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judy smith Jan 2016
“Ever since I started this job and anyone asks how I’m doing, I always say, ‘I’m great!’ ” Maayan Zilberman excitedly explains. And why shouldn’t she? The former Lake & Stars lingerie designer, who has since founded confections lineSweet Saba, happens to have the sweetest career around. Concocting a literal visual feast out of her Park *****, Brooklyn, kitchen and Fort Gansevoort Meatpacking pop-up shop, the Israeli-born polymath uses her background in sculpture and a biting sense of humor to create her vibrant, indulgent delicacies. Think sugarfied tubes of lipstick, rap mixtapes, and Rolex watches—with their raw handiwork and dead-on wit, these in-demand pieces match Zilberman’s equally enticing wardrobe. Hardly barefoot in the kitchen, Zilberman teeters about in her workspace in vintage Betsey Johnson Mary Janes, while throwing on a customized Adam Selman pearl-laced apron to protect her Prada skirts andProenza Schouler knits. Here, the dazzling candymaker reveals how she has always been more En Vogue than grunge, why she never forgoes a perfect press-on manicure, and her plans on taking Sweet Saba herbal.

From Jerusalem to Vancouver

I was born on a kibbutz, where the first clothing I had was a mix of unisex hand-me-downs, so I was given a pretty blank slate. When I lived in Jerusalem we were surrounded by several sects of Orthodox communities, and the fabrics associated with each group were inspiring to me. During those years, designer brands were becoming popular, and the only place I was seeing this was in the shuk [market] where one could find imitation Calvin Klein and United Colors of Benetton next to tzitzit and shawls. I think it was in the early ’90s that I first understood how to mix my ethnicity with fashion and food.

Also, one of the most influential books of my childhood was Color Me Beautiful, which the women in my family took very seriously. I learned at the age of 6 that I was a “Winter” and haven’t veered off course since. I still have the book and love to pull it out at parties. Later in high school in Vancouver, grunge was the big trend and there wasn’t much room for my sensibilities in that environment—even when I wore my Revlon Blackberry lipstick and grunged out with irony. I was always far more En Vogue and Versace than the Pacific Northwest could handle.

Taking Cues From ’90s New York City Street Style

When I first got to New York, when I was 15, one of the first things I discovered was all the music I could get on Canal Street. I used to buy mix CDs from girls in monochrome outfits and big name-plate earrings. They pointed me to Fulton Mall in Brooklyn, and that’s where I finally got pants that fit right and jewelry that reflected my personality—a departure from the stuff I’d received for my bat mitzvah.

A shift in style for me meant a tougher, more confident look, where a short skirt is a reference to an era, not a call for attention. Music and lyrics played a big part in teaching me about how to dress and how to feel feminine. I had a Versace quilted skirt that I wore a lot—it made me feel like the supermodels in the ad campaigns: Cindy, Claudia, Stephanie, et cetera. I also had a Jean Paul Gaultierdouble-breasted pinstripe suit that I’d wear casually. In fact, I’m still wearing most of my clothes from those days: Betsey Johnson floral dresses, Donna Karanbodysuits, a metallic Byblos pouf skirt, and a grommeted Pelle Pelle jacket.

Lingerie Beginnings

I studied sculpture at the School of Visual Arts, and for a year at the San Francisco Art Institute my major was “new genres,” a very ’90s thing. Right after I graduated from SVA, I did an artist residency with Ilya Kabakov at the Fondazione Antonio Ratti in Como, where they also manufactured some of the world’s most beautiful silks. A tour of their factory opened my eyes to a potential dip into fashion, but it wasn’t until I met a pair of women in New York City that same year looking to start a lingerie brand that I took a chance on garment design. I bought a bunch of bras and took them apart and figured out how they were put back together. I cofounded The Lake & Stars in 2007 with the desire to make a brand that was in line with the story I wanted to tell as an artist. Lingerie was a tool, a structure that gave me rules so I could tell a sci-fi tale while inherently delivering romance and *** appeal.

