Picture this:
I'm walking on the boardwalk
In New Orleans
On Christmas Eve
I've got
Nikes on my feet
Beignets in my hand
Smartphone in my pocket
The memory of my mum handing a 20 to a funny street magician
And a really nice home to visit in
When I pass a group of the homeless
Five or six or so, and they're all talking
Half have signs asking for help
As I pass by, one man, not too old and quite young in fact
This man, he looks up, sharpie etched cardboard in hand
Knees drawn to chest
Hair touseld, generally disheveled appearance
Our eyes lock and he says
In the most meaningful and sincere way possile
Have a very Merry Christmas
By instinct, I flash a smile
And then I hope he noticed
And hope he knew I meant it.
I felt so quietly sober afterwards
Walking in complete meditiation
On those five words
The man had so little
And yet he gave me a wish

I think I figured out why I don't like pencils
They have advantages, I admit
I draw a hundred times better with them
And write fifty times neater than with
My usual plethora of pens
The colors and textures of the ink
Only a small part of my reason
I think I don't like pencils because they are
Impermanent
And smudge too easily
Ink only smudges when wet, and soft
Then it bleeds color all over the white expanse
It is set on
Inks and graphite, they don't mix in my head
The graphite is always too grey for me
Too dull when I use it
The inks give me the paint of gods
To shower in bold all that I deign to
And then pencils wear down,
Far too quickly for my hand
I need to scribble fast and hard
The pen stands much more solidly
And for me the pencil is too subtle and gentle
Not nearly enough vivacity

It's a bit funny
But on doomsday I found
No fear or tears shed by me
Somehow on the day of doom
I only found love and happiness
My best friend wasn't a loss
When he lost that title
In fact it was a gain,
And he exchanged for a new one
Fingers intertwining
Sitting close and talking
My incessantly icy fingers
Warmed by your touch
My smiles always flow easier
And more readily around you
I either talk too much or too little
But with you it seems fine
I wouldn't change much about
My doomsday
It was pretty **** near perfect
On my doomsday I found hope
What did you find?

Cheese
Simply fermented
Curds and whey, minus the whey
Fantastic with meat
And fruit
And bread
Creamy, sweet, and soft
Or
Sharp , hard, and strong
Fancy, or plain
Expensive, artisan, specialised
Cheap, processed, conformed
Cheesey, cheesey, cheese

I've always loved quotes
And I tend to collect them
Much as one would collect
Bottle caps, or fuzzy-haired trolls
Or maybe foreign coins
One glance at my favorite notebook
And my zeal for quotes becomes
Very clear
There are many things I do though
That don't make sense to me
Like why I try to make people
Happy
But am so often
Depressed
Why I like some ***** jokes
And not others
Why I even like them at all
Why, perhaps, I am who I am
And not a bit different
Yet so incredibly
Impressionable

So a while back my friend told me
'You're analytically minded'
Until then I hadn't really seen it
But from then on, I couldn't see
Anything but it
It's like before then my brain only
Analysed whatever was fed in
But now, now it does that
As well as analysing the analytical process
My brain seems to absorb quirky habits
From others more readily now too
I read a book about a nerdy boy
Who loves math, anagrams, and Katherines
All of a sudden I start anagramming
Everything
I saw a vihart video on tesselations
And another on fractals
This reminded me of the Fibonacci sequence
And Sierpinski's triangle(which two friends
Claim is
'A tri-force made up of tri-forces, made of tri-forces!')
Now I'm in love with all four again
And a bunch of random
Mathematical things too

Something was supposed to happen,
But it's just minty!