There is a tear in my existence,
the gap between two milk teeth
breaking away from wide-mouthed childlike innocence
and falling out,
lost to ice cream cones and garden fences
teen dream dancing and cool pretenses
ignorant bliss, aimless goals
and the taste of near-empty Jack Daniels bottles
seems wiped from me
like a milk moustache.

Adulthood, what are you but a mistress who is cruel to be kind
curling and winding around me until I choke in your perfectly proper pencil skirt?
What are you but a greater knowledge of the world and a lesser understanding of it?
What are you but a greater understanding of the self and a lesser affinity with it?

Adulthood, what are you but broken dreams and disappointment?
What are you but bigger dreams with arms that reach beyond death itself?
What do you bring except shrivelled skin and nostalgia for once upon a times?
What but wisdom and a sense of sanguine satisfaction?
What are you but blood and cells and bells and *** and terrific notions and consequences and deckchairs and chinaware and despair?

Adulthood, what are you but glazed-over wasted days and self-loathing?
What are you but three hundred responsibilities taken care of all at once, caffeine eyes and welling pride?
What are you but the inevitable crash and getting smashed and suddenly remembering why I should do things one at a time?

What are you but change upon change upon change upon mistakes made again for the millionth time?
And my changes, now lifeless
cause an identity crisis
about whether I'm really any different in the end
the likes of which will no doubt be seen again
when Monday rolls around,
what are you but Mondays, endless Mondays
driving me into the ground?

Oh Adulthood,
what are you but a downsize of naivity, a self-belief redundancy, a vitamin D deficiency and a proper place for everything apart from me?
What are you but desperate faces smashing into one another, drowning lungs, curtains pulled down, curtains put up, curtains being suddenly important? Curtains ******* me up?
What are you but woodsmoke and patios, warm faces, good graces and the ceaselessly mounting cost of Freddos, buildings and building things and falling in love...

And falling in love, falling asleep, falling awake, falling apart, falling together, falling
falling
falling
down.

What are you, Adulthood, but always always getting back up again no matter what, and alarms and reminders and no bed times
but being so tired you start to admire
that even the sun must sleep sometimes,
even if it always comes back up, shining even brighter
until the timing is right until the living is right until the mind is right only then can we stop trying
only then can we die
no wonder the afterlife is idealised
and even then, will I see the light?
Can I stop now?
Is it really alright?

What are you Adulthood, but a long list of questions?
Because I have so much to ask, you see, but mostly

What are you here for, except to show me how good I had it before?

Adulthood, I don't know.

Paved thoughts
They lay
In naivity
Youth
Born into homogeny
Told
"Different is beautiful"
But taught
To fall in line
With the swaying ways
Society's norms form
Pin-up billboard smiles
Flash magazine swagger
On surgeon made bodies
Guide retinas of wide eyed
Youth
To mirrors
With disgust
"Different is beautiful"
We'll say
Yielding our whitened smiles
"Different is beautiful"

It was to be a new beginning, a new start for myself.
I was to leave all that behind, and start on something new.
I was to find a haven after leaving such a hell,
And remind myself that I was strong after what I'd been through.

I took a strength in finding new relations in my world,
An escape from what I used to live, the pain that I endured.
I tried to make myself a place, so fate could then unfurl,
And so it seemed that, for a time, I'd made one - I was sure.

And so in months that followed, I offered all I had.
I soon saw how very little I'd changed - I was no better now.
I thought summer had given me that edge I'd need at hand,
But I was just as stupid, and naive; I wondered, how?

I questioned what I hadn't done, or what I still could do,
So that they wouldn't take from me more than I had to give.
Not too long after leaving home, I found out it was true -
Some people never do grow up, despite how long they live.

And yet, the hopeful optimist, eyes bright with certainty,
Continued all these patterns that were aimed to self-destroy.
She grasped on to the skinny straws of soft naivity,
And refused, yet, to believe that she was anybody's toy.

It was her own undoing, all those times that followed suit.
She should have seen it coming, should have seen what lay ahead.
It should have been no great surprise, what her labors had produced,
And yet she cried herself to sleep, in a cold dormitory bed.

She knew not where to turn, she found, for none would understand.
"Grow up," they said, "man up," they said - "welcome to the world."
But it was not so simple! she would scream, at their demands.
She wasn't built for toughness, this rather softhearted girl.

Was it too hard to understand, that it was her instinct,
To look for good in others, no matter how they did her wrong?
Was it too hard yet to justify, that maybe they were linked? -
The people who would ridicule, and how they came along?

Time passed and passed; at times, it dragged; she wondered where it led.
What **** good was it doing her to bear the world's foul weight?
Was this rather beaten path going to drop her on her head?
Was THIS God's woven plan for her - was this her golden fate?

It wasn't until later that she did just as they said.
She stopped performing high demands, stopped believing in that "good."
Unless they'd ever prove it, she would distance them, instead.
For words and actions differ, and she knew they always would.

