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Trā May 2015
scars of a past I wanted nothing to do with
led me to handcuff myself
to a lampole for security.

I had reached my consensus.

I threw the keys to these cuffs
in mental portals where I thought
no one would dare to ever travel.

Many tried searching
but I intentionally
obstructed access
with deceptive rants of fear and caution.

By then
I was sure
that I had thoroughly built walls of security;
I was safe
...but who would've thought
my aesthetically intellectual design
had a weakness?

The enemy came just as they all did,
hoping to be let in...
but this one reacted differently when the ranting came;
I was now at a disadvantage
because I had no other alternatives for defense.

The enemy showed no care for my security;
It was attractive
And I succumbed while
Never forgetting my plan
Although it seemed my design was nugatory.

My mental lampole and cuffs,
gone.

I was left subjugated
at the feet of a queen
who carried an aura
with the most beautiful spectrum.

Like a bull snake,
promises of security
grappled my core,
draining it of all fear
leaving behind no traces
of deception.

Although defeated,
she still remains my enemy
because serendipity
never seems to stick around.
Random Thoughts - I know my poetry isn't as pellucid so you can just ask me what it's about or ask me to clarify anything that may not be understood.
ili Jun 2014
if my mind
  was
    instead my physical
      appearance
        perhaps
           they would find me more attractive.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
The High Line (Pearls Before Swine)

is located on Manhattan's West Side. It was an elevated train track, that runs from Gansevoort Street in the Meatpacking District (wholesale butchers) to West 34th Street, between 10th & 11th Avenues, near the Hudson River, running parallel to the river.  

The High Line was originally constructed in the 1930's, to lift dangerous freight trains off Manhattan's streets. The High Line, nowadays, is open as a public park, owned by the City of New York. The District is now a night life hot spot of elegant shops and restaurants, among the few remaining meat packing firms, a "scene." If not in a hurry, and unfamiliar with the High Line, look it up (see notes), to get a visual of image. Or not. I can't remember who I promised I would dig out my High Line poem, but a promise kept.
_________________

Walk­ed the High Line after work,
early summer afternoon,
a pubescent evening-tide,
the teenage colors
of the setting ball,
seize your breath,
your eyes, enthrall.

On Little West 12th Street,
climbed up to
breathe the green,
thriving railroad earth-beds
tucked so cute,
tween the rusted ties of
intrepid railroad tracks.
still working in
service to humanity;
nature supporters now,
a new kind
of freight carried.

Climbed up on the backs
of a jumbled combo of
dressed beef carcasses
and yuppie carc-*****,
both obedient to the
Law of Consumption:
Consume or be consumed.  

Looked down on them,
grazing,
gazed upon them
pseudo social-dancing,
they are all prowling,
cat burglars,
searching for felines, roosters,
to tango/tangle with till
the shameful dawn walk,
a final tally of who,
was consumed,
and who,
got consumed.

Watch with bemused fascination
at the children,
swilling and chilling,
some liquor, some swill.
nonetheless  admiring each other;
their Lauren cut and Hilfiger heft
the finest of fat veined lines,
decorating their svelte,
but very attractive,
full figured appearances.

USDA Grade A,
a genuine meat market,
humans and
animals guts,
intertwined.

The Highline,
an architect's composition
of summer grasses,
planted in nooks and crannies
of man's discarded invention.

Summer grasses in unison,
stadium waving to
the music of summer breezes,
Manhattan sounds,
clinking glasses,
goods and services exchanged.    

The view admires you -
Oh baby you look so fine,
Your hair, like the
Hudson River's aquas
is a shining, streaked,
by High Line highlighted
late afternoon,  
sun-setting golden sparklers.

Your gold chains entwining,
fire crackers on top of a
the blue ribboned river,
exploding, dazzling,
your obedient admirers.  

They complement your skin,
aglow, one of nature's works,
soon to be painted on a canvas,
across a horizon of a
pinkish-tinged lavender sky -    
a gift of the oh-so-refined
refineries of South Jersey.  

Cool summer afternoon in
the Meatpacking District,
traffic, human, automotive,
clogs the Gansevoort piazza,
a NYsee zone pietonne,
a Manhattan cocktail of
young strivers and Eurotrash,
where you check me out,
and I return the favor,
using a pre-certified checklist.

Are you young?
Are you hip?
Are you beautiful?
Do you possess
what it takes
to undress me?
Reservations and a limousine!

Everyone who's there,
by definition, is in,
otherwise where else
would they be!

Pearls of perfect people,
perfect lives,
in, around and
before, swine.  

Am I the only one
who gets the joke,
or is the joke, me,
because I just don't got it
in order to get "it"?

Am I the only one
who sees the dead,
ancient and newly arrived,
human and other kind,
the living,
sharing the animal spirits
of the Meatpacking district:
some animated,
some haunted,
some summer tanned
some blood drained,
ghostly white veined?    

In this city,
my sweet city,
city where I bore
my first breath,
city where I'll be laid down to
my permarest,
the hues of my life
are city pastels,
colorful shades of asphalt
and concrete gray and
dried blood,
interspersed with the
speckled glitter of the
potpourri of human creation.

The Highline, an architect's
composition of summer grasses,
planted in nooks and crannies
waving to the jazzed music
of Manhattan lives,
its history, summer breezes,
emblem of the city's only coda:

Transform, rebirth -
survive and prosper,  
or else,
be slaughtered and die.

Summer 2010
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High_Line_(New_York_City)

Written years ago when long poems were the norm, and inspiration was in the odor of the air I breathed.
I felt as if I was descending upon hell itself, the irony being that I ultimately chose to enter through the metal turnstile gate, fully knowing that by doing so I could have no intention of turning around. By this self-declaration I had sentenced myself to whatever remained below these concrete subway steps.

I heard the clambering of demon folk or such similar above and behind us, down the long corridor. The bottle in front of me sweat beads of perspiration as I wished to dive into its cool abyss, but at last and a las our train had returned from its voyage previous and my companion and I ran to board it, in the process spilling my open bag upon the ground giving us almost no time to collect my things and sprint forward to hit the closed doors about to move on without us.  Later I said
“good call on getting the water, but bad call on missing our last train out of this concrete hell hole.”
As the constant distant voices of normal conversation and relaxed but regular footsteps progressed on inching towards us I noticed that at the same time a crowd never seemed to appear from either end, slowly crawling towards our position, never reaching the shadow of the light.

Then all of a sudden the room became crowded with all sorts of commotion and populous. It seemed that from my right and my left there seemed to be young attractive parties with no elderly or even near middle aged people to been seen, gallivanting and carrying on with the utmost sensation of joy and festivities. I knew this should have seemed nice, but I eventually came to the realization that this was not heaven but merely a mirage, one where my friend and I were marooned on a floating rock on top or this lava river of a Metra track, unable to swim towards the parties edge or escape through the tunnel in front or behind us.

Right then as the deafening roar dimmed from my back, I remembered the train that just arrived was not for us but headed in the opposite direction for we had chose to face the way of our destined transportation since our first mistake of hesitation.

Once safely through the translucent portal and comfy in my seat adjacent to a stabilizing chrome pole, I noticed to my right was a group, and including a boisterous individual with a puffy bruise on his right cheek bone proving a previous fight, and inside his pierced and cracked lips a glowing e-cig billowed, blowing out water vapor, saving the planet, not ruining lives.
I believed that group to my right to be speaking of something very high minded, allowing me to think they were old friends, intelligent and witty in their own right. This lead me to find them all very attractive in their own right, when I discovered their talk had been disgustingly insignificant and a kin to sleeping arrangements in an outdoor tent or a simple car ride with ones extended family members.

And I saw myself in him, this grotesque and angry beast, churned out by societies digestive system and beaten back into sensation to go off and create a horrible husband for some very unlucky girl. And the transcendentalism then that hit me now of how I was him and my father and the hobo three seats to my left too. I was all of them in different paths of alternate truths allowing my specific character, now, to go forth on any path, different paths, leading toward mediocrity, excellence or insignificance. Tell me, whose path is which in this metaphor?
D Apr 2014
You're not very far but you feel light years away
It's as if I'll never see that smile adorn your face
It's killing me to dream in a bed all alone,
Dreaming only of you
But am I really alone?

Maybe if I think about you enough, you'll finally appear
It's the law of attraction, I'll manifest you from my tears
You're 70% water anyway, if science is right
And if it just might work,
I think I'll give it try

First, I'll imagine your lips, pulling taughnt in a smile
It's quite attractive if I remember, though it has been awhile
Then the sound of your voice;
O, how it makes my tender heart
Rejoice

Next, your soft hands, running over the curve and dip of my waist
These memories, such sweetness.. I hope they don't go to waste
The taste of your lips as they move feverishly with mine,
These memories are surely fading
With the passing of time

I never knew which spice it was, but you always smell of spices
I can almost smell it now.. These five senses must be my vices
And you've still yet to show your face
Maybe I forget something..
Again then, just in case
Madison Oct 2018
Not too tall --

Don't want him towering over me

Looking down on me

Humiliating me

In more ways than one.


Eyes should be dark --

Not pale.

Don't want them

Cold, empty, icy

Don't need

A shark-like gaze

To chill me to the bone.


Not too large --

Don't need him to tell me

Just how big and strong and intimidating he is

Can't have him saying

Outright or otherwise

That he could hold me

Or anyone else down.

What else are arms for?


Not too crude --

In fact, I just might want him to talk

Like a woman.

Don't get me wrong --

My vocabulary is colorful enough.

It would be hypocritical to rule out profanity.

But, as soon as you call me or her or him or this or that

'*****'

The bile will surely be climbing my throat.


Not too proud --

Yes, confidence is attractive

But conceit is certainly no match.

I don't care if he thinks he looks good --

I will most likely agree that he does --

But one who can not admit to his mistakes

Let alone answer for them

Is a frightening caricature of humanity.

I am so flawed, love

But my flaws are not the cause of yours.


Not too dense --

Anyone who reads this

Male, female, or other

And calls me a 'man hater'

Or asks what I would think of a man

If he wrote something like this about a woman

Should run along

For that is not what I'm saying

Not at all.


I know what I deserve

And it's just what everyone else should get.

I just believe

That 'do unto others'

Should not die

Once the ring is on the finger

Or the name is on the dotted line.

I just believe

That 'love' should not be bastardized

To mean an unconditional, everlasting loop of

'Whatever you want

Honey.'

Only give what you'd want to get

Only take what you know you need

No matter the giver.

Bestow and accept nothing less

And as much more

As you can manage.


Believe me

I'll keep doing the same

No matter what you say.
Ember Evanescent Nov 2014
No, I don't think you understand how rare it is for me to like you

To just find you attractive because that is fairly common for me

But actually like you like you

Because those are two very different things

Attraction and affection

No, I meant Affection

It should be capitalized

What I mean is

I don't like ALOT of things

Seriously

I’m freaking negative

I am the queen of all pessimism

I don't like:

Bad grammar

When people pronounce words wrong

People who say Pacifically instead of Specifically

Overly optimistic people Example:(Oh your family is in thousands of
dollars of debt your sister just killed herself and your boyfriend just
cheated on you with your mom and you're pregnant with the baby of
the guy who got you drunk and slept with you without your sober permission who happens to have just moved to Asia to escape having to care for you and his baby? Well, you have your health!) –stab-

The number 9 it sounds like it’s on the edge of something. I hate wishy-
washy numbers that don’t go all the way. Resolve to ten already!!!

