Roses are red, but only sometimes
And I don't care much for them anyways
Violets are never blue
But I like crepe myrtles better
Sugar is sweet, but too sweet for me
I'd much rather have spicy
As for you? You're only sweet all the time
Other times, you're incredible.

The last time I saw you we were saying goodbye
And brushing fingertips, gazing back at each other
As we walked our separate ways
Complete separation came a while later, like a razor
A wicked sharp blade brought between us by you
Confess your love and then leave seems to be your way
Say we'll remain friends but never speak again.
The second time rougher than the first
Making scars upon old thick scar tissue.
Funny, you always begged for a kiss when we were together
But I never got a kiss goodbye
And now I only get to stare at my cold metal reflection

How about this,
Take the knives from your back
The razors from your wrists
The needles from your arms
The pain and suffering in your heart
And the doubt in your mind
Drop them all in this bucket
Toss them into that abandoned well,
And come over to this side
Cross the line separating dark and light
Wicked and angelic
Rough violence and gentle caresses
Step over and join us
If we can offer nothing else,
We can offer ourselves.
Friends, lovers, comrades,
Formerly tortured souls like yourself
It isn't perfect over here, but it's better
We'd escort you over, walk with you
But we've already crossed that line
And once you cross the line,
Only your voice can cross back
Only your voice will want to.

A faerie is not a large creature
Yes, I get it, I'm tiny.
I'm glad you told me the obvious too
Me whose had this body
All my life
Why do you think I'm called
Faerie?
Pixie?
Shorty?
Elf?
Funsized?
Come on people!
Four foot eleven and ninety pounds
Is enormous for a fifteen year old

What can one give to a star?
They have all
Royalty, light, and reverence
A star's warm glow and smiling light
Of greatness, it has no need,
But stars get lonely.
So many millions of miles of empty vacuum
So I think to this Star I'll give a smile,
A thank you, and the great love of friendship

So I was flying through the woods one day
And hummingbirds flitting and flashing
Iridescence and opalescence
Shimmery glints of golden green and violet blue
I laughed and darted with these sweet ones
Twisting and chasing in a game of faerie-bird-tag
Then a mosquitoe's whining shrill
zips past my head
zip zip two more speed by
I whip my head around and see a crazed mountain man
Blunderbuss in tow and limp carcasses dangling from his belt
Beard and hair more of a mane of insanity
In this manic frenzy, one cant help but to smile
Then dive in to dodge as if in a Matrix world
The madman fires, shooting away at his brilliant tiny targets,
Shooting if only for the sake of practice

I wake up and it's tour day
Bright shining sunny
The little ones line up and fidget
Go up to the street's side and watch
Some others stream into the museum
Whose insides are covered in papers
And sketched all over with crayons
Depicting a cityscape and palace interiors
The parades are full of balloons and yet empty
Then the parade has a different balloon
It's alive, regenerating, strong
A simple face exuding evil
Suddenly I know; we have to run. Now.
Children are running and crying
My friends and I glance at eachother
Anxious, fearful
I have to dash back and forth
Running, trying to calm the children
Reassuring myself and my friends doing the same
The stenches of fear and pain permeate the air
Somehow I need to get away, to escape
And run
Then two women appear
Cold, sterile, lifeless automotons
Trying to take me away
So I pretend for a bit to follow, buying time
Then I struggle away, and run back
Mad dash
I find two friends and plead help
Wyatt is willing, Max is silent, Rachel isn't there
The women are back and no time remains
After one last plea I jump the wall
Fall, climb, stand, run
Gary appears barely in time, time for what I don't know
He runs along side, pushing, pulling, somehow helping
While saying nothing, too far away to touch
We're running into eternity,
Away from a black swarming wave of putrid evil
I wake up, sweating, gasping
And I'm still running

Perfection: breezes
Calm, cool, caressing, gentle
Forever smiles

I think of you and I think of your laughter
Your hugs and jokes and wry smiles
Running around chasing eachother
Tumbling in the grass
Those sweet shy and bold kisses you'd brush my cheeks with
And of course
Your eyes

I don't get this tough guy act
This facade of strength and invincibility
Put on by guys who work out
They brag and strut, show off their muscles
I think it's a bit pathetic.
Ok cool, you can lift 300 pounds,
Can you discuss poetry and science intelligentlly?
Why act invincible and as though you're more solid
Than a diamond, strong through and through
We both know you're more of a turtle,
Strong shell, and soft center that you pretend is nonexistant
In all honesty, I think guys do it to show up other guys
But I'm more into smart, funny guys
More lean than musclebound
And above all, gentle and kind
Sensitivity is not weakness and chivalry should not die

At my school though, it's dying
Some guy will run me over
And another will let the door swing
A third will simply push on through
The rare friend or stranger who stops and gives way
Who holds the door or makes some space
Is hard to find today, and precious

I'll never get this tough guy act,
Made of agression and violence
Fueled by pure testosterone
And removes all common sense.
So guys, please stop this tough guy act
Not a pretty sight at all
You'll beat each other up
For what all too? A girl? A prize?

