And we showered in prison sized cells,
white tiled and PVC clad,
the B&Q recommends it!-
And we died in those showers
that were prison sized cells,
white tiled and PVC clad,
And we were saved by the
eat again yellow doors,
peering through blind black windows
into the clear streets at dawn.
And they yelled with a siren mouth
dirty blue profanity and
you left your mark with a bloody white tee,
wet with the water that
hurtled down from the
shower head, unclean and dirty.
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now i had a cousin named named Patrick
who had a lovely partner named Michael.
let me tell you, i did not believe in the myth of true love
until i saw the look in their eyes when they saw each other;
until i saw the way Michael looked at Patrick and the way Patrick looked back
with that tiny twinkle in the corner of his left eye.
naturally, i saw nothing wrong with the
situation. love is love and what they had was definitely
they had a beautiful wedding on a beach in France
and they both still call that day,
that moment the best moment of their entire lives.
all was well and the newly weds honeymooned
all throughout Europe and the world seemed at peace.
until, they got off the plane that landed them right in Houston, Texas.
they walked out of the terminal hand-in-hand,
some "aw"ed, some looked away in disgust, but one young man
threw a balloon full of paint of my dear friend Patrick and spat on Michael
as he yelled the word "faggots".
the new couple hadn't prepared themselves for this.
time continued to pass and they soon bought their
first house. a lovely little two-bedroom, 700 square foot home.
news quickly spread around the neighborhood of they new
"homo couple" down the street. one day,
Michael got home for work to find the garage
spray painted with blue ink reading, "God hates fags".
after hours of scrubbing away at the blue ink
that polluted the air, the couple finally learned a few rules.
they were not to show affection in public.
they were not to be open about their sexuality.
they were not to be themselves as long as someone else might see.
the years flew by and this love dwindled down to
the flame of that red glowing candle was put out.
years of avoiding public affections all for the fear
of being called a "faggot".
after three years of marriage the couple split.
claiming to no longer be in love, but they knew,
i knew, that they wanted to be in love.
they just didn't want to live in fear of being called the "F" word.
After the battle done did rage,
my spoil of war, a frenchman,
I put in my basement in a cage,
this rarity I would not relinquish,
my personal love adviosr and sage.
He called me a " fatty american"
even though I was slim,
and said it was torture that
I kept bothering him.
He counted time like Louey Pasteur,
that was how he pronunced "hour."
I told him I was french in lineage,
and he said " I don't think so,
" the french are biologists,
and perhaps your mother is a fungus
that grew on oak."
so I sprayed him with some water very cold,
" be nice, or you'll get the hose."
I told him, for his advice I would pay,
his currency was cow's milk from Calais,
he brightened even more after
I installed an ass tickling bidet.
and he would make, then nibble cheese,
as he was lecturing me.
" If you want the girl, you must always whisper,
and she will lean closer, and then you kiss her,"
such advice, this frenchman delivered.
We became bon amis, with each other pleased,
but he needed more than a bidet and cheese.
" You can either have a french wife,
or an oven for cooking bread,"
before I even finished, what I said,
" Oui, a bread oven I'll have instead."
So every night, I spent by his iron side,
Descarte and Victor Hugo we would recite,
" and against the british we helped you fight
" you still owe us money," he said calmly,
as he offered me a baget and I took a bite.
" We french, know the power
of the mushroom and the bedroom,
that is why we avoid the scuffle,
would rather marinate our truffle."
I gobbled up his words,
so sweet and sauteed,
and admired the clothes he made,
and he made me some
so I "could get laid."
Then the news came, a peace treaty,
war and my personal frenchman were finished,
the United States were now
at war with the Finland,
" Right when we just started to begin,"
I yelled and he nodded his chin,
" What the hell am I gunna do with a Finn."
So I released the frenchman back into the wild,
crying like a mother seeing off her child,
I had to push and shove, he would not go,
but we had to part for the sake of love,
he dillied and dallied and bent low,
picking mushrooms that wild--grow.
" For the sake of love, just go,"
I yelled, and threw a baget at him,
and he retreated into the woods,
and I wiped the tears from my eye,
and everytime I see frills--or fungi,
I think of that time, I had a frenchman in a cage,
and as I talk to the finn,
dammit ,.it just ain't the same.
She skipped along the cracked pavements
Counting her steps
Making sure that she lands her feet within the rectangular cement
The pavement was cold, almost wet
And decorated with old wilting leaves
Winter was fast approaching
She stopped and yelled at her dad to walk faster
"Come on, daddy! What's taking you so long?"
Her dad waved and quickened his pace
"I'm sorry, darling."
She smiled at her dad and grabbed his hand as they walked back home
Her dad was on school run duty that afternoon again
She stopped in her tracks
And stared at the window
Something had caught her eye
Her dad too had stopped when his daughter had let go of his hand
"What is it, darling?"
