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 Feb 2014
AntRedundAnt
I want to be right with you
I don’t know what to do

It’s time to put on my mask
The only way to face this task

I said that it would be like before

When we talk I try my best to smile
This pain I haven’t had in a while

It’s time to put on my mask
The only way to face this task

I lied so you’d miss my heart on the floor

It’s time to put on my mask
 Feb 2014
AntRedundAnt
Rain, rain
Go away
Come again
Some other day
For, you see
I cannot sleep
When all I hear
Are the tears you weep

The clouds, they moan
The thunder will groan
The lightning flash
Sleep makes a dash

The sad, sad sound
Of your rain
Only reminds me
Of my own pain
The love I knew
The love I long
Has left me empty
Forever gone

My heart doth cry
No emotion can lie
I feel no sleep
For now I, too, will weep
 Feb 2014
AntRedundAnt
Little Georgie Boy
At the age of thirteen
Met a fair, young Sally
She was as sweet as a toffee
And as polite as can be
But Little Georgie Boy
Thought he could do better
So he left fair, young Sally
And was once more free

Little Georgie Boy
At the age of thirty three
Met a small, brave Grace
She was as graceful as a dove
And as pretty as she was naïve
But Little Georgie Boy
Thought he could do better
So he left small, brave Grace
And was once more free

Little Georgie Boy
At the age of fifty
Met a tall, thin Liz
She was as musical as a songbird
And was welcoming, never bleak
But Little Georgie Boy
Thought he could do better
So he left tall, thin Liz
And was once more free

Little Georgie Boy
At the age of eighty
Met a dark, creepy Death
She was as silent as shadow
And as stubborn as a worker bee
Little Georgie Boy
Tried to outrun her
But Death was a lover
That would not let Little Georgie Boy be
 Feb 2014
AntRedundAnt
There has to be more to life than ***
If our purpose was to multiply
Wouldn’t we feel satisfied after getting laid?
There is no accomplishment in pleasing oneself
For the sake of pleasing oneself

There has to be more to life than work
If our purpose was to be successful
Wouldn’t we feel satisfied after reaching the apex of our careers?
There is no accomplishment in succeeding
For the sake of succeeding

Life is more than what it seems
It is an amalgamation of it all
But underlying it all is love
Love of others in our hearts and in our duties
If there was no such thing as love
Then there wouldn’t be more to life
 Feb 2014
AntRedundAnt
There is no room in the heart for hate
For it is already filled with love
To say otherwise is like saying a glass of water
Is actually filled with ash, which can clearly be dismissed as false
Like the ash, hate only brings sorrow and death
While the water, like love, brings joy and life
 Feb 2014
AntRedundAnt
Love is not a thing
It is not complete
It is not instant
Love is not right there

Love is many things
It is memories
It is building blocks
Love is put together

Love is like a flower
It is not the stem
It is not the leaves
Love is like the petals

The petals on a flower
Are what attract us
They make the flower what it is
There are many petals in a flower

Just like the petals
Memories and experiences
Are what makes love what it is
Distinguishable, yes, but more importantly
Love is love, and memories make it so

The sum of its parts
 Feb 2014
AntRedundAnt
How do I feel?
What do I do?
I know not what to say
When I’m around you

My words will tangle
My mind will race
And conversation
Becomes empty space

But at the same time
Whenever we speak
We’ve known each other forever
When we’ve really known each other a week

I know what I want
I know what I need
When I’m with you
I feel trapped, but free

I’m falling hard
I’m really scared
I care for you so
More than I prepared

I cannot breathe
I breathe anew
Cliché? It might be
But with you, it’s true

My thoughts you never leave
So my wish, my hope, my dream
If you would grant me serenity
If you would but be with me