The day I met you
You were either high or silly
And now that I've known you
I still can't decide
Maybe you live on a high of crazy
Reckless abandon
But no, you care too much for that
What are you?

I want to call my heart my own
But you still live there
You may not know but tendrils,
Snaking litte tentacles of you
Still slither and twine
Twist writhe and caress my heart
With their sandpaper skin
And I don't know
How to end their presence
I want them to leave
Or to allow them full access
But they are too content to change
Serpents of your last affections and
Eels of your looks
Why won't they swim back into the ocean
Or slide down a hole?
Leave me and return no more!
Or bring your owner forth,
Coax your master closer
That we may talk

When you look at me what's the look I see in your eyes?
I see sadness but for who?
Your green eyes frighten yet melt me
Curioser and curioser
What else is there
Pity, jealousy, love, what?
I can't read your eyes, never could
All I can tell is there's something different
Something added or changed or missing
Whenever you look my way
What are you feeling?
Are you screaming or hiding?
I feel so confused and you won't talk to me
Tell me something clear
'Cause I can't read you

Here I am
Walking softly through a lake of shale
Slipping down a hill
Tripping the pieces against each other
Tearing my feet up
Reaching scraping and stratching arms and legs
Over the berry bushes
Stretching for a few ****** drops of **** sweet juice
Wetting my lips and staining my fingers
Robins and bluejays flying overhead, a soft grey bird
Shyly quietly watching
Watching the fracas of the bejeweled and gaudy birds
And their screeching cries
Watching and listening with quiet fearful timidity
Much like me

To my bearded bear friend;
I've started this 'bout thirty times
And ended just the same
I couldn't get it just quite right,
Or make sure it wasn't lame
So I've decided heck with it
I'm writing this and posting
So my dear friend Troubadour:
Thanks, for all you've done
You've been a terrific friend
Enjoyable and fun,
Thanks for the conversations
Both really short and long
And may I say, once again
Thanks for being awesome.
Danke mein Freund,
Du bist super, und das ist
Die Wahrheit!

Here be dragons all old maps say
Here be dragons: beware, go'way
Noble knights and brave crusaders:
All steer clear and take detour
But whose to say these fearsome beasts
These terrible monsters of lore,
Who declared that these gentle giants
Live only to create gore
They may be misspoken for
And probably misunderstood
They could be timid gentile folk
Who dine on aether and fish
But nevermind the possibilities
Here be dragons: go'way, beware

I think boredom was made
Just to tickle the consciensces
And annoy the heck out of
Poets and thinkers like me

Green and blue are my absolute favorite colors
I don't have one
And the reasons, are quite hard to explain
Although I hate the sea, it stands
In the line of reasons
And though I despise ice and icicles
I love blue
Algae on the side of pools
I could live without
But I adore green
Lush mossy bright olive and dark green
And cool clear dark and thick sea blue

I've always loved jeans and grass
Summer's thick vegetation
And blue graphic t-shirts
The old and ugly baby blanket with green squares
Made for me by my great grandmother
The blue I once wished my hair was
The green I still wish my eyes were
Blues of pigeons, blue jays, faeries, and dragons
Greens of wood elves and magic, words and life

As for fire, well who doesn't love it?
The flickering, dancing swaying of flames
The bright reds oranges blues and white yellows
The heat and pain
A life and magic of its own
And that love's emotion is a fire
The fire living in a tiger's coat and the sun
Flashes of firey emotion in the eye
And flames of the excitement and energy
That drive me to be and be who I am
And fire, fire is
Life death feeling and emotion

Around thanksgiving everyone wants to know
What are you thankful for?
Don't worry you only have to say one thing.
They don't understand
I have a very very very long list
So I say something silly
They say That won't do, try again
And when I insist that I am grateful for it
They refuse to accept
So I say some nonsense,
Just whatever they'd like to hear
And sit back arms crossed
Wondering why ask and then refuse?
If they gave me more than one choice
A list could be procured
But no, I've got to pick off their
List of serious and good things
As they turn to each person in turn,
All giving similar answers to please the asker
Why not declare what you're thankful for,
And then let others say their piece?!
Thanks for that confusion

