The Weather Channel,
ubiquitous,
Who among us does not have this app,
On their phone, computer, mobile device
Ready for a quick scan..

Odd topic for an essay,
Strange, that your poetic silence
Should be broken this way,
Then again, you didn't inquire,
Or even notice it had gone missing.

Yet the channel of which I write,
Is mobile, and certainly, applies to each of us
But cannot be found on any device but in our hearts..

When we awaken,
The temperature is taken,
A glance upon your visage
Reveals rested or irritable,
Blue clouds or storm warnings,
Better dress appropriately...

But even this is not the forecast
Of which my heart and words speak,,
The whether I need, the thermometer reading,
The barometric pressure that needs knowing,
Measures whether you love me still,
Love me more, love me better,
Than the last poem/day we just wrote/recorded,
Yesterday...

The channels we will yet navigate,
The sky we shall observe,
Cloud shapes to design and designate,
A fortune to prognosticate,
Is the sum f the fortunes/forecasts we create daily.

Our weather is our good fortune,
And strangely the forecast is the same daily,
Whether fair or hurricane,
Whether gladdened or pained,
Our forecast, ours,
Our forecast, unique,
Our forecast, let us record it into reality,
When we awaken entangled,
Looking out the window and envision and
Predict our life-scape.

You

You know not what you're doing,
You drift, in ways of abstract design,
You give false impressions,
Of things deeply untrue,
Oh God,
I wish that you weren't you!
You are anonymously sweet,
Portraying that you're bad,
When in fact,
You're really sad,
Full of lost delights,
Everything is wrong,
Not much is right!
You found the right one then,
It melted, lava bursting,blood ripples,
You get judged in ridicule,
By all who surround you!
In you're life,
They all confound you,
You want to fit in and fall in love,
But all around you,
Astound you.
You are not a frog on a leash,
To be toyed with,
Nor one who wants to play,
You are a person!
You have a heart,
A heart which sustains and nourishes,
Protects and cossets,
You have dark secrets,
Running through cold veins,
A brain of creations,
Your thoughts run deep,
Still waters they say,
You have to hold them everyday,
Black as night is,
As white as pure is,
All you want is love for sure,
Do you know your name?
Do you know who you are?
Full suit of armour protects naked soul
Falling deeper into a hole, daily,
You are me, and I am you!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

It must be hard to have me as your older sister.
It must be.
I call your cute little jokes "lame",
and ignore you when you tell me about your fantastic school day.
I refuse to hug you to sleep at night
even if you're afraid of the darkness that could swallow you up anytime.
I order you to do things around and you do them but
when you ask me to do things, I don't.
You try to get me to stop paying attention to my phone and
start paying attention to your piano pieces.
You try to get me to stop lying around all day and
start going to swim with you.
You ask me all the time:
"Can you go swimming with me?"
I always reply:
"No, I've got work/I'm lazy/. Go swim yourself."
And I don't understand that when you keep calling your friend over
it's because you feel lonely
She's the one who listens to you
play with you
talk to you
when I don't.
Well maybe I didn't understand that when I said:
"Why is she coming over again? You guys play like every single day. Do your work."
You try to make me happy by telling me interesting things.
I silence you out when you do that,
popping in my earphones
and you just sit there quietly.
It must be hard to have me as your older sister.

It must be hard to have me as your daughter.
I talk back 99% of the time just to prove I'm right,
because I am so thick-skinned I wouldn't actually admit even if I'm down right
wrong.
I always change my mind the last minute,
leaving you panicking and worrying about what to do.
I treat my younger sister badly, being really mean to her,
I don't understand how we are both precious to you
You don't want to see any of us getting
hurt.
You work so hard for me
I don't come out of my room to say hi to you when you come home
You bought a new wifi network set for me
when I kept complaining that the current set wasn't working
when it was just my fault for using it
too much.
You meticulously worked to come up with a nice study table design for us
I complained that your laptops were taking up too much space
and you moved it away to the living room
where you could only use it while standing.
You didn't say anything about it.
It must be hard to have me as your daughter.

It must be hard to have me as your friend.
I blast at you
and treat you like a punching bag
not being sensitive to your feelings.
I make you worry about me even when I have hurt you.
I tell you what I feel so frankly and
you get hurt.
You tell me you're always there to listen
yet I never listened to you.
You always notice when I'm about to fall down into that deep abyss of the unknown,
yet when you're falling I still can't find a rope to help you up.
You try to watch videos with me and
I move my attention to my phone.
It must be hard to have me as your friend.

