I write this not from a lofty place of judgement or from frantic paranoia, but instead I would much rather you learn from any and all of my mistakes before subjecting yourself to future pain.

First and most importantly: you are lovable, you are loved, and you are truly worthy of love and appreciation. This is a resolute fact, an immutable truth that you have absolutely no chance of changing. Remember this in your darkest moments- just because you may feel “less than” your normal self does not mean that you have lost your self worth. If you learn anything from me, please let this one thing be it.

Second, and more lengthy: as well-adjusted as I may come off, know that I have these horrid insecurities and vices about me that I have the hardest time shaking off, even on my best days. I have spent most of my life wondering if I would ever find love, because people keep telling me that you need to first love yourself in order to love someone else; there have been days where I truly don’t love myself. However, I think there’s something to be said about feeling love for someone else amidst all of this wretchedness- I give my love unabashedly, with an earnest conviction that I think comes from knowing what feeling lonely truly means, and never wishing that feeling upon someone else.

Love is something I have fallen into and am currently falling out of, it is something that has kept me up for hours at night but kept me in bed long after the sun has risen; it has brought me to my knees and it once had lifted me up. Love has grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, looked me dead in the eyes, and asked me if I was worth anything- knowing that I would never answer affirmatively. Love has made me sing and scream the loudest my lungs could possibly take, and it has rendered me silent for days at a time. It has fogged my vision and my mind and left me bereft of any sense of clarity. I have lived my longest seconds and my shortest days when in love.

Loving someone can truly be terrifying- you will never be quite so unmade and disassembled as you are when in love. You will have handed someone the pieces of yourself and know that they could very easily unravel the threads of your being you have so tediously strung together; take comfort in the fact that they could very well hold your pieces together when you feel strung out.

Signed without wax,
Someone Whose Heart
Is Learning To Hope Again

P.S. I urge you to be careful, and to be safe. There is not a world in which you can have done something and I will not be there to support you unconditionally. I will be here in your corner, ready to listen to your story, ready to congratulate or to console, ready to remind you of your worth.

She winked in her cute little bandana,
was standing strategically by the keg,
dressed non-discreetly in
a very **** skimpy-bikini.
The curls that wrapped
around her drop-dead beautiful face
accentuated her high striking cheekbones.
Her lips moved in slow motion,
the tip every now and then
licking the edges of her pretty mouth.
We made small talk about
the weather and current songs.
She kept telling me how handsome I was,
her striking-eyes seemed believable,
but I remained guarded,
I had heard those lines before.

The stars began to emerge as the sun sunk
lower and she wondered if I wanted to walk
with her, down to the edge of the ocean.
The beer had me feeling more relaxed
and I took her up on her offer.
Down we walked, slowly to the water's edge,
she taking my hand,
telling me how strong my grip was.
It seemed like we walked forever,
but before too long, we were out of earshot of the band, the party was just a blip on the horizon.
We looked to face one another,
it felt surreal, she made me feel stellar,
like we were having fun.

The moment was ripe, I dipped her hair away
from her full lips, placing mine on top of hers,
our tongues met, my heart melted.
There was a stirring below, a hardness
found by her searching hands.
As if on cue, she descended,
unzipped my jeans rather quickly,
took me fully into her mouth.
She seemed expert, it was glorious,
my eyes rolled back in my head,
I squirted into her closed mouth,
wrapped around her prize.
She stood up, kissed me on my quivering lips,
told me I was exquisite,
the best she ever had,
& I believed her.

We walked back slowly,
my arm around her slender shoulder,
talked about the future.
When we arrived back at the bonfire,
things had heated up, the music was cranked,
people were dancing like they had drank too much.
She told she wanted to freshen up, asked me if I wanted a beer, I answered her affirmatively and
off she went, back into the raucous crowd,
in the direction of the keg.

She never came back, I never saw her again,
I never even got her name or number.
I felt used, a bit heartbroken.
I think she just wanted to **** me,
then let me go free for personal reasons.
It seemed rather one-sided,
I was hoping we confide in each other.
Strange how that happens both ways sometimes.

12:30 AM.
I am a ghost drifting through the midnight-quiet,
haunting flower beds and grasses
Undisturbed in their slumber. My body floats
Through my neighborhood, stealing the
Secrets of the dark.

