I remember when you found out that I had Bulimia.
You never cried, or tried to understand,
You just shouted.
You grounded me, remember?
Said I was a failure.
You made me eat forgetting I have an eating disorder.
You pretended it never happened.
I had to cure myself because you wouldn't get me help.
"No daughter of mine needs help"
"No daughter of mine is mental"
Remember when you said that dad?
And now, I've been diagnosed with Anorexia.
And I am literally terrified that you will find out.
Because you will get angry, won't you?
Like last time, remember?
You'll force food down my throat and make me not tell anyone
All because you're ashamed with me.
Well thank you.
For making me hide my eating disorder.
I guess I'll do what I always do.
And deal with it on my own.
I don't know how to tell you
I have a scar in the shape of a backwards L
from trying to paint words upon my skin
on my left knee
and I don't understand why it is backwards because the
o v e is entirely intact
but mistakes happen
and maybe I was crying too hard to see
you weren't there to witness it
it was so long ago
I don't even remember the day
I tripped and skinned my knee
I tripped and skinned by heart
and now they both
spell out the same word
(just maybe a little lopsided)
Do not mistake my calm demeanor for indifference.
I act this way for your sake.
I act this way to keep others strong.
Ha. truthfully I act this way so I don't break .
Because if I let down this facade this wall of false confidence and blinded faults my cap will pop all my bottled emotions a suffocated dreams that I convinced myself I had buried will surface in all there pitiful glory.
Do not confuse my Belligerent tone for anger.
I'm speaking this way because I'm ashamed .
I'm speaking this way to hide my weakness.
The bigger the bark the smaller the bite right?
So if I shout louder with even more malice in my voice it won't hurt as bad.
Do not assume my placebo is a truth.
I see what I believe and relate to what I don't.
I lie to soften the blunt force of a whole truth .
I cry these crocodile tears to hide my true sorrow .
You can't believe every thing you hear but all you see right?
So I'm happy because all you see is a smile so I guess you are too happy that is.
Intoxicated state of mind.
I wondered that one day,
what words I might say.
An event so catastrophic,
I became so hypnotic.
Never saw anything like this,
not something you'd wanna miss.
A phenomenon like no other,
not sure I'd ever recover.
Not something easily explained,
not a soul could be blamed.
People just stopped to stare,
something was just in the air.
These things only happen to someone else,
no words could ever try to express.
A drama turned disaster,
hair turned white as plaster.
Life flashing before the eyes,
stomach filled with butterflies.
As the world stood silently still,
you could feel a bitter chill.
No one knows how or why,
never got to say good-bye.
Everyone in a sudden awe,
felt like an episode of Monday Night Raw.
No one knows exactly what happened,
everyone felt so lost and abandoned.
People couldn't take eyes off the news,
was this real or just a ruse.
Hiding tears with sunglasses,
was billions of the masses.
Possibly the darkest day in history,
everyone had their own theory.
Sometimes you just never know,
there's an ending to every great show.
Mine ended on that fateful night,
no more words left to write.
No one ever saw it coming,
peoples hearts were rapidly pumping.
I went to sleep and never woke up,
filled with sorrow was everyone's cup.
As the world began to mourn,
one day I will be reborn.
Death feels like a hypnotic trance,
I'll return for a second chance.
As I look down from the clouds,
I watch over all the saddened crowds.
Unlike Jesus, I shall return,
still a lot of life left to learn.
I am an artist.
I can make myself into something new
Imagine the possibilities you could
Just let me know what you want.
Here, flip through this magazine for some
And tell me what you like best!
It’s all about pleasing your audience
It doesn't matter what I want,
Nobody cares about that.
They just want to see something pretty.
I sculpt and paint imagery out of tools
To end up with a fake canvas.
Day to day I suppress myself with the lies.
I chip and chisel,
Dissect and carve,
Bits and pieces,
Until I’m left trembling,
Just to be tossed away in the end.
Splashes of red,
And strokes of black ignite your appeal,
And this is what you label as real?
Hunger strikes itself through the bones
Revealing its power through the limbs
Of the body, eye sockets, sinking down,
Death could possibly be the resemblance.
What a terrible piece, a shame it is.
Maybe just a few more tweaks,
And it will at least look halfway decent.
Trim down the sides,
Thin out any extras,
Fill in what is needed.
Even just a tad more color,
Then we have something.
Time strolls by,
A year soon passes,
And one day I just happen to actually
And look at my masterpiece,
But only for a moment.
In the mirror,
A reflection stares back at a wretched,
Beads of liquid build up into my pallid
Unable to contain the weight of their
reasons any longer,
Tears begin to burst,
They trickle down my rose stained
Fueled by the absence of perfection,
And I feel nothing.
Needs more work.
He thinks my first name is Sarah Jay
he says it's so pretty the way it rolls off the tip of his tongue
and it reminds him of flowers coming up through piles of snow
He says my lips remind him of space itself
because every time he presses into them
his eyes seem to close
and he's left with comets and Jupiter and Pluto and stars
he's left with a feeling like all that baggage he carries is nothing
He thinks I see the same thing as he
Really I just see black blemishes and red spots
I see memories that should've already been forgotten
He says his home is in the nape of my neck
and if it were possible for a person to shrink to microscopic size,
he'd camp in the crevices of my collar bones,
he'd cut out a house in my jugular
he said It would be an honor to drown in my blood
I'd like to tell him he'd suffocate with smoke
He thinks the gold strands at my roots aren't real noticeable
He wants to see what I looked like before I went Jet
He says when I sing it puts him in a trance
he forgets the cigarette burns his father applied to chairs
he forgets his mother returning at strange hours reeking of sex and Johnny
he forgets that he's even alive
He thinks I don't smoke
He thinks I could really make it somewhere
But you can't make it somewhere when you are living a lie.
The car glides through the night,
The gentle roll between rubber and tarmac
Just inches beneath my feet,
And as each lamp post casts its amber
Gaze upon me through the fogged up window,
I begin to wonder how they stand there,
And yet they still shine bright,
Throwing a luminescent sublimity
For hundreds of wandering souls
To find their way home,
To trace the tarmac veins of the city
Until they are nestled in the brick red hearts
of their homes,
And I sit here, a freight train of abnormally large
Thoughts passing through my fatigued and stretched mind
Whilst I am drifting under these street lights,
When I could be curled up in bed,
Sleeping through blissful dreams or stormy nightmares,
Eyes closed until another dawn spills over the horizon,
But then it occurred to me,
I am a creature of the night.
She gently closed her eyes and guided his hand up her thigh
Holding her breath
Trying to block out the part that comes next
Was she doing this out of anger
In spite of someone
Her father perhaps
Or was it genuine
Because sluts just enjoy the name calling
They look forward to guys ignoring them once they've had their fun
It couldn't be
She wanted to prove something
That she was independent
That she was all grown up now
And her father had missed his chance
Being over protective was no longer an option
There was nothing left to protect
She had been touched
She had been hurt
She had been alone
He wasn't there for any of that
It drove her mad
So if she gently closed her eyes and guided his hand up her thigh
And blocked out the part that came next
She would have just a few minutes go by
Without the thought of what she could have been
If he had been there
Just a few minutes of relief
Finding the truth is hard
Observing the decoy is impossible
Returning to reality is difficult
My life can be confusing as
Your life right now, my friend
Fighting all alone at the last
Remaining battle field
Interrupting the peace but
Ending all the greed
Nothing feels so much better than
Doing good things for people
Knowing the truth hurts
Allowing it to devour you
Tells you how much you've learned
Everything is always meant to happen
It fills my ears like liquid goal.
I take a breath to stop the need of unspoken remity.
The strokes of the lost voilen rythems the beats of my heart; the easy rhyme of the piano mocks my soul.
To not jump and leap would be to unfoster a child, an action that I take for granted.
My heart calls out for the music set before me.
The rythem takes me away, as I loose hope.
Easing my Pain and anger, I take it.
Dance. My mind tells me as I harness the music of a loss child.
Bowing, leaping, gliding.
Letting the fluid of the strokes take my body prisoner.
The world becomes a wirle of colors.
Fire. Water. Earth.
All dancing with perfect rythem with my soul and heart.
So beautiful, it makes a grown man cry.
Violen, Chelo, Piano.
All screaming at me to fly.
So I obey.
Happiness fades to sadness,
Just as the sun fades to dark.
Alone and cold
I feel agony, hopelessness, despair.
My world that was once filled with sunshine
Is now pitch black.
The peace and serenity
Is now anger and frustration.
The love and caring
Is now hatred and bitterness.
But just as the sun fades to dark,
The dark fades to light.
And the cycle repeats itself
© Fully Copyrighted, all rights reserved. Rebekah Fleck.
Let me take a moment
To study you
I want to discover every intricate detail
I want to memorize
The way your eyes light up the room
The way I can see your wisdom
Your your love
Pool in the vast oceans
Of the most beautiful blue I have ever seen.
I want to savor
The way your lips move
When you speak
As the sound moving through those lips
Washes over me
Filling me with warmth
Infinitely sweeter than anything I have ever encountered.
I want to lose myself
In the beauty of your hairFlowing down
As Elegant and breathtaking
As a waterfall
It's scent filling my nostrils
Overwhelming me with the feeling of home
I want to permanently embed into my memory
The curvature of your neck
So soft and warm
Captivating me with the feel
Of your skin.
I want to synchronize myself with your heartbeat
Stronger than the largest river
Spreading your blood
Throughout your body.
I remember your hands
Strong and delicate at the same time
Wiping away my tears
Stroking my hair
Holding me up
Fighting away my fears.
I want to memorize your body
Every curve enticing and beautiful
The way it feels perfect while it's against mine
No part of your body needs any change
Its perfect that's all there is to it.
I want to keep these all in my mind forever.
I never want to forget
The way you make me feel.
I want to love you forever
That's what I intend to do.
Sticks and stones
Is what they say
looking down as they throw
A cliche for strength in her face
Words they can't even begin to understand
No matter how hard they try
A pointless attempt
Until they've felt the sting of words lash like a belt when they hit
Their every defense
Causing doubt to the extent
Where they look in the mirror and the voices
Others opinions becoming the definition of what their worth is
Sticks and stones
Is what they say
Oblivious to the fact she stares at a razor blade
While inside her mind all the names
Contemplating death of a being
with no realized purpose
Heartlessly their hate holds her captive
Sentencing her to a fate of silence
For whenever she opens her mouth to speak
Automatically she considers the negative feedback she'll receive
And quickly stops herself before the words fall out
At least someone has self control
The sea of insecurities she has to dive into everyday
To those who avoid her like the plague
Quick with the stones they cast
That the flaws they antagonize her for are of her choosing
So she's been branded
Hot and searing
What it feels like to be judged
As they create opinions regarding her existence
But a lack of acceptance is to blame
She prays for anything
Any way to escape
The constant ache, the ever present pain
Desiring to be invisible just for a day
In the end it's just a wish
she goes off like a bomb in her school
One last cut, her last breath,
She blew up like a fuse
At all of those who ever judged her
Tormented her everyday
But when the report was filed and neatly put away
It was her who was held at fault
Never once was it taken into account
The triggers that were pulled by her murderers mouths
Sticks and stones
That's all they said
In one last guilt ridden breath
As they notice her blood left on their hands
Denying her perfection
Allowing her to believe death was worth it
To escape the hell in which she lived
Held up in suspension
just beyond my senses
experience out of body
without any defenses
my mind starts to travel
beyond sight and sound
secrets start to unravel
and my senses come around
in a glimpse of a moment
becoming a broken blister
under the breath of an angel
within a saint's whisper
In this world of pure immensity
United we were in a wonderful serendipity
In this madness where I don't belong
The only thing that keeps me strong
Is the sparkle of your eyes
You must be the devil in disguise
I can feel your heartbeat
I'm holding on to every dream
Yes, I feel your heartbeat
Pumping though my veins, so extreme
With us, nothing is impossible
You see, our love is invincible
I just need to hold you tonight
So that I can die in your arms, holding you tight
I've spent years
(in a skewed totality)
placed just so,
back to back.
