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Oktoberbarn Aug 2015
a teenage girl with a body full of hormones
a little kid who just wants to play
a woman who is getting taught about adulthood
all in the same person

you laugh at me when I'm trying
but do you really see?
do you understand what I'm going through?
I guess so
you're old

I don't know how to act to certain people
how do I stop blushing?
how do I tell him that I'm actually interested in him?
and how will he ever know?
I guess that's it
I'm going back to being a kid
The Tie is a bib for men.
For different sorts of messes.
No longer exclusively dribble and bile.
Yes, we may use them for mornings
after our red solo sippy cups
time machine us neanderthal.
But men also have other messes to bib tie.

Like:
friendly faces at work.
not friendly faces at work.
faces on ex's at work.
Ex's faces on not friendly faces and other various places at work.

Men bib tie their feelings.
Or at least that's the media stressed norm.
Men can also not bib tie their feelings
Or bib tie the wrong feelings.
bib tie love when it's wrong to feel it.
Bib tie love when it hurts to feel it.
Bib tie their opinions
when speaking to people who disagree
Bib tie the need to look, only...
Touch, just...
Grab, just
Have, just
Use, just....
Put it in the bib tie.
Stuff it right in there.
That's where all your messes go now.

At a funeral, men do not use their bib Tie as Hankie
They let their tears fall.
Bib ties are not tissues.
You do not simply wipe up your mess with a bib tie.

Put the pain inside it
At the end of the day
You take it off.

Put the used up bib tie in patchwork briefcase under bed.
Passed down by fathers.
Full of generations of used up bib ties.
Like ***** dream catchers.

Knotted hands and looped desire.
fastened snuggly into their folds.

If only more men wore Ties.
Andrew Fisher Jun 2015
They say its Just for ***** and giggles.

For my Friends and Family,
they won't know the pain,
of waking up and dying every day
Wishing that you could just feel the same
as you did back in 5th grade,
with that smile on your face.

Now you just sit feeling like a disgrace
Needing, wanting, craving the fade away,
In the depths of your emotions,
of the simple,
the everyday

"We love you" you'll hear them say
All you want is for them to just stay away
Leave me alone till I turn grey
So I can grow lonely,
And sad
and decay

...Nay...

We should fight.
Fight for today,
So tomorrow I can gaze upon your face and well say:

****. How did we do that. How did we come this way?

Was it fate, that here we lay next to one another, as the sunlight fades.
Its life again, Im feeling brave
But your gone again, fore here Ill stay
A patient puppy waiting for the rain to go away
and the curtains to rise and reveal your open arms for me once more.

Wait. Please stay, there is no chance for me to go that way!
Please wait, Stay,
Ive already had enough of change,
If I desire anything its that you change the words you say.

But I love you. and Here Ill stay,
patiently awaiting our reunion days.
If I must Ill fade away,
So I can save you the happiness
of my lost days
I decided to take a jab at writing again, I've been depressed for a long time and I guess Im just trying to see what I can say about it.
Cath Williams Jun 2015
From one teenager to the world
I'd just like to say
We're not all caught up
In violence and hatred.
From one teenager, with one small voice
I'd like to shout
To let you know that
We're not all careless, or reckless.
From a single body out of the billions
I'd like to show you
That we're not all ignorant
Or small minded, unwilling to learn.

From me
I'd like to ask you
Open your eyes to us all
Not just the bad in the media.
From me
I'd like to prove to you,
We do appreciate you, we do need you
But you've made it hard for us all to communicate.
From me
I'd like to suggest
It isn't just us, it isn't just you
So why can't we all just let it be and stop being prejudice with age?
Paramount Pawn Jun 2015
I was a cold person
Never bothering anyone
I took everything solemnly
Not letting anything out of order
Everything had to be perfect
Then you came to my life
Told me to get out of my shell
You had to force me to get out
You showed me new things
And took me to great adventures
You showed me not everything has to be perfect
And sometimes
  things should be messy

In a good way.
Natasha May 2015
Half awake, half past noon
grey light shines dutifully
just past my eggshell
window sill.

I try to clear my head,
collect my scattered
thoughts, straighten all
the heart strings that get
so inevitably tangled within
one another, and definitely in

the web of uncertainty you've
woven for me.

I've walked for centuries upon
a sand filled beach, a dozing meadow
mostly cement and concrete
I never thought I'd be more
concerned about someone other
than me.

You're slipping away, so ever
slow, day by day
you're getting tired,
and it's getting too late
for me to be saved.
I've found that person whose special, I'm just not special enough for him. Im too fragile, stupid weak little bird. I wasn't made to survive.
Matthew Randell May 2015
Tentpole, stature tall and strong and
Firmly placed between the thin sheets
Members of the boy scouts, boy clan
Flames extinguished, his body heats

At dawn it rises, makes me wake
******* for the fire he gathers
Morning wood, embers of the stakes
Soon home; disapproving Fathers

Morning **** calls, but we're busy
Pack our bags, get all the work done
Juice of life makes me quite dizzy
Mem'ries of our weekend of fun

