Occasionally I come across a person with brown eyes,
and I compliment them on those peepers.
More often than not, they laugh and say,
"Oh, they're just brown."
Or
"They're **** colored."
Or
"I wish I had blue/green/hazel eyes."
I want to grab them by the shoulders,
pull them close to me,
look into those eyes and say,
"Your eyes are alluring, deep, and warm."
Eyes the color of delicious coffee,
of which I want to gulp every last drop.
Eyes the color of ancient leather,
the binding of the best books.
Eyes the color of the soft soil,
from which everything good grows.
I say,
"Love your eyes, it's how the rest of us see into your soul."
Brown eyes are my favorite eyes.
Brown eyes make me feel like I am home.
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
A Freshened Palate, Perspective, and Purpose
Ingredients:
1 potato, 1 egg, half an onion, 1 clove of garlic
salt and pepper to taste
Light frying oil, 2 slices of bacon,
A fistful of poor self image
I mean, spinach
Balsamic vinegar, applesauce,
*A dash of self-hate, and left over unwanted thoughts
Note: for a healthier alternative, forget the self-hate
Also note: Can’t remove unwanted thoughts*
Step-by-step instructions:
1. Trim potato of any bad areas
*No matter how badly you’d want to trim
Yourself*
Wash and scrub away any dirt or sand
2. Grate potato,
Not knuckles
Squeeze gratings with an old
T-shirt or throwaway towel
You could use the shirt you’re wearing
But you’d end up wearing your stains
*Which, honestly,
You do anyway*
3. Grate onion, cry
4. Finely chop garlic
Don’t think about the bad breath
5. Put potato, onion, garlic, and 1 egg (without shell)
Into the bowl and
Mix
*But not like mixing drinks with anxiety med
And bad coping mechanisms.*
6. Heat oil until shimmery
Fry potato mixture to make 2 or 3
Golden brown, delicious latkes
7. Fry bacon while latkes are in pan
Fry two slices so the bacon doesn’t
Have to be
*Alone or
Isolated*
Set aside on paper towel to soak up the grease
8. Boil water to poach eggs.
Once boiling,
Swirl water into a whirlpool
*Exactly like the thoughts scalding
The insides of my skull
For example:
Do you know what it’s like to
Hate yourself? To not stop the
Unbelief that you are any
Good at all?
Understanding that you’re
Unemployed
Unskilled
Unwanted*
Gently crack two eggs into whirlpool
*Understanding that you can’t simply
“Get over this”
Like standing under burdens
And whiskey bourbon hits
Expectations - faraway dreams
Only furthering it
Like you’ll never be able to accomplish them
You’ll surmount them but run
Out of oxygen because
You’re not
Supposed to be there
In the first place*
(don’t worry, the whirlpool will prevent eggs from
breaking)
(Don’t you see what
Everybody else is doing
And you act like you
Know what you yourself
Is doing
Don’t you see all your
Truly selfish doings
Who do you think you are?
-laughing- you’re bad
Where do you think*
TURN OFF THE HEAT AND COVER
Set timer for exactly 5 minutes.
Do not
Lift the cover until time is
Up.
After 5 minutes, scoop eggs out with slotted spoon and set on paper towel to dry.
Let eggs
Rest.
Be careful,
The yolks
Are very fragile at this point.
Assemble the dish
Spread applesauce on potato latkes. Be careful
Not to spread so thin.
Don’t be stingy,
take what You need.
Put bacon on top, stack poached eggs on top of the bacon.
Garnish plate with spinach, sprinkle with balsamic vinegar.
Each thing has its place, even if it seems too complex or complicated.
Flavor Profile;
Latkes are light and
Fluffy and crispy.
Onions, garlic give a basic, yet
Flavorful foundation.
The egg yolks spill a very rich, deep syrupiness that is brought out by the salty, fatty bacon.
The applesauce is special because the sweetness and **** contrasts with the smooth richness of egg, potato and bacon.
And just like life, balances the heavy with the light
*Work with play
Teaching with learning
Spending money with saving money
Learning things and saying things
Being there with being here*
*And sometimes, amidst all of that
You need something to add
a little fresh,*
A little color
A little bit of
Different.