read more:http://www.marieaustralia.com

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
John F McCullagh Oct 2015
Jeudi, 21 Février, 1788, NYC

Il a été dit que la science progresse un décès à la fois. Pour Jeune Docteur Richard Bayley, professeur aspirant des études anatomiques, ce fut littéralement le cas. Il avait besoin d'un approvisionnement constant de cadavres récemment décédés pour ses recherches, et ce fut la raison pour laquelle il était là, la négociation avec les trois voleurs de corps dans le sous-sol de l'hôpital de New York.
"Il ya une jeune femme, Margaret La Stella, décédé jeudi dernier, et qui repose dans le complot de sa famille dans le cimetière de l'église de la Trinité." Ceci est le corps, je dois, pour ma recherche, et je suis prêt à payer le taux en vigueur pour vos services. "
Quel improbable trio étaient ces hommes debout avec lui. Leur chef, James, était un géant d'un homme robuste, près de six pieds de haut, ses deux compagnons étaient des nains par comparaison, à peine cinq pieds chacun. "Rafe ici est un bon pour crocheter les serrures sur les portes de fer et Alfie est rapide avec une pelle en bois. Il les ressuscite dans une hâte: «Je vais pousser le corps dans une brouette et de vous rencontrer de retour ici pour livrer la marchandise et récupérer notre argent. Vous aurez à payer un peu plus que vous le feriez pour un pauvre ou un nègre ".
Il était une négociation rapide et le docteur assez rapidement convenu à son prix, laissant James à se demander si il aurait dû demander plus. Eh bien, une bonne affaire est une bonne affaire, et une médaille d'or chacun Guinée était bon salaire pour un travail obscur de la nuit.
Ils défilaient sur puis, laissant le jeune Richard à ses pensées. Bientôt, très bientôt, il serait de nouveau afficher Margaret. Bientôt son corps allait abandonner ses secrets pour lui et il serait apprendre la mort avait pris celle qui avait été si belle et si jeune. Il n'y avait rien à faire pour lui maintenant, sauf à attendre. Il est assis avec une tasse de thé et a tenté de se distraire avec le journal du soir.
Body Snatchers, ou Resurrectionists, comme ils préfèrent être appelés, sont en mauvaise réputation en cette année de notre Seigneur 1788. gens souhaitent en général tourner un oeil aveugle quand le corps de certains pauvre a fini sur la table de dissection. Un bien faire femme blanche avec une famille était généralement prévu pour se reposer tranquillement. Encore James et ses deux petits complices connaissaient leur entreprise et vous faire le travail rapide de celui-ci sur cette nuit.
James arrêta son cheval et le chariot bien en deçà de la Trinité, ne voulant pas porter trop d'attention à eux. Il serait monter la garde à la porte du cimetière avec une brouette tandis que ses deux complices petits glissa à l'intérieur et fixés au corps.
Trinity Church cimetière était à côté du site de l'ancienne église qui avait brûlé dans le grand incendie de New York du 76 '. Le doyen actuel de l'église avait accumulé des fonds destinés à la construction d'un second, plus grandiose église de la Trinité, mais encore la construction avait pas encore commencé. L'absence de l'église physique devrait signifier pas de gardien et un cimetière qui serait totalement déserte sur une nuit la mi-hiver froid. Avec seulement une lune décroissante pour l'éclairage, les trois hommes étaient dépendants de lanternes à main qui ont donné peu de lumière et à côté de pas de chaleur lorsque les vents du sud de Manhattan serraient à la gorge comme un spectre vengeur.
"Et c'est parti. Rafe se rendre au travail cueillette de la serrure, tandis que je l'aide avec Alfe la bêche et les couvertures. "
«Je vais avoir besoin d'une longueur de corde, trop mate, à nouer autour du corps et le faire glisser le long de la tombe."
Ils ont été surpris par le cri plaintif d'un grand corbeau noir qui a été perché sur la porte du cimetière de fer et qui semblait être en regardant leurs activités avec curiosité et méfiance.
«Je dois la porte ouverte, allez, Alfe, je ne veux pas être là plus longtemps que je le dois."
James regarda les deux hommes petits happés leurs lanternes et des outils et ont disparu dans les ombres du cimetière de Trinity.
Ils ont trouvé la tombe récemment fini de la fille La Stella rapidement, et Alfe commencé tout de suite avec sa pelle de bois pour creuser le cercueil de son lieu de repos temporaire. Il a travaillé tranquillement, mais ses travaux ne vont pas complètement inaperçu.
"Mate, Prêtez-moi un coup de main et nous allons la faire sortir d'ici. Jetez la corde ".
Rafe a fait comme il a été soumissionné. Il a également ouvert sa lanterne et l'agita en un signal à James que le travail était presque terminé. James n'a cependant pas été le seul qui a vu le signal.
Comme le corps a été exhumé une lueur d'or attira l'attention de Alfe. Je t avais un anneau sur les cadavres quitté l'annulaire.
Grave voler était considéré comme une infraction plus grave que trafic de cadavres, mais sûrement pas l'un allait remarquer petit anneau d'or disparu. Quoi qu'il en soit ce corps allait retrouver tell disséqué et articulé, il avait entendu on fait bouillir la chair de l'os de fournir un squelette complet pour l'étude. Personne ne les payait pas assez d'argent à son retour ici quand le bon docteur avait fini avec son travail.