Leaving such a sheltered home, ****** out into the world,
Had given her a head start into what could have been her end.
She still retains her emphasis on nourishing her pearl,
Which grows from helping others, when they truly need a friend.

It has made her grow, learn, learn to grow, and she has grown to learn.
It is not what we do in life, but on whom it is bestowed.
There will always be so many who will take what they've not earned,
And what you let them take from you becomes not yours alone.

Guard your heart, and guard your mind - their value is unreal.
It is but your decision with whom you share these precious gifts.
Your actions are a letter, and your words may be the seal,
And they both have the ability to form bonds, or form rifts.

It is not for me to say how we should go about these things.
For do we ever really know who truly cares the most?
It is a trial-and-error process, and sometimes, yes, it truly stings.
But you cannot have the parasites if you are not the host.

I have fought my way through many, who so convingly, would "care."
I've picked my way through many fruits, looking for only good.
But this never-ending orchard (sometimes I'd rather not be there),
Is a microscopic labyrinth, which I'd leave, if I so could.

It is a funny thing, it seems, the way we all behave.
Some are content to give and give - it brings the greatest joy.
For others, it is take and take, that they so strongly crave,
And all the "gratitude" they show is nothing but a ploy.

I've been around the bend and back, through friends and enemies.
I try my best to DO my best, no matter what the cost.
I know that some will never change, some things will always be.
And there will be many I've loved, and more that I have lost.

I stand a taller woman, now, knowing what I can give.
A frightened woman, sometimes, knowing not what's coming next.
But prepared for greater battles, I face the life I plan to live,
Hoping to make a difference that others can reflect.

I find myself still standing here, after many darker times.
I'd like to say that it is through, that finally, it's done.
But as I cannot lie to thee, I still commit these crimes.
And now again, I ask myself: have I really overcome?

Perhaps I have, perhaps I've not, perhaps I still yet will.
I cannot see tomorrow, and I cannot repeat today.
Yesterday's a memory, a photograph that's still,
And though I may be frightened, I am not at all afraid.

Cast all aside burn it and ****,
Dancing in the running reds of massacre.
Waiting for any semblance of humanity,
Burn it all rip it out and let nothing taint.
bring destruction like a demonic saint.
Feel the flow of senseless promise,
casting naivity into uncensored solace.
Bleed your prayers onto every altar.
Watch it discolour every drop of water.
Set your eyes on every ounce of pain,
bring it in and nestle it tightley,
then unleash it in fury divine,
to burn and destroy all that was once mine.

At a time when life was precious
she came in unannounced
she brought in lots of baggage
and layed it on my couch.

Her innocence was perfect
her naivity was bliss
she only needed love from all
complications she did miss.

This child was so entangled
from the start of life and on
some would pull from left and right
and others far beyond...
but her smile would still march on.

Looking for stability
the years poured quickly by
and soon her heart felt sadness
and her eyes learned how to cry...
but her smile still never died.

A few more cuts and bruises
the rain came pouring down
her soul now soaked in others' hate
no truthfulness around...
but she still refused to frown.

and still more time,
and still more pain...

her eyesight growing dim
the crowd now cries with false-lit love
"my sweet Tabi, how can she sin?"

(and that smile...where has it been?)

I want to marry you
I want to marry this 17 year old naivity

I want to collect it and put it in a glass box for the whole world to see

I want to freeze frame, pause time, snapshot

This photo of us

This moment filled with nothing but young love and lust

I want to drown in this bliss

Stay forever underneath the surface

I want to swim in eternal happiness

And never come up for air.

Ugly and disappointing colors are what they're revealing
It's a challenge not to fall victim to the deceptive deceiving
This world in which all are tirelessly scheming

Corrupt messages intended to disillusion our modes of sensory
The laws of this dishonesty are rarely discriminant
The unlimited reach of the effects are constantly consistent
Putting current views and outlooks in legitimate jeopardy

Originality is one thing they've made a hobby of stealing
Dark, ***** secrets require intelligent attempts at concealing
This society in which all are tirelessly scheming

Naivity is an automatic assumption of all that is innocent
You can witness their successes expending minimal energy
The fraud is hazardous; failure is certainly imminent
One would desire that outcome sooner than later, as it leaves recipients feeling elderly
With any form of luck, more will come to share this sentiment

Endless efforts put toward developing façades generally appealing
Aiming to have candor and valor on the knees, kneeling
This reality in which all are tirelessly scheming

Sturdy quilts to shield clarity are woven most expertly
Time being tested passed slowly- increment by minute increment
Blueprints to fool the majority will be, expectedly, intricate
What was the original reality has been altered into a distant, doubted memory

Any and all accomplished legitimitacy sends them all reeling
There's always a "crisis" with which we should be dealing
*Our universe in which all are tirelessly scheming

to the immaculately vain;
to the naivity of adolescence and the ignorance
of maturity;
to those who look with their eyes,
feel with their fingers,
savour that which is fed to us
as magnificence;
when you tint lips,
tone hips,
take your trips
please know that what you
see and touch and taste is mocking you.
your eyes are deceiving you.
for it is only the blind man who will recognize real beauty.