1 AM.
Ghoulish eyes peer out from Mrs. Butler’s bushes and
Become miniature 3-eyed deer with antlers sharpened to
Daggers. They roam about her dewy lawn,
Feasting on worms and blinking,
Slowly, one eye at a time.

3:30 AM
Arrives, and they return to their hideaway home,
Disappearing with one final b l i n k
Into the rhododendrons.

5 AM.
I never knew that morning tasted like
Strawberries and honeysuckle and smelled
Like freshly-cut-grass-mixed-with-bonfire-smoke.
My Tongue is heavy with its sickly-sharp odor
And my ears buzz from the tangy sweetness.

7 AM.
Corporeal reality coats my body, connecting my mind
to my soul, my
Soles to the soil and I am incarnate, whole,
A body amid the sunlit specters surrounding me.

9 AM.
A mumbo-jumbo grin slides onto my face,
Synthetic in every aspect of the word,
My mouth is cotton-dry as I slink into the bogusness of a weary day.

10 AM.
Crowds of people smoosh together, their words co-mingling
And I crash my bike into strung-together sentences,
Scraping my knees on the voracity of barbed words.

11. “She’s a constant damsel-in-distress, but she doesn’t work in a strip joint!” I step around the shards of her fallen tiara as I climb the ivory-tower’s steps.
12. My wide eyes view futility as a type of texture, and I imagine it feels like sandpaper. My first class feels like sandpaper-futile in this struggle to stay awake.
13. Bicycling to la clase de Español se siente como moviéndose a través de melaza.
Mis pies cansados empujar los pedales pero I can’t escape the quicksand around me.
14. Reading the thoughts of my classmates helps to pass the time, and
I can see clearer through closed-eyelids than open eyes.
15. Red walks among their peers, watching for passing dogs and smiling at them. Red is
Hyperaware of people they knew from past school and recalls names and faces in seconds. Red is
A zombie trudging on shaky legs, lumbering down the bricked path.
16. Murky sunlight streams through tired clouds and blinking is a visceral kind of pain.
17. My poetry stews in my brain, rotting and fermenting until it becomes a fine wine.
18. Trees wish me good luck, waving their branches affirmatively as I pass by. Their comforting
Footsteps warm my soul.
19. Darkness steals the sun’s warmth but I’ve hours more to be awake.
20. I am a ghost floating through this sea of people. I drift through them, haunting their conversations
Haunting my own quiet mind.

As cricket still a widget
and insure that noir not cankerous
though evening nigh round ten
whether it resorts at the door affirmatively sound
or an answer with divine presence there
but as countdown in air midst with his rap indenture
till another person knocks it down again tonight.

And she wasn't seeking any praise affirmatively,
But what her body was on ice block ceasing; craving for insanity,
Insanity of "love" one of the unique curse ,
She had the thirst,
Of Station to the location for a pair of eyes,
Admiring inmost from blood to where the insecurities lies,
Facing towards the absolute sky,
Repeating the uttermost fantasies of her life,
Smiling and setting peace beyond a mile ,
Beautiful than thousands of successful rhymes,
What she wants I know she barely knows but she lies ,
I wish she could have a look through my eyes.

©akashmazumdar

It's been two years and I still don't feel comfortable sleeping in other beds.
Our perfect polarization made
me an ice cube,
and now I'm frozen in place.
I dont regret anything...
I think we're better apart,
but am not sure
I can be better again,
or as good as we were...
Anyways.
Everything is downhill.
I can't climb up.
My skin is tight and red,
and my back hurts.
My outlook is pragmatic.
I rarely run and jump and skip.
Even though I listen to love songs
on repeat, it just doesn't happen.
How was I able to love you like lyrics?
I don't remember the expressions or
the kisses.

It hurts to look back
at the obscure, the abstract.
Everything is cloudy;
I can't see past you anymore.
I'd go back one time,
if I could but,
I'd still be going forward.

I don't really think about you often, but I
can't think about anyone else.
I'm a silent movie with no captions.
My duplicious gaze full of passion,
and yearning -
It's fake.
It's all a game, half the time
I forget I'm playing.

All I do is **** people
over, then leave.
When they tell me they love me,
I smile and nod affirmatively,
while thinking
of how it will end.
Sounds sociopathic.
I don't know what to do about it.
My heart is dead.
I didn't give it away - it just died.

