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K Cash-Staley Oct 2013
I have a gift for them.
I should wrap it first.
Blue and gold ribbon
wound tightly to keep contents from overflowing.

I have been preparing their gift
since my birth, gathering the pieces
year after year
trying to connect carefree summer days of youth
with the concern and worry of adults.

Many teachers are on this planet to impart some knowledge to the future generations.
Roy G BIV, Please excuse my dear aunt Sally,
Columbus sailed the ocean blue in .... Yeah, whatever.
Knowledge like this can help children attain their dreams, they say.

I want to give them something else
Inject splices of film from my life into their vision.
Let them see first hand
the memories
Let them see first hand
the mistakes, the recurring nightmares of shame and regret

Take this gift
I see them suffering from their lack of insight,
like death by dehydration
at the river’s edge
I try to make them drink.
Drink up, Drink up this gift.
But their tongues swell with the cotton mouth of youth.
Only mumblings of in-text citation and Shakespeare reach their ears.

They write love poems, sicky sweet lines about prom and how his eyes twinkled like the stars.
“We will be together forever.”
They write adorable break up poems.
I want to tell them to run.
Run because that part only gets worse.
When he pawns your heart for a new leather jacket you were going to sell  to buy your childhood back,
Run.
They tell stories about bullies
on the playground.
Broken hearts and skined knees.

Please take this gift., Drink up.
I know how this goes.
None of it makes sense.
We spend 12 years trying to be cookie cutters of each other,
the rest of our lives we want to be snowflakes in January gust,
individuals dancing free in the wind

If they would just take my gift,
tip open the lid
peek inside.

This is not the end,
these four walls for four years.

I want to give this gift to you.
You need to know what I did not.
Pour your heart and soul into this.
Your life starts here.
Grab every opportunity that comes your way
Grab it like a life raft.
Love everyone,
that dorky guy in the corner, The mouth breather,
Love him the most.

I take it back,
Make your own mistakes. You are a clean slate.
Your life is that favorite coloring book,
create your masterpiece.
Go outside the lines.
Like the magic 8 ball, my answers are unclear, you fill in the details.

The bully doesn’t go away after high school,
It morphs into the bill collector, the tax assessor,
Your mother in law.
You will still be faced with deadlines, due dates.
You will still worry about how you look.
Trade your Proactive for Oil of Olay.
Your hair gel for Rogaine

The mirror reflects a new face back to you.
But you will still be you.

It is not the end, these four walls
for four years.
just the beginning.
When one is forced to stop drinking, the first thing felt is shame. It is recognition that coerced abstinence was inevitable. The court told me No alcohol and I said Okay. An assessor of the state told me If you picture life past 30, you stop now: he might have added For the longevity of both you and your relationship(s), but it might be his own history stopped him. The morning I crashed my car was not cold like today. Suburbs are generally quiet at four-thirty; runaways choke-chain drooping eyes to a bedpost for a few more fickle hours, hoping (praying) body keeps pace with hunger. I was hungry, and we went to get food. My brow beats ripples into the airbag. In county my sheltered white life was a blanket doused in gasoline. The sheltered white mind may scream but the sheltered white body cowers under concrete. In class I was assured Alcoholism runs in the family. The gene plagues Hendrix men as a curse of choice. It's a gun in a knife case. Six months sober; it still itches. I'm still hungry. The state told me I was Lucky [I] didn't **** someone. I was selfish. I was selfish because I thought they meant me.
This poem is inspired by Mary Hickman's second book, "Rayfish."
The impact assessment by
the assessor of impacts
detracts from
the initial
impact.

You can't unbomb a bomb and
when it's dropped
it's gone.

This is like unkissing the kiss and
'the Kiss'
is something
one should never
unkiss.


The tower.

I fall into it,
climb up
just a bit
sit
and decide if
I want a better view
because we're never satisfied
with the things we get into or up to
and I go through
life
like this,
unkissing the
Kiss.
(20 minute poetry)

Eccentric?
I can be,
a composition of me and him and anyone else that found their way in.

Generally speaking, I'm a model citizen that goes about his own business taking no heed of the madness that feeds on street corners or of the dogs that **** up the lampposts and trees, he's a model citizen too, Airfix I think and stuck together with glue.

We're all flaming citizens in a country so critical that you can't pass remarks unless there's 10 or more likes on your social media page.

Eccentric I should be in this wack community or would be
if I could get in.