That’s where the Spinach comes in
Some
Justified bitterness to
*Freshen your
Palate, perspective, and purpose.*
With each bite and each taste
You’re reminded that each blend of flavors
Each collision of textures
Are compositions of each ingredients and
each step:
The onions, the salt, the applesauce
Slicing, chopping, grating
Frying, failing, hating
Boiling, swirling, burning
Accidents, bad luck
Tripping over, getting up
Panicking, breathing, saying “enough”
And having an end product
Like this
Is
Purpose
It is how it’s supposed to be
You are who you’re supposed to be
When you’re finished, wipe your hands
Wash your plate
Realize you have dishes to do
And more courses
More tastes
To produce
*So that you will never go hungry
With this Circadian Appetite*
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
Be patiently silent
in your sorrow
be humbly silent
in your joy
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC
They say “life happens”
and it turns out, death waits.
I am like a bull
charging into his flourish
The matador, opposite of my emotion
I am lucky, for he is patient
It takes two to tango but
it’s just you in this
this dance with death
and as you slip away, into it
charging becomes
running
becomes running to
becomes running from
and in the end, it’s all just
running
This bullfight is anything but
a dichotomy
escapades are laced with
fear and aggression
impulses are masked by
roars of the crowd.
To them you’re not you, just who they think
they wouldn’t know emotions you don’t even know yourself
It is a fear.
Calves are trained to hate humans
conditioned and cultivated in fear
fight becomes flight
it is a game.
Run free in this coliseum
chase what is the end and what defines the beginning
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
I spent some time in the Clouds today: turns out
we're not that different.
I realized
my mind is
inhabited by Cirrus and Cumulonimbus.
As a result,
this week's forecast is brought to you by
The Hypothalamus.
I rain in tears,
spring showers and
summer storms in
Unintelligible mutterings
sputterings, spit and
Outbursts of stutterings.
It's pea soup when I'm P-d off.
Ominously overcast until I'm over it.
Thoughts condense inside;
my skull sweats
until my thoughts are no longer as dense
until it all makes sense.
My head's in the Clouds or
the clouds are in my head.
Thoughts drift off like imagination vapors
on a Sunday afternoon.
I'm captured by these Attention span capers
like the sun captivates the moon.
I'm waiting on clear skies;
my brain's barometoer breaks
under AtmosFearic pressure.
But the greatest beauty is glimpsed
as the sun's set reflects upon cumuliform
- Breathless -
Each gleam an unreplicable clash
of time, light, and wonder
That a cloudy disposition
would only discover.
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 10:02 PM UTC
A heart like yours
made of pure gold
I'm captivated by yours
heart, mind, and soul
Eyes more bright than diamonds
through them
the dreams, memories
a lingering silence
A single glance, that catches the horizon
No words to explain
like the moon rising
despite the sunset's defiance
a masterpiece
I jump, I melt, I burst // I felt
I shout
and dive headfirst
What's North to South?
What's you to me?
Treasure, closely kept, to mine.
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 9:52 PM UTC
yesterday I woke up late
forgot to shower
skipped a class
couldn't relate
yesterday was complacent
cold
quaint
yesterday changed as the leaves do
my heart matched the trees
red when it fell
on my sleeve for you
I saw yesterday today
Nobody feels yesterday like you do
Everyone listens to yesterday speak, sigh, cry
But forgets about yesterday who what why
Sometimes today is my yesterday
I am scared of
can't run away from
yesterday
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
Initially
he thought to
bring sight to the Blind
Desiring OsIris or
Evoke E(see)kiel
But he looked in a mirror
and couldn't see
his self
His mirror
betrayed him
transparent, anti-Narcissus
he was
Now
he feels he has
too much
V i s i o N
his (soughts) self(s)
go in one (thoughts)
eye and (oughts)
out
the other
he, So Self-Aware, scares his mirror
wHEre
Who
(did) you see then
Do now
becoming
tomorrow . . . ?
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 9:42 PM UTC
I'm a mime stuck in time
you can only hear my hands
and I can talk all I want
But when my mind is sick
I need a Horologist.
Like my fumbling fingers fail to
pick the tick out my mind
Infecting my thoughts and
******* my time
Seems like the sun's
always setting on my dial
As it waxes and wanes -
I haven't seen the man's face
in a while
Look up for reflection
but only see Khronic-Introspection
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 9:34 PM UTC