Rattle the cassette
with the biro etched “Car Mix”
grab the keys from mum’s bag
“Fill up what you use!”
“…Ok, can I have a fiver then?”
scuff to the car in unsuitable boots
slump in, adjust mirror, checking stupid fringe
which then existed
snap in the tape so the first bars
of G-Funk, grunge or B*Witched pulse
then it’s off to pick up
shotgun

I’m thinking of the faded checkered pattern that has been
smoothed away by time on the dark cloth seats of a Nissan Pathfinder
                                          driving down Ryan Road on a hot day in June.
My mother, in the front seat, singing along to a Spice Girls cassette.  

I’m thinking: red, plastic, crab-shaped sandbox and
                                      McDonald’s Happy Meal toys.  
I’m thinking: light princess pink, seafoam green, and robin’s egg blue.  
I’m thinking of a framed cheetah cross stitch, hanging on the wall of what
                                      used to be our bedroom at my grandparent’s house.
I’m thinking: Barbie doll houses and Hot Wheels and a cul-de-sac at
                                                                ­                     the end of the street.  

The sweet smell of cigar smoke.  The ice cold splash of the garden hose.  The pop of a bubble.  The sting of soap in the eye.  Dreams by The Cranberries.  As Long as You Love Me by The Backstreet Boys.  A HelloKitty boombox slowly spitting out vapor when the deck builders hit a power line while digging.  The deer in the backyard looking for corn.  The faded wood of a playset that was never really played on.

My father: sitting alone on a splintered bench by the firepit at the edge of the woods, empty beer cans at his feet, chain smoking cigarettes, and humming along to a song that is stuck—forever stuck—on the tip of my tongue.
I do not know if this happened.  I cannot ask him.  
(I’m not sure if I would want to ask him.)  
But I can make an educated inference that that line of
fiction is really nonfiction.  
A memory that feels like a phantom limb.  
                            Sounds like the sharp crinkle of static.  
                                                     Co­vered in a gossamer, dreamlike haze.  

There is a distinct otherness to this memory, to who
                                     I think I was before the trauma.  
We are two different people.  A yin and a yang.  A day and a night.  
The hermit crab is soft beneath its hard shell.
The asbestos is not apparent within the insulation.  
You cannot see the lead in the paint.
The mold inside the fruit.

Back in the day when all the trees would sway, and the children would play

In the sun, in the shade
through the rain
never kept at bay

puddles needed splashing,
skin needing a tanning.

We laughed once, we cried when we fell
learnt from the scrapes and bruises

It’s a lot different now.
Oh take me back to the 90s.

Amid a crowd
At a 90s bar
Sat dozens of people
Making no sound
All sorts of stories
They withheld from others
All they wanted was a ray of sunshine
Someone to light up the gloom
And in that very 90s bar
That day they saw a flower bloom.
A new waitress walked inside
In her hair a flower
And as everyone stared at that colour in hair
A flame sparked
And she brought life
Even without trying to
She loved and cared for herself
And others loved her too
She raised many lives out of sadness
A medicine to many pains
All the people in the bar now knew
How to discard pain.
It's about loving oneself
And caring first for your own
Bring yourself up
And then with your flame
Others will alight
Accept yourself first
And then you will know your might
In the hubbub of life
Don't forget to love your own being
And everyday when you look in the mirror
At your self smile
You are God's best creation
Love yourself and care for your mind
And when you see flowers blossom wherever you go
There will be a secret behind your smile
Your mind is looked after and so is your soul
By loving your own self you brought about a change
And if all of us do that ,
Then we will see the difference
And in Michael Jackson's words,
"Heal the world
Make it a better place
For YOU and for ME
And the entire human race. "
And to heal the world
Heal yourself first
And to care for each other
Care for yourself first.
And for everlasting love
Love yourself first.

You've got mail

Is it weird that I want to hear that again

Not
you have a notification

but mail

Waking up and running to the mailbox
heart pounding with excitement and fear

is your letter here yet


That one thought
everyday
carrying my little legs
racing
in the hopes that I would see your handwriting

and when that letter finally came

like a squirrel with a prized nut
I race away to the safety of my bed with
a flashlight
some poptarts

and pages of your letter

So happy



that I have a friend like you.

Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty *****
If it don't fit, don't force it
You can lubricate it, so you can appreciate it

Oops, did I say that out loud?
Wearing Dr Dre is a *****, when you make a glitch

**** this gun like a real cool chick
It's barrels aren’t that hot or that ******* thick
And when it comes, blow your brains, while you’re still in cuffs
Elvis offended nerds, while doing those pelvic thrusts
But, he was merely having fun and just being ******* futuristic
While your parents were secretly playing with ***** vibrating plastic

I used to call myself at that time, ‘The Magnificent One’
Hell, I don't call myself that now, but I still believe it to be true
At the time, the frigid white kids would only spectate from the lower balcony
While some ***** white kinds, were leaping over with jealousy, to get downstairs
Because, that's where the black dudes would occasionally perform, their ****** affairs

Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty *****
Protect yourself with a little soap bubble
If you want help, I can go pop, without getting into too much trouble

Oops, did I say that out loud?
Wearing Dr Dre can mean defeat when others hear your beat

How can I put the creeps down, when I've been creeping from afar?
I'm another mother ******' world wide pop star
They called me, ‘A Hip-Hop Bipolar Southpaw’
Always left swinging up and down like a friggin outlaw
They warned you that, I would drive all the the kiddies insane
So don't blame me for the way your kids now truly reign

Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty *****
Thank you for being so sweet and ever so cute
Next time remind me, to always switch the ****** to mute

Oops, did I say that out loud?