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pitch black god8 Aug 2018
~a question of a thousand dreams~^

“Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness?  Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see”

this one composes itself
for all dreams go unremembered
the first, the thousandth, the  every in between,
erased by the push button of opening eyes

but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel
the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an
unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen

these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting,
leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come
in black and white

elementary clues,
a pillow indentation,
single hair that stretches
across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red  
but
certainly unmine,  
dregs of soured sentiment linger like the
aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers

heated summers breezes give no succor or relief,
and the rain following gives no pleasure,
for now you are hot and soaked,

but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed,
and eyes widening in major league surprise,
the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted  

she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she
provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair,
and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain,
and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated

and what you do and what you see
is the abraded night ahead, and
you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think,
the question answered, and you beg relief by
uttering
perchance to dream

3:49 pm

see the notes!!


someone accuses me of Plagiarism
because  I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago

so here is my response to
“just saying”

congratulations on ******* me off
and yes I agree, you do not know the rules

“#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim
Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume  that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“

http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
lyric  from “Carry On”
by Crosby Stills Nash and Young

which is why it is in quotation marks

but you knew that already

my god strikes me dead ic I ever plagiarized in my life; no splotches of apologies needed
judy smith Sep 2015
Photographers are up in arms this week over an online battle between a DJ and a wedding photographer. At the center of the controversy is the question of whether or not a DJ should be able to shoot and share wedding photos when the photographer has an exclusivity agreement with the bride and groom.

Photographer Carly Fuller and DJ Ken Rochon of Absolute Entertainment were both hired to offer their services at a wedding this past weekend. Fuller says that it was during the pre-ceremony that she noticed Rochon holding professional camera equipment.


“I love cross promotion but unfortunately no other professional company may take photographs during the event,” she tells PetaPixel. She says she offered to send her photos to Rochon after the wedding, but the DJ replied that he was taking his own photos for marketing and social media purposes.

Fuller says she was surprised at 9am the next morning to see Rochon’s photos posted in a Facebook album on the page for Rochon’s other business, The Umbrella Syndicate. The photographer then contacted the DJ to ask him to take the gallery down, since she was hired to be the sole professional photographer at the wedding.

Here’s the exclusivity clause that was in the contract signed by the bride and groom.

This agreement contains the entire understanding between Carly Fuller Photography and the CLIENT. It supersedes all prior and simultaneous agreements between the parties. It is understood Carly Fuller Photography is the exclusive official photographer retained to perform the photographic services requested on this Contract.

Rochon says he was indeed photographing at the wedding, but believes that this whole thing was a “huge misunderstanding.”

“Either the bride and groom didn’t know of the clause, or they knew and didn’t tell me,” he tells PetaPixel. “The client was the bride and groom, and the bride and groom never told me I couldn’t bring a camera. The photographer wasn’t my client, and I didn’t have a contract with the photographer. I do have the right to take pictures.”

“When she delivers the photos she shot, she’s still delivering what she was hired to deliver,” he adds.

Rochon says he shared 232 photos he captured from his DJ station as a gift to the bride and broom with the couple’s full knowledge.

After word of this dispute got out into photography circles, photographers began to come to Fuller’s defense, leaving angry comments on Rochon’s album and Facebook page.

As this controversy grew over social media, Fuller named it #weddingphotogate. Rochon launched his own campaign called “Freedom to Capture Love.” Here’s an open letter he published to Facebook yesterday:

Fuller denies that she has levied fines against the bride and groom, who are currently on their honeymoon, and accuses Rochon of slandering her company and business practices.

Fuller accuses Rochon of interfering with the “organic experience” of the couple’s day and confusing guests about who the photographer was by posing people and taking detail photos during the wedding (Rochon says he was almost always shooting from his position at his DJ booth).

“I have images of them holding the camera and photobombing my ceremony photos,” Fuller says, “minutes after I had asked them to put their camera away and I would send them images.”

“Wedding vendors are hired because of their experience, talent, and vision,” Fuller tells PetaPixel. “Each of us has a right to do our job and deliver the quality our clients expect. We have a right to be able to perform our duties without another professional interfering with the process. Another vendor’s marketing needs do not supersede those rights.”

Rochon argues that he has the right to shoot photos during weddings as well.

“Why is it only the photographer that can market the event? Pretty much the only way you can market on social media these days is photography,” he tells PetaPixel “Everyone has cameras at events these days. I have every right to capture that love.”

Fuller’s position is that other professional wedding vendors should respect the wedding photographer’s exclusivity agreement and stay away from shooting and sharing photos themselves. Rochon, on the other hand, believes that photography is a basic right that even other vendors should be able to use to serve clients and market services.

“I wasn’t trying to give photos to discount the work of the photographer. I was simply marketing my company and giving my vantage point as a gift to the couple,” Rochon says.

Fuller responds: “Going forward, I hope all vendors can embrace the idea that we all should just do what we were hired to do, and BRING IT! But only bring what makes our own profession rock, and what makes our service and product the best they can be. Let’s agree to stay out of each other’s jobs – we each were hired for a reason. Let each other shine.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
sir humbug Jul 2018
one more for Joni and the one who accuses me of
"owning the courage to care so blatantly."

<:>
accused of writing with blatant courage,
a  4 credit requirement for caring

blatant is a word of merger -
open obvious unsubtle and unashamed

and a dissembling misleading one!

it is all of these  and yet can be a contradictory mask of
opposing, differing faces

my blatant is none of these
but appearance only

**** muses keep me coming back
to a particular lyric,
keeps seeking me out, so successfully, wherever I go,
I hear it
it’s invading my both sides now

the dizzy dancing way you feel

you think I have my own blatant courage, untrue!
so oft you mistook my dizzy dancing,
all fluff all humbug so obvious so ashamed,
a cover up, a most subtle cosmetic pretense of the truth -
  of
no courage at all
and yet (they mock)
you do care...

just another of my peculiar
life’s illusions
(self-delusions)

  I really don’t have blatant courage at all
jake aller Mar 2020
Corona Virus Poems


Index
The virus from hell is amused
End of the World
Every Day I Turn on the New
Irony Meters Blow Gaskets
Chaos
Corona Virus Fears Tanka
My Phobias Overwhelm Me
Fear Fills the Air
Is this the best we can get?
More Trouble Every Day
by pass the alarms spreading across the land
corona cinqku
Taking a Walk in the Corona Era
A lone man stands in an empty parking lot
hell of a world we live in ain’t it?
Pause for a moment amidst the media madness
I feel as if the whole world needs to be cancelled
The Virus King Cried
Bring out your dead
the Virus Came From Hell
The Delivery System of the Virus is Round
the corona virus is testing us all
the call goes out
the horsemen begin to ride
nature spirits revolts against humanity
Last Human on Island
Corona Virus Haiku
the virus came from hell
bring out your dead cries
Be Afraid  haiku
Death Comes Knocking
the virus from Hell haiku



the Virus from Hell is amused
the Virus from Hell is amused
laughing at the world’s panicked reaction
as it marches through the world unabated
infecting everyone in its wake
as the world awaits its fate
the virus smiles he ain’t no fake
he is the real deal
he is death itself
he is the end of the world
the grim reaper is smiling
god is silent as usual
the world’s leaders
dither and rather
as the economy craters
everyone hoping that God
will save them
the virus does not care
insults and orders do not work
the virus simply does its virus thing
infecting everyone it encounters
and thousands will die
equal opportunity offender
killing the rich and the poor alike
but more poor people
just so many more poor people
than the few billionaires
the virus smile
his work is done
and mankind is doomed
so be it the virus thinks




that is the way of the world
and the virus is the new king
of the world

End of the World
end of world
the fears world-wide
soon find us dead
bring out the dead
ll the dead die
death lies here there
there goes here
as death here comes
soon here death comes


Every Day I Turn on the News
debunking the bioweaapon conspiracy theories
every day I turn on the news
nothing but news about the virus
the virus from hell
the world is filled with fear
and my anxiety levels rise
every time I turn on the news
oh my god I say
we are all going to die
and I am so afraid
afraid of everyone
afraid of everything
dreading the latest news
and nothing relieves my fear
I watch the world
loosing its collective mind
wondering how much more of this
can  we all take
I scream out
Dear God save us all
god is silent as usual
and so I realized
we are doomed
perhaps it is the end times
perhaps not
I turn off the TV
try to stay calm
hoping the madness
will not overwhelm us all


Irony Meters Blow Gaskets
the Irony meter gasket
is blown again and again
with every statement
of our chaos president
and his endless surrogates
promoting the latest Presidential
on spot guidance by our great leader
that must be true
because our dear leader
says it is so
The President accuses his democratic rival
of being senile and needs to be in home
and will be run by his radical left allies
and the right wing media
echoes the presidential absurd comments
refusing to acknowledge
that the president himself
is rapidly fading into dementia
and his radical right cronies
are looting the government
driving out expertise
even in the midst of pandemic
Oh  yeah the irony meters
are blowing gaskets
every single day

Chaos
the world descends into chaos
as our world leaders
led by the chaos president
are overwhelmed
by the smallest
enemy of all
a simple virus
straight out of hell
blows through the crumbling
third world public health infrastructure
living proof of the decline of America
and no one is prepared
and panic ensures
with every Presidential tweet
as people don’t believe
a word he says
conspiracy rumors spread
everyone believes their own reality
as the world spins out of control
the chaos king is in his element
convince that only he knows
the deal
and everyone else
is iust a bit player
in the reality show
that he presides over
and so the rest of us
hunker down
just hoping for the best
as the panic and
chaos spreads faster
than the virus
are we doomed
can we survive
will God save us?
he is silent as always

Corona Virus Fears Tanka
Corona virus
lurking fears all around me
we all will die
the TV screaming nonstop
Must be afraid be afraid

My Phobias Overwhelm Me
lately I have become scared
of everything
the news scares me, the corona virus scares me, the presidential race scares me, fears of gun men in the street, terrorism, fears of getting sick, fears of dogs, fears of other people, fear of loosing money, fears of becoming demented old man, lost in his nightmares on the street just another invisible homeless *** in the end of his life
all these phobias overwhelm me
time to walk away from my fears
and realize
it will be alright
everything will be alright
As long as I have you
by my side