With a devil's hand
and an ink jet black-
I label each box
It's easier that way-
with every last one
blocked off like this.
For then I can know
who's what where
no one can move
from their labels-
though they may try.
But it's tiring you see,
keeping everyone so-
they surprise me, step outside,
I watch them all grow.
That's the thing with us humans-
we don't say the same-
we've got good sides and bad sides
and sides in between-
Forcing labels and boxes
only slows us down-
open eyes, clear hearts,
turns each new day 'round.
A practical mind opened up by the complexity of human character.
Feeling dr suess-y, can you feel it ?
though they are whispering,
and my hearing muted by the years
and the cluttered clang of today,
their voices sift softly through the trees,
a ghost chorus, chanting
late songs from the killing grounds,
wafting warily around the trunks
on the backs of bent breezes
their names come like seeds
in the hopeful spring rains
as if they yearn to be born again
but the earth does not bring forth
their lost and longing faces
new names take their places
not in the choking jungle canopies
among the rubber trees, the bamboo,
the Mekong’s murky, mournful flow
where I last heard their plaintive pleas
drowned by the roar of chopper blades,
and my own metal screaming
but now in the desert, under
the Tigris’ and Euphrates’
still, I hear them, a labored litany
through the trees
yet asking to return
to sit with me, as the sun sets
white, on my gray eyes
and new voices silence
their wraithlike song
At peace beside the banks of a swollen stream
We see the life below the water
Turning to our father's song
Never give in and you'll never go wrong
And never believe in the space beyond your vision
A simple decision.
Melting faces they depart
Putting permanent splaces in your heart
And all the people you must have seen
Swirling in the stream
Now it's bursting at the seams
With the weight to all those dreams
It's running away so fast
And we just don't know
If the time to go
Can open up their minds
That's why we care for the past
The only thing that will last.
"You're beautiful" he says, his hand sliding down my back
"You're unforgettable" he says, pressing me into the wall
"I need you" he says, his fingertips at my jeans
"Stop" I say, my arms against him
"Slow down" I say, my lips moving away
"Not now" I say, my hand pushing his
"You're a tease" he says
"You're worthless" he says
"Waste of time" he says
How does it feel to miss something that was never yours?
To feel your heart burn daily for a lost love
who never loved you solely?
Is it truly lost, then?
How unimportant, used, betrayed, and lied to I feel.
He has someone new, and I stand here searching.
Struggling and fighting to keep an even keel.
Doing anything to keep my stomach from lurching.
I feel alone, lost, afraid, and unwanted.
Cold, embarrassed, angry, and haunted.
I'm weak, upset, distressed, and disheveled.
The walls of my heart, completely leveled.
But they're up now again, never to fall.
Never to lean, the strongest of all.
So thick and mighty like a redwood tree,
No one and nothing will ever get to me.
This chill you feel here in my soul?
It reaches my bones and dims my eyes.
I embrace the cold to only feel whole
I spread my wings to fly over the lies.
I lie to myself, I lie to them, and I lie to him.
I'm convinced it's all ok, all alright.
Hoping no one can see the pain inside,
My heart's fire slowing to an ember dim.
It gets better day by day, night by night
I'll find a way to do what's right.
I'll move on, just as he
I'll be as strong as that redwood tree.
I'm a sapling now, small and weak.
I'm very thin and my voice is meek.
But give me time and water my roots
And you can be the first to taste my fruits.
Seek it out, and ye shall find
You're the one to release my mind.
Lend me your wings or teach me to fly
One way or another, I'll touch the sky.
He's not a bad guy, she's not a bad girl
But thoughts of them make me hurl.
She smart and she's pretty,
She's nice and she's witty.
He's handsome and tall,
He's wonderful, all in all.
I should be happy, I should be glad
But all I feel right now is super sad.
I have good days and I'll have bad
But half the time I'm raging mad.
Break ups are not easy or fun
But sometimes they must truly be done.
I've fallen for a pilot on the USS Bush
A life impossible without a great push.
See, I desire to be a Marine
Strong, proud, and incredibly pristine.
Two officers together but always apart
Far in distance, but near in heart.
No one can say what the future holds.
But I can't wait to see what unfolds.
I'll find myself with or without him.
I'll earn my wings and so much more.
My dreams will fill my heart to the brim.
My dream be in the United States Marine Corps.
Alone or together I know I'll be me.
This life or the next, I know I'll be free.
fog grows heavy
on winter's breath
we loved in the bushels
of new fallen leaves
and our whispers were snippets
of warm summer breezes.
we're no longer dead,
never while we're together
feeding life into
once so vacant-
your brother hung himself
off the boat next to your house
and i downed my throat with sleeping pills
and made pretty red patterns
across my arms.
that was before we met,
when December was a wasteland
of death endeavors
but we gave this month a new name,
a new identity
that trembles with the "i love you's"
and the "remember when's"
our cheeks hollow from
warm slubby kisses
Oh, will you ever return to me,
My wild first force, will you return
When the old madness comes to
Blacken in me and to burn
Slow in my brain like a slow fire
In a blackened brazier - dull
like a smear of blood,
Humid and hot evil, slow-sweltering
up in a flood!
Oh, will you not come back, my fierce song?
Jubilant and exultant, triumphing over
the huge wrong
of that slow fire of madness that feeds
on me - the slow mad blood
thick with its hate and evil, sweltering
up in its flood!
Oh! will you not purge it from me -
my wild lost flame?
Come and restore me, save me from the
Of that huge eye that eats into my
Naked body constantly
And has no name,
Gazing upon me from the immense and
Cruel bareness of the sky
That leaves no mercy of concealment
That gives no promise of revealment
And that drives us on forever with its
Across a huge and houseless level of
a planetary vacancy
Oh, wild song and fury, fire and flame,
Lost magic of my youth return, defend
me from this shame!
And Oh! You golden vengeance of bright
Not cure but answer to earth's wrong
I take a sip of water,
Like the actor on the stage;
Immediately, I begin to write,
Starting halfway down the page.
I talk of the many faces
I have seen and I have loved,
I describe woods and valleys,
The sky and clouds above.
They belong only to me,
I own these memories outright;
The shifting sand beneath my feet,
And oh, the sweetness of the night
The click of a shutter (or is it my fingers?)
Awakens me from my dream,
I stand before them tall and proud,
Less afraid than I seem.
I saw the past yesterday,
The man I used to be,
Trapped in a suit, shirt and tie,
Waiting, hoping for liberty.
I bathe your eyes with my water,
Hand you a brush with which to write
About love, life, sex and death
And oh, the sweetness of the night.
You must do the same as I have done;
Revolution is the key.
We can all of us do without you -
Let go and you shall see
You will walk along the path
And stop to rest upon the seat,
Made ready for us both
For it is there that we shall meet.
You see, we were always the same person.
All we needed were tools with which to write
About secrets that travel fast
And, oh yes, the sweetness of the light.
a hollow ache
and empty gut
when a life invested
is laid bare
to the truth
and all that is you
a little off track
a little too soft
have been revealed
to drag every thought
pit of fear
fiber of your being
telling you to run
when there is
nowhere to turn
this feat of endurance
what is left
a body is hard pressed
for only so much
and something is lost
that cannot be regained
is hard pressed
its own torment
the sense of self
constructed so carefully
is exposed as temporal
will begin to crack
there is no irony
just abandoned ignorance
biology and chemistry
awareness of consciousness
cleansed to revive
a concave heart
convex in the mirrors
of a child's clown
playground of distortion
whisper my name
keep me in the frame
there's no way out
of this fixed full game
question her love
her guilt feeds my pain
never one to lose
why'd I ever enter
the labyrinth of lovers
hearts beating and folding
her on one end
me over the over
each step I smell her
her scent my guide
walls so high a secret
garden enclosed my soul.
© Sia Jane
"There was someone that I knew before
A heart from the past that I cannot forget
I let him take all my gold, and hurt me so bad
But now for you, I have nothing left of all my gold."
Bat For Lashes - All Your Gold
Its quiet and peaceful for now.
In the distance however,
holds a war of all.
A guardian watches alongside her sisters,
They see the world through the eyes of the creator.
As the sun gleam's upon the water,
A massive horde comes closer.
Valkyries are strong,
beautiful but deadly.
We fight together for the Light,
but the darkness can overwhelm thee.
Only one Valkyrie stands out,
above them all.
She is unique, wise, and tall.
Her blue eyes only see thy soul.
As this horde comes to the waves of white.
Valkyries spread their wings to take flight.
Now she knoweth the world and becomes,
The demon they fear, Kekay the Young.
Rising into the sky,
not fearing the dragons who surround.
She looks to her kill,
and stands...her ground.
Her wings turn black and her sovereign soul abides.
As she summons the Catalyst on the heights.
Tempest Suthrane as deadly and black.
The lightning kills off anything death.
The Valkyrie stands before her sisters now,
Who watch in terror of the darkness overwhelmed.
For now she is known as Kekay Suthrane,
The Valkyrie, The young, Dragon Rider today.
Know the war that takes place within her soul,
She knows not the worldly fall.
The end will draw near of the sisterhoods kin,
The blood will show the way,
To her next kill.
The Valkyrie of light and Darkness,
The Archaic one.
Shes the one you should fear,
For Tempest comes to her call.
You mustn't take the blame.
Don’t you ever feel ashamed.
I will never be the same.
Let me go, I never felt oh so cold.
I’ve never been so alone.
I cant see, so just take my hand and lead.
Why cant I love you.
I just miss you.
Why cant I sleep when your not next to me.
I just feel so restless.
I’m just so breathless.
You took my heart and fixed it.
Now you just ripped it.
I want you back.
It will never last.
You just took everything.
If you thought.
You were the everything.
Forever must I rest.
To you this was our last goodbye.
Now I'm forever crying.
I love you, but do you feel so much pain within.
I hope you love me too, for I am damned.
How could god forsake me, I’ve chosen the demon.
I’m planning my demise.
I’m sorry for my treason.
For what I did, the chains are binding.
Deaths grip is hurting me.
Don’t you DARE leave me!
You have loved.
You have punished.
You have killed.
All innocence left is corrupted.
Like a murky gas and its fumes.
Nothing is left.
Just the lust I still have for you.
For whatever I do.
Just know I still love you.
And that I still want you.
And that I will still die for you.
And still wait for you.
It will hurt when I love you.
And when I want you.
And when I die for you.
And it will hurt when I have to wait for you.
Imagine how utterly terrifying would the whole universe be if there was a faceless clock.
Just faceless clocks.
That dictated the way earth shall be lived in the most minimalistic sense.
No hour hand, no tinks, no tick-tocks and no numbers.
That will allow us to regretfully or mercifully go on.
The gears and everything are in place.
But there is
Just silence that will deafen your ears.
Silence that your screams cannot pierce.
Yes, that is me now.
