Cheap 80s music and cheaper wine,
we don't know what we want,
we only pray for a good time.
A dark room, and darker thoughts,
sheets full of bad intentions,
we only pray that this stays hot.
A love made up of lies,
A bed full of secrets,
we only pray she can't see through the disguise.
A lot of pain,
everything to lose and nothing to gain,
we only pray that we won't get found out.
You were mine before you were born. You belonged to me. Before your daddy and I shared a cherry coke at the dollar theater. Before I said yes. To anything. To everything. You were mine. And I held you for the first time at 2:38am. Your face scrunched and red. Still the nurses said:
“She is so beautiful.”
Even before then,
You were mine.
And your pain, your struggles, your burdens would be mine. To carry. To burry. I lift and will lift the world for you, baby girl. Put you to sleep. Hold you as you weep. For that boy who will shatter your heart to pieces. I will pull the hair from your cheeks, wet with your tears. As you cry to me that love, “Mom, love isn’t real.”
And I’ll smile and tell you “one bad apple doesn’t really spoil the bunch.” I’ll smile and I’ll say “I know that much” – because I was there too. Before the flat cherry cokes and your daddy’s corny little jokes. Love is as real and true as I am me and you are you. And it was here. You were here. Before you even existed. You were mine, growing in my heart.
Love was mine, growing in my heart.
And before you fall asleep in your bed, soon after the tears have all been shed. I will tell you this: “I have learned to keep my heart tender. To love wisely; but know when to surrender. The way I surrendered with you. I have learned to claim love as my own. And your love, baby girl, is the best thing I’ve ever known.”
You have always been mine.
The mother’s womb is the first place,
where good, bad and the ugly;
well nurtured; dwells in everyone.
This planet is the second domain
from where we acquire
angelic or devilish thoughts
or the means either for
happiness or misery
The third is the grave, the inter space,
The final or everlasting
which will be either a
Green garden of God,
Or the firewall of the devil.
(All poems in this series are, translations from Malayalam, originally written in author’s mother-tongue, “Malayalam’”, the language of Kerala, in South India.)
BY WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
A douche will only date a model, but at least he's honest.
A jerk will date anyone, but only make the models feel beautiful.
A decent guy will date the girls with a low-average bmi, say he doesn't look at size, but his actions say otherwise.
A nice guy will date a fat girl, but marry a skinny one.
A good guy will marry a fat girl, but wish, every day, that she was thinner--and she will always know.
A rare guy will date a fat girl and not realize that she's fat. She will feel beautiful and think she's a model.
But he's a minority, and non-model girls are a majority.
There's a solution:
Starve until the fat disappears.
Until every guy that has ever preferred a skinny girl over you;
over a girl that looks like you
-- or worse --
is even smaller than you, but not small enough,
would finally consider you worthy.
But don't get too thin.
Guys complain about that too.
Now you're not pretty enough,
Starve until you're just right --
and then they'll tell you how great you look;
ask you how you did it.
You'll lie, yet again, to maintain the facade.
They'll think you're disciplined --
but they don't know just how much.
You can starve so they're happy;
put on a smile to make them think you are too. Because you never will be --
they've destroyed your mind with their standards; you've destroyed it with striving to live up to them.
You'll marry a guy who tells you you're beautiful, but your eyes are broken;
an ugly, obese girl relentlessly stares back.
She tells you your husband lies.
She tells you food is bad, purging is good.
She tells you your husband would prefer someone skinnier,
You'll never be enough -- all because some teenage boy hung up a poster of a
model on his wall --
and he decided that she was the ultimate goal, and, thus, your destiny emerged.
What am I supposed to say?
That I love you?
It's kinda hard to say that
And mean it too.
When you list the reasons why
I should love you,
They're all physical.
I need love.
I need to know you're there for me.
Actually there for me.
I've never heard you say,
"I'm proud of you, love."
All I hear is negative things.
"why couldn't you do this?"
"why couldn't you clean that?"
"you never do anything!"
"sure you did this but why couldn't you do this too?"