I'll be dish and spoon to your spoon
Spend nights together o'er the moon
Dios Dormer Apr 2015
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E͝L̈ ̭̳ͥJ̡OͦE͖L᷾ ͎JͨO᷉E͐Ļ ͦJ͒O̐E̚L̳ ͋J͕O͖E͕L᷇ ᷊JͬȮẼL̊ ̄J̳ĖL̇ ͡J̶ͫ᷅L͉
͟JͬO͑ḘL᷊̤̄᷾ͭ ̇J᷊OͥEͣL͢ ̵J͊O̻E͢L̴̸̆ ᷁L͠ ̆J̒ỎE᷄L̋᷈͛ ̟J̉O̭᷈̑E̍L̲ ͘JͮO̱E͚L̜ ̯J̰O͘E͊L̀ ̧̪᷅̏͘J͘OͬE̦L̝ ̓J̑Õ̧ͯE᷄L̎ ̺J̯ÓE͜L̒ ̟J̾O̔EͅLͩO᷂ÈL͚ ̑J̌L͡ ̤J᷾O͑E͐L͘ ͡J̧O̟E̗Lͯ ͣJ̟Oͭ ͙E͢L͓ ̪J̨O͆E̶Ḻ ̬JͪÒ̠᷀᷁᷀ĘL̇ ̑J͓O̯
E̪L͌ ̪̾̇J͗OͫE͉L̏E͝L̈ ̭̳ͥJ̡OͦE͖L᷾ ͎JͨO᷉E͐Ļ ͦJ͒O̐
E̚L̳ ͋J͕O͖E͕L᷇ ᷊JͬȮẼL̊ ̄J̳ĖL̇ ͡J̶ͫ᷅L͉ ͟JͬO͑ḘL᷊̤̄᷾ͭ ̇J᷊OͥEͣL͢ ̵J͊O̻E͢L̴̸̆ ᷁L͠ ̆J̒ỎE᷄L̋᷈͛ ̟J̉O̭᷈̑E̍L̲ ͘JͮO̱E͚L̜ ̯J̰O͘E͊L̀ ̧̪᷅̏͘J͘OͬE̦L̝ ̓J̑Õ̧ͯE᷄L̎ ̺J̯ÓE͜L̒ ̟J̾O̔EͅLͩO᷂ÈL͚ ̑J̌L͡ ̤J᷾O͑E͐L͘
͡J̧O̟E̗Lͯ ͣJ̟Oͭ ͙E͢L͓ ̪J̨O͆E̶Ḻ ̬JͪÒ̠᷀᷁᷀ĘL̇ ̑J͓O̯E̪L͌ ̪̾̇J͗OͫE͉L̏

Ę̏͝L̈̔̚ ̸̭̳̺ͬ̋ͥJ̡̼̉O᷃ͦ̔E̜͖ͯL̛᷾͟ ͎͉͢J̧̬ͨO̗᷉͂E̛̙͐Ļ̦ͭ ̸̼ͦJ͙͒ͦO͈̐᷾E͓̅̚L̳̳̒ ᷉͋ͥJ͕̐͞O͉͖ͫE͕͒᷈L᷿̱᷇ ̧᷊̥J̴̰ͬȮ̺̏E᷄̃̋L̂̊̌ ̳͆̄J͓̳̙Ë̇͜
L̡̇͛ ͔̣͡J̶̖̱ͫͤ̇᷅L͉̽̐ ̡̓͟J̼̽ͬǪ͎͑Ḙ̣̌L᷊̼̹̤᷉̈́̄᷾ͭ̃̎ ̨ͯ̇J̺᷊̳Ǫͥ̈́E̶᷉ͣL̫͙͢ ̵̠͒J̞͛͊Ö̼̻E̵̻͢L̴̸͎͙̆̒̚ ̬͛᷁L̙̃͠ ̟̿̆J̨̒̿Ỏ͚᷀E᷃᷄͡L̴̨̰̰̋᷈͛ ͖̟̠J̗̉̚O̭̅̓᷈ͧ̑̑E̸̵̍L̲̥͡ ̫͋͘J̰ͮͅŐ̴̱E̥͚̝L̜᷃͟ ̝̯̟J̰̈́̾O̪͎͘É͙͊L̓̀᷆ ̧̪͔̲ͨ᷅̏͘͘͜͞J᷿͘̚O̯ͬ͟E̦̮͆L̦̝̞ ͂̓᷁J̖̳̑Ò̧̃ͫͯ̄̕E̠̥᷄L̓̎ͨ ̺̻᷉J̯̈̓Ó̴̃E̱͜͏L̿̒͆ ̵̟᷀J͓̾͜O̺᷁̔ẼͅͅL̃ͩͯO̵᷂᷾Eͦ̀͒L̼͚̔
