Anne crutches herself into Sister Paul's office. The nun is sitting in a chair behind a desk, hands folded on the table, eyes stern, lips a straight line. Anne stands before the desk, taking in the huge crucifix on the wall above the nun's head.
- You can sit down, Anne, the nun says, eyeing her firmly, watching the 12 year old girl, as she manoeuvres herself with one crutch onto the chair.
Anne sits down and puts the crutch beside the chair and pulls her red skirt over her knees, covering the stump where her leg had been.
- Do you know why you're here? Sister Paul asks, unfolding her hands, and laying them flat on the desk top.
- No, Anne says, looking at the nun's black and white headdress, the thin features of the face, hawk-like nose.
-There has been complaints made about you, the nun says. She watches as the girl fidgets in the chair, lifts herself with her hands, back further, on the chair. - Are you not comfortable? She asks.
- No, Anne says, My knickers are too tight.
The nun sighs, looks at the wooden ruler on her desk, wishes she could, but knows she can't.
- Complaints made by other children here and staff members, the nun says, toying with the ruler with her fingers.
-What sort of complaints? Anne asks.
-The worse sort: bad language, insolence, rudeness. It has to stop, Anne, do you understand? The voice sounded like grit poured into a bucket.
Anne fingered at her backside. -Ah, that's better, sorted it out now, she says, putting her hands together in her lap. - I can't recall any rudeness, she says, acting miss innocence, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, kind of expression and pose.
The nun looks at the girl and inwardly is glad she never married and had children, especially if one had been like this.
- Sister Bridget says you called her a dried up prune, the nun says, looking at the dark hair and eyes of the child, the insolent way she sits and looks.
Anne frowns.- Me? To Sister Bridget?
-Yes, to Sister Bridget, and Sister Mary says, you exposed your bottom to her when she asked you to take your afternoon sleep. The nun looks at the girl's expression, her frown of brow.
- No, not me, Sister Paul, must have been some other kid's backside she'd seen.
-Are you calling these two nuns, liars?
The girl looks at her hands in her lap, raises two fingers upwards, out of the nun's sight.- No, not liars, just mistaken. We all make mistakes, Anne says, we're all human, after all.
Sister Paul's eyes darken, she grips the ruler tighter, pushes her toes to the end of her sandals.
- And some of the children have made complaints, too, the nun says, the words hard as nails from her lips.
-Ah, you know what liars kids can be, Sister. They couldn't tell the truth if it came wrapped in yellow paper saying, TRUTH. She smiles at her wit.
Sister Paul doesn't smile; her lips tighten, her eyes scan the child, if the girl at been at one of the schools, rather than the nursing home, she'd be well on her way to a sound caning.
- I know children, Anne, and liars, the nun says, eyeing the girl firmly, tapping the ruler on her palm. - You are a liar, and I know you. I have read the reports on you before you came. I was reluctant to take you in, but had little choice. You will behave yourself or be expelled from the nursing home. Is that understood?
Anne senses a fart coming on, but holds it in. - Yes, Sister, sorry Sister. It's my leg you see, it gives me pain, and keeps me awake at nights, and I get tired and I get irritable. She puts on a hurt expression.
The nun sits upright and stiff, an expression of dislike etched on her features.
-We are given pain, by God, for a purpose, Sister Paul says, it is a gift we ought to shoulder and bear with gratitude.
-Like haemorrhoids, you mean? Anne says, fiddling with her fingers, a blank look on her face.
- You know what I mean, young lady, pain in general, not in particular. At that moment the nun feels a great urge to inflict pain on the girl sitting in front of her. She can picture it, the whole scene, the satisfaction.
Anne shifts in the chair, steadying herself. - Can I go now?
The nun sits back in the chair, eyes focusing on the girl, her face straight and stiff as a board.- Your leg has been amputated, so how can it give you pain? the nun says, her words pushed from her mouth as if they were sour.
- Nerve endings, they don't realise the fucking legs gone, oops sorry, about that it kind of slipped out while I was engaged in thoughts, Anne says, looking at the nun's reddening face. - Didn't mean to, it's my leg you see, it gets me all uptight, and wound up like a clock, and then ping! Out it comes.
The nun sighs deeply. The word hammers inside her ears and brain. - I won't have such language, do you hear me, not another rude word or expression.
Anne clenches, the cheeks of her buttocks tightly, to hold in the the coming wind. She nods, gives an expression of remorse, allows her eyes to water, takes out a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wipes her nose. - Sorry about that, don't mean to be such a bad girl, my apologises to all. She wipes her eyes, lets herself go, does her acting bit, slumps her shoulders, weeps softly.