Fear Fills the Air

watching the news
CNNMSNBCFOXBBCKOREANNEWSJAPANESENEWSBLOOMBERABCCBSNBCGOOGLEA­PPLEREUTERSAPIRUSSIANTVCHINESTVFRENCHTV
blather on and on
the world is ending
pandemic is coming
we are going to die
and the fear grows
and the restrictions grow
travel comes to stop
the economy comes to  a stop
everyone is so afraid
our leaders fret
say that everything is fine
as the world enters
the second great depression
and we are faced
with the reality
all over the world
idiots in high places
the masters of the universe
are in charge
the internet spreads
the wildest rumors
must be true
I read it on the internet
the truth is lost
in the shuffle
no one believes anyone
everything thinks
that they know
it is all a conspiracy
the thought comes to mind
we are all so ’S….
end of the world
is upon us

is this the best we can get?
watching the news
one wonders
how in this great country
of ours
335 million people
among the most educated
richest people in the world
we can end up
with such idiots in high places
running out country?
these idiots in charge
no disrespect intended
both political parties
all corporations
and our institutions
except maybe the military
has been infected
by this virus
of epic incompetence
greed and indifference
to the general good
who loudly constantly proclaim
that they are Christians
while violating
all of Christ's teachings
Jesus if he came back
would scream out
I am not Christian
it is all about me
and mine
and you can go
to hell
if you dare to disagree
and so we tweet and titter
and watch the news
reading the latest rumors
and I wonder
if there is a god
or if there is a devil
and are we overwhelmed
by the dismal news
why can’t we have better
leaders
better people
in our leaders
around the world
has god abandoned us
are we in hell
or did god ever exist
except in our fevered imagination
will god save us all
or will the world
just go around the sun
indifferent to our pleas?
no answer
must watch the news
consumed by the need
to see the latest news
and so it goes
and I wake up
the sun is up
and the nightmares
fade away
until I watch the news
and the madness consumes
us all again and again
as the corona virus
marches on and on
consuming us all
as the world falls apart
these must be the end times
I hope I will be raptured away
even if I am not a Christian

More Trouble Every Day
The Old Zappa song plays
on in my head
every time I turn on the news
and see more trouble every day
no one can delay
the trouble coming every day
Frank Zappa died too soon
before the horrors of the Trump era
and the corona end of the world plague
that he would have foreseen
if he had lived on
he was truly a prophet
crying in the wildness
while making money
as an over night sensation
as he saw the slime
oozing out of the TV sets
we will do what we are told
for the rights to us have been sold
And Jesus too
has been sold
to the highest bidder
nothing but a business deal
in America
the land of the constant deal
and so I turn off the TV
and realize that
the torture never ends
the torture never ends

Trouble Every Day
more trouble every day  Frank Zappa
Well I'm about to get sick
From watchin' my TV
Been checkin' out the news
Until my eyeballs fail to see
I mean to say that every day
Is just another rotten mess
And when it's gonna change, my friends
Is anybody's guess
So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Wednesday I watched the riot...
I seen the cops out on the street
Watched 'em throwin' rocks and stuff
And chokin' in the heat
Listened to reports
About the whisky passin' 'round
Seen the smoke & fire
And the market burnin' down
Watched while everybody
On his street would take a turn
To stomp and smash and bash and crash
And slash and bust…

The Torture Never Stops
Frank Zappa
torture never stops
Flies all green and buzzin'
In this dungeon of despair
Prisoners grumblin
**** they clothes
Scratch their matted hair
A tiny light from a window-hole
Hundred yards away
That all they ever get to know
'Bout the regular life in the day
'Bout the regular life in the day
Slime and rot and rats and snuck
***** on the floor
Fifty ugly soldier men
Holdin' spears by the iron door
Stinks so bad, stones are chokin'
Weepin' greenish drops
In the den where
The giant fire puffer works
And the torture never stops
The torture never stops, torture
The torture never stops
The torture never stops
Flies all green and buzzin'
In this dungeon of despair
An evil prince eats a steamin' pig
In a tumbers right near there
In the chambers right near there
He eats de snouts an trotters first!…


by pass the alarms spreading across the land
to bypass the alarms spreading across the land
the circuit breakers are breaking down
as the alarms go on and on
with the end of the world
the end days approaching
spreading the alarm far and wide

corona cinqku
corona
it came from hell
we must be all prepared
meet God


Taking a Walk in the Corona Era
every day I go for a walk
in the spring time woods
near my house
braving the weather
and the dreaded corona virus
wearing masks and gloves
keeping a distance
from anyone we encounter
that is life it seems
in the era of the corona virus
when will it end
no one knows
until then
I will brave the viral threat
and confront my fears
and walk in the park
with the love of my life
my bride my wife
by my side
in these challenging times
that is all we can do

A lone man stands in an empty parking lot

contemplating the new normal
social distancing run amuck
as fears of the corona super plague
plague the land
driving everyone inside
sheltering in place
afraid to go out
afraid of the deadly c virus

It is a hell of a world we live in ain’t it?
It is a hell of a world we live in ain’t it?
said the old man to me
sitting on a bench
in the park in the woods
as we both sought shelter
from the spreading chaos
the pandemic swirling around us
Yes I said
standing up
to enforce the proper distance
between us
don’t want to give the virus a chance
to spread between us
he smiled and said
relax I already went through it
I am fine and you will too

Pause for a moment amidst the media madness
Pause for a moment amidst the media madness
All around us fears and chaos
Unlike the end of the world approaching us
Sadness overcomes us dooming us to our fate
Every we go nothing but death awaits

I feel as if the whole world needs to be cancelled
I feel as if the whole worldneeds to be canceled
due to rough times ahead
due to the corona madness
and the thread of pure craziness
that it inspires in us all

The Virus King Cried

the virus king smiled
as the politicians lied
saying that the end was near
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king sneered
as people panicked
and partied on the beach
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king laughed
as the markets crashed
millions became unemployed
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king roared
as the world slid into chaos
people turning on one another
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king smirked
knowing that there was nothing
that they could do to stop
his army from infecting millions
and killing thousands
the virus King begin to realize
that soon there would be no one left
no one for his army to infect
as everyone was dying
the virus King yelled
remaining defiant
as civilization collapsed
billions were infected
millions died
the Virus King at last cried
when he saw that he was defeated
as one by one
people began to recover
and his reign of terror came to an end

Bring out your dead
the call bring out your dead
spreads around the world
as millions die
all over the world
the virus has spread
mutated and killed
all over the world
bring out your dead
the mournful cries
echoing in the wind
of the dying cities
mass starvation
as no is working
in the fields
as more people die
and the world spins
around the sun
with the politicians lying
and the dead still dying
as civilization dies
and humanity flee
into the wilderness
chased by the killer virus
straight down to hell

the Virus Came From Hell
the virus came from hell
straight out of a mad lab
born and raised in China
the virus spread from Dinah
all over to carolina
it spread from the lab
the mad virus of Hell
was mad as hell at humans
who it blamed for everything
seeing itself as cleansing everything
killing the world and everything
revenge against humans
perhaps virus came from God
more likely came from Satan
part of natures’ revenge
all designed to avenge
the damage to Stonehenge
virus came from Satan

The Delivery System of the Virus is Round
the delivery system of the virus is round
very simple system
the virus spreads around
and all must pay the price
death and destruction

the corona virus is testing us all

the corona virus
is testing us all
is it a plague
sent by God

if we have faith
will we recover

or it is beyond our control
the end of the world

does god hear our prayers
does god even exist

the virus from hell
spreads around the world

and test our faith
will god save us all

I have no answer
but perhaps if god exists

we will recover
from this plague
from hell



The call goes out

the call goes out
stay at home
to beat the dreaded c virus

will we live
or all die?

the four horse men ready to ride

the end of the world is upon us
as god unleashes the corona virus
which is spreading across the land

the four horse men are ready
to begin their grim journal
announcing the end of the world

the white horse comes first
offering peace and hope
in the midst of death
and despair

the red horse rides second
ushering in war
throughout the world
as nations turn on each other
and civil war looms

the Black Horse is ready
unleashing famine
on a starving world
as people stay at home
and food rots in the field

no one is able
to work any more
as the virus kills more
and more

the pale horse rides last
bringing death
in his wake

death all around us
as the virus kills us all
and civilization ends

the four horse men
have done their job
the virus finishes its reign of terror
and the few survivors
beging to recover

end of the world
came and went
and they are still alive
thanks to God

who remains silent
as always

nature spirits revolt against humanity

all around the world
nature's spirits
are on the move

the world is changing
as the nature's spirits
rise up
in revolt against humanity

is this the end time
is nature on revolt
against humanity

is this the end for us all
will the virus **** us all
will nature rise up
and **** us all?

Last Human on Island

Last human on an island
in the deep blue sea
nothing there
but death and destruction

virus all around
pandemic plague
Apocalyptic views
end of times
death of civilization




corona virus

corona virus
staying home waiting for death
Afraid everything  
the virus came from hell

the virus came from hell
staying home waiting for death
Afraid everything  
Bring Out Your Dead

bring out your dead cries
break out all over the world
we are waiting death



death comes knocking

death comes knocking
on our doorsteps tonight
will God hear prayers



be afraid afraid

be afraid afraid
Must be afraid every one
Death is at our door


The Virus Came From Hell


the virus came from Hell
ravaging the entire world
all waiting for death
my take on the corona virus pandemic  for more check out my blog, https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com
What joy calls Silent Noise plagues me too

As the new love in young hides behind the sun
The House of Monaco burns
it is a simple matter
and  joy pretends in two and three

She accuses that it is all in the eyes
Loosely veiling self doubt  in the idealism of love
Complexity contradicts and she gives up
Preferring to live inside

It wants what it wants and Joy succumbs
drinking water she knows is poison

You are not  a hopeless romantic Joy
You are a Romantic

You are all Woman
And twice as amazing

-The Zone
Your **** has torn my hinges off..... obliterated my door
Ramonez Ramirez Feb 2011
From a fifth storey bachelor’s window
pondering shadows in the car park below,
Johnny opens another can.
I stuff another pipe.

We talk about our trip to Brazil
and how great it would’ve been had we gone;
Johnny turns up the radio.
I take the first drag.

Old girlfriends swing by in our conversation,
most of them giving us the finger, mind you;
Johnny dabs at his tears.
I pass him the pipe.

Dusk-scalpels are slicing through the curtains now,
they scrape over coffee table dust,
through Irish coffee stains,
cut open Johnny’s frown:

The neighbours are at it again, arguing;
he accuses her of seeing someone else,
she tells him correct,
it’s your ****** sister.


Johnny taps out the pipe in the ashtray,
says he has to do someone a favour;
throws on his jacket,
says take it easy.