A concealed point of metal
Basket's corner
Tears my knee
As I trip between bed and wall
Blood wells in the cut
Dark black blood
In the room with lights out
Press the wound and more blood drips
Smear the red war paint
All along my leg
Fingertips stained
I fall and bleed
But smile

Worlds physical? Or worlds mental?
It makes all the difference.
Without the sciences it wouldn't matter either way
The last time I was taken from earth without moving?
Excepting when reading, with math.
Tesselations and fractals and numbers
Numbers have a flow all their own
Without numbers, meter and rhyme couldn't be
Even now, without numbers this discussion could not be held
Even now this typing is numbers
It may not look it, but its all ones and zeroes
The angle and curvature of every letter defines language
I say nay my friend, nay
I never spoke the words declaring math and science the crown of humanity
And the words stating english its clothes
They are important, both in their own way,
But think of this: you cannot do math
Nor calculate the distance from venus to the
Andromodean galaxy without math
But think also of this: communication may exist without english
Numerical codes and codexes and letters written entirely in numbers or symbols
Do exist
I dare not refute the value of english, but do you argue the language or the study?
The study can be done away with and easily
Put to rest, as it had to be created
The language too was created and came from
Some mother language
But we always had math.
Does not even an ape know that an even split
To a banana is half?
Apes have no words as we think of them
But still, they do not have english
They don't have a grammar and spelling system nor manner of speaking,
They communicate perfectly well, even without words
But how are they to place value on objects without math?
Even some crude understanding of value
Is math
A banana must be worth less than two, no?
English resides on emotion and feeling, whereas math and numbers rest upon fact
How does one win an arguement without numbers?
Even now you use them.

That may be so,
But you'd best not forget
That English provides worlds.
These worlds are ones math and science
Simply cannot provide.
Please, tell me the last time you were brought to a completely different universe
Without ever leaving the room?
Good friend, explain how numbers and facts
Compare to the beauty of English and writing.
The smooth flow of words
That entrance everyone that hears,
Is more than facts and numbers could ever provide.
You say math and science are the basis of life,
And that may be true,
But tell me one thing:
If math and science are more important than English and writing,
Why do you bother with poems and reading?
Apparently it has some value to you,
For you continue to write poems and read books
That are otherwise fictional.
It's important to everyone you see,
Even the ones that refuse anything that isn't factual.
Without it, how would you record your discoveries? your equations?
Understand this, good friend,
For without this beautiful subject,
Communication is next to impossible.
We'd all be lost,
Don't deny it.
Without it, humankind is nothing.
Nothing but apes waiting for a story to be told.

Math is no more a single stagnant
Stationary idea than english is
Why not bother with math and science?
The world revolves around them,
We can not live without them
English was created as was history,
Math and science were merely given names
If the claim is that english alone
Expands horizons, then that is a lie
Science is the obtaining of knowledge and exploration
How can one not expand horizons
And encourage imagination with science?
Ideas and english are not synonomous
Though you may think so
As for history, it need not be writ
Only in english
English is merely one language
And knowledge may be written in pictograms
Or hieroglyphs or symbols
English and ideas are not the same,
Ideas are simply usually recorded
In english.

Why bother with math,
When English is more exciting?
Why do the same old thing,
When English broadens your horizons
Imagination is set free,
Leading to plentiful ideas
That will expand into our future,
Effecting our daily lives.
You say math is the basis of life,
But that is a lie.
What is math without English?
Without ideas, math is nothing.
Numbers go to waste,
Science would never be put to the test,
History would be long forgotten.
English is the basis of life,
Nothing more.
For without ideas,
Where would our world be?

drink me
An inconspicuous bottle smiles,
Full of tears and wishes
Hope and elvish light
A touch of shrinking powder
And this half of the mushroom
eat me*
Cries a pretty and sad iced cake
Baked with smiles and fear
Despair and dwarfish bread
A generous dollop of grow juice
And that half of the mushroom

Eat, drink, be merry,
And choose wisely.