Était-ce juste imagination- de Alfe ou fait froid main morte des cadavres lui semblent se battre pour l'anneau avant qu'il arracha libre. Immédiatement, cependant, toutes les pensées de l'or est devenu secondary- il y avait des problèmes en cours de réalisation
"Vous là, montrez-moi vos mains!" Il y avait un garde dans les motifs de la chancellerie, un peu de malchance qu'ils avaient pas compté sur. Rafe, pas un héros, sa réaction immédiate a été de tourner et courir. Il lâcha la corde et le corps de la jeune fille se laissa retomber dans le trou, près de piégeage Alfe dans une étreinte indésirables.
Alfe bondit de la tombe ouverte et renversé le grand mince tombe garde qui semblait un peu plus d'un squelette lui-même. Il a entendu le crieur public dans la distance la sonnette d'alarme. Alfe a abandonné toute idée de récupérer le corps de la jeune fille et avait l'intention d'évasion. Comme il sauta de la porte, il pouvait entendre la garde frénétiquement essayant de charger son fusil. Alfe besoin de plus de distance. Il a dû se rendre à James à la porte.

Un fusil à âme lisse est une arme la plus fiable et à beaucoup plus que 100 verges pour atteindre un succès était plus de chance que d'habileté. Alfe entendit à peine la décharge de l'arme, mais la douleur dans son dos était difficile à ignorer. James l'a attrapé avant qu'il ne tombe, mais il est vite devenu évident pour les deux que Alfe ne fallut pas longtemps pour ce monde.
James et Rafe ont travaillé rapidement pour obtenir Alfe dans la brouette et le roue de l'écart. Le gardien tentait de recharger mais la distance et l'obscurité devenait leur ami. Il ne serait pas obtenir un deuxième coup avant qu'ils ont fait à la voiture.
Pour le docteur Bayley il semblait que les Resurrectionists étaient de retour plus tôt que prévu il, mais le corps dans la couverture était pas le corps qu'il avait prévu de recevoir.

«Il y avait un garde posté à la chancellerie en face du cimetière. Il faut avoir vu l'un de nos lanternes et est sorti pour enquêter. Il descendit un coup à nous pauvres Alfe obtenu dans le dos. "
Richard regarda par-dessus le corps de Alfe, le nouveau sujet du Royaume des morts. «Combien voulez-vous pour ce corps?" Ils ont conclu rapidement leur affaire, James ne fait pas tout à fait aussi bien qu'il aurait pour le corps de la jeune femme, mais divisées deux façons il serait suffisant pour obtenir de lui un endroit pour dormir et nourriture et la boisson en plus. Alfe allait être un homme difficile à remplacer, mais il y avait beaucoup d'hommes durs bas près des docks qui feraient le travail et ne pas trop parler aux mauvaises personnes.
Il pensait qu'il ne serait pas bientôt d'accord pour ouvrir la tombe d'un dame. Les corps des pauvres ne sont pas si étroitement participé.

