Sugar and spice and everything nice,
Wolverine claws and a venomous bite,
Armed to the teeth for a ***** fight:
This is what teenage girls are made of.

Maybe I fall in love too easily,
But I’m just sixteen.
And I’m just sixteen but
When you cat call me and I pretend not to hear you,
You call me catty as if it’s surprising.
When you wolf whistle at me and I ignore you,
You call me names that aren’t PG.
I’m just sixteen but I’ve got news for you:
I’m a she-wolf, far from domesticated so
Whistling will do nothing for you.
I don’t answer the call of any man, because
I’m a lioness, and every time you catcall me
You forget who does the hunting.
You need reminding, to be put in your place.
You’re a predator but I’m not your prey-
No, you’re a predator but I’m much, much
Much higher up on the food chain.
Whistle and call all night long,
I’ll chew you up and spit you out
Like the kind of bubble gum that isn’t worth a trash can.
I’d call you a pig, but pigs usually have a
Higher IQ than you do.
My bones are made of titanium, of Adamantium, and
My rage came from the cosmos, and I control hurricanes with the water in my lungs.

I am catty,
And I am a *****,
But you are a nobody,
Food for the vultures and
A piece of furniture to sharpen my claws on.
You may be a knife, but my heart is a diamond.
I am a diamond, and you are made of fossil fuels.
We are both the product of years of pressure,
But I took my disasters and made myself beautiful.
You let yourself become ugly, nowhere to go
Except standing on corners late at night,
Pollution spilling from your mouth and your eyes.

Leave me alone.
That’s not me being ‘hard-to-get,’ no,
That’s my wolf howl and the growl of my inner lioness.
Leave me alone,
Or else.

I was born twice.
Once out of my mother in the late winter of 1986 at 1:52pm in the afternoon.
And then again
the day Samantha Li died.

That may sound more dramatic than it is or just as dramatic as it was.
I wasn't a fancy baby. I pooped like all of them. Was a little underweight. Up through high school.
"Pointy."

I didn't know her well- Sam. Just a sweet-faced angel with a cloud of black hair and questioning blue eyes who went to my
University. She always looked like a china doll unexpectedly caught in a sale at a vintage clothing shop. She played the violin.

When you lose a skill you've had all your life, things start to morph and mutate. You feel superhuman and alien at the same time.
Waking up with my right arm bones in pieces was the start of my evolution- I became wolverine- flying through the night to
have metal clicked into my arm.
I was lucky to be alive.

4 years later, a surgeon told me people often lose their arms from such an injury. The irony of receiving such news was to
want to punch him in the face with my dominant hand.
That guy dodged a time-delayed bullet.

I grew up with a planned dream woven from music notes and CD cases.
I wore second hand clothes, I drank milk drained from a food-stamp fountain. The kids laughed at me in school. They
circled constantly, questioning my glasses, my shoes, my speech.
But the music inside me was something they never had. It was my boat. Violin was going to get me to the far off shore.

But you'll find- as we grow our dreams change shape. They don't fit into the holes for the pegs our parents carved.
I shunned the 6 hours of solitary scales and Bach.
I sought the Cacophony of improvisation and orchestral arrangements.
You'll never make it here- he said. You want to help people.

So I left Siberia and took up my own vision. As we do.

Now my dreams are putty again. Melted play dough on a radiator shelf.
I have leapt through hoops ringed with fire, smoldering plastic and lies.
Filed the paperwork for a better life.
In 27 I see the lines.

They weren't there that night.
And now they're everywhere. On my arm, over the Adamantium.
At the crinkle in the arch of my nose and eyebrow.

A grey hair at my crown.

How will it come?
When they go? When we finally draw the bottom line.

And when the metal leaves me
and all my bones are earth. That will be the 3rd rebirth.

each broken bone in my body
has repaired itself reinforced

steel
adamantium
rock and lead

compassion coiled tightly
around a clenched fist
because giving yourself
to anybody who asks
and getting ******* back
can weigh you down

and every lie
each one of them
sang to me
bore my second mutation
calloused skin,
toughened heart

hardened
calcified
reinforced and fossilized

even though I mention your names,
for the first time in my life
I am writing
about myself

This is the story of a young man who found his feet....
Turning around twisted corners among ancient street of cobblestones,
he felt his numb senses come alive
much like the way young girls come alive
in the aura of a subtle yet extravagant fragrance.

The call of the city was too wild to ignore
and the dastardly cries from empty streets gave strength
to his otherwise weary feet.
The tales of the midnight furies wandering skyline saturated
with giant pods and artificial gadgets
was as powerful as any other rumor of a technology
so wonderful that it will call for another great revolution.
The mall was rife with footfalls and giant screens
with amazing propositions
each promising an experience like never  before.

