I drank to your eyes
and your smile
to the freckle on your left shoulder
your fingers stretching forward into mine
or running through my hair.
I drank to your lips
and that stupid *** grin
to your peace and your patience
or the lack thereof.
I drank to your absence
on every inch of my skin
itching like bug bites
but not wanting to make a scar
you were just a girl
I kept reminding myself.
I didn't drink to anything else
I didn't think to
this skin has renewed
I didn't think to
it's never been touched by you
I didn't think to
by your filthy ******* hands
I didn't think to
I didn't let you make a scar
I didn't think to
when you finally did
I didn't drink to you.

the ******* cops are ******* keen

to ******* keep it ******* clean

the ******* chief's a ******* swine

who ******* draws a ******* line

at ******* fun and ******* games

the ******* kids he ******* blames

are nowehere to be ******* found

anywhere in chicken town

the ******* scene is ******* sad

the ******* news is ******* bad

the ******* **** is ******* turf

the ******* speed is ******* surf

the ******* folks are ******* daft

don't make me ******* laugh

it ******* hurts to look around

everywhere in chicken town

the ******* train is ******* late

you ******* wait you ******* wait

you're ******* lost and ******* found

stuck in ******* chicken town

the ******* view is ******* vile

for ******* miles and ******* miles

the ******* babies ******* cry

the ******* flowers ******* die

the ******* food is ******* muck

the ******* drains are ******* ******

the colour scheme is ******* brown

everywhere in chicken town

the ******* pubs are ******* dull

the ******* clubs are ******* full

of ******* girls and ******* guys

with ******* ****** in their eyes

a ******* bloke is ******* stabbed

waiting for a ******* cab

you ******* stay at ******* home

the ******* neighbors ******* moan

keep the ******* racket down

this is ******* chicken town

the ******* train is ******* late

you ******* wait you ******* wait

you're ******* lost and ******* found

stuck in ******* chicken town

the ******* pies are ******* old

the ******* chips are ******* cold

the ******* beer is ******* flat

the ******* flats have ******* rats

the ******* clocks are ******* wrong

the ******* days are ******* long

it ******* gets you ******* down

evidently chicken town

You say you are afraid of cold weather but Winter has been growing behind your eyelids, and this is another part of you that you can be ashamed of but I can love
You say you are afraid of small corners and tight spaces but your blood stained mattress says you have been crafting yourself into something that can
compress into my morning thoughts
And if I could, I would squeeze your smile into my glass before I started my day

You are afraid of walking into a pharmacy knowing that every painkiller and sleeping medication has your initials carved into it
And two palms pressed together are placed on the warning label
How many years have you been trying to find god in the bottom of them

When is the last time you asked yourself what you're made of or what I'm made of or what both of us combined creates
When is the last time you loved someone with your hands like dry dirt and a chest filled with weeds only a girl with a soft smile can replace with blooming flowers
When is the last time you filled your lungs with cheap wine promises that were never strong enough to keep you from falling down the steps but wise enough to tell you he's not going to take your keys or hold your hair back
When is the last time you didn't regret having the strength to swim upstream knowing the only thing waiting for you was another excuse to be wet and out of breath, you shouldn't have to wear an oxygen tank in order to love someone the right way
You do not see all the rays of light that flee from your spirit, or comprehend how leaving someone and loving someone can be fueled by the same spit of heat
But it will burn and it will be more than you can touch, so you will spend your life with a nightstand filled with band aids and burns on your fingertips and you'll never really know who you are but at least I will

6 Years Old
hair in braids
tied with pink bows
a toothless smile
am I beautiful yet?

10 Years Old
hair slicked into a ponytail
a skewed smile
chubby thighs sticking out of the bottom of my skirt
am I beautiful yet?

13 Years Old
hair badly straightened
a mangled smile
purple eyeshadow spread across my eyelids
my first pimple on my cheek
am I beautiful yet?

17 Years Old
messy ponytail
mascara running down my face
the distressed look I get when I wear clothing that exposes my body
am I beautiful yet?

Sometimes
Everything you say
Feels like a cliche
No new things to say
No new places to explore
How much worth
On what has been done before

It feels like small talk
Memorized and rehearsed
An endless curse
Over and over
Until the words
Don't even have any meaning
Saying nothing but screaming

The worst habit to have
Is not being yourself
Trying to fit
A cookie-cutter mold
Always doing what you're told
A forever quest to be
Accepted and respected

The world doesn't have any sympathy for you
Because your problems aren't unique

The only thing unique about you is
You

I woke up from a slumber,
on this day late in December,
to find the ceiling fan spinning,
to find the biting cold missing.

The world hates this season,
for a multitude of reasons.
But I love cold, harsh winters,
like I love the sound of burning wood splinters"

People of this world don't appreciate,
the strange charms winters create.
They don't care to notice,
the beauty of silence and peace.

Oh, how I miss the fog,
the engulfing, blinding fog!
But what I miss the most,
is my breaths turning to mist.

I miss those several layers of warm cloth,
and those moments of sloth -
when my bed held me captive
and blankets ******* all attempts to get active.

I miss the rush to the high hills,
to enjoy some snowy chills.

I miss this season of quiet and calm,
for its fog, its mists and its eerie charm.

Hope springs eternal for
that eternally springing Spring!

Following are several translations
of the 'Old Pond' poem, which may be
the most famous of all haiku:

Furuike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto

        -- Basho



Literal Translation

Fu-ru (old) i-ke (pond) ya,
ka-wa-zu (frog) to-bi-ko-mu (jumping into)
mi-zu (water) no o-to (sound)






    The old pond--
a frog jumps in,
    sound of water.


Translated by Robert Hass



Old pond...
a frog jumps in
water's sound.


Translated by William J. Higginson



An old silent pond...
A frog jumps into the pond,
splash! Silence again.


Translated by Harry Behn



There is the old pond!
Lo, into it jumps a frog:
hark, water's music!


Translated by John Bryan



The silent old pond
a mirror of ancient calm,
a frog-leaps-in splash.


Translated by Dion O'Donnol



old pond
frog leaping
splash


Translated by Cid Corman



Antic pond--
frantic frog jumps in--
gigantic sound.


Translated by Bernard Lionel Einbond



MAFIA HIT MAN POET: NOTE FOUND PINNED TO LAPEL
OF DROWNED VICTIM'S DOUBLE-BREASTED SUIT!!!

'Dere wasa dis frogg
Gone jumpa offa da logg
Now he inna bogg.'

        -- Anonymous
        

Translated by George M. Young, Jr.



Old pond
leap -- splash
a frog.


Translated by Lucien Stryck



The old pond,
A frog jumps in:.
Plop!


Translated by Allan Watts



The old pond, yes, and
A frog is jumping into
The water, and splash.

Translated by G.S. Fraser