Bientôt Docteur Bayley avait le corps d'Alfe déshabillé et lavé et prêt sur la table. Dans sa vie relativement brève ce corps avait rarement eu assez à manger et trop de gin à boire. Les dents qui lui restaient étaient jauni et il y avait des signes de maladie des gencives. Richard était sur le point de faire la première incision dans la poitrine quand il a remarqué une lueur d'or dans la main droite crispée.

Il était un anneau; il était la même bague qu'il avait donné sa Margaret quelques semaines avant. Juste quelques semaines avant la mort l'avait prise de lui. Il ne savait pas qu'elle avait été enterré avec lui. Richard a tenu le petit anneau dans sa main et a commencé à pleurer amèrement, dans la connaissance cruelle qu'il ne reverrait jamais son visage, pas dans cette vie ou la prochaine.
A short story, in French, based on a grave robbery that took place on Thursday February 21, 1788 in Trinity graveyard in New York City.
Samy Ounon  Sep 2013
Sans Titre
Samy Ounon Sep 2013
Je beaucoup cherchais
Poussant les immeubles j’ai pensé de savoir
Creusant les endroits qui me griffées
Tirant les rideaux
Mes crayons, mes bras, et ma pelle ont m’a dit,
« Ceci, C’est tout. Donc regarde le soleil même si ça fait mal,
Et sans même devoir lui parlé, tu sais ce dont
tu ne sois jamais l’une qui goûte l’or, parce que
c’est partout »

Mais après avoir eu mes doutes
Comme quand la lune n’était pas la chose terrible
Dans le ciel qui marque la condescendance dans la terreur
Mais elle s’est levée avec du calme
Et notamment quand la fugue de ma pelle m’a fait découvert la lumière jeune
Par accident, j’ai frappé une énigme consacré

C’était quand je suis parti ma grotte
Le monde a l'envers
Et trop lumineux
Et trop tangible
Et plus vaste et réelle que je n'avais jamais connu

Je mets mes lunettes
Et avec l'aide
Moi- un univers d'atomes- je suis devenue un atome dans l'univers
Seth Honda  May 2018
Ivory Kiss
Seth Honda May 2018
Pearly white keys,
Hammers,
And strings.
All laced together in a mahogany symphony.
A piano.

Melodies dance through the air,
Spinning circles round my head,
Making me dizzy with joy.

A tiger dances across the keys and into my ears,
Putting memories of a zoo in my head.
Remembering walking down the tiger habitat.
Hand in hand with my father,
Tugging at his shirt.
He wore green that day.

Images of a butterfly landing on my finger prance through the space between me and her and land on the tip of my nose.
It is pure happiness.

They say a butterfly will land only on someone pure with bliss,
It lands on me as I look over at her.
Her fingers gliding so effortlessly across the smooth ivory,
This song is music to my ears.

Her hair falling so effortlessly on her shoulders.
She looks at me and smiles,
Her eyes crinkle at the corners as music flows from her fingertips.
She is her own symphony.
Her laugh the drums,
Her voice the flute,
And her singing a chorus of violins.
She is a symphony to make Beethoven blush.

I gape in awe at her beauty,
At the beauty of the music,
The music filling the space between us.
She looks happy.

Her hands dancing over the piano, A smile lights up her face.
Highlighting her grin
And her chocolate brown eyes.
The dark brown curls flowing down from the top of her head.

Our arms touch.
I can feel her symphony in my bones,
One of sadness.
One of hope.

I feel her happiness resonate through my arms and send chills down my spine.
The sound of her fingers running across the piano keys are drowned out by the pounding of my heart.
Bump bump.
Bump bump.
I can feel it in my throat,
And I lean in.