Your breath, the wind that caresses my face,
a breeze cooled by the lingering goodbye.
The pheromone scent carried in the air,
entrancing nostalgia gripping my mind,
crushing weight and drowning sense.
Every muscle twinges, twisting into aches
of desire, poised on the edge of leaping,
taut and ferocious lion.
Mesmerizing eyes, dracula draining will
and caution, yet a stance of stone I engage.

My breath, the sigh that expels freedom,
a battle and war, heavy bleeding costs goodbye.
The belligerent stare through mirrored eyes,
entrancing visage, broken thoughts and lies
capture fate and divining past.
Every muscle limp, embracing liquidity and
release, collapse and greet dirt abrasive,
fool and torrid, dying snake.
Deliberate design, signs of sweat and
shattered ego, dreams alone steal cage.

I am experiencing the human condition
Or I would be, if I knew what such a thing was.

They say poetry is an art form designed to show emotion
emotion of course representing such a thing as a human condition
but my poem is broken

I must insert 25 ccs of suffering more,
50 ccs of subtlety more,
and 100 ccs of emotion more,
not to mention the 600 mg of lithium,
the 25 µg of Wellbutrin,
and the 100 mg of synthroid I put in myself.

But my poem is broken.
And if poetry is a form of the human condition
and I cannot form my poem
then I cannot form the human condition.

This is an inevitable factor in the world of man
most people tend to forget it, but it is so
the more I cut myself off from the world around me
the more I become what the world needs from me.

Then comes righteous silence.

Silence is golden but only in small amounts
Silence is only golden when the faux silver of duct tape must
simply not do.
Emotion is a human condition, but I must take the pills.

After all, if these pills are not effective,
they’ll simply electroshock my brain
in order to find my human condition

Who am I?
Why am I here?
Forget these questions--
hey, hand me another beer.

But surely--or Shirley--the animal crackers in my soup
are just as sick and tired as I of being a pawn--
afraid of the magic space wizard destroying us all--
they are just as afraid of the inevitable,
that indeed, everything all along has been true
and tis all forbidden
Afraid that perhaps the friendly raccoon’s intentions
are not so honest as they appear when we first move
to our new woodland home

Perhaps my animal crackers in my soup
are more afraid I will lose myself
as I stumble down the rabbit hole
looking for the man who burned down my home
only to discover he truly was the innocent
(In this crime, at least)

Or perhaps as I stare these pills down,
muting my human condition has come easier;
no longer am I attacked by strange men
for a golden woman carrying a blue staff

No long must I boldly proclaim
that I’ll go out through my kitchen
when indeed, for someone with my body
(human condition aside)
belongs there, if only to make a sandwich.

If only there was a dictionary definition in the back
of every high school textbook
and we are made to ‘put it in our own words.’
Defining what should be such a simple thing
should be rather easy then.

But nobody said it was easy.
We were all told that we were special
but I have come to the conclusion that
saying everybody is special is really saying
that nobody is.

And if nobody is special,
should not our own human condition be the same?
or is is simply that no,
humans are manufactured on a mass-produced scale
for the pleasure of those powers that be?

Yes, they have a tough game with tough rules,
and they’ll win (and I’ll always lose)
but am I a design flaw?  Something wrong in manufacturing?
I’ve traveled to these human distribution centers
and there were many babies wrapped
in blue or pink cloth dictating from birth
a key aspect where the human in question
has no choice.
And their human condition has been dictated to them
but I paid no mind

(I ignored the stains on)

I allowed human condition to be dictated,
knowing most of these children will grow to be
a design flaw like me.

Lost.
Confused.
And waiting on a mother swan to come
and tell me I am beautiful, and indeed
I have been in the wrong place the entire time.

And as I left this distribution center
of humans, and the human condition
I asked myself
“What god would make this world?”

“What god would make this world
with so much suffering and pain and make us
unable to identify for fear of what will happen to us?”

“Was it an angry teenaged god who played a game
only to find that his friends were murdered around his ears
and he must have to build this universe by himself?”

“Was it a god who lived in a world all alone
only to hate any form of life beyond himself?”

And as I asked myself these questions
I prayed that it wasn’t true.
That maybe, this is just exclusive to my
inability to find my human condition.

