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The past it is no sea
no tide that breaks upon a foreign land
it is a creek, an oily little stream
which bleeds its waters on today's white sand
Daisy Darling Sep 26
I have you tattooed on my sleeve,
I hope you do not leave,
Is young love naive?
the ink is permanent, but is our love?
kha Sep 12
it would've been a month of voice messages,
delusions, and silly advances.
but on the 26th day,
i'm still on the way.

every time i pass by any train,
or the skies prevent to pour the rain,
26 days of crippling pain,
now numb, hopeless,
yet still a crackbrain.

no one seems to fill the void you left
but they elude me from that silent altercation
you were probably the best choice
even on the 26th day of separation

have you forgotten that fast,
or probably i didn't linger enough?
i should've pressed my nails deeper onto your arms
i should've kissed you against the alarm

maybe if the train ride lasted longer,
maybe if the sunset wasn't purple,
maybe if we didn't dream the ugly denouements,
maybe there would be a 33rd day.
I've seen a colourful world,
in her tie dye eyes

Around someone's neck; holding onto her,
my hand being like a neck tie

Her ears were full of bullets,
of so many shoot your shot pickup lines

Only kissing a few; but some wet kisses
are just lips licked so well, to lubricate their lies

As we've all wanted to say we've been in love- once,
even if we loved someone for only a time

From the trenches of our many past hurts,
digging into each's heart, to say they were once mine

To the friendly hugs with foes, we try to forgive,
seeing all those we've loved before; giving a public smile

Many times sending out advances; not always delivered,
learning that the quiet ones attract a lot of attention- a high profile

In this curious scent of love always in the air,
I wonder if we still feel like floating aimlessly in the meanwhile

    I mean,

I've seen so much before, heard it all, felt the after of a fall
said so much I can't recall, and it all stank like a stinkball

                                         ...when I was in love five years ago.
Everyone hopes their dreams to become real,
But this girl’s aspiration to reach her goals is surreal.

With eyes full of ambition and will to do anything with zeal,
She started the journey with all support and unreal.

Mankind said her desired was a waste of time,
And longing for an ordinary life was not a crime.

She stayed true to her intentions,
Although the time-line was yearning for irritations.

The girl has finally reached her destination,
With a lot of claps and appreciation.

Wishes and struggles are part of being alive,
But a beautiful life is what your actions drive.
Anais Vionet Jul 24
(Leeza, my roommate Lisa’s little sister, was off-tha-hook earlier this summer)

peach flesh
fabuk buster
nu-metal priss
sexless *******
bitten fingernails
***** babyskin feet
mirror mesmerized
straight-eyed honesty
without analysis
corollary sister
wide eyed
hot mess
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Corollary: something that naturally follows another  (like sisters)

off tha hook = out of control
fabuk = rotten banana
buster = acts like a punk-b*tch
nu-metal = new generation heavy metal, hated by purists
priss = baby
grouchapottamus = someone perpetually grouchy and edgy
hot mess = a handful, a piece of work, a colorful character.
pacer = very smart, hard to keep up with, sets the pace
bella = someone to handle with care
doe = girl
Krispy = super exclusive

*Leeza tested into some krispy mathcamp and that apparently calmed her down.
i had a kind face, and the kind of smile
only a brother could love
and read beyond the teeth,
biting back bitter amusements
of a broken, brooding boy

you were mine; not in blood but in love,
and we were too small and too young
with too much and not enough
of everything.

the lie of the year,
and we had many.

i had chronic denial and you had chronic rejection.
if we said we saw ourselves as siblings,
it would all go away.
my brother from another mother
not a brother at all, but a lie
the hidden gay.

i had a kind face, but you were kind
and i wanted to be that
for you, a light against the shadowy history
the trajectory from ruin to wholeheartedness

you were already wholehearted,
and wholeheartedly in.
brother, i ruined you by calling you brother
with my fear of our friendship: the trajectory from friends to more

now everything between us is gone
and it still feels rather sore
even though i don’t love you anymore
Anais Vionet Jun 7
Get out your sponges, stippling brushes and pens,
It’s time for makeover-Monday-night to begin.
Think Winky Lux, L’Oréal, Urban Decay,
Maybelline, Armani and Fabergé

It’s a black magic realm where brushes are wands,
where a carnival of colors are carefully crayoned.
We have palettes aplenty, in kaleidoscope hues,
to create fashion looks, both bold and subdued.

In the realm of makeup fashion, where trends never end,
we remodel each other - for fun - when we can.
Tonight, our new friend Jammie has come to watch us play,
and he even brought two bottles of chardonnay.

Lisa has a ‘Miss Rose’ case, like she saw in Bernadette Peters’
dressing room, on a backstage tour of the Shubert Theatre.
Konjac, Kabuki, Doe foots, Spoolie, Lisa’s got legit tools to use.
“When it comes to makeup,” she says, “always avoid dupes.”

