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Anais Vionet Dec 2022
Gigi Hadid wore pearls, a t-shirt and jeans to Paris fashion week. So, our (Lisa, Leeza and my) theme for this New Year’s Eve is “Jeans and pearls.” To be accurate, Gigi’s distressed, slouchy bottom, boyfriend jeans were embroidered with pearls - the pearls weren’t worn as a necklace - but Lisa and I think anything involving embroidery is a trailer-park trend - so we’ll be wearing strings of pearls. If Karen (Lisa and Leeza’s mom) lets us, that is.

Karen has four strings of Tiffany pearls - called Essential, Ziegfeld, Akoya and South Sea Noble. They’re all 16-inch, single strand strings (which we all prefer) and they range in value from $600 (the Akoya) to the expensive (South Sea Noble) string - that she won’t lend anyone. The good news is, if anyone is thinking of buying me a string of pearls, I can’t tell the difference between the cheap string and the expensive string.

Leeza (Lisa’s 13-year-old sister) wants to be included in EVERYTHING this year, which is funny because last year she either attacked us or completely ignored us. This year, Leeza has a thirteen-year-old’s razor-sharp instincts and relentless curiosity.

As we’re Planning New Year’s Eve, Ethan Bortnick’s song, “Engraving” was playing. It’s a crazy song with middle-school, EMO, angsty vibes. One of the lines of the song is “strip for me”. As the song ends, Leeza suddenly asks us, “Have you two ever been to a *******?”
“No”, I answered.
Lisa said, “Once.”
“What?!” I asked.
“Really?” Leeza gasped, “Spill!” She demanded.
“This has random context,” Lisa begins, “I’ve been inside a ******* once in my life.”
Leeza and I tittered nervously. “I’m scared,” Leeza said, as an aside, grinning and rubbing her hands on her knees, clearly more delighted than scared.
“I was attending a middle school, Model UN conference, at Brown University,” Lisa continued, “and they took all the kids to a ******* for their model UN social.”
I gasped and blurted “There’s NO way this happened.”
“Yes,” Lisa insisted, “you can ask my mom.” she said, with a serious look, “And, and obviously, it was rented out for the night, but they didn’t, like, think to take away any of the normal features. There weren’t any strippers, but they didn’t take the poles down and they didn’t turn off the multiple TV screens on all the walls that were playing their normal rotating video content.”
“Wow,” I said, with my hand over my mouth. Meanwhile, Leeza was chortling like a mad woman and rocking back and forth.
“Everyone walked in,” Lisa went on, “and it was just middle schoolers, thirteen years old. There were pictures of the dancers on the poles, and our history teacher came in, and freaked OUT, saying, “Oh, no, No, NO!” Because it was a school event, we had taken school buses there, it was a boondoggle. They turned us all around and hustled us out of there.”
Leeza had stood up and was twirling with glee. Middle schoolers live for chaos.
“Taken out of context,” I said, “It was crazy you went to a ******* in middle school.”
“It was a jump scare, for sure,” Lisa confirmed, “we went from one vibe, a school field trip, to a *******.”

Anyway, for New Year’s, a lot is still up in the air - undecided - but we’re determined that we want to have a blast. We’re young and we want to support bad ***** energy (BBE).
“Oh, I have a BBE song!” Lisa squeals, “Mafiosa!” (by Nathy Peluso) She names it as it begins playing.

The songs in Spanish and when it ended, I’d looked up the lyrics because my 2 years of Spanish weren’t good enough. I tell Leeza the lyrics go: “Let the bad men fear me, when I arrive in my car - they speed off.”
“Yes!” Lisa Laughs, “We don’t drive - but, YES!”
“Emotionally,” I say, laughing too. “But verse two asks the great question, “What the frack is wrong with men when it comes to women?”
“It’s,” Lisa started, looking up and searching for words, “SUCH a timeless question.”
“Why’d you pick that song?” Leeza asked.
Lisa chuckled,” Because you don’t get more BBE than a female Mafiosa killer.”

Update: Karen agreed that as long as Charles is with us (and really, when isn’t he with us?), we can borrow the three inexpensive pearl strings (worth about 5k). So, I’ll be wearing the Akoya pearls, an Anna Molinari white, basic, cotton-shirt, washed denim cropped jeans with white bridal flats and Lisa and Leeza will wear their own, white tops, jeans, flats and pearls and we’ll be on-theme.

Happy New Year’s Everyone!
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Boondoggle: a wasteful activity involving public money or labor.
Ember Evanescent Jan 2015
I'm going out for a bit
No, just up the hill
I won't be long
Don't worry
I know it's dark out, but I'll be okay
I can see the house from there

Of course what I mean is

I need a break from my family
No, I'm just going somewhere quiet and dark
I'll take as long as I need
Leave me alone
Yeah, of course it's dark, that's why I like it. Just shut up and let me be
I'm not even far away, you're overreacting!