If you would grant me serenity
If you would but be with me
 Feb 2014
AntRedundAnt
Red
Red, like her hair.
Not a natural red,
but it suited her better
than blonde ever did.
She caught me at a bad time
with those red lips of hers.
I wasn’t in love with her.
I was in love with her.
I don’t know if I’m in love right now;
I don’t know if I’m in love with her still.
Those red freckles.
That faux punk look.
You loved me.
I didn’t say it back.
I should’ve.
But I couldn’t.
You were my best friend.
I wish we were more then…and now.
I ****** up, Red.
I ****** up.
That’s what red means to me:
I ****** up.
 Feb 2014
AntRedundAnt
Her hair was long, brown, and wavy, like homemade brownies.
Her eyes were different shaped blues, lighter than sapphires.
Whenever she blinks, I look forward to seeing those sapphires again.
Her teeth are perfect imperfections, retainer and all.
Her bite is one of love but packs a punch.
Her nostrils flare when angry but remain miniscule.
Her mouth a light pink, like Starburst, my favorite by far.
Her smile brings me back from the darkness every. Single. Time.
Her tongue is exotic and playful, and I long for it.
I have never heard her whistle, but I know it like the back of my hand.
Her laugh is intoxicating and contagious; I find myself acting the fool just to hear it.
Then she coughed and I patted her baby back.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, we lie still, thus foreshadowing what will come.
Our arguments are stupid, but they happen nonetheless.
Her neck is thin and ripe for the taking.
Her *******, much like Goldilocks: not too big, not too small, but just right.
Her spaghetti arms flail about when I act the fool, and then that precious laugh again.
Her elbows are full of cream, and you will never find them itchy like mine.
Her wrists are disproportionately large for her size, which makes her all the more unique.
Her handshakes are delicate. Ladylike.
Her long and skinny fingers were weird to me once, but they have contracted and fit perfectly between mine.
Her palms tell the future, and she has great things in store for her.
Her thumbs have no story to tell, positive or negative.
Her shadow is smaller than hers, but no shadow can overcome her.
Her cats keep her company, but luckily we found each other.
Her heart is as big as her brain, and thankfully they mutually agree on most occasions.
Her ******* are stumpy and droopy; this is no Snow White fairytale.
Her shoulder blades are tense but minute.
Her belly button (an innie, not an outie, not an Audi) never collects ****.
Her private parts pulse like her heart above with passion.
Her backside is small and smooth. She has no hourglass figure, yet she does, too.
She has no stretchmarks in my mind, but I have enough for the both of us, anyways.
Her whole system is that of a heavyweight fighter; she’s a little spitfire.
Her legs are perfect and skinny; she has “the gap”, not that it matters.
Her knees buckle and wobble in my presence. I should know: mine do when she is near, too.
Her ligaments reinforce her, much like her willpower.
She has the calves of a dancer, but she has not trained in years.
The ***** of her feet are poised, ready to spring into action to tap tap tap away.
Her toes curl against mine, in an attempt to hold hands.
I have never seen her footprints, and I have no intention of ever seeing them. Ever.
Her promises elate me since I know she is good for her word.
Her one-liners are worse than mine, and I laugh all the harder for it.
Her grin, or rather her smirk, warms my heart like a furnace in the winter.
The last time we spoke, it was mumbled in bed, a hushed goodbye for that awful biology class.

She is my rock, ever leaning forwards
with nothing but my Dunder-Mifflin shirt to keep her warm for the foreseeable future.

I told her, Te amo,
well before she was ready to say that inane phrase back in English.
Inane since words do not do it justice.

But then she broke my heart.

My hair was tearing at the roots, unable to stay attached.
My eyes were set ablaze with passion anger, if it weren’t for my sorrow to drown it out.
Whenever I blink, I see a snapshot of what it was, what it cannot be, what it will never be again.
My teeth were her favorite: buck-toothed and all, but that was when I smiled. They hide from you.
My bite isn’t nearly as big as my bark, but do not tempt me.
My nostrils have hair creeping out; it’s hard to keep clean after something like that.
My mouth is louder than all my thoughts combined, but I still can’t find the right words to say.
And my smile would be what brought her back from the darkness every. Single. Time.
My tongue, like my private parts, is limp and dead; phallicly flaccid, there is no passion here.
I have never whistled, but why should I learn now? I keep quiet to quell the roar.
My laugh is contagious, or so they tell me. It’s high pitched. Effeminate.
I cough. I get stares. My cough makes you uncomfortable. Your infidelity makes me uncomfortable.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, I lie still, and for a minute, just a minute, I die. I’m at peace.
Our arguments were stupid, but now there’s nothing left to talk about.
My neck is fat and swollen. **** my thyroid. This vitamin D deficiency is taking its toll.
My ******* are fat, but a momma’s boy would be: too much in the trunk, not enough under the hood.
My arms are as big as her thighs. We measured. Maybe it gave her peace knowing she was small.
She tells me I have a black woman’s ***, and elbows, to boot. Not enough cream. Not enough carrots.
My wrists are the cankles of my life.
My handshake is firm, but is it firm enough?
My short and stubby fingers claw upwards, desperate for air. Her hands are nowhere to be seen.
My palms have no future, and I worry I’ll follow suit.
My thumbs tell all the best stories when joysticks are underneath them.
My shadow eclipses me. It’s not how you feel, it’s how you function.
I’ve never owned a pet. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel possessive.
My heart was full of love, but the love spilled out when you broke it on Friday, December 6th – Saturday, December 7th, 2013, 5:00 AM.
My ******* are tiny and ***** from the cold. I feel the cold indoors, too.
My shoulder blades are dull and sagging with the weight of my world on my shoulders.
My belly button (an innie, not an outie, not an Audi) collects all of the ****.
My private parts, like my tongue, are limp and dead; phallicly flaccid, there is no passion here.
My backside is large and rough. Are you getting the point?
I have all of the stretchmarks, for I am her antithesis.
My whole system is that of down and out former has been; I’m all out of gas.
My legs are thick and fat; I suffer friction with my tree tunks.
My knees buckle and wobble in her presence; I’m weak around her because I’m weak.
My ligaments are partially torn, which perfectly exemplifies me: hanging by a thread.
I have the calves of a soccer player out of shape. Hashtag truth.
The ***** of my feet sting -- unable to carry two hundred plus pounds of failure.
I have finally seen footprints; I’m just glad they were mine.
Her promises mean nothing. My trust is shattered. My faith withdrawn from this or any other world.
My one-liners make everyone laugh but me; I know I mask the pain. Do they?
My grin was effectively wiped off my face when you told me.
The last time we spoke, it was on good terms. But how good are those terms with this double size?

