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This poem is to
My late brother,
My best friend
Who we use to plant
Memories from the
Past.

We used to play,argue and fight
We were Tweedledum and Tweedledee,
Always known by a smile.
But this world is crazy enough,it could
Not been better to you,this is blasphemy
But God could have given you another
Chances to life,
Death you should never be proud.

Rest in peace brother.
I won't count my tears
They worth poppin' and fall.
I can't bare this gaint pain in my
Heart,and words can't spell it right.
Dearest lives you left behind will
Always adore you.

Goodbye my friend,so
Long,farewell,but it not
The end of the chapter,i will see you
Again in the after life,someday in
Heaven we will reunite,the flash disappears
But soul survive...
...Till next time,friend,farewell,Goodbye.
I wrote this poem with 15mins after I heard about my friend loss,i wrote this elegy to honour him with times he past by in this and goods times we had,but his time injury even will reunite in afterlife,someday we will bond together again.
Listening
Living in between seperate
Dimensions of being
We used to swim In public
Pools and used to gaze at the
Spray-painted underground
Nakedness rampant under
The bridges of our city
We used to coo in creeks and
Make invitations to every
Kid in class to our birthday
Parties
We played with basketballs
Hula-hoops and Gameboy
But somewhere down this
Beaten road through adolescence
Somewhere beyond the socks
For presents on
Christmas
We became taller and hairier.
Shaped crystals from diamond
Mines
And life gave us something to
Unwind
A music box for a wandering mind
To speak our truth
To speak you're soul
Disguised as a bruised indifference
Or an overt lunacy somedays
(Seems plausible on sleepless
Nights, insomniac-like In
Cemented rooms that turn so cold
In Autumn.)
But our truth is our sanity
Which must be uttered In
Amazement
Even as some hookah caterpillar
Is blowing smoke
Trying to convince you you're
Crazy
Maybe the caterpillar is only lazy
And trying to be a marmot.
I'm on a strike
I refuse
To spend the rest of autumn
Pretending to be whole without you
And I swear
I will not leave this bed
Until I wake up and find you in it
sometimes I wish
that the plane I took crashed
where everyone survived, but me.

sometimes I wish
that every time I'm out
I'll get hit by a car and die.

sometimes I wish
there is a hand to hold
to prevent me from killing myself.

every time I wish
that I should've jumped
and ended things with a big loud bang.
I will keep that smile even
If tears drop from my eye.
That smile that smile till I die.

They see the red eye
They think am high.
They don't know i
Am trying not to cry.
That smile that smile till I die.

It never gets delicious even
When they add salt to injury.
That smile that smile till I die

I am never going to frown
No matter how I go down
I am a king with a crown
That smile that smile till I die
A poem from my chapbook mama's boy
You might not like to see my fat jiggle, or my **** wiggle, but this body has carried me farther than your giggle ever will.

It might not thrill you, but I’m a no-frills woman who takes what she has and makes with it her own – and lets not pretend, I have more than you know beneath these clothes. There might be rows and rows of dimples and wrinkles and obvious freckles (that to some might be cute) but under these puffy cheekbones is a skeleton I call home, and it’s not yours (thank GOD), but it’s worthy of knowing.

It’s your loss if you choose beauty over brains and heart and THIS thinking mind. I might have a long way to start to be someone you’d find yourself watching through blinds, but I’m a **** sight better than someone without the courage to stand wherever she lands – and if that’s behind, then that’s where you’ll find me. That’s where I’ll sweep my floor and make my bed, and, with pity, watch YOU instead to discover that not everything ‘pretty’ is worth uncovering, or owning, or smothering with pride, because, for those with eyes WIDE open, there’s nothing worse than a soul smashed and dried with a hole that leaks powdered ego, nor the upper-class battering eyelashes of a pointless romantic who would rather own lavish belongings than dance in her heart with far less than what she ever dreamed to start with… and woe to all if she ever had to depart this earth without her heels and her silicone ******* and her lipo-suctioned stomach and thighs beneath that little black dress.

Woe is me for laughing at such perfection, unimpressed.

The truth of where I am in my life, and what I have, and how I give it all when I can to others is what keeps MY story so grand and worth more sand than all the beaches combined, although, in this body, all that matters is INSIDE, and not sun baking, or swimming, or shopping, or dining, or making up lies to refine me. I am THIS, just what you see, and if you don’t see me matter-of-factly then I won’t miss you, exactly.

Oh, and what I also won’t miss will be wishing I’m something more than I am which is smaller than my clothing size – but still ‘too large’ in your eyes… but that’s YOUR lie because you’re controlled through the media and told like a child what you should want and should need – and, furthermore, you are blinded by greed, and blinded by fright, and blinded through – God forbid – actually SEEING.

I ponder what company you will be to yourself in your house or your mansion with nobody else (all alone)… Maybe not now, but just wait for a while and you’ll age, and you’ll moan, and you’ll wish you were home with your path and your decisions and your personal mission… and I’ll envision (through my second sight: a premonition) a TRUE vision of you enslaved to your fantastical and ‘brave’ dream of nothing but perfection; of washing your life of mistakes like erasing infection… but it’ll all be fake… And, sure, it’ll be your cake and you can eat it too, but don’t go waving it in MY face. I don’t want any of yours, no matter how hungry I feel, and regardless how poor.

You are a disgrace. I don’t need a cake to celebrate my present state or my coming fate. Nor would I offer you a bit from my own plate. The less of you I see the more I satisfy me, and my larger-than-life conscious mind will be FULL for eons more time, which is far, FAR longer than you’ll ever, in your ‘right mind’, be privy, or one day, ‘destined’ to find.

Now that’s a party in my opinion – perfect, infinite, and exquisitely divine.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com
Written 17 October, 2015
god made stars
for starving poets

when they look up
they forget
how hungry they are

    ~mce
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