Movies where there is a completely impossible happy ending thanks to spontaneous magic

Apple juice

Most flowers

Pink (the color)

The Sun

The month of April

Girls who don’t know how to wear pants. Or a shirt. Seriously. Those aren’t shorts. That’s just a belt that ***** at being a belt.

People who try to ****** me

People who freak out at me when I try to ****** them

Mondays

Tuesdays

Wednesdays

Thursdays

Fridays

Saturday­s

Sundays

F!CKING MONDAYS AND TUESDAYS

When people pronounce french words WRONG

PEOPLE who pronounce french words wrong

Reality TV

Holidays that don't even get you a day off from school

Ducks that are yellow. THEY DON’T EXIST the bath toy company is LYING TO YOU

Sticky hands

The color yellow

The color orange

Colors that just seem too… happy. It makes me want to light them on
fire. And impale them.

Obnoxious hair colors

Girls who wear jeans and skirts simultaneously

Overly colorful rainbows

When people talk into your ear and you can feel their warm breath.

Being drenched in water

Character or word limits

Signs

When I get all disappointed because I dreamed someone I hated got hit by lightning and it doesn’t come true

When I wish really REALLY ******* a star but it just doesn’t come true. Then I have to go and fill the grave I had all dug up for them.

Plastic hangers

Man, I HATE plastic hangers

Walking

Running

Standing

Any kind of action that doesn’t include limply lying around

When I look at someone with extreme loathing and they don’t spontaneously combust. It’s very sad.

Raisins

When you THINK it’s a chocolate chip cookie and it turns out to be
raisins. MAIN REASON I HAVE TRUST ISSUES!

But, I do like you.

That’s saying something.

I LIKE YOU.

Really.

Honest.

But you don’t realize how rare that is.

:P

…God, I’m so violent. I should have that looked at...

Well, there's your positivity for the day
PLEASE FEEL FREE TO COMMENT AND ADD TO THIS LIST OF THINGS THAT ARE VERY HATEABLE
showyoulove Sep 2013
All the earth speaks to Your glory Lord

The trees strong and tall stretch up to the sky

Giving food, shelter, shade to so many creatures

The flowers so delicate and beautiful bringing color

And joy to so many. A wonderful gift

The birds, insects, and all creatures create a symphony

You are the master orchestrator Lord


The wind: at times gentle and pleasant others powerful and destructive

Sometimes moving or inspiring, still more, pushing, prompting


Water: reminding of patience, calm, creativity

Great power. Life giving and Life taking. Water shows

The power of teamwork.


Fire: so much power and destruction. Violence and death

But cleansing, purifying, strengthening too

A little bit can be light, a source of pleasant warmth

A guide and used properly a blessing; attractive to others


All nature all earth speaks to Your glory Lord.

Praise and Glory and Honor to You Lord of All!


Amen!
meteorelle Jul 2018
With lonely nights like this, I keep on questioning my existence:
"What is the purpose of life?", "What is the purpose of my existence?", "Why I'm like this?", "Do I deserve to be loved?"

"Who am I?"

Every once in a while, very unpleasant or disturbing thoughts come into my head. It begs for those questions. I felt plagued by thoughts and images that I couldn't stand but I learned to embrace them with arms wide open, intrusive thoughts are now normal.
It consumed me alive. Beautifully. Wonderfully.
This feels very ****** and embarrassing. I got to admit that I don't really feel like I belong to anywhere. I've found it difficult to relate to anyone. I can't figure out myself, and what I will be everyday.

Here's the thing: I have two souls inside this not-so-**** body.
I feel okay in some days, and less in others.
I'm strong but I'm afraid. I'm tough yet vulnerable.
I was born to be pretentious. Everyday I struggle living a high-functioning public persona at work so I would look normal and ordinary, but in the back of my mind, I am this insane ***** who wants to cut off all of their heads and put it in my altar.
I can easily laugh at silly jokes but I find it more funny if I'll stab people in the face and gouge their eyes out and eat it.
When I am having these morbid thoughts, I just want to sit down in the corner, calm down and not to talk to anyone.
Or listen to Xasthur and meditated. Or take psilocybin mushroom and smoke ****.
Or simply hang myself and dance in the air with the marks of crisscross red in my fair skin (which I sometimes hate because that makes me attractive. I hate being liked for how I look. You'll never hear anyone says "Hey, check out the brain on that babe." Sad truth.)

I always believe that life in itself serves no ultimate purpose.
Life is meaningless but we need to live for the mean time.
Although, it is not the reason why I am sad, depressed, and lonely. Since everything is pointless for me, there's no point of choosing to be sad but it looks like sadness took me over and made a home out of her.

Even I am creepy at times, I am still this girl who loves Disney and just wants to wear a long white dress and run into the magical woods to find my prince who will kiss me passionately and save me from this agony. I am that desperate in seeking love in this universe I need to live in, but also desperately avoiding it. So, after that kiss, I will push him away because I cannot stay. I have nothing to give. Nothing matters, even myself. This is why I lose people in my life. Because who would choose to stay with someone who can't even figure herself out? Who would be willing to walk to the end of the earth to find out these things with her?

These are the thoughts I cannot simply tell anyone. I feel so shallow for feeling everything so deep. Why can't I be ordinary and follow the norm? I don't have the answers yet. I don't think I will ever have. All I know is that I have two voices inside my head.

I don't know how to express that I feel so empty without making it sound so sad?
I wish I weren't so sad, I wish I didn't want to disappear in the darkness right away so I could stay happy in this dimension, even for a while.

I feel like I am trapped in a book.
I don't know what page I am right now, but I hope that this page will be ripped off and will have no important role in the story, so if I'm gone, the characters of the book wouldn't mourn for someone who didn't even want to exist.

But as much as I would want to, this book that I am in is not yet finished so I need to continue with my role.
Whoever the invisible space phantom that watches over us,
Please take me to the inevitable end. Or write another story where my name will not be written.
Because I am tired of spending my life dying inside.
Just another nonsense prose.
I thought I could write how my mind works so someone would understand me. But I couldn't. Everything will still remain a mystery, and no one will bother to care. I will forever drown in here without the ocean knowing that I am drowning.
Nicole stely Apr 2018
Ice
Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?

Pay attention to the chill,
the chill is the most shivering fear of all.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the chill,
Gently it goes - the chill, the trembling, the unsteady.

A thawing, however hard it tries,
Will always be Melting.
Does the thawing make you shiver?
does it?

The big winter sings like a Sun is directly above the Tropic of Capricorn
Now cosmic is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the winter is mature.

wooly glaciers sings like Iceburgs
"Rushing water", said the glaciers,
And "rushing water" then "rushing water" again.

How happy is the frozen popsicle!
Does the popsicle make you shiver?
does it?

The freezing that's really crystals,
Above all others is the frost.
Does the frost make you shiver?
does it?

Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?

Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Ice, Ice, every where,
Yet not a drop to draft.

How happy is the cold surface!
Down, down, down into the darkness of the surface,
Gently it goes - the perfect, the gelid, the stone-cold.

Pay attention to the floe,
the floe is the most Dence ice mass of all.
Floe, floe, every where,
Yet not a drop to drift.

The thawing is like a gentle voice,
it tends to cause significantly.
Does the thawing make you shiver?
does it?

The athletic game that's really zany,
Above all others is the hockey.
Pause to assist, like the hockey does.
It does assist, it does draft,
Should it also induct?

Why would you think the snowfall is gradual?
the snowfall is the most sudden downfall of all.
Pause to last, like the snowfall does.
It does last, it does accumulate,
Should it also range?

I saw the the antarctic installation of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the water.
I don't like the fact that it,
learned to reside before it knew how to flow.
You can reside, you can flow, but can you supply?

Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?

Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Pause to draft, like the Ice does.

Don't belive that the snowfall is small?
the snowfall is big beyond belief.
Never forget the braggy and large-scale snowfall.

Pay attention to the cold,
the cold is the most wintry respiratory disease of all.
Are you upset by how springlike it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the cold so frozen?

I saw the the little demoralize of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the chill.
Now small-scale is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the chill is trivial.

An iceman, however hard it tries,
Will always be cunning.
Are you upset by how adroit it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the iceman so attractive?

I saw the the Frozen excretion of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the water.
Never forget the sleety and unchangeable water.

Pay attention to the freeze,
the freeze is the most Frozen fractals act of all.
Does the freeze make you shiver?
does it?

Because I could not draft for Ice,
they did kindly draft for me.
Do Ice make you shiver?
do they?
judy smith Sep 2016
When I was chief creative officer for Liz Claiborne Inc., I spent a good amount of time on the road hosting fashion shows highlighting our brands. Our team made a point of retaining models of various sizes, shapes and ages, because one of the missions of the shows was to educate audiences about how they could look their best. At a Q&A; after one event in Nashville in 2010, a woman stood up, took off her jacket and said, with touching candour: “Tim, look at me. I’m a box on top, a big, square box. How can I dress this shape and not look like a fullback?” It was a question I’d heard over and over during the tour: Women who were larger than a size 12 always wanted to know, How can I look good, and why do designers ignore me?

At New York Fashion Week, which began Thursday, the majority of American women are unlikely to receive much attention, either. Designers keep their collections tightly under wraps before sending them down the runway, but if past years are any indication of what’s to come, plus-size looks will be in short supply. Sure, at New York Fashion Week in 2015, Marc Jacobs and Sophie Theallet each featured a plus-size model and Ashley Graham debuted her plus-size lingerie line. But these moves were very much the exception, not the rule.

I love the American fashion industry, but it has a lot of problems and one of them is the baffling way it has turned its back on plus-size women. It’s a puzzling conundrum. The average American woman now wears between a size 16 and a size 18, according to new research from Washington State University. There are 100 million plus-size women in America, and, for the past three years, they have increased their spending on clothes faster than their straight-size counterparts. There is money to be made here ($20.4 billion (U.S.), up 17 per cent from 2013). But many designers — dripping with disdain, lacking imagination or simply too cowardly to take a risk — still refuse to make clothes for them.

In addition to the fact that most designers max out at size 12, the selection of plus-size items on offer at many retailers is paltry compared with what’s available for a size 2 woman. According to a Bloomberg analysis, only 8.5 per cent of dresses on Nordstrom.com in May were plus-size. At J.C. Penney’s website, it was 16 per cent; Nike.com had a mere five items — total.

I’ve spoken to many designers and merchandisers about this. The overwhelming response is, “I’m not interested in her.” Why? “I don’t want her wearing my clothes.” Why? “She won’t look the way that I want her to look.” They say the plus-size woman is complicated, different and difficult, that no two size 16s are alike. Some haven’t bothered to hide their contempt. “No one wants to see curvy women” on the runway, Karl Lagerfeld, head designer of Chanel, said in 2009. Plenty of mass retailers are no more enlightened: under the tenure of chief executive Mike Jeffries, Abercrombie & Fitch sold nothing larger than a size 10, with Jeffries explaining that “we go after the attractive, all-American kid.”