Johnny’s shadow tiptoes into evening,
a car alarm screams and a gunshot cries.
I convince myself
this is Brazil.
Ishika Oct 2018
Sometimes, I simply think of colours, you know.
The world is so complex, the human brain and the ocean unexplored, wars and marriages are battling with its side effects and a lot of good goes ignored, so sometimes, instead of Newton, I think of colours.
Like black. What if black is just the ink squeezed from a blind man's dreams?
And yellow, the Sun's abominable hot ****?
What if Snow White was just a Snow"man", a 5 year old created
but forgot to add the nose to?
Was it Olaf disguised as Charming who broke the sleeping curse with "true love's kiss"?
You can hit the bandwagon and say "Haha! Then, white is an angel's ****!"
And I could believe you!
I'm a believer!
I'm also a wild guesser! I'm the harlot of semantics, or whatever that is.
I have never met a naive gold digger, except of course, a gullible beggar.
I hate vulnerability, but then I hate strength too,
because I revel in crying and feeling my face wet and pretty
secretly waiting for a stranger's **** to give me sympathy.
Let me tell you something today.
You can give me food, clothing, warmth and a shelter to sleep under, but if you can't give me peace, comfort and acceptance, my world inside my mind and soul is a thunder waiting to erupt once I lose you and never bother to come back.
I would care less for love in fact.
I guess I'll go searching for a Kentucky's to ravish on a chicken leg with my legs up and heave a sigh of having found solace in no bra!
I see a rosary dangling down a fat woman's pious chest and I think of Jesus Christ.
70% of the world's population celebrate the man who died on the cross and topped it off with resurrection
And then again, I think of valiant soldiers who die on the borders trying to protect their nation
Who are grieved and honoured for a day, no, not celebrated no! They are forgotten.
This ******* contrived sense of sacrifice and nationalism is causing to humanity, its suffering and damnation.
Eve offered and Adam ate! Stupid snake! Because, when I didn't know any better I was too scared to *******!
All these esoteric questions and theories and debates and elocutions and apologetics and guesses, what's the ******* point?
The sanctimonious have the God of gaps, the Spaghetti monster for the iconoclastics and then we have the ******* with a  purpose to save the planet from overuse of plastics!
"There's a lot wrong with this world today and we MUST change IT!", asserts a 14 year old onstage in an air conditioned school,
where hundreds have gathered in an international thinktank for "imitating truce".
What is maturity? Tenacity? Or Acuity?
Do you understand subjectivity?
So, just because I'm 20 now, it's hilarious to still watch me drinking milk instead of "adult tea"?
I would rather listen to stories of people who've travelled the planet and lived to tell about it all, than load Stories on Instagram of people who barely make it across the hall.
And I wish I could say "Social media can **** my *****."
Because in this planet of intelligent creatures, one gender accuses, the other waits and muses, so the former forms a movement, hoping for some improvement, but really all this is a sham. All of this? It's just entertainment.
It's not about free will, it's about freedom.
It's not about fear and dogma, it's about reason.
It's about effortless loving with no condition. NO condition.
My mother says all the time "Live and let live", and I believe this is the only greatest gift we can give, to people around us and unto us, also to forget and forgive.
Why seek for mankind's origin and destiny? Why not find the  purpose we need to serve right now?
What can you do now?
And this will never have a proper ending, because I like it that way.
The world will never change, I snigger knowing because there was just one thing the Priest said right, "And we all like sheep have gone astray."
the electronic dispenser is out of order yet the automated voice keeps repeating it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem…



i hint to Mom maybe the nightly sleeping pills might contribute to her forgetfulness she replies what? i didn’t hear what you said i repeat maybe the nightly sleeping pills might add to your forgetfulness she answers what? i can’t hear you i say Mom you’ve been using sleeping pills since i was little maybe they’re a source of your fogginess she snaps what? what are you saying i can’t hear you



Tucson 2001 in the heat of disagreement Mom accuses i am the cause for her need to rely on sleeping pills do you understand what that means Mom you’ve been taking sleeping pills as far back as i can remember miltown seconal nebutal placidal ambient (when i was young i took some from your medicine cabinet then sold them to friends) was it always because of me your off-beat weird troubled kid or were there other reasons thank you Mom for all you have given me i am grateful appreciative truth is none of us trust each other these defenses we’ve created will someday turn on us



2010 it is difficult to write about Mom so many conflicted feelings our struggles contentious exchanges expectations criticisms blame all the money she and Dad poured into me hoping i would turn out successfully employed married with children instead her difficult child chose painting writing punk rock yoga Mom will be 90 in October she caught viral pneumonia last month concerned for her i flew to Chicago to see her my beautiful glamorous Mom who lives high up in tall high-rise doorman deskman elegantly decorated 3 bedroom apartment along lakefront my little Mom who’s once lovely figure shrunk in size morphed in shape with arthritic painfully twisted fingers hair color light ash skin spotted with dark purple brown splotches estate dwindled to crumbs my clever shrewd Mom still so talented socially telephone constantly ringing lunch dinner engagements accompanied by frantic loony sister both dressed to the nines shopping returning hairdresser appointments manicures yet memory rapidly disintegrating my poor sweet Mom who now needs my loving protection it is time for me to step up to the plate shield her from caregivers poised to pilfer my vulnerable Mom leaves her wallet in cab loses her glasses forgets events 2 hours ago furious at pharmacy for neglecting to include her sleeping pills i know i cannot change her whirlwind 24/7 world of gossip scandal denial it is i who will need to change sacrifice my simple sparse existence quiet desperation scrambling for pay gardening gazing up at the moon stars adapt to her dizzy drama driven life style in order to look after her



i’ve written about this before a defining moment that haunts me Bayli and i are staying at Toby Martin’s spacious loft near corner of Bleeker and Broadway 1973 Toby offers me job building stretchers canvases for Warhol he tells me lots of nyc women will model for me if i want to keep drawing vaginas he advises me to drop out of art school like he did assures me i will become famous it is October Sunday i am wearing white turtleneck wheat colored corduroy Levis jeans taupe suede clogs Bayle is dressed almost exactly as me except powder blue clingy top we are just art students Toby takes us up to Rauschenberg’s loft on Lafayette Street Rauschenberg is in the Bahamas the kitchen is all industrial size stainless steel coffee stained glass Chemex drip coffeemaker on stove  upstairs on roof many currently trendy painters edgy artists a sculptor who uses dynamite to blow up quarries in Vermont they scrutinize Bayli and Odysseus with voracious glares the men eye Bayli several women send flirtatious looks at Odysseus he feels fright protection for Bayli it is all too much too complex too threatening and in that moment he drops the ball creeped out fearful he takes her hand and they flee back to Hartford Art School but maybe he was wrong possibly Bayli could have handled those depths heights perhaps she would have blossomed i’ve thought about that moment many times torturing myself with my cowardice insecurity adoration for Bayli our love remaining pure never corrupted



a boy/man makes love with a girl/woman once twice in bed then falls blissfully asleep wakes up makes love all night in secluded room in sheltered house on quiet street in sleepy New England town in the morning with Velvet Underground turned up real loud they dance wild then make more love



perhaps my fears insecurities shyness are about a diminutive ***** or concave ***** at center of chest or all my weird physical psychological inhibitions idiosyncrasies not wanting the world to ever find out know a secret between Bayli and me possibly Bayli never noticed but probably she realized my desire longing to be recognized acclaimed yet remain unrecognizable live in quiet privacy i don’t know sometimes i wonder if Bayli loved me like i love her if there was only one twinkling star in her sky like there is in mine Mom says it’s wrong to limit my skies to one star she says Bayli separated from me and married someone else she asks has Bayli ever made an attempt to contact you since her 2nd marriage i answer you don’t understand Bayli is entirely devoted she would never look up or away from her man Mom says open your eyes there are lots of special stars meant just for you in the sky



at some point it becomes obvious the latest is instantly embarrassingly obsolete why would anyone want the latest



let them come these winds of change blowing sands garbage leaves twisting branches bending trees up the coast down the hole displacing erasing everything oceans rising currents colliding mountains crumbling fiery red skies there was a time once but that time is gone there was a girl once but that girl is gone a street a house  a room  a bed once but that street house room bed are gone hunter buried under hill sailor lost at sea he who steps courageous mindful compassionate will pass beyond the terror
Cooper H Aug 2015
Inside my room my mind inside is telling me to be terrified, sad, hopeless altogether, albeit I don’t know why
Maybe it’s the monster under my bed
And maybe it’s the ghost trapped inside
And maybe the utterly scarifying unknown
Isn’t a monster or an imagined image of iridescent horror
I know inside that my unknown terror is a lonesome life of lifelessness without love
And the lying light stares at me under the crack of my door and softly screams at me
Telling me to be a man
To be a missing-out mixture of money and melancholy that makes me lonely, that returns me back to the place of unknown fear that I now know is loneliness
Loneliness from you and you and you and me and love
Leiak, omnipresent vague pneuma-dancing spirit, ductile pious water of epiphany and extraordinary example, lives on the water with his parasitic chin in the Vernarthian epigram; he is seen with his jocular back, breaking the lines of the swamps between muscles and silhouettes. Before the First station..., primitive of the three remaining nights before reaching the volcano of Patmos, its deluge begins. "

It bathes in the Davidian, Alexandrian, and Vernarthian rains. A little touched he is seen and insubordinate in the astragali that he has gained in his allegories, squeezing his chest, exactly for the good of a wonderful Hellenistic city statue of the Dyticá, where he imbibed Vernarth's putti, adhering to the hydric spheres that fell over the ceilings of the heavens that Eros himself and his crush, which struck the heart axis of Medea, totally extracted from Zefian's quiver, constricted in Borker's nanotechnological sub-mythology. From the comedy of Attica and in the superb speeches of endo-adverbial satire, he stigmatized verbal changes of creation, superimposing them on tops of excesses carried by heavy drops inside some amphorae brought from the eastern sunset, tracking happiness that arrived on the western shores, waiting letters of sigh and loneliness stretched out on the thalamus full of stretch marks. So Leiak expanded, where everyone made fun of him being a satyr by essence, but being unaware of it. Perhaps as a unitary gesture of shadows when going to dawn, before having the best light that they put in figures or pirouettes, without disgracing him as a satirical minority in the Epicurean doctrine, he is inquiring a happy life through the intelligent search of innate pleasures, the ataraxia and in apocalyptic friendships with Zefian, Borker, and Kaitelka.

Borker did not intend to heal himself of trifles at all; it will be a habit to venerate the revelations against polytheism, to then cling to an interiority that points to corroded execration from the root to the top of the fallen tree, with force blinded by the blindness of the Automaton, as far as it is concerned. By itself, of identical significance in the background; but with so-called change that he tends to totally eliminate the last trait of personification of the divine. From this dilemma, the values will be spikes in his hands, sheaves in both, and what he envisions of Hellenism will be the property of nano-technology, submitting under the lens of time dividers that have never been pieces of rest under the Duoverse-Universe., the lens will be your Iridium and the microbes that govern us will be the atomic force, to discover them. What atomistic world will there be between Borker and Leiak, if in this nanoworld; The nanometer is one-billionth of a meter ?, What will be enough to start being tiny in this great epic, which is called Vernarth intra-spaces and inter-Verthians of the universal macrocosm, which will now approach the microcosm of human consciousness, and the laboratory of Epicurean affabilities in Ataraxias decreasing the passionate intensity of the Hypothalamus, and the supra desires that can alter the mental-corporal balance, strengthening in misery that they reach said balance, and finally happiness, which is a meta-plane of Epicurean convergence that runs after the lost. Ataraxia is, therefore, tranquility, serenity, and imperturbability analogous to Vernarth's soul, reason and feelings in his dislocated world, and the hemispheres of himself that will be rationalized in their slightest longitudinal measure, in what fits and in the precarious!

