Your presence demands the attention of all those in the room
It is like a scene
From one of those overused princess movies
And though there isn't much to do
My eyes keep returning to you
Oh the magnetism of your smile
Of the way that you wrinkle your eyes
When they by chance meet with mine
Could it be that there is reason
To these wonderfully awkward meetings
Or are you merely surveying the room
I quietly count the number of times
When in my planned and measured tactics
To ensure that you don't see my interest in  you
The number of times which your gaze is already meeting with mine
Quickly looking away and brushing your hair from your face
how many times you would quickly turn away to divert attention in a way
Hopefully showing that you are trying not to be caught in your process too
In this theory, I somehow build up enough courage to cross the room
With a path clearing as though this quiet audience knew
That a silent game
Was being played
In this space
That I was now attempting to cross
And as that distance closed
I saw a light in your eyes
That showed that maybe I was right
To hope for a reason behind these wonderfully awkward meetings

walking rounds in wilson ave.
its such a sight to see
the looks that all the people give
to my dog Richaro and me

its like they have never seen
a poodle with a man
have they never been to
the show in Birmingham

perhaps it is the haircut
that grows unevenly
covering the head and tail
but none of the body

or perhaps it is the little shoes
with itty bitty bows
funny, maybe, to wear such things
without baby toes

i could be wrong, for it may
the amount of attitude
turning up a tail to strangers
not really in the mood

so many problems there may be
from bad breath to muddy paws
the nasty things left on the streets
"you know that there are laws..."

but truly the pair of us
are not such a shame to see
you have not met Richaro yet
you have met only me

It was quite a pickle,
I have to say.
It haunted me,
Both night and day.
You may believe
One's never scary-
But this pickle had me
Very wary.
My friends they said
"For HEAVEN'S sake,"
The pickle's only
A piece of cake!"
So they went ahead
And took a slice
Now they could see
It wasn't nice
A rather bitter taste
It did supply
A rather salty cake-
Their mouths were dry
And without water
(The pricy job,
Of digging a well)
They began to sob
See this did nothing
But deepen their thirst
This pickle of mine
Was one of the worst
They were awful busy,
They wouldn't chat
So I stayed to talk
To my hairless rat.
And it had me concerned
That the pickle had me beat
And would run off with my tongue
Down Mountainview Street
He said the pickle would make me
A fool in this town
This thing would convict me
So I swallowed it down.

He looked at her,
Her hands were caked with black inks,
Filled with words she will never utter through her mouth,
How effortlessly she twists her hair into messy bun,
How she never ever wears make-up,
Daring enough not to conceal her beautiful imperfections,
How she clung books tightly to her chest,
Like a shield defensing her,
And how she walks confidently, yet stares on the ground afraid to have any eye contact,
I can't help but get attracted more and more by her quirkiness,
Every ******* time she passes by me.

On a comfortable breezy evening,
my mum converses with her sister via Skype
exchanging quirky tales

They broach the subject of her lemon tree.

"It's the most peculiar case;
it was growing so divinely
until, suddenly, it stopped."

Silence. Then the punchline:

"Reminded me of your daughter."

They exchange hoots of laughter
Meanwhile, I sit in the corner
arms folded, eyebrows knitted
unamused

take me to a swimming pool that has not been peed in
with no grass or dead wasps floating around my bare skin
one newly installed that hasn't corroded yet

take me to fresh snow that has never been walked in
let me feel the crunch beneath my feet as i step into fresh turf and smile
knowing that they are all my footprints
knowing that i am the only one who has ever touched this ****** powder

take me to a coffin that has never been opened
a faceless, nameless beauty
one that nobody else knows about

and i will treasure it
like it is my own
because i am an old nobody, too

Her lack of self-restraint was a conscious decision to be self-destructive.
She sought a reaction that would produce the attention she fed on like a greedy infant noshing on dimpled knuckles with a mouthful of swollen gums.

She preferred cassette tapes to records “just because.”
She liked long, drawn out silences.
She enjoyed the way crumbs gathered at both corners of her mouth as she devoured a box of strawberry Poptarts.

At any given moment it was quite likely that her tongue was rattling behind her teeth, that she wasn’t wearing a bra, that she was falling in love with a fictional book character; perhaps even doing all three simultaneously.