Six missed calls, but I have my earbuds in and my music blasting
The same song on repeat
I came to write poetry, maybe some song lyrics
This is the pen I stole from the library
I scribble with it but the stupid thing won't write
It's freaking Broken
Now I know how He felt
He stole my freaking heart just to find out that it was already Broken
I hate being Broken
All I wanted was to come here and write
But I get lost in the tune
I finish drinking my sugarless chai tea that I brought with me
Every time I tip my head back to take a sip, I see the stars better
Forget writing, for just half an hour
Forget life
Forget school, and work, and deadlines and everything
Just forget it all
Let it go
Look at the beautiful stars
Pulling up my knee high boots
I get over my paranoia of being watched, or stalked
Nobody is hiding behind the tree or in the shadows, waiting to pounce
No one is going to attack me while I'm sitting on this bench in the darkness in the late evening
I'll be fine
I watch the winter frost along the tips of the grass sparkle and shimmer
The stars are so magnificent
I put the same song on repeat
A song that doesn't tell a clear story, but I can relate to any situation
I've listened to it since elementary school
And here I am years and years later
It is still saving me from myself
I am feeling broken and hollow
I hate myself, I hate life, I hate hating my face, I hate feeling so worthless
But forget that for a minute
I stop checking the time and I ignore the strange looks I get from the residents in the windows of the houses surrounding this little park area watching me and wondering why I'm out here so late all alone
I'm ugly, I'm cold, I'm stupid, I'm a waste of space
I don't deserve life
I don't deserve to talk to anyone
I don't deserve to annoy anyone with my existence
I don't deserve respect, or love, or loyalty or happiness
I think this daily.
I feel bad about freaking cars having to go to the trouble of stopping for me even when I have right of way at a crosswalk
But I have on my black comfy leggings
My black tank top,
My black slouchy cardigan
My black knit tuque
My lips are still slightly stained a faded red from this morning
My eyes are heavily outlined in black
The black is comfy for me
It makes me feel safer
I blend in with the night
I feel happier when I put all the black I have inside, on the outside instead
It's always better to externalize the darkness
Somehow, even though it looks pretty depressing, it helps
I stand up and begin pacing
I turn up the music and inhale, deeply
The winter air bites at my lungs, stinging my skin with its bitter icy fingertips
I let the cold seep into my breathing
To freeze all that burning self-loathing
I force a smile on my face
Somehow, in this dim starlight
I can see Peace so much better than in the sunlight
I breathe so deeply in until I can't intake anymore air
My lungs are at their limit
The smile I'm forcing stops being forced as the winter air and the music's melody washes away all those horrible Broken feelings
A strange feeling overtakes me as I wander around, pacing in spirals with my head tipped upwards, my eyes dancing along the constellations and the shining moon
Maybe the moon isn't whole tonight, but it still shines bright
Maybe I'm not whole, but that doesn't mean I can't shine bright
My phone is ringing, but forget that.
I can't stop smiling, I'm walking around in curvy lines my eyes staring up in wonder, my arms slightly spread
I'm happy
Oh my gosh, I'm happy
I almost laugh, I can't believe the burden is lifted.
The car pulls up, and I realize I've been gone longer than I meant
They've been searching for me.
They're angry, but I'm inexplicably happy
I smile and nod, then saunter home, my music still playing
The Happy feeling doesn't linger too long, but even when it fades out,
For the rest of the night
I'm left in a neutral state
Not *my
neutral state, which is just sadness,
But a happy person's neutral state
Truly not unhappy
Peace.
That's all I wanted.
And I got it, tonight.
Really long story, but essentially, my point is, I felt happiness, and that's rare for me. Stars, music, and tea. That's all I needed. Oh, also a little black, cold air to breathe and a moon. A smile doesn't hurt either. ;)
Sonia Ettyang Dec 2018
Cloudy skies
Heavy downpour
Cold breeze
Swaying trees
Misty window panes
Traffic lights
Hooting cars
Gushing gutters
Drenched trench coats
Soggy feet
Colourful umbrellas
Crowded shelters
Empty side walks

The city skips a few hearbeats
And comes to a stand still
Soon as the pounding rain stops
Everything returns to normalcy

But rainy days call for
Steaming cups
Slouchy sweaters
Fluffy blankets
Snuggles
Cuddles
Novels
Notebooks
Gramophone tunes in the background
Enjoying a little piece of heaven
While the day is washed off
Setting stage for a clean fresh start
©Sonia Ettyang
Lover of rain
Effy Royle Aug 2017
Aries: We are walking in the forest. You are slightly in front of me and talking about your favorite tv show. You ask a question, I can tell because the end of your sentence raises. I apologize for not paying attention, you say it doesn’t matter and that it was a dumb question to begin with. I know you’re upset, but then again, we are breaking each other’s heart while trying to keep the other one alive. Our heart beats sync into one and I wonder if this is heaven on earth.

Taurus: It is nearly October and although the leaves have not all fallen, we are playing in piles of orange and brown. You are laughing about a distant memory of your dad that has somehow made you forget all the bad he has caused. I grab your hand, which makes you stop mid-sentence. You start rubbing my palm with your thumb, you draw a heart then close my hand. We were never the type to have completely comfortable silence, but at that moment I believe silence is the only thing that feels right.

Gemini: I am ringing your doorbell on a spring day during grade 12. You told me to come over before you left to go back west. I love seeing you smile and it is the first time it has been genuine in years. You finally answer the door and greet me with a hug that felt like it could take away all my problems. I have often wondered what it would be like to be yours but then again, you have always been mine.

Cancer: We are talking about a future neither of us are well enough to live until. I often hope you will outlive me, because it will be hard to explain to everyone why my happiness fled post-mortem. The sun is almost rising and it is now that we realize how much we will miss the other. There are still broken plates from the night before and we try to sweep them up as well as our half eaten hearts or maybe bagels. We have each other but that does not always mean we are there for each other.

