there once was a tailor
who lived in a place unknown
his place was small
but i guess, it was home

he sewed clothes
for people far and wide
with nothing but a thin needle
and fabric by his side.

his job wasn't easy
he worked and worked all day
and the money it made?
well, it barely paid.

but he loved what he did,
with his stitches and thread,
so every night he would lay down
and dream happily in his bed

one day
he got a strange request
he had to make a special robe-
a golden dress.

he tried to explain
this was more than he could do
that this is impossible
but she didn't believe him- so now, he's blue

he tried and tried
but it couldn't be done.
she wanted hundreds of stitches
but he could only do one.

he felt so awful
judging many times over three
so he hung himself
on a branch of the olive tree

the woman was mad
at the tailor
she called him lazy
called him as useless as a sailor

so in the end
nobody won
she didn't get her dress
and the tailor killed himself
because that task simply couldn't be done.

and now,
the olives that come from the tree
remind everyone of him-
and what couldn't be.

It started as a helpful gesture

There’s a moment where the world always tries to take control
Of the things that you think and the way you read your signs
Everybody reads without knowing it, every small piece of sense that comes to their energy
I took a shower moments ago thinking all these thoughts that I only thought I would remember, that would stick to the walls of my imagination and be able to write them down after I left the box of high pressure rain
Maybe it was the running water beating against every inch of my body that gave me such thoughts that only I could be thinking, right?
Like how the tears of men could never compare to the tears women drown themselves in..
Could it have been the music within the infinite raindrops the shower head provided provoking my intriguing thesises that popped into my subconscious
What if I never turned the shower sprinkler off.. would it ever truly stop running? I’m too broke to test this experiment at the time.
Why is it that I run into these stories of women being beaten and accepting what they do, all because that black/ and or white man is their universe, their galaxy, the only thing they can’t seem to escape even though the possibility has approached them many.. many times.
Even though this is only the first night it has occurred that I endured being a helping hand only to lend an ear as well to hear and listen to such a lifeless story. I feel like it is all I’ve experienced from the time my conscious eye could see.. maybe not continuously, time after time, but two in a row? Two female entities stories that bring me to what I have been casted into the world with nightmares with? For what possible reason?? in my questioning Shakespearean poetic soul voice of thought maybe I act as a healing spirit to women like this because of my condoling heart.
To think this whole plateau of letters put together to create words and my indulging previous shower thoughts, came from the question & answer “you need a lighter still?” What if she was lying about the man she seems to be “trapped” with? The world cannot fool me, I know these men exist. What if she made up these stories and the pictures you saw from six years ago were once real, but now continuously happening, a fluke? Pshh, why put these devious thoughts to my brain matter and soul spirit when I know and felt and saw the bumps and bruises of that girls body that broadcasted such a relatable story of reality.. because you want me to feel weak like the men and police who could never stand up to and stop the things of a man that they are inferior to. The world would like me to fall so unconsciously.. and that is exactly what will happen, once my body is too old to support the strong soul that overpowers it.
Enough about me.
Could she have provoked it.. I could see it the way she was smacking my stern chest when I went about my own influence, after I would speak my bold words of seducement while she was feeling on my lower stomach and upper pelvis. She was all over me at one point with me being the intriguing man I am, I thought she would either provide a ******* or oral *** for me going out of my way for her troubles. Nope just a couple soft smacks to the chest, but me.. bow to such a weak ***** out her right minds actions and be equal? Never. The thing about weak drunk people.. they always do and forget. Me, a strong cautious minded human being, do & remember.. even if it hurts. Like writing this piece of possible or impossible deja vu. My life is a hook & anything that crosses it see, is the bait and dinner.
Meanwhile, learning this story all I could think about is the oral compensation I wanted from giving this woman a ride. Some head.. a thank you.. something along either of those lines. Neither happened. ******* is all I was really aiming for after I sensed she was into me, calling me fine over and over & wanting to sit and waste somebody’s time. I conceived it as that after the fact I returned home and began to write this.
What if though, the story that she spoke of, of the police and even her own mother being such insubordinate cowards to their “right” and true morals and never helping this woman who they claimed was “making this stuff up” to stick up for the abusive man even though she had pure raw evidence that he was an abuser.. and never helping her because they were truly scared of some *****-made “man” being & I was the ear to be spoken to that took it serious. Fools. Is what the lowball Michigan City police are. Bigger fools is what the woman and the man are. They deserve to **** each other if that’s what the world keeps pushing towards, for these pointless drunken addicted souls.
Even if I did care, why would I change it. Why risk my peace to save a woman that clearly doesn’t care to be saved. there’s a million miles to run away to.. attachment is such a weird vice. Or could I just be looking at this the wrong way still. It would take a knowledgeable doctor to break this down and come up with an answer, which I could possibly be. So my answer with being knowledgeable, but not a doctor.. is broken love is such a strong evil in this world. Because it still has the potential to be love but it just never will because it is broken in too many places.

We had been friends.

Friends for not very long.

I had never seen you before that day,
that day that you walked into grade 11 drama class.

I only knew one person in that class.

A friend of a friend.

When we were asked to get into groups of three.

You came over and I was annoyed but like the flip the flip of a switch I went from hatred to love.

I fell in love with you faster than a green light turns red.

I was so young.

16 turning 17 when I met you.

That feels weird on my tongue.

Many walks, moves, movies, and music later, something happened.

I don't know what it was.

But you let me kiss you, and you kissed me back.

My brain traced back to highschool in those moments, and how long I  had been waiting for this.

You kissed me, and kissed me.

And told me I was beautiful.