Math
Numbers
The only things everyone
And everything have in common
You can find mathematical proofs written
In between the stars
Numerical sequences hiding beneath a fern
That unfurls to reach the heavens
No one can deny, one will always equal one
And the sum of two numbers will never change
Truths remain truths no matter the language
I can't see how my friends can say 'I hate math'
Or how people say 'numbers are stupid'
Numbers and math comprise the essence of life
On another planet the number pi and
Sierpinski's triangle may have different names
But their rules remain the same
Math and numbers make up geometry
Which is full of tesselations, and fractals
And beautiful diagrams and principles
How can you not love something like the
Golden Ratio, or the Fibonacci sequence?
They provide the curl of a fern, the twist of
A snail's shell, the spiral of a pineapple
And rotation of axial leaves
Such a beautiful, never changing system
That appears in so so many forms
Why be bored when you can play with fractal-y
Tesselating doodles?
And don't even get me started on science...

Is a true hero one like Superman?
Name spread across the front page
Bold symbol blazoned across his chest
Or maybe a hero is like Batman
Operating in the shadows
Name barely dared whispered by evildoers
On the off chance he'll appear.
Perhaps a heroine is like Oracle
Helping from behind the scenes
Relaying crucial information
Maybe Daredevil is,
Defeating personal as well as social
Obsctacles, physical and mental
But no, I think a true hero is brave
Or kind or welcoming or even
Small-scale rebel or revolutionary
And needs no emblem shot into the skies
Needs no great ceremony of recognition
Or semblance of public thanks
Just a smile, or the thought that
A life has been changed for the better.

I can't seem to write short poems.
I'd like to, and admire all the short, succinct
And meaningful poems
But I can't cut mine short enough.
Sure I could stop here
Or here
Or maybe after a couple other words
Like here
But I feel like all my thoughts aren't out,
So I continue
Pushing through the thought that
This is getting a bit long
Faerie, what are you doing? Stop
Its too long.
Alright, just one more thought
And I'll
End
It
Here.

click
A poem by someone in Chicago
click
A poem by a girl in love with her best friend
click
A story by a young man trying to find out himself
click
A poem by someone whose cat is in front of the screen
click
A piece by a rusty old man in need of attention
click
A piece of soul
click
Posted for the world's criticism
click
A shred of heart
click
Bared with anonimity
click
Thoughts from the mind
click*
of a fellow poet

I am a mouse in a sea of cats
A red fish in a blue school
I know not what to do
So I decide, having read the writing
Etched upon the wall, I decide
I shall be like Despereaux!
Let out a defiant squeakl
Lift my pokey-pen sword
And charge forth!
I shall be Jack the Giant Slayer
Destroy my fears, speak brazenly
As I run off, leaving this
Phrase etched into the wall,
Waiting for the next timid mouse to read;
Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero
(Pluck the day and put no trust in the future)

Todd feels a toad
Ugly and warty and full of slime
Potential lacking everywhere
Cannot see his own beauty until forced
Yet then, he becomes the
First to stand
First to call out
First to cry,
"O Captain! My Captain!"
Throwing aside his
Gag and shackles
Stepping up and
Taking, the leap of faith.

Carpe diem is from the Latin phrase
carpe diem quam minimum credula postero
Which means 'pluck the day and put no trust in the future'
coronemus nos rosis antequam marcescant
'Let us drink and be merry'
As a wise, yet fictional professor said,
"We are food for worms, lads"
So pluck the day! Put no trust in the future!
Who is to say a future exists?
Believe no soothsay nor medium,
They lie and tell half truths for petty cash
Find joy and beauty in the world,
Enjoy every moment like it's your last
Don't squander your health, money nor sanity though
If there does happen to be a future coming,
You'll want to be around for it!
**** the marrow out of life,
Just don't choke on the bone

"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation"
Fighting the blanket of oppression
Within and without themselves
The metaphorical blanket holding them
To a goal that is not of themselves
Tied to be someone they are not,
Trying to fill the wrong size shoes
Life planned out by superiors
Blinded by tinted glasses of lie and
False truths put on by others preceding
This suffocating blanket restricts and constricts
And holds the victim to one forced idea
Like blinders on a horse
Or a blindfold on a magician
Only a narrow, yet clear path is provided
A leap of faith must be taken to discover 'self'

Isn't it interesting how the
Fountain of Youth
Elixir of Life
And Tree of Knowledge
Fill the spread of faerie tales,
Legends, and myths, but
We have no
Fountain of Age
Elixir of Death
Or Tree of Ignorance?
Sure they aren't usually helpful,
But they'd make for some
Cool plot twists.
The protagonist accidentally
Eating fruit of the Tree of Ignorance
And forgetting his purpose and self
Only to be reminded by
His companion or leading lady.
The evil wizard drinking from
The Fountain of Age by fluke
And crumbling away into dust
A young hero or heroine
Searching for the Elixir of
Death to end misery of theirs, or anothers

Hand lacerations
Are absolutely no fun.
Especially when on
The dominant hand
But somehow the slash
In *******,
The spread of pink in dishwater
The dark red welling up
And spilling over
Somehow through the
Majority of calm after a
Brief freak-out
Somehow this stifles my
Desire to mutilate
This horrendous lust that
I do not want and
Barely can control
So now my handwriting
*****, my fingers hurt,
These cuts are a nuisance
But my repugnant hunger
Has been tamed...
What's wrong with me?!