Leo: Christmas was never either of our favorite holidays, which gives our families another reason to call us the black sheep. We are driving down a wooded road and your hand is on my knee. I turn down the radio where some classic rock song is playing a guitar riff that reminds me of your dad. I open my mouth to say something about how much I wish we were happier but then I remember that bringing those things up will only make you more upset. Maybe this is the year that Christmas is no longer blue.

Virgo: We are sitting across the table in your dad’s condo while drinking some form of mixed drink we didn’t bother to name. It is super bowl Sunday and your father is making himself a sandwich. He’s been living alone for quite some time now and I can tell it hurts you to see him lonely. I am watching you, watch him and it makes me smile. I realize that although we are alone, we are alone together.

Libra: We are sitting in your childhood treehouse when it starts to rain. I am tugging at my own sleeves wondering if I am still able to feel my own body warmth. It is Thanksgiving break and our hometown seems like something out of a young adult novel that became a movie. I want to tell you that I missed you but soon the drugs will take effect and then I’ll be able to blame my feelings on that. Our high makes our heads fall on each other which causes you to fall asleep. Your breaths slow and you start making sleep noises that remind me of Saturday morning cartoons. Your hair tickles my neck and it is then that I realize, this is love.

Scorpio: There are raindrops on your shirt as you walk in our favorite coffee shop to meet me. You’re wearing a slouchy beanie that makes you look like an indie rock musician. I smile and wave from across the room, hoping you won’t notice my tear stained cheeks. You take a seat across from me and I start wondering if you are running late on purpose or if you really did lose track of time. You ask me how I have been and I the same, but it is different. Not forced, per say, but more so it seems like having small talk with me has become a chore. I look back at my overdue essay, the cursor is taunting me and you alike. We spend the rest of our date in silence, minus the occasional sips of Chai and keyboard clicks.

Sagittarius: You call me well before sunrise yet it is still late. You are sobbing quietly and of course I ask what happened. You explain to me how life does not seem worth living more than usual tonight and how better off everyone would be without you. We continue to talk up to sunrise and it is then that we can finally say goodnight or I guess good morning. I let you hang up first because I know how easily your heart gets broken. I want to tell you how I wish I could’ve held you or even held you longer but it is too late. We are across the country in apartments so similar it’s scary. I wish knowing people loved you from 2000 miles away was enough for you to stay alive, but we were never that black and white.

Capricorn: We are driving down a country road where your grandfather used to take you. You take a turn too fast and dirt spirals up, blocking my line of vision. You laugh as though death was on either of agendas. I have always loved your laugh and nothing, not even the fact that you are leaving in two weeks, could take that away. I want to tell you about my classes and new friends but I know that will cause the weird jealousy that overtakes you during the fall months. You have always been my favorite color and I am terrified of running out of paint because you are so rare. I love the freckles in your eyes and the way you sometimes elongate my name as if in tune to a nursery rhyme. As the sun sets I am reminded that this was never a reality just a more truthful fallacy.

Aquarius: It is a rainy April night and we are listening to cars pass over the wet street, both of our favorite soundtracks. You are watching a cat run into the alleyway across from your apartment. I get up off the grey ottoman that separates the living room and kitchen. When you first moved here, you were scared of the vastness that a loft provides but you said with me there it felt more like a home. I am reminded of this everytime I see you with someone new, which seems unfair to you but then again it is me that you are hurting. I put on another kettle to make more tea although neither of us enjoy the taste. You are watching me now and I can tell you want to say something but decide against it last minute. I want to ask you what you’re thinking but I already know the answer. After half drank tea cups dictate your coffee table, we reside to our respected places in your unmade bed. You take my hand in yours and place it on your heart; it is then that I realize you were made for me yet I was not for you.

Pisces: I am drawing shapes on your back as you drift off into light sleep, only waking up to describe new ideas for movies neither of us are motivated enough to make. You sit up abruptly and run your fingers through your unwashed hair. You check the time and say we should get going. We are meeting your family for a dinner, most likely with a discussion we won’t be prepared to have. I fix your tie, it’s the one your father let you borrow for your great uncle’s funeral last fall. You give yourself a thumbs up in the bathroom mirror which makes me laugh. I can tell you are nervous by the way you’re chewing your bottom lip. Taking your hand, I reassure you that we are real and this is real. On our way to your childhood home, I can’t help but think we are each other’s missing piece.
judy smith Apr 2015
If there was an award for the oddest pairing in fashion, it would go to Jonathan Anderson and Spanish house Loewe. More than a few eyebrows were raised when the designer, who is better known for his conceptual unisex collections and dressing men in cropped tops, was handed the reins to the heritage brand that is all about "luxe" (in other words: conservative) leather goods.

In person, Anderson looks more like an extra from a Saint Laurent runway show than creative director of one of Spain's most treasured possessions. He's dressed in a typical model uniform of white tee and jeans, complete with dark sunglasses and a cigarette dangling from his fingers. A mop of tousled, highlighted blond hair adds to his boyish charm, although he is quick to assert that looks can be deceiving.

"Fashion ultimately imitates life and in life things don't always look good together from the outset," he says. "I know a certain style is good when I feel uncomfortable with it - those looks turn out to be the best. You have to challenge yourself with things you don't like or don't know."

Taking on a brand reinvention is probably one of the biggest challenges the 30-year-old Irish designer has faced in his short but successful career. A former Prada window dresser, he studied menswear at London College of Fashion and launched his eponymous line in 2008 to critical acclaim. He's been nominated for many awards and even collaborated with the likes of Versus.