The nun is confused, sits up, feels an urge to go around to the girl and embrace her, say, there, there, dear child, but she doesn't, instead she stares at the girl, at the slumped shoulders, at the dark hair, the sight of neck, and wonders what kind of mother she would have made had she married, would she have coped with the nappies and sickness and foul smells and dressing and undressing a baby and the disturbed nights, and a man touching her, and doing things to her. No, she couldn't have married, nor had a child. She sighs and softens, -OK, Anne, lets say no more about it, and she gets out of the chair and walks around to the child weeping, in the chair, and puts an arm about her, feeling the shallow shakes, the sobs, the sight of the one leg, knowing a stump was beneath the skirt. - There, there, calm down, it is all too much for you after losing your leg, I'll have a word with the children and staff and explain about your pain. She holds the girl close to her breast, feeling her there, the catching of breath, the sobs, the shaking shoulders, and plants a kiss on the girl's black hair and head.
- Sorry, Sister Paul, Anne says, between her acted sobs, sniffing, wiping her nose, feeling the fart go away silently, like sneaky hound, all without sound.
The nun feels her heart open and close. - All right, Anne, you may go and rest your leg or stump, she says, going back to her chair and sitting there, watery eyed.
Anne lifts her head, pushes her hair from her eyes, sniffs and wipes her nose. -Thank you, Sister, you're like a mother to me. She pulls herself up from the chair with the crutch, feels the pain shoot through the stump, rubs it, pulls a face. - I'll go and rest it, she says, soft voiced, sobs held in check, head lowered. She crutches herself from the room slowly, sensing the nun's eyes on her, feeling a sense of fulfilment, like passing an audition, and lets the door click gently behind her.
Sister Paul sits and fingers the ruler. Sniffs and coughs softly. Feeling the girl's shoulders in her hands, the gentlest of touches, the sense, momentarily, of being a mother, compassion, concern, yes, it is there, she says inwardly, maybe I might have made a good mother after all had it been God's wishes, even if I had to put up with a man's touch for the duration. Thank God, she says softly inwardly, for my vocation .
My heart is warm,
My heart is ill.
My heart loves against my will.
Is that good?
Is that bad?
Please tell me, I'm becoming mad!
Should I be scared?
Should I stay brave?
I'm becoming my love's slave.
Should I be stiff,
Or should I sway?
I never felt love this way.
It's amazing what this love is.
It's just mine,
It's not his!
I don't wear those tears I wore.
I don't love him anymore!
And now it's my turn to make amends
And give some new love a chance.
“Yes, of course, I’ll do that for you.”
That’s how it started, that’s how it always starts. They wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I never gave them no as an answer, always yes, always how high, always please.
You know, I used to thank them for telling me what to do, that’s what they had me think I should be doing, thanking them for giving me something to do but hang around with druggies and alcoholics, thank them for making sure I stay on the right track.
I don’t remember when I started, but it felt good, it felt so good. The only thing about myself I knew was right, the only thing that looked right, felt right, how could it be wrong? I know people say it is…but it really isn’t, trust me.
Tire tracks, I think that’s what people call them anyway; I can’t remember the last time I really talked to someone else. I hid my wrists from them, they might tell me not to do it, and I’d have to thank them for taking away the last of myself.
They said it again, and I thanked them again. They’re right of course, they’re always right. There are those worthless, good for nothing idiots out there who’d rather cover themselves with god knows what than admit who they really are. I wasn’t allowed to hide it.
NO! WHY! They found out, they saw the marks on my wrists while I did their washing, I’ve got nothing sharp, nothing blunt, just this stupid length of rope in the basement, I wonder, would that do?
He was only a child, 15. We found him in your basement, swinging limp, lifeless. We found a note you know, yeah.
I know what you think of me, it’s what you made me think of myself. But I’ll tell you now, because it’s my last chance.
I’m not worthless,
I’m not pathetic,
I’m not ugly,
I’m not disgusting,
I’m not wrong,
And I’m no longer YOUR accident.
cold metal found on the moon blackened sharp and full of spoons
crazy about you it tastes like never knew it would
need to eat your face
horrible indicator of fate
push down the brakes
i've found the way to break you
on the wheel of hate
dont want to know what tastes
less like crossing lines with pins
favorably rich and not needing
a break today
finding the safe way
in one place dont have to hide
so take your chances step outside
like eyes and brights a chance encounter
dont need the fiber in the diet
a point of view creates more waste
be careful what you wish for
it may come to pass in the sky
take your chances step outside
your boots are taller than hell
you falsified documents
mattress found on the side of the road
you are the weeds learning to grow
favorable conditions for a way outside
you dont play games in the arcade
stark raving pale man
learns to know a day that doesnt end
forget the man in the way
you know the way to lend a hand
faithful monkey prince of the
canada manitooba qoobek
birds of paradise
not being the on
plaghty slow diebdobe
flwoibgn oskefhlv fiahekdf
wishfk ifheils ieiofhk diehfk wokddddddf
wieold wuiold oiufiekd ofheiowldkdf hwiowellllfdk whi
poetry computer suck my dick
poetry computer this is eugene from 1979
poetry computer suck my words
poetry computer the future is yours
poetry computer make it moan like a little bitch
we don't want these original projects in the poetry computer
i am the poetry computers slave
i will be the poetry computer i can be anything
forget that i said anything about the gulls and the bees
i broke the word on playing manipulating this sick little project poetry computer
this platform is right
this platform is a sad little thing on the edges of fuck
this platform is a sad little fuck on the edges of lost words generation
i'll fuck your mouth poetry computer
i'll fuck your mouth till all you know is nut
the biggest baddest project in the hood
i hope its good
up her in the dooh
i'm down and ready for more poetry computer
swallow girl its only nut
Take the challenges that face you in stride
Of the heart, or of the mind; any challenge can be overcome by your own divine light
Be confident, know you deserve it
To live true to your heart, to be earnest
You know what you need to do, and though it may feel cruel
The highest good for yourself
will do everyone good
Whether it’s burning bridges with people you loved;
We must always remember that our decisions will affect our futures;
Nothing is more true than the fact that whatever goes around comes around;
You are not immune to the cosmic forces of the crowd mind-decisions that you make;
Don’t be surprised when reality catches back up with you and brings you to your knees;
Be a good person, make right and independent decisions in your 20s,You’ll get further in life.
