I never used to believe in marriage.
I always thought that it was a silly piece of paper.
I thought that is was ridiculous that you had to sign away your life to someone in order to prove that you loved them.
But then I met you.
I now understand what it means to want to devote yourself to someone for the rest of your life.
I understand why people spend most of their life searching for something that not everyone is lucky enough to find.
Love is painful.
Love is complicated.
Love is so ******* beautiful,
And powerful.
Marriage is not just a piece of paper to me anymore.
It is a bond that you are meant to share with one person for the rest of your life.
The person that you would do anything for.
The person that you want to see every day when you wake up in the morning;
And who you want to fall asleep next to when you go to bed at night.
The person that you would die for.
Who would you die for?

Smitten©

If I was a kitten
Maybe I wouldn’t be so smitten
It’s as though I’ve been bitten

There is no chance
Of romance
Maybe under a different circumstance

Though it seems she was heaven sent
And I feel an urge to relent
It would likely lead me to repent

Don’t know why the attraction
Am I looking for some sort of satisfaction
Help me Lord to inaction

For I know not why there is this thing
Leading me to ponder a fling
Knowing it will only grief bring

Yet there it is this temptation
Is it there as some sort of revelation
Providing a piece of education

But alas with all my will
I bring a chill
To that part of me seeking a thrill

Andreas Simic©

.

page one
it starts with the wave of a hand
a simple introduction
'hi, what's your name?'
it starts with looking and seeing nothing but what is there
skin and bones and blemishes and human
it starts with feeling no cliche butterflies in your stomach
and no additional voice in your head
amongst the others
and no rapid pulse in your still-beating heart

page two
somewhere along the way the waves turn into inside jokes and small smiles
crinkles by the corners of eyes
and light chuckles
and glancing just a millisecond too long

page three
and, well, glancing just a million times too often

page four
and you write poems in attempts to make yourself believe
to drown yourself in denial
to avoid confronting the - nonexistent - blooming bud growing
sprouting from all angled corners
and cracking curves
and jagged edges of you

page five
spoiler: it doesn't work

page six
and it's strange because apart from seeing what is there you see more
or really you don't see what is there
you see what you want to be there

page seven
you see skin and bones and beauty and freckles and stars and constellations in eyes and ethereal -

page eight
perfection

page nine
except perfection doesn't exist
and what you see doesn't exist
it's just your unrealistic expectations piled up from miles and smiles of movies and books and manga and everything

page nine
and you know this

page nine
but it goes into one ear and out the other

page nine
and it doesn't stop you from claiming

page nine
you're in love

page ten
if love is just infatuation with a physical manifestation of your ideals without their consent
then i guess you're right

page eleven
there are butterflies bending, banging on you, begging to be released

you wonder when your definition of beauty became a name and a face
and you wonder when love became synonymous to pain

page twelve
the butterflies turn into birds and then bears and then freaking buildings
except these building are moving and apparently earthquake proof because you can't seem to break them down
instead the buildings are breaking you down

but the truth is no, no they aren't
don't you see?
you're breaking yourself down

how do you heal if you are both the poison and the antidote?

page thirteen
if only you could rewrite the story
but how could you?
how do you rip the pages
how do you erase the sickeningly sweet
slow stabs slicing through your spine every time a smile is sent your way
how do you mute the thudding in your brain telling you that this could never be
how do you ignore the extra echoes in your head yelling at you to get yourself together

how do you get yourself together?

page fourteen
you've been asking so many questions lately
but you know the answer to all of them

page fifteen
there's a small voice
a minuscule, malevolent voice whispering maybe
whispering maybe and perhaps and potentially
maybe you're not the only one who wants to hold on just a little longer

page sixteen
but see
it's funny how the story starts with two people and now it's just one person with an overactive imagination
illustrating a person as something more
something better

page seventeen
but you're not creative enough to keep your illusion for too long
and soon you start to see less of what you want to be there and more of what is there
skin and bones and blemishes
and human

human

page eighteen
human is ugly and human is cruel and human is wretched
but human is somewhat
beautiful
in its ugliness
and human is raw in all its dishonestly
and human is real
even if you made it out not to be

page nineteen
you will never truly now human
you will never truly know anyone or anything that isn't a figment of your imagination
but it's enough

page twenty
it starts with seeing nothing but what is there
skin and bones and blemishes
and human
and then it ends
the story ends somewhere
anywhere really
but it ends

I am king
of Wal-mart,

sitting high
in throne of $70 wicker chair.

“ this is
my kingdom. “

the toy aisle
thinks me a tyrant,

the way I bend
and break its barbies.

“ son,
we have to get going, “

dad says,
so I exile him,

plastic sword pointed
to his back.

“ no more
of your shouting! “

I live here now,
ruler of spoiling dairy.

.
Links in the chemist chain
laced in a double helix
defy the laws of the universe,
and the atavistic resurgence
creates isotopes of dream passion.
     Elements conspire in panic
     with a symmetry of casual chaos
     that mimics an atomic bomb,
     destroying its own creator
     in a cruel parody of birth paradox.
          Arresting the Iris of Dissolution
          with cuffed anxiety drowning
          in a pond of helium ore,
          carelessly drifting on acid flesh,
          coagulating in a soup of memory.

And the paradigm shifts again,
reality unfocussed clears, strains,
revealing your shuddering form,
next to me, keeping me warm.
Lids flicker and you open your eyes,
shining, smiling in cute surprise.
Moving my finger up to my lips
whilst I gently untangle our hips.

     Do you remember this night?
     Last night, tonight, tomorrow night?
     Time begins to slowly rewind,
     on the night you blew my mind.

My essence is filled with your heart,
a love I have yet to discover.
Whilst you wander between the stars,
my universe starts to recover.

So please don't break this silence now.
Please don't shatter this moment long,
I want this post ****** memory to remain
in the morning when you have gone.

© Pagan Paul (04/11/17)

Tony the Tiger can have his box.
Full of sugar.
I have my own sugar.
Take that, Tony.
Or should I say, Phony the Tiger
Garfield go in a corner and eat your lasagna.
I have a cane.
No I'm not crippled.
There is nothing wrong with my leg.
How dare you say that.
I have a candy cane!
Not to eat with.
No, no.
My plan is much grander than that.

I will use it as a weapon.
See how its so sharp and pointy.
Those who think it is not so sharp and pointy.
Better keep their opinions to themselves.
In other words, keep your mouth shut.
Bow in the presence of the cane.
The great cane.
Held by the great soldier.
Bow in the presence of a being greater than yourself.
Me, **** in Boots.

It goes with my outfit.
Dressed to **** never became more realer.
Than in my case.
Its Christmas Time.
Time for sleighing.
Or slaying, as I would put it.
My cane is worse than my claws.
Santa better go to Pennsylvania to get all the coal
Because he’s going to need it when I’m done.