This a design failure and not a customer issue. There is no reason larger women can’t look just as fabulous as all other women. The key is the harmonious balance of silhouette, proportion and fit, regardless of size or shape. Designs need to be reconceived, not just sized up; it’s a matter of adjusting proportions. The textile changes, every seam changes. Done right, our clothing can create an optical illusion that helps us look taller and slimmer. Done wrong, and we look worse than if we were naked.

Have you shopped retail for size 14-plus clothing? Based on my experience shopping with plus-size women, it’s a horribly insulting and demoralizing experience. Half the items make the body look larger, with features like ruching, box pleats and shoulder pads. Pastels and large-scale prints and crazy pattern-mixing abound, all guaranteed to make you look infantile or like a float in a parade. Adding to this travesty is a major department-store chain that makes you walk under a marquee that reads “WOMAN.” What does that even imply? That a “woman” is anyone larger than a 12 and everyone else is a girl? It’s mind-boggling.

Project Runway, the design competition show on which I’m a mentor, has not been a leader on this issue. Every season we have the “real women” challenge (a title I hate), in which the designers create looks for non-models. The designers audibly groan, though I’m not sure why; in the real world, they won’t be dressing a seven-foot-tall glamazon.

This season, something different happened: Ashley Nell Tipton won the contest with the show’s first plus-size collection. But even this achievement managed to come off as condescending. I’ve never seen such hideous clothes in my life: bare midriffs; skirts over crinoline, which give the clothes, and the wearer, more volume; see-through skirts that reveal *******; pastels, which tend to make the wearer look juvenile; and large-scale floral embellishments that shout “prom.” Her victory reeked of tokenism. One judge told me that she was “voting for the symbol” and that these were clothes for a “certain population.” I said they should be clothes all women want to wear. I wouldn’t dream of letting any woman, whether she’s a size 6 or a 16, wear them. Simply making a nod toward inclusiveness is not enough.

This problem is difficult to change. The industry, from the runway to magazines to advertising, likes subscribing to the mythology it has created of glamour and thinness. Look at Vogue’s “Shape Issue,” which is ostensibly a celebration of different body types but does no more than nod to anyone above a size 12. For decades, designers have trotted models with bodies completely unattainable for most women down the runway. First it was women so thin that they surely had eating disorders. After an outcry, the industry responded by putting young teens on the runway, girls who had yet to exit puberty. More outrage.

But change is not impossible. There are aesthetically worthy retail successes in this market. When helping women who are size 14 and up, my go-to retailer is Lane Bryant. While the items aren’t fashion with a capital F, they are stylish (but please avoid the cropped pants — always a no-no for any woman). And designer Christian Siriano scored a design and public relations victory after producing a look for Leslie Jones to wear to the “Ghostbusters” red-carpet premiere. Jones, who is not a diminutive woman, had tweeted in despair that she couldn’t find anyone to dress her; Siriano stepped in with a lovely full-length red gown.

Several retailers that have stepped up their plus-size offerings have been rewarded. In one year, ModCloth doubled its plus-size lineup. To mark the anniversary, the company paid for a survey of 1,500 American women ages 18 to 44 and released its findings: Seventy-four per cent of plus-size women described shopping in stores as “frustrating”; 65 per cent said they were “excluded.” (Interestingly, 65 per cent of women of all sizes agreed that plus-size women were ignored by the fashion industry.) But the plus-size women surveyed also indicated that they wanted to shop more. More than 80 per cent said they’d spend more on clothing if they had more choices in their size and nearly 90 per cent said they would buy more if they had trendier options. According to the company, its plus-size shoppers place 20 per cent more orders than its straight-size customers.

Online start-up Eloquii, initially conceived and then killed by The Limited, was reborn in 2014. The trendy plus-size retailer, whose top seller is an over-the-knee boot with four-inch heels and extended calf sizes, grew its sales volume by more than 165 per cent in 2015.

Despite the huge financial potential of this market, many designers don’t want to address it. It’s not in their vocabulary. Today’s designers operate within paradigms that were established decades ago, including anachronistic sizing. (Consider the fashion show: It hasn’t changed in more than a century.) But this is now the shape of women in this nation, and designers need to wrap their minds around it. I profoundly believe that women of every size can look good. But they must be given choices. Separates — tops, bottoms — rather than single items like dresses or jumpsuits always work best for the purpose of fit. Larger women look great in clothes skimming the body, rather than hugging or cascading. There’s an art to doing this. Designers, make it work.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
NL Feb 2012
2.9.12
Memory oppression.
It never works for me.
They always come back eventually.
It hits me like a wave,
crashing around me and drowning me
in an ocean of regret and self-loathing.
I feel so ****** up.

The easiest defense,
is to feel numb.
Smoke until my lungs hurt.
Drink until I cannot feel anything
anymore.
Because the pain of my present actions,
sure as hell beats the agony i feel when
I think of all that I've done.

I am told I'm a good person.
I try to believe it.
But I can't let go of
the things I've done.
The people I've destroyed.

Montauges of the past
are like snapshots of
the truth of who I really am.

Relying on strangers for the necissities of every day life.
"Stay with me, love. Sleep in my bed. You will be safe."
"Snort this, dear. It will be okay."
Why did I listen?
Everything goes black then.
I awaken,
naked,
covered in sweat.
"What happened?"
No answer,
he just showed me the door.
It's strange,
I cannot even remember his name.
I will never forget his face though.

Snapshot.
Drinking a liquid drug.
Flashes of insanity.
Laying on the bathroom floor,
questioning where I was.
Who I was.
Slamming my fists into the wall.
Trying to make the pounding in my head stop.
Make the voices stop.
Make the people in my head stop asking me all their
******* questions.

"Would you like to try something new?"
This strange man was offering me ****..
"Of course." I reply.
"I'll try anything."
Carefully lighting the pipe.
"Careful now, light it for too long and it will explode."
Exhale.
How did I fit so much smoke in my mouth?
Give it a second.
Feel the rush.

The tight pinch of the rubber around my arm,
I enjoyed the rush of nervousness as she said,
"This will only hurt a little."
The bite of the needle.
The image of my blood,
tainted black.

Greg.
I thought he was so attractive.
I hooked up with his brother though,
while he shot up adderall in the bathroom.
He had a shortage of ****** at the time.

So many men told me they loved me in Utah.
They held me in their arms and stroked my hair.
They kissed my lips in a way that made me believe them.
None lasted more than a week.
Either I would not have *** with them when they wanted.
Or they realized how ****** up I really am.
Either way,
I was left empty and starving for love.
On to the next one.

Nothing compares,
to my ******.
I still remember
the sweet yet bitter taste of it.
I remember when I was a child,
I said I would never smoke a cigarette.
Who have I become?

Having *** for the first time in three years in a homeless shelter.
A twenty-two year old jailbird.
I will never forget
the swatstika on his chest.
Or the way he left the second after.
The sheets felt so cold that night.
And I felt so empty.

The man I thought I loved.
I knew him for all of a month,
when he was arrested before my eyes.
And it was all my fault.
I never saw him again.
His last words were,
"I love you. I'm so sorry."
I cried for two weeks straight.
We would smoke ****.
Have *** and never tire.
I thought I loved him.
I realize now,
I cannot fully recall a memory.
Or any feeling of affection towards him.
I hope he is okay.

Another,
his name was Tyler.
He housed me.
He took care of me.
I lead him on,
so I could have a roof over my head.
And I broke his heart.
And felt nothing.

***** Vegas drug runs.
With four men,
late 20's.
****** addicts.
I remember
leaving the parking lot,
looking to either side of me.
That day I saw true addicts.
Blood streaming from their drug infested veins.
I guess that's what happens when you
re-open old wounds.
I asked if I could have some,
after all,
I did find them a ride.
They said no to shooting it up.
But graciously let me smoke some.
The result?
Throwing up in the Vegas parking lot for an hour.
It's okay.
We went back to one of their place and did more.
Along with *******.
One week later they were raided.
10-20 years in prison.

One man I lived with for a month.
He was 31 years old.
Two younger daughters.
He always had a group of teenagers at his house
smoking ****.
Drinking.
The **** his daughters saw..
He kicked me out for not having *** for him.
It was my "payment" and I just couldn't do it.
It didn't feel right.
One month later his house was raided.
In front of his daughters he was handcuffed.
10 years in prison.

Wyatt called me a couple times.
Each time I burst out in tears.
How could he still love me?
I left him.
But I still loved him more than anything.
He was the only one who loved me unconditionally.

I remember Leavitt.
I have never met a nastier man.
He tried to turn me into a ******* numerous times.
He knew how badly I needed ******.
Why did I put up with him?
Yes,
he had a car.
But,
he molested me on more than one occasion..
Most likely because I could never remember it the next day.
He always promised me ****** if I stayed around.
Empty promises.
I tried to leave,
he stole my phone.
Called my parents and told them everything.
******* *******.
I did not want them to see who their daughter was now.

Brent tried to be there for me.
I used him.
And he knew it.
But he is a good person.
And he loved me.
So he sacrificed.

I had a friend named Tayler.
She was 15.
Dating a 27 year old drug dealer.
She was street smart.
Stole his **** almost everyday.
He was too drugged up to realize it was his own girlfriend.

My parents sent me money once.
Two hundred dollars.
It was spent on ****.
And what wasn't spent on ****,
my friends stole.
And I always forgave,
because they were all I had.

I am extremely grateful,
that many more memories have not come back.
I know some are terrible.
And I'm not ready to face them quite yet.

I have no idea how
I could associate myself with these people.
Let alone let myself become one.

Everything was so *****.
Every one was so *****.
I repress any dark side I have,
that I used to show.
Because I'm afraid to become that again.

I never want to be that person again.
I never want to live that life again.
When will I get closure?
When will I forgive myself?
When will I let myself be happy?
I think some people are just meant to be unhappy.