That night I was the chosen face, the excited living canvas.
Lisa’s a practiced artist, her process is brisk and never tedious.
She painted my lips a crimson cherry, alluring and brightly sensuous,
my brows were moonlit art, my cheeks a midnight adumbrated edifice.

Lisa created a special look, where rebellious edge met elegance.
We took some snaps, then I washed it off - but Jammie was impressed!
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Adumbrate: “to partially outline and obscure”

Slang: “dupes” are off-brand knock-offs of famous luxury brands
Anais Vionet Jun 5
I’ve only been at my fellowship gig a week, but It’s official, I’m a candy-striper. Sort of, I wear a blue vest, not the old, red-striped dress, but it’s the same job. I shadow my surgeon (Rebecca) most of the time, like when she does her rounds but otherwise, I study or try to be helpful by delivering specimens to the lab, messengering things from Rebecca to other doctors or assisting the nursing staff with very minor, mundane things.

My training, so far, has consisted more of what-nots than anything else. “You are not a doctor, you don’t comment, don’t advise, don’t touch anything, don’t perform CPR and if a medical emergency occurs, get out of the way - put your back against the wall.” I made up the “back against the wall” part but that’s the soul of it. I’m just an observant pair of eyes and ears or a Yale lampshade.

When Rebecca (my surgeon) does rounds, she usually has five or six interns in tow (medical school graduates who are first-year residents). The interns review patient charts and get quizzed about symptoms, their meanings and possible treatments. It’s very interesting to watch the process up close - these people are wicked-smart (that’s a Boston saying).

Growing up, my parents were both doctors. I found myself standing, listlessly, a million times, waiting in hospital corridors or by nurses' stations for one or both of them to break free so we could leave. I was exposed to 17 years of medical jargon, as they discussed treatments with other doctors or passed on their final instructions for the night. I’d roll my eyes impatiently, but I guess I absorbed more than I realized. I can pretty much follow the consults as they do the rounds.

I met two new people last week, who I think I’ll see a lot of - Jammie and Quinn. They’re both rising-juniors and fellows, from other schools, working with other surgeons. Jammie’s a handsome, gay, black man from Georgetown University (my brother Brice’s Alma mater). He’s loud, fun and smart, very smart.

Quinn, on the other hand, seems like a short, officious little ****. When we were introduced, he cast his eyes over me slowly and deliberately like a frat-boy or an experienced stock ******* and from the way he talks, you’d think he owned the place. He’s from some second rate, local college, called Harvard.

Funny story, Jammie and I had just met and we were looking-up some fellowship information, on his laptop, I was looking over his shoulder and as he flipped around - his computer files and folders were SO organized - there wasn’t a stray file anywhere - not one. As we were huddled closely together I said, conversationally, because where I come from it means nothing and I guess I have no filters, “Are you gay?” He cringed, shocked, and laughingly said “SHHH!” He wasn’t “out” at work. I swore his secret safe and we became fast friends.

Jammie, besides being a molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major (pre-med track), is an observational comedian and as he’s thinking out loud - at a hundred miles an hour - I wish I could record him, so I could play him back later, slowly and deliciously to take it all in. We had lunch together in the cafeteria Friday and when our time was up, I discovered I hadn’t eaten anything. I’d been too busy listening to him open-mouthed or laughing.

I also realized I’m spoiled and not used to working indoors all day. We come in at 8 and we're released at 4:30. It’s almost a shock to see the sky isn’t fluorescent-lit and the breeze isn’t tainted with antiseptic smells. That was fellowship week 1.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Officious: "a nobody who gives unwanted advice like he’s the boss"
Iz Jun 1
Oh I think it was a Tuesday
You were sleeping
In almost the highest spot in the building
Your ghosts never disturbing
The seams of your dreams
Oh what a day to ignore the mourning

I awake since Monday
Stitch my jeans for they keep
Falling apart by the knees
I try to hide the pink and purples
Of each thing pretend I don’t need

Then out of something I can’t dream
I see this red all around me
maybe I should gather my things
But instead I throw them out on the street

I burn in the building
Just to slip out of sighting you
So I start to
Transform in my dorm
Catch the flame and let it
Cool me
Oh how I used to be boiling
Steaming I see the leaves and grass
Oh I think you would call this crass

Now you are just so worried
That all this ash might
Color your back
So you speak your to forest of agrees
Until you see the fire of me

I so welted so red
So sore so losing
So much breath
I think you cheated
But you just took the steps

So I let the piece of me be last
thing you feel of me
I make you choke
then you speak
About how I
Hurt you

But somewhere
maybe a kitchen maybe the stairs
There were pages written by you
Pilled up but there’s only one
You wrote it mostly for fun

See it was so late
So late
That I would calll it Mourning
you were writing
By the light of the candle
Because electricity is just so boring

So at 4:49am on Tuesday
Maybe morning
Left the stair
Left the light and the pages there
Then when to sleep
Without a single worry
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