In 2013 everything changed when LVMH took a minority stake in his label and offered him the role of creative director at Loewe in the hope that he could transform the dormant house into a modern success story along the lines of Givenchy and Céline. The Loewe gig wasn't originally part of the deal but that changed quickly following a covert visit to the Loewe factory.

"Truth is I just fell in love with the people," he says. "I met the master modeller and leather developer, and I thought this brand can be huge. Loewe was never on my radar, but when I went there I could not understand why it had never been articulated in a way that it wasn't global. I questioned if I wanted to do this, but once I started creating a book of ideas, I couldn't stop."

Although Loewe has a network of stores around the world, it was not a brand that many people took notice of (a fact not helped by its unpronounceable name, which for the record is pronounced Lo-Wev-Eh).

So Anderson decided to adopt a more controversial approach to the rebranding. Much like Hedi Slimane at Saint Laurent, he unveiled a fresh new identity, including a sleek new logo designed by graphic duo M/M (Paris) and an eye-catching campaign featuring a selection of vintage Steven Meisel images.

"I did a year of research before I started and realised we had to remove the date and city location from the logo. One of my skills is that I am very marketing directed," he says.

While many creative directors use runway shows as a platform to showcase their vision, Anderson focused first on the fundamentals of the brand and what it does best: leather goods. Soon Loewe's iconic buttery soft leather was transformed into covetable designs such as the best-selling Puzzle Bag, the Colourblock Flamenco Crossbody and a range of minimalist clutches and totes embossed with the discreet new logo.

"There are not many brands in the world that are built up in that way. We have such incredible leather knowledge in hand at Loewe and I had to use that," he says.

Next on his list was adding a more personal element to the brand in the form of culture. Along came various projects, including working with renowned Japanese ceramicist Tomoo Hamada on two exclusive pieces for the Tokyo store, inspired by the brand's DNA. His most recent project, which was unveiled in Hong Kong last week, features prints by British textile artist John Allen, which have appeared on a range of summer essentials, from bags to towels.

"When I was looking at what other brands were offering, none of them really dealt with this culture idea," Anderson says.

That's not to say that ready-to-wear takes a back seat at Loewe. This is an area where Anderson has been most prolific, producing both ready-to-wear and pre-collections for men and women which are shown in Paris.

"Marc Jacobs fundamentally opened up the idea that clothing was needed to articulate leather goods. It came from a moment in the 1990s where he changed our thinking on old houses. I've learned through my lifetime that you need a character to tell a story - a bag cannot be isolated. People need something tangible to hold onto and ready-to-wear creates newness," he says.

There's no doubt that his clothing brings a fresh perspective to the brand. His menswear collections feature everything from slouchy raw-silk tunic and turned-up jeans to knitted palazzo pants, each imbued with his signature androgynous touches. His woman is powerful and dressed boldly in blouson blouses made from patchwork leather and wide-legged trousers.

While many critics have embraced the new Loewe look wholeheartedly, others have not been complimentary, saying that Anderson's work is derivative. Not that Anderson is letting it get to him.

"I had to stop reading what people write. I have to be me. I want the brand to be big, and will do everything to make it happen, but I don't want to change who I fundamentally am. You either like what I say or don't," he says.

"I am bored of the days where we are obsessed with the idea that certain designers owned things. You own nothing. Fashion is not about that. It's about reappropriating things, it's how you edit it."

Like most 21st century designers, Anderson is obsessed with the future and creating a brand that is truly of the moment: he has lofty goals to bring Loewe to the next generation of consumers.

"The idea of relevance is the idea that you can be rejected tomorrow. We live in a culture that moves very fast, so that relevance is short-lived. My biggest goal in the next five years is to get to the point where we will do a show and, the day after, the collection is in store. It means we are designing for the moment that it is going out. That's my dream."Read more here:marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Meg B Mar 2015
It was a Sunday afternoon when I
went for an impromptu drive,
keeping my foot on the gas and snaking
among the one-ways and the
downtown traffic as I
made my way to the river.
I put the heat on
ever so slightly just so
I'd be warm enough to roll
the windows down and feel that
fresh spring air on my face.
I wore my retro hat backwards,
and my Raybans covered my eyes,
my cool demeanor and slouchy posture
in sync with the steady rhythm of the
90s hip hop booming through my
speakers.
I watched the sun as it made love to
the river's chop, and
I snuck a glance at the stolen kisses
the green grass shared with the
tall trees on the shoreline.
Beautiful yellow and purple buds
splattered the bushes like
Impressionism,
thick dabs of color that all blended
into a beautifully disorganized
vision of the season of
rebirth.
I sprouted wings and flew outside
my body as I inhaled
pollens and flower nectar,
as my skin reddened under the
bright sunlight,
my self got lost in the time and space
continuum that swallowed me
like ground swallowed up the last
traces of snow, replacing my ground
with the warmth and
rebirth that spring always brings
after a long winter.
vanessa Jul 2014
Don't trust boys with maddening hunger and hazel specked eyes i guarantee you there's a monster behind that mask, don't let him sweet talk years of your life away, he's insanely good at it. Don't let him ****** your mind so he can put you in a closet for when he wants you.
Don't trust boys with glasses and slouchy shoulders, his heart is cold and his mind is tilted, believe me he's not worth the fight save yourself the trouble and walk away before he tears you in two.
Don't trust boys with lip piercings and dusty hearts, he'd run back to his drug of choice if given the chance and I promise you no matter how much you pray, it won't be you. He'll take your last breath before you have a chance to scream, don't you dare let him run away with your voice, he may have left you breathless but I swear to god he is poison.
Don't trust boys with bruises and curly hair, there's no telling how deep his wounds are and no matter how much you beg and plead and cry and howl at the moon that this wasn't suppose to happen he'll walk away too, he won't be able to close the door to his past. Believe me it will hurt like hell, some days it will feel hard to get out of bed. But this is exactly why you should not trust boys with whirl winds in their eyes and daggers in their fingertips and this is exactly what they will do to you. I would know, because it happen to me.