I don't think happiness is possible for me.
Uhh Who Jun 2016
i've had a fear of asking for what i want, or being ashamed to want things. it's a strange fear in hindsight, and i still struggle w/ it
2. it's amazing i've gotten anything done with how little confidence/assertiveness i exude. i'd say mostly luck tbh.
3. i've also had an urge to be a little more social lately which also clashes with how i identify myself as introverted or shy
4. and that surprised some people because in certain contexts i can be energetic or funny but i cant control that. i dont know
5. i often blank when comin up with jokes or funny material and it feels like im not myself when that happens. its not triggered by sadness
6. its just a blank, as if you're taking a test in school that you werent prepared for.
7. this is annoying to some people so sorry but being introspective on twitter helps me when the words come easily as they so rarely do..
8. gaming has always given me a reason to travel or be socialize without having to seek company, it's just always there.
9. but i know gaming wont last forever and maybe i just seek novelty, who knows.
10. i enjoy learning but i also get bored quickly so i usually pick up small useless bits of alot of topics, ppl see me as smarter than i am
11. and i am certainly envious of people who have accomplished more than me but otoh i am surrounded by them and its kind of inspiring
12. so the ego blow of not being the smartest in the room hurt for a while but it also pays off because i see what my peers are capable of
13. and thus can see what im capable of
14. sorry again for spamming/ranting, but i hope someone can maybe learn something useful from my own bsing lol
15. the amount of ways people can express themselves is incredible and ive always been bad at it, i think cuz i fear/avoid confrontation?
16. taking up space feels like guilt alot
17. emotional attachment to outcomes have held me back, but it's hard to let ago of that. its what i feel strongest towards, accomplishment.
18. going to TBH5 and my name being known by people i never met from a place ive never been was a crazy feeling as long as ive been in the game
19. although im not sure if it was from accomplishment as much as its been that ive been around for so long
20. and i also often feel guilty when people overestimate my expertise in tech, gaming etc and i cant help them
21. because it feels like a facade i put on of being super smart when im not, even though its not something i try to fool people with
22. and when i was younger i used to resent really sociable/popular people for having what i could have. being friendlier has helped that
23. but its also weird because i still hold onto that hurt and becoming something part of what you used to hate is a odd conflict to have
24. expressing empathy beyond "i'm sorry" or similar things is something else that's difficult, i never understood it and i cant fake it
25. narcissism is a trait i've despised in people and seen in those that dont have it but i see myself getting closer to it everyday sadly
26. i can get jealous of peoples success until i realize the work they put in, they i get jealous of how they can have such strong work ethic...
27. it took me ayear after losing weight/learning how to dress to realize girls weren't mocking me when they found me attractive lol
28. i feel like i've learned alot but im also so behind on everything
29. i wonder if i'll ever truly feel like an adult or if i'm meant to feel like a fraud forever lol
30. i dont know if i force myself to be social "just because" or if its what i actually want, i also take pride in my "shy" identity
31. i've apologized for being myself alot, i've even apologized for beating people in "janky" ways in game. its a bad habit
32. people make excuses for me when i play bad too which helps the ego but hurts in the long run, again its the expectations of others...
33. i know its impossible to be the best in every pursuit i follow but it still ***** feeling like i cant even come close, idk perfectionism
34. i've been friends with all my exes afterwards even the ones who cheated on me (minus the most recent) and im not sure if i was apathetic
35. or didnt value myself enough to see their behavior as a big deal
36. i've long since accepted im the common denominator in my failed relationships/friendships but i still have no idea what causes them to
37. it'd be too easy to blame all my problems on my weird but not necessarily awful childhood though
38. i thought getting a full time stable job would solve almost all my issues and it helped alot but not in the ways i thought
39. so it makes me wonder if anything i want really matters or would help
40. i also think im coming to terms with the fact that i may be a romantic person which conflicts with how i identify as a shy or cold person
41. my laziness gets so real sometimes im too lazy to even do fun stuff, like staring at the ceiling is so much more entertaining or something
42. ranting on an open platform is probably healthier than emotionally vomitting on another person and making them deal with it?
43. ive certainly thought about if i have anxiety or things like that but i dont want to give myself an excuse even if it is valid
44. alot of mental illnessses have become a buzzword these days which is such a shame and i feel for those who really struggle with them
45. and id end up becoming part of that problem, what i deal with is super trivial compared to what most ppl deal with
46. i wish i could always be aware of myself/talk stream of consciousness like this man
47. recently i was told a group of ppl who i thought didnt think of me at all didnt actually like me, which actually made me feel good?
48. being acknowledged even if its bad is good i guess, "no such thing as bad publicity" etc
49. idk maybe i need new distractions or maybe i need to stop distracting myself? who knows
50. feel like i've co-opted my friends accomplishments in lieu of my own while simultaneously hating to talk about myself
51. ex "my friend in X field or people who do Y for a living"
52. being associated with greatness while not doing so is a convenient excuse to not do ****
53. "shoot your shot" but i'd feel guilty about it too because finding someone attractive also makes me feel bad?
54. alot of things make me feel bad but not sad. i guess guilt is the best word to describe it
55. is this how m2k lives everyday *******
56. never liked the "ironic sadness" meme on tumblr etc but the writing that comes from it such as mira gonzalez/gabby bess is ******* amazing
57. i have no idea why i randomly gets bouts of being super nervous or paranoid either, over nothing
58. went to a bar yesterday and flinched/got surprised almost everytime the bartender asked me if i wanted a drink which made her nervous too
59. or at least i think so
60. i've gotten mad at people for not having confidence in themselves but ive somehow been ok with that trait in myself for so long
61. im sure ill be embarrassed about all these feels tweets later but **** it gotta strike while the iron is hot
62. it ***** when a friend of yours is dealing with stuff that you yourself aren't equipped for and you can't help them
63. it's so hard to express that you aren't abandoning them but that you are just useless in that situation
64. sometimes just being there isn't enough, but letting yourself get dragged into their problems isn't helpful either
65. the one big step ive made in the past year is learning to not feel guilty for doing things i enjoy though so thats a start
66. also what's the difference between persistence and being annoying/stubborn? it's arbitrary?
67. ive been reading alot but i barely remember what i read recently or what it was about, and im not 100% sure of my favorite color
68. none of those are good signs >_>
69. pride isn't a useless emotion but it certainly seems to hurt more than it helps
70. maybe i'll print out and frame my tweets from the past hour or so so i can remember how to feel again!
71. i have very few SI friends compared to brooklyn manhattan or elsewhere and i wanna change that but i also wanna leave SI #feelsBadMan
72. being contextually creative (such as jokes/stories) is alot different from being creative in general or on a whim
6/21/2016

Not really a poem or anything but yesterday I had a really rare bout of introspection that just came easily to me and I figured it'd be a waste to not share it
Ruthie Aug 2014
I never really put much thought into love.
I figured it was something imaginary.
Parents say I love you.
But then they scream at each other behind slammed doors.
Boys tell you they love you to get in your pants.
Girls seem to love everything whether it's fluffy, pretty or just **** attractive.

I've never been one to believe in it all.
It never made much sense.
Always a meaningless word.
Signifying as little as four simple letters.

But then I met you.
And it may have been a sunny day.
And everyone may have been in high spirits.
But we walked.
And we talked.
And I think I felt our souls bounce off each other.
Like they were old friends reconnecting.
Catching up.
Yet you were totally new.

And two days.
Two days is all it took for my soul to understand that it found its long lost friend.
But then we were separated again.
And our souls are struggling to stay in touch.

But I feel deep down that you're not gonna be gone long.
We'll see each other again.
And we'll be Soulmates.
And I know for a fact I will run anywhere with you.

Because the feeling I get when I'm with you.
It's as if those four empty letters are full at last.
And they're full to capacity.
I know it's not lust.
I feel it in my soul.
This is love.
Aaron LaLux Oct 2016
On a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an island,

had a layover in Dubai,
so I decided to visit a friend,
a beautiful traveler such as myself,
in Dubai the Hyatt was her residence,

I got off my flight,
and cleared customs,
took the Metro to Palm Deira,
then emerged into the thick Emirates air,

felt like I’d emerged into a tide pool,
the air was damp and salty,
as if I’d submerged my whole body,
into summer sun heated waters,

walked a long short walk to the hotel,
and entered the oversized lobby,
Dubai lives off of air conditioning,
and the climate control was welcoming,

my friend came down to meet me,
dressed as beautiful as ever,
a flight attendant she was very attentive,
we hugged and she invited me to the rooftop pool,

on the rooftop I changed into my swimming trunks,
because even though it was just I layover,
I bring my trunks with me everywhere,
because you never know when you’re gonna swim,

she stayed poolside,
gazed at me apparently amused,
after a quick dip I emerged refreshed,
toweled off and we talked,

she asked me why I write,
she asked me what my goal was,
I told her I didn’t know why I write,
or really what my goal was,

she pressed on,
and insisted there must be a reason,
so I answered her question,
with the following reasoning,

“I guess I write,
so that our collective humanity,
has some sort of documentation,
of our emotional history.
But I don’t have a goal,
and I am not flattered when people compliment my work,
because I don’t really consider my writings mine,
I consider them the world’s.
So when some says my writing saved their life,
I feel awkward because God wrote it not me,
still I say thank you because I don’t know what else to say.
The books I’ve written are bigger than me,
millions of people have read the poems I’ve penned,
but most people that that have read my poems,
wouldn’t recognize me on the street if they walked past me,
see it’s not me they know it’s the writing I’ve written,
which means readers think they know me,
but they don’t know me at all.”

There’s a moment of silence,
on that rooftop,
all the lights of Dubai,
reflecting in her dark molasses eyes,

and I ask this,

“Do you ever feel trapped?”

She seems a bit perplexed by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,
here you are,
in The Emirates.
You are constantly on call for an airline,
you could be called to go any minute,
so you’re in a constant state of defense.
Plus,
this whether,
I mean,
it’s unbearably hot here,
and people here are completely dependent on A/C,
plus there are cameras everywhere always watching,
and to open almost any door here you need a key,

it seems there’s so much security that nothing and no one is free.”

“No I don’t feel trapped.”

Her answer comes too fast,
as if she doesn’t want to take the time to think about it,
and speaking of time,
my flight to Thailand is quickly approaching.

I change out of my shorts,
put my ‘normal’ clothes back on,
khaki shorts and navy shirt,
so that I can cruise through without being bothered,

but I am bothered,
because I can’t even touch her,
this is Dubai and despite the pretty lights,
this place is not Liberal it’s Conservative Islam,

and everything is forbidden.

We make our way across the rooftop poolside,
walking on plastic grass under canvas canopies,
we get to the outside door she slides her plastic key card,
and we enter back into the climate controlled insides,

we reach the elevator,
she taps her key card again,
the elevator opens,
and we start to descend,

inside the lift I can’t help myself,
she’s too attractive,
so I try to place a kiss on her shoulder,
she pulls away.

“Aaron no!”

“What?”

“We can’t,
not here,
I can get in trouble,
seriously.”

She nods discretely to the close captioned camera,
recording our every movement in the corner,
I guess the only thing we can exchange here is glances,
the system still hasn’t found a way to stop us from making eye contact,

and eye contact is the only contact we’re allowed to make,
everything else is forbidden,
heck they’d probably even outlaw looks if they could,
the elevator opens,

we’re back in the lobby,
she offers to walk me to the metro,
I obviously accept her offer,
I would accept any offer she ever gave me,

We emerge back into that thick Emirate air,
that damp and salty tide pool,
back into that traffic and incessant noise,
back into the smell of the fruits of the sea,

I ask her why it smells so much like fish out there,
she tells me there’s a fish market across the street,
she tells me the Pakistanis shove fish in her face during the say,
and have absolutely no respect for personal space.

we reach the doors of the metro station,
already we can feel the cool artificial A/C breeze,
and I’m again reminded how fake this city is,
fake people fake air fake grass fake plastic trees,

seems she’s the only thing real here,
and we are about to say goodbye,
we hug quickly before we depart,
don’t want to catch the attention of the camera’s eye,

she waives goodbye,
as I descend back down the escalator,
I want to tell her that I don’t like goodbye waives,
because that’s exactly what I saw before I lost my sister,

in other words the last time I ever saw my little sister,
was when she waived goodbye to me,
before she drowned in the fish pond,
actually that’s the only memory I have of my sister,

but that’s another story for another day,
that’s a different trip entirely,
that’s something that happened long ago,
something that now’s a distant memory,

anyways that’s why I wanted to tell the girl in Dubai,
“Please don’t waive goodbye,
because that makes me worried,
that we’ll never see each other again.”,

but it was too late,
the hands of time had already pushed us away,
the escalator was already creating too much space between us,
I guess I can hope that we’ll see each other again in another time and place,

but for now,

I’m on a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an Island,

and the planes coming,
and it’s almost time to board,
and you can’t go back to a passed moment,
because the only constant is change and the only direction is forward,

so be forewarned,
if you love someone tell them right then,
because even when things are just beginning,
everything and every one is only a moment from the very end…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
A lesson in Time and a Reminder to Love
Devilgirlzdream Jun 2014
Chilling
Talking to my best friend
We cuddle
And I kiss his cheek

Next thing I know
He's licking my neck
I slowly lick his in return
Blushing my head off

What the hell is going on here?
Am I talking to the same person?
But he is really attractive..
I bite my lip

This is some intense ****

~Devil~
the **** that happens lol cx
Star G Apr 2015
I don't wish for many things from others.
But I do wish the most from myself.