Passionate laboratories were magnetized every time Leiak walked on its extension, and his hands went beyond his fingers, touching the Constellation of Aorion, to indicate that the longitudinal metric of man is measured beyond the fingers of the Duoverse, where it appears the Extra-Cosmos in the proximal of a nano-scale is a submultiple of the conferred means of the Saint John the Apostle pattern. The scientific notation will be the safeguard of the magisterial scientist exponentiated brain; 10.1 mm = 10-3., the kilometer or km, is the opposite equivalent in what submultiples of the meter are called a micrometer: 1 μm = 10-6 m. In this scale we find bacteria, which constitute the main group of microbes, hence the name of the submultiple between observation scales of the macro and micro world of this being of Holographic Lux called Leiak, having the composition between this nanoscale, and the opposite of 1 μm = 10-6 m. projected onto a bacterium, which in turn is ten times larger than a viral body. Sizing enough to balance the biosphere that will surround the Automaton Mandragoron.
Leiak's world is an outpatient virtual laboratory, as it is valid in colloquial language, adhering to measures that differ by the conception of transliteration or decimal mathematical positioning. The letters and lines have been interpreted by Leiak, they are Vernarthian Parapsychologies that oscillate gaps of mismatch of billionths of wasted knowledge, in displays of ghostly reigns and in no-man's-land. This nanoscale makes us nano-poetize themes of ultra interference of the Epicurian decree, of tranquility, serenity, and imperturbability, with the meagerness that we know of the enlightened after a thousand moons writing under the stars:
"Woman when you touched my life with the grace of your fingers, I could see how the kind nights closed my eyes, caressing the entire Universe." This is undoubtedly Epicurean Nano Poetry, but the Author is Tagore "

The exponential oscillates in the parameter of the outstanding Astronomer of the divine verb and poetic thinking, in the most intimate and dynamic Hindu techno-language. Quantum mechanics here is the debit of the iconic remnant reached, by parameters not achieved below the average intelligence, providing lost data far from collecting and storing. Tagore's logic is nano-poetry, which balances billionths that are not achieved by occupying the Corporal Dytiká (poetic sunset) and the synchronic soul, rather the material simultaneity of the fifth element of will, emotional and objective desire, condensing into matter already conferred consciousness, in gaps in fit at all times, but linking it to her divinity as intelligence never before out of date; V.G. The Mashiach is always linked to the vertebral and communicational axon of the plasma nano-particles by grasping its infinite numinosity, making this scale it's one billionth, and being within the Eras that will be the largest average of the macrocosm, in the quantum itself of the Christian Era and in other Quantum worlds.

Strictly speaking, the molecules are angels without a will, but the dispensers are the consciousness of Leiak, which transfers hybrid consciousness, for purposes of regulating and shaping the ravings of intelligence and atheistic consciousness, and for purposes of the great remnant always present and active in the emergency. Spirituality of the Mashiach-revolutionized. The by-product will be Zefian's Tetra Sagita with its ergonomic tip, opening up doubts and tracing the future of a rewritten bible in the same character and fidelity, but with the omnipresent Mashiach of a Scientific Eucharist.

Leiak walked through minefields, and in some, he saw universes come out that exploded in livid colors, among them Vernarth, who had been recovering from malaria, and who helped him create a culture composed of a great artifice of immutability, for those who are close to his Greek spirit. Overwhelming those who lack the will, clarifying where the great art galleries of the world will be, not because of their current works but because of those they will have to exhibit? From the rushing philosophical delta, germs of dominance were trickling, distinguishing properties that did not germinate under his feet. Bread and water of the hundredfold fruit of all the lesser forces that resist on the thirty and nine with fever, more than the narrow borders to be discovered, in democracies that will prosper in the hands of kind tyrants, and not in the unitary Ecumene. Vernarth did not denationalize from his grass crops, he was Hetairoi more than all the commanders of Alexander the Great because his native country never sank next to him, he only prospered in centuries where he had to rise again silenced and prostrate oblivion.

The chaos of an absence accuses a majority of sadness that greets the Celtic Gauls for the axon of the anointed cosmos of the divine autarkic world. But not in seditious wars devoid of bread and water that does not support them, nor by papyrus did nets that do not contain them either, in the spiral retransform the land of all, as a plural work done here, by the Mandragoron Áullos Kósmos, intends. The male rectors will trust their works in the widespread Greek language, called koine (common). A language that writes has its own feet to write new divisions, and ordinal paragraphs to fulfill in proskínesis or obeisances in those who have golden knees or not! They will continue to make separate book stores or libraries for Filososfia or science sub-themes that will tackle the top of Profitis Ilias. For all large cities and nations, it will only be Leiak's legacy, of having large spaces for dialogues where no one can resist his man-made preaching, holographic rain forest, and times that not even in billionths will make him melt spaces of ignorance, diverge from the juxtaposed principle of unpopulated urban schools do not deserve.

Says Leiak: “Every time it is more intense to turn the dislocated nature of man, my literary idylls are at the end of everything with his genre works. Life and it's agitated think idyllic of removing the talus, which is not swayed in my chest by the Metelmi..., but by my breath of death! "
Dyticá Leiak's twilight
David Nelson Nov 2013
Philosofication

Personally, I’m not ******. Somebody I know is. He is so upset over something he had no control over that the rest of his day is “Absolute ****!”. His words, not mine. In fact, this all started in the morning when he tripped on a rock. It was then that he decided the whole day is ruined.

I really don’t have a clue how somebody can get that angry over stupid ****. How can a whole day be ruined by one silly little incident? That was less than 20 seconds out of the 86,400 seconds in the complete day. How does that ruin the entire rest of the day? The only explanation I can come up with is that these people have a case of stickuptheassititus.

That is a word. Trust me.

The people suffering from this believe that one little incident will have a profound effect on the rest of their existence. Tripping over a rock means that there is no longer a reason to be happy. In fact, any bad thing that happens leads to more bad things. Even if they have to go searching for it.

In recent studies that were never published because I just made them up, people with severe cases of stickuptheassititus have been known to rip heads off of kittens that aren’t cute enough. If their daily routines is interrupted, they will blow a proverbial gasket. It will be their main concern to make sure their whole day, and the day of those around them, is complete and utter ****.
In a recent survey that never happened, 3 out of 10 people firmly believed the Universe was out to get them because a bird took a healthy crap on their windshield. 2 out of those 10 have been miserable since ’76 because they didn’t get the 13″ Six Million Dollar Man action figure dressed in a red NASA style jumpsuit and came equipped with a Bionic Arm, a Bionic Left Eye with a wide angle lens and an Engine Block for Christmas.
Seriously folks, I don’t see the point of being miserable and ******* over things that are completely out of your control. If you trip over a rock, watch where you step. Get over it. **** it up like a big boy and move on. The Universe did not put that rock there to get you. It is not a grand conspiracy to make you have a bad day. Just because one tiny insignificant incident happens, does not mean everybody is out to get you.
Let me put this into perspective for you.
NOTE: Those with tiny brains should stop reading in fear that your head will explode and the person sitting next to you will have to clean it up before somebody sees your exploded head and accuses them of ******. Save them the headache of having to go on trial for a crime they may have wanted to commit but didn’t actually do.

Back to the perspective thing.

You are nothing more than a speck in the Universe. You are not part of the grand scheme of things. Your short life on this tiny, blue green rock is not going to make a difference to anybody who does not know you. Not even to a few that do. I don’t know. I try not to judge. Often.
This rock is over a couple million years old. It has seen it’s share of creatures come and go. Once you are gone, it will just move on. This little rock is also floating somewhere in this vast Universe that stretches farther than your eyes can see. If you were to stand in front of a map of the Universe, You wouldn’t even be able to see the teeny, tiny little arrow that says “You Are Here.”
That being said, You were not singled out of the multitude of organisms is this Universe to be picked on. Sometimes, **** just happens. To think that You are special enough to have the whole Universe stop what it is doing just to **** with you is beyond ridiculous and kind of insulting. It’s not like your Me or anything.

Time to Philosoficate

In the evidence that even the great and powerful ME is also a speck on the pimple of the Universe’s ***, I feel it is time to reflect on the way things could be. My view is a simple one, don’t spend what little time you have wasting it away in a pissy, little ***** mood.

Me personally, I don’t like being angry or in a bad mood. I would prefer to be happy.
There are rare moments when I get so angry I lose sight of the big picture. Moments when I just spent two hours creating the best design ever and Illustrator crashes so I lose everything. I don’t get ****** at the program for crashing. It doesn’t have an emotional reason for causing me grief. I get mad because I was the complete idiot that didn’t save his work for two hours. I get ****** at myself.
Besides that, the only other reason I would get angry is if somebody purposely caused harm to my family. Thank the Universe that hasn’t happened yet. I don’t have the time to torture somebody yet so I’ll just end up locking them in a crate and then forget about them like I did my pet turtle Mr. Shell. Then I would have to make the time to dig a grave or burn the crate which would stink up the neighborhood. Either way, CSI people would be involved and then I would have to take the extra time to find the best person to frame for the crime.
I didn’t even get ****** when I failed miserably trying to walk to Phoenix. Disappointed, Yes. ******, No. Still think it would be an awesome idea but I will not be doing it.
Anyways, for those of you who actually get it, good for you. For those that are inflicted with it, most of you are hopeless causes and will eventually whither away. The Universe will still keep rolling along. Take a brief moment on this journey of life and take that stick out of your ***. Walk over, smell the flowers and resist your urge to ***** about them. Life gets a **** load better when you’re not always worked up over the tiny details.

* By Scott Linke *

Gomer LePoet....
I found this editorial while searching for time travel/distances to deepest observable universe, and I thought it worth a look.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
Composing Hallelujah

Fractious lines crack,
holiday decorate the spirit inferior,
while each note upon the priest's guitar
penetrates the aspirin roughened interior,
face slaps me, daggers and accuses,
you're not composing hallelujah.

So I mislead, big deal,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******* with you,
as you sit across from me electronically
pretending, me to you, you to me.

Lie to each other with smiling faces,
you too have reaped,
been emotionally *****,
by what our minds see and sow,
scowls and howls,
we've both grown our own demons.

My secrets, maybe are all there,
maybe, writ loud and clear,
in the songs I choose to share,
and in the unrevealed ones,
buried alive, held in reserve,
but not, for your average, rainy day,
could be today, you have no say.

Are we not all veterans of a kind,
don't we all have ribbons on our chest,
stripes and stars on our khaki blouse,
a record of our own great campaigns,
including the war to end all wars,
the never ending one,
the one the ******-historians renamed,
"The 24/7 Year Conflagration"?