I have no bearing, no sure sense.
my brain is dotted with burn holes
craters on the moon
like the ones on the denim sofa
from when I fell asleep
beer in hand
cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of my mouth
like the dot that comes at the top right of a cinema screen
change the reel
in the industry we call them cigarette burns
thoughts get lost in them
only to be found covered in tar and ash
I hate romantic poetry
those stupid fantasies
eating dessert together
its all impossible
except for those who dont deserve it
i gave up on making it a life
goal to get a girlfriend
i have fallen in love exactly
in my life
i am extremely committed
is my weakness
i may be destined to
i may be destined to
live a life of solitude
and by god
that is fine with me
my soul today
My december blues
always comes in a wintery mix
Darkness falls like
Upon my cold lonely soul
Leaving tracks on my heart
Tracing back to
Faces of people and family
Christmas only brings pain
Distant laughter in the rain
My hearts seeks joy
Finding only shadows and cracked smiles
Along the walls of memories
Inside my veins
It echos in my mind
I hear small bits of laugher
in the dark shadows of
Like transfigured people
As my mind drifts
between the shivers of cold
I fold away
Praying for courage
to greet another day
In this december bliss
Not all are happy
In the mystical time
As joys have somehow floated
Rested on my heartstrings
It burrows down deep
to hold the faces of loved ones
I wishfully try to keep
In my december blues
my tears flow into the
arms of the unknown
has gone into the streams
As silence closes
By Weeping willow
Silly things, silly things
I have heard, I have seen
Making words out of screams
Things to say in your dreams
Every day, every day
Something new comes my way
And I too sing and play
even though I am gray
But I know, yes, I know
That things change when you grow
Rearranged just to show
You without saying so
Let me out, let me out
Of this cage where I pout
Off this stage where I spout
Gibberish all about
And I wish, how I wish
As I drop and I squish
As I flop like a fish
That I had not done this
This is bad, this is bad
Maybe I'm not so glad
Hear the chimes, don't be mad
Do not cry, don't be sad
Ah, to die, ah, to die
Darkness comes, close your eyes
Everyone by and by
Meets their end, who knows why?
We are friends, we are friends!
Were before, are again
All the more we depend
When the long road does end
Sing a song, sing a song!
Sing it loud sing it strong
You're allowed, life is long
Nothing's hid, nothing's wrong
I'm a kid, I'm a kid!
I can run like I did
Cowboy gun, stretchy squid
stack things in pyramids
It's a sin, it's a sin!
In a wink life begins
If you stink, you can't win
Earn your wings, be with Him
Now the ring again begins
I did not choose to love you.
I am never sure of anything.
I have questioned and agonized, second guessed
Every aspect of my life
For thirty seven years.
And now I am sure of something
It is an impossible thing
And it shreds me, from within.
We do not choose who we love.
Everything I ever believed
Was a misunderstanding of the true nature
Of all that we aspire to.
Thirty seven years
And I knew nothing.
I am on autopilot, every atom reaching out
Every thirsty cell screaming for a drink of you.
I think you love me, too.
A smell so delicious,
Persues the kiddies around the lounge.
Wafts from the kitchen.
Such luscious aromas.
Fresh pastry, as mince pies she's baked.
The tree pined longingly for a special relationship.
This Christmas had to find itself a home.
Where it was warm and cosy.
To stand outside no more.
Safe indoors from winter's storms.
It stood as a puff ball of needles.
Malachite and emerald.
Peridots of stars that sparkle.
Free-standing tall, stuck in a pot of soil,
Waiting to be decked in tinsel.
Let the belled garlands tinkle.
While the tree top lights twinkle
Where peeping neighbour's could be nosy.
To spy in through the windows of the house next door.
Check out their tree and their presents for sure.
While the turkey roasted in the foil.
Smell the children's excitement.
Senses all a flare.
Sound of ripping wrapping without even a care.
Excitement of children and adults.
Ready for Christmas day!
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Finals are such a bitch
I don't wanna leave college
Hanging on by a thread
Pardon the pun
Excuse the language
But I am nervous
Don't wanna leave
This wonderful place
Where my heart found peace
For the past three and a half years
truth about women
craigslist posts on women
Things women hate about other women (MICHIGAN)
I'm a man and I got no problems with beautiful women and love looking at and spending time with them. Listed some of the problems women have with other women and why some of them get to be targets of world's biggest haters.
1. Beauty - If the women think you are prettier than them, the more threatened they feel. They feel like ogre and hags around the woman and become haters.
2. Intelligence - It's okay to be smart but not if people are reaching for dictionaries or have to google to translate your last sentence. The bigger the words, the smaller your audience feels.
3. Hard Work Ethic - no woman wants to know another woman is working harder and reaping rewards from it. Women want that hard working woman gone.
4. Confidence - Women can't stand women who are confident.
5. Dress better - women hate other women who dress better than them. Women who dress flashy are called trashy by bitchy ones who hate them.
6. Strong Personality - women have serious issues with women who are strong and speak minds.
7. Competitive - women are competitive by nature and when they feel they can't compete they hate.
8. Affluent - women being richer than another woman is not what other women want. You see women have to have more money than other women or the richer one get called all kinds of name.
Women feel threatened and intimidated by other women faster than by men who they flirt with and plot to get as sugar dads. Biggest problem of women are women who hate other women
Response to post
competition in women
Ever have a female friend who flirted with you knowing you had feelings for another woman? Been there with a few ladies who wanted nothing to do with me when I alone. Moment the office sweetheart started saying hi and took interest, I got popular with some of my co-workers who started saying hi and flirting. That's the competitive thing happening in women's brains. Where the hell were all the women when nobody wanted me?
my heart has always felt you
it feels you even more now
I miss the touch of your skin
when it glides across mine
I don't think you realize
all the changes you have gone thru
effect my soul as well
my emotions, thinking, feeling
wanted you to know that I'm here
to keep you strong and smiling
your mind wild and sexy
heart beating like thunder
we've made it thru so much
shared many things in life together
sending you silent thoughts of luv
and whispered words of comfort
I would like to take a moment, to talk about gay rights
How would you feel, if where you lay your head at night
Your whole family makes you feel all alone,
That you live in a house with a roof and four walls, but no home
People need to realize, hatred is not set in stone
Walking through the school hall, getting dirty looks
From self reichous people, they're really just scared and shook
But I can't imagine how much courage it must have took
Too say that you are gay, and, your proud to be
Gays have made a movement, they beat the odds, you see
If you're gay, stand up, I want to hear you roar
Take their insults with a grain of salt and nothing more
Cause the haters never know the struggle you've been through
So strideboldly through lifes doors and do you!
the breath of the dragon
caresses the mountaintop
a swirling, dense, quiet mist
clings tightly to the land
and the gentle beast
devours the vanishing nature
paling the ambient light
all it touches
dawn has kissed the flora
and the dragon quietly sleeps
its all encompassing breath
blanketing the day
till the light of a thousand suns
the very last gasp
as the behemoth sleeps
waiting to exhale
upon the inevitable dusk
Outside, it's cold and dark.
Your smile was special, your own trademark.
I'm going numb, can't even walk.
All I hear is the clock. Tick tock.
These woods are lonely and cold.
Hard to be bold, when your soul you have sold.
These tears puddle, like an ocean.
Your love always unique, quite golden.
Reality is wrong.
Still need to stay strong.
Dreams are for real.
How does that make you feel?
This mountain called life is steep.
But I've got promises to keep.
I'll go out on a limb to say.
Life's a game no one learns to play.
Life is a never ending exam.
Never anytime to cram.
Today I'm not thinking about you, is one of these days that the sun had fade away as rain are taking over the grey and cold empire...
I'm collecting my dreams, so I'll start to execute each one of those little pieces of ideas that were building an altar of hope, I will collect my frustrations, my despair and loneliness as spiritual weapons and I will make the perfect scenario of inner war against love and the main idea of you flying through my mind...today is one of these days where I'm in a loveless state...
But I'm a hypocrite myself because I know that when the day's over and I'll close my eyes, I will see you again dancing with my insanity as I keep dreaming with an idea of you and me collecting the starts in the night, so we'll unleash a dark passion that will make us forget about this god-forsaken world...all I want is you...all I need is you...
Today I wish to put a bullet in my brain, or to stab myself in my heart so I can be able to stop this bitter sensation of forgetfulness. I feel that we've stop looking ourselves as "that someone special" to just a name and an idea of the effects we created in our lives, I hate myself for that...let me ask you this: are you feeling anything for me?? Have you at least ask yourself about my whereabouts??? Always the same goddamn questions tearing away my happiness...now I'm collecting dead memories so I can build a boat and flow through this empty ocean of desolation...
There's a tomorrow...and I want you there at my side.
I’m hopeless at putting pen to paper, you know I am.
I saw you sitting at the blue window
as I passed by that hoary chateau yesterday. You didn't look down as you sat perched on the sill like the fragile bird you are. I threw every pebble on the road onto that perched, divine frame of yours. The window was cracked open and yet, nothing perturbed you from your position.
I couldn't wake you from your senseless volition; I couldn't see your needs. I was ignorant to your needs. I admit it, so should I apologize? I always apologize and I am sorry. So very sorry. I wallow in my regrets from time to time. Please, let this soul be drenched in self- depreciation.
Your eyes found mine; the image of your loving glance puts me off nightly slumber. No image has disturbed my heart for the longest time.
Ah, time! Has it caught up with us all in this masquerade of waltzing seasons? The beauty of years is worn down each year by our own finite doom. Mary, dear I am afraid. So very afraid. Death is always around the corner.
I'd swim all the oceans for you
I'd break all my bones for you
I'd let all my blood
I'd put my right hand on the bible
But still I'd lie
I'd walk ontop of broken glass
I'd drive a car
I'd make decisions
That are rash
I'd wipe the makeup off my face
Even though that is a disgrace
I'd run a thousand mile race
I'd risk my life
I'd leave this place
I'd rip the wings off a butterfly
Just To see if it would still fly
I'd put a bullet through my head
Just To see if I'd die
I'd pray to the god that may or may not exist
I'd swim in a tank with the fish
I'd take every single risk
I'd lay down in my bed
And think of everything I dread
I'd re live nightmares
That go on in my head
I'd fly to the moon
I'd say "ill be back soon"
But if I had to,
I'd just drift off into the galaxies
Like a balloon
I sat there,
Thinking about the simple
And the impossible.
Why am I still fighting?
Why am I still standing?
Why am I still alive?
This is all seems to unreal to me,
Just a shattered reality,
Nothing seems real to me anymore.
My memories are fading,
My dreams are breaking,
Everything seems... empty.
For years, I have been fighting,
But after all those years,
Only one thing came out in the end.
That one light bulb was flickering,
On and off.
I thought it had burnt out,
But it was just flickering,
On and off.
As I reached for the light,
A sudden sharp pain in my chest grew,
And everything went black.
Everything but you.
You still glowed, shined even.
I saw nothing but you.
In all of the emptiness,
You were still there,
Shining bright as ever.
Then it clicked me.
I know why I'm still fighting.
I know why I'm still standing.
I know why I'm still alive.
I know why I felt so empty all those years.
Can you fill this empty hole in my chest?
I think you can.
I know you can.
but you're a beauty queen,
only a year older than me,
but you'll never open up your eyes to see, but
you have a georgia jagger smile,
and in my dreams,
you're with me,
but for now you're only words on the page of poem,
that you will never read,
you're wonderful, incredible and yet i'm invisible,
the way you hold your stares,
the way you tuck your hair behind your ears,
the way you bite your lip,
the way your beauty is pure,
the way you stutter as if you're unsure,
as if you can't see how perfect,
in my eyes you are too me,
i just wished you'd notice that i'm the angel who'd give up her wings to be your anything,
if that's what you needed from me,
you're so damn dead set beautiful and nobody compares to you
is immense confusion
and often I seek
but when I try my luck
to earn fast buck
I log on
Three thousand five hundred
his labor's price
his labored prize
he hands over to his father
who knows better than to spend it
rewards of son's toil
bitter and sweet!
I wish I were dead
and not he
now who will look after me?
cries the woman
a heart failure
having robbed his man.
with no hint of tears in her eyes
she doesn't disguise
I part her with a hundred rupee.
There's a ringing in my right ear.
I hum to block it out.
The hum becomes annoying.