I try mom
I really do..
If my grades are good and the house is clean,
If I'm pretty and my grades are good,
The house is dirty.
If I'm pretty and the house is clean,
My grades are bad.
I'm sorry I'm not what you wanted..
I'm sorry I can't live up to your expectations..
I'm sorry that I'm a disappointment..
Please forgive me.
Please love me.
Please, just be my mom..
Ever said something that made you look stupid?
Ever fell down the stairs on your way to class?
Ever sent a private text to the wrong person?
Ever been stood up in the pouring rain?
Ever had your laptop break in the middle of an important essay?
Ever walked in on your grand parents having sex?
Ever lost your respect?
Ever told the wrong person a secret?
Ever found out your favorite teacher quit because of you?
Ever been forced to listen to Justin Beiber with your little sister?
Ever dropped your phone in the toilet?
Ever been lied to by your best friend?
Ever lost your lover to a whore?
Ever had your flip flops break in the middle of the street?
Ever sat in gum?
Ever found out your lovers actually gay?
Ever had to baby sit a unruly child instead of going to a dance?
Ever rolled in the grass and had an allergic reaction?
Ever been caught having sex by your parents?
Ever accidentally picked a fight with the strongest person in school?
Ever had no one take your side?
Ever walked around with a giant hole in back of your pants?
Ever been pulled over when you were all ready late?
Ever saw your ex with a Megan Fox look a like?
Ever had all your clothes not fit?
But just remember whatever happens…
I still love you.
The shiny metal feels
on my skin.
Smooth, silky, baby skin
turns red and cold.
My mind races:
"This is what's right."
"This is what you need."
"You deserve this."
I've become skilled at convincing myself
that I'm a bad person
by forcing myself
to be even worse.
I guess it's the end of my need for some weed,
I guess all I got is thid lsd
but really what care,
I'm not even hear
teleport to the couch,
met a pink bear,
he ate all my hair,
shit In my eye he cussed not to cry,
you think I wont trip?
one hell of a fry,
YOU SHIT IN MY EYE!
back to the room bad trip oh woah doom,
hit my head 'Jingle~
;oh yea and I'm single
hey mr. spider, lend me your lighter
back in an hour,
I thaught you died in the shower?.
itsy? bitsy? ,
I'm just rather ditsy..
wait why am i wet?.......................
all for one bet,
Hell was quite lovely;
I wish I could return,
but I promised to
never go back,
no matter how much
my heart yearns for
that glorious place.
Oh, how I loves it so,
surrounded by heat
and acceptance with
others who called
it their home.
The devil was quite
a lovely man. His
smile always crooked.
He told me all his
secrets, yet I never
told mine. His heart
was full of compassion
and sympathy for
all, much unlike that
evil man who lives
in the clouds above,
protected from us all.
Hell was my only
home. I never wanted
to leave, but there
comes a time when
the bad brainwashes
the innocent and the
good times must cease.
My feet are long
Long enough to be considered big
Both my big toenails are ingrown
and none of my shoes fit right
On my right leg I have 38 scars
Some of them are so faint
They are almost gone
38 and even though I put every single of them there
not a single one
is my fault
On my left leg I have no scars at all
A blank slate
Marred only by a small
it wasn’t meant to be a literary device
My belly is a minefield of pimples and hair and scars and scars and scars
the beautiful thing sticks out farther than my face
it’s large enough to be considered fat
and none of my shirts fit right
Sometimes I feel bad for my breasts
Always squished under the same two bras
if i flip them around that means they’re not dirty anymore
My fingers are bony and thin
People recoil when they see them
They don’t bend the right way
And it hurts to hold a pencil
Maybe they’re ingrown too
My arms are
only one scar worth mentioning
and only worth mentioning
because it was the first one i put on myself
My neck is sensitive
and always sore
it sends a shooting pain down my spine
and i cradle it and ask
My face is bright
even if my eyes are dull
big and dull and blue with long lashes
too fucking feminine
i try not to make a 39th
its not my fault
i am beautiful
but beauty belongs to women