I wish I could play the guitar, the piano,
the ukulele, the violin, the cello; as many
instruments as I possibly can.

I wish I had amazing grades, like 90's
and 100's on all of my educational
classes; and that I had joined the PAP and
AP courses sooner in order to impress
colleges and universities.

I wish I was more slim than I am now,
and that I had attractive curves - not as
in oversized *******, but as in nice
curves on my stomach, legs and arms.

I wish I was pretty, as in big beautiful
and attractive eyes, soft and colored
(not pale) lips, clear skin free of acne
and ****** hair, long and luscious and
silky hair, soft skin, and a cute nose.

I wish I was a nice sister, one who
didn't ignore her siblings, who
interacted with them and got along
with them greatly.

I wish I was an amazing daughter and
family member, one who didn't argue
and wasn't distant from her parents, who
visited her family members frequently
and was sociable with them all.

I wish I had the best personality, one that
didn't ignore her friends and family, one
that always made people smile and laugh,
one that was sweet & nice to everyone,
one that was perfect.

I wish I was perfect.

Too bad they're all wishes.
This is a poem from the deepest and most secret part of myself that I desperately try to hide and deny.
barnoahMike Dec 2011
Far be it from me ~ to say that LEAD BALLOONS don't float !     For example,  how thick is the lead,   how big is the Balloon,   is it filled with Helium,  is it to be floated on earth ,  or perhaps the moon,  with much less gravity and,,what about aboard a space craft ?  SO,  just like I said,  I can;t say LEAD BALLOONS  don't float.     Could it be said,  that Man's feelings are like LEAD BALLOONS?    How Thick or Thin skinned are they,  how big and attractive are the temptations?   Who and what are the Tempters,  that will draw our attention  away from  truths ,  carried aloft by LEAD BALLOONS.    In any of these cases I ask ...." IS THERE A TETHER ATTACHED"?      SO,,,, for the floating portion of the test !!     Prepare as follows:  Snorkels,  Diving Suits,  Flippers,  Masks and Weighted Belts.    Just the things we need for Proper Diving { just in case}.   Fully suited Swan Dives may not seem in place at the Olympics,   BUT at these Major Finals,,A fully suited person is REQUIRED.    Double pike with a Full Twist help in escaping "THAT HUGE SUCTION SOUND".   And of course the Perfect Bathing Cap,  to keep hair out of FACE.   There is Something about having  a situation "RIGHT IN YOUR FACE"  .
copyright 2011    by barnoah     Mike Ham
Michael W Noland May 2013
The dread set in upon opening my eyes, as i swing my legs to the right side of the bed and stand. Slightly stumbling i make my way to the bathroom while adjusting to a waking state. I flip on the light, wincing my eyes in a sharp electric freeze from the back of my head, and while recovering, i pull the shower curtain away from the showers pull ***. Pulling the *** out slowly twisting it to ninety degrees as the water turns on, i am reminded to feed my plants before leaving the condo for the day. I step into the shower dipping my head under the warm stream of steaming water while resting my hands against the wall, as images of all the women i had saw the night prior begin shuffling through my head and a partial ******* forms. I imagine their eyes filled with tears, as i shove them down to my ****, and finally the Rolodex of faces stops on a Starbucks girl with piercings all over her pouty face that i had encountered on a lunch break a few days ago, and i begin stroking my **** with my right hand whispering "you ***** ****" over and over, as her eyes look up at me innocently, Mascara running down her face, until suddenly i hear my phone vibrate atop a pile of pocket change in the bedroom which promptly kills the moment in my wonder of the importance of a 5:00 AM jingle, which slowly fades, while i proceed to apply Ax shower gel to my Ax body scrubber that i had received as a gift in a Holiday work raffle three months prior.  Vidal Sassoon extra volume shampoo plus conditioner, "All in one," proudly printed on the label, as i apply a handful to my shaved head in a smooth dripping lather, that i do not rinse until after applying a pink ****** scrub that's label has worn off, and i am unsure, and not concerned with its origin, as I squeeze a blob of Colgate paste onto my toothbrush from the rack overhead, and scrub in a slow circular motion, while i rinse off the shampoo, shower gel, and ****** scrub, and then reach for my Listerine mouth wash, and swish for 30 seconds before spitting the burning mixture into the drain, while putting the brush away. I tilt my head up, and open my mouth wide under the water, taking in a mouth full, which i gargle for 10 seconds then spit, and turn off the shower reaching for a tattered towel left over from a breakup four years prior.  I dry off while still standing in the shower, and gently lay the towel on the floor before stepping out onto it, and grabbing a stick of Degree antiperspirant from the counter.  I apply 3 long strokes to each armpit before capping it, and putting it down. Two sprays of coolwater cologne i apply from a 1 foot distance, misting my chest and lower neck, before i put it down beside the deodorant, and walk back into the bedroom, grabbing a pair of boxer shorts from a drawer not caring which pair i grab. I slip them on, and walk over to the mirrored closet where i flex a few times, point aggressively, and in an authoritative tone repeat "I don't give a ****.", three times before sliding the closet door open and grabbing a pair of Marc Echo blue jeans that i had purchased online two years prior with a gift card from a local pub that i may have frequented too much to have received.  Reaching for an Infliction black tee shirt with ghostly gray swirls cascading to its base, i become completely still, left arm clutching the shirt still on its hanger, i am paralyzed for two seconds before looking away, and saying  "I don't have any plants" inquisitively to myself, yanking the shirt from the closet, and walking over to my phone atop the dresser.

Picking up the phone almost eagerly, i click the screen on in a light squeeze, and swipe my finger from left to right across the display to unlock the device, to a missed call from an unknown number, a voicemail, and 3 missed text messages. I tap the voice mail icon, and enter my pass code upon the automated prompt, "1234." The voice mail immediately clicks a few times before hanging up which assures me of its automation, and i assume its the power companies robots attempting to collect the monthly charge again. I tap on the missed text message icon, disconnecting from voice mail, and see that all three are from a girl named Haedies i met through a roommate long ago that i have recently found over facebook. A "How are you!", "I MISS YOU!!!", and a picture message of her with a wax figure of a trollish cartoon character i cannot quite place, both looking very serious, and i look at her **** pressing out from her white tanktop, ******* clearly hard, and her neck, long and attractive, its definition, thins my blood, and her dark black medium length hair loosely dangles just above her shoulder, causing me to partially smile, as i close the message paying it no further thoughts, and slip on my tee shirt, as i head for the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and grab a plastic bottle of 5 Hour Energy, and twist it open, tip my head back, and take the whole drink down in one swallow, throwing the empty plastic shell back into the fridge, and swing the door shut with my bare left foot, before i head back to the room to put my socks and boots on. Once my black combat boots are fully laced up, i put my wallet, change, and keys into the appropriate jean pockets, and head for my jacket hung on a hook beside the door. A black leather windbreaker. My mini trench that allows for a high level of concealment, and pocket space made possible by Wilson Leather. I run my hand over my face satisfied with my slight stubble from not shaving today, and reach into my left inner pocket of my jacket and pull out Sony earbuds, and plug them into my phone. I select a Pandora station based on the black metal band "Burzum", and walk out the door, locking only the dead bolt behind me.  5:25AM
Connor Oct 2018
"In Heaven
The Water
is Shiny Gold"

In approach of a clearing /
Vernal-Volcanic-Bagpipe-Intimidation-Collapse-Arise-/
empty hopscotches fade with rain, remembrances of my foiled return
lent to after-rather haze mingling line by line
with eyeglasses fogged up

I relinquished the panic of your absence one week ago today, but it wasn't easy, being caught in such swelling strings once desiring to wake in Gold

I was guided by my dream family which led me thus / glimpsing premonition Wyomings sprawl with pine & geyser
flat land fire
down river /
Spring Snow and tribulations sound with elemental reverberations of Spirit colliding with Stone
pirouetting upon a newfound expanse

My restless and uninitiated Tulpa stirs and screams
(I am owed this one) delving to ancient territories of attractive chaos
emerged unkind
but tender enough to fold into my next dressing, appropriately remote

II

By June I ascend further via Nepalese staircases carved from Mountain rock, Sun-showers resplendently endow this band of rattling Sherpas with grace
to hold, to wrap around their necks and deliver to my private Summit

(where many have died, where many have given their flesh to this
Golgotha Sagarmatha)

Sneah Yerng !
away you mortal entity death !

I consume you with Himalayan tea and the heavy sensation of my boots planting their weight to frozen earth - listening, attention to the foreground Chorus exhaling harmonies of Khmer which give further texture to the native brush

(We were once kindling set perfect across the ground - to blaze & become heavenly together - instead subjugated by time's feral will, you - now a Mother and a stranger to me, Myself - continuing & following this sense strangeness which is always present but flickering like cosmic frequency magnetically luring me into a breadbasket of fire & weeping intermittent, into a cycle, a snake - surrounding magic Islands of self-past and self-future
which whirl-about searching feverishly for a path - now that the one preceding has been lost or misguided, you're bound to this breathing child who's not ours - but yours)

This is how our story ends. Where we diverge and become Actual -
carrying separate but respectful momentum in each Epoch of life in all it's various & flowing Identities, just as I'd once predicted in an Altenburg Kitchen reading Rimbaud and sipping hot water quietly, disturbed - knowing, somehow, that we'd irrecoverably commit to being temporary conflagrations in the lives of the other. The end of A summation. Events that in many ways were born there, it is forcibly behind me now.. I was the result of these things. A sword carved from heat, and pressure.

What do I do with this?
So worn with necessity - living
Enjoying occasional rain, timely - capturing passing loves
refusing to stale and finish as Petrarchan - Madame George and Myself as two ambitions which acted both honorably & dishonorably at times. As human nature dictates, as I'll know, a branded truth from now on -
I am proud of you, I love you. I will cherish you, always.

We curate and amend – understand
each other's impossible profundities

(Shh! lights go out unexpectedly ! Your remainder hovers by the door for just a few secret and sacred seconds/ gone...)