Neither side of the pillow is the cold side.
My lungs are the first casualty from the war in my head.
That jolt you get when you fall in your dreams and you wake up with your heart beating.
That hasn't gone away for awhile now.
It's like I'm just waiting to hit the ground.
Caught in this constant free fall of fear.
I can't seem to shake the shakes.
Found a picture from last night with a cigarette in my mouth.
I don't smoke though.
There's a rainbow somewhere and over that is where I'm looking to go.
I'm sick of sad songs.
I'm sick of happy songs.
I'm sick of silence and the low murmur of my 10 dollar box fan.
I hate everything that's on my walls.
I'd rather just pitch a tent and call it camp kill yourself. Population me.
Scribble thoughts as they come. I've been doing it for years.
I thought I would find purpose in it, but I still don't know why I write what I think.
No one else cares and I sure as hell don't.
I wish I wouldn't ask so much from the sky when I don't appreciate it as is.
Everything is wrong.
I could be as broad as the side of the barn or as specific as ice cubes in the Ramen.
Waiting for the day the Sun doesn't come up.
On top of that, there's something wrong with the lights.
You are my beat,
a part of me on permanent repeat.
Just the thought of when our eyes meet,
gives me an an elation of pure defeat.
Nothing more to do than just be,
no biased judgement on what we see.
Just our minds set eternally entwined and free,
black or white, hate or love, up or down, agree or disagree.
I would never change a thing about you, me... We.
From the external beat, to the inner workings on my heart,
you've made yourself a special place from the start.
Close, far, near, or apart,
God has painted our paths on the same piece of art.
Even when one thousand pictures cannot tell the story in your eyes,
there's no disguise, no part of you that ever lies.
My soul slowly opens, loves, and cries,
for the beat that may lead to the demise,
of all walls, opening all possibilities in the heavens and skies.
she left when i was four
no explanation or anything more
it cut me straight to the core
you may think i was too young
to understand but my heart tore
my baby sister she was two
she barely could walk without falling
down onto the floor
now I barely see her
she's growing up too fast
she doesn't remember much of that past
she remembers calling me "Sissy."
And that she loved saying "it's purple."
I remember so much more
The smell of my moms sweet perfume
how she always had these really good cookies
her hugs and her kisses
but that day when she left it hurt me so much
because a girl needs her mother
a mother cannot leave her children
but my mom she was different
she never said "Good bye."
She never taught me to fly
she didn't see Jillian become to beaut she is today
she won't be able to see my sixteenth birthday
or be there for graduation
or my wedding
but whatever at least I have my dad
and my little sister
and family and friends
at least i have you guys/girls
because i know if you were going to leave you would at least say
The old woman with the lined, wise face
Feels her eyes go heavy; her chest swells and falls
Like ripples on a shallow pond.
But this night she is seeking the deep waters;
Memories of a few men who touched her
In her most guarded places.
While they slept next to her young, throbbing
Body she honed them like a slim axe.
She always let her lover fall asleep
Before she opened herself to the Dream Lord.
She would dream of swords and feathers,
Of swimming downward into black depths
Where the ruins of a lost city
Caught her in its pull, toward its stillness,
Its eldritch glow, so unreal and
marvelled at even
As it caught her in its nets.
She always in thrall to her
At dawn the new sun comes peering
Through and whispers kisses onto
Her world now is peopled with broken
Faces she knows can become in a minute
Strange and unkind.
She tries so hard to use the broken images
To assemble a mosaic, but there are always
Pieces missing: she is always incomplete.
There is a name on one of those pieces
Which is on the tip of her tongue.
It was a transient love, like an island
Sharp as its coral, of teeth and claws, and once
She felt alive to look at the scars; the scrapes
And puncture wounds a terrible secret that
Her body has locked away in the netherworld
She time travels through the Universe of her
What is left for her but flashes of skin and
Still a name; a name that slowly turns jade upon
A name she must remember so she can go and
Beside the Fountain.
To unpack that long black bag of torments
And fears cleansed so she can rest
Descend into the Water Kingdom;
To listen to the song of the bird that comes
To beckon her home.
You sit in your majestic tower
Of the tree house, your brown hair gleaming down
Your strength and integrity bound
So deeply within you
Never did I notice,
Apt to the silence of your manner,
How greatly you tried
Your effort denied
It’s funny the way one can live
So within their own space
That interacting is also receiving
When we were young
I was the one to run
To climb the trees
Steal all the Popsicles from the freezer
Soil my hands and stain my shirts with blackberries
To be the teaser
And you would change my shirt, save me from a beating
Accept my ferocity
And wipe the blood from me
You weren’t the one
To fight away the demons
You were the one
To keep them at bay
With silent protests for a better day
When we got old
Just a little.
When I hid my face
And you did
Age with grace
I noticed then
How ample you were
How you held yourself
With a profound rooting
To the earth
And stable you had been
And the regret washed through me of the times
I secretly was ashamed
Of the way you walked
And how dissonant I thought you were
And so at a party a group of us sat sipping wine
And mocking the time
Across the table I heard you laugh
And never did I notice your voice before
And I could see between the lines
Afterwards I laughed
At my new realization
What a burden I was
But what struck me was
That you held me
Just Like I was still a little girl
And I was making a fool of myself
You shushed me to sleep
A grown woman
And right before I closed my eyes
a final tear
How jealous you were
Of my experimental whirl
Eating life in
Like sauce on my fingertips
And I told you how jealous I had been
Of the way you wore long skirts
And wrapped your arms to your chest
Always knowing what you wanted
No need to want more
And like two old witches
Until the moon was gone
And the sunlight streamed through
Bubbling to the brim
With the new strength found within
Rejoicing we found
We are each in the air
implanted on the ground.
Old man in the park. Not one
to waste words. At play with pieces
of clay. All in harmony ~ with natures world.
Peaceful are his days ~ playing the
game, amidst a sunrise ~ twice revered
now reserved in the morning dew.
A marvel of life ~ a voyage of the
mind. A savior of our uncompromising
ways. Wise ~ he wrinkles, pones a
play. Gently in tune, as strings glide
in the palms of another ~ between two
trees, also palms, another sits ~ plays
a wooden hollow, vibe is so cool.
Knowing the essence of his will is
simplicity, a discipline of age ~ softly
in his send. Honestly ~ wise is the old
man. Groomed and cultured by his
own reflection. Graced by an
extravagant past. Astute, sensible, in
so many compelling ways.
Such is ~ the half shaven wise old man
at rest sharing dreams ~ promises ~
better fantasies ~ for he made a meal
of life. Hand woven thoughts, clever in
measure, precise is his glare. The
treasure ~ is his reason. Simple brown
cap, corduroy pants ~ a checkered
shirt, sitting, resting, a lover of life, his
ways no longer measured ~ but
In reflection, a gaze of the horizon, is
a metaphor of his life. Reminders of
yesterday’s ~ now pleasantries for us ~
now his heyday. Devious was the old
man ~ his adventures are fantasies to
another. As he grays before us, in the
calendars of day...
Colorful character, a lifetime tainted
by only the polish of his shoes. Tame
in his crevasse of dimples ~ quivering
at sight of his son. A grandfather ~
clever at any game. Parading ~
teaching ~ his grandson, the same
games he played. Numbers to boot ~
the sunlight's yellow brick rays ~ a
little mans stare at the big mans gaze.
Old man, trustworthy, captain of
philosophy ~ a fickle ~ a frozen sky of
crisp colored white hair, curls of gray.
Today's moniker ~ a father son’s
game. Metaphorically inclined, atop a
rocking chair ~ arms lapped, crossed
in the simplest of ways. Certain to a
spit shine ~ leather his shoes today.
Grandson beside plays, a book of
brush strokes, a choice of paints,
shades now shadows of gray.
Honestly and with all conviction ~ we
shell before his eyes. Endearing are
his traits. Earn his trust, in turn ~ he
reserves your spot ~ a voyage ~ over-
seas ~ with a monk of wisdom ~ a
canopy of rope ~ and a gentle smile...
Acknowledge him ~ reach out ~ he
extends ~ firm is the handshake...
Yes ~ passions ~ reflections to mirror,
gentle this giant of a man. A graceful
one. A token for a smile. A coin for
his presence ~ an embrace for today…
Here is a glass of water from my well.
It tastes of rock and root and earth and rain;
It is the best I have, my only spell,
And it is cold, and better than champagne.
Perhaps someone will pass this house one day
To drink, and be restored, and go his way,
Someone in dark confusion as I was
When I drank down cold water in a glass,
Drank a transparent health to keep me sane,
After the bitter mood had gone again.
Winter comes again,
and with it comes the snow.
Freezing in a living room
sits a broken man alone.
He stares at the television
looking for a reality
he once knew was there,
but soon faded into calamity.
A hole-filled blanket covers him
trying to fight away the cold,
but you can't fight what lives inside.
The bitter man grows old.
His eyes still fixed on a deceitful screen.
His mind non-existent for his thoughts aren't his own.
A man dead in life lies still on the couch
while he searches for reality. A reality gone.
I can't deal and
I can't believe
I didn't see the signs
I mean they were
You were feeling
Trust me I know
That feeling all too
But that's no excuse
I still love you
With most my heart
To be truthful
But not all
Not like it used to be
I'm not sure
What it was
And I truly am sorry
It seemed as if
I didn't care
But oh my God
The problems back
You don't understand
You never have
I'm not the bad guy
I'm just a kid
I'm learning how to live
You aren't concerned about that
You just wait ..
Feeding me false hope..
Until you find a flaw
Then those kind words
Now you scream
Now you yell
I'm just a kid
I'm imperfect like everyone else
Don't break my trust
..you already have..
I'm like a rodent
You're test rat, project "x"
I just want to be your daughter
I want advice on life
I want help being a teen
I need your support
But I have to remember
Not to listen the false hope
You'll take it back tomorrow
Like it was fog in the air
It'll always disappear
Can I please just leave
If only these walls could talk
They'd tell the tale
Of you and I
On the outside it looks beautiful
White trim, big porch
Oh but darling on the inside
These walls are stained with red secrets
It's unbearable to look at
All lie inside this house
..Not beautifully broken..
And now I stain my pillow
With the tears of my pain
..Because you've attacked again..
How do you know that the pilgrim track
Along the belting zodiac
Swept by the sun in his seeming rounds
Is traced by now to the Fishes’ bounds
And into the Ram, when weeks of cloud
Have wrapt the sky in a clammy shroud,
And never as yet a tinct of spring
Has shown in the Earth’s apparelling;
O vespering bird, how do you know,
How do you know?
How do you know, deep underground,
Hid in your bed from sight and sound,
Without a turn in temperature,
With weather life can scarce endure,
That light has won a fraction’s strength,
And day put on some moments’ length,
Whereof in merest rote will come,
Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb;
O crocus root, how do you know,
How do you know?
I like to think that I tried.
But at the same time
they used to like to think that the world was flat
and that green eyes meant that you were cursed.
I also like to think that I would go to the end of the galaxy for you,
just so that I could fetch a few stars and bring them back
to show you that not every light is burnt out yet.
I like to think that the scars on both of our wrists
will fade with time and will heal with care.
But so far, the redness has not subsided.
Your voice is still ringing in my ears.
I’m not sure what you are saying, but you’re there.
And you’re here.
For the most part, you are everywhere.
And if I could spend one more restless night
curled in your arms so that I could kiss the inside of your wrist
and hope for magic to appear, I could die tomorrow
and be okay with that.
My tombstone could be painted yellow
and my corpse could grow flowers.
All because I hoped for a little magic
while the howling wind touched the windowpane
and your breath quickened on my shoulder.
I would let the coolness of your eyes
take my memory back to the Bahamian sea.