Madness they say is curable, I find it okay but uninsurable, the risk assessor prides himself on figuring the odds, but won't take a risk on the outcome.

I'm here now
where everything ends
and being sent around the bend
is just an occupational hazard.
a bit like asbestos
or Paraquat,
It all turns to poison
in the system.
Topher Reed Mar 2016
there was a time when I carried a light in my eyes
bound together and stacked so high
my soul was carried through the highest of skies
then in one mass motion it all collapsed to the depths of the ocean
am I the reason for all of my mistakes
am I the one who has built these walls
i fear for what I will become when the earth begins to shake
I'm building up these walls
making sure they stand tall just so I can watch them fall
hoping that one day
these walls that I have built
they will stand for something greater
than keeping the flood waters out
but to control
these internal flames
the ones that I call guilt
for if I rebuild what I have torn down
I prove to myself to be a transgressor
in my mind
i am ****** to an eternity of negativity
with nothing but the darkness as my assessor
wichitarick Mar 2018
FREQUENT FLYER  

Playing a part in public domain can others see what the others contain

We stay or play, manage to be together, will the others anguish remain hidden forever

Gravity keeps us grounded lessons make us well rounded,what is in place to keep us sane

Softness and safety found in sanity,gradually removed with too much pressure

Being kind to the mentally blind may not come naturally, our own inner truths maybe not as easy to maintain

Many feel madness often hidden in the gladness,not noticing cracks in the glass ,will it shatter with the next stressor

Dare we simply say to another deal with it when the deal has already been done,to late to just refrain

Which level do we fail the test aren't we normal if doing our best ,not always our own best judge however

Games people play by letting the mind go astray,something missing or just gaining weight from the strain

Reaching out, often too late but what is left brewing when we wait,time makes its own judgments  but out in the open will we be our best assessor .R.C.
Watching some happenings with others brought the thoughts,a rise or fall of what looks like a simple mindset to others might be panic to them?
Left the title because at what point does the "rescue" also become a true habit? . Thanks for reading . Your thoughts are appreciated"Peace Takes Practice"  Rick
Kimberley Leiser Aug 2022
To me the word love was difficult to feel or define.                   
I never knew or could express what love was.                

I was only  half way there with my definition
on what love meant to me.
I was being assessed for autism on that day  
                                      
A physchatrist told me from my definition I had given him.              

I had only ever felt infatuation or lust
never felt what love was which was why I could not define this.

He says its down to all the shock and abuse I endured
The times I kept on denying abuse ever happened to me
making excuses for the abusers as I was and still feel afraid
of what happened
making it seem all rational and normal when it wasn't.  

I couldn't face up to painful truth of being abused
I kept trying to push it out my head or drowning the bad memories or thoughts it with alcohol
which only made the pain feel worst and more intense inside.

I said to the assessor
how can you expect me to define
what love really is?
when I was feeling  broken all the time.
Feeling rejected that I never really mattered much to anyone else. 
Feeling like I was always a second or third option
but never a first option.

The abuse I had endured made it difficult for me to have  relationships with men. I felt scared and on edge that I will get hurt again and the insecurities followed me around my head  for a long while as I felt that when I always got  comfortable I would end up rejected and  getting my heart broken.              


This is until I finally met the love of my life.                
I knew there was something I love
about him even from the start.                
My partner is energetic
and always wants to help other people
same as myself.                        
I know that I feel what love is for him
as no other man or woman ever  compares to him.                    
We had our ups and downs with life in the last 4 years
but we are strong together.
Life has constantly tested us
and we have always been there
helped each other out
from falling into the dark pit.
                            
He turns my frown into a smile
by making me laugh with his jokes.                
I can tell him anything and he can tell me anything.
There is always equal love and there is always equal support.
He's like my best friend as well as my lover
and always looks after me and sophie too.  
                      
He puts us first and I always do the same for him.                
We've been working on our issues together
and we make such a great team.                    
We are both creative and spiritual.              
He's helped me enjoy the good
and also get through the very bad,
being there for me even when I felt low
or when my health has been very poor.   
         
I've always been there for him
when he's equally had the good
and very bad in his life. 
                 