Happy July
Somehow we made it despite and in spite of what is out of our control
Cancellations, hurdles, rescheduling and need for more patience
Reflect all that you want to
Giving up isn't an option
Nor is running out or moving away
Complain until you turn another's ears blue
Take peaceful and gentle action
Quietly and affirmatively in a group
Jump threw hurdles with a plan
Be selective and careful
As we continue our Troubles and Triumphs
Looking for a double rainbow in the sky
Oh my

C@rainbowchaser2023

seasons change slowly
so does life, you think it's
an eyeblink but no the seeds
have been in the ground germinating
for a long time sometimes a long, long time
and then thenew growth breaks through
and reaches for sunlight, growth is change
but then at the other end of the spectrum
so is decay, the breaking down of structures
the returning to the basic matter...all changes
so ergo we are in a continuim of change
are some larger than others. you would have
to answer affirmatively but are large changes
more important than the miniscule. That
question requires more thought before
giving an answer. Change is neccessary
without it there is a standstill in the cycle
and when still, we create no impact, we have
little to no power to affect the circumstances
around us....but even then when still, the
circumstances around us effect change
like wind and water upon the rockface
it may be over many many years but
change is effected and the immovable is
reduced by the action of persistance...
We cannot avoid change...so we should
try to reach for  it as does the sapling
in the forest that seeks the sun .....

and i saw, four figures of fire rise up
and transverse the night sky...
     to reiterate: i'm used to seeing wandering
stars... that's almost usual for me...
to reiterate:
    if i'm originally writing in English...
i have to go back, to the zeppelins...
und ich gesehen, vier zahlen aufgehen
und querlaufend der nachthimmel!
mein gott! ich war rechts!
                                  der zeit ist reif!

of the 3Ps i once cited: priests psychiatrists & prostitutes, there's also a 4th P... poets? then again, i'm not too sure, too much soapy-water, too much cuddle-fiddling going around, not enough gusto akin to Julian Tuwim, Witkacy, Dante or Giuseppe Belli... i mean, go for it, go see a priest, see what he tells you: repent! some ******* solipsistic mea culpa - only you exist! it's all your fault... right... everyone else is ******* blameless?! go see a psychiatrist... if they don't prescribe you regression - i.e. want to implant you with false memories, they'll prescribe you the sort of drugs that make you wet your bed at night! or **** you out, out of a yin-yang... zombie! oi oi! ZOM-BIE! i.e. EE! alternatively... go and see a *******... if you ever thought you had erectile-dysfunction... go and see a *******... never fails... well... it fails when you've drunk too much and she's being an overtly timid little *****: but even then you cuddle and share tongues... what's eyes in Romanian? what's freckles in Romanian? what's nose in Romanian? then you exit the brothel, get on your bike and scream like a werewolf all the way home, harking, grunting, ******* at yourself for drinking too much... but you still exit the brothel like a gentleman: in their own words... you kiss two on the hand and the one you just spent an hour with on the forehead... then you go back again and ask for the Turkish girl that was so eager to sleep with you... this time you go sober... turns out she's a nymphomaniac and you're into that sort of ****... wholesome stuff... nothing ****-funny... none of that Dubai crap... wholesome... oral *** without a ****** and then all that protection while she talks something funny while you try not to speak a word: word... who needs god in the bedroom? elevation of animal noises just won't do? all this talk during *** is a ******* turn-off...

             che bber ttruttrù! oh ddio mio che cciammellona!
   e ppoi sc'è la bbebbella e la bbobbóna!

like the men who put women on a peddle-stool,
this idea that: women are unable to ****...
or some Cinderella *******, i have the same problem
with the English, the people,
i don't know why... i always seem to envision then
as these ideal people... well... concerning what
they say: you'd think so...
perhaps not the people per se:
rather the society they have envisioned...
well... so much for the society they envisioned...
where's the best part at?
where?! 10 Downing St., there's where!
that's going to be a running joke for, some, time...
it's not that i even care...
it started to turn foggy, "all of a sudden"...
you know how fog looks like in the night?
like... someone breathed a breath of milk
powder into the atmosphere:
the street lights are visible, the moon is...
but people are less and less: visible because...
they tell big-little-truth: which are lies...
it's not the sort of lies associated with..
why would my supervisor send me
a sample of her fruit cake... white lie: oh... great
baking technique... like **** it was...
whenever having *** i always found it
suspicious that a woman might get pleasured
from the *******...
whenever it happened to me with prostitutes:
i still wouldn't believe them...
i would be met with scolding: OW...
yeah: they couldn't believe it either...
they couldn't believe that being authentically pleasured
i didn't buy into them being pleasured...
hey, weird as the world is... enough said...
so my supervisor sends me her take on
a fruit cake... oh **** me it's sweet...
it's so sweet it's like the antithesis of *******
a lemon... i mean... even though *******
a lemon is not exactly cringe... but a lemon
is a sweet-acidity... this load of *******
it is just SWEET...
i have to brew myself a cup of coffee
and not sweeten it just in order to... to...
recreate a concept of palette for my numbed tongue...
it's terrible: women can bake worth of ****
these days...
it's too sweet... i rather **** a lemon...
alright, here's to the plunge...
what are we working with...
two *****... *****?!
if there are two women... trying to look
unattractive... oh **** on me...
we even don the same haircuts... but i have the beard:
they don't...
i'd still... you know... do some plumping...
male sure something is working, correctly:
you read is correctly:
MALE SURE... no... not "MAKE SURE"...