I would let the flutter of your eyelashes remind me
of the rainbow parrotfish and the fire coral.
I would let the salty softness of your skin sink into mine
so that maybe I won’t be so sharp anymore.
I would let myself drown in you
and this time
I wouldn’t call for help.
I would save my last gasping breath
to let you know how beautiful you are.
Then I would succumb to your sea
and I would sink to the bottom
to let my corpse plant flowers in you.
a certain lost is like hopeless
only without the know,
it's a cruel two layers of ice
beneath it, so cold
to be drunk on sin
and caving in
to be hollow
to be shallow
all the echoes bouncing off to you,
but the ice is soo deep
all the echoes bouncing off you
and the darknesses you keep
. . .
and 'found' is a purpose
a treasure within
and plastic is plastic
placebo, cheap sheets
thin and worn from overuse
your body hanging from
(a stranger said
"please put that away
it's only for show,
you're just playing a game."
you tried to explain,
what use in the pain?
so put on your raincoat
and suck up the rain.)
and that's where i'm heading
but first must confess
i haven't been found yet
can i guess where i've been?
There is a voice inside me, she is the younger version of me.
And she is terrified of the person I am becoming.
She is knocking on my nerves and rattling my bones.
She's that tiny voice trying to eliminate the demonic voices.
"I want out" she screams "this is not who I want to become".
I am not a girl controlled by numbers.
Stop counting calories and restricting.
Don't pick up that blade, it won't save you.
He loves you idiot! Why can't you see that?
You're sitting in you room pushing everyone away.
Once they leave for good it will drive you insane.
You think you're crazy now, just watch as the time goes by.
It will eat at your conscience, I promise you'll hate yourself more.
Why did you stop doing the things you love?
Who are you?
This is not the girl who frolicked in the meadows and embraced the sunlight.
You are dark, lifeless, and cruel. I would say you're better off dead but that girl is still there.
Hidden beneath all of the addictions, medication, and diseases.
Go ahead and list off all of the things wrong with you.
4. Eating Disorder
Yes, you have them but that isn't who you are.
The disease can only kill you once you become it.
Find yourself, find me, find this girl you only have so much time.
ruby lays on her king size bed
listening to keaton
his voice soothes her heart
she draws deeply from her phallic piece pipe
staring ahead into nothing
she can see the white smoke in the stem
she makes it dance into her lungs
she has the house to herself
well as "to herself" as it gets
with threes kids, two dogs, four (yes,four) cats
and a turtle named sheldon
but the humans are gone
and ruby has the smallest of moments
just a few hours
where she feels herself
these moments are precious
like 8:43am on a wednesday
she can cry
she laughs and has conversations with ghosts
she dances with demons
kisses them right on the lips
with a soft urgency thats electric
she can tell herself
anything....anything at all
and believe it
I've decided that should anyone
years from now
discover my body
I want them to find me blind-
not from grief and sadness that I saw
but from the beauty my eyes beheld.
I want them to find
the disks in my neck worn-
not from lifting my nose at the inferiority of this place
but rather due to the fact that I was constantly gazing up
simply to remind myself that I get to be a piece in it all.
I want my lips to have trembled, smiled, spoken, gaped
my ears to have listened, to have listened, to have heard
my wrinkles to be evidence of laughter, evidence of worrying
my hands to have been held,
to have fought, grasped
and most importantly to have let go.
When they find me
I want my piercings to be evidence of my interest in pain
and the calm that follows.
I want my body to be riddled in love
agape, philias, eros, storge
I want my scars to be testaments to
my fearlessness, my carelessness,
my courageousness, and my curiosity.
Should they find my spirit gone
should they find my body dead
I want them to know
I want them to know I lived.
Running into yet another soft eyes and open lips
Trying to magically feel something more than what exists
Running into yet another guys arms that seem so genuine from afar
He really likes me brought me my 3rd drink tonight
He's tryna tap that...
Intellectual portrait that I have painted of myself
Running into yet another false hope of maybe this one is different
He can't hurt me unless I allow him to
penetrate parts that haven't been discussed
This feels so right
Running into yet another, "your the most special girl I've met" "wouldn't ever hurt you" line
Just to be spoon fed leftovers from
the previous drunken night
Or the alcohol soaked on a pink moist thick tongue
Running into yet another clear dream... (I can see clearer now the rain is gone)
Love songs no longer play because he has taken me to a fantasy land from Saturdays night rerun of a previous session
Picture perfect perfection precious pleasing.
Please don't stop because maybe you have tuned in to the right channel
Running into yet another guys lap saying I will dance for you and only you... And maybe him and only him.
Because words have become so cliche and I no longer can count how many arms have squeezed me firmly but have released quicker.
How many lips have accepted my open invitation to stay the night within
How many eyes I have let pierce my soul but to no avail,
they get what they want and dissolve.
No satisfaction, no guaranteed refunds of that stuff he left with
No mental pictures left of what ifs or possibilities of US being more than just lust
A must of endless considerations and my ridiculous thoughts of actually
Running into the same web of deceit deception.
So many descriptions of how I ran away from myself and have been searching nonstop for the right sensation that can stop the temptations and erase the emptiness.
Jerry and Elaine are sitting in Monk’s diner on the Upper West Side.
The place still has that old Manhattan feeling: a film of grease on the
booths, pink packets of Spelnda at every table, and the waitresses, in
their frumpy yellow uniforms, have no manners and less patience.
Jerry is lifting a white mug to his mouth, slurping milk-diluted coffee
between his lips, “Y’know Elaine, it’s fine to say you believe in nothing,
but even nothing is something.” Elaine is only half-listening, all
morning she’s been worried about the rumored round of layoffs
eminent at Pendant Publishing, where she’s been reading
manuscripts for the last seven years, and she doesn’t have much
interest in another one of Jerry’s philosophical observations. “But
Jerry,” she says, in a slightly annoyed tone of voice, “if nothingness
awaits us; if when we die we simply cease to exist, then that is true
nothingness. The absence of an afterlife really does imply that there’s
nothing." Jerry raises his eyebrows, lulls another sip of coffee around
his mouth, and mulls this over. For a few mornings in a row he’s been
waking with a new sense of smallness that he’s never felt before; even
in a city as cold as New York, Jerry had never thought much about his
infinitesimal place in the chaotic clockwork of the universe until
recently. “Okay, so maybe you’re right, when we’re dead we’re
nothing. But if you asked me what I did today I would tell you I did
nothing, but what I really did was wake up, and read the paper, and
come here to meet you for coffee – that’s all something. Therefore,
even if we’re not aware that we’re dead, even if there’s no afterlife,
being dead is still a state of being.” Elaine sighs, her mind is off on
another island – if she does get laid off will she have to downsize her
apartment? Or worse, find a roommate? She takes a deep breath,
wondering if there’s a way she can facilely change the subject when,
much to her relief, George walks into the diner. He’s wearing a red
winter parka, which strikes both Elaine and Jerry as odd given that it’s
sixty degrees and sunny outside. He slides into the booth next to
Elaine, runs his hand across his bald head, and in a tone of existential
bereavement moans, “It’s not working for me Jerry, it’s just not
working.” “What is it that isn’t working?” “It all became very clear to
me that today the every decision I’ve made in my life has been wrong.
My life is the complete opposite of everything I want it to be. Every
instinct I have, whether it be something to wear, something to eat,
has been wrong…” Jerry and Elaine look at their friend, unsure of what
to say. At that moment one of the waitress approaches the table, gives
George a knowing look, and in her two pack a day voice says, “Tuna on
toast, coleslaw, cup of coffee?” George looks up at her, he’s about to
say yes when suddenly an alien impulse stops him. He crinkles his
forehead and says, “No. I always have tuna on toast. Nothing has ever
worked out for me with tuna on toast…” The waitress, looking slightly
bemused by George's neurotic tone, pulls the pencil from behind her
ear and the order pad from her apron pocket. “I want the complete
opposite of tuna on toast. Chicken salad… on rye… untoasted… with a
side of potato salad… and a cup of tea!” The waitress scribbles this
down, gives a quick nod, and hurries back towards the kitchen.
Elaine, shaking her head and laughing, says “Well, there’s no telling
what will come of this.” Jerry is half-smiling, his elbow propped up on
the table, his hand holding his chin. “Let me ask you something
George, do you think nothing is something?” George stares back at
Jerry silently, not sure how to respond. Elaine grabs a hold of George’s
arm, squeezing it with a measure of alarm and says, “George,”
pointing toward the bar, “that woman keeps looking at you.” George
looks in the direction of her point at the tall, thin, blonde woman in a
powder blue dress, her long alabaster legs extending down to a pair
of black spike-heeled shoes. “So?” George says, and Elaine, in a tone
of gentle encouragement responds, “So go talk to her.” George rolls his
eyes – his friend should know by now that his uneasiness in crowds
and lack of self-confidence renders such a suggestion as erroneous.
“Well here’s your chance to try the opposite,” Jerry interjects, “instead
of tuna salad and being intimidated by women; chicken salad and
walking right up to them. If every instinct you have is wrong then the
opposite would have to be right.” George leans back, smirks, “You’re
right,” he tugs on the lapels of his parka adjusting it to his shoulders,
“normally I would sit here and do nothing and regret it for the rest of
the day, so now I will do the opposite and I will do something!” With
that he jumps to his feet, and with an unshakeable pit of trepidation
being to cross the dirty dinner floor toward the leggy blond. The walk
was only several feet, but somehow that expanse felt much greater,
recalling the nervousness with which he would cross a middle school
gymnasium floor to ask one of the girls to dance. “Excuse me,” he said
to the blonde, feeling like he had an anvil crushing down on his chest,
“I couldn’t help but notice that you were looking in my general
direction,” She smiles, pushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear
and through her red lipstick lips says, “Yes. You just ordered the same
exact lunch as me.”
I remember when I was at the concert.
I could feel the tsunami of the crowd
As the headliner started.
Nothing to hear but screaming and music.
Electricity shot through the veins of all,
Some intoxicated, some not
we all feel the same musical passion.
The time of excitement was now.
Pit after pit of swarms engulf the crowd.
Sucking in the unexpected but willing.
But to protect a friend,
I was a fortress against the mob.
Listening to the music, the lights flashed.
and from nowhere known,
A natural weapon struck my face.
Turning around, feeling no pain,
But assured of the severity
by the river of blood I unwillingly donated.
Into the washroom, I stumbled.
Blood mixing with the nectar of life.
Outside to the medic I casually waltzed.
Swollen eyes, nose, and disappointment.
Hearing the music from outside the hall,
my heart dropped, I blew the plans of fun.
But never fear, new friends are made.
The blood stops its own current,
and memories are established.
Stories to tell in the future.
We are trapped in bubbles of our own kind
that have similar faces, tastes and a mind.
What if we never seek what we shall find?
What if love was blind?
We will smash the bubbles
and climb over the walls,
clear the hurdles
and graffiti the halls.
Whatever action we have to take
for these borders to easily break.
Love and compassion know no boundaries.
everything has wilted around me
the air has become cold and stiff
and wind cuts deep into my chest
the same way your words have.
i bury my face deeper into the sheets
i tuck my fists in tight above my forehead
as if to plunge the tears from my eye sockets.
my phone is on but i will not respond
i do not know what to say
my thoughts are barren like the world outside
and every last leaf has fallen and decayed
there is no trace of life or the love that bloomed
from spring to summer.
it always surprises me to see
the change in seasons,
and the reason i will not answer you
is the same reason the snow falls
the ponds have frozen over
and the trees are empty.
everything ends in silence and isolation
what makes you think i would be different?
the belief in you has died in me.
Your flaws, failings,
spread before me like jewels of
impossible wealth, your face,
just shy of handsome, an intimate picture
of unfortunate health,
eyes like unwashed seashore stones,
flesh whiter than bleached-dry bones -
alluring in spite of all ill.