I was comfortable, lazy, ever dependent on her
with everything in my life, especially that which she didn’t need to deal with.

I told her, You deserve to be dumped.
She nodded slowly, crying, and whispered back, I know. My hate described by inane words.
Inane since words do not do it justice.

Then, it hit me.

Our hair is fairly short together, not unlike our time apart since the incident.
Our eyes well up, and the only drowning I hope we get is of love.
Whenever we blink, I want to make sure that I am in front of you, and you in front of me.
Our teeth, much like our personalities, are disparate, and that’s okay.
Our bite is one of teamwork: you can’t bite with one row of teeth.
Our nostrils could use some work. Hair and flare rhyme, but neither fits in our time.
Our mouths chat chat chatter away. We have nothing to talk about. We have so much to talk about.
Our smiles are the reason why people find us cute, and they’re the reason why they were shocked. Let’s give them another reason.
Our tongues dance across language barriers. Mi español no puede vivir sin tu ingles.
We have never whistled. Finally! Some common ground (opposites attract).
We’ve been told that our laughs are nearly identical, like a choir singing in different pitches. Sing.
We cough together, because we know we can take care of each other.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, we take a deep breath, hold on tight, and move forward.
Our arguments ARE stupid. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Our necks are like the Happy Meal and the Super Size Me. I love to see us smile.
Our ******* are life; I don’t know what mine do, but I know yours will come in handy someday.
Our arms have their “things”; you have that birthmark, and I have unseemly hair growing everywhere.
Our elbows could be a rom-com: one smooth, one rough, but they can’t get enough.
Our wrists make sure our hands can keep us afloat.
Our handshakes are delicate but firm.
Our fingers latch onto each other, like a bear trap.
Our palms SMACK together when you high five me. Goofball.
Our thumbs are bound to get sore if we keep caressing our hands while holding onto each other. Raw.
Our shadows slink away when they see us shine so bright.
I hope to God that Rosie the pug is as derpy as your heart can take.
Our hearts have duct-tape all over them…it’s a work in progress, but bones get stronger when broken.
Our ******* are disproportionate. There, I said it.
Our shoulder blades dance across each other when we lie back to back.
Our belly buttons (innies, not outies, not Audis) keep us close to our moms; you’ll agree someday.
Our private parts tingle as we move in motion and rhythm. It’s been too long, mi amor.
Our backsides are like Venn diagrams: yours could easily fit in mine.
I have all the stretchmarks, but I hope you get them after birth someday. We share everything else.
Our systems are the underdog rising up, straight to the top; it took its time, and its chances.
Your legs could fit in one of my own. Please refer to the stretchmarks line.
Our knees buckle and wobble. Please refer to the private parts line.
Our ligaments have taken a beating, but somehow, there’s a strand holding us together.
We have calves of different passions, but we both know what the sweet sting of success feels like.
The ***** of our feet touch down as we’re back to reality. The honeymoon stage is over. Cloud 9.
Unfortunately, we’ve seen footprints, but I think they’re circling back around to meet up again.
This promise should be the last until the most important one comes up. This is it.
Our one-liners keep us close to our dorky sides. Honestly, something is probably wrong with us.
Our grins (or smirks) show that we can’t really stay mad at each other for TOO long.
The last time we spoke, it was yesterday night (or was it earlier today?), but I’m sure you woke up.

We ******* up. Admittedly you more than me,
but I digress: one mistake is not enough to throw away two years of work.

I forgave you.
You were elated. Let’s try this once more, with feeling!
I’ll inanely tell her again, *Te amo.
 Feb 2014
AntRedundAnt
What’s in a failed relationship?
Mistakes, or lessons learned?
Time wasted, or loss of naiveté?
Heartbreak, or maturity?

Likewise, what is in a successful one?
The opposite of failure, or something more?
Use of learned lessons, or the thrill of the new?
Loss of naiveté, or a newfound hope in love?
Maturity, or optimism?

I hope in all cases it is the latter
 Feb 2014
AntRedundAnt
Dear Ruth

I did not know the fruit
That life gave us was love
Until I met you, dear Ruth
Like an angel from above

You spread your grace on me
At a time in my own life
When I could not by my own see
You changed the wrong to right

Your deepest, darkest truth
In me, you may disclose
I shall not spread them, dear Ruth
Until my last breath goes

Though I may be your friend
And together we will laugh and woe
I pray our relationship not end
For I will love you more than you will ever know

Dear Ruth, I swear with all I am
I speak new the same, old part
By myself, I cannot stand
Until you take me with all your heart

I will love you more than you will ever know
Nay, Dear Ruth, dear Ruth
I love you more than you already know
I say it for it is the truth

Dear Ruth

— The End —