The music stops.
Our lips touch.
I can feel her beauty resonate through my body.

Pearly white ivory teeth,
Perfectly parted lips,
And breath.
Laced together in un pelle symphonie.
May 2, 2018 || 5:46 PM
Aaron Wallis  Sep 2014
Seeds
Aaron Wallis Sep 2014
Burly bleak plumes roll out aloft corn
Where the dragon fell post spin and ditch
A wretched hulk of ruin splintered and worn
Amongst endless blanch green fields which

Arc with a gust and apart where he treads,
Dragging his silk cape afar from flame
Clueless and concussed to a near house he heads
With a tattered scarf that constricts yet ***** about his mane

Black fists of cloud had boomed around him as they soared
His beast spat metal fire whilst the pale sky turned dull
The zipping ballet of warfare smiled throughout as motors roared
Gnashing its teeth and making forgotten martyrs of them all

Shuddering not from demise rather conflict as a whole
He is as content with death as he is to survive
Just not burn the world and condemn his soul
A horror; men of rule seem keen to keep alive

An agrarian self-dines rancorous and crocked
Half sat, improperly perched from where he was shot
Monsters had come for him once before this day
They took his spouse and his daughter and then took them away

He can hear but does not hark to the battle aloft
It is now like the rain and the trees in a gust
But to the boom and the shake he stands with a cough
And as he cites the invader he sees he must do what he must

The grower limps out with a Chassepot in his arms
As the airman’s hands reach up and he falls to his knees
With beads on his brow the man pleads with met palms
The crofter sees naught but a Prussian blue monster disease

The pilot knows his death, ‘Ich bin nicht sicher, wo ich will gehen?”
The old Frenchman just sniggers as he thinks never again
With the rifle’s slug now spent and the horror sent back to his hell
The farmer mumbles to himself, ‘je dois me chercher une pelle,”
Wars happen. It is *******
Glasgow Girl G1 Mar 2017
La prima volta che vi ** visto,
Vi ** amato con ogni cellula del mio essere.
Questo sentimento mi ha diviso il cuore
E ** avuto bisogno di proteggervi!

Quando ** tenuto la mano
Il calore della vostra pelle
Mi ha dato un sorriso
Brillava come le stelle!

Dal momento in cui avete l'aperto gli occhi
Avete vissuto nel mio cuore
Poi quando ** sentito il pianto
Volevo prendere il vostro dolore!

Finché Dio non ci separi.  
Mx
Ek het iewers langs die pad
My onskuld verloor
, maar ek **** dis op ń special
By die bottelstoor.
Dis nou jammer ek is platsak
Sonder geld, sonder naam
Onthou my soos ek was
In ma se fotoraam.

Wie sou my kon waarsku dat
Beloftes en my maagdlikheid
So maklik soos vetkruit breek.
Of dat al daai candy cigarettes
My kon leer om ñ Marlboro
Aan te steek.

Vroeg ryp vroeg vrot,
Op dominee se eer
Verloor al jou onskuld en
En probeer maar weer
Om iewers ń Heer te kry
Wat nog omgee vir my.
Terwyl jy sukkel om jou daily bread
Op die tafel te kry.

My pelle gaan dood , word ryk
Besoek die tjoekie
Word groot ,word fake
En kry STD's en kinders
En ander goed wat hul nie soek nie.

Nou loop ek ń pad van plooie
En grys hare en taxes
Waar Yolo jou nie verder bring
Van die kussies nie...

Face it.

Ons was almal jonk
, was al almal dronk
En ń wyse man weet...