These poems have been as much for you as they were for me - But I must exit this vacated place of only peering into the beyondness of things that have outgrown their form
open, step - deliver myself to:
The last poem I'll be posting here or writing for a while. The end of a continuous stream of thought depicting the events and emotions of the last two years. Recent events have called to their end. I'll be ready to write again once this coming new state of mind and being has revealed itself - of which I am optimistic
When her husband glances at me;
I observe tiny highlights of speculation
glittering on the treacherous
surface of his intelligence.
My open smile defuses him.
He blast the ready pores of his suspicion,
of course her animation appeals
to other men: she's attractive,
high-spirited in conversation.
But my pleasure find
new edge to the tale of an axe
returned sharper than it was.
appeared in' New Quest' July -August 1986:Editors_ A B Shah & M P Rege-
anastasiad Feb 2017
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fairyenby Jul 2017
"But why don't we have straight pride?"
"I don't mind them really, I'd just rather they didn't shove it down my throat".
"Did you see those lesbians holding hands?"
"Do you have a boyfriend?"

These moments are usually filled with silence. The room is suddenly so quiet, that I can almost hear my fear in the key holes, tucked away inside draws, behind laws, In the space between us.

I sit there and I swallow my pride. I swallow the thoughts of years of coming to terms with who I was and kissing boys to try and feel the way I was supposed to. I swallow walking down streets and staring at strangers, trying to figure out who I found the most attractive. I swallow every time I used to think to myself "It's not real. I'm making it all up. I'm not gay". I swallow the first time I said it out loud. I swallow the first time I was proud. I swallow the way I traced her freckles softly in the sunlight. I swallow the fights with my father and the tears behind closed doors. I swallow the stares in public and the glares and hushed whispers that stayed with me for days. I swallow every time someone would say "but you don't look gay". I swallow being told I can't take a joke. I swallow teachers talking about "homosexuals" as if there were none sitting in the room before them. I swallow being myself. I swallow the very essence of who I am. I swallow loving who I am. I swallow reclaiming the word lesbian, the word that used to sound like a slur. Like a ***** piece of language that only lived in **** videos and his wastepaper bin. I swallow falling in love with women. I swallow each time I stared at my body, and didn't recognise myself. I swallow all the shame in the world. I swallow my pride.

But then fifty voices are swallowed. One hundred loving hands. Two thousand threckles. 20 different countries. 1 million breaths. Fifty hearts whose beats echoed in pride.

And suddenly, I stop swallowing, and start living. For they can take our lives, but they will not take our pride.
Written in memory of those who lost their lives in the Orlando shooting

June 2016
Q May 2013
A lesser human being
Something to be hated
An abomination
Repulsive
Me.

They make it seem like
Somehow it's worse
That I'm black
As well as
Gay.

I'm not a ******, that word
Doesn't describe who I am,
I just want to love
Who I
Want.

Would it help if I told you that I probably
Will be single anyway because
I'm not attractive and  I'm
Direly afraid of
Love?

Being pansexual isn't the definition
Of the word "******" at all
Because pansexuality does
Not mean a pile of
Sticks.

So, you see, I am not a "******"
The word shouldn't even exist
As an insult; however, it can't
Really be reclaimed
Anymore.
Mateuš Conrad May 2021
even though english is without strict orthographic
obligations of diacritical markers...
that ol' charlie Dickens would cite
a spelling mistake as an orthographic mistake...
best example of orthography:
król kruk - king crow...
the consonants are irrelevant...
just like: whine is not wine...
         or what is to who -
                w(h)at "vs." (w)**: pinch at hues...
that there isn't an asset in the
omni- prefix litany of a monotheistic deity...
omnimemiens - all-remembering...
so: orthography that's still aligned to
metaphysics...
but a new budding term: para-social...
that somehow everything must happen
with and in the confines of: 3rd persons' promise...

all the while towing my libido insomnia:
who needs to be sterilised
with a promise of a stigma of some
mental handicap...
i am peevish about spelling words...
i feel terrible angst if i tease dyslexic freedoms...
what am i? a three-****** camel?

but i get it... churn my genocide *****
*******: opening of the gates for
the tides to merely murmur...
perhaps i'd wait...
and start writing: memoirs...
come old age...
sometimes that worked...
like stale bread works when
it can be soaked up in lard and fried...

it was forever impossible for me to not
not experience the temptation with
monk... ever since i visited Taizé...
i could not escape the allure of what was
on offer...
the remaining temptations of the world
began to itch with a malaise of blasé...
but unlike an orthodox blasé most associated with
firm-rooting... pedestrian same-old-same-old...
it was a blasé (no **** Sherlock...
you could expand that bl-A-sé with a macron...
it would only cost you two omicrons...
or an omega... or a macron above the Alfonce...
Alphonce... abrupt: tease of "alpha")...

good enough hill to pretend the last
breaths of Nero...
a relief from... a fate worse than a slave's...
i.e. a slave implies:
also... another mouth to feed...
sure... someone will cook your food...
someone will clean your house...
tend to your most tender "grievances"...
unless in gladiator pose...
would slaving be deemed so...
irrevocable if... you were to perform...
tasks... that... didn't exactly dehumanise you...
but elevated you to have:
a constancy of a job...
         the security of being needed...

oddly enough i am thinking of taboos...
what is it like, to be truly... needed...
beside what's currently available...
of being: free... but... expendable...
citizen but... relegated should these grand
humanitarian concerns of liberals
shine through for a boat load of "refugees"...

oddly enough... as a slave owner owning
20 slaves... you had a duty to feed those twenty
mouths...
there was talk of people, slaves... being:
assets, possessions...
a much higher status that's what's on offer now...
who are you? an employee...
what's an employee?
something, perhaps a tier above
a cog in a machine... if that...
you know... i've come to admire the ancient roman
concept of slavery...
esp. the sort of slavery experienced by women...
chambermaids... etc.

sure... you're a slave that has been ordained
into constructing an aqueduct...
my brain is exhausted from these petty
scribbles ever since
the monstrosity of commonplace literacy
was made paramount...
i have no original ideas...
i keep this "art" up for my own
"sanctity"... i think of payment like i think
of:

pennies from heaven...
or rather... the fall of the rebellious angels...
one day it might happen... it did?
well then... let's dig up some...
£0.000001 fractions and see where we end up...
there seemed to be some: ortho-social obligations:
once upon a time...
i hear the term: para-social...
which is a sickening, wicked variety of ghost slavery...
it doesn't chain the body...
but i guess... so little worth was placed
on the mind of man that:
so many started to champion their freedom to speak!
without first championing their freedom to think!

****'s sake...
as a slave i would be... an asset... i would be...
property... i would understand the topic of hierarchy...
i could live in the shadows of the *******
kitchen, be chained to it...
without having these bogus allusions
to the illusion of a freedom that would never
come: from me, for me...

as man arranged himself to the best of his ability...
the problem came from higher esteems of
ingratitude for: vivo per se...
foul apples stinking up the ground and grit...
most poignant among the H'arabs with their
harems and polygamy...
walking abortions aside...
cruel little beasts...
not the Arabs per se...
but in general...

this my mechanical arms...
while... 70,000 Africans are waiting in Libya
to be transported to Europe to be
living exemplars of walking ****** for...
because a Gloria Steinem type doesn't care
if her lollipop is choc of chalky vain-villa...
let's be honest...
an African woman that can attract
a whitey copperneck when tanned, lobster...
is a rarity...

even i find the African, MALE... face... attractive...
it can also attest to some tenderness...
yes... "black" men are attractive...
that's my problem with ol' skin-dipping
**** fetish moon's no mercury tinge
drip drip... because all 8" of piston moi is not
up to: **** ***. & I'nah...
if SHE can get away with being attracted
to the Afro-cancockcancock carousel...

why can't i be attracted to black girls?
even Flaubert mentioned in Madame Bovary:
'you'd need to be an artist... to **** a black girl'...
sorry... give me Indian... give me eskimo!
i just find the black physiognomy workable
enough to stand before all that
Picaasso cubism!
why is the masculine black even attractive to me...
while the feminine... isn't?
that's a genuine ******* question...
i'd love to get on that bandwagon
that the white girls are using to settle their:
white people are not racist
so we'll **** as much black-ding-along-doodles
we see fit!

fit for fur? lampshades... armchairs?

it's almost probably not fair...
this inter-racial playground of dips and bops...
would it be oh so necessary to ingest
a blue-pill to ****: that perfected rounded
peach of an *** with pristine
ivory?
but the male African face is so much
more appealing than:
that tarantula: bloated...

it would most certainly cut my efforts of expression
in half could i bypass the already ingrained...
summons for what i'd deem
fuckably: unfathomably, unmoved...
a "concern" for libido insomnia...
neon-tallying and all that happens
"in-between"...

when language is more than graffiti...
how it can exfoliate....
unlike my white brides...
i don't have that ******* option of...
yes... the male African face is appealing...
but the the feminine faces?
******* Gorgons... sea monsters...
Scylla-bred...
for a harem of a cuckoldry...

if the last hard-on i might feel be one
of shame: **** the hard-on...
i don't need to experience that sort of
bollocking to begin with:
i just said your men (African)
are handsome...
what more do you want when it's
a priori: ingrained in me...
to find your women... to be honest:
repulsive?
i don't want to **** them...
if i do: it's a blue moon...
always with the ******* outliers...
and it's not like i haven't tried...
but trying only gives you so much
traction... ****'s sake...

let the party girls do what party girls do best...
i'm not a patriarch:
i have no grief for their freedom being met
with their judgement of what's
to be "best" expressed...

an aristocrat would know what's best:
he would protect his or her...
possession...
funny how herr schlägermann would keep a Boris...
or an Alfred in company...
such were the ties:
people mattered... tied to a hierarchy...
what sort of hierarchy is there:
in a democracy?

no one can summon the pyramid-Δ (delta)...
but somehow... these days...
everyone who's anyone can summon
the pyramid-∇ (nabla) dynamic...
oh look! no Palestinian flag...
just the flag of king David...