A cherished friend once told me:
You are who you love.
I am much of her. And I am much of my other cherished friends.

A lost love lives on in this way
I am so much of him - I practically am him. I've loved so much I've left myself behind.

In the streets of Manhattan, my soul left me. Maybe it stayed there, awaiting my return
With some new fling on my arm
To take me to the opera.

I gave away my lightness and naivity to a dark, cold man who I know is more than that [there has to be more than that].

I left my pride in Toronto on Bloor street
Where I  flirted with 3 [three] men. I wanted them all. I still want them all.

But I took only one. Except he took me. In moments he loves me so much he turns into me. But it is fleeting. And it has gone.

So as we let go we regain ourselves. I will take back my optimism, thank you.

And I will remain as myself until we meet again. Maybe then we won't be so selfish and take so much,
Only to give so little.

By Nabs

13.
The water burned my skin,
I scrubbed until it was raw and red.
An empty 200 ml bottle of soap laid on the bottom of the bath tub,
I used them all, crying because no matter what I did the kiss still lingers like a stubborn stain on my body.

My mother always told me not to smile at strangers.

I've never felt so ***** in my life.

8.
The first time I heard the word ****,
Was when the news flashed a picture of a 10 years old dead girl. They found her lying naked in a town park. Said that she had been ***** several times.

My mother cradled my head, kissing me with fears in her eyes.

I asked her what that word means, she just shook her head and hugged me closer.
Told me to always be careful.
That little girls need to always be alert because there are wolves wearing man skin.


I didn't understand what the word means nor the fear that echoes in my mother eyes.

But the picture of the dead girl stayed in my head along with a new vocabulary.

13.
I was disappointed.
The hotel was not what I expected. The bed was not comfortable, the room too hot, though the window have an amazing view.

The elevator was very annoying.
It was always too long.
I pushed the button again and again.

There's the cleaning service guy in the hall.
He's looking at me.

I smiled at him, the elevator door opened.

6.
Our home room teacher told us today,
That a smile can brighten someone else's day.

I couldn't stop smiling when I get home, not even to strangers.

I didn't notice the way, my driver was blocking me out from view.

9.
There's a new house being built in the complex.
I walked past the construction site with my older cousin to get to my house.
We were laughing freely and happily.
Childhood was clinging to us like a warm and comfortable blanket.

The construction workers whistled at us and called us pretty. They invited us to play with them.

I smiled at them nervously.
I didn't know why my hand started to feel clammy and cold. My older cousin gripped my hand tight and dragged me to walk faster.

Wan't pretty supposed to be a compliment?

15.
click. open page

(n) Cat Call:
"A loud whistle or a comment of a ****** nature made by a man to a passing woman."

- Oxford Dictionary

See link below for the definition of ****** harassment.

click.

13.
There was a knock, an open door.
A smile and betrayal.

The day I learned that 'I love you',
can sound ominious, make pity rise like a well.
How it can be filled with poison and lies,
corroding naivity like acid on skin.

A feral kiss, pungent breath.
There was hands roaming
where it wasn't welcome.
My body freeze as tar
like dread course through my veins.

That day, the word 'no' becomes my prayer.

14.
I stayed in my room.
I tried not to let my eyes wonder to where I hide the blade. I had become too acquaintanced with it, this past years. Too addicted.

The clocked showed 9.00 PM. I stared at the ceiling unable to sleep. Wishing I could forget.
It's been one year.
I had taken a bath to cleanse my self.

The door creaked open.

( see you tomorrow.)

There's someone sobbing.
I locked my self in the bathroom until I fell asleep on the cold white tiles.

I woke up with a sore body and a red flower was blooming on the floor.

I sprayed it with water hoping I could also disappear like them.

(I don't remember how to smile)

13.
I told my mother what happen.
There was denial in her eyes, and blame were pouring out of her mouth like it was the only thing keeping her afloat in the world.

It crashed against me like a tsunami, and I drowned.

I drowned, and I never realized how alone I was.

The words 'It's your fault' etched under my skin and shame rattled in my heart like shackles.

I stared blankly at the ceiling, resentment growing in my eyes, and I wonder if forgiveness is possible.

12.
My mother and father always said that the day I was born, it was like a dream come true.
Said they were so happy to have a daughter, that they celebrate like never before.

They named me such wonderful prayers.
Said I will grow up to be a strong woman.

I believed every word they said.

My parents aren't a liar.

17.
It's been 4 years.
There is still monsters under my bed. The tears never truly stop pouring, new scars keep littering my body, and my heart will never stop bleeding.
I understand the fear in my mother eyes.

But the red flowers have stopped blooming and I relearn how to smile. It's still frayed on its edges but breathing becomes more easier.

It's been 4 years,
and I have learned forgiveness.