*vm
Kiernan Norman Dec 2014
It’s nights like these;
when the sky feels raw-quiet
and the moon hangs so low-heavy
and pulpy, parchment yellow,
dripping and left to sun-stain and disintegrate
against dull ghost stories
and stinging to-do lists.
This is when I feel it- the fracturing.
You’re out of sight.
I’m out of mind.  

I crack the window,
blink loose stars out of focus
and send them shotgun galloping
across the flat-hum pulsing,
tin tinged and navy evening static.

The North Star needs new batteries.
He flickers and sways but won’t
extinguish. He is soft and solemn-
a lazing, dazing anchor whose fraying rope
weaves bowline knots
and hitching ties
into each inch of my drying hair.

Every strand of the night breathes itself into life.
The pieces are softening and shifting,
howling and crawling.
They become young men planning,
flexing at high tide and daring
each other further out with each set of waves.
They are posing, pretending to be
what they think the word ‘reckless’ means.

They are throwing their bodies into surf
and wailing.
They are crashing hard
and violent
against the shore.

They are shaking out golden limbs
and rubbing bloodshot eyes.
I watch bruises bloom and gashes erupt a flash
of crimson before salt water clean and stung.

They are flashing gleeful smiles
and throwing taunting screams across
whole seas while diving back,
quickly, elegantly,
into the same rough surf
that just spit them out.

Maybe they’re proactive,
maybe things hurts less when you
know where the hurt will come from.
Maybe the game isn’t to stay lovely
and bright and whole;
but to know pain’s possibilities so intimately
that when it comes time for you to break
you can do so without shattering
completely.

Nights like these;
sitting cross-legged with a blank
page open and an aching, reeling,
sickly-warm ribbon sprouting from my molars-
I get it.

Streamers wave proudly across
my body.
They grip and simmer,
they wind tightly around  
organs and bones who
gave up their hiding spots
and surrendered their secrets
the first time I let him come in.

The strings are bright and knot themselves tight.
They tether my windpipe,
weld each rib colorfully between sternum and spine.
They coil down and tie off;
thick, swaddled and bobbing, bowing
themselves regally around my coccyx.

Nights like these I have no armor.
Where is my skin?
I stir and rattle to even the slightest shift of Earth.
Exposed and quaking, I body-map bolts of light.
The light is tap dancing over lungs,
igniting blood and ricocheting through the summer camp,
arts and crafts hysteria fusing my anatomy.
It plunge pastels deep into the marrow of my bones.
The room is smoky, my gut splashes about, electrocuted.
I stop feeling tired.

The thing is- what I’m really trying to say,
is that I have no words right now.
There are no pretty lines caught in the twine of
my hip joints and no fiery prose laying
eggs in my spinal fluid.

There is no poem to write
about the fleshy, sour
smell of my own heart
roasting on a pyre or the hours it will take
to scrub off the charred bits of melting muscle
now staining the carpet.

This bitter heat creeping up my throat
and the sallow contraction of my
belly are not the prologue to a revolution-
my diagnosis is not a metaphor.

They are simply the tangy symptoms of the sadness
pinging around my insides and playing
peekaboo among the weeds of my broken body and sticky mind.
She will wait, biding time, for a properly rapt audience.
I whisper then whine that I’m too messy,
too slouchy, too emotionally ill-equipped to house a heart
maybe breaking,
definitely ripping, across-the-ballroom
slipping and wrecking-ball imploding.
Sadness smacks her lips and smirks.
No one rides for free.  

Nights like these I think
maybe I’ve wasted all my words;
my sentences and precious syntax and swooping rhetoric,
on lighter blows and mere heartaches.
I am a ragdoll limply stretching.
I am standing completely still, taking inventory.
I’m puzzled, though decidedly unthreatened,
by the glass-littered ground, my bleeding feet.
I mean look at the big picture:
I lit myself on fire.
I’m not worried about sunburn.

I know now that it has happened-
the hurt circulates my veins
and pumps me full of vehemence.
The act of breathing is ferocious,
I am a tangle of raw nerves.
This is the night I’m left with a heart shattered
in six hundred pieces on the floor and absolutely no poetry rising
from my pores to help glue it back together.

I said I get it.
I should have practiced.
I should have left my clothes on the sand and
ran toward the sea, naked and unembarrassed,
while diving head first into fierce undertows
and crashing with the boyish bodies of the night.

I should have experimented;
explored all the ways hurt could find me
while the beach was still mine to breathe out and yell for
without fear of being told 'no.'
But I didn’t. I kept my clothes on and my secrets to myself.