It used to be just my secret, no more
don't need a cartoonist to tell me that's
the enemy is us, and there are moles, traitors,
hidden deep in our intelligence organization,
planting seeds, urges, pushing to
out the identity of our communist friend,

Depression

I don't mean the ordinary, garden variety,
a mere moody blues recession,
when funk is sourced from gray clouds,
served up proper, cold and wet,
then travels on when sun warmth
clarifies temporarily, the aspirin kicking in.

So I misled,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******* with you,
sit across from me and lie to me,
lie to each other with smiling faces
we reap what we own,
scowls and howls.

A chorus of harmonious poseurs
inside your own City Center,
vocalize the lyrics of the anti-hallelujah,
a composition of questions directed at
whomever in tonight's audience deserves it,
asking, nerving, to sing too loud, at decibel speed:

Are these verses, curses
about D,
our mutual acquaintance,
or just research notes for further followup,
part two of a pas de deux, and,
did you go this time, too far,
or still not far enough?

-
A old composition.   Needs work,  clarity. But you will gist it, I'm sure....
Tanvi Bird Nov 2014
I sometimes wish I was more like J. The whole world helps support her, feels sorry for her. She can cry. She can convince people to think what she wants them to think. She holds an enormous amount of power. She convinces people that she is delicate and they do things for her- like D helping her with the FBI job and her professor practically re-writing her Fulbright essay in an intellectual way. Her writing just isn't as organized, but she seeks help and people want to help her.

Me on the other hand-- I do more for people. When I ask them for help, they aren't really useful. I don't know how to talk to the right type of people or how to get ahead. I always knew that J would thrive with just the right opportunities- because she is highly capable.

I just don't do things well enough. Grades ******. Professors don't know and don't care about me. People think I am intense and pushy and controlling. She is all these things to me, and she sometimes makes me intense, but then to the outside world she is sweet and delicate.

Men are attracted because of the way I look, which is pretty but not stunning or gorgeous. In the end, they always leave me for someone more attractive and more chill.

J's ex however thought she was the ideal woman even after they broke up. He wanted to get back with her but did not. It kind of hurt me to hear that because now I know why he kept emailing her after they broke up- he actually was in love with her. She mattered. She was sweet and cultured and delicate.

The guys who left me, left in a heartbeat. They stayed for a while, chasing my tail. Then suddenly found something better and left. Never returned an email, and I was the one with the broken heart who felt dumb and foolish. If you are not going to be stunning like Angelina Jolie, or really attractive, then it's just not enough to be pretty enough and have a high ****** appeal. You need to be calm, ooze positivity and radiate happiness and good energy. You need to be organized and successful at little things. You need to be calm. For those like me in pain, we gotta work harder.

I hate telling J anything about myself, either positive or negative. When I tell her anything that I am sad about or hurts me, she dismisses it so easily. She also doesn't take criticism well. She immediately points to the fact that I have a lot of flaws too.

C was good to J. An intellectual who wished to impress her, he assisted her with her papers, talked to her professors, visited her at E.

I never meant enough to the men I loved. I thought I was lucky to have experienced love three times, but what does it mean when you make sacrifices repeatedly, where you try to change yourself into the way you think a man wants you to be, to love earnestly and madly- and for it not to be reciprocated at all? J is a very lucky girl. She thinks her life was ruined because G chose me over her for my looks. He left me so easily in the end. If I was prettier and my life was more put together- he'd have stayed.

She easily hurts me with her words, they cut daggers into me. They leave me perplexed. She has an insurmountable amount of power over people.

I have confided in a couple people about her, K and S. I hope it's okay. She drives me crazy. Lo thinks I am a mad-woman. I don't want to be a mad-woman.

I have so much pain and anguish inside me, that it just seeps over. Cup of pain is too much to bear. All the intensity I permeate is because of the pain. I want to become less intense. This is my first week of trying to become less intense.

Step 1: I will not tell anyone about my problems with J.
I will only write about them and talk to R, Ch or a therapist about it.

Step 2: This week, I will work on obtaining a therapist.

I need to apply for medicaid properly with all documentation.

Step 3: Study for Algebra 2!
Test on Wednesday- if you get this tutoring gig, more will open up to you.

Step 4: Wake up early so I can sleep early.


Step 5: Apply for jobs.
I gave up on it because I expected the P.O. job. I did horrible on the interview, so chances for a second interview would be a miracle. Getting a job will help me become happier.

Step 6: Talk to priest at English church for spiritual guidance & for help to control vices and add calmness.


Step 7: Meditate at the gym and stretch for 30 minutes before running.

Step 8: Get a mentor, join groups, attend the right kinds of events, make new friends.

Your whole life and issues cannot center around J. She has moved on, she lives with two roommates. She has Lo & the Asians, two close roommates who are a lot of fun and smart, and she has a good relationship with her dad, and she has D and her co-workers.  She has moved out of her house and moving on with her life. She comes back and accuses me of things and hurts me. I on the other hand, have befriended people who are "stuck" like me at home: Ro who is a struggling alcoholic, Ch who repeatedly -after I pleaded with him to stop- asks me what I am wearing and talks to me about us making out, Ka who is smart but a friend of J's ex C. I was formerly also friends with two Indian guys, one who ended up leaving me because he was in love with me, and another who I called the police on for stalking & harassment. I don't judge any of these guys, instead they talk to me because I am pretty-- but I talk to them because deep down they are also intelligent people who are socially or psychologically struggling like me. Still, the right opportunities only come in the right situations- so it's important that I place myself in them.

Step 9: Keep exercising.
Building up your endurance for running is awesome because it will be good for your lifestyle, but also help you train for future jobs like P.O. & F.B.I. Keep doing 5Ks and then build your way up.

Step 10: Dare to show weakness.**
Allow people to see your weakness so they can help you, without being depressed or whiny. Be yourself. Be fierce. Work hard. No man is an island. Even though my pain makes me want to be completely independant, I need a lot of help. Be humble. A lot of people have helped my family. Show gratitude for what you have.
Allie Savioli Jun 2010
No inner turmoil,
Will hold me back
I’m facing the world
And I’m poised to attack
I’m ready to fight
Before I die

Who are you to say
That’s he’s only getting high?
Who are you to say
That it won’t cure the pain
Of cancer, glaucoma,
And everyday strains?
Who are you to judge
Without knowing all the facts?
Why should we destroy
This very useful plant?
Hemp fiber is quite strong
And it’s easily taxed.

Legalization- an ongoing war
That mainly takes place
Behind various closed doors.
But I’m a supporter,
Like thousands of others.
You probably know one-
An aunt or a brother.

See, they’ve proved THC
Can shrink tumor size
In less than three weeks,
It’s the truth, not a lie.
All of these studies
Have successfully shown
The only harm known
Comes when it’s smoked.
But there’s so many methods,
Like brownies or pills.
With zero deaths a year,
Mary Jane doesn’t ****.
But cigarettes do,
And alcohol too
Over 500,000 deaths yearly
What should we do?

Our forefathers grew it.
So why is it wrong?
Propaganda has brainwashed
Americans for too long.
Prohibition is immoral
And I will not be silenced
The only outcome
Is increasing violence

As the drug cartels rage
Below us in Mexico
We turn the page
To a brand new War on Drugs
Which, let me remind you,
Can never be won.

So many free citizens
With so many free minds
But the government controls
And accuses of crimes
As billions of tax dollars
Wash away, down the drain
Non-violent offenders
Are locked up and contained
Over-crowding prisons
It’s obviously insane.
could probably use another stanza or two but I keep coming up empty, and really wanted to share this.

I'll edit this as it comes together
Sin Mar 2014
it is exactly one month before my seventeenth birthday and I am standing in the road under dim streetlights that remind me of the candles that glow from the windows in the winter.

your silhouette beckons me from across the way and I drift towards it, executing each step slowly like a surgeon, although there's no need for silence anymore. it is 2:05 in the morning and I have left my house in the dead of night. I slip into the car and the welcoming aroma of menthol cigarettes and dr pepper engulfs me and I smile for the first time in a while. I am not afraid. I am not sad. I am home.

this right here is the part many will never understand. home is not made of four brick walls and a sturdy tin roof. it is not a fireplace or picture frames or a warm bed. home is where you feel like you belong. it is where you are loved. cared for. needed. this is my calling and I've reached out to answer it. this is the family I never had.

three hours in a messy car does not grind down my spirits of this little vacation I've begun. I have smoked half a pack and kissed you much less than id like to, but your presence brings the greatest peace of mind.

upon arrival, I take escape to the porch to see the waves lapping beautifully upon the shore and I think that I will miss this when I have to leave. it is 5 a.m. and the sun has not yet risen. we take shots of cheap tequila in celebration and pretend that they are water. only looking back on this do I realize what a hilarious irony it holds. in childhood, many of us would pretend that pretzels were cigarettes and take ***** shots with the caps of our water bottles. maybe this small act is a form of regression. maybe were all still children.

everyone begins to make music as inspiration spills onto them and I watch in awe. at 6 a.m. we are down on the beach. I do not remember how I got there. I can only remember seeing you sit high on the lifeguard stand, a king, looking down at the world as if it were yours, and I wish I could give it to you. my wind beaten cheeks meet the horizon as I topple into the sand in fits of laughter and happiness; I wish I could bottle this feeling so I would never lose it. Joy is a foreign language to me. others seem to comprehend it and spill it from their mouths so simply, while I do not understand a single syllable.

I don't remember how we arrived back inside. everyone seperated. we climbed into the bed that an old friend had broken and made love as the sun rose. it cut sharp through the glass door behind us and sprayed waves of light on my skin like liquid gold. I am thinking this could be the last time, I am hoping it is not. we fall asleep not long after, and this piece of communion that was placed so gently on my tongue dissolves and the bitter taste in my mouth begins as soon as I wake, a few hours later.

day two is a chapter I would most likely title: The Panic. it does not begin right away. our day mostly consists of laying on the beach and kicking sand at one another like ratty, wild dogs, forcing each other into the pit of frozen waters, and making bets we will never go through with. around this time news has reached me that my mother and father have the police looking for me. I try to push it towards the back of my head.

but you see, the inner depths of my mind are already flooded with sinister ideas and broken secrets I may never share, and this panic tip-toes throughout my body and sets into my bones, weighing me down as if I had boulders in my pockets.