She stood there in silence
She had hoped that her dad would catch up
She was eyeing up the fake Barbie doll in the window display of a charity shop
"Nothing. Let's just go home."
She smiled at her dad and began skipping again
One step, two step
Her dad looked her and looked at the doll in the window again, and then began walking
They arrived home
Warmth and the sound of tv was blaring
She took off her shoes that were meant for boys, coat that was from the charity shop and bag that belonged to her elder sister
She made herself comfortable next to her sick mother
While her dad creeped out to buy that doll that his daughter was eyeing up a few moments ago
He ran as fast as he could, he knew that that shop was closing up soon
By the time he reached there
It was too late
The old lady at the cashier told him that someone had just bought that doll a few moments ago
He thanked her
He dragged his feet home
He tried his best
If only she knew that her dad tried everything he could to make her happy
He knew that she was just being strong for him
Not to complain but say please and thank you
She saw her dad running pass their living room window
And she saw him walking back home, looking sad
"What's wrong, daddy?"
"Nothing." He smiled
And hugged her closed
"I hope that when you grow up, you will learn that your old man tried as best as he could to give you the best in life. Just promise me that you will remember that."
She stared at her dad, she couldn't comprehend why her father was acting strange
She nodded and agreed
That night, she dreamt of a Barbie doll, the exact one that she saw in the charity shop window
What makes us great cannot be graded,
What makes us rich cannot be counted,
What makes us happy cannot be bought,
What makes us wanted cannot be caught,
What makes us live cannot be earned,
What makes us love cannot be turned,
What makes us fight cannot be won,
What makes us winners cannot be run,
What makes us strong cannot be held,
What makes us heard cannot be yelled,
What makes us learn cannot be taught,
What makes us dream cannot be thought,
What makes us believe cannot be preached,
What makes us finished cannot be reached
by Jonathan D Maraccini
Life intertwined swallows the smoke and mirrors of bitter thirst.
Thus terrible people produce monstrous dreams and have no remorse.
I see a million locked boxes full of paper faces,
any who walk among the wretched faces will endure a terrible curse.
One night, on Christmas Eve
My wounded hand was forced
The planets and the stars began to change their course
A course that was methodically endorsed
Then broke apart by the spell of divorce
And so I read
Heed this warning and learn,
she will come like a thief in the night
and run your heart with a dagger.
She will poison the family with lies,
then leave you to burn,
leave you to die
The dark arts was stirring in my soul
Pulsating a cadence of revenge
Mumbling words I couldn't comprehend
Then a voice spoke, so now I understand
I do this not because I lack control
I do this because I can
So I turned the page and read from the book again
Lies through a mask of shame
break souls in any scenario
Shifting shadows I saw a ghost of a women in flight
So I raised my hands
Breathing these words in the night
Voco artibus tenebrosis
With an echo in the house
Alone I cried
Then I heard a dark shadow speak from outside
It's going to be a nice night
Get dressed and be ready to fight
So be it, I thought
Black jacket, black gloves, black tie
Black pants, black boots
And a mask painted white
Then I grabbed the book and jumped in my ride
Drove for an hour until I finally arrived
Walked to the door then slipped out of site
Through a window I quietly slid inside
Sitting in the living room she's with some other guy
I danced in the room and yelled surprise!
He ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife
She sat there in shock, then began to cry
I reached in a bag that was strapped to my thigh
I brought C4 and a detonation device
Get face down or we're all gonna die
Then I sang a song while their hands were tied
I smiled at them with contemptuous delight
Then something happened I could not deny
My mathematical perception whether it be wrong or right
Good or bad
Surrender or fight
Was distorted when my daughter walked in and said hi
I stood up, smiled then hugged her tight
I looked up and saw a helicopter light
The cops rushed in
I waved at my daughter then closed my eye's
(A few months later - in court)
Maybe like Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde came back
The Judge said will let the jury decide that
My attorney turned like a great acrobat
The defendant was out of his mind!
He claims to hear voices from another time
He didn't mean to snap
He didn't mean to kidnap
Or strap that bomb to her back
This man speaks in riddles and ryhmes
He claims this old book helped him plan the attack
But the pages are empty
Can you imagine that
Maybe he's blind
He claims he saw a half women, half cat
The defendant is clearly troubled
Or even addicted to crack
Jury of the court, his train is clearly off track
Find it in your heart and give him some slack
That is when I stood up, cleared my throat
People of the jury, your honor, may I take the stand?