- i'm guessing the prophet Muhammad
admired... king Solomon more...
than... he might have admired King David...
he "wrote"... "recited" surahs like
king David's psalms...
yet the focus came... toward converts...
and promises...
what was prophet Muhammad's harem
in comparison to king Solomon's?
a mention of *******...
a ******* solo- project... a fake... an arabian joke!

who are the... Hafiz?
who is Stendhal's Julien Sorel?
Muhammad cared more about imitating
king Solomon than about imitating
king David... it's ******* plain dandy simple as a pimple
on a face of faked smiles... you savvy?

now, of course i'm waiting to be crushed
by the tsunami of man
and the congregation(s) of time imitating water...

if everyone is so... ******* "apparently" free...
there was no more lasting,
binding, contract, beside the slave-owner
and the slave...
permanent employment statures!
what are we doing, right now?
no one is obliged to: oblige anyone to work:
for them...
freedom my ***... more like scavenging
at best...
the odd word... not primordial labour of
hierarchical certainty...
everyone's free! citizen envy!
the *******'re talking about?
it would take a niche of ownership and...
ha ha... clairvoyance to peer into this:
hot heap of **** to see past it...

doubly exploited... ****-wits...
people were: OWNED...
but (by) the term OWNED they were not
"exploited": they were used
to their maximum: ability...
they were tended to...
they were cared for...
a slave had a function... a purpose...
what purpose does freedom allow...
beside the sort of expressions of freedom
only allowed by feral creatures?
am i, a feral creature?

once upon a time freedom implied:
to engage with an unknown world...
the slave was a domesticated creature...
feminine... esque...
have you had the patience to eat food
cooked by women, lately?
just asking... who was the inn-keeper?
she was the harem proprietor for a while...
a madam...
but sure as **** she wasn't the ******* inn-keeper!
was she?

i will find the male african face agreeable
enough for the ***** projects of Helga to take a stab at...
but i really find intra-racial breeding most
agreeable...
i will not **** an african female just because "you"
think it necessary
or that Flaubert might think it as being: "artistic"...

my "one upon a time":
but the males are more attractive...
frau weißschwanorgieanfällig....
oh don'z you'z wozzy you...
the 'ebrews covered themselves, covered...
succumbing the 'ebrew diaspora for the concept
of "nation"... settled dust...

now that the "plague" is in passing...
nothing's new... nothing's old...
in the land of Palestine and Ishreal...
i fed a "passing": then again...
who's to import who?
you might have kept me greasing...
you might have kept me greased...
what sort of an alpha male are you:
now... currently... bowing like every beta sycophant?

you 'ebrews and you 'alestines...
you should 'ave a football match once a month...
to settle your heated blood... scraps of wording:
salad... no?
no... no...        o.k. tease a tonsure with a kippah...
i'll still tell you: the prophet Muhammad ought to
have admired King David more... since... the quran
is to me sung... than he admired Solomon for: for?!
Khadijah turning in her grave...

there have been, there where...
there will be: "myths" from the north...
it's not just some interracial *****... we're told...
oh what we have been told?!
what have we been told?

thank **** my ego collapses...
i own a cat and i like to drink more than
i like to ****...

that's a nutshell statement "all of a sudden"...
i love children as much as
children are required to be adored...
beside my own: that i don't have any?
it's not like i'm limp-****... "freckled"
with absences... of... existential:  purposes...

yeah... yet here we're at.
Kitts Apr 2015
My Mother has always been attracted to violent, cowardly men
So one night she went to a local, seedy bar located in the bad side of town
She was barely 19 but had a fake ID bought from a clever counterfeiter
As she sipped her third Black Russian in walked an attractive man
He wore far too much black leather; leather pants, jacket and vest and biker boots
When he took off his helmet his Grecian looks were extremely apparent  
He noticed my Mother right away... She was the most beautiful of the woman there
Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders, her blue eyes flashed
And sparkled in the light of the dimly lite bar
Their eyes made contact and she brought her drink to her mouth
Her light pink tongue ran around the rim of the glass
The dark man raised an eye brow at her and made his way to the
Bar stool my mother had her legs propped upon, her incredible long white legs
He looked at them and touched her ankle without a word
He ran his thumb over her pale and soft skin, with just one touch
He had my Mother completely under his spell
Finally after seconds that felt like centuries he lifted his hand from her ankle
He asked if he could buy her a drink and sit by her
Breathless she nodded her head and moved her legs to allow him to sit
He bought her another drink and they sat and talked for awhile
The ****** tension was almost tangible between them
He loved how brass she was, how she argued with his beliefs and how she flirted to get her way
She asked about his motorcycle and he offered to take her for a ride
She responded with a puzzled "Now???"
And he laughed a deep laugh and responded with an accented "If you would like"
She got up and whispered in his ear "I'd like to very much get a ride"
My Mothers heart raced for she had never done anything like this before
But she had to have this man, this man that she had just met
With a smile that nearly blinded her he got up and placed his hand
Dangerously low on her back, exactly where her shirt ended and the small line of skin was
He had kept his hands on her the entire night but this touch almost burned
My mother let him herd her out of the bar and once they were outside
He walked over to the meanest looking machine she had ever seen
With concern she looked at her mini skirt knowing a lot of leg would show if she got on that bike
He laughed at her face and climbed onto the bike
He tossed the extra helmet he had to her and beckoned for her to climb on
When she did he ran his right hand down her each of her legs making sure they were pressed against his
My mother was in for the ride of her life...
For this man was not a man at all but a God...
FICTION
Kenny Batista Aug 2014
This is a call to the lost
I pray you hear it
You've been gone but you ain't forgotten.
Please find your way back
We all know its easy to hide yourself
I mean
It's easier than facing problems
But
Hiding isn't going to solve anything
Hiding is going to make things worse
Hiding wont help you
I know
I know you've heard this all before
Face the problem.
But what happens when
You think
You're the problem?
Face yourself?
How? You're hiding from yourself
You're your worst nightmare
But
You're also your favorite dream
You're your favorite person to hate
Favorite person to love even though you don't
But why don't you?
Because we're all ****** up in the head
We all have this fake image of how we should look and act
This fake image of what's attractive
Let me tell you something
The most attractive thing in the world
Is someone who loves themselves
Someone who accepts their appearance and is happy
Someone who, even with all the hate, has a real smile.
Someone who stands up for others because they what it feels like to be put down.
What we need
Is you.
But
You don't think you're strong
You don't think you're pretty
You don't think you're worth anything
Here's the thing
You're everything and more but you don't see it
Because
When you're hiding
There's no light to see how amazingly strong you are.
There's no light to see your beautiful faces
There's no light to see your smile
Stay Strong KiDDs ❤
Aaron LaLux Oct 2018
Nobody Knows McQueen

Why do mad men,
act so happy,
what do bad men,
feel so good,

nobody knows,

why,
do you have to lose the sanity,
to find,
the genius,

nobody knows,

why,
do the brightest lights,
cast,
the darkest shadows,

nobody knows,

can’t have the beach,
without the ocean and the sand,
can’t have bliss,
without the pain,

what a paradox we are,
us this Human Species,
all us actors just acting sans practice,
in deafening silence commiting acts of violence peacefully,

in this repulsively attractive romantically tragic,
dramatic sci-fi thriller comedic fantasy,
where we rarely do what we say,
even though we all say what we mean,

constantly on a conquest to find Plato’s Atlantis,
expressing ourselves through our art like Alexander McQueen,
which makes sense in a way since we’re all dressed up with nowhere to go,
and even though that may be so we still wear our hearts on our sleeves,

half peasant have emperor,
have invented have inventor,
half daughter/son half mother/father,
half created have creator,

only hope is that this sadness somehow leads to a happily ever after,

once gone,
only that odor lingers,
is it cologne or perfume,
no one knows or cares it’s 2018 it doesn’t matter,

nothing matters,
even though it feels like everything does,
or maybe everything matters,
and nothing feels like it does,

I don’t know,
and I don’t know if I care,
don’t have the answers,
and if I did I probably wouldn’t share,

or maybe I would,
and I’d do so through these words,
like a man stranded on an island with a universe full of knowledge,
sending these messages in these bottles as my parting gift to this world,

see we’re all on our way,
so have some fun before you go,
is there life after death,
maybe not maybe so nobody knows,

why do mad men,
act so happy,
what do bad men,
feel so good,

nobody knows…

∆ LaLux ∆
Helen Nov 2013
Why can't I be as pretty as the little girl
that sits next to me at work, she seems
all long legs and golden skin,
20 long years younger
thin body poured into size 6 jeans

Why can't I be pretty like that?

I wish I was as pretty on the beach
next to the bikini clad lovelies
all long haired and impressive assets
Why can't I be like that?

I wish I was as pretty as my friend
sitting next to her on a barstool
crowded away from her, male backs
facing me, surrounding her, I'm a fool!

I wish I was pretty
or even attractive
or even winsome
or cute
or

or

or

I wish, I wish
Oh, how I wish
I could be an entree
even if I'm not
the main dish

or

or

The fish
caught on the hook
an acceptable catch
not to have the hook
ripped from my flesh
just to be thrown back

I wish I was pretty
I'm positive I was one day
Someone loved me once
and my children say

Mummy, you look so pretty
when I decide to make an effort
but no matter how hard I look
in the mirror
I just can't make their words fit!

I wish I was pretty
a beautiful disguise
I wish I was pretty
in my eyes
13/11/13 ~ I never thought, at the time of writing this piece, that I would ever be Pretty... I have a mirror, I'm not blind but, having read and responded to existing comments, I can see I have rare moments of Beauty and I can't trade that for a few ribbons and bows... I'm not Pretty, not even close to being Beautiful but I have Beauty and I (thanks to you) can see the difference and, there IS a difference :)
Gazing into her crystal eyes
not a glimpse of light
in her pale illustrious orbs
her couture matched
the threads of a goddess woven by silk
never has the world heard such a harmonious voice
her hair as black and glossy
like raven feathers
a frame so divine
complexities came to mind
that god himself was almost unable to
carve a radiant smile as glimmering
her soft skin made her known
as the temptress of the night
her sweet mouth sang of hymns children slept too
the curvature of her chin wickedly attractive
following the course of her smile to her rosy cheeks
the ring on her finger is one of saturns
the hue from her lips are as red as foxes
burning with infinite intensity.

Her pale forehead knew every answer in the universe
the glow between her eyebrows majestic
her third eye spoke of exquisite beauty
holy light was her aura
angels danced around her
shrouding her body with stardust from the heavens
butterflies applied her makeup
whenever she arose from her chrysalis
revolving the world on her throne
without a bead of pressure to perspire
her vocals an instrument to my heart
listened to with wild passion
luster from her skin expensive as gold from India
her existence was solace
for rational reasoning alone
unflawed her lips reached mine
under the eclipse
the shadow of my phantom
caressing her hips
my wild craving tasting
what it it truly means to be in love.

The orchestra of her movement
can save a man from death
her words whispered to me like rhinestones
the touch from her waxy hand
trembling across my stature
cracking, shaking
with electricity at every fiber
pulsating from my heart to hers
capsizing from secrets dripping in my ear
she treats me to more wine kisses
traces of her ruby red lipstick
on my chest
her lofty thoughts completed mine.
the golden trim of life
seen throughout the land.
brandon nagley Jun 2015
It's mind control, mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Mind control, it's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Don't let them mold your mind
They wanna control mankind
Seems like their only intention
Is to exploit the earth, yeah

And you trust in their deceit
Your mind causes your defeat
And so you become an invention
To distort this earth

Propaganda and lies
Is a plague in our lives
How much more victimized
Before we realize? Hey

It's mind control, mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Mind control, it's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Ooh, Grandmaster
Let the people go
You put them in total confusion
To downs-troy their soul

For they practice what You preach
So they're always in Your reach
Hi-tech slavery in these days
It's mind control

They'll make it attractive to get man distracted
Corrupting your soul, polluting your soul
Destroying your soul, mind control

Mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Mind control, it's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Yeah, yeah, yeah
Come on and get it together, brother man
What, what you say?