I am told to "calm down, everything will be Okay." when tears frequently line my eyes in silence. they continue to tell me this when we find ourselves in the kitchen scrambling to pack our things because we've heard the cops are coming for me. they also tell me this when I'm screaming apologies and holding your hand in the backseat of the car. they tell me it when I say goodbye at a nearby park and give hugs I think may be my last for a while. but the thing about this statement is, I am always calm. I am in a numb state of inner silence hungering for bliss and just four little days of freedom. but nothing will ever be Okay, no matter how long I've gone away.

the walk home, only a mile, was beyond limits of the word beautiful. the stars were practically beaming and the air was cold but in the good way like a puppies nose when it's kissing your face. or like mist falling from the sky on a summer night. I don't believe in God or any higher power, but I take this walk home as a sign that maybe everything will be okay when I walk back into that house.

if I could describe how the weather should have been that night to match the actions that played out when I arrived, they would be along the lines of destruction. trees ripped from the ground with their roots showing. winds sweeping the roofs off this suburbian wasteland. lighting strikes bringing on raging fires. it must've looked like that to match the look in my fathers eyes. thunder should've accompanied the sound of him shoving my sore body against the wall. pulling my long brown hair and tossing me to the floor like the garbage I was.

the full wave of panic washes onto me in that moment. for some reason I thought of the father I once had that didn't drink every night with his girlfriend, the only one that ever seemed to matter anymore. I thought of the father before he left my mother. I thought of him banging scratched pots in the sink and slamming doors with the strength of one thousand men and shouting with the voice of a man with a million sources of pain. I thought of how he tried to leave us once. and then how he really left us. I wish he could understand. to me, this is the ultimate level of hypocrisy. I am persecuted for leaving the man that left me in my time of need.

I am almost relieved when he says I must talk to the police. I have never been a fan of the flashing red and blue lights and the uniformed men who are paid to protect you but only arrest you. I believe they do mostly harm to many innocent people. you may not understand this. you may not know how it feels to walk up to this figure with the badge and want to tell him everything, to see if some shred of understanding lies beneath the deep cold stare in his eyes. but he only accuses me and attacks me with loose words that do not phase me. he does not let me speak. he is not here to help.

and so starts the beginning of the end. finally reaching the point where I am as trapped as I have always felt on the inside. the only question I keep getting asked is "why did you do it?" and I have yet to answer this. maybe I was homesick for a place that did not really exist. maybe I thought I would find salvation in a bed id never slept in but already loved more than my own. maybe I thought it was too repulsing for the two people who brought me onto this earth to be one of many reasons I desperately wanted to leave it.

I would love to tell them, my parents. everything. the abuse, the drugs, the cutting, the suicide attempt, the hell that eats me away everyday...they should know. but when your mother laughs when your doctor tells her that you show signs of major depression, you tend to believe this is just a game to her. talking to false friends on the phone and playing rich sports will always be more important. my fathers favorite tv shows and nightly few bottles of wine will overpower my tears and pleads for help. I am always stuck in an all knowing silence that everyone takes for stupidity. I've always said "darkness is my only friend now" but I think that night time is too beautiful to be an aquaintance of mine, and my friends are the Family by my side when my fists are full of blades and my feet are on the edge. I think this is the type of darkness that welcomes me as I wake every morning and sleep every night. it is the only place I know on this gigantic prison called earth. it settles inside of me and runs through my veins. it is carved in the walls of my skull and keeps my heart beating in a steady, empty rhythm. home, sweet home.
this is the story of how I ran away.  I figured id write it all down now so I don't forget. I hope I never forget.
Nelize Nov 2016
welcome to the courtroom where royal minds reside
and Memory records where no feelings can hide.
situation states the case at the stand
allowing Conscience the right to speak at hand.
a constant strife between Mental and Feel
for Choice to ultimately seal the deal.
Doubt gained its throne right next to Faith's;
as Faith needs Doubt to keep it in place
sadness silently hangs on the smile
weighing down brows and heavy eyelids
Sir Anger accuses all the while
but Sadness knows what Sir Anger did.
Inhibition fold arms in a hesitant state,
as fear keeps him from accepting debate.
Guilt scolds the Heart for hushing Conscience
"conscience gives righteous advice to all,
you should not allow your guard to fall!"
Pain demands to be felt by the Heart,
he's sent by Guilt to do his part.

welcome to the courtroom of the mind.
Veronica Jul 2016
He accuses me of lying
Even though im being honest
He said he sent me a text
And did i not response
But i assure him
I never recieved anything
And he says "yeah right"
It hurts me to know
That i could swear on everything
And im still a liar
I wish for once he would believe me
But of course that will never happen
I hate the fact that im always being blame
For things i have never made
Im tired of being in this position
Always being accuse of lying
This just happen to me. I swear i never recieved anything but he doesn't believe me .. i really am not lying. He just got home and went to sleep and is mad at me.
I swear im not lying. He always says i am when im not i always have to proof my innoncence smh. I hope god proofs to him im not lying so he could feel bad which i doubt he ever well .. he never feels bad for accusing me of lying even if i prove him wrong.
onlylovepoetry Sep 2023
The Smell of Honey,  Coffee and Apples and Messes of Words, but
No Love Poetry

<^>

my poetry suffers from a literately literacy,
the adjectivally of imagery wears away with
time and age eroding the imagination, when one’s
days are numbered, being serious is an natural
unpleasant hazardous haze, never in doubt

The morning meal of cooked oatmeal, steel cut,
laced with wildflower honey, slices of honey crisp
apples and Hawaiian coffee brewed,  
singes the
Tropical Storm Ophelia thrumming humidity
that overhangs the ugly grays of NYC sky-paths,

one tickles me awake with contradictory impulses:
sweet and sour,
a robust stimulative, competing with the smothering of
grayling clouded weather weariness of
48 hours of rainy continuity,
a spirit suffocate

you see!

give you myself, my environment, in précis,
unimaginative exactly as it occurs to me, sensually, yes,
but cannot shake my disappointment that no,
can’t combine visionary notions that spin your swivel
chair around, powered by your exclamations of
ooh, ahh, and little stabs of weeee punctuating
our shared atmosphere
and bring forth
only love poetry

but no mas,
the love poetry doesn’t comes to the fore,
the forehead stuffed with words best listed as
basic, observable, factual,
Miley Cyrus, accuses me of being jaded,
but not with accuracy, more straight jacketed,
way past that half-way point of no return,
turning back is not a listed menu option

love poetry
demands, requires and requests
envisioning, precursor to dreaming,
but I am choking on matters-of-fact,
questions of survivability,
that do not
shed love poetry words,
I
love exclaiming
to any and all within hailing distance,
my loving firmament, but the damp atmosphere
swallows my hopes and sounds, even though
still can smell the lingering nearness odor of honey and apple,
yet, other hints of memory beg to differ,
and I sadly and easy confess,

this is not a lovely poem…
- * -
Em MacKenzie May 2019
I only wish to be by your side
I wish for it every single night,
but you didn’t bring me along for the ride,
infact you didn’t take notice until I was out of sight.

Bury me alive,
don’t leave me at the door.
I’ve been stretching this drive
down to the corner store.
I’ve been chain smoking,
and breathing the cold air skies,
I’ll tell you that I’m joking,
and if you cover my ears, I’ll cover your eyes.

I’ve been trying to catch the ocean,
but ended up drowning in her eyes.
I’m stashing away every emotion,
and she accuses my sentiment for lies.
I want to go on a joyride,
I want to drive away but not to hide.
I want to go on a joyride,
but I’m feeling alone and you’re not by my side.
So I’ll turn up the music,
and ignore my pride.

Travelling the dark street
of that old quiet ghost town,
the ferret was very discreet,
but warned of us of the bear and to slow down.
Losing track of time and missing our exit,
with conversations holding a life of their own.
I’ll remind you so you won’t forget it,
now I’ll drive that highway completely alone.

Bury me alive,
oh wait, you made the shallow grave.
I’ve been stretching this drive,
it’s pitch black but I remind you to be brave.
I’ve been listening to our favourite song,
the lyrics I easily memorize.
Eliza Dushku’s turn was wrong,
but if you be my ears, I’ll be your eyes.

I know your measurements; head to toes,
and you’re perfect just the way you are.
You know I love how you look in my clothes
when you sit beside me in my dark car.
And all the streetlights went out
as we silently took a joyride,
it’s not unusual for me but I have my doubt,
that it wasn’t amplified by her by my side.
Found an older one, not the greatest but...eh.
Jafer Ali Khan Jul 2018
Living in a different time zone, still reeling from past decisions.

Fighting venemous events to no avail,
not letting go of lasting mass incisions.

Excision of life's excitements.
Removal of my livers, kidneys, colons,
but still, I shiver in the coldness
of the living.

Admitting to the voices in my head,
that the Lord's mercy still extends,
into heaven for the choices of the dead,
who did the devil's bidding.

A foolish folly for a younger self,
to fall afoot amongst a rotten hell,
hellish landscape brought into the realm,
of mortals and the bedroom shelves.

All my dreams upon a table,
and in the dusty drawers there lies the pain.
Honestly I'm never able,
to entrust another lover with my reigns.

To fly I must begin to build momentum,
but something's caught up on me and instead preventing.

And slowing my ascension,

Also did I mention,
that every other moment that I spend here in atonement
is a ticking to a redder deathly sentence.

Repentance, with a mix of learned and unearned lessons, accuses those who lied.
Impresses extra stress especially when the ghostly men attend and lean up on my bedside.

I use to shy away but now I stare them in the eyes.

Fear's been long gone since childhood,
when crazy layovers in hazy places
played a part of strongly breaking bonds with those I thought were good.

I've felt my death a million times and dreamed it millions more.
And yet I never let myself fall victim to the final tricks of it's afflictions.

Meaning it's a situation still remaining unexplored.

I know what I lived for, and I know exists a future still in store.

But god ******* ****** life is such a chore.

Lord,
Give me strength and give me more.
Poetoftheway Jan 2018
this one, this one poem,
this old birth, renascent,
is not in the file

the file place where the
half started, nearly done,
but never truly satisfactory
fester, marinate, awaiting confrontation,
some kind of contentment of a sort,
final solution of annihation or completion

many a bare-***** title,
that the lords of hosts of
itinerant peddlers seeded,
notions await coating, stroking,
full flesh embodiment,
awaiting perhaps peepholes
for a someday poem

but not this one

this one I possessed,
better said, better reflected,
it possessed me,
rooted so deep, thick limbed,  
it, larger than my life,
though of my life,
cut, diced, sliced amd muddled

no confession of the cheapside here,
this, more a rescission, breaking of a contract,
annulment of a reputation in ten thousand words earned,
now comes, the longest day apology

why now,why ever?
there was a trigger that flipped the lock,
to open and accursed,
keys that filled the keyholes,
opened them peepholes,
that prior asked to kindly be
left let to rust in peace

this one composed itself,
asking no permission,
in the sense that I am more
recorder of the disorder,
than author

don't beg to differ, do not countenance opposition to
what here exposed, as the only witness,
I yam the guilty poet party, the jury, the prosecutor,
the fool client, all one and the same
who must perforce defend himself,
for no counsel needed for one
who guilty pleads
to charges of high crimes and misdemeanors, that
he himself created, so numerous,
no ear could tolerate the hear,
the alphabet of sins committed against
man and God*

of course you want details,
you wish enablement, the *** of the
simple syrup of satisfaction of the
titillation of the knowing

pick a letter any letter
and I will supply the action, or worse,
the inaction


for the greatest pockmarks that Cain marked this man,
were the failure to be brave,
be there when needed,
the shaming of thinking
instead of instinct reacting,
tiny inconsequential fears
that work word whisper
why you? not you?  somebody else?
when so clearly you
were the anointed one,
but stayed behind as
the one who disappointed

each grass blade censures,
each water sun sparkle accuses,
our prior direct line connection,
now ******
the winds voice shocked unto summer stultifying stillness
and you, still here, still reading?