Grootword is nie vir sussies nie.
bk  Feb 2015
01:34, buonanotte
bk Feb 2015
sono le 01 e 22 e io ** nel corpo e nella testa queste vibrazioni calde e pallide che mi stringono il cuore. sono irragiungibili.
** attaccato alle mie ciglia i pensieri tristi, sono perline trasparenti & i miei capelli non sono ancora abbastanza lunghi per strangolare qualcuno. se potessi scegliere di avvelenare qualsiasi superficie che toccherai, io lo farei.
i miei pensieri sono linee biforcute che corrono qui e lì, si diradano come i rami secchi contro il cielo freddo dell'inverno.
immagino me & te amore mio a danzare su un battello, sotto le stelle, qualche vita fa, in cui eravamo belli e sorridenti.
penso ai sassi lanciati nell'acqua, ai cerchi nel grano, alle macchie sul muro. penso alla mia vita da fantasma, quando vivevo a malapena, penso a chi mi ha uccisa in quei mesi e credo che l'inferno esista solo per chi ha conosciuto il paradiao e lo abbia disprezzato.
penso alle ore di sonno perse, alla pelle nuda, al mascara colato, alle tracce di rossetto sui bicchieri, ai muri della stanza che mi conoscevano più di quanto mi abbia mai conosciuta tu.
credo che il mio sia un caso inverso, ** conosciuto l'inferno e ora sto guadagnando il paradiso che ** sempre meritato.
Jay Luistro Nov 2018
Tu che dall’ombra compari,
E docile e dolce tu pari,
Nel sole cocente la tua pelle schiarisce
E dalla tua faccia la tristezza svanisce.

Ti ** guardata dritta negli occhi,
E tu la mia pelle mi tocchi.
Ti ** guardata nel viso un sorriso
Che la dolce faccia tua ha riso.

Mi ricordo di averti amata subito
E che allorché scelta non dubito,
E di fatto mi hai regalato la felicità
E al cuore mio la verità.

Adesso ti dirò che sei speciale,
Speciale ma non tanto quanto il reale.
Perché più di questo tu sei e sarai
E per sempre il mio cuore battere farai.
You that you appear in the shadow,/
Docile and sweet you seem,
Under the hot sun your skin lightens,/
And from your face the sadness vanishes./

I looked through your eyes,
And my skin you touch.
I saw in your face a smile,
That your sweet face has laughed.

I remember to have loved ya immediately,
And my choice when I decided I don’t doubt,/
And in fact you gave me the happiness,/
And to my heart the truth.

Now I tell you, you are special,/
But Special not as likely the reality,/
Because you are and will be more than it(special),/
And my heart you will always make it beat./

Dedicated to my Girlfriend.
bk  Jul 2015
sundayy
bk Jul 2015
I
ciò che faccio la domenica pomeriggio è ascoltare tutte le canzoni che mi hanno dedicato in passato e non provare proprio nulla
in ogni caso i Pixies non mi sono mai piaciuti

II*
da grande voglio fare la misteriosa bionda che scompare in circostanze ignote dando così la possibilità agli altri personaggi di interrogarsi a riguardo per un totale di 126 puntate,
alcuni si erano innamorati di me, altri mi hanno odiata, altri mi sognavano la notte ma nessuno nessuno mi ha conosciuta mai.
non sono morta come credono loro, bevo drink al cocco su una lontana spiaggia tropicale, con gli occhiali da sole e il foulard in testa.
oppure sono morta e mi sto decomponendo in fondo ad uno stagno, la mia pelle è blu e a brandelli e le ranocchie gracidano e partoriscono girini tra quello che resta dei miei capelli ma non importa perché tanto voi in vita mi avete odiato amato sognato e questo serve a rendermi immortale.
G Apr 2015
Ouf,
L’étoile
S'est envolée
Sans un souffle
La voile
A tournée

Le décor
Du Ciel
Inondé de lune
Invite nos corps
À l’essentiel,
La douceur est à la une.

Je me rappelle
Des nuits
Solitaires
Défilant à la pelle
Suggérant l'ennui,
Débonnaire.

L’instant devient pur
Le silence ronronne
De joies éphémères,
Vive le futur
Que l’Amour fanfaronne
Été comme hiver.
Pour Charles, le 18 mai 2014 -G.
Jodie LindaMae Jul 2019
When you were a little boy
They would lay you to sleep
With small prayers and a leap of faith,
Your angel-blonde eyelashes barely touching
And you would stop breathing periodically,
Gasping into the void,
Creating sounds that would echo against the cacophonous
Tomb of your mind for the rest of your life.
I hear your screams reverberate
In every instance of a Swedish accent.
I guess you were lucky enough
To be pronounced Dead three times.

