Morning fog burns off
memories, many years ago,
drift dreaming with Edith Piaf
reeling in heart felt bellows
Just a moment's faraway past
then those faces floated close
over books, rows in class
Back now, stopping, future froze
Chalkboard friends young then more
turned marble stone, for entombed now rest
Chiseled lessons deep are scored
time's remains too, few resist behest
What to say at end of day
when woolen chill defines a breeze
to editor of daily press, say,
they were best in any freeze
"I think people are scared to come out because they think we won't accept them",
say the voices who call pencils gay because the leads snap,
and faces look around the classroom for volunteers
as if I would dissect myself
and tell you about something I'm not even sure of yet,
that still haunts the back of my mind
and makes me second guess myself every time I look at Her
just to enrich our Citizenship lesson.
I think it's my damn business.
I think if you were really that accepting my skin wouldn't crawl when you talked about "dykes" with nervous scorn dripping from your teeth and labelled broken things the same as people.
I think "no".
I heard that he was insane
That his feelings were uncontrollable
I heard he committed suicide
It sounds so incredibly horrible
I heard he was seeing a shrink
I heard he thought he was fine
I heard he told him,
told him he could call anytime
but when he really needed him
He was declined.
I heard his father
he told him to be a man
He told him he couldn’t
and would never understand
I wonder has the guilt
swallowed him whole
I wonder will anything
fill his now empty soul
I heard his girlfriend she said goodbye
she was sick of the whines and all his cries
he said he didn’t need her
he needed no one
but in the end we all know he needed someone
I heard he did it with a gun
I wonder if it hurt
I heard he couldn't take it
All the pain and all the hurt
I heard he had a brother
a mother and a dad
I saw them at the funeral
they were bitter sweetly sad
I wonder does a tiger cry
when a brother loses his life
I wonder can you catch a tiger with a tear in its eye?
Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram,
Google Plus+, VK (Russian Facebook),
Flickr, MySpace, Meetup, ClassMates,
Minecraft, World of Warcraft, StarCraft,
Battlefield 2, The Sims 3 and Diablo III
have destroyed more minds and souls
than the death tolls
of WWI & WWII,
the Antioch earthquakes of 115 & 526,
the 1737 & 1839 India cyclones,
the Influenza Epidemic of 1918,
the 1931 China floods,
the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami,
and the number of Jews killed at
Auschwitz, Belzec and Majdanek
Social Media and Computer Games
are a total fucking waste of time ~
and a waste of time is a waste of life!
You can read her triumphant memoir of survival at:
Please read my mom's poignant memoir about surviving Auschwitz:
Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 1-3/My Family-Bialystok)
Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 4-6/Nazi Occupation-Majdanek)
Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 7-8/Blizyn-Auschwitz)
Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 9-10/Liberation)
Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 11-End/Brooklyn)
He was the best hide and seek
Player in the
There were whispers
He could beat the 5th and 6th
Nothing was ever lost to him
But time spent
And that was worth it
I hid and
When he found me I told all his classmates that he had stolen my lunch money.
You're so close
But so far away
But you sit on the other side of the room.
Our heights are a close match
While our distance between each other is far
Our personalities don't match
And so is our love
I'm so in love with you
Oh you, the boy who is closely far.
I'm paying for the shit,
leave me alone
and let me sleep.
"You're not just here for yourself,
you're here for your classmates,"
Mr. Fart said.
"I'm here to get a degree."
"Well, I'm sorry"
now get your ass out my face
and let me sleep...
the hill houses
worry me like weather
and put in me
at a trough
by a family
of flat chested
one can later
dot with glue
to the mother