cheated lied even murdered,

told to crank away the cranky somber,
unmistakeable,
but this shaming don't know no quitting time,
having surfaced, it is
my burnishment, the polished gloss
of rubbing off the now vanished varnish


who knew truths so foul could gleam,
my side listing, so angular lengthy,
that I walk unrighted,
signed below as,
this is the poet of the way, the who l am
June 6, 2017
Fallen Angel Mar 2015
I,
have issues.
But probably not the kind you think.
Mine were created by my father and big sister.
By their relationship.
I have strived for a better relationship
to be better at everything than her.
But I've given up.
I no longer see the point
When you're sixteen years old
And you're more mature than your forty-three year old father.
Even so I'm terrified I'll end up like my sister.
Albeit she's doing well now
She's a teacher and is happy
and, she hates our fathers guts.
I don't blame her though
when you're father calls you a *****
And accuses you of sleeping around
because you go to school early to get help.
I can see why.
It doesn't help when he sides with his sister-in-law
And he tells you to "respect your elders"
even though she tried to burn you with a firework.
I do blame her however
for that dark cloud over my birthday.
See the night I turned ten
she took those pills.
She drank that strawberry Hill Boonesfarm.
She tried to **** herself.
But see I'm the only one who remembers the date
I remember every detail of that night.
Every image
Every feeling,
Everything.
I remember the red and blue flashing lights.
I remember the gurney
I remember the cold of the night,
until I went numb that is.
I have no respect for my father
when you do that to a child how could you.
But I am terrified of that.
Terrified I'll end up like her
that I'll break
that I'll be the one on the floor unconscious.
He was trying to do better
but I think he's given up too.
And while my greatest fear is that I'll be like my sister.
My second greatest
is that I'll end up with someone like my father.
Just...yea.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
This costs you attention you may owe elsewhere. FYI

Thursday, November 01, 2018
9:42 AM

this is our choosing.
we the subjects, the agents of our own intents,

patients, please, await the signal.

Box up your Bohring atoms collected in 7th grade,
wit' yer stamps, n coins n cards n ****
(tha's WA tag, ovahdtoppinallahthishit- -suprimpost)

step out to the fuzzy edge of reality and look

to and fro, go on, imagine the universe a bubble,
along the line of Heisenberg's electron vision
super positioned in that box
with Schrodinger's cat

thus the fuzzy edge, eh?
Close up. neutronic axiomatic close
up
can't say
pre-cise-d-ly ex-zact-ed-ly when
the other  side begins?

Are we aware?
Who won the war?

The game?

No, the war, who won the war?

Why.

Because I need to know, I think, to choose?

Why won. How and what and when and where and all the con
tenders considered,
did not win. They wrote books, but they did not win.

Let me learn a story and my children will hear it right,
from me to them. That's relative-if-it-ication,
there are better ways to say everything,
the story, per se, remains

pro-babble-ity demands equal opportunity with
equal hope of out come,
in valence
in balance (vaca, baca, tomata tomoughta)

Value balance at the fuzzy edge of your own bubble,
your bubble of known knowns (beliefs are in this set),
man on a wire, bird on a wire,

Occham cut my throat, if you fall, trust me, I'll pay.

Choosing Illuminated or Illuminati or mere-r-ly free,
let us pro-ceed,

past conspiracies are now no more than stories being told
as they were told
before the recent war

reconstructed realities arose from the dead on both sides,

whose side is the watcher on?
who accused him. Why, no, how. How accuses the seer,
why ex-amines the seen scene sensuous mystery
field of NULL.

My God. Imagine NULL, my God did that. Can your god
imagine that?

Mebbeso, mebbeeno, gottacogitate, whaithere.

If we agree that we, as in
We have to be a moral people, means:

we, you and me, reader writer sayer hearer or
whatever
concept of us as an inseparable dichotomy with
sum zero field anomaly twixt us
spooky
at a distance, Middler, not Einstein,
last big hit, remember

At a distance,
the edge of everything seems
sharper than any two-edged sword
you ever imagined.
Here,
Higgs-close, where any thing can matter,
at a whim,

Be still.

Still works.
You now new know you knew

right and wrong exist in good,
wrong alone exists in evil, which

In this story, from a winner POV,
is NULL ift, no chance, ever.

To be continued… another line, or two per
haps.
Haps we have made too clear, mortals see right
through them.
While that is good, in balancing things,
we have tremes ex isting in many minds at once,
what's
to be?
Hap, solidifed, happenstance, sistere, give the word.

Done. You recall, it is finished, the alluded to quote,
the bid accepted,
the olde deluder protested,
you recall, who will go?,

I'll go, there was a rhythm in the keys akey aqui a
letter must belong in a word to mean athing, eh?

Waddabou'soun'? say eh letter or more, a vibe

like say aaaaaaah at the doctor looking down my throat,
oughtayasee?

Nuthintall.
Later, ya'll, dream a little dream Ferme

---this did not end there it begsan ah
so
In the beginning all things began,
It's just that simple,

said the side named right by itself, and, odd-at-first-seeming, by
its op positon, but not by down or charm or weird or the un committed
on foreign assign meant un trans late able here

A super positioned time paradox on the part of the mortals involved here.
that explains this.
clear if I see it as you see simple is a poor substitute for sublime,
if I may have said so myselved several times over.

Hello Poetry, this is the signal.
Let patience have her perfect work. The fun'sbegun.
Getting a Christmas feeling. Thinking JOY TO THE WORLD. what would that be like, if it were up to me. We could form a party, may make a thing out of JOY TO THE WORLD ENEMIES DON"T MATTER ANY MORE-- a musing thought, join me.
Moomin Jan 2021
Like puppets dancing on strings
Are Presidents and princes
Prime Ministers and politicians
And the tune they dance to
Is older than their kingdoms
Behold the King of this world
Hidden away from the public eye
Yet commanding nations with a whisper
He was glorious and beautiful once
And he walked among the innocent
But, in one moment of vanity
He stole rulership of the world
His personality is stamped upon mankind
For he sets the pace
While most men follow
He spoke the first lies
Inflicted the first casualty
And he has never felt regret
Has never shed a tear
Though his wars have taken millions
And his devotees have enslaved nations
He is the author of confusion
The instigator of Hellfire and hatred
The creator of trinities and tribulation
He accuses you and I of cowardice and selfishness
Yet is himself running scared
And clinging to power and life
He is the excuser of unholy child abusers
And the inspiration of Jihadist bombs
He speaks lies about the innocent
And glorifies the guilty
He hunts all good men
As a lion hunts the deer
He will tear at your throat
And consume you
He is the Resistor
The Slanderer
He cajoles those who consider his existence
And paints himself in mythical proportions
He would destroy the earth rather than surrender it
Would rather ruin if he cannot rule
Yet the whole world is in his hands
But not forever
Because forever does not belong to him
And not life
For the gift of life is not his to give
Who really rules this world?
Aaron Mullin Sep 2014
52 Weeks: Whitman

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

52 Weeks: Mullein**

The Red-Tailed hawk swoops by and catches just a glimpse, he tilts his head Dionysian style mouth slightly agape.

I too am a wild thing, I too am untethered,
And I sound animalistic in the dining halls of the tamed.

The final missile thud holds me in a sweet caress,
My likeness rockets earthward … tried and true and tired and truer,
I am coaxed into existence once again.

I maintain my aetheric ties as I know this is the roadmap back to you,
It’s nice to be enmeshed in the living once again even though they drain,
To drain is to live, one gives eternity to be mortal - it’s the only thing that ever made sense.

I won’t depart, I dig in my heels,
And I turn my back on the organized.

I am of the earth because I understand my antecedents … my mother’s mother’s mother …
And because of this knowledge of ante’s I can set prece’s, hopefully precisely.

I hardly know who I am or what I mean (on a good day),
But I am good for you none the less,
As our tastes and sounds and smells and touches intermingle.

And always I wait patiently,
for me for you,
for us.
An adaptation of Whitman's final stanza in Song of Myself
PJ Aug 2013
I stare at the fight in the living room
Between my mother and me
From a distance,
Out of my body, I am disconnected because
She accuses me of harvesting
"Mental problems" while I drunkenly slur
Every self loathing thought I've lived with during
My short life, wishing it would end
And she screams "You have no idea what could have
Happened to you tonight, you're lucky no one
Took advantage of you"
Everything stops and I'm back in my body,
Looking at the fight from my point of view,
Her scowling face waiting for an answer,
"You're wrong."
Because I know that risk all too well
And she has no
Idea
Jane Lame Jun 2015
We're like Tom Robbins characters
You spoke those words yourself

I'm a princess and you're a felon
But we vibe so ******* well

You're a walking brain puzzle
I'm a recovering **** tease

You satisfy me, expand my mind
My body's never been so pleased

Don't you dare say you're sorry
You cannot undo the past

Why would you want to anyway?
I think you're falling for more than my ***

I won't be a replacement
I could never do what she did

I don't want a carbon copy
I learned what I needed to from him

Your mother accuses you of thieving
Mine points out superficial flaws

We share a lot of the same demons
They may stutter but it's loud

I'm done keeping up appearances
You're weary of a double life

We collaborate so effortlessly
Our future visions intertwine

Do I want to meet your parents?
Mine would love you at first greet

They'd give you a jar of honey
Maybe even some frozen meat

I'll help you to stay sober
You've gotten me to open up

Use my brain, try me on for size
I'll understand if you stop

But, imagine what we could be
I think synchronicity has a cause

Inspiration, it's contagious
Happiness, it tags along
Wuji Jan 2012
YOUR A ******* TIME BOMB!
TICK! TICK! TICK!
EXPLOSION IS NOW!
ALWAYS HAPPENS SO QUICK!

Broke my heart again,
Yelled at me again,
Accuses me of everything again,
Saying I am the worst of all men.

Why did I let you in?
You blow up my house every time.
Makes no sense.
No rhythm no rhyme!

You are child,
And you play every game.
Freeze tag with my heart.
TILL I GO INSANE.

You have made me hate my choice.
Yet I wouldn't change a thing.
Our song was a  fine one,
Yet it will not sing.

YOUR A ******* TIME BOMB!
TICK! TICK! TICK!
EXPLOSION IS NOW!
ALWAYS HAPPENS SO QUICK!