He is then saturated with experiences that a caveman
would have dreamed of only in his version of "heaven".
"Eternity in a grain of sand" is what the Poet said
in great eloquence but too many "eternal moments"
made him question the existence of an "afterlife".
He pondered "Maybe death makes sense now more than anything..
the dead do not need experience,
they are weary of that burden ****** upon the living."
He turned to visit the grave
but he remembered the words of the wise Philosopher
"Visit the dead in the morning
when the first rays of the Sun kiss the Earth
after she wakes up from her slumber."
He imagined the Night as the time where the Earth slumbered
and dreamt up solid vagaries.
The Night is always "Queer"
but then the Sun arrives with so much clarity
that but then the Neon lights are an intrusion
to this order trying to bring balance to man
caught up in an exchange too lofty for him to understand.

He looked into the night sky
and saw the great manmade light shining into the darkness psychoanalyzing the night and shaming her narrative.
The Neon light stands between light and darkness,
it is dark because plants do not respond
to it the way it does to the sun
but it definitely gives a clarity and a perspective
the Sun can never understand.

What does it mean to walk this city?
The gods hid among nature first,
in forests, rivers, mountains and the clouds
but we bumped into them everyday because of Prometheus's error !!
He suffers eternally with a grin
because he was the only Titan who destroyed the gods from within.

Then the gods hid in cities, farms,
vineyards, temples and the graves of the dead
but we sought them out through Monotheistic rites.
Then they said to themselves
"We are running out of spaces,
perhaps the time is now rife
when we take shelter in human language,
we can deceive mortal men that they have power over their language
but take shelter precisely where they boast complete dominance."

Then they lived among us hidden,
we tried to seek them but could never find them
till one day we found traces of their likeness
in the words we speak and now History is a war!
A war to take language from the gods and take control of History. Deconstruction gave us tactical advantage
and mathematics struck the final blow
and now the gods have run out of spaces
and they inhabit garbage mounds.

They know that that "wastelands" exist in human minds
and we now seek to saturate ourselves with experiences
that we have finally become weary
of this futile war till our machines took over.

They exist only to rid hunt down the gods
at all costs and render the Earth as she is.
We will no longer see traces of the gods
when we look upon the Night sky
but only unmediated objective truth!
Then shall the poets lament,
the kings of the Earth lose their ground,
the archer will shoot with no purpose,
the seducer will lose his cunning
and the skeptic will fall silent.
We try to invent new rituals
but we know that our only purpose here was to defeat the gods.
Nietzsche said that man is a bridge
between the ape and the ubermensch
but little did he know
that the ubermensch was the bridge between him and the Machine!
Here is the story of a young man
who found his feet and matter
was as dense as adamantium and as light as cotton candy....

I hope you don't mind
I've gone offline
to infuse myself
with adamantium

Sticks and stones haven't
yet broken these bones
but rampant selfishness
and greed just might

"Why didn't the moon wane?"

Because there,
there was one
who kept hail
his name in a panting
breath and faltering
in the wound that had an affectionate noise.

He can't touch of Kayla's memory
The woman who had been a light
in the full moon
absolute of self-hunt
Death that slipped
from the back aside
softly begin, parting before.

Finally, there are just a fume
of adamantium
that no longer whiff of blood,
leaving a damp smell of wood,

"Because, there are no more weapons in the valley."

2017

do you want to be invincible?

i want to turn my skin to diamond
so the only thing that can hurt me
is myself.

i want to become adamantium
so i can walk through the fire
and pull you out.

i want to be bulletproof,
laugh at those who would challenge me
with weapons.

but at the same time -
i want to be as fragile as a flower
so i can be touched by the sun.

i want to bend with you
instead of standing, unflinching,
in the face of love.

i want to feel pain and sorrow and heartbreak
because then i'll remember how we laughed
and push the rest from my mind.

do you want to be invincible?
*why don't you ask achilles?

O how I will change

Right now I'm sitting next to a fire thinking about how lonely I am
How horrible my life is
I'm thinking about how I'm throwing a pity party and I know it
I'm thinking about how I want to burn my hand in the fire and punch the walls
I'm thinking about all of my emotions
Im thinking about how pathetic I am sitting here thinking I have it bad
But at the back of my mind
In a reinforced, diamond encrusted, adamantium cage
Sits the belief that I will change
And
O HOW I WILL CHANGE
I will smile
I will laugh and talk to people
I will help people
I will be handsome
I will have figured myself out a bit more
I will no longer have pimples

And that is
How I
Will change

Recession of evil
The people develope the feels on the earth now
For my dimensional
Circumvention of real...
Like the earth round...
And im a circle it...
I'm certainly down



But further in the reaches of a terminal bond...
We die together forever.. the vision of mercy streak blonde
Lives on... after the sheets are washed
And the feelings are gone...
I'm not really a blonde.
Bleach is a compound beneath
Titanium iron and adamantium claws...
*** im tight ain't um ironic like a mutant with no memory..
An inventory... of perpetual healing
The scars. But never revealing feelings at all..
Like does marvel get more complex. Or does wolverine. Got the pain
Of seeing it all... and not feeling at all...
No human being could be beaten this bad for so long.