I have never
Danced in a
Pitch black room
With the smell
Of flowers
Everywhere.
I only dance
In the rain, a
Clean, and icy
Catharsis
I only dance
In a dark and
Hot gym for
Homecoming
With friends all
Around
I am not the
Most graceful or
Original, as I stumble
And lose rhythm
And simply sway or spin
Nevertheless, I
Dance

In the dark of night, in the middle of a storm
A dish falls, shatters
A shriek tears the relative silence
Pale pink blood blossoms in the water
While rich red blood wells up in the hand
Tears falling like a blinding waterfall
Stabs and throbs of aching stinging searing pain
Blood and pain and tears fill the mind
A flash of white tissue beneath the torrents of red
Panting sobs and hyperventilation
Panicking as victim is rushed to the ER
Mother tries to comfort daughter with story of healed,
Previously lacerated toes
Two words blurted between gasps of pain: NOT HELPING
Arrive to an empty lobby, excepting a nurse and receptionist
Focus on nothing, only the hand
The possible tendon torn, the skin shredded, the blood spilt
Dishtowel now soaking red irony fluid instead of clear soapy
The story repeated 6, 7, 8 times
A nurse asks if I smoke or drink
A radiologist asks if there is any chance for pregnancy
And for a moment I am shocked out of my pain into pondering
The corruption of the modern generations,
Such that I am asked these questions
Any friend of mine would quickly tell that
No, I'm not that kind of teenager... but how many are?
Then I am whisked from the x-ray room
Off for stitches, they say my tendon is cut
That I need stitches
The fingers no longer gush, but that triviality is soon remedied
A doctor probes the wound for shards
Nurse flushes it clean with chlorohexadine
Both renew the flow
Doctor returns, stitches both fingers and chats away
Grand tally of five stitches, a splint, blankets of guaze,
And a roll of medical tape
Prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, both given
A scoffing glance, but instructions are followed
Forbidden from any activity with the right hand by my mother
I struggle even to write, simple chores soon a nuisance
First time the splint and stitches are gone,
Doctor number two declares my hand usable
First time the little finger bends, the half healed skin splits
So all for a plate, a hand was rendered more useless

You said you'd always protect me
And that you'd never hurt me
That you'd love me and hold me
And I was your precious.
But can you protect me from yourself?
My missing you and crying inside
Pretending to be stronger than I am
A defiant faerie, who wants no help
Pushed over and pushed around
I fight back and get up every time
Persist and hold my ground
But you still have yet to show mercy
Perhaps you don't know, but I
I am still subject to your blows and graces
And still defy those stronger

Poor kitty cat, crazy dazed cheshire cat
Thinks by offing the parents
The offspring offed will be
So scratches both the top and roots
Of this family tree
This disillusioned kitty cat
Can't seem to understand
That by scratching a leg
You do not bite a hand
This addled backwards kitty
Has much to learn these days
And harsh admonitions
This ***** do not faze

Before I die, yes I know, I'm only 15,
But before I die
I want to live as no one has lived ever before
Smell the most gorgeous aroma
Feel the softest object, pet the gentlest lamb
Play and wrestle with a cub, be it lion, tiger, or bear
Go for a long long walk in the woods with one friend
And sit together talking and capturing instants on paper
I want to learn four languages, or five, or six
Spend one entire weeked in bed, catching up on books
Read the most glorious poem and hear the sweetest song
Fully enjoy my career and learn enough about bones
Be able to know when someone is lying and
To die, really really happy.

I am afraid of aloneness
Being without someone or something
To talk to, to see and interact with

I am afraid of baring my heart and soul
And afraid of not doing so, both
Because I might not be understood

I am afraid of knives and glass, blades
And sharp with the thought that I may
Cut myself by accident, and enjoy it

I am afraid of friendship and love
And the lack thereof, as it causes
Pain and heartache and grief

I am afraid of the dark and the monster
Under the bed, simply because those childish
Stories may be true

I am afraid of loss and abandonment,
My lack of confidence and freedoms
That may restrict my possibilities

I am afraid to be afraid,
Because it will hold me back.