Oddly, the imperfection in you
has perfected my attraction,
through and through.
I would run naked in nature for you,
break laws and through doors
blocked with steel for you,
knowing full well you would never
fight for forever for me.
Falling in love is the greatest pity;
it makes a monster of you, and a mouse of me,
echoes somewhere between my ears,
your voice, with the weight of
intervening years, the hope for you that
still could not subdue my
that you might love another
harder, greater, than you loved me.
That the future cracks the seal
set for destiny.
Counting on fingers
past loves that were real,
ones that betrayed what
I thought I could feel,
using your eyes to see reality
while abusing your hands
in forfeit of fantasy.
Your body does not fit mine.
Your ego has outgrown your spine.
I will not go your way.
I will not give you another second
of my strained adoration.
I will become so small
that you won't be able to see me at all.
Calm tranquility is me
Still searching for that ecstasy
Oh how I know summer will bring it within
Saving me from a life of sin
Euphoric behaviour euphoric eyes
Look real deep and you'll find no lies
A true spirit is thy way of motion
To save myself from unneeded commotion
The breath in is equal to the breath out of air
Can't you see I long for a heartfelt stare
Now I've been through my drugs to which I'm now at psychedelics
Cause I feel they are useful like the most highs relics
Searching for a soul with the same outlook on life
Avoiding all that anti-pineal gland strife
Third eye visions which are beautiful and true
Real sight of life just for you
Going to upload my poems onto this site I've just found
Hopefully someone will notice my ongoing sound
Peace from me who loves to hug trees
And has beautiful creatures landing on me like the buzzy little bees
Deep meditation is where I find myself a lot
Must of all started when I saw Buddha and smoked a lot of pot
Hopefully I will be with a cat tonight
Dimension keepers which they are with their sight
Crossing your path means they saving you from bad
Cause they know what will make you happy and what will make you sad
Her look is holding
Her dreary and depressed eyes digging into me, perplexing
The scarlet red rose petals that ring around her pupils entrance me
She stands tall, strong and contained
Strong like the world trade before it was struck down against it's will
She's only awaiting her time
She puts on a good act
Nobody can tell that
Behind her strength and pseudo-bliss hides a lifetime of sadness and self-hatred
The perpetual clock dictating her existence ticks endlessly until she too falls to the ground
Masks her bottomless pool of insecurities with a smile
Compensating for them with a false ego the size of the sun
Acts like she is better than everyone
But she knows that she's not
Her mind set on keeping all the feelings hidden
She rejects help
Neglects the ones who care
Thinks she can do it all by herself
But we know that she can't
Her wrists full of scars and regret
Her eyes like an endlessly flowing water fountain
Caught in a recurring state of despair
Despite all the people who love and who care
"Everyday is a battle", I tell her, hoping that she will open to me
"And it's mine to fight", she replies aggresively
I try to share with her my days
I subtlely urge her to do the same
I want to help her heart to mend
So all her hate and pain can end.
I am like the graffiti covering the pavement in fast paced cities.
never seemed to see much more than a mistake,
something that needs to be erased.
always pointing out my many flaw,
somethings were better never done at all,
traced along my faded stains,
of long hard water rains
tried to figure out my every meaning,
but moved on when they realized I needed cleaning
I am like the discarded newspaper from yesterday,
Often left in strange musty coffee shops,
by people who never really, stopped,
to look to closely at the words that defined me
I wished I had a bold title that made you want turn the page,
to try to solve my many puzzles,
I longed to be read,
but instead it was if I was written in erased lead
I am like the voice of a worn singer,
with one last song to sing before the bar lights fade,
because as lonely as it is no one ever stays,
to hear the last lines,
taking us back through all of those times,
eventually silence is the only song left to sing to,
it tends to be the only song people listen to.
I am like the graffiti covering the pavement in fast paced cities.
Never quite blending to my ever changing background,
One day an artist happened to pass by,
intrigued by my every curve and line,
fascinated with the weathered paint
that was me
One night while the city slept the artist,
filled in all the chipped gaps with new paint,
adding brighter colors to all of my dull spots
The artist changed the way I hung on the wall,
but really he taught me that I had been art after all
I am like the discarded newspaper from yesterday,
Filled with stories from the past,
One day a business man stopped to pick me up,
He read my stories from cover to cover,
and even kept me in his briefcase,
to take out during his laze,
to reread the comics,
that kept him laughing for days.
The businessman changed my story,
but really he taught me that the words written weren't boring
I am like the voice of a worn singer,
unheard by listeners,
One night a dark figure,
took a seat in the very back
and stayed all throughout
just to hear my voice crack,
and when it was finally time to go,
he came out of the dark only to say,
“Will you please sing that again?”
The dark figure kept me singing,
but most of all he taught me that someone was listening
(Please Read the note at the bottom)
Desert thy land, lay waste to haven
Spread thy sorrow, hath not to save him
Keep to willow with sunlight pourn
To mild temptation, mild scorn.
Keep she beauty to dusk by horse
Laying down to things by force
Stragling victor selfless mind
Keep to you hath truth hath lied.
By crowd by storm, stream agony pride
Thy land be beut for non to side
To side with hatred, iron blade
To mate and bring yet nothing fade.
She whispers deadly night to dark
Seeping mind of man to spark
Keeping kings and fellow courtly
Stranger too by fire nightly.
And taketh she to highest land
For mighty justice lays thy hand
For she hath strewn for kingdoms come
And taketh non, but frighten some.
The day of dawn, sun rise, sun set
To we thine preach to no regret
King be praised, devil blundered
Simple tricks to thy hath sundered.
Keep to crop to peasant prowl
Marking down thy land to dowl
Father pray to thine above
Graceful metaphoric love.
Final night be cold and dreary
Sight like eagle, keep to query
Dance thy drunkard, feed to Summer
Hapless end to what doth shown her.
doesn't cure blues
it starts them
indie music in the rain
indie music standing in trains
indie music for the deranged
indie music for the off-genre-ed
indie music for the off-centered
indie music for mis-fits
that aren't actually
indie music for the masses
indie music with glassless
indie music for the misunderstood
or maybe that's all music...
“I would rather play roles that carry conviction.
Maybe it’s because they’re the easiest and yet
the hardest things for me to do.”
—Peg Entwistle, Oakland Tribune, 1929
A hammer of teak and brass rail;
imagine it’s September 1932
and you haven’t worked since Broadway.
Wouldn’t you sit and just get drunk?
Tell your folks you’re meeting friends
in a drugstore on Beechwood Dr.
Then beeline up the trail to Mt. Lee?
Imagine the black fry of manure
and gardenias. All them crickets.
L.A.’s bristling dark and yellow
like a dying bumblebee’s hide.
Downhill through hosiery and scrub
To HOLLYWOODLAND and up the first
few rungs of a workman’s ladder,
you see your face in a small ravine.
Do you fall backwards or forwards
off the ‘H’; prefer it for its sigh—
in some quarters, not pronounced at all—
Or simply jump? One day vies
against the next and for every kernel
of untruth, you’re just like a rosary bead.
Your own ghost will call it through
and two policemen make the find. Face down.
Well-dressed. Shoes and jacket in a parcel.
You took my hand and lead me down
to the deepest depths of my soul
You showed me who I really am
And the things I'm capable of
You forced me to see
Just how hard I could fight
To silence your demons
That hold me so tight
I fight to stay focused
I fight to stay calm
I fight to keep myself sane
I fight to trust people, including myself
And I fight to forget your name
I'll never forget the day I found out
That everything you said was a lie
I'll never forget the feeling I had
Of wanting to curl up and die
The childish games you played with my heart
Left it a broken mess
I fight to forget you ever existed
And release the pain from my chest
I fight to be trusting
I fight to be fair
I fight to forget the pain
I fight for the chance to let myself feel
And I fight to forget your name
Help me to see
Why you did this to me
What about me led you here
I don't understand,
Forgiveness be damned,
Why you worked for all my tears
Maybe some day you'll meet a sweet girl
And she'll make you feel happy and whole
I hope, if you do, she rips your heart out
And shows you the depths of your soul
Then you'll see why the battle I fight
Is a painful and exhausting ordeal
You'll see how numb the pain can make you
And you'll fight just to be able to feel
You'll fight to feel normal
You'll fight to feel calm
You'll fight to keep yourself sane
You'll fight to know why this happened to you
And you'll fight to forget her name
My senses remember it
better than my
and maybe it's the memory
of you that's lead me back
to this place. Where my skin
shakes like small coils of wire
shot with electricity
but it's a nervous,
nerve reflex and not proof
that I'm alive
my limbs hanging like
the branches of a
a cool breeze
I always felt new with
winter. Ice beneath
my feet. Itchy woollen
jumpers and the smell
but you stole my seasons
the way you stole my
heart and now a cold
breeze sends me into
dirty footprints on
dead ground. Black
coats and boots
and the smell of your
body, missing, and
the sound of my neck,
caressed by a white scarf,
Surprise looked me in the eye, an instant rush,
One moment that was purely innocent.
Surprise swooned me into arms, bore open,
Multiple moments that were so naive.
Surprise betrayed me in the beginning,
In that moment, after years of artful diversions,
Surprise was forgiven.
This first love, puppy love, three years it took.
Three years it took me to realize what one song,
Spit in seconds less than just three minutes.
(non-poetic rant, just bear with me, too many concerned people on other sites)
I know now, despite every other outcome or possibility that my thoughts stirred up, that it never really mattered whether I truly forgave you or not, you knew that you had leverage over me because of how I felt for you. You knew that no matter what I did, however hard I tried to push you away, that if I got a call that you had been hurt or were going to end up being hurt that I would be there no matter what. That power was something that you used against me to keep me around. People may not have "magic" but they sure do have power. I made a mistake by staying involved with someone who would toy with my emotions, and it took me a damn long time to realize that I hadn't been thinking properly. It literally took removing myself entirely and then some time after that to really grasp everything that had happened between us. Although, that being finally said, I do not regret the fact that that had happened, and it wasn't entirely miserable. I learned a lot from you, about myself, the universe, and anything in between. I do not regret having done the unthinkable in forgiving you because I wouldn't have had that experience. I wish the best for you, and I will be a friend, but you have to understand why I cannot ever lose footing on my stance again, not with you at least. So for today, just let sleeping dogs lie and let guard dogs be. For tomorrow, one may not know for certain, but what I do know is that I don't want to worry about tomorrow until tomorrow.
Sincerely, a love that was never meant to be.
With graceful strategy the circling hawk
Whips my circling sorrow to dive and strike;
Indiscrete for action the poison oak
Thrusts up her flushed face for attack
Lizards and herbs and flowers admonish me,
Strict in their innocence: I am cowardly,
Nor will the mourning-dove condone my fault
Who breasts all hazard for a humble scrap
And when she coos courts punishment. My guilt
Is obvious, and I cannot escape.
It happened in the blink of a weary old eye.
The flutter of an admirals wings.
It was never remembered, but never to die.
Like rain that falls to the grace of the sea.
It was when he took shore leave in Java.
Under tropical skies and thunderous clouds.
When the Devil brushed passed his shoulder,
then melted away back into the crowd.
He knew he'd been touched by evil.
As the hairs on his neck stood like soldiers in line.
Ready for their execution.
Ready for their turn to return to light.
And as he stood there frozen,
not sure where to turn, not sure what to do.
A whisper he heard beside him,
"Cursed young soul, I have something for you."
"Your path has been crossed by dark forces,
yes darker than night and blacker than coal.
But I have always been waiting,
to show you the light, to deliver your soul."
"There's been times in your life when you've faltered.
I'm not here to judge, as every man falls.
