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Zywa Jun 8
Colourful birthday!

Those who don't know don't know you --


Unfortunately!
For Michi W (in July 2024)

Collection "More"
Robert Ronnow Oct 2022
I spoke with two people at the party Saturday.
A young police officer, short-haired, fit,
chiseled face who had two young children.
He felt constrained by the law, without discretion
to question mopes (perps) aggressively
or to let go those who were obviously no threat.
Even at a family function he seemed straight-backed, correct,
devoted to his role as our protector (and his children’s)
yet I thought perhaps too deeply in debt, indentured
to the rules and laws of legislators and destined
to be disappointed (or worse). I thought his courage
and devotion (to whom or what?) would surely
be poorly repaid and that this lesson
was necessary to ready him with wisdom
for death or further living. I worried like a brother
about the unpredictable dangers, even terrors,
he must daily face, and the pleasure he takes in facing them.
How will he return to the fragility of family,
of the soul alone, after wielding the force
of the state, the blind, combined will of us all?

Next a business exec, retired from a well known
global investment firm. At first we talked about
the lush beauty of the northeast compared to the arid west
(although he loves every inch of the west, too).
Then somehow we got beyond light conversation
when he complained about the perceived decline in values
for instance how the Ten Commandments can’t be publicly
displayed. He said we can all agree on God
but I said I have a mechanistic view of the universe
(although the unknowable always sits just out of reach
of the known). I told him my dad’s theory of reincarnation,
a good man and a corporate seeker of God also, whose shoes
I could never fill unless I swore belief in a supreme being.
No hard feelings. Then he told me the story
of his dying friend, an atheist, not even a deist
like the founding fathers, who opened his eyes for the last time
to correct the exec’s misperception that now he’d meet his maker.
Having exceeded the bounds of acceptable conversation
I went looking for my children. Nothing more to question.
Why are you having
A PITY PARTY???
Why do you feel SO DOWN???
POUTING, GROANING, AND
FROLICKING,
JUST NOT HAPPY AT ALL,
with a very
NOTICEABLE FROWN!!!
It's very clear that you're UNHAPPY,
Feeling all BLUE INSIDE
You're MOPING AROUND,
feeling SORRY for YOURSELF,
Oh, the AGONY that it PROVIDES, but
I am Here to inform you, that
In Reality, THERE IS STILL HOPE,
There is still a BRIGHTER DAY,
To help you along as YOU COPE,
So, please don't have a PITY PARTY,
Just wish those GRAY CLOUDS AWAY,
Your HAPPINESS will return REAL SOON
Let the SUNSHINE ENLIGHTEN YOU TODAY!!!!


B.R.
Date: 5/25/2025
I went into your party
Didn't think anything of your snacks
I ate anything you gave me
But then it came to the cakes

Your chocolate cupcakes were delicious
"To die for"
Devine

I guess my body took it literally.

I choked
You started laughing
"Was it funny?"

I am crying
Throwing up
Scratching til my skin bleeds

You think I'm being dramatic

Can't you see??
Your cupcakes are killing me.

When I am finally able to find my mom I have no time

And my vision is blank

I don't remember the last time I ate a cupcake.
I always throw them up now.
Story time:
When I was 11 I went to a birthday party with my friend. Her mom had been informed I was allergic to coconut.
Her excuse after I almost died eating a coconut oil filled cake?
"She should know better, besides I didn't put real coconut in"
Coconut oil kills
rick May 15
the
smell
of the
barbecue grill
taunts
my hunger pains
I walk on by
uninvited
with no place
to
go.
nicole May 6
5-6-25   2:29pm

underneath the glitter
the lights
behind the music that makes your ears ring
the screams
and so much rage

there's someone who longs for love
bathes in the quiet
reads her poetry
and sits in solitude


do you see it?
most likely not
she buries it deep
hides it behind a shield
masked as an armor
protected from society
If I had an hour left to live,
I'd spend it here,
Throw some kind of party,
Invite everyone I knew,

Because I would die a legend,

But I know I wouldn't attend,
I'd sneak away with you,
Spend my final moment kissing you.
The frequency of a kiss, is the rate
Of us both having a matching heartbeat
Rising vibrations; as my eyes start to feel
Baked; staring too long at the heat of your face

Catching smoke, in the fire of your lips,
Smokers count the puffs out of their vape;
Tears turn into vapour; vapours slowly
Become the ashes, slowly turning into waste

Maybe we're just wasting time, as we love
To just be sitting quietly, in this comfy place
Still, this feeling here, will always feel so great.
And lately I've been staying up way too late —
But did I at least tell you that I love you; if not
I'm so, so sorry, I know now, I was a bit too late!

Cos I don't really party that much; always
Taking my time to adjust to any new touch —

Cos you gave me a touch of a new Love.
Zywa Apr 30
The tables are set,

we are care-free, nervously --


our feast has begun.
For Koen K and Zusanne, four days before their wedding

Collection "Local interest"
I smiled so wide my molars got jealous.
Everyone said I looked stunning.
I said thank you in the voice I reserve for customer service and playing dumb.
That’s the closest I’ve come to a scream
this week.

I wore the dress that says: I’m over it.
(It lies.)
I walked like a question mark
straightened out with rage.

There was a man in the corner
making balloon animals.
He asked what I wanted.
I said surprise me.
He handed me a noose
shaped like a swan.

No one noticed.
Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself
to feel interesting.

Later, someone told a joke
I didn’t get.
I laughed like I was being watched.

The punchline wasn’t funny.
It just echoed
like something I would’ve said
before I got careful.

I stood in the kitchen
with a paper plate of olives and nothing,
holding it like proof
I was doing fine.

Someone spilled wine on the couch.
I said I’ve ruined better things.
Everyone laughed
like I meant it to be charming.
(I didn’t.)

A girl in white heels asked me
how I knew the host.
I said same way I know most people—
by accident,
and with the kind of premonition that wears perfume.

The bathroom mirror was cracked.
I counted the breaks like confessions
and chose not to atone.
The soap smelled like fruit
that only exists in dreams
you wake up crying from.

I reapplied my lip stain
like armor,
like alibi,
like an exit strategy.

Then I left without saying goodbye
because I couldn’t figure out
how to do it quietly
and still be missed.
A poem about the quiet performance of "doing fine." It's about olives, nothing, and everything under the surface. How we decorate our sadness to make it digestible. How we want to disappear, but be remembered as something haunting. This one came out sharp and honest. I hope it finds the ones who feel it.
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