Do what you love, whatever makes you happy but
Grow up, straighten out, get serious about life
Stop acting like a child and wasting your time
Spending so much time on these useless games.
Be creative, use your imagination but
You need to focus on school and what matters
So you can have a career one day.

So rules and so much constriction
How can you expect me to grow?

This is my passion, these games are my life
I want to create and design my own
I want to spend my time bringing to life a world
Immersed in a land hand sewn.

Adamant, nocturnal dalliance
Egregious, insidious, velvet ambiance

An unyielding, dark but brief love affair
The flagrant, seductive and comely au pair

The Eclectic, unmatched, Androgynous Circus
Red devils, black sheep and felines in service

Contortionists, gypsies, and malevolent magicians
All twisting to a dance played by faceless musicians

A night in Tunisia or a place above the Siene
Where else but all in the shadows of dreams?

Enchanted, redolent wonder of festive illumination    
Her eyes absorbed, glimmering in the lush captivation

Enveloping, engulfing silk around our bodies
Days, nights measured by tragic commodities

Arpeggios, rippling across glistening string inventions
Bowing cellos; cellists bowing with audience permission

Masks, costumes, carnivals and the golden mirror
Cerulean dripping limbs that slither while near her

The alabaster piano played by a three-armed puppet
The statues turn and welcome us for a crumpet

Maria Callus sings Ave Maria backwards then stops
The statues and demons laugh while playing with props

“This requiem for the living, begins with a kiss”
The statues said in a tone of voice I could not resist.

“Our overture shall be a murder, a nail in the coffin; a death.
All while you swallow the nectar on your lover’s last breath.”


Needles protruded my head
And I watched as my love was torn
Limb from limb
While the jackals and ballroom guests
Fornicated on the spilled blood and guts
I cried and they cheered as the lights dimmed
For All I could see was the sight of them leave
Into the darkness.
But the noises were as loud as ever as hands
And digits groped my body.
Moaning voices and rhythmic thrusting
And tongues in my ear
And teeth gnawing on my neck
Pain felt, endured, experienced
Then
I was released into the middle of the scarlet draped room
When the phlegm of bodily fluids whipped into a dried crust

A sharp edge stabbed me in the back of the neck
Running along my back, through my spine, down my skin and ending in my rectum.
Mechanical hands ripped apart my skin  
I slid out of my flesh like a serpentine cretin.
I stood there
shaking from the excruciating, unfathomable pain
the grid and design of my muscular system bare and seen.  

From the pieces of my departed lover,
the master with the many mechanical hands
slathered the slips
and sleeves of her skin onto my own.

Needles and thread went to work.
The puppet master sewed.
The healing plasma
the drying blood
the encapsulating tears lubricated my whole

Once he was finished, I was dunked into a pool of clear gelatin.

For hours I soaked and became whole again.
Then I rose and I was dressed
the finest garments, from across the globe.
I sat once again at the table where the statues invited me.
The musicians, the magicians, the demons, gypsies, masks and serpents
Watched and gleamed
while I sipped my tea

I out spread my fingers.

Layers of skin and stitches

No more hair.
No more nails.
Not just a regular face
but one all shall remember.

I was born as one

Then made from many

In the imminence of zealous devils in my wake
Of the attrition I have forsake

Now as the curtain rose and the spider-silk strings hoisted me up on stage
The master showcased my story to all whoever wished to engage

“Adamant, nocturnal dalliance
Egregious, insidious, velvet ambiance

An unyielding, dark but brief love affair
The flagrant, seductive and comely au pair

The Eclectic, unmatched, Androgynous Circus
Red devils, black sheep and felines in service

I am Vincent Andromeda
Your Strangelove phenomena.”

[Making this habit] tons at a time

Prisms echoed into blue
as fate
faced you
fainting.  Slightly.  To her right side
bearing to selective few her
divide.

Memories faded log since into
fantasies
of minds in collde; bodies intertwined
then
I me thine then
softly.  I me mine.

Tracing circles--
This pattern understanding
greater design.

yet not criminal-
not yet unkind
Your breath inhale,
exhale mine

These backs broken
twice in one time

Then thrice under dark skies
bleeding hearts did cry,
breaking hearts remind:
rational words of deep raring depths inside.

Repentance dates in great time
Spirits, broken, crying
but with healing entwined.
As I declined
I rise,

now finally.

Inhale my breath
exhale thine