But this is when evil tries alter,
all our desires, our one true call.
It sows the seeds of doubt and fear,
and mixes it with hate.
But now's the time to listen child,
for this is not your fate."
"Now's the time to listen child,
before now is too late."
In the Fall, when the temperature of the Bay would drop and the wind blew ice, frost would gather on the lawn near Henry Gondel's room. It was not a heavy frost, but one that just covered each blade of grass with a fine, white, almost dusty coat. Most mornings, he would stumble out of the garage where he slept and tip toe past the ice speckled patch of brown and green spotted grass, so to make his way inside to relieve himself. If he was in no hurry, he would stand on the four stepped stoop and look back at the dried, dead leaves hanging from the wiry branches of three trees lined up against the neighbors fence. The seen was reminiscent of old gallows. Henry Moore had been living this routine for 20 some odd years
He had moved to California with his mother, father, and three brothers 35 years ago. Henry's father, born and raised in Tijuana, Mexico, had traveled across the Meixcan border with his wife, Betria Gonzalez and the three kids. They were all mostly babies then and none of the brothers claimed to remember anything, except one, Leo, said there was "A lotta dust in the car." Santiago Gondel, San for short, had fought in World War II and died of cancer ten years later. Henry had never heard his father talk about fighting or the war. If he was lucky to hear anything, it would have been when San was dead drunk and not paying very much attention to anyone, anyway.
"San loved two things in this world," Henry would say, "Booze and Johnny Cash.
Betria Gonzalez grew up in Tijuana, Mexico as well. Santiago met her through a friend and after a couple of dates, they were married. There is some talk of a dispute among the two families, that they didn't agree to the marriage and that they were too young, which they probably were. But, Santiago being Santiago, chose not to listen to anybody and only to his heart. They were married in a small church outside of town overlooking the Pacific. Betria told the kids that the waves thundered and crashed against the rocks that day and the sea looked endless. There were no pictures taken and only three people were at the ceremony: Betria, San, and the priest.
Of course, the four boys went to elementary and high school, and, of course, none of them went to college. One brother moved down to LA and eventually started working for a law firm doing their books. Another got married at 20 years old and was in and out of the house until getting under the wing of the union, doing construction and electrical. The third followed suit. Henry Moore, after high school, stayed put. Nothing in school interested him. Henry only liked what he could get into after school. The people of the streets were his muse, leaving him with the tramps, the dealers, the struggling restaurant owners, the laundry mat lingerers, the cops, the addicts, the gang bangers, the bible humpers, window washers, the jesus freaks, the EMT's, the old ladies pushing salvation, the guy on the corner and the guy behind the black, grated fence, and the DOA's. Henry didn't have much time for anyone else after them.
Henry Gondel looked at himself in the mirror. The light was off and the room was dim, but sunlight streaked in through the blinds from outside, reflecting into the mirror and onto Henry's face. He was short, 5' 2'' or 5' 3'' at most with stubby, skinny legs, and a wide, barrel shpaed chest. Somehow, his pants were always one or two inches below his waistline, so the crack of his ass would constantly peek out. Henry's deep, chocolate colored hair was that of an ancient Native American, long and nearly touching the tip of his belt if he stood up straight. No one knew how long he had been growing it out for. No one knew him any other way. He would comb his hair incessantly: before and after a shower, walking around the house, watching television with Betria on the couch, talking to friends when they came by, and when he drove to work, when he had it.
Normal work, nine to five work, did not work for Henry. "I need to be my own boss," he'd say. With that fact in place, Henry turned to being a handy man, roofing, and construction. No one knew where he would get the jobs that he would get, he would just have them one day. And whenever he 'd finish a job, he'd complain about how much they'd shorted him, soon to move on to the next one. Henry never had to listen to anyone and, most of the time, he got free lunches out of it. It was a very strange routine, but it worked for him and Betria had no complaints as long as he was bringing some money in and keeping busy. After Santiago died, she became the head of the house, but really let her boys do whatever they wanted.
Henry took a quick shower and blow dried his hair, something he never did unless he was in a hurry. He had a job in the east bay at a sorority house near the Berkley campus. At the table, he ate three leftover chicken thighs, toast, and two over easy eggs. Betria was still in bed, awake and reading. Henry heard her two dogs barking and scratching on her bedroom door. He got up, combing his damp hair, tugging and straining to get each individual knot out. When he opened the door, the smaller, thinner one Boy Boy, shot under his legs and to the front door where his toy was. The fat, beige pig-like one waddled out beside Henry and went straight for its food bowl.
"Good morning," said Henry to Betria.
Betria looked at Henry over her glasses, "You eat already?"
"Yep," he announced, "Got to go to work."
"That's good. Dondé?" Betria looked back down at her spanish TV guide booklet.
"Berkley somewhere," Henry said, bringing the comb smoothly down through his hair.
"That's good, that's good."
"OK!" Henry sighed loudly, shutting the door behind him. He walked back to the dinner table and finished his meal. Then, Betria shouted something from her room that Henry couldn't hear.
"What?" asked Henry, yelling so she could hear him over the television. She shouted again, but Henry still couldn't hear her. Henry got up and went back to her room, dirty dish in hand. He opened her door and looked at her without saying anything.
"Take the dogs out to pee," Betria told him, "Out the back, not the front."
"Yeah," Henry said and shut the door.
"Come on you dogs," Henry mumbled, dropping his dish in the sink. Betria always did everyones dishes. She called it "her exercise."
Of cold air
and gloomy clouds
Such darkness on it
It let go the rain
Like the girl I see
Seating next her paper
Ripping the pages
out of melancholy
Down her face
Night castling a paradise
And seeking refuge with dreaming.
I saw the girl
Writing in pain
Howling because of
And all her hopes drained
I saw the girl
Staring back at me in the mirror.
Ripped ribbons scattered aimlessly,
with fractured cups, dirt and dust
pink pearly acetone just won't be enough
to erase the evidence of you.
With forced confessions,
spilled out all past indiscretions,
and cursed vindications and blood
splattered like a musty revenge.
Hand print caresses that show
Polaroid prints all faded and jaded
like the illusion of us.
It was desperate fingers
that clung to the railings
but the force of gravity meant I had to let go.
Hope had revived me
Like water to my parched throat
my oasis is the desert
All my horrid words were revoked.
Yet nothing will ever be enough
to surgically remove
our open bleeding wounds.
I must tend to the injured,
Leave alone the wielder
Knife still in hand
How did it come to this?
I missed your voice
so much it made me cry
yet after I heard
it made everything worse
Mourning a loss that was not mine
I still love you
but it burns
until I have to take my hand off
the all consuming flame.
My teardrops cannot pay the price,
or eradicate the past in peoples minds
Will I forever be beholden to this guilt that now defines me?
Too many skin graphs to hide the scarred tissue underneath.
All paths lead me back to here.
I'm helpless to watch your ghost
Linger,you still linger.
They all have the right lines
But it doesn’t taste as sweet
Rolling off their lips
They call me sexy and gorgeous
But it isn’t as flattering
As when hearing ‘you’re beautiful’
They all have the right moves
But they have their own rhythms
That don’t sync with mine
They pick up on the things I like
But they don’t make anything of it
To remind me that they still notice
They all have the right ambitions
But they have their own agendas
That are opposite of mine
They like the things that I like
But never the little things
That mean the most to me
They all have the right reasons
But they don’t have the safety
That gives me comfort to approach
They all have the things I should want
But they just don’t measure up
To all that they should be worth
They don’t stare into my eyes,
Smiling, with admiration and intrigue
They don’t find subtle ways to compliment,
Their own way of flattering me
They don’t call me “young lady,”
Make me smile for no reason, laugh without trying
They don’t keep me coming back for more,
The sarcasm, kindness, the ease of being myself
They don’t give me the nervous feeling,
Make me clam up, make me happy, all at once
They don’t give me a fire to ignite, to pick the pen up
Be the fictional character in a story inspired by them
They don’t see my insecurities, the flaw in personality
Try to make it beautiful, dare me to embrace them.
They have it all,
But they’re just not you.
I could have him,
But he’s just not you.
Don't you dare
give me that stare
act like you care
You don't have the right to pretend
that in the end
You like me for my hands
As much as you just wanted to fuck me.
So don't hold my hand and talk to me like this
don't try to make me believe in the magic that doesn't exist
that when we were together you felt genuine bliss
like in the vast moments when our hands intertwined
you ever wanted to be mine
or that you'd ever let me define
as anything more than a static rhythm and rhyme
as anything more than a business exchange
or a game
i give you my feelings and you don't feel the same
it's not too late you haven't placed your bet
on how many months it'll take for you to get to my bed
get inside my head
all of the time i wasted for you is over
all of the feelings i hid away
all of the breath you took away
as i waited for you to text me hey
you've made me numb
stand in the line of other guys who've given me some
taken me under angel wings and deceived me
but this time I see
I don't trust your magic arms anymore
your fantastical eyes don't take me hostage anymore
and the emptiness i felt after i was filled with you inside me
never to trust
someone who tries to hold your hands
when they can't hold your words
you're a mastermind magician
you've helped me stop belieivng in the magic
i know magic behind love
and i don't believe in magic anymore
you shouldnt have to force a man to think about his life
but the times are gone when thinking men were thought about as right
the fear of the thoughtful man is rife
in a world where ignorance keeps dominations grip tight
We writers are insane.
All of us.
We revel in our own sad mess
While picking green grapes
Off the wallpaper,
Smecking away like mad
At the wondrous juices
Of the imaginary, judicial
We, like Hemingway,
Take our scotch in the morning
And our gin at night
And try with brutal, lashing effort
To make it through
We have put ourselves in shoes
We will never be able to walk in.
We must walk miles as
AIDS sufferers, as
Brutalizers of women.
We must deal with their pain
As if it were housed in our own entity of being.
J.D. Salinger wrote that
His literary son, Holden,
Wore a “people-shooting” hat and
Made it damn clear that he suffered from wild
And erratic fits of overwhelming depression.
Writing from a bunker
Far from his wife, kids and home,
His stories sparked murder in the hearts
Of already oppressed men
With “people-shooting” hats of their own.
We must toil with language;
Put it in the corner,
Love it, hate it,
Shift it and slave daily with it.
We must lose hours upon hours upon
Days of sleep
Before we find ourselves
Dangerously asleep at the wheel in front of us
In order to make the slightest change in our regular ways.
Our handwriting only becomes sloppier
And our words,
Kaysen, alone in a psych ward
With women who slept around and
Tried to maul each other,
To try to release the the demon
Boiling the very blood inside her veins.
But demons do not disappear easily
Neither do the tortuous memories.
They attempt to label me
With words of the disturbed.
Floods my synapses and neurons.
Happily urinates on my serotonin levels.
I bring myself to write
The effigy of the psycho
Day by day
As my pen scratches paper
And the doctors expect razor to scratch skin
Though it never has
And never will.
Writers are psychos.
We all are.
We remain the mad, psychotic, literate monsters
Who worm our ways
Into your head.
We nestle beside your dreams and fantasies,
Waiting to strike
And tear them apart or,
If you’re lucky,
Build them up.
A woman writer named Sylvia
Once put her head in the oven
Because the writer-demons were driving her to madness
And they wouldn’t leave her be.
Handling us is a torture
Only the most eloquent and experienced reader
I see sword in the eyes,
Demons in the skies
Love are lies
Innocent stare are darker guise
Those smiles are lies
They are nothing more than rotted corpse flies
Are those the beautiful skies
Or are the swords in my eyes.
I wasn't taking advantage of her vulnerability.
It certainly was not a pity fuck.
She was crying, and clinging.
It was the only way I knew of
To make her feel good.
To give her a release.
Does that make me a good man?
What makes a man?