Tonight I’m a wreck and this isn’t a test.
I'm so far out, weighed down
by this boxy, heavy pain
ripening in my arms.
I'm panicky and paddling in any direction,
trying to keep my head above water
and praying the shore will appear and welcome me
once I get through this next set of waves,
through this next set of waves.
Toni Lynn Whitt Apr 2010
Who Am I
That is a good question
Well I'm nothing too special
and I'm nothing too great
I'm just simple
Who Am I
I'm just a girl
I'm not a high matience Barbie
I'm not a slouchy Tom Boy
I'm just your down home Kentucky Girl
Who Am I
I'm a girlfriend
Who loves her boyfriend very much
and would give her life just so he could live another day
Who Am I
I'm a daughter
Who tries her hardest to make her momma and daddy proud
Who Am I
I'm a sister who keeps all the ***** little secrets
Who Am I
I'm a aunt that is the best in the whole wide world
Who Am I
Simply put I'm just me
Toni
Tasha Gill Nov 2013
She smokes,
Pall Mall Menthols
She smokes and she drinks
and she swears
She puts on a cool face
handles conversation well
She's hilarious and clumsy
and easily entertained
She's graceful sometimes
but more often not
She's into finances
business proposals
and spreadsheets
She's smart, but
She's lazy
that's something
She's working on
She's trying to
live more in the present
but keep the future
in mind
She wears jeans
and t-shirts
baggy sweaters
and slouchy hats
She wears glasses
but only if
She has to
She liked to use
her nails
She arches her back
and gasps and makes
just the tiniest of moans
when touched just right
She has posture problems
She'll grab her shoulders
and forcibly drag them back
She writes poems
something she doesn't
take too much pride in
She's flawed and flawless
and the best thing about her?
She's mine.
Legs crossed
Slouchy socks
Pulsing foot
Waiting for nothing
With a stomach full of money.
Brynn Aster Jan 2012
As i look at you from across the room
With your slouchy pants and cool whistle,
I can imagine a life full of happiness and understanding,
Dreams come true and goals fulfilled.

I can only wish that our gazes will meet,
Momentarily complete.
A room full of people apart.
But alas,
You will never be more than a fleeting feeling of hope.
Allison Marlow Mar 2014
The thought of being in love at a cabin just overwhelms me with happiness. Just imagining it being summertime running around with wild, curly, messy hair in your bikini with big slouchy shirts as a cover up and dancing and listening to music loudly and sometimes softly and tackling each other in the water and talking late at night and sleeping in the sheets with tan, sunburnt skin and laughing so hard and making lunch and sleeping out, maybe sometimes accidentally and being spontaneous, fun and free and so so happy. Doing anything.

A.m
Title the world, once I branded, ex bandit, cats cant stand it,
Watch me out land it, crashed on plymouth rock, hard knocks,
From the cops, when my homie had to make the quick drops,
Slouchy, mighty touchy, when the shotti, next to me, easy,
Come easy, go rilling in dough,
Pillysbury style, saw miles, before I walked my first dials,
On the phone, tryna get a wet bone, link back at the zone,
My home, my throne, guard it like Jeffer-son, soothe baritone,
Paul Williams, of the industry, pass cloud nine to ten, chemistry,
Check the geometry, of my lady, back side banging mercedes,
Whoa!, to our future kids, if we got problems ma, let's just dig,
Solve our own problems, before the media robs em, stab em,
With the vocal, shot off words like a pist-al, slows sips of cristal,
Ice dripping off the crystal, ***** of a disco, sparkling slow mo,
Take it back, to the soul train, dance hall, baby let's ball gall,
For your love, from others sisters to brothers and many others,
Love to spread, the butter haters under, slash the thunder,
Lightening strikes, before midnight, picture my sight iight,
Cold dreaming, dont waste the *****, succubus tag teaming,
I must be seeing, things ain't so supreme, I'm a just a humanbeing,
Mortal, but my souls immortal, saw life after death, it was pleasant,
Had undercover peasant,
Worship the presence, over the past, listen to the music, back mask,
Hold up, unveil the last, break the task, move fast as Nash,
Power bomb ya intellect, with the shells of my medulla, selects,
Bring down ya threats, no sweat, but heat off my baguettes,
Icy dripping wet, like girls pearls, I'm still taking on the world,
Hold my status, the baddest, since Jesse James, detain the lames,



Made on the back burners, of sin, born in, to a false religion,
Call us stool pigeons, for playing a masculine positions,
Saw ambitions, of wishing  twinkle star still mixing, kissing,
My dreams goodbye, just another lullaby, so gangstified,
How many of ya peeps tried, failed and hoped you died,
But I took the critics, and buried em, with a fist of rhymes,
Dimes, over pennies, watch em turn Guinea, more than plenty,
Rhymes I got, keep it going til I body rot, its bone **** plot,
Take the bullets from malcolm, and Kennedy, reload it,
Unload it,at my enemies, playing friends of me, raunchy cronies,
Form a rap colony, with no apology, resurrect my ancestry bodies,
Come back, revert the track, murk the masters, of the disaster,
Nat Turner, blaster with the burner, independent learner,
Since the schools, failed me as a, successful earner,
Had to learn tha, hard way stress was building away, always,
Caught a smoke sessions, wild days of my hay day, blazing hay,
No delays, on time, all I saw was, dollar signs, snake lines,
We was all made to fail by design, see the peace sign, rewind,
Check the history, ain't got nothing to do with freedom see?,
Society for what, it really is, put that on my mints n kids,
Future ain't nothing, too bright two shades of butter white,
But I'm a still a *****, focused michete sharp as finger trigger,
Itchin, for a twitching, fast as a blast, now ya mans, in a cask-
-et, looking well fit, tuxedo snort rush fast adrenaline like DeVito,
Cab riding, off the cookie show, mystery meat glow,
Soylent green, love a diva surpeme, like a scorpion stings,
Sings of siren, got me admiring, pretty girls spark the swirls,
Got the little boys, puberty yelling, but without a noise,
"Loss" is a thing with stingers
That stings the soul
And wails the tunes in silence-
And never goes away-
At all.