We need to control the invincibility we all feel;
It comes to both men and women and it destroys both;
We feel the need to be the knight in shining armor for our lovers;
As chivalrous as this may seem, I hate to break it to you in shouts;
By setting yourself up for a losing battle, you’ve only ensured your misery;
For the next few months in your 20s, find what rightfully belongs to you and no one else.
If our check is for $9, then we’re most likely spending $30;
Between credit cards, school loans and every other avenue;
No doubt, our need for immediate gratification is worse than ever;
The truth is it’s about making more money, not saving it in any bank;
At the same time, if you have no means for expanding your revenue channels;
Then you must be able to save a few dollars here and there while still in your 20s.
Trying to act like the man rather than learning how to become one;
If more time is spent pretending to be the person you want to be instead;
Then you’ll sink in quick sand without even knowing it or even being told;
A real man is willing to make sacrifices. If you aren’t down to put in the work;
Then please don’t act like you are. You can enjoy the success when you actually attain it.;
Be a man in your 20s, that is, being yourself, being a leader and being no one else on earth.
Trawl for porn
A desperate urge to replicate the surge
Doomed to fail.
Surf seedy scum
Make yourself come.
Softly grunt and groan
Is easier than weeping.
It's never any good, now.
Ruined by regret.
Don't underestimate how little i can do
don't underestimate how easy i can break
tough isn't a jean jacket and black boots
lipstick doesn't mean sexy yet strong
running away doesn't mean my lungs can take it
never looking back really don't mean a thing
don't overestimate me
i'm a real good liar but i ain't good for much else
It's that time of the year again,
It's everyone's favorite time of the year, ladies and gentlemen.
It's time to be happy,
Stop feeling so crappy!
Kiss under the mistletoe,
Let your love show.
Presents under the tree,
Presents for you and me.
Hot chocolate with marshmallows,
And so much good food until you can't swallow.
Don't take these for granted,
Leftovers could have been all someone wanted.
Pray for those who aren't safe and sound,
For the lost souls waiting to be found.
Greet everyone you love,
And thank the man above.
We had come to see him, the aging Tenor sing.
He was as good as he had always been.
But half way through, a woman appeared,
Moving gracefully in bare feet upon the stage.
Entering the ring of bright spot light near him.
Long blond hair, falling loose around her neck,
Held back both sides by Turtle Shell combs,
Reflecting the light.
Adorned in but a simple, low cut black dress,
Her with a face beautiful as a new spring day.
Held in her left hand an ebony hued violin,
Touched fondly, like a well accustomed old friend.
Her right hand holding a bow, ready and waiting.
The Tenor’s and her eyes met and conveyed a message
Only they understood. Then starting slow and low,
The full Orchestra commenced. The woman in black
Brought instrument up to her chin, lovingly resting
her face upon it, as if comforted by it's touch to skin.
The fetching violinist, like a graceful reed,
In summer breeze, began to gently sway,
Laid Bow to strings and a transcended beauty,
The voice of both her Instrument and from within she,
Emerged through her fingers, completely filling the hall.
With eyes closed, the slight movements of expression
On her face registering the feelings the musical notes made,
As if those gestures too, guided the bow's musical cords.
Slender precise fingers lovingly caressing the strings.
For nearly a minute, she and her violin played alone.
Her actions of body, hands and head in concert,
To her music, unavoidably hypnotic it could be said.
The Tenor started to sing, and yet my eyes stayed
Locked on her, as if no one else in the room was there.
The blond woman in the black dress owned the stage.
I have no idea how long that piece of music lasted,
I could not attest to what contribution the Tenor made.
Fully my attention and eventually my heart belonged
To that lovely, evocative young woman in the backless,
Little black dress.
It’s true that I may never see or hear her play again,
I know not, even her name.
And yet, I’m sure that I will never forget those
Few minutes mesmerized by her magical spell.
Hopelessly caught in her enchanting web.
With me sitting, third row, isle seat left,
Worshiping as I did, at her so pretty,
Slightly dirty naked feet, the striking
Blond woman in the black dress.
from a distance, on a train, the street, in a store, or a concert.
Captivated by someone we will most likely never see again.
Enchanted for but a moment? And yet unable to forget.
For me it was this past week at a concert.