are these women supposed to have invisible sniffer
dogs around them, does it take having 5 children
to say: mmm... something is scented "funny"...
*****... for starters...
and that's like... normal... for the woman to
sniff you? sure, the compliment is great:
oh, you smell good...
           so does a fresh paintjob on a pristine looking
bathroom, but who am i to brag?
and it's like the most basic job:
lowest i.q. threshold imaginable...

i can say, i look the part... why do i look the part?
is some ******* **** going to stop me
taking a pint of beer to an area where i'm not allowed to take it...
or will some 6ft2 bloke...
donning a pristine coat... affirmatively pedantic
in questioning his attire... stop... 6 lads...
from doing likewise... because... i look the part?
because i'm a male and... ahem: "i'm entitled to being
entitled to the entitlement of being entitled of
being in a functioning role whereby i'm not given
leeway?!
optics... no one is going to take a woman seriously
in a position of a steward... even if she tries to pull it off
as a ******* ****... sorry, no...

reality tends to bite back...
even Brandon... oh my mother knows Brandon,
he works the Romford Blue Sapphire gym...
we talked about dogs... about him being abused about
the public, me trying to explain to him that:
he too has a breaking point... imagine that:
you going off a tangent...
see... this is what bothers me about the English...
Brandon says he's a home... manager...
some sort of manager... that he lives with his girlfriend...
i message me mumz and she clarifies...
he's not a manager... he's a senior receptionist...
he lives with his girlfriend... hmm... he might have
a girlfriend, but he probably lives with his parents...

status, hierarchy...
****'s sake... he says he's a manger of a gym, house, manager...
yet he... works added hours as a steward at sport events...
or the second girl that sniffed me up:
because i'm all ******* fine for being sniffed...
she apparently has a private... personal? huh?
business... oh... she just does this **** on the side...
right... 5 kids in...
you know the advantage of not being famous...
you can sort out a lot of ******* among your coworkers...

oh **** me, the atmosphere is great...
Emma loves pythons... you feed them... frozen, mice?
interesting... so they wouldn't eat anything
that's already killed, they need to be under the illusion
of having killed something?! wow...
imagine... living without eyelids... blah blah...
she's almost like this scary feminist blue-tinged hair fairy...
but...
oh my god... if no one's looking...
and i look at her earlobes... no... come to think of it...
if i just look at her ears... yeah: but me writing about this
is not exactly me telling her during hours of work...
oh you smell nice... counter-*******-productive
if you ask me... why? because now i'm thinking about *******
you!

the most ****** parts of a woman... her hands...
why? because if i were she were we were to hold
my ******* emblem... i'd ask myself to be rid
of the pinky finger & the 4th knuckle...
a woman's ears! it's like... itchy... itchy... smooth...
smooth... ears, hands... chin... neck's pleasure-dome
of tenderness... wild eyes!

and you know what: i watch these grown men
"indocrininate" their offspring into either
a support of a football team,
localised prejudices, yet those "disappear" when
support for the / a national teams surfaces...

hey, so much for pork eating
when you're Muslim and cousin *******...
i guess eating pork must be as much
confusing as cousin-*******, no?!
i guess pork-bad = ******-bad!
**** them, these ****** specimens...
who's going to care for them?
is Romania the only option?