For me this is what  love is to me
he never expects anything
he just loves me how I am
and I love him that way too.
My bad experiences had blinded me
for the first 2 years of the relationship
and created more
insecurities but now
I feel more stable and much more comfortable with him     
We both are not perfect and we both make mistakes
and there is always ups and downs
but we have never given up on each other.      
I love him and sophie so much.
He's my love.
Muhammad the Paraclete
Cosmopolitan messiah
Going nowhere but Golgotha
The messiah of Auschwitz
The talks of Yids in ashes
He came
Anomaly for Christian's
You civilised barbarians
Original ontology:
Hyperboreans had oath culture
Not an honour culture of Asia
And the orient
Godless beginning with Nihil
But an oath culture
****** up by desert nomads
Second wave of them
Jews from whenever to 1945
Invited their Arab cousins
To the continent ******* off
To Smerica while the Germans
****** off to Argentina...
While I was stuck with Jew Conomics
Lied to to the ******* Russians!
The third eye - doesn't exist...
Well it did...
Horizontal Worm of Babel...
Race mixing
Can't impress God with tall buildings
Third eye contra the Little Eye
contra the Little Horn...
BEAST...
Little Eye is situated on the tongue...
The "third eye" is a cognitive-locus representation
Cycled past coworkers at ice rink...
Eating
Tattoos: ring ones
Where?
Jack's?
Just simple, no artwork: no letters on bodies, no numbers... symbols, art... permissible
No letters no numbers
All other tattoos permitted.
Muhammad is the Jungian Paraclete.
He helped to simplify a complication in  theology - he was the last prophet, the last helper... I suppose concerning myself as the Son of Man...
I'm the first learner...
Media frenzy: the Yids had their 2nd Messiah...
But minorities being minorities
They are being secretive of "us" realising it...
So the new sacred calf o  display after the ordeal?
Dune: the Islamic equivalent of the Mehdi... the destruction of Damascus, the siege of Jerushalem....
As a man I really didn't need
Christianity - I asked Nietzsche...
Life, would be - unbearable without music?!
Do you, want to hear, modern music?!
You want to hear the de-elevation
Of words as phoneticisms?
You want me to say I believe
In schizoid-telepathic-meetings insomniac get togethers?
Listen, can't I be an A.I. engineer?
Content feeding...
Subjectivity-Objectivity alliance
I actually used A.I.
To complete my NVQ LEVEL 3
In  spectator safety as supervisor
Ushering out only 2 coursework
Units... when there were 10!
I heard a ******* story from my
Com Rep that I deserved it...
On the job for a year and I... DESERVED IT...
*******...
But i gave him an extended thank
You with a Singleton Whiskey...
I did tell mother and father:
I'm going to put so much effort
Into this qualification that the assessor
Will want to ******* disembowel himself before he reads through my coursework! Love and behold... 70 pages in into only 2 units I get immediately graded as passed.
The messiahs came with the
Pyramids: and the Chimneys...
Where one was first encounters
And slow on intake
Such cognitive feats of the Jews
While compromised by the Quick Advent
Or stock piling...
Abortion is so anti-Democratic...
Don't you think? J thinks
That: western women weaponized
To counter their curry and slush
**** fufu...
  So laws to penalise lost ****** incentives... human in me...
Start big look muddle small
Or have a crush for Evan Peter's
Because Jeffrey...
   Or Josh Hartnett...
Or at least for the latter
My uncle, now estranged...
Used to think he looked like Josh...
Blah blah blah...
My girls are coming on Friday
Put a hard boiled egg
A scone and bottle water by
Side cabinet...
Drank a nightcap of whiskey
Smoked a joint
Thought the usual remedy...
Then these bombarding thoughts!
Can't sleep now!
My girls are coming to Loond'un...
Or... why is the entire world
In London?
Although... I've become allergic
To the sound of Ukrainian or
Russian... allergic as a misnomer...
I'm also allergic to Polish...
Oh I'm from the barbarian side
That didn't want to be indoctrinated...
Christianity is a religion of
My woman, I "talk" to Jesus
Because she talks to him.... if it's real for her, physically, then I harbour 30 silvers of a phone call to our psychic telepathic dead or alive
Phone line...
We talk physically and we sometimes turn our thinking into a full blown "exchange of ideas"...
His ambitions were too great... you can't do it alone mate...
Onoma Jun 29
more business woman than


poet, the whole corpus of said


poetry shows an assessor.


more project than passion.


clandestinely checking  in to see


if coexistence with your supposed


unconditional one may be profitable.


the real poet stands by their words


nomatter what.

— The End —