If you must he said
So I stepped up and began
Let me reiterate who I really am
I am a force that chose to stay dormant
I am the big boot that stomps the little ant
Now somebody wants to force my hand
So now the dark arts is about to expand
Ready to crawl into my cerebellum
Ready to reboot and take command
Let me read from the Book again
Written 10,000 years ago by the Mage Abraham
I stood up, opened the book, and summoned an hourglass with my pen
But I was never planning to surrender my friends
The doors to the courtroom clanked shut from within
Then I fluttered my fingers and called a great wind
It pulsated with thunder, the room began to spin
The hourglass shuttered with the last grain of sand
The floor split open and the jury fell in
The furniture grew teeth then everyone ran
I smiled at the judge poor little lamb
Then a pack of wolves devoured the man
Then the wind and the wolves and the shadows of the land
Heard me say goodbye
Voco artibus tenebrosis
Then I vanished into my world of pretend
I could recall when I was young
One time when I was happy in the sun
We would be down at our local creek
Swimming and laughing and playing in the sun
Oh the creek so crystal clear and clean
As we swung like Tarzan and giggling with fun
We could frolic for hours just having fun
We built a hut once made of fun
A worn out old cardboard with a little bit of string
We had windows and doors that looked
Like it would collapse with a touch
But we were so proud of our little make shift house
Then neighbor hood kids from another street
Just down the road tried to claim our make shift house
With a woop and scold…get off our land that’s our little house
We retaliated at best with a friendly verbal war
But our parents were soon dragged into our little street war
We scattered as fast…. as fast as we could
As we heard our fathers bellow…”WHATS GOING ON KIDS”
Fingers were pointed as we yelled “THEY STARTED IT FIRST”
The kids from the other street we could see their fathers clip their ears
We giggled and laughed with so much glee
Till we saw our own dad stomp up the grass path
Just one glance was all it took
And we all walked home with shamed look on our face
I smile and remember that day so well
We were grounded for life
But it was worth it we all agreed
Because they were the ones that started it first
OH Those were the days
Where are you, Daddy?
For the five years I have breathed,
You were saving lives
of 34th Street
while Mommy worked in office
and I stayed with grandfather
happy in the small apartment
Where are you, Daddy?
For the seven years I have learned,
You were stressed out
while Mommy went out late at night
and I slept in my room, dreading the new school
and Sister Dear sent bad pictures to boys
Where are you, Daddy?
For the nine years I have blinked,
You went to work angry
and came back
while Mommy yelled at me and Sister Dear
and I dreamed of friends
while glass bottles were thrown out
Where are you, Daddy?
It's been more than four years later
and Mommy left us for money and men
dropped out of college
and you lay on the couch
threatening us and drinking
And after all these years, I blame her
I blame you too.
and it hasn't hit you yet?
while you look for a buzz
your daughter is hanging from the top of her fan
screaming words that her lips
Got that buzz yet?
I wrote this about a year and a half ago, so mind you, I was but a mere 14 and a half years of age. I've detected problems in the plot and grammatical errors, but I don't want to take away from what it was when I first created it. Thank you.
There are times that I decide that I must stop, so I pause in my placid, scheduled routine, and wonder about life, and how I came to be such a disheveled human being. I stare at the repetitive pattern of white squares on the ceiling, count the squares a couple of times (it's always 54), and just think. My thoughts bounce around my head persistently, I can feel them hitting against my head, back and forth, back and forth, never stopping. They slither like evil, determined serpents, throughout my veins, around my face, between my fingers. My thoughts fuse together with my dreams, intermingling with my memories, desires, the lies I was fed every day as a child, and the constant anger so close to the surface, but for what reason it is truly there, I was never able to figure out.
Each time I feel the need to think, I start with the same beginning, that same beginning which my mother repeated to me so many times, every morning, every hour on the hour, every night. “You are Todd Stevens. You have beautiful green eyes, the color of emeralds. You are as quick as a fox, and as sharp as a needle. Your mama loves you very much. You've got a great future ahead of you. You killed your sister, Holly, but mama still loves you.” After that, which was so deeply penetrated into my skull, it would be impossible for me to forget it, my thoughts would wander and dwindle down the stream of consciousness.
On this particular day, my thoughts were focused on my current position in life. If I had such a great future ahead of me, why is it that I'd been locked away in an asylum for the past ten years? My mama never lied, she was the best thing that ever happened to me, except maybe Holly. She was my twin sister; we looked so much alike, we could get away with trading places and mama would never even know. We both had the same cropped tawny, brown hair, piercing green eyes, and olive colored skin. I looked down at my flesh, and saw my sister's hands before me. I tried to remember the last memory I had of her, tried to remember how I killed her.
“Todd,” she had called out from behind a door, the door my mama always told us never to go into, 'cause it was our daddy's workshop. “Todd, please help me.” she had whimpered.