        ****** riddled i.q. starvation oops...
how do you write oops in the plural?
as much as i might be discriminated to
eating pork, where does most of leather come from?
shoes? PIG... belt... PIG...
sorry... "cousin": you're about to **** your
grandmother's sister... or whatever happens
in Pakistan...

sinister taunt... how else to combat these
audacious suicide-bombers...
shame their ****** culture origins...
keep them there... they better settle for being there...
aww.... look at that...
only today... a Pakistani mother, daughter & grandma...
the daughter... all sort of fiddly... sort of weird...
to tongue out... trying to lick the grandmother's tongue...
even my cat doesn't do that...

eating pork is bad...
right... while god created all that's good...
god created cumin! turmeric! ******* ****** camel-jockeys....
right... cousin-******* is somehow divinely inspired?!
******* to Dubai... ******* to where there's no "racism" /
slavery invited by the Arabs using up Bangladeshi flesh...

OI! ARAB! COUGH UP! YOUR RIDDLE OF KFC!
power, supposed power... now... a joke; always
the little people, one litre of whiskey will always make you a convert, given, that you get to see so many zombies from the mere experience of ingesting a pint, two pints, three pints of beer...

with me? you need to play a longer game.

- are they still going on about the war of words?
here's a new one i learned...
i believe that onions are the only plants in existence
that have consciousness - or rather:
are receptive of pain...
you chop down a tree... eh... not much...
perhaps a splinter under your nail...
given, in light of debate, ahem "debate" in Parliament
concerning the ethical way of killing lobsters...
boiling the: B'ah BAD...
but freezing them etc.: not so B'ah BAD...
i once dated a girl who found it funny that
in her childhood she would pour salt on snails...
i accidently step on a snail in the dark
in the garden i hear a crunch in my heart...
sorry, mate... didn't see you coming...
it's like this one time - thinking about it still
gives me a pseudo-PTSD...
Poland: where else? walking alone, "somewhere"...
i come across these two boys (i am also a boy
at that time) - oh... so what are you up to?
the reply? **** me...
oh... we caught this frog, we're smearing it
with lipstick then we're going to set it alight...

erm... o.k... see you later Jeffrey & Henry H...
******* Major Major, whatever...
o.k. that i'm not a presbyterian: shoot me...
give me a raw herring in a yoghurt sauce and i'll
tell you to stuff, your cosmopolitan sushi up
your ******* ***!
there, said it, no turning back...
    i'm done, with people, telling me what i can and
can't say... but killing animals in an unnecessary manner:
that's beneath even me enjoying
a few poultry abortions on toast...
a toasted bagel... with some cream cheese...
some raw smoked salmon (is it cooked if it's only
smoked?) some dill and... mmm... a squeeze of lemon...
beats a cucumber every single time...
curing... funny that... you pour some acid
on a sea protein and it starts a cooking process...
that's ******* weird...
it's "unconsciously" receptive of the cooking process:
to heat... via an acid...

right, right... that new word...
        syn-propanethial-S-oxide... said the cis-man...
that's the **** that onions release when you
cut them... which makes you cry...
ergo? you think that perhaps onions are receptive
of pain? should we have a Parliament debate akin
to lobsters regarding how one might prepare onions?!
i think we should... also... a debate about
eating oysters... after all: invasion of privacy:
peering into those shells... don't you think?

- sure, but if i were to do it... oh, something smells "funny"...
not good, at first, just funny...
she wanders with her eyes then focuses on my neck
draws in and sniffs it... oh... it's you... you smell good...
yeah... i do that... but in a brothel...
once i've paid to pass the paywall...
i take her hair in my hands and sniff it...
because she's lying next to me, naked...
and i'm naked it... but i don't ******* follow it up
with any words: i'm already intoxicated
by the scent...

if a man were to sniff up a woman - in public, or better still...
in a professional environment...
and these are the same women who get confused when
they are abused by drunk and disorderly lads
at a football match... like Louis XIV said:
perception is everything... for ****'s sake:
if you don't look the part... a hungry *** starved
yet still a beaming with joy angry gorilla...
you're not going to get away with much...
not in that sort of scenario...

a quest for double-think: my new motto is...
YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME THE TRUTH,
JUST DON'T LIE...
what's the middle ground? this supposed house
manager (ahem, elder receptionist) -
well... we ended up talking about him
petting a dog... an american pit bull terrier...
but he called it by some other name...
where he walked: Raphael Park, eh?