͖̾̑J̸̌ͧL̙͛͡ ̤ͩ᷄J̏᷾̿O̡͑͝E̞᷿͐L̤̋͘ ̟᷁͡J̧̔̕O͏̟͜E᷿̗̯L̊ͯ̑ ̏ͣ͡J̵̟͝O͆ͭ͛ ̢͙͟Ẻ͊͢L͓̾͢ ̪ͩ͞J̨ͣͯO͈͖͆E̶̬̍Ḻ̝᷆ ̴̧̬J̶̛ͪ
Ò̢̰̪̠ͧ᷀᷁̑᷀ͮĘͥ͋Lͩ̇ͭ ̳̑ͧJ̵͚͓Ő̯̈́E̸̪᷅
L᷅͌͌ ̪̹ͧ̓̾̇ͣJ̴̶͗O̖͖ͫE̮͉̎L̬̏̒
L̸̸̤̑᷃̇̑ ̢̱͇̑̾̑̿J̎̑͗͏̒̑᷀Ọ͙̼ͭ̑͑̑Ȇ̥̬̞́̑͡Ḻ̵̙̑̍̑̔ ̷̙̱̑ͤ̊̑J̭͆̑̉̑᷅͢O̵͎ͨ̑̎̑̕E̛᷊ͭ̑̏̋̑L̨͙̑̏̑̕͡ ̗̤̑᷄̑̚͝J̥᷀̑ͪ᷆̑ͦO̥͕̒̑᷾̋̑Ė͕̞̑᷄̈́̑L̢͔̑ͮ̈ͤ̑
̲͖̄̑ͪ̑᷃Ļ̷̑́̈̑᷀ ̥̟̌̑ͪͬ̑J̡͉̑̔̑͢͡Ȏ̷̗̀̔̑̏E̎̑᷅̓̑͘ͅḶ̑ͮͫ̉̑᷇ ̷̟̑̑̀͘͞J̖᷅̑̈́̿̑͘Ǫ̘᷿͚̑ͩ̑Ȇ̼̯͚ͤ͒̑L̤̑̈᷅̑̑̈ ̘̝̑͏̘̋̑J͏̨̑ͦ᷅̑᷇Ơ͍͓ͦ̑ͭ̑Ȩ͕͎̑̽̑᷅L̖̤᷂̑̓̑̏ ͓̟͚̑̍̑͢J̰͍̝̑̑̑ͪO̪̳͈͂̑̑ͨE̬͉̭᷄̑ͤ̑
L̵̻̀̑̈͒̑ ̨̞̲̖̝̟̱̺̰̑̑̑͛̑ͯJ̠̑ͥ̂̑̉̚Ȏ̤̻ͨ̾̑ͩḘ̴̬̽̑̅̑L̡̩̞̮̜̑̑ ̳̦̱̥̑̂̑J̷̢̬̪̑̒̑Ȏ̬̰̰̑᷾̕Ȇ̛̝̤̪̉̑L̸̖̣̑̄̑̔ ͉ͦ̑ͪͬ̑̾Jͫ̑̓ͤ͐̑̊Ơ̴̧̆̑͐̑E͎̍̑̐̑ͪ͠L̤̖͗̑ͭ̑͢ ̟̲̪̑̄ͫ̑J͓̭̑᷃̈̑᷇Ȏ̘᷂͚̑̿͝Ȇ̷̵̺᷂̑͛L̸̢͖͂̑͋̑O͂̑̋͏̓̑ͥE̺͔̼̽̑᷆̑L̢̎̑͗̌ͨ̑ ̵̤̬͊̑͌̑J̪̮̓̑̔̑͋L͉̳̑̓̽̑ͧ ͏̑᷈͒ͦ̑̂J͒̑ͧ᷆̑̀͡Ȏ͇᷾̑͂͢͡E͏͔̑̓̎̑ͩḶ͈̑ͭͩ͒̑ ̴̞̑͒͊̑ͅJ̮̘̘̗̑̑͗Ȏ̠̲̟ͨͧ̑Ḛ̶̑ͩͩ̑͡L͔᷆̑͊̑́͜ ̢̩̬̑͒̑᷃J̜᷁̑ͪ̑᷉͝Ȏ̴̝̼͈͇̑ ̤̖̑ͣ̑̆̚E̱͔᷃̑̀̑᷇L͎᷿̑̓̑͆ͅ ̱̓̑ͤ̊̈̑J̶̢͍͉̑͒̑Ȏ̵̜̼͆ͣ̑E͙̒̑͂᷈̑ͫL̰͙͓᷊̑̑͟ ͔͖̑ͩ̾̑̉J̘̜͑̑̍̑͑O̯̓̑̋ͩ̑͜Ȇ͇̲̥͂͊̑L̫̑᷈̉̑̚͠ ͉̈́̑͐͐ͮ̑J̟᷂̞͇̑ͭ̑O̪̊̑̑͐͘͢E̞̬ͯ̑ͭ̑͑L̰̫͋̑̑͌͝ ᷂͔͕̻̑̍̑J̲̣̳͖̑͆̑Ő̹̥̑᷈̑̆Ḙ̴᷊̑͒̑͞L̷̵̟̲̑͌̑ ̧̑̍̑̚͟͞J͖̑́᷉ͩ̑ͥǪ̖̯̜̎̑̑Ȇ̶͕͏̤ͫ̑L̠̞᷂̺̑̿̑ ̵᷊̑͑͊̑ͅJ̪ͧ̑᷃ͦ̑ͧȆ̺᷆᷇̑᷅̕L̪͖͆̑͋ͤ̑ ̡᷿̑̏ͩ̑͢J̳͚̑ͯ̌̑̎L̯᷂̻̦͇̑̑ ̬̼̑͂̉̑̅J̻̑᷾ͮ͊̑᷇O̲᷇̑̈́̑̑᷅