“Holly, I'll help you.” I yelled, clawing at the door and grasping for the doorknob. It wouldn't budge. My mama was standing at her doorway, looking at me with the most pitiful eyes I had ever seen. She was sniffling a whole lot, and had one hand behind her back. I became entranced in her stare, and I immediately ignored the small cries of Holly from behind the door. Mama starts approaching me, and I saw something silver in her hand. And then it ends, just like that. I never saw or heard about Holly again. A lot of my memories ended that way, seeing mama come at me with a silver thing. But I always woke up, very happy, if not a little bit ache-y. She'd sit there and run her hands through my hair, and murmur her repetition to me, over and over. My name was still Todd Stevens, I still had green eyes, I was still quick and sharp, mama still loved me, I still had aspirations, and I still killed my sister.
Mama was always the best thing in my life. She loved me a lot, really cared about me. She never truly appreciated Holly as much, but that was fine by me. Sometimes, when Holly had been jealous, she'd yell at me, so loud that it pulsated throughout my head like the ocean waves on the shore. I'd never been to the shore, but mama showed my videos of it all the time. She never let us out of the house, she said she didn't want the other kids laughing at us. I would ask why anyone would laugh at us, and she would just smile and shake her head, and say, “Oh, you're special Toddy.”
I look up at the ceiling again, because I'm feeling too emotional, and count the 54 squares again. Thinking of mama always makes me feel funny, especially when I think of the day she sent me to the place I've lived in ever since, this asylum I call home.
It was all of a sudden, one day out of the blue. She looked at me with ferocious, hating eyes for the first time in my life. Without words, just her intense glare, she forced me to go to my daddy's workshop door. She was breathing real heavily, like she did when she chased me around the house and scooped me up into her arms, and kissed my forehead. This was not one of those times, though. She pointed at the door.
“Go.” She commanded. I never said no to my mama, but I was scared and stuck in her trance again, like I was when Holly was calling out to me. Mama began to walk closer to me, her hand still pointed towards the door, shaking. “Please,” she begged, her face instantly softening, “I can't do this anymore, I'm sorry. They'll take care of you, Holly. They're much better than me. I'm not a good mama. I ruined you.” She then began to cry, and I had never seen her cry before. It was all too much for me, so I twisted the handle and left that house once and for all.
I ran and closed my eyes, because I didn't know what I was going to find in daddy's workshop, and I didn't want to see Holly after all that time being so far apart. I didn't think as to why mama called me Holly, or why she abandoned me after so long. I left mama behind me, and sometimes, if I think hard enough, I can still hear her cries.
What I found behind that door was absolute nothingness, like a dream of black fog, thick and enveloping, not letting me go. Pictures appeared before me, quick and not ceasing. The pictures showed me and mama when I was born in a hospital a long time ago in a place I didn't remember ever seeing. One was of me and her, right when I was born. She looked so happy and at ease. Then, another picture showed mama with another baby, it must have been Holly. What confused me was that she was real blue, and wasn't crying, and mama's face was all contorted in this strange look of horror. I shied away from that picture, it made the anger come up again, the worst it had ever been. I screamed in this strange state of delusion, and that picture was replaced by ones I didn't recognize in the least. Mama was in one of them. She sat in a small cell enclosed with metal bars, and looked completely lost and alone. She looked much older; her once black hair was a shade of silver and her porcelain skin was cracked with age. I wanted to comfort her, to reach out, but that snapshot was then replaced with another picture, of me, with long brown hair, green eyes, and a door behind me. I smiled a goofy grin, and pointed at the name plate by the door. It read, “Holly Stevens.” Then, like a movie clip, it showed me opening that door, looking around a small white room with 54 white squares on the ceiling, sitting on the bed and smiling, then the door slowly closing behind me.
I look up at the ceiling once more. I count. 1, 2, 3, 4... Subconsciously, I knew I had just stumbled upon the truth, but I would never let myself admit it. After all, my name is Todd Stevens. I have beautiful green eyes, the color of emeralds. I'm as quick as a fox and as sharp as a needle. My mama loves me very much. I have a great future ahead of me. I killed my sister, Holly, but mama still loves me. ...51, 52, 53, 54...
Everyday she got yelled at,
Though she never knew why,
But nothing ever changed,
And she started to cry.
The shouting got worse,
She'd hold back tears; she'd try,
But everyday got harder,
And she started to cry.
Thee bruises she had,
Made others wonder why,
She kept to herself,
And she started to cry.
All the screaming and yelling,
She was lonely and shy,
With no one to call out to,
She started to cry.
Everyday got worse,
She wanted to die,
She hated going home,
And she started to cry.
Broken bones, scratches, bruises, and scars,
Everyone saw them, but no one asked why,
She had been so strong but was now so weak,
And once in heaven, she no longer cried.