Walked through a field full of llamas
Wooly babies, papas, and mamas
But these llamas were purists
And spat on this tourist
Turning excitement to trauma

you spit dead flowers at me
they spill from between your teeth
I put them between the pages of a book
one I’ve only read once

if you had a mouth full of fresh flowers
I wouldn’t have stopped to listen
isn’t it fascinating
to see the decay in the veins of a petal

one day you’ll spit your last petal
will you replace them
or let new ones grow from the dead
I guess I’ll find out
with a new book in hand

Your words reek with lies
You've hurt me too many times
I'll never trust a word out your mouth
You saw me cry with my heart spilled out
Yet you did it again
After saying "Never again..."
Our mother can't see through your poison
My tolerance has been growing thin
"Stop doing this!" I scream and wail
Don't you dare spit another tale.
My soul aches with despair hidden
Anything but happiness feels forbidden

I never bite my nails,
the taste is just not for me.
I see others chew on pinkies
and much to my disgust
        they chop on them between
                                      their teeth.

Do you know where they
                          have been,
do you know you didn't
                  wash your hands
Now your biting the tips.

I noticed that those who chew,
have stubby fingers
                           looking grossly.
Use a pair of scissors manicure
                                appropriately.

Please don't bite your nails,
              then spit them out near me.
Its not the wild west there isn't
       spit buckets to collect rejected
                                      nail clippings.

Paint them,
                trim them,
manicure them properly.
but please don't chew them,  
its unhygienic and is so unsanitary.

I live by daily participating
and not by distant gesticulating.

I live by putting love into action,
not by singing for holy intervention.

I live by getting both hands soiled,
not sanitised and kept unspoiled.

If you want to follow the Nazarene
you can't keep your hands wet wipe clean.

This is life as he envisaged -
living like we're one big village.

Roll up your sleeves to each elbow,
let's serve together and not alone.

This is life as Jesus did it -
all hands-on, with dirt and spit!

When you left me over a phone call that lasted a minute and a half
I should've known our fate then
when you said you wanted a second third fourth fifth chance
I should've said no

When you texted me tonight asking me to see your make-up
I should've said no
because all I can think of
apart from your gorgeous eyes
and your pink cheeks
and your chapped lips
is that
he will see you today
and he will remember
that you did it for him
that maybe you chose his favorite colour
or you put on his favorite perfume
he will remember that scent on you
from that one friday
the one day which was the best of his life
maybe he waits every friday to see you

you say you did it for you
but you did it for him way before you did it for you
you gave a part of you to him
a part that you'd only given to me
and it took you a day to bedazzle yourself for him
and you didn't even know him

he met you on a friday
or so I think
but he sees you every now and often
and he will forever remember
that you did this for him
what today you say
you're doing for yourself
but he won't know that
to him
its still like that past friday

Your teeth are the colour of off milk.
Your odour is of rancid butter.
I see you and I feel sorry for everyone that you spitter on.
I'm sorry for your loss.