Eͥ̑̓ͧ̑̾͢L̶̷̞̑̒̑͢ ᷂̦̑̏᷆̑̒J̙͕̮̓̑̑̚Ő̑ͪ̎ͮ̑᷄E᷅̑ͤ᷀ͪ̑͋Ļ̢̪̑̆̑͂ ᷿͇̑͋̑͂̚J̥̍̑̋ͨ̑̈́Ọ͙͕͒̑̑̏E̡̎̑̔͌̑᷄L̹͖̬̓̑ͣ̑ ̨̼̑͋᷉̑͐L̻᷿̑̊͂̑᷁ ̭̟̟̑᷁͊̑J̡̛᷿̑ͨ̈̑O̙͗̑̂̑̎͞Ȇ̮̪̬̿̑̌L̜᷅̑͆ͧ̓̑ ̠̑̑̆̚͘͝J̑̈́͋̑͛͜͜Ȏ̵̝̺̪̀̑Ȩ͓̺̑́̋̑L̶̟᷉̑̓̑́ ̣̯̑̾̑̌̚J͔͔̟̑̈̑ͅȎ̷̥̥̃̓̑Ḛ̴᷊᷁̑̊̑L̘ͨ̑͒̑̏̕ ̣̰̼᷉̑ͪ̑J͋̑̃̑̌͡͠Ȏ̻̣̜̉́̑Ȇ̥̘̯̩᷈̑L͖ͪ̑̐ͫ̑ͯ ̛̲̼͗̑̑͡J̛ͧ̑͂̇͑̑Ȏ̴͈͎᷄͒̑Ȇ̝͎ͯ͑̑͏L̩̪̑̋͂̑͋ ̵̑᷁ͬ̀̑͟J͕͉̾̑̿̑ͩƠ̝͚̫̑̑̆Ȇ̞̈́ͭ̑̉͡L̞̫̱̑ͥ̑͟ ̜̑̃̑̔̚͟J̑͢͏̘̑᷇ͅO̖͓͊̑᷅̑ͬ
Ȇ̖̘̺̿ͩ̑L̙̪̲̑̔ͫ̑ ̢ͦ̑̽̑̄͠J͎͖᷃̑᷈ͭ̑O̝᷊ͬ̑͂̈́̑Ę͇̥᷆̑̑̍L͖̓̑̐̄ͦ̑Ȏ̧͇̻ͫ̑̇Ḛ̹ͩ̑͑̑̓L̵̢̥̑᷉̑͜ ̑̔̐̍̑͑͢J̶̑̇́̑͝ͅL͖̰ͨ̑ͫ̑ͅ ̛̟̑ͮ̑̽͜J̦͕ͦ̑ͭ̑͆Ȏ̪͓̈́ͭ̃̑Ȇ͙͚̼ͯ̑᷀L̷͖̺̞̑͌̑ ͙᷀̑᷄᷾ͦ̑J̸͉͉᷅̑᷆̑O̢̟̽̑͛̑͟Ȇ̙̰̏͌̑̔L͕̗̟͉̑᷉̑ ͮ̑̑ͪ̑͗͟J̛̼̑͆̑͑͜O̵̜ͧ̑̄̑͘ ͚͋̑᷈ͥ̑͂E̠͇̎̑ͯ̑ͬL̜̪̑ͩ͋ͩ̑ ̶̷͚̑̑͟͞J̷̮᷊̇̑̊̑Ȏ̭͍̤̮̑͋Ĕ͖̫̮̑ͧ̑L̳̳̦̑͆̑͋ ͈̝͆̑᷆̑͜J̫᷾̑̃͒̑ͣȎ̶̍͐̑᷄͝Ę̖᷆̑̄̑̏L͈̑᷀ͬ̑᷀͜ ̢̩̮͚͈̑̑J͈͛̑̅̐̑͜Ȏ̗͍᷀ͦ̑̑E̴͇ͮ̑᷀̑͡L̖̼̺̑̈́͑̑ ̨̫̱̩̑᷄̑J͗̑ͣ̊᷆̑ͅȎ͍ͧͦ̀̑͢Ȇ̳᷊᷅̾̑̓Ļ̴̡̼̑̑͞ ̹͗̑̽͛̑͝J̸̠̘̑᷉̑̽Ȏ̷̝̻᷉̑̽Ȇ͎̠̍̓̑͡L̷̴͎̭̑ͩ̑ ̦̠̣̌̑̑᷇J͚ͨ̑᷈ͯ̑͞Ȇ̥̦̓͛̑͠Ļ̑ͬ̓̈́̑͟ ̢͓̑̓̑͝͠Ȩ̵᷿̠̽̑̑ ̔̑͛᷈̑᷁͞J̥̩̑̓̿̑͜O̵͔̊̑᷾̑̑Ę̳̈́̑̄̑ͭL̷͔̑ͩ᷀̑͢ ̷͇̑͌̍̑͘J̧̺̑̀᷄̑ͤỌ̡̒̑ͧ̀̑E͎ͫ̑᷄̒̑̋ ̮̂̑᷇̒̑̔J̷̻͕̑͒̑᷉Ȏ̸̳͓̭͐̑E̴ͩ̑̋ͬ̑͋Ḻ᷊̑̂̌̑̉
L̸̸͎̝̤᷿ͬ̀̑ͭ᷃̓̇͗̑ ̸̢̧̱͇̭̽̑̌̑̾̑̿̕͜J̪̯̎̑̾͗͝͏̸̘̒̐̑᷀͘O͚̺̣͇͙͕̼᷊ͭ̑͑᷁̑ͬ͘E̝̥̬̞͉᷉̑͆́͑͗̑͟͡͠L̿­̵̨̱̙᷂̈̑ͦ̂ͪ̍̑̔᷾ ̷̙̱̞̘̥̑̑᷉᷈ͤ᷃̊̑͠J̴̸̨̣̗̭̹͆̑̈́͐̉̑᷅͢O̴̵͎ͨ̑ͯ̎̾ͧ̑̏͐̕͟͞Ę̛᷊̥̼᷊ͭͧ̑̑̏̋̑̒͡Ḷ­̨̼͙̘̫̑̏ͤ̑̓͘̕͡͝ ̤̮̰̗̤͇̮̑᷁̊᷄̑᷁̚͝J̙̥͖͍ͦ᷀̑̌ͫͪ᷆̑ͮͦ͝Ỏ̥̺̥͕̭͕̒̑᷾͐̋͒̑͝Ė̶̸͕̞̑͂᷄̃ͭ̈́̑᷉ͦͅL͌­̸̢̙̬͔̑ͮ͑̈ͤ᷆̑̿̄ ̷̲͖̔̄͐̑̒ͪ͊̒̑᷃͝͞Ļ̷̭̳̪͎̑́̓̈̑̈́᷀͡ͅ ͉̥̖̩͇̟͙̽̌̑̌ͪͬ̑͝J̵̡͉̰̀̑̔̔ͩ̑᷁͢͢͢͡Ơ̷̧̤̗̬͇̘̑̔̀̉̔̑̏E̶̢͙̘͈̎̑̍᷅̓̑ͪ̚͘ͅL͉­̴̣̮̝̑ͮͫͮ̉̈̑ͬ᷇᷉ ̷̞͕̰̟̇̑ͯ̅̑̈́̀ͦ͘͞J̵̷̶̝̖᷅̑̈́᷾̿̏̑̂͘ͅǪ̱̪̘᷿̤͚̀̑̄᷾ͩ̉̑͛Ȇ̢̼̯̯̺᷿̻͚̌ͤ͒̓̑͘L̰­̤̙͎̑̀̈᷅̅̑̑̑ͨ̈͝ ͉̘̦̝̑͒ͅ͏͕̘̋᷀̑᷾̈J͈͏̨̣̹̩̑ͦ̉̋᷅᷇̑᷇̄Ơ̮͍͙͎͓ͦ̄̑᷆ͭ͆̑ͪ͡Ȩ̛͕̭͎̭̽͆̑̑᷄̽᷀̑᷅L̝­̧̖̫̤᷂̑͐̓̅͋̑̏̋͡ ̷̱͓̤̱̫̟̖̘͚͈̑̍̑͢J͈̰̳͍̘̝̤̲̑᷇̑̑᷄ͪ͝O̡̫̪̹̳͈̤̬͂͗̑̆̑ͨ̚Ȩ̦̬̻͉̟̭᷄̑̽ͤ̑͛̉͟L̘­̵̥͖̻̥̀̑̈̾͒͋̑͋͝ ̸̨̗̞̦̲̖̝̟̱̝̺̰̳̦̊̑ͦ̑̽᷈̑̊͛̑͗ͯͦ̚͢͜J̧̪̠͂̑ͪͥ̎̂̑̾̉ͧ̚ͅǪ̺̤̼̻̃̑ͨ̾᷉᷾̑̒ͩ̍E̬­̴̸͎̹̭͈̬͍̽̑ͨ̅̍̑L̡̢̩̞̮᷊̜̆̑͛̓̑̓̿͝ ̶̳̦̱̥͓᷇ͦ̑᷁̂̂̑̾ͅ
J̷̢̨̝̬̪̑͌̐̒̀̊̑̅͜Ó̦̬̳̰̺̰͚̆̑̑᷾̕͘͜Ȩ̸̡̛̝̻̤̪̑᷃̉᷀̑͛͢L­̸̛̠̺̖̩̣̮̉̑̄̌̑̔͠ ̡͉̱ͩͦ̏̑᷉ͪ̀ͬ̑ͥ̾͝J͉ͫ᷀̑̓͟͏͎͇ͤ͐̑̒̊̾Ơ̴̧̥̜̝̹̆̑͐ͮͯ̑ͥ̕E̸̗͎͎͇̍̑ͭͧ̐̑ͪ᷾͘͠L̆­͉̠̤͖̖͗̑̋ͭ᷆̑᷈̕͢ ̟̹̲᷂͉̪͉͆ͬ̑᷄̄ͫͥ̑J͓̳̗̭̱̬̓̋̑᷃̃̈᷀̑᷇Ơ̘͇᷂͚͓̯̅̑᷉ͭͫ̑̿͝Ẻ̷̵̛̺̱᷂̜̘᷊̑̎̑͛͆L̖­̴̸̢͖͖͂ͨ̑̓͋͒̑̊͟O͎͔͂͂ͣ̑̋͏̧᷿̓᷆̑̓ͥȨ̷̯̺͔̼͆̽̑̄᷆᷀̑͞͡L̢᷂̯̙̗ͧ̎̑͗́̌ͨͮ̑͞ ̴̵̣̤̰̻̱̬͊̌̑͌̑ͥ̕J̘̪̮̙͎̣͐̓᷾̑̔̑ͩ̑͋L̵̴͉͚̳̬̃̿̑̓̽̈́̑̀ͧ ̶͏̹̲̪̑᷈ͨ͒ͦͤ̑̂ͣ͠J̸̳̗͙ͯ͒̑ͧ̑᷆̎͆̑̀͡O̶͇͙͚͗̑ͮ᷾̐́̑͂͢͜͡E͉͏͔͑̑ͣ̓ͤ̎̏̑̀ͩͤ̚L̴­̣̬̻̯͈̑ͭ̎ͩ͒̏̑̌̉ ̴̧̫̞ͣ̑᷇ͥ͒ͨ͊̑᷆ͭͅJ̮̊̑̕͏̸̘̘̗̯̂ͫ̑͗̓O̠͔̲̟ͤ̽̑̀ͨͧ͛ͪ̑͊̐Ȇ̶̪̰̩͉̟̎ͩ̂ͩ̔̑͞͡L̋­̷͖͔͉̟̹᷆̑͊̑́͐̚͜ ̸̢̛̩̬͇̻̔᷆̑͒͗̑᷃ͧJ̟̱̰̙̜̻͎᷁̑̏ͪ̑᷉̂͝O̴̝͍̜̼͈͇̤ͫ̑ͥ̂̑̎͠ ͇̤̺̖̣̭̑᷆ͣ᷾̏̑̆̚͞Ḙ᷿͔̱͔̲̝᷃̑̾̀̑᷈᷇᷉L̬͎̥͈͚̼᷿̫̑̓᷈̑͆͛ͅ ͉͉̱̬̽̓ͪ̑ͫͤ̊̈̀̑͟J̶̢̡͍͉͇͋̽̑̌᷁͒᷾̑̂Ǫ̵̜̼͆͌̑̀ͯ͆ͣͮ̑̐᷈E̘͙͕͍͕̅̒̑͂̾᷈̑ͫ͋͟Ḷ­̰̟͙͚͓᷊͔̈́̑᷇̽̑͆͟ ̰͔͖̲͙᷄̑ͨͩ̾̑̉ͪ͢͠J̛̺͔̘̜̙͓ͯ͑̑ͤ̍̑͑̎O͎̯̯ͫ̓̓̑̽̂̋᷾ͩ̑ͮ͜E͇̲̼̥᷉ͥ̑᷇̎͂͊̔̑ͭͬL᷾­̫̹͔̠̟̑᷈̉᷉̑᷃᷄̚͠ ᷿̗̣̣͉̈́̑᷃͐ͨ͐̑ͮ̑͛J̢̳̟᷂̰̞͇̖̑̿ͭ̽̑͜͠O̵̟̞̫̪̳̊᷅̑͊̊̑͐͘͢E̼̻̞̬͈ͯ̑᷆ͫ͗ͭ̑̋͑͆L̡­̰̫̥̦͋́̑̽̌ͥ̑͌̚͝ ̶᷂͔͕̻᷅̈̑͆ͥ̍̐̑ͨͅJ͖̲̣̳͖̦ͫ̑̇͆ͨͪ̑ͭ͢O̹͕̥͇̻̫᷁̋̐̑͒᷈͐̑̆E̴̖̭̻᷊̦͑̑̄̀͒̈́̑͋͞L͌­̷̵̟̼̲̑̌̌͌᷾̈́̑̒͟ ̧̠̭̮̱̰ͭ̑̍ͨ̔̑̚͟͞J̷͖̪͉᷿͛̑̈́᷉̅ͩ̑̔ͥO̢̝̎̑͏̢̨̖̯̙̜̘̳̑ͅȆ̶͙͕᷊̙̊͏᷿͔̤ͫͮ̑ͥL̵­̠͔̞᷂᷂͕̺͂̑ͣ̿͆̑ͬ ̶̵᷊̌᷅̑̇͑͊᷃͏̣͚̑ͅJ͖͓̪͎̣̻᷀ͧ̑᷃ͯͦ᷁̑ͧȄ̪̣̼̺̮́̑᷆᷇̑̀᷅᷉̕L͓̪᷿͖̐͆᷅̑͋ͤͦ᷀̑̄͘ ̡̨̡᷂̟᷿̇͂̑͛̏ͦͩ̑͢J̢̳͚̪̱̌̃̑᷇ͯ̆̌̓̑̎L̡̯̯᷂̻̦͍͓͇̋̑́̑͜͢ ̴̬̩̼̖͔́̑᷁͂̉̇̑̅̅J̛᷿̻̲͙͚̑̽᷾ͧͮ̋͊̑᷇O̻̲̖᷄᷇ͪ̑̈́̄̑ͦ̑̉᷅ͫȨ̵̜ͥ̑̔̓ͨͧ͐̑ͪ̾᷃͢L̗­̶̷̧̘̞̍̑̏̒᷉͋̑͢ͅ ᷊᷂̲͓̑̏͏̜̦̥̻᷆̑᷉̒J̧̙͕͎̮̗͋̓̔̑͛̃̑͂̚O̷̯᷊̐̋̅̑́ͪ̎ͮ̑᷄̎͜E̶͖̯̳᷅̑ͤ᷇᷀́ͪ̐̑̇͋L̖­̷̧̢̟̪᷊̑ͯ᷄̆̅̑ͩ͂ ̸̨̡᷿̩͇ͮ̑᷁̓͋̑̂͂̚J̶̧̝̥̼̥̍̑̈̋᷆ͨͫ̑̈́Ọ̧̡͙͕͍̽͒᷆̑ͣ̊̌̑̏E̡̲̹̎᷃̑͏̶̠̔̽͌̑̒᷄L͍­̧͖̹̪͖̜̪̬̓͂̑ͣ᷉̑ ̨̼̱᷿̭͎̀̑͋᷉͒̑͊͐̚L͙̻̞᷿̟͈ͧ̑᷁̊͂᷃̑᷁͟ ̭̫̟̩͎̟̥᷁̅̑᷁͊̑́̚J̡̛̙̠͕᷿᷾̑ͨ̍̈̏̑̇̚O̯̙᷂̦͇̓͗̑᷀̂̀̑̉̎͞E̸̴̱̮̪̝͖̬ͮ̑̿᷉̑̌̅L᷁­͈̝̘̜᷅᷁̑͆ͧ̓ͮ̑᷾͢ ̛̹̠͕ͫͨ̑ͧ̑̆̌̚͘͝͝J̛̳̤̺̿̑ͨ̈́ͣ͋̑̽͛͜͜Ȏ̵̰̮̝̺̘̪͆̀͗̑ͣ͘͘Ȩ̺͙͓̗̺̑͐́͂̋ͫ̑᷀ͥL᷾­̶̜̟᷊̯̜͎᷉̑̓̒̑́͝ ̜̣̯̳̪̫͑̑ͭ̾͛̑̌̚͘J̼͔̹͔̟᷅᷆̑ͩ̈᷅̑̅᷃ͅO̷̡̥̮̥̯͆̑ͥ̃᷆̓ͪ̑ͅË̴̦᷊̰᷊͓̮́᷁̑̊̑̂̚͟L̊­̸̘̫᷿ͨ̑͒͒̆̑̏̕̚͠ ̷̮̣̯̰̙̼̤͐᷉̋̑ͪ̑͌J͉ͨ͋̾̑̉̃ͪ͌̑̌ͬ͡͠͠O̻̫̣̜̞ͥ᷈̑́̉͂́ͣ̑᷁Ȅ̥̲̘̯̳̦̩̑̀͆᷈̑ͬ͟L͌­̛͖̦̘̘ͪ̑̐ͬͫ᷀̑ͯ͢ ̨̛̲͇̼̽͗̎̑ͨͩͫ̑͢͡J̸̛̺̔ͧ̑͂ͪ̇͗͑́̑̐̽O̴̸̷̘͈̮͎̾̑᷄ͬ͒̑̌͟E̝͍̣͎᷾̒̑ͯ͑᷄᷆̑ͩ͏͘L͌­̩̪͉͍̓̑ͤ̋᷆͂̑͋̎͟ ̵̦̦᷊᷊̑̇᷁ͬ᷈̀̑ͨ᷄͟J͍̯͕͉̾ͣ̑̿᷅͋̑̍ͩ᷅͡Ơ̶᷂̝͚̫̘̑ͮ̀̑͞͏̆͡Ȇ̢̛̞̬̞̦̭̈́ͣ̀ͭ̑̉͡Ḽ­̶̷̞̫̱̑ͧ̒ͥ͛̑͂̃͟ ̛̗̝̜̻͚̑̿̃̑̔̒̚͟ͅJ̩̺̲̑͢͏̛̘͗̅͑̑᷇͠ͅO̴̖͓̻̓͊̆̑͆͂ͧ᷅̑́ͬE̵̛̖̘̘̮̺͑̑̿̿ͤͩ̑͟L̾­̙̩̪̲̙ͨ̑̔̎ͫ͂̑̑͜ ̷̢̡̖̖᷿̲ͦ̾̑̽̑̄͠͠Ĵ̹͓͎͖᷃̅̑᷈ͭ̑̂͜͢͡O̷͓̝̪᷊͊ͬ̌̑͂᷅̈́̑̓̂Ę̭͇͓̥̖̐᷆̒̑̓͒̑̍ͣLͧ­̶̶͍̥͖̓̿̑̐̄́ͦ̑᷃Ȏ̶̡̧͓͇̻̖̆ͫ͐̑̿̇͡E̫̪̲̥̰͚̹͓͕ͩ̑͑̑̓̏L̷̵̢̞̥᷂̄̑ͫ᷉᷃ͮ̑͜͞ ̷̜̤̌̑̐̔̐̄̍̑᷇͑͐͢J̶̻̳̑̇᷀́̊̑ͫ͘͝ͅͅͅL̬͖͍̫̰ͨ᷇̑̽ͫ᷇̑᷅̐ͅ ̸̴̛̲̟᷉̑̍́ͮͯ̑̽̚͜J̼̦͕ͦ̑᷄̈́̅ͭ̇̑ͤ͆ͬ͝Ȏ̪̝̮̳̖͓̑̈́ͭ́̃̃̑̾Ê̵͙̩͚̼̼̹̑ͬ᷄ͯ̑᷀ͨL͌­̶̷̨͖̺̞͎̞̣̑͌̉̑͝ ̧̣̮̟͙᷀̑̂᷄᷾̇ͦ̑̔͟J̸̢̻͉͉̥̉᷅̑᷆ͥ̆ͪ̑͡O̢̟ͧ̽̉̑᷾͛᷄̑᷀ͭ͘͟͟E̙̘̗̰͍͉ͪ̑̏͌̑ͣ̔́̕L̞­͕̩̗̟̗͉͑̑᷉̓᷈̑ͪ͠ ̟̭̤͉ͮ̑̄̑ͪͥ͊̑͗᷇͟J̸̛̫̼̣̳̑̑̊͐͆ͬ̑͑͗͜Ọ̵̜ͨͧ᷉̑̒͏̄̑̑᷇͘͞ ̧̩͚̰̑͋᷅̑᷈ͥ̓ͩ̑̀͂E᷁̎̑᷇ͯ̕͏̠͇̭̄̑̇ͬ̋L̸̜͖̘̪̇̑̆ͩ̇͋ͩ᷃̑͆ ̶̷̞͚᷇̑᷈ͯ͟ͅ͏̳̑̈͞J̷̧̘̮᷊̜̇᷅̑᷾̊̒̑̿͆Ȏ̼̭͍̤̮͕̔ͫͯ̑̆͋͘͝E̛̛͖̫̟̮ͮ̆̑̏ͧ᷉̓̆̑L̡­̳̥̼̳̦͎͔̫͚̑ͤ͆̑͋ ̡̭͈̝᷂̽͆̀̑ͭ᷆ͥ̈̑͜J᷊̟̫̼̜᷃᷾̑̈̃᷅͒̑᷉ͣO̶̯͇̽̑᷄̍᷃͐̇̑̈᷄᷃͝E̢̨̨᷂̖̘᷆̏̑᷇̄̏̑̏̾L͂­̧͈̬̑̆᷀ͧͬ̑᷀̚͜͞ͅ ̴̢̨͚̩̮͚͎͈̟̑̌̑͢ͅJ͇̬᷿͈͛̑̅̆̐̀̑̓͘͜͠O̧̗͏̫̪͍̑᷀ͦ͆ͩ̑᷾̑͠E̴̴͉̠̜͇̦ͮ̑᷀̋̑ͫ᷆͡Lͧ­̛̖̼̺̰ͥ̑̈́͂͑ͯ̑᷅͜ ̨̫͈̱̩̜̓̑᷄᷀ͨ̑ͩ͢͞J̸͖͗̑̂ͣ᷈̊̓᷆̑̽᷆͜ͅO̜͍̙̓̑͊ͧͦ̀͊̑᷾͊̕͢E̡̳᷿̪᷊̬͂̑᷅᷾̾̉̑̾̓L᷉­̴̧̡̰̝̼̙̑̎᷅̑ͯ̕͞ ̗̻̗̹͗᷇̑͋̽ͩ͛̑͜͝ͅJ̸̠̘̇᷉̑̆̎᷉̆͂̑ͨ̽̈Ọ̷̡̡̝̻͙ͭ̑ͥ᷀᷉̑̽͟E̴͎̊ͯ̑ͥ̐̍̓͡͏̠̑̃̽L̘­̷̴̢͎̰̭͙᷄̑᷾ͩ̈̑̐ ̦̠̣̺̌ͤ̑̏᷃́̑᷇̔͢͢J̵̡͚̭̫̗ͨ̓̑᷈ͯ̑̅͜͞Ẻ̥̫͓̦᷿̗̑̓͛ͣ̑̅̚͠Ļ̷̢̺ͫ̑ͬ̂̓̌̈́̑᷾̚͟ ̷̢̛̜͕͓̹̝̑̓̍̑͜͝͠Ȩ̵̖᷿̠͎̗̽᷀̑̾̈́ͪ̑ͩ ̣̦̻̄̔̑͛᷈͂̓̑᷁̀̕͞J̨̥̱̩̑ͬ̑̐̓̿ͮ̑͒ͮ͜O̵̗͔͖̊̑ͣ᷾̒̑̑᷄̚͟͞Ę̮̳͈̖̿̈́̑̆̄̑̂ͭ͘͟L᷆­̷̧̬͖̱͔̆̑͋ͩ᷀̑̔͢ ̷͇͕͇̯͖͓͋̑̏͌̍̐̑͘J̧̻̺̬ͮ̑ͥ̀᷄̾᷃̑ͤ̕͘Ǫ̸̡̣᷁̒͋̑̎ͧ̉̀͗̑̓E͇͍͎͕͆ͫ̑̓᷄̒̾͑̑̋̔ ̲̮̫́̂̑̾᷇̍̒᷾̑̔᷄͟J̷̻̱͕̖͚͆̑͒̀̑ͯ᷉͜͞O̸̧͚̳͓᷿̭͆̑̽͐̑̒᷇̚E̴̦̳̺ͩͭ̑̈́̋ͬ̋̑̽͋ͬL̤­̱̫᷊̑̈́̂᷆̌͊̑̉̓̕̕