"Time" is its best companion
For some other time,
the aches are much much more
To make you bend and curl.
And there are times,
life's appetite is dull and slouchy
But most likely
you'll get up and carry on...
Spit it differently, far from slouchy, rock the independently,
Sitting it like a senate be, once I excel, my vocal chords, aboard,
the night train, to Georgia cant ignore tha, mind explorer,
More pages, of rhymes than a Torah, others just boring ya,
Let me, show ya how to finesse, the best, summertime no stress,
Used to wear a vest, combat test, to measure, cues for my quest,
Johnny, still tryna be, bravo in the cherry holes, but the ovens closed,
Let me show ya, how it grows and grows, like David's soul,
Feel these ghetto scrolls, scriptures of the only bold, who hold,
Treat wisdom, like gold, others paying toll, knock out trolls,
Easily, sittin in the corners, hating me, but at the same time,
Time praising me, amazingly, as I penetrate the Hennessy,
Plenty, to go round, heavy shells, packed for, the hallow rounds,




Armani style
suits, with gutter troops, catching heats of the scoop,
Alley-op, ****** a snitch, machine gun funk, gangsta *****,
Send the goons out, no doubt, moving like a Lucas route,
Play close attention, to my ambitions, suspension,
Got cams, all around me, feelin, like Bruce the god Almighty,
But theres no TV, only me, as the bible, posted comfortably,
Let my hands, stick together eyes closed, say a prayer, for me,
To much to see, too many places to be, status of a don legacy,
Readily, setting the plots, give all that Ive got, stash the plots,
Take my secrets, to the grave, too many murders, a blazed,
Stuck my infinite ways, no longer happy days, but I stays,
True to self, my true wealth, unique I spit, so I play it in stealths,
See the folks say they got your back,
Be the main muthafuckas,
Waiting for you to crack,
Down fall downfall,  and when you die, they be the first on last call,
Fake tears fake love, where was the love when I was getting dug, with the bugs,
It's a fantasy drug, I'd rather die in the hands, of my enemy by a slug,
Because, fake friends take most of your ends, and lay out most of the sins,
So tell me, how the hell can they feel, when so far from Muthaphukkin real,


Lost my last two dollars, yo it makes me wanna holla,
Holla, at the sky why o why, lord father just let me see the sky,
And regain my freedom, cursed to this land, birth through old Eden,
I saw the seasoning, before the cooking, I'm thinking this sight is good looking,
Too much hurt, too much work, pain stuck deep in the dirt,
Living the perks, its on and poppin, big yosef holding thrills that droppin,
Lounging never slouchy, keep it realer than Fauci, **** the vaccines,
I stay cool and clean, smile when all the mugs turned mean,
So dont ask me how I feel, when I'm just giving up the Muthaphukkin real,


So what they wanna call me *****, but I got things going on much bigger,
I stay by the trigger, so how the ******* figure, its gonna stop me from taking pictures,
Of the elite see the souls of the lost sheep, taking a peep,
Through and gander, deadly virus focused colors of a panda,
Forget every other race, with last on the map, perhaps, people need to get slapped,
I been there, I done that,
Folks still holding, the government *******, but I switch to attack,
Mode see the youth, finna explode, boomers finna implode,
They mad at us, *** we dont feel what they feel, I'm just givin up the real,
Enter the dark valley of skulls foreshadows death row
Suckas know we roll on any plateaus roger rabbit ******
Once I get a taste of snow yo feel the depths of a brothers blow
Pistols shows western leak mustard blood packs see life hacks
Matter of fact ya lifes ending g racing to the twlight scenery
White lights from the guns flashing bright it'll be iight
Only focus my sight on alien idioms leave my victims laying numbs
Sons of an assassins guku solar blasting check the stashing
Of energy **** synergy to better see my enemies vorhees
Slash with the holy mask victims cant even task everlast
I'll never see the cask see the past through the futures glass
Yeah we stay on ya *** shaft mack attack true villain in black
It's like MC Ren spinning a Benz yo I'm always into something
Got so much heat I could even make the flames begin jumping
Pumping ultra waves of sounds serenades blue magic pomade
Sitting on my circle of hair ways laid down to a T mack like Goldie
Got more swoops than Cherry milk cows for all of their diary
How dare ye? Try to compare me my styles deeper than Barry
Practice what I preach broke from heavens leash watch me release
Cold corniche cheese the rats watch em fall for the mouse trap
Adapt to any environment once all it takes is iron and mints
Government plots tactics spent now im a spawn hell resident