oh the nights spent with dangerous ladies...
loved every minute...
the only place where i can: breathe me...
and breathe them...
where i don't have to be ignored, displaced...
******* of a man...
esp. among Romanian or Turkic women...
to hell with those overrated blonde ******...
give me Tuba Büyüküstün and i'll give you
the ******* Taj Mahal... eh... some prostitutes are
just worn beauties... you rub them the right way
some sort of Genie ends up appearing...
usually: grr... viciously... wild-eyed...
anyway... none of them could ever get in between
my affair with Fraulein Bernstein (whiskey)...
it sort of *****... but life's life... and death's death...
no point making complaints...
ooh... **** me... all that raven hair... and Turkic...
recipe for disaster...
why? well... because she's not exactly copper-skinned...
she doesn't look like she has a pernament suntan...
like the Raj girls from... wherever Delhi is...
(I know where Delhi is! for, ****'s sake!)

if we're being so adamant in living in a post-racial
society, surely i can pick and be fickle about
my sort of potential cocktail of genes, no?
does it always have to be about black on white,
or white on black... can i... hmm...
i'd like something more curious... again:
can i stick with the Turkic women?
i fancy that depth of a shared history...
the Ottoman Empire knocking on the door
of Europe (even though the Greeks cucked)
at Vienna... the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth replying...
while being back-stabbed by the...
Prussians... Russians... Swedes...

o.k. i tried being extra special and slept with...
two black girls... not that i greatly enjoyed it...
o.k. i enjoyed ******* one...
but the other one gave me the creeps...
how, can, i, ****, a woman,
when... she has two children sleeping in the room...
she drags them out of bed...
forces them to sleep on the floor while i'm
THEN supposed to do, what?!
**** her?! she probably had *** since she
started to fake having a ******... instead ensuring
her inner thighs were tight enough...
or whatever the **** was happening...
i just asked her: can i sleep here tonight...
she agreed... i woke up in the middle of the night
while little afro Jerome was standing at the foot
of the bed ******* at a makeshift ****...
so i grabbed him and placed him on my chest...
the end...

*** is ugly... unless it's with a *******...
in a brothel...
   come to think of it... since: i'm always drinking
when i'm writing...
the more i drink the more i wake up...
i was going to suggest: the more i sober up...
no, the more i drink the more i wake up...
but i'm not of the "woke" brigade...
i'm of the SLEPT brigade...
    waking is for the people who are still somewhat
sleeping... or... rather... awake in a zombie-state
of consciousness, mantra-riddled *******...
what could get me drunk?
if i were drinking... as always...
a good conversation... i'm a sucker for a good conversation
like i'm a sucker for pop music when i'm sober...
AQUA: TURN BACK TIME... anything
by ROXETTE...

- and as it happens at every football match i steward,
i see a dad with his younglings...
sure... that could have been me,
but, my psychotic trip: exit at the age of 21...
sort of sorted my future affairs for me,
perhaps i wrote in my 20s... something or other...
but i wasn't really there: or here...

   i get really jealous when i see a guy with a pretty girl,
or when i see four or five guys, friends...
then again: i hate companionship,
i prefer the presence of animals...
    dogs i can almost stand if i don't require them
to be put on a leash... on a leech of authority...
i can stand objective language as long
as it is prescribing me authoritative pointers...
but objective narration bores the hell out of me...
it's so... so... unimaginative...
if objective narratives were a women
i'd call them a stuck-up-***** fakery
of a flaky "******"...

                             while Pearl Jam became
what Nirvana could never become... grunge-dad-rock...
i don't mind... i truly don't mind... after seeing
enough faces you start thinking along
the categories of: TO PREVENT A SECOND HILLSBOROUGH,
TO PREVENT A SECOND HILLSBOROUGH...

seeing so many people i sometimes start
thinking about working in a slaughterhouse  -
then again, to seem less psychopathic
i think about the people working in slaughterhouses...
it's not fair that i... wait... i'm not getting paid
for this... well if it's free: then i suppose anything goes,
right?
          
    oh what could have been...
oh sure sure, it's great... getting sniffed up by women
in their 30s with 5 children in tow
thinking they are single and childles...
white knight anywhere, anyone?! no? keep sniffing...
darling... and it was this running joke...
*** habits came up... one blue haired freak of a girl
that keeps snakes: some 3ft long, pythons...
she said darling but i forgot to lip-read her
mishearing: daddy... i've been called DAD before...
don't ask why...