I AM ******* DONE,
DEFUSING YOUR SOUL,
STAY THE **** AWAY,
YOUR SELF DESTRUCTING HAS TAKEN IT'S TOLL!
I AM DONE. 3 MOUTHS AND YOU GET BORED. NO MORE!
if tonight's your last
and yesterday's past
intimidates you or
relentlessly accuses you
of the things that
once enchanted you
and you take a slap in the face
you cut to the chase
there's no time to waste
but really you're stuck
you feel out of place
and the rhythm of the sorrow
drags into tomorrow
because you cannot forget
and there is abundant regret
draining from the scars
that you've tried to hide
that you've put aside
and in reality, your soul
IS TIRED
of waiting, of praying
of feeling like it's straying
you breathe, you sleep,
you live as if you
were not dying
you're still trying
TO BE OK
but you are broken and
you cannot cope
and all of your hope
has gone up in smoke
to where has your spirit flown?
LET GO
for the love of God, release
give it to the One you seek
to Him whom your eyes have not seen
in this moment, you are
FREED.

© Melissa Carlson 2015
A man blamed,
A man feared,
A male struggle.

You give her a compliment,
She blames you for objectifying her.
You give the promotion to a better contender,
She accuses you of ****** harassment.
She gets vindictive.

She wears skimpy clothing,
It's hard not to notice,
Two seconds later,
You're labeled a pervert.

You want to provide,
So her nails are always polished,
She calls you a sexist,
All you had done was make her your queen.

So what is so wrong about being a man?
Nothing.
Why are you blamed for things never done?
Unknown.

Everyone speaks of the female unfairness,
Yet no one remembers the male sacrifice.

That women too exploit the male gender,
All so they can move up a ladder.
A sense of entitlement,
A pity self secured,
Used as excuses,
In everyday life.

Why is it okay for her to objectify you,
But she gets cradled in sympathy when you give a compliment?

Why is it okay for her to ask you to cook,
But sexist if you ask her for a meal?

Why should you always pay the check if she claims to be so independent then?

Why is there such a defined double standard?

I am a woman,
To empower man.

-Kathia Mariana Landeros
We seem to forget that men have it hard too and women hurt them just as bad or worse.
Mark Lecuona Oct 2015
how easy it is to pretend
that they would never feel the things we do
that they are so different from us

Do they look out the window as the past disappears
Are the words of poets more meaningful to them
Is freedom for the soul or for God
Who could know what is right

how easy to assume we will ascend
that we are forgiven while treating them cruel
that they are a race to distrust

What in their life accuses them of being in contempt
Is it outside God’s ability to control the message
Is freedom about fear or disobedience
Who could know what is wrong

how we try to dignify the end
they cover the bodies we expose like fools
but we both begin with a single cut

Is it what our parents taught us that we trust
Rebellion is only the ignorance of our youth
There is no world to possess
Only the moment to make them cry
Yesenia Acevedo Sep 2015
Matt had just finished reading the letter Eve wrote him. As always she said she loved him and forgave him among other things. Though he wasn't sure he believed her anymore about anything she said. Eve had asked him so many times why he had killed Sam. On September 17th, 2003 he decided if he just told her maybe she would finally hate him. He started to write the letter that would finally put an end to all of Eve's endless searching for answers that could never justify his actions. He began to stroke the tip of his pencil to the paper as the memory materialized claiming his mind leaving a simple fool behind with his empty eyes staring down at the prison floor.  

Eve sat on the couch that rested against the wall in the master bedroom that at the time had been Julie's room. Matt sat a few feet away from her in a folding chair babbling about anything he could to keep the conversation going with her. Eve invited Matt to accompany her outside to share a cigarette, with a smile of relief he agreed. Once finished they returned to the bedroom. This time they sat closer together with a small table between them. With a quick gesture he presented the deck of cards.

"Would you like me to tell you your future?"

he asked displaying a smile as cheesy as the idea that he could actually predict her future with playing cards.  His eyebrows shot up and down in a rhythm that prevented Eve from repressing the grin that surfaced mimicking  his own.

"You guys are ******* stupid."

The sound of Julie's voice penetrated the invisible bubble that had been cast by their foolish adolescence. Julie's laughter left their cheeks warm with embarrassment silencing their emotions. They both awkwardly searched the room unwilling to make eye contact. Matt combed through his hair with his hand resurrecting the nerve to look up at her with those lost eyes she enjoyed so much. When his nerve remained steady he spoke,

"Let's go to the living-room?"

She couldn't help but smile. Still flushed she eagerly agreed, happy to get away from Julie and the others in the bedroom. He carried the little table while she carried the folding chair following him to the living-room. They positioned the chair and table in front of the recliner where he sat across from her. He began to shuffle the cards telling her,

"I'm serious, i can read your future with these cards. Just ask me any question you wanna know about. Then pick a card from the deck and i'll answer it."

Knowing he was completely full of ****, once again, she smiled at him. He laid the cards out on the table spreading them out for her.

"Go on, ask. Pick one."

he said with a serious look that changed into a cocky grin. She leaned forward in her chair relaxing the muscles in her face. She brought her hand up allowing her chin to rest between her index finger and thumb then she squinted her eyes at the cards as she said,

"Hmmm... let me think.

When she knew what question to ask she spoke. While asking her question she released her chin pointing her index finger up towards the ceiling then at him. When she finished her sentence she placed her hand  on her lap.

Oh I know! Remember when I told you that I love to write?"

He swallowed hard and admitted,

"Yeah, I remember."

"Well, my question is, will i ever write a book?"

She folded her arms across her chest cocking her head to the side then lifting a brow at him waiting with anticipation for the answer to her question. His eyes widened and he inhaled deeply telling her in a flat tone,

"Pick a card".

She hovered her hand over the cards, scanning back and forth stopping in the center she pulled the card up handing it to him. He took it from her turning it over onto the table. He placed both arms on the table leaning down towards the table to studying the card. He then looked up at her with amazement and said,

"Oh this is interesting."

Her eyes brightened letting laughter fill the air around them.  

'Yeah? Tell me. What do you see?"

"Hold on. There's more."

He looked back down at the card. He began to tap his fingers on the table taking his time to respond.

"Okay, I think I got it all. You will write a book. As a matter of fact, you'll write more than one. You actually become quite good at writing. I can tell just by looking at this one card."

"Huh, is that right? And does the card tell you what i'm going to write about?"

"Yes, it does. But i think i'll let that be a mystery."

They both laughed. Matt crashed into reality as her laughter faded in his mind. He stared down at the blank piece of paper. Finally he began to write the letter he had been advised by his lawyer and his conscience not to write.

Eve,
  

Hello. uh, ****. I thought about writing this letter so many times and now that it's time, I can't figure out what I should say. I guess I should start out apologizing, but i won't.  There's no point in me saying I'm sorry because no matter how many times I say it, it will never be enough. And you don't have to apologize for taking a long time to write because in my mind it is truly a blessing to have ever gotten a letter from you, given the circumstances.  And i won't be getting my high school diploma because I got kicked out of the program. They kicked me out for no reason. I'm out with the adults now which is cool. I haven't gone to my unit yet because I'm in the hole and i get out the day after tomorrow, Friday the 19th. Well, since you asked, I've been in here being a hell raising down *** ***** ***** trying to make it seem as though I'm not scared of being locked in a cage with the rest of these murderers, thief's, **** o's and other type of bad guys. But I guess I'm one of them now. I'm not really that scared anymore. I got some nice size arms from doing push ups and I'm an okay fighter. I'm a real troublesome inmate. I've spent like 10 months in the hole in total. But before I continue let me say what I got to say. You've asked me in county jail and many other times so here it is... o.k. you Julie, Amanda, Jeff and Jake left somewhere and I was in my room with Sam. Sam starts crying like hell and I finally get him to stop so me and him are chilling, thinking where the hell you are and Amanda pops her head in the door then leaves. Sam probably thought it was you and he starts screaming and then i started to think about how someone stole my money, my cigarettes, most of my beers, screaming, my mom accuses me of stealing gum, ritain pills, ****, and robbing Katie's house, screaming, you treat me like I'm for you to use when your feel like it, broke one of my speakers, Derek comes out of no where and you love him, screaming, I don't got no money, probation officer never leaves me alone, radio is ****** up, school *****, about to go juvie for a ***** U.A.  All of those thoughts came to me at once and the next thing i know I'm watching me lift Sam by his neck, throw him on the bed and start punching him in the chest. I tried to stop myself but I was moving in slow motion while I'm punching as hard and as fast as I can and then i stopped.

Matt stopped reading the letter unable to relive the memory any further. He folded it and placed it  in the already addressed envelope.
At the this point in the story Matt is in prison, so from now on he will only appear in Eve's point of view for a while. As for Jake he doesn't reappear for sometime. New characters will be added shortly.
Jason Cirkovic Jun 2014
I live in this town
This town that holds my childhood memories
Like you holding my clueless hand at the City Hopkins dance.
You seemed to never let go
Like the grass that stains my Blue, Sky Jeans.

I live in this town
This town that hosted many little league baseball games,
Hosted many right fielders prancing around the blue skies
Picking dandelions off of the ground.
These right fielders are looking at the jet streams in the clear skies
Imagining the streams are people are launching into space.

That’s funny
Its crazier than their dreams
Which are sealed up in their own imaginations
Like the fairytales they read about.
Yet their dreams hold opportunities
Holding like my mom dragging me to the bus on the first day of school.

Heh School
A place where reality slowly kicks in
Notes are passed around with pencils being thrown at the ceiling like darts
The girl I've known since pre K gave me a note today
We used to swing on that tire swing near the golf course
But now she kicks my skins and accuses me of “cootieness”

Meanwhile she is sitting on the front porch
Picking petals off of a sunflower
Does he like me?
Does he like me not?
Does he like me?

I live in this Town
This town that holds many monsters in the closet
Although on the outside of the story shows tinker bell shedding her pixie dust
If you flip through the pages
You will fall down the rabbit hole.
David Hilburn Feb 15
Wishes, I never said...?
Rolling tongues, admit appearances
Are deceiving, but purpose to lead...
Has an ear for a rainbow's chances

Rainbows lead to pouting voices...
Facing the stare, I make a quiet
Collective memory served; has choices...
The reagent of a house of colors, so bright

Star's that starve?
As the moment indicates...
Your rhyme for the silent, is another's liar...
Privilege behind a scare, finishes the irate

Races of fate, found in a valued youth...
Respite is to be, an awkward challenge
Of a time, that accuses you for couth...
Curses of final fear, are often to nearer mention

The fright in the rain
Told to sit, by a silver voice...
Sigh's and minding, the candor of pain
Will such a song, begin here with loyalty?

Does and doesn't...
Shame wear a passion's decision?
Deciding upon, a notorious lesson won't
Is a handful of salt, the only shared intuition?

Liberty, at all costs...
And a hill named only rage
That worth's the world, with hosts
Sent to a wish, I made...

Time be a liar's friend...
One step more
Like love and hates marvel, to lend...
The story of reach, is who's war?
Waiting on the wane of wax, weight has its water...

— The End —