I cannot express how that time felt to me, H.

This is one part of one story.

Hello, my dear, care to open your eyes and ears?

I have a story I'd like to share, but must I ask of you to care?

Maybe you won't, you've judged it now, but soon you may not feel such doubt.

Come into my old memories, may they'll bring some type of feeling.


Long ago inside the blue, there was a boy, quite little too,

And In this blue, there was little noise or light, or even cute little toys,

But there were people, not too many, they would be the little boy's invisible family,

While grandma swayed to drunken daze, the little boy sat not too amazed,

For what he sees is nothing bad, just typical when one grows up this sad,

Not long much later a beast appears and whispers into the little boy's ear,

"Come with me, my little friend, let's play until you're happy again",

The beast smiled and disappeared, the little boy followed without any fear,

And wandered, he did, into a place, a world so simple yet also not safe

"My little innocent friend, no time to play in my big wonderland. Let us get down to the bluntness of blunt, no giggling, babbling, nothing of such"

And here is when the things go south, although the little boy was too little to doubt

He, made to obey the beast, too little to fight, too little to cease

Unclothed, no shame, what was there to shame, he didn't really know what there was to blame

Soon told to lie down, head facing the ground, he remembered he couldn't make any sounds

He heard so much noise, what did they expect, a child so young to just lie and not check,

So he did just that, and witness no glee, a thing not of his world, no, nothing he's seen,

He turned far away, but kept right in place, for he was told not to move or turn his face

The beast came on down, and tried to hurt him, did he know that it was getting so grim

It just did not work, the pain he wanted, the little boy free again, guess the beasts daunted





Many years later the boy knew what happened, and yet it does not affect him like it happened, so hell is memories you cannot erase, but neither do you learn from their bitter waste

Can we go back...to where life met laughter. To when love had more value than fame. To how we used to respect those who came before us. And family extend far beyond the limits of your doorsteps. Can I get back to a gap toothed smile and fill em in puzzles. To puff bread and pecan candy. To walking my hanging with the homies at Dunbar. Who want to go back to walking from Oak St to Wakefield. Playing ball at Centennial Park, East end community center and MLK Elementary. Somehow I've wipped away a lot of my memory, however, I'll never forget my homies playing their makeshift drum set and me winking at their sister behind their back. Childhood crushes right. I have erased dates and events but the way you all have influenced me is engraved in me like the chiseled details on Donatello sculptures. I just want to go.....

If a girl is hopelessly crying in a forest and no one is around to hear her, did she actually cry?

All that you’ve heard about Rapunzel is pure lies.
She had jet black hair, that was darker than the midnight sky.
Entirely broken inside, waiting to end her life.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you what really happened tonight
Grab a delicious treat and something sweet to drink.
Before I wish you a goodnight’s sleep.

Once upon a time there was a young girl named Rapunzel
Since the age of ten she had been locked away in a monstrous tower.
Kept in chains by her demons all day.
They liked to play games with her mental state.

One of the games included, Simon Says.
Simon Says, cut a blade through your wrist.
Simon Says, bang your head against the brick wall,
Until you begin bleeding and start to fall.
She hated Simon Says,
But she always obeyed what they said.

Mother Gothel was an antagonist; a myth.
Rapunzel made her up in her mind to have someone to blame,
For all the wretched pain which she endured everyday.

Loneliness became her closest friend
As she sat alone in a cobwebbed den.
Listening to the clock ‘tick tock’ in her head
Over again like a broken record.
Making her want to rip her hair out to shreds.

The voices screaming in her head made her psychotic.
No one cared about this depressive girl,
More than they did about summer rain.
They all couldn’t see her suffering, so it didn’t matter.
Instead they threw her in a tower, an architect built.
So her mind could rot in tiny pieces, lying still.

One day a boy named Flynn came into the mix.
He loved her with all his heart; they could never be apart.
When he was around, her eyes light up.
Forgetting the misery that came after dark

Tomorrow came along.

Rapunzel was found sobbing in her fragile pale hands.
“Leave me alone!”, she screamed in terror with her eyes closed shut.
Shaking uncontrollably, while the rain and tears flowed as one.
Just like the river she wanted to drown herself in.

Flynn gently helped her to her feet in panic.
The electricity still flowing through her entire body.
“I love you.” he softly whispered into her ear.
“I love you!” he says with passion and honesty.
Her breathing slowly came to a halt, after hearing him speak.
He made her believe that life had some meaning.

Her soul now feels at peace
She looks at him with pure sincerity  
He whips her tears away, “I’ll never leave you”.
A promise he can never keep.
“I love you too”, she says with ease.
Their eyes meet together, as they laugh in unison.
Lips softly meet as one; the night has just began.
This is the happiest Rapunzel has ever been in years,
Too bad it will all suddenly disappear.

…

It was all an illusion.
Rapunzel suffered from Schizophrenia.
Flynn was a figment of her imagination.
An escape from her cruel reality she faced.
The townspeople didn’t want to deal with her mental illness.
So they washed her away, to be left astray.

People hate what they don’t understand,
So everyday for eight years she sat freezing in sorrow.
While her demons devoured her spirit.
Incapable of love and affection.
With a hollow chest where her heart should be.

In order to cope with the ‘life’ she was living,
Her mind made up Flynn.
Though they were madly in love; he was a fairytale.
As years went by depression ate her whole.
She died alone, in a pitch black room.
No light seeping in, with nobody to love and hold her.
To tell her everything will be okay,
And keep her heart beating in place.

If a girl dies alone in a tower, where everyone hates her, and no one is around to witness her death: did she actually exist?
The End.