It's mind control, mind control
Corruption of your thoughts
Yeah, yeah, destruction of your soul

Mind control, it's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

(The truth is there for us to see)
It's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

(The truth is there for us to see)
It's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul
(The truth is there for us to see, the truth is there for us to see)
C Sep 2014
drink, drank, drunk
hello there
what? you like Mumford and Sons
let's get out of here
wow, this is a comfy bed
wow, you're attractive
wow, that's a lot of Jack to finish up

kiss, kiss, kiss
truth is erased when mixed with alcohol
funny, isn't it

wow, let's do this!
your hands are so soft as they brush my face
and you sweep the hair behind my ears
kiss, kiss, kiss
wow, this is fantastic

Facebook Status; Relationship: .....
that's not my name
who is this girl
what
what
what

ugh.
not again.
used.
really.
****.


Good Morning :)  
what?
alright... Hey, there!

confusion
why am I always #2
side chick
really
ugh
this *****

his eyes show me that everything is alright
he wraps me up and I know in that moment
he speaks the truth
finally.

then the stories come out,
low self esteem and complicated life issues that still
are left as a mystery to me

he drinks to cure the numbness
but it only leads to more
I want to help
but can't find the words
****

new day.
he smiles and once again reminds me
everything is going to be okay
I believe him


drink, drank, drunk
wow, I am used
I am number 2
he only wants me for one thing
how could I do this to myself again
I let myself slip up again
that poor girl
the girlfriend
the girlfriend that isn't me
all these voices flood my head and repeat the obvious

no one will ever love you.
ouch.

all my self respect dissolves into my tears
I am alone.
I could make him choose?
what do I even say?
when I am with him all my problems seem minimal...
why would I leave that feeling to go to waste....
oh right, because being number two is disrespectful to myself.


decisions
decisions

Then I see his smile and I am conflicted
why me?

why me?

self respect or a cheater...
"if he cheats with you, he will cheat on you..."
my friends make this clear
the answer seems obvious
it should be easy to choose...
yet why am I having such a hard time
letting go.
mother died today or maybe yesterday i can’t be sure  the telegram from the home says your mother passed away funeral tomorrow deep sympathy which leaves the matter doubtful it could have been yesterday - “the Stranger” Albert Camus

a misguided partiality exists inside me i feel safer around women maybe i’m fooling myself and women are equally capable of the brutal cruelties i associate with men i don’t know i guess i believe women hold themselves to a higher behavioral standard gentler more nurturing there’s another aspect to my belief women floor me i am totally vulnerable to a pretty woman but it must be stated my tastes run quite peculiar i prefer alternative looks and am put off by classic American glamour i guess the real deal is i’m a guy most comfortable among men watching World Series Sunday Monday Night Football despite the fact that if i were with a woman would be my greatest craving who cares what i think i apologize for opening my mouth

we are stranded by the side of road from out of nowhere a beat up gray truck pulls along side in a cloud of dust we cannot see driver from passenger side stubbly shaven mustached man wearing red bandana under tattered western hat in accented hoarse voice hollers out how much for the girl with terrified expression in her face her hand reaches for my arm i peer coldly into man’s eyes then glance away answering

a. what exactly do you have in mind

b. how much cash do you got on you

c. she’s not for sale

d. we need a ride

e. we’re lost do you have a cell phone

f. please leave us alone

g. all of the above

an extraordinarily attractive member of opposite *** runs into you on street in familiar tone of voice greets you speaking your name it’s been ages you look terrific i was just thinking about you the other day it’s such a wonderful surprise to see you do you have time to stop chat over coffee or drink i live quite near here please come over to my place let’s catch up i’d really love that this person then looks at you in a flirtatious seductive way yet you cannot place or remember where you know them or if you’ve ever known them you answer

a. yes

b. this is embarrassing i’ve forgotten your name

c. how do you know my name where do we know each other from

d. is it possible you’re confusing me with someone else

e. i have no idea who you are or what you want from me

f. all of the above

these are dark times every one acknowledges post-modernism post-911 is bleak jobless homeless callous frightful kali yuga no one nothing nowhere  is safe wars gruesome atrocities piracy blood diamonds **** mutilation theft deceit betrayal school yard bullying assassinations cyber espionage anti-depression drugs vicious video games why aren’t people making positive video games referencing cooperation affection happiness instead of Grand Theft Auto Vice City Call of Duty World at War Mortal Kombat what kind of world are we creating for future generations why does violence sell more than *** why is *** so unkind what kind of people are we better off dead they shoot horses don’t they what happened what’s happening why are we making this hell why aren’t we making better wiser more loving choices i don’t understand

in the late 1960’s early 70’s parents didn’t have money to buy their kids high school graduation gifts or perhaps the notion was not invented yet nobody had cars maybe a few guys i knew owned cars they bought with their own hard earned money everybody i knew who lived off campus and too far to bicycle hitch-hiked to school then hitch-hiked home every day for 4 or more years that’s how we all did it in Hartford i remember sitting in different adult’s cars indebted grateful looking thinking wondering will i grow up to be like him or her projecting connections

when i grew up it was a different time turn on tune in drop out in a way hippies were reactionary to all the modern progress atomic age we winged it by inexact methods that time is gone it is crucial at present to be coherent sober accurate mindful wakeful vigilant wary prepared 24/7 this history being written how will it be told i’ve been around long enough to know how these deceptions work we are all using feeding ripping off each other we give in to whoever wants us become whoever seeks to destroy us we disgust ourselves i’m astonished dumbfounded talk with me who are we please explain i beg you

who if i cried who would hear me among the angels even if one of them pressed me against heart i would be consumed in overwhelming existence for beauty is nothing but beginning of terror we are still just able to bear we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us every angel is terrifying – “2nd Elegy” Rainer Maria Rilke
Thia Jones Apr 2014
The worst thing about abuse
is not so much the guilt
of feeling you're to blame
that you should never
have been so attractive
so irresistible, so seductive
though in all other contexts
you felt anything but,
were filled with doubt
and lacked self confidence

No, the worst thing of all
is the way that when
it's repeated enough times
you get used to it, inured
then in time there's a part
of you comes to welcome
that expected familiarity
need it even, participate,
share the other's pleasure

But the rest of you
rails against this
taking of your autonomy
this removal of consent
and that part wages war
upon the part that
gives it's acquiescence
and you are fractured
hating your complicity
despise that you made it
in any part your fault

Yet to have healing
requires you recognise
the part of you
that went along
was no more to blame
than the part that didn't
it was just a coping strategy
you needed to survive
after all what else
could you have done?

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 18/10/13
Rated explicit due to potential triggering for abuse survivors.
Martin Rombach Aug 2013
Strange that something so accepted should still cause self consciousness before I approach it honestly
The relative anonymity this site gives me is for some reason still not enough to stop that pressure in the back of my mind
Here's me standing between that I guess, a self evaluative expression that deep down I'm okay with who I am

I'm lucky I know that much, living in a social culture of indifference from friends and family
My heart goes out to those prisoners behind abstract bars, walls constructed by opinions, traditions, religions
Who find someone with their own body shape attractive, a subtle reinvention of their minds and eyes
A smile that is just that little bit more reassuring thanks to a comfort in the air you can't quite put into a definitive shape
After one abusive encounter that still makes me ******* teeth biting angry well, I can't imagine that towering over me every day
I've said it before, I'll say it again, I've got a lot to be grateful for

Me well.. people joke that I'm one of the greedy ones, that I can't make my mind up one way or the other
There's a certain truth to it I must admit
The day dream of another as sub consciousness fades in similarity, that person staring back at me with a sheet covering up to a profile
Either seems attractive in that figurative make believe image, something concluded in the struggles of psychology
But forgive me if a certain pessimism surfaces from the prospect of earning that image, showing real social certainty towards whoever it is I'm curious of
But that's beside the point, a daunting prospect for anyone who stares silently into a crowd with a drink in their hand
Those comfortable with it getting a silent smiling ******* for their confidence

Despite all the usual traps and speed bumps, there is a certain ease to it all though
Whoever is eating that pizza with me, on the phone to me, sharing a shower with me
I'm at that point as an adult with a clear mirror
That I know its what I want, I know its okay to want it
And if there is anyone out there, with whatever representation of reality that perceives a problem with it
The ****** can **** my ****
Corndog08 Sep 2014
She lived deep in the forest,
in a tiny little cottage,
she sold little hearbal remedies,
****** mary,
****** mary.

For she was kinda weird,
for she was called a witch,
none dared to go to her house,
****** mary,
****** mary.

She was accused for drying cows,
and for rotting stored food,
when children cought a cold,
****** mary,
****** mary.

Little girls in a village,
began to disappear,
one by one they all went,
****** mary,
****** mary.

No one found,
wheere the children went,
they simply just vanished,
****** mary,
****** mary.

A few brave souls,
went to the cottage,
to see what they could find,
****** mary,
****** mary.

Denied she told,
to those brave souls,
she now looked attractive,
****** mary,
****** mary.

Then came a night,
where a little girl,
walked away at night,
****** mary,
****** mary.

Her mother screamed,
her father worried,
but she kept on walking,
****** mary,
****** mary.

The townsmen saw,
a glowing light,
coming from the woods,
****** mary,
****** mary.

Then they say,
behind a tree,
standing the unseen,
****** mary,
****** mary.

It was mary,
being scary,
pointing at the girls house,
****** mary,
****** mary.

They shot,
and stabbed,
upon mary,
****** mary,
****** mary.

Mr miller shot her,
whith a silver bullet,
in the hip,
****** mary,
****** mary.

the townsfolk grabed her,
and burned her,
at the stake,
****** mary,
****** mary.

But as she died,
she scramed a curse,
at those who say her name,
****** mary,
****** mary.

She said if you,
say her name three times,
infront of a mirror,
****** mary,
****** mary.

You will die,
if you say those,
****** mary,
****** mary,
****** mary.
Paul Morgana Jan 2013
In the great scheme of life, many choices you make,
Where to work, who to date, your yard when to rake.

The game of hearts is not quite the same,
Who you love and end up with, is all based on aim.

Yes Cupids aim, is sometimes not good,
Dam arrow it lands, in many a strange hood.

Once per chance the target is hit,
They may be charming, attractive and full of wit.

Only the lucky lovers get this type of win,
The arrow is known to bring pain, shame and sin.

Never knowing what's in store for you,
Loving arms and a partner that’s true,
Or an unfaithful idiot, to make you feel blue.

You may think you scored, they look smokin' hot,
Having *** day and night, you love them a lot.

This sounds pretty awesome, is there a down side?
Not unless you count secrets, and the lovers he hides.

The girl that finds sales, and will spend all your cash,
She goes out on black Friday, doing the fifty yard dash.

Coming home the next day, a smile on her face,
I saved money here, and there, and this place!

What she fails to tell you, is your fresh out of money,
Say something about it, she'll resign as your honey.

The men are no better, their tempers get hot,
Slobs and the lazy, and the ones that smoke ***.

One time in the game, Cupid seemed to shoot straight,
He gave me a lover, to see I couldn’t wait.

We had some good times, but the end is the same,
Bad excuses, feelings hurt, another to tame.

Please freakin' Cupid, have a talk with William Tell,
Take an archery lesson, or your bow I will sell.

You keep making me fall, for the wrong type of mate,
Just want a good friend, not a women to hate.

Visit poemsbypaul.com

— The End —