You’re wrestling the devil, fighting to be “the man”
When you wrestle the devil, its catch-as-catch can
It’s no holds barred, anything goes, a regular street fight
The world is watching the main event on Saturday night
It’s a death match; the winner takes it all
The match is scheduled for TV time, or one fall

The devil is tricky, he’s got friends outside the ring
Whips, chains, tables and chairs, that’s what they bring
Sorrows got you in the corner, headlock squeezing tight
Best do something quick, even if you have to bite
Pains have got you down, in the center of the mat
He’s got you trapped, like a big city rat
You need to break free, get out of his hold
If you don’t, you’ll be stuck, like the cheese and the mold
You’ve got to keep moving, you better have a plan
When you wrestle the devil, its catch-as-catch can

The crowd is roaring; it’s time to bust out your moves
Careful now, watch him Jim, look out for those hooves
You got him on the ropes, with help from some fan
When you wrestle the devil, it’s catch-as-catch can

Now it’s time the show is over, they called it a draw
He would have had you, except for that one little flaw
He didn’t know you had faith and truth on your side
When he came up against that, all his threats died
You wrestled the devil, now he knows you’re “the man”
When you wrestle the devil, its catch-as-catch can

How to read my poetry:

Read it with your eyes, they will show you what I say
See it with your heart, it guides the way
Read it with your mind, keep it open to the truth
Use your understanding to verify the proof
Let it get in your dreams, read it while you sleep
Let it get in your soul and I hope it will keep

When you finish, read it once again
This time with feeling, like blowing in the wind
After that, quietly reflect on the story
Did you find it sweet and nice or ****** and gory

Try and remember your favorite line
Maybe the one about yours or the one about mine
Dry your eyes, blow your nose, get to the funny parts
The one about true love and two broken hearts
You can read them over and over; they never get old
Some of my best lines are as good as gold

I love a long holiday and as a general rule
you’ll find me out by a turquoise pool
cause it’s hot outside and I’m nobody's fool.

Closing my eyes I lazily daydream
listening to my favorite musical streams
umbrella shaded from harsh sunbeams.

I’ve put away polemic school assignments
for leisure and tastier desultory refinements
like buffalo wings, pizza and ***** martinis
and the barely there cool of a string bikini.
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Songs for this:
Digging your scene by Ivy
The Big Sky (Special Single Mix) by Kate Bush
Can't Be Like This Forever by The Moving Stills

Harvard’s a black hole, info wise.
So, let’s see.. what’s going on? What’s in the news?
Anything? Anything?

Hot take..
Not to be spicy and negative,
but sometimes i’m too much myself.
Too comfortable, open and vocal.
I can be opinionated.
Who knows who’s listening?
It could be anyone.
“That’s not red, it’s carmine,” I blirt.
There’s a rise and rush of feelings around the table.
FAQs drop, I get treated.
“God, get up and get at me,” I replied, with an unnerving poise.
People love a scene.

Happy 4th of July to Yankees everywhere!
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Only a Fool Would Say That by Ivy
Lovely Day by Elizabeth Mitchell
L'Anamour by Ivy
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slang:
FAQ = told the facts
Treated = attacked

I’ve got plenty of ink, it’s my paper that’s shot
I can only write a few words, that’s all I got
Quick to write, slow to understand
I’ve got a fast mind and a slow hand

I had to scratch out some lines
I was trying to find some rhymes
But now it’s over, I think I’m done
Looks like I penned another one

I’ve got a new pad and when I find the time
I’ll find my pen, fill this page with a rhyme
Now I can’t stop, my mind’s running wild
I’ll write every word and copy every file

Wow, this new pad has lots of room
I hope some new words will be coming soon
My mind is alert, write hand is ready
All I have to do is hold her steady

This page is done once I space it all out
I said what I wrote without even a shout
Only 39 more pages on this pad left to go
Until I’m on the cardboard where I write what I know

What’s wrong with me? I’ve been asking myself this all week.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I weigh questions coldly and logically. Then it hit to me.. it’s summer, silly, and I'm in classes!

A typical summer would find me tanned, sunburned, greased and unkempt, like a happy, sandy, beach hobo, my hair would be either braided or left fly-about to tangle into cotton candy wads.

My bf Peter’s learned to like fine restaurants (You’re welcome). I’d have never left the beach on my own.
“They can bring us anything,” I’d argue, looking up pitiably from my shaded, Tropitone lounge chair.

Around sundown, Peter would have to catch me, slippery oiled and brown, to comb me out and scrub me before dinner.
“Get dressed!” he’d encourage, picking out a dress suitable for dining or casino wear - “I made us a reservation.”

I’d come out of the hotel en-suite in one of their fluffy, Versace, terry towels but invariably, before I was even dry,  Peter would shake his head, growl and say, “Com-mere,” holding his arms out a little, palms up
(he’s never been very verbose), and smirking a little, I would, because his expression reminded me of Christmas.
“What about our reservation?” I’d chuckle.

This was, of course, a volunteer situation, where it was up to us all to do our best.
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Songs for thus:
Girls On the Beach by Carter Cathcart
Wouldn't It Be Nice by Papa Doo Run Run
Please Let Me Wonder by Carter Cathcart