Signaled by the afterlife troops looking for some souls to scoop  
Oops I caught alley at a rally dicking thick salleys adding talleys
We stay rowdy rowdy bout it bout it keep crowds overcrowded
Mags sitting slouchy yo never that I play a cool frenzy like Denzi
Sparks of the bottle so a **** genie can jump out in a bikini
Tricks by the Houdini mellow rap got women in between me
See that cameo sparkle mistletoe beat it til it's a cherry glow
And her legs start to buckle but back to this star spangled
Banner count the fifty stars born on Mars with 3 million half scars
Keep wars wrapped like spaghetti beats I keep em michete
Til its start to leak out of ya souls viking instincts vessels
Deep in ya console visions scrolls punches harder than Drago
Feel me though cant silence Pharaoh hit ya with arrows
Of flows til it sticks into ya mental no time for sentimental
I'm analytical biblical not madman disciple check the rifle
Thirty odd six still in the mix of triple six are yall hearing this?
The realist to spin this plus the vinyls is crisp cold rocking it
Mcs too light I cause the deepest fright in the midst of the nights
The record sales holy grail blessed by the magnificent tales
Nothing fiction breaking into ya jurisdiction crucifixion
Once I begin the mixing nails and crosses take ya losses
Boss of bosses kings of kings and all yall other just siblings
Dribbling tryna make ya way into the lane I'm off the chain
Sick with no brain got ya hyped up from my lyrical *******
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
because i have nothing original to write about,
2 hours worth of cycling...
harmoniously angered with
slouchy, Asian stereotypical handling of
car, traffic...
******* idiots... you can seriously racially profile
traffic... zombie traffic-cone malaise...
sort of like: blinking without: blinking...
never mind the Chelsea smile... more like...
cut the eye-lids off... start crying from the pain
of not being able to blink... or sleep...
ignorant ninja *****...

today? did all the house required...
i'm going to Poland for 4 days...
i'm thinking about Ukraine...
   4 days... the winds might pick up...
there's nothing for me, here, in: zee vest...
LGBTQ+ right?! the ****
perhaps Ukraine is the closest to my heart...
i don't want to die a slow death
of sorts... get me into the action...
my heart is in it... depends whether my wallet is
too...

only today i cycled again... a fat ******* tire...
*******! the irony of the gods!
i walked back, passed a field with half a hozen
horses... no apple... no sugar cube...
just my hand... extended... tried to whistle:
chuck-chuck chuckle... cheese... ch' ch'...
chut chut: no no chatter... pet the **** thing...
o.k. success...
what does the little ****** do?
grins at me with those horse-teeth...
and... starts to nibble at my hand...
now... don't get me wrong... a dog licks the wounds
on your hands... a cat bites you folding
around your arm like a xenomorph...
but... when a horse starts biting your hands?
almost, somewhat... grinning?
showing off his big *** teeth?

              there's no future for me, here...
not when the women are... not women...
if i conscripted into the Ukrainian army... even if i were
a cook... that's the thing...
men can do all the things that women do...
i could be a catch-22 Major Major...
a cook, of sorts... a man can do a woman's role...
i'm desperately searching...
maybe ******* to Kamchatka Peninsula...
for some... repose...
                    i don't feel like ever having to die for
queer rights... this is almost a blessing...
this is not some proxy war...
some tertiary conflict in Afghanistan...
this is right up my doorstep...
   perhaps it's not authentic but neither was Vietnam...
Khedra keeps on sending me
selfies... i even managed to store some
on my facebook- page...
citing: well... at least this Turkish *******
let me sing aloud: Bruce Srpingsteen's Human Touch...
i loved her like i wanted to love her...
i touched her disinhibited...
loved... well... ****** her...
      same ****... different cover...
              but you know when it feels more than right...
like... walking into a shower where
the water is more than "just about right"...
the water feels like someone is... ahem...
"licking" you?
    you know that feeling...

o.k., now i'm sort of "suspicious"... for all the youtube
supposed censorship...
huh... hmm... no, not enough guise to put up a <?!>
barricade...
i get a suggestion...
      Volfodemo - Light Me Up...
hello, *****...
      casually... someome is watching me...
it feels...
             i would sooner get an advert suggestion
about some silly brand... before i'd get
a song choice... it's rather pretty...
i'm just to put a photograph of the ******* i'm
*******... sue me...
i'm thinking about going to war
in Ukraine... because? a horse bit me...
with this massive grin... for ****'s sake...
a man might tell another man that
his beard is ****... but women? these days?
they have his inhibitors in place...
they're such petrified creatures...
they're worse than does!

          touch them! squeamish! scream!
don't touch them! squeamish! scream!
**** it...
           feed your hands to dogs: for them to lick
your wounds... to cats to allow them to curl into
a xenomorph pose... for the thrills of...
then go to the horses... let them bite your hand
for a snapshot of their grin...
of perfectly allocated teeth: to a grin...

oh, i very much like the song suggestion...
who's watching me...
the type... akin to: TAYLOR (Asia Kate Dillon)
i don't mind... playing furrow / the violin fiddling
with my beard... i really don't...
it's the ideal way to pass time...

       but... we're talking about a song suggestion...
and it's not a popular song...
ergo? some is playing a game of voyeurism with
me... don't worry... the cat is safely snuggled in
my bed... in which i will find clouds in
to better attempt to: oh right...
dream update... i actually dreamed the other day...
i dreamed of looking at myself...
giggling... with a fluffy... bushy... grey... beard...
weird as ****... was i dreaming of a mirror?

or.... yeah... that... or...
what's the alternative on the table?
"everyone" is getting censored while i'm getting...
music suggestions? and... esp. this one...
VOLFODEMO - LIGHT ME UP...
    it's... rather decent...

look at her: couldn't paint
a prettier picture, even if i could...
https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=10103683957911221&set=a.10101156241100971
Josephine Wilea Jan 2020
You are my cropped leggings
You are my movie theater M&M's
You are my ridged fingernails
You are my slouchy green shirt
You are my knit blanket
You are my heavy backpack
You are my coconut oil popcorn
You are my frizzy hair
You are my softly scarred arms
You are eVerYthiNg
and I hate it

— The End —