my subject, mrs. ((brown?))
for this speech is
going to be: obesity. ish.

you see I remember
the article you handed out to us,
loos-leafed,
fresh-pressed,
a dry white piece that told,
in simplest terms,
the most inarguable & bland facts
about !healthy eating & !weight loss!

but mrs ((whatever)), I want
to tell n and the entire
******* crisp class,
that obesity is a load
of steaming ****
from someone who’s really fucki
ng sick (you know how much
better it stinks then)

that obesity
was made to be glorified,
I don’t tell you this—
I ****** jiggle it to you,
grab my santa clause puch and
shove it at you--

tick tock
we wait for the clock
to tell us what
s to come,
except it makes us guess

--see this:
a mid-age woman, mother,
fat & previously fat,
goes in for stabbing pain in the chest, or
chronic diarrhea,
seeing stars & no energy left.
((this happens))
the doctor says,

well let’s weigh you n see
if you’ve lost
the weight I told you to lose before
remember Sharol

now Sharol..,,,, sweety…..
you weigh 55.62 lbs over the
state-set “healthy limit”k,
so we’re just gonna give u these
diet pills & I promise they work,.
all nach-yer-awl u see, none of that
waterweight ******* [! excuse my language]

and in about 3 months you’ll lose
half that overweight,
and I promise the starsll go away and you’ll
feel right tip top okay now that’ll be
$60 & come bac k in a month to tell me
how much you’ve lost okay

haha but that’s alrightright?
she was unhealthy
&
doctors make you healthy

only her brain cancer maybe, or like, colon
cancer or literally anything other obesity

kills her in about 3 months
bc the **** doctor would only
pretend that she cared
what
was
wrong with Sharol, sweety…,,,

im sharol and so are you and
so is your uncle & so is
your mother, probably
because most of us are “obese”

& the only cure for obesity
is the cure for the term
“obesity” you see

WRITING LOVE? Ha-ha!

Hey sweety,
Let's not write about it.
Do not narrow it down.
You will squeeze it to death.
Set it free and let it be
what it is.
It is love.


If you can write,
what is love,
then it can be anything,
but love.
The moment you give love your words, you corrupt it.
You only touch it and you ****** it.


It is alive when untouched.
It is pure until unsaid!
You always feel it and never talk about it.
That's it.
That's love.
Isn't it the only part
that survived all our fights
and stayed with us?
So I ask you
to keep it away from your words.

Listen, sweety,
Do you want to capture it like you captured a bunny rabbit with honeyed eyes?
Or you want to put a leash on it as you put it on your boi after so many of tries ?
Do not cuddle it like you always do with your pooh, it will die.
It's too fragile.
Try not to hook it like you hooked the goldfish.
Let it be what it is.

Unbounded,
unclaimed,
Unoccupied.
It's meant to be free,
and always free.

But not free like a dove.
Someday you will catch it too,
And,
somebody else will ****** it from you.
Then how can you call it Love?

It will become a thing of catching and snatching, then eventual hating.
You will hate it.
Yes, you will hate your Love.
And will cry over it and it will never be yours.
Once you lose it, it's not yours to claim.
Do you really think love is that kind of hunting game?

Let's think of it as an ocean.
That demands not your loyalty,
but devotion.
It is holly and you are not.
Admit it,
without further questions.
You can behold it
But, You cannot hold it.
You can touch it,
You cannot drink it.
As long as you want, you can linger.
Move stars, stir your finger.
Splash it. Play with it.
Get wet. Get *****.
And smile, watching yourself dripping.
But don't think about stone skipping.
You can do only little things to it
But, in return, it will do greater and fatal things to you.
You don't know what it is.
I don't know what it is.
Let it be unknown.
And you are mean to swim through
and never step out.
When you are dry enough, it will drown you,
That's all it is about.
You can call it **** and hate it.
like you hate the end of titanic.
But that's it.
That's love,Sweety.

And it's not a fish-love
or a dove-love.
Do not try to hook it
or cage it in your words.
All of your efforts will go in vain.
But I think, you think you can...
Because you possess the power of poetry?
Do you want me to laugh at you,
dear sweety? Ha-ha!
Poor you.
Poor poetry.
**** the art.
**** the history of literature.
Nobody ever could.
Nothing ever could!

So stay silent and let it do whatever it wants to do with you.
If it wants you to write about it, then pick a pen and write about it.

Write your verses.
Fill your pages.
Sell poetry.
Get rich.
Sweety!
But do not think,
you can ever write about it.

Smile baby smile baby smile smile. .
I wanna make you smile. .
I wanna take you high . .
I wanna make you fly. .
o smiley o smiley o smiley. .
Looks like a cute angel
smile like a sweet blossom
sing like a cuckoo bird. . .
O sweety o sweety o sweety. . .
Fall like a pleasant sunshine.
Flow like a river bed.
ring like a church bell now .
Come to me come to me come to me. . .
Come like a rainy drop
be like a holy drop
shower like a rain of gift. . .
Hey smarty hey smarty hey smarty. .
Glow like a rising sun
be like a thunder storm
work like a running clock. . .
Hey dolly hey dolly hey hey. .
Play like a winter spring
be like a cool monsoon
help like a cool breeze now. . .
Smile baby smile baby smile smile. .
O smiley o smiley o smiley. . . .