I don't know.
It is never an issue,
Until it is uttered out loud.
Now we both know
That she will open her legs before she opens her heart.
I'll told her that is stupid,
And that she is not stupid,
But still beautiful.
Does that make me a good man?
What makes a man?
I don't know.
I'd make her mine if I could.
As far as she's concerned,
She belongs to the weeds on her front lawn.
And her father told her no matter how pretty it looks,
It will always be bad,
It will always be toxic inside
She never got over that.
So now she looks very pretty,
But she fills herself with vodka and cocaine and all things
Dear Flawless Fairy,
I write to You with good and bad news
First of all, on a positive note,
You are the moon
I can't tell You how great it feels
To finally find You
My sunshine saunter
Was a worthless wander
Before Your cool caress
Graced my heart
Now for the negative,
I no longer feel sad and blue
I know this sounds like I didn't lose and
But now I cannot write my frowns down
I only smile because You make everything worthwhile
I used to pen depression on paper
With sarcastic laughter pretending I enjoyed it
But I didn't
Though I wrote such heavy heartache
I couldn't wait for my clouds to break
Allowing me to shine on
Your beautiful face
So I regret to inform you all
I won't be pouring my tear filled soul out anymore
I know how much you enjoyed the pain
But I can't help but refrain from these failed feelings
I don't believe in them
I've been moonstruck at midnight
She once was crescent and
Now is full of my bright
I once was clouded and
Now She reflects my light
Back upon me
I'm so happy :)
She is my beautiful celestial body
She is my elegant flawless fairy <3
He didn't wait to say good bye it was easy to run and forget about everything.promise made were never kept it was lie after lie.an other text message to say he can not see me this weekend.
To busy drinking beer all night long my heart was breaking.dads don't hurt you or say you were a mistake that he can not change.i cried he laughed my heart became so cold.
As he walked away he didn't look back not even once I guess he will ruin someone else life.some day he will think about the things he did he'll be alone.drink to forget its all act as if I don't exist.
When I look back I don't cry any more thank you for making me a fighter.each day I get stronger while he grows weaker by the week.walking away was the best thing he did.
I've been waking to the sudden throes of the intense sadness in morning sunlight, as if there was a darkness to the previous breaths shared with a being I was meant to want, and want I do still, yet this being is a shadowy spell, or a glare on glass, a glimpse of all my dreamt desires, and somehow also, my attempted reality; somehow also, my doorway to my deserved insanity. A wholeness in this I cannot find, fight for, grasp, seek through endless search, this is somehow not my choice, nor my alleviation, not when all the moves somehow belong to him, all accepted actions, all verified decisions, his, all words to make sense, his, but not mine, never mine, a voiceless, stuttering, yet adoring loving womanly shape, always I. Never was my static so ensured, never was my strong voice so bottled up and stored away, like a mime locked up in a tower, in so many ways.
Visitors had flown back home...
The much-longed for respite
Finally, was at hand.
It felt good...to be on your own...
Leaning on the bed, alone, though
Still nursing a cold from two weeks past.
To catch up with sleep
Was all that mattered.
Quietude was a blessing.
There was no noise at all
At 5:00 in the morning.
What? 5:00 AM?
No rushing footsteps? No showering?
No flushing of the toilet?
On a school day?
This can't be!
Rising from the bed was a struggle,
Everything seemed light...floating,
Panic lurked in all corners of my room,
Loomed, it did, and spread all around,
In the midst of a widening cloak of fear.
The vacuum...in the right ear...
Cleared those fuzzy thoughts.
My right ear could no longer hear.
Whether lying cringed or curled,
Prostrate, or supine,
Predominated in the days that followed.
Diagnoses and prognoses, all were bleak.
The cruel, deadly virus did it all...
The loss superceded, and
Displaced every strand of confidence...
A downward pull was imminent.
No phone calls were accepted.
Unexpectedly, true colors surfaced,
Real friends came forward...
Family, other voices kept whispering:
"Shibashi waits, tai chi helps,
Both can alleviate, heal the heart,
Heal the mind, to be able
To accept the unacceptable."
Fourteen days seemed a year already,
Moments spent in soul-searching...
With prayers and courage, gathered within,
I dared cross that busy street,
Though shaking, quivering from fear
And from the cold winds of February...
Almost got hit by a car,
Cursed by its driver,
But reached the church grounds in one piece.
Practice started at 7:00 AM, sharp.
Movements were calming,
Concentration was perfect!
It was a sunny day...
Wind blew softly,
Carrying small things, floating, flying...
Tiny strips that went with the wind...
What I thought were garbage...
Strips of thrash paper... from a shredder, maybe...
Thrown from a house I passed by...
Blown even further, higher up...
I walked back home,
With strips of paper on my head.
Two weeks were too short, I was still confused,
Unaccepting, mad, sad, felt cheated,
Still in denial, of what had occured...
Standing in front of a vanity mirror,
Wondering what God's message was this time.
Strangely, I thought of those strips of thrash paper...
Confetti from Heaven???
My situation wasn't a festive event!
Could I have overlooked something here?
Was God trying to call my attention?
I wasn't sure...all I knew was,
I was depressed...
I lost equanimity, I lost my serenity...
I was distraught, I was everything but happy.
But, those strips of paper...
Falling on my head...
Made me look up to the sky that morning....
There were no tears before, and even today...
I am a bit afraid, but
There is a calmer me...
There is solace in the fact that,
God gave me two ears...
I could still hear with the other...
I live a quite active life 'til now...
I move briskly...
I sit where the speaker's voice is most clear
To my left ear.
When something is difficult to hear, or understand,
I get so frustrated..
Sometimes, I forget about it,
It has its good effects.
It would soon be seven years after...
I have learned to
adjust to my limitations,
And still wanting to know how to overcome
Or resolve these limitations...
One day, I might just...
One day, I might just
Accept what should be accepted...
There'd be much gratitude for my sole request:
To be understood...
And not pitied...
Early morning ,December 11, 2013
(From journals of 2007-2008)
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Lydia is quiet
going down the slope
by Arrol House
Benedict says nothing
he thinks it best
to let her brood
until she’s ready
he's seen it
in the films before
where the female
opposite the cowboy
has her moods
or quiet times
and the cowboy
lets her get on with it
while he rides off
into the sunset
to fight the bad guys
or have a shot
of Red Eye
in the bar in the town
watching the dancers
on the makeshift stage
he gives Lydia
a side on gaze
her straight hair
her dress is creased
and the cardigan
has a hole
in the elbow
they walk up
towards Draper Road
by the blocks of flats
were rowing last night
something to do
or the lack of it
I could gather
through the bedroom door
lying in the dark
seeing the thin line
from the other room
the old man hates
his best suits
and brown shoes
saw something odd
Lydia says suddenly
looking at Benedict
odd? what was odd?
her thin hands
the nails chewed
my big sister
and her man friend
your sister's always odd
she made me sleep
in the tiny cot bed
which I haven't done
for years as its
too small for me really
she made me sleep there
so she and her man friend
could sleep there
he's been turned out
of his digs
as he calls them
and Mum didn't like
the idea but Dad
in his usual drunken state
said O let him stay
a few days
until he gets himself
so there am I
stuck in the cot bed
over the ends
just about room for me
except my backside
when I turn over
than a cold backside
after the lights were out
and she thought
I was asleep
I heard this noise
like squashy sound
and I lay there
with my eyes open
at the dark shapes
these odd sounds
and the giggles
and snorts and such
Benedict gazes at her
her thin lips
like the goldfish
he had which fell
into the sink
out of the fish bowl
and its tiny mouth
upon the wet
then the bed springs
were going gong gong
as if they were dead
and I never got
to sleep in the end
what with them
and the cold
on my backside
and the trains
the railway bridge
and the shunting
of coal wagons
so you're tired
that’s why you
were quiet just now
thought I'd done
when I first met you
outside your flat
and you came out
with a face
and they walk along
to the Penny shop
where he treats her
to a penny pop drink
fruit salad sweets
and they stand
by the penny
ball game machine
on the wall
and watch some kid
press the buttons
and the ball
until it disappears
in a slot
and Lydia thinks
sipping her drink
are an odd lot.
You know something happened
When every teacher walks into the hall
And a shared, scared glance sweeps across everyone
When your friend walks into the room and tells you
And the teacher brings you into class of strangers
To tell you how much you mean to her.
You know something happened
When she starts crying and telling you
That she can't sugarcoat it even if she wanted to
And when you walk into your next class
And the room is silent
But the teacher didn't tell them to be.
And when there is a staff member at every corner
And when there is silence in the halls
And how you didn't even know him
But it makes you sad as well.
And how every stranger to walk in the building
Could feel the tension in the air
And how you turn the corner and see your youth pastor
And how you can't even tell your best friend how you feel
And how the silence shows you that through tragedy,
We are one.
And how the silence told me that we unite through feeling,
An unspoken feeling,
A silent tribute throughout the halls
Throughout the day.
And how you see the sadness, the tissues and hugs,
And how you wonder if that's how he felt
Before it happened
Before any of us felt this way
And you wonder if he felt this feeling
The beautiful high school quarterback
With everything seemingly perfect
And you wonder if he felt this way-
1) I am soft sand between your toes
2) I am the essence of sunshine
3) I am breathing for you
4) I am made of lithium; I spread to you
5) I am filled with stardust
6) I am strawberry white sheets fresh from the dryer
7) I am the ocean when you are sad; i envelop you into my arms
8) I am wrong.
9) I am not the ocean.
10) I am not your happiness.
11) I am your misery
12) I am the gun you used to kill
13) I am a knife you shed your blood
14) I am the darkness; wretched in your soul
15) I am fire. I burn you when we touch
16) I am the ashes that fill your chest.
17) I am the contaminated air that you breathe.
West reality made so
that people forced to consume
whatever material or unmaterial goods
here any protest is legalised
in form of demo
which is necessary surround by police
northeless there are people exist who are illegal
beside of refugees from east lands
there also socalled insane people
who are locked in closed loony bin
or hunted like amok
untill they really get insane
if you take separately each after other
their fate and observe it precise
you will find there all the evil of
what is the consequence of capitalism
which is so masterfully comuflaged in west
but since the victims, the renegades live on rand of society
no one ever take their lifes and deaths under lenses
feminists dont fight for the rights of the debased woman
in their neigbourhood
but just speculate about arbitrageness in Iran
not ever able to change something in afar lands
they simply ignore evil which happens beside them
every day, every night
there is pseudo-publicity in capitalism
since those who rebel against
become mostly so oppressed
that they never ever get any chance to
speak out loud
While those anarchists and punks
who squats in city and towns
will never give political asylum
to the one who's life circumtances
penetrate to be betrayed by friends
living on the streets and parks
and hunted by psychiatry
during anarchists and punks are not
real activists of underground
but just kind of subculture
which live quite comfortably in capitalism
it just funky to be anarchist or punk
and nobody knows how they will act
in critical situation
I lost my believe on socalled leftists
in fact they are same equal part of society
like bankers or yuppies
with a difference that they
pretend they still had some ideals!
Accordingly my individual struggle their claim
is nothing as fallacy
known to many
believed by the few as
whom believe? Whom with resist in action?
Where hides real iconoclasts?
So musical notes fall upon my heart like raindrops
I can only breath again when the music finally stops.
It moves my very being like a sunset on a summer night
but yet it leaves me frozen at a sudden dreamlike sight.
I feel each note as it patters gently on my heart
I hardly notice when it stops and when it will start.
It rips a scar across my weary soul but heals as it goes,
the energy I gather from the notes is easy to show.
I can climb a frightening mountain in the rain,
as long as I have the warming music to ease my pain.
We should all have notes that fall unto us in time
like words that always fall into sweet and dazzling rhyme.