i morphed Darling into Daddy... for the whole *******
shift she kept nagging me...
Daddy... this... Daddy that...
o.k. with a 7  year old i could understand...
i could cuddle a toddler... do all that mother-goose ****...
she or he could pull my beard... ;oke my eye out...
i don't do friends, i i don't do dates...
i do prostitutes, i do whiskey,
i do forests at night, i do graveyards at night...
i do German thinking...
  i might come across as autistic or as an imbecile...
but i think the same of you...

how unfortunate to have children of your own...
esp. girls... how unfortunate...
imagine the distaste in your mouth at being called
a father at some point... then again: the same goes for having
a son... it's a nice idea... a very nice idea...
but i'm here not on some ******* mea culpa
clause... i've reached my prime and i wasn't selected
for the replica... it doesn't bother me in that:
i always had a melancholic disposition...
given that i'm ageing... i have acquired a melancholic
sense of self-deprecating humour....
i'll sooner commit suicide than die the death of
"loneliness"...

   it will most certainly be a pristine night...
cloudless... with a full moon!

what's that counter argument i keep hering?
what's that? i said: WHAT'S THAT?!
oh you know that ******* yin-yang masculinity
undermined. that we should all be *******
farmers: not enough coliseums...
plenty of vegan hot-spots though...
love, my ***..

   personally i don't know how white girls ****
all these african boys... for me, ******* a black
girl is sort... sort of crippling...
anything beside something Caucasian...
in the raven hair category... i'll sooner *******
to Asia than i'll acknowledge to ever
coming from Africa... the Somali inbreds
**** me off the most: listen, curly-braids!
you're not here to be paid to watch the football match!
why isn't anyone paid to watch a football match!

once upon a time they were known as the Yanks...
the Yankees... these days? oh, you know...
these days some of us just call them the WANKEES...
the WANKS... cuck-barons of the world..
yeah, i once had respect for these people...
it's sort of waning day in, day out...

but if i'm expected to fight someone else's fight...
these days i'm going to say: no thank you...
i'm already gearing up myself to marry death...
how's that?! of course i can see the little people,
of course i love animals as much as i love children...
they're one and the same to me...
personally... and i'm seriously disorientated
by fraulein bernstein... eternity?!

Abraham! oi!
    an eternity spent among children...
or... with 72 virgins... your take...
         oh no no no...
i'm not taking these *******,
these supposed virgins anywhere...
i'm taking the children... throw in 72 rottweilers
if you're at it... i know time well spent...
but knowing my luck... i'll be bound to a hell
where women sniff my hair, or my neck...
even though i'm not exactly anything to peer at...

why are these Indian women looking at me oh
so funny? i'm not rich, what?! am i funny?!
then again, working around the Turkic manifesto of
a woman's beauty... some of these Raj girls give
me a hard-on like not other... they have eyes that tease...
white girls' eyes are all anti-racist: seek *******
zombie...

white girls are currently only available for black boys
given white girls' anti-racist "trauma"...
so here's to building up a New Brazil!
   yeah.... that's also called me looking elsewhere...
oh, no, not for commitment...
   for the sake of it!
anorexic bleached hair... in need of psychiatric help...
or otherwise beached-whale types...
feminists with pink hair... can... ha ha... CAN i say NO?!
or do i have to?!

ich bin verheiratet zu die nacht und nicht(s)!
ich! allein! bin!
was ein...ziemlich.... gesicht...
from time to time... Saxony?!

z-mooth ah smoochies... and... a "blah"...
what was written in hell: by hell,
must return to hell... please... no tenderness, here,,,,

In this life,
you cannot have
both world's,
no it can't be done.
You choose one,
either right or wrong,
you win or you lose,
you die or you live,
you either keep on
keeping on,
or you keep on living
on the ground floor.
Both cannot merge.
But another hidden way
belongs to those who
finds the middle path
between the extremes,
they will always come out
victorious for such is
the beginning of a glorious
life free of the perilous
ways in the world.
No mediocrity,
only a higher life above the
ordinary full of incessant
activities with an extraordinary
lifestyle.
Is it possible?
Affirmatively yes,
it is possible.
Pesky lifestyle of others must
be tolerated or be avoided
to win your battle of self.
With enormous gratitude,
live your life amongst others
with joyful tenderness.
And when you win
enough of your battle,
then humanity will blend with
your vision for they are looking
out for such a one in their midst.
Be that fellow who has
found the inner wheel.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.