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O͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎ͫ̇͡͝E͎­̠͎͙͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷁̎᷈L͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̏̒ͣ̕ ͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎᷉᷃͋̒ͥJ̧͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͕͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̐͢͞O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͔͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̀ͫ͟Ȩ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̒͒᷈̍͝L͎̠­͎̗͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎̜͎̠͎᷇͛ ̧̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͔͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͊͟Ę͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷅͛̏ͩ͝L͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈͛̈̔ͣ̚͜ ̸̨̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͍͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎ͬ͐̋͊ͥͯ͜J͎­̡̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎̒̉͝O͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͒᷃ͦ̔̔E͎̠­͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈̆ͯ̉L͎̠͎͏̨̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̎᷾͟ ̵͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎̾͢͡J̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ̈́͡O͎­̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈́ͮ᷉͗͂᷾E͎̠͎͏̛͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͪ͐̈͝L͎̠­̧͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎ͭͮ̂᷆ ̸̢͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͪͦ͟J͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͪ͒᷾ͦͤO͎­̠͎͙͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷅̐᷾ͤÉ͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̆̅̚͝L͎̠­̸͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͈͎̠͎̳͎̠͎̠͎̠͎̒ ̶͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎᷉͋ͥJ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̌̐͌ͪ͞O͎­̵̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎ͣ͒ͫE͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͕͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͒᷈͑L͎̠­̶͎͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎ͫ᷉᷇͋ ̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͋̌ͧĴ̴͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͬ̔͘O͎­̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃̇̏ͅͅE͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷄᷆̃̋̎L͎̠­͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎ͪ̂͒̊̌ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͆ͩ̄̂͟J͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎̫͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͍͎̠͎ͮ͐E͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎᷈̈᷇̇͜L̡̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̇ͩ͛͡ ̶͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͔͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͡J̶͎̠͎͎̠͎̖͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎᷾ͫ̓ͤ­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͍͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎̎̇᷅᷁L͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̽̐͟ ̡͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͥ́̓͆͟͠J͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎̌̽̽ͬ̉̕O͎­̨̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ͑͋̔Ě͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̭͎̠͎̞͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͚͎̠͎L͎̠­̨͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̹͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉̈́̌̄ͦ᷾̄ͭ­̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̃̉̎̿ ̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎̎ͯ̾̇͡J͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̪͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎̅̈́᷆O͎­̨̨̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̄ͥ̂̈́͒E̶̶͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉ͣ̉L͎̠­͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎̉͌͢ ̵͎̠͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷾̎͒͘͜J͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͛͐͊͋͡O͎­̛̠͎͕͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ̈ͬȨ̵͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͇͎̠͎̏͢L͎̠­̴̸͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎᷾̆̒̋ͪ̚͟ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͑͛᷁᷁᷃͘L͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎ͮ̃̌͒͠ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉̿̆̔J̵̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃̑̒̒̿O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̅̉ͮ᷀̿E͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃ͮ᷄͑͜͡L͎̠­̴̴̨͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎ͣ̋᷇᷈ͦ͛ͥ̕ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎̇̌ͭ̏J͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͛̔̉̋ͧ̚O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈́̅̈́̓᷈̍ͧ̑᷁̑͜͠E͎̠­̸̵̛͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎̑̍L̡͎̠͎̖͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎ͣ͡ ͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎͋͛̍͘͜J̸͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̩͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̭͎̠͎᷆ͮͅO͎­̴̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎᷈̋̀E͎̠͎̬͎̠͎̥͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̒L͎̠­̶͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎᷃ͦ᷃͟ ͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͓͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎͛͐ͥJ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̹͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎᷈̈́̾O͎­̠͎̻͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͯ͘ͅÉ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎ͭ͊̚͠͡L͎̠­̛͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̀ͪ᷆ͪ̚ ̧̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̌᷄ͨ̾᷅͘͘͜͝­̶̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̏̽͞J̨͎̠͎̦͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ͘̚O͎̠­͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͎̠͎̓ͬ͟͡É̵͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͆̐͘L͎̠͎­᷊͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎̻͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͉͎̠͎ͅ ̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉͂̓̓᷁͏͎̠͎J͎̠͎͎̠͎̖͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͈͎̠͎̾̑᷇O͎­̧̨̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̾̀᷈̃ͫͯ̄̏̕͟E͎̠­͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎ͥ᷄̃͞L͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͎̠͎̓͏̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̎ͨ̓ ̶͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎͋᷉ͭͦJ͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̈̐͏͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̂O͎­̴̷̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎́̃E̡̡͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̒͜͏͎̠͎̮͎̠͎L͎̠­͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̿̊̒᷈͆͠ ̵͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎̀᷇᷀J͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͆̾ͥ͜͝O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̱͎̠͎᷁ͭ̔ͅE̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷇̽̃ͅͅL͎̠­͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎̃ͩͯO̵͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎ͭ̓᷾E͎̠͎­̡͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͦ̀͒᷉͝L̴͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎̔͘͡ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎̫͎̠͎᷅̾͆̑̀J̸͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎ͮͩ̌ͭͧL͎­̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̋͊͛̐͡ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓ͩ̆̔᷄̑J̴̡͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̏̔᷾̋̿O͎­̡̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͎̠͎̹͎̠͎̇͑͝E͎̠͎̘͎̠͎
JOEL
I stopped hating myself
For no reason
When I was 16.
I have a reason now.

I stopped fighting.

I gave up.

I let him take
What He wanted
I let him violate me.

I've taken several showers since then
But it's never enough
I'm never clean enough.
I'll never be clean enough.

When it happened
I didn't want to call It what it was.
I didn't want to be a victim
Didn't want to be looked at
Like I was broken.

But it was that.
No matter what I want to call it.
That's what it was.
And I'll have to live with hating myself
For the rest of my pathetic life.
Because it was ME who gave up the fight.
Pretty self explanatory. I'm guessing you can sort of see where I'm going with this. If you read it, thanks.
Today the number is 59
I can talk about the chills he gives me
down my spine
or how the beauty of his eyes
should be a crime
I can talk about how he makes all the stars
in the night sky shine
or about how he takes my breath away
Every **** Time
But tonight let's talk about
why I chose this rhyme
I am moving in with this boy in days
counting down from 59
I am aware this poem is simple but can we talk about how happy I am?
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