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 Dec 2013 drunkonthoughts
Jessi S
I have to keep telling my self to stop trying to finish what was never started.
A piece of my insides has been tearing since we departed.
I still miss what we never had.
Ive been holding on to something non existent, nothing that
Existed.
You never shed a tear for me.
But every time that u ignored me for the sake of being solitary,
and then came back to what was left of a whole hearted manifestation of a being,
there was nothing but a shell, kneeling.
Praying to feel what she used to.
But u turned your cheek to all that is filling, nothing was good enough for you.
To even try, why would you?
Its hard to love an empty soul.
Especially when that emptiness is what you crave, and numb is your only goal.
I'm trying not to get overly excited
I'm on just this side of freak
I've finally gotten the call I've been waiting for
The one that for years has eluded me

There aren't to many farmers out there
That take as much pride in what they grow
That's why Chef Boyardee selected me
To join their team on SpaghettiO's

I've been raising spaghetti for years
Spaghetti straight and long and lean
So I really see no problem
In SpaghettiO transitioning

From the natural growth of spaghetti
To the famed shape of the SpaghettiO
I just need to learn the secret
Of how to roll the perfect hole

As day one arrives in all it's glory
I head out into the fields
Stopping during the day only long enough
For a delicious Italian canned meal

Where I enjoy only the finest ingredients
Straight from the heart of this multicolored can
From the sweet little O's to the...What color is this sauce?!  "Orange?!"  "Red?!"
And isn't the taste a bit overly bland...

Oh well...
When the day of harvest arrives
I bring in the Italians cause everyone knows
For generations they have perfected
The delicate picking of SpaghettiO's

Who ever thought the growing of spaghetti
Would bring this farmer so much fame
I just received a call from a little known farming cult
Who'd like me to try my hand at the growing of Spam
After my successful go at SpaghettiO's
I'm pretty sure I'm just the man who can
You brush past, I can feel your intense
sorrow, the hurt you bury deep inside.
You may have shut your heart from the
world, but you can't continue to hide.
I see you, I sense you, feel your desire
to break down and just be human again.
Yet you've convinced yourself that you're
better off shutting out the world till the end.
You may think you're unlovable, incapable
of ever feeling like you belong anywhere, alone. . .
I see you, I know you, more than you'll ever
understand, I am your longing soul.
© Annilda Esterhuysen. All rights reserved.
Pen
Please, I've forgotten
how to hold a pen, she said.
Those were the words that
convinced me to write a letter
from a stranger to a stranger.
So this is a message to you
from her.

She's asking how you're doing.
She wonders if the stars are brighter where you are.
You know,
there's a meteor shower coming
in a few weeks' time, she's
she's asking if you knew, and if
you'd watch it with her at eleven in the evening the Saturday after the next
so she'd feel like you were right there beside her
pointing out which streak held the most brilliant color
and if you're asking,
she's doing fine.

She's wondering if you know
how silkworms spin silk,
because a friend asked her the other day
she didn't know how to reply except by telling herself
that you would've known, so
how do they spin silk?
Let me know as soon as possible, she says
my friend wants to know.
But I think she's asking that as an excuse to hear your voice
but also because she really wants to know
how silkworms spin silk
and if you think jade is the nicest kind of green
or if you prefer hiking or swimming
if you agree that innocence is just untested character
and if you're asking,
she's longing for answers.

She's hoping you don't think of her,
and she's hoping you do.
She wants me to tell you that
she wants you to remember
but she wants you to forget the pain,
so might as well forget everything
because hurt is the price of loving someone.
She confesses that she's tried to stop
writing about you
but every time she sits down to
write her soul into words
your memory slips in and dances off her pages
and she tries to stop it
and if you're asking,
she's trying to find ways to make thinking about you easier.

According to her,
she's quieter now
not just her mouth but her feet,
her hair
her eyes
her spirit
Look at what you've done, she says.
I

I've always been a terrible liar.
Please, I've forgotten
how to hold a pen.
 Dec 2013 drunkonthoughts
Ottar
Snow on the ground,
snow was in the air,
White hiding pine needle green,
dark shadows
Behind, the frosted queen of snowflakes,
each unique,
play catch, as they are falling,
with your tongue,
slide on your boots through
the slush, and the mush and the fears,
of falling and landing on your embarr***ment,
momentary lapse of maturity, pity, you didn't
do more of it when you were younger,
than today, you would have been better,
instead of wetter when the snow turned
to rain
and you muddled
in a puddle,
absorbing your self pity,
coming up with a witty,
must be climate change, snow wasn't this slippery in my day
                                                            ­                      and away you go,
to change your clothes,
and any excuse to make
some mulled wine, while the
queen of winter waits, fingers
lightly drumming on your window panes,
while you are in the
dark shadows of the kitchen
with white pine
cupboard doors.
Alone.
Don't spend Christmas alone, find somebody, adopt a family or get adopted. Even if it is only until New Years...
Gin. That’s where it starts.
The squinted eyes and mumbled speech
I go too far I know
I can barely see where I am going
and you cannot understand a word I say

But these are just a side effect of my confidence
which happens to come in a bottle
Do you think I’d be talking to you,
kissing you,
loving you, without the gin?
Of course not

Falling in love with strangers is the love I feel
So yes I need the gin.
I need the gin to be able to converse
and kiss
and go home with strangers
So I can feel something

You go ahead and find a nice boy who will romance you
But me, I’ll be leaning on a bar,
flirting with boys who buy me drinks

You go ahead and make love
i’m content with my one night stands.
I’m sure he could love me if he knew me

You go ahead and fall in love and get married.
I’m lucky, because you fell in love once
I fall in love every Friday night,

Saturday night… sometimes Wednesday nights

You see, for me, gin is love
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