Of course you'd call it an ice skating accident;
Ever the man, ever the glowing effigy of strength,
How could you bring yourself to tell us how you'd been mangled,
Beaten so badly that your organs broke and bled,
Your ten year old knees
Kissing the carpet of your mother's living room
As you fell and died that first time?
You'd later tell stories about the progression of death,
Colors enrapturing you,
Everything dipped in blue.
There were levels to this,
You said,
And you'd stuck your skin into one that no mortal could have
And yet you returned to us.

Nothing about this poem
Is going to make you seem more evil
Than the vision you've already placed in people's minds.
Thin, pale hands tossing a severed pig's head into an audience,
Those same fingers tracing the path of a jagged bottle blade
Down your arm in a business motion;
Pelle, I'd write an ode to every scar on your arm
If I wasn't sure that you'd already done it.
A heart corpse painted as black as the inside of a closed casket,
Your closed casket,
What was it that ruined you?
What was the trigger that pulled itself
Besides the so obvious one?
A broken kid from a broken home,
What made you run so far away
Only to hide in the arms of those who
Let you parade your mental illness like a banner,
Let you wear your delusions like a cape around your neck?
Who let you climb to the roof
Just so they could cheer for you to jump
With your fantasies and shredded silk hair flying behind you
Before your bones crumbled against each other in skin
Too tender and frail to contain you?

When they talked about you in magazines
Writers were always lamenting the tragedy
Of your cut-glass jaw and your piercing eyes,
Masculine beauty of such a caliber
Wasted on a character so evil and vile
It might as well have blotted itself out against the sun.
What you thought you were
Doesn't define your worth.
You're so much more than a corpse on a bed,
A couple of necklaces made from your bones.
You are so much more than a voice that was
Throttled out of existence by its own hand,
So much more than a statement piece.

For years after your death
Your family would receive packages for you in the mail
From bookstores around the world,
Tomes of witchcraft and ancient magics,
Spells designed to enchant and bewitch,
Pelle, were you trying to necromance the Dead?
Were you trying to take the parts of you
That felt less than human out?

If I could talk to you,
If I could say one thing,
It would have been what I've told
A dozen friends who've jumped in front of trains,
Called me from mental hospitals,
Called me with guns and knives in their hands.
I wish I could have told you
To wait one more ******* day.
In one more ******* day your father would have called.
You might have had a ticket back home.
You might not have a strike through your name
On every online page referencing your work.

The screaming may have stopped,
The air raid sirens in your head might have dulled
To the point where you wouldn't have felt the need
To blow them away.

If you didn't feel human,
If you felt like this was all a dream and that you'd wake up soon,
Why are we still living in the remnants of your nightmare?
Part one of a series of love poems dedicated to "unloveable" people. Rest in the glow of the freezing moon, Pelle. I hope you're having fun in Transylvania. I'll be seeing you soon.
La semplicità è mettersi nudi davanti agli altri.
E noi abbiamo tanta difficoltà ad essere veri con gli altri.
Abbiamo timore di essere fraintesi, di apparire fragili,
di finire alla mercé di chi ci sta di fronte.
Non ci esponiamo mai.
Perché ci manca la forza di essere uomini,
quella che ci fa accettare i nostri limiti,
che ce li fa comprendere, dandogli senso e trasformandoli in energia, in forza appunto.
Io amo la semplicità che si accompagna con l'umiltà.
Mi piacciono i barboni.
Mi piace la gente che sa ascoltare il vento sulla propria pelle,
sentire gli odori delle cose,
catturarne l'anima.
Quelli che hanno la carne a contatto con la carne del mondo.
Perché lì c'è verità, lì c'è dolcezza, lì c'è sensibilità, lì c'è ancora amore.

— The End —