You walk through the hallways
Mind set on destination
Smart enough to have grade-skipped
Curly dark hair pulled back
Tall stack of binders
Glasses? Yeah
Girlfriend? Ich weiss nicht
I know so little about you
And you don't say much at all
What are you like?
Who are you?

There were two of them
Half bleached by the sun and crusted
With hard packed dirt
Found on a friend's farm
Slightly broken, and curious things
Possibly vertebrae, definitely a joint
They didn't quite fit together,
But the looked like they belonged together
Even thought they were yards apart
They were differently sized almost-twins
I wanted to take them home,
Clean them up, bleach them completely
Arrange and draw them
Study and identify and catalog
They fascinated me, and all I knew was
I couldn't take them home
I don't even know where they are now

When I was little, I had a blanket
Not a regular blanky either
The smoothest, most wonderful one
Hand sewn by my great grandmother Charlotte
Now all we have of hers other than a
Dresser, rocking chair, and picture or three
I didn't realise it then, but it had a heart design
Of faded green, and brown and red-orange
And off-white
I don't remember much, but I do remember
I could be completely enveloped within
Still can, and this is no huge blanket
Perhaps five by three feet, and ugly as heck
But so wonderfully made and beautiful
Soft and love infused
I thought we didn't even have it anymore,
But then I rediscovered it,
Now I can't live without it

My cherry tree stands quite tall, bearing fruits and flowers
Good for climbing  and snacking, breathing and thinking
Walk out upon a limb, and lean against a branch
To calm and relax and hang out with friends
Laughing and joking, playing and singing
Hot sticky summers, made all the stickier by cherries
Sunshine dappled grass beneath the tree
The perfect Treffpunkt for all us monkeys and goofballs.

One state, two state
Red state, blue state
This state, that state
Short and fat state
States here and over there
Colorful states everywhere!
But as election time draws near,
Each man closes mind and ear
To voices and opinions raised by opponents
As each team raises the arms and pennants
The choices are not clear
The future is bleary
And while many men fight for their side,
Regardless of what is wrong or right
The nation is torn
Like fabric by thorn.

Hello! Hello! Over here!
Step closer, lean nearer
Ladies and gents
Laddies and lasses
Dogs and sheep of all ages
Listen as I tell you of my fabulous new invention:
The bobby pin.
It pins hair and cash alike
A paper clip in a pinch
Open locks
Dig a coin from a crack in the floorboards or
Mark your spot in a book
Put all over your face and fingers,
And make ridiculous looks.
Poke a hole in some paper,
Moustache in a moment
The uses are endless my friends,
You can't live without it!
So crowd around, line up
And buy a set of your very own
Muiltpurpose,
Bobby pins

I need something light and cheerful
To remind of the beauty and good
Soo I will write about crayons, under-rated, and butterflies
And roses, over-rated, and friends
And love, simply confusing, and puppies
And soft furry squishy warm pretty lovely good-smelling things.
Oh yeah, and faeries and their mischievous pixie cousins

A body and soul stretched to extremes
Yin and yang
The most and least of both worlds
Opposite sides of the coin
Cleansing and pure
Tainting and pitch
Light and dark
Of the purest white
And the most tainted black
Earth and air and fire and water and aether
Sun and rain
The brightest and hottest fires of sun
Beating and firing heat from the bottomless flames of hell
Breaking into a cold sweat without cease
The flaming evil of health
Rain and sun
The darkest and iciest rain of clouds
Pouring and drenching from the endless pools of heaven
Chilling into a cleansing soak never long enough
The freezing good of pain
The contradictions, the back and forth
The intelligent confusion
The stupid direction
The leather and biker tough guy
The shy and bookish sweet girl
The false realities and true lies
Love in strangers and indifference in close friends
Hope in troubled times and loss in peaceful
Banding together the unlikelies
Separating the probabilities
Pain in love and happiness
Contentment in fear and despair
The sound of one hand clapping.

buzzzzzzz
The bus engine idles
Intensifying the hammering of little gnomes
On my skull
Their tin mallets ***** dinking incessantly
Throbbing
Painful numb as waves crash to escape
The confines of my head
A small clownfish throwing his tiny body
Against the walls again
And again
And again
ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump
The bus hits three large bumps in a row
Jostling and jolting me into excruciating confusion
So tired and so alert
Drifting off to consciousness
I have got to escape this headache...