic climb that brought us to the peak. This happens in the chaotic rhythm of heartbeats.

Awakening to the bright burn of the daylight sun, the eyes squint. They try to make out the shadowy faces surrounding the erected rectangle altar of mythology. It is easy to understand how we have failed in our pursuit. We were unraveling the parallel world of the subconscious from the dread of the wakened state. We have lost more than we will ever remember. It was erased from the footnotes of the myth called humanity. We are welcomed into the worsening world of woke collapse. Have a seat, the curtain will fall before much longer.

The post Chaotic Rhythm of Heartbeat first appeared on poetry of james f miller II.

I defeat myself more in a day than I would like to openly admit, but if I weren’t burning the candle at both ends would I be able to know any sense of contentment? I steadily manage to make a mountain out of a mole hole. Too bad that cannot be a super power, I’d be rocking that shit. There has to be a simpler way, a better time, a perfect day, yet after so many years of life, I have to be shown proof of such a thing being more than science fiction.

But slowly I am beginning to see the scattered chaos sculpting into the picture my mind had foresaw. Nothing trumps that mild admission of satisfaction, of pride in something you brought to life. Nothing compares to that, I don’t care who you are, we wouldn’t continue to suffer through the accompanying nightmare if there wasn’t some love and enjoyment in the results achieved. It’s a high we chase just like any other addict in this life. And all pleasures are an addiction or so they want us to believe. If we can buy what they sell, they throw more on our tab.

What a random vent….my apologies.

The post The Slow Progression first appeared on poetry of james f miller II.