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the life of patrick youngspeer


young patrick youngspeer, is a very nice kid, but in one year he lost his dad

and that made him devastated and patrick was so determined to keep his dads

spirit alive, he went on a trip all over outer space, but the problem was his dad

didn’t want this, and held his mouth saying to patrick, don’t do what you used to do, buddy

because i really hate being known as the old digger of the block, i hated being called the

great big old fogie, just to protect my son patrick, but patrick who was so devious and cunning,

like a little kid at as pre school, and patrick’s dad was really worried, he went down to try and find

where his next life will be, but patrick wesn’t sure he wanted his father to move on, oh well, he wanted him

to reincarnate, bur not move on, oh well, maybe move on, but patrick wants to meet his father’s next life

one of these days, but mr youngspeer hated the idea of meeting his first born son patrick more often than the others

but patrick wasn’t getting what he wants, so on the street, patrick youngspeer, yelled to his schizophrenic paranormal voices

****** oathe i am a cool kid, your a yeah mate yeah kid, cool kids do, what i do, yeah, only yeah mate yeah kids do what you do, yeah

and mr youngster said, nobody’s teasing you patrick, so why are you worried, and patrick said, they are trying to take my beliefs away

when i am powerful enough to reincarnate people from death to new life, but mr youngspeer said, no, i need to reform him, because he is

looking at the meat on the kids legs, on the youtube clips, but patrick said, i am not, i am keeping up to date with dead members of my family

i am not taking this further, i know it sounds weird, but just to christians points of view, and patrick, who is a nasty writer, and over half of his

pieces of writing, were rubbishing christians, one online dude on writers cafe, over the internet said, patrick should stop hassling christians

because it is a lovely religion, but despite patrick apologising to this lady, and the fact that patrick not meaning it,she told patrick that he was a

very nice person, and patrick went on to write songs and stories and after his mother went on a holiday to visit her sister josephine, who was a

healthy person, never smoked, never really did drugs, was diagnosed with lung cancer and patrick felt bad for his aunty josephine,he decided

to write a little poem for her

my aunty jo, my aunty jo

i really feel for you aunty jo

you don’t deserve what god brought to you

i really feel for you aunty jo

i might be a tad naughty and led you astray

i might have never given you a chrissy card today

but i care for you, oh my aunty jo

i care for you a lot, my aunty, yeah

i don’t want to see you die, jo, i thought you were too healthy

i know that you could beat this, so i will pray for you, yeah

i will pray for the powers of athena will come down and whisk and whisk and really

really whisk your lung cancer, away

you see i know yiou have grandchildren, who don’t want to see you go, love

you see, though i don’t want her to suffer but i don’t want us too either

please save my aunty jo, from this awful cancer shock

i want you to cure my aunty jo, miss athena, please save her now

she is too nice to die, the world ain’t ready to lose my aunty jo mate, no, athena please cure her now

please save my dear aunty jo

and as patrick was finishing  his poem, his father brought to planets together to make sure aunty jo will be alright, by releasing athena’s magic

and he did this with patrick youngspeers help, you see what a fabulous team we have trying to keep the family alive, but the only way mr youngspeer

will help his son like this, is to be dead but now his dad is dead, patrick is helping with his spiritual healing, and patrick said, drink plenty of coke, (party juice)

to save the workl, yet again, eventually mr youngspeer said, i don’t care if you don’t work, help people with me, because nobody really cared for you, nobody cares

unless you converted to christinailty, patrick said, don’t **** me into your christian ways, you fucken christians, i am your cosmic friend, but this christian said

i want to go up to outer space to help my father, patrick said, we are not ready to see the back of you yet aunty jo, and mr youngspeer said, no patrick, we ain’t

ready to see you go, no way, you see my pal, patrick youngspeer is based on my life
Informer
Willow Columbo is Aunty Pam
Oh oh oh yeah
You see she is my Aunty’s next life
Oh oh oh yeah
Informer
She is the life
Of the Columbofamily oh yeah
She looks so good
Oh oh oh yeah
Informer
Willow Columbia is Aunty Pam
Oh oh oh yeah
You see she is growing up
To a beautiful young lady oh yeah
I am
Sure she will make a lot of friends
As heaven purely waits Aunty Pam’s cool look
Informer
Willow Columbo is Aunty Pam
Oh oh oh yeah
You see she looks like the little girl
In the grinch
Oh oh oh yeah
I liked Aunty Pam
She was nice to me
Informer
Willow columbo is Aunty Pam
Oh yeah bow bow
Savannah Jane Dec 2014
that's what you have called me
since you were about
one and a half.
who knows where it came from,
I certainly don't.
unless you were telling me
that I had a pizza face.
and maybe I did.
I was only 13
maybe 14.
you were the cutest
little girl I had ever met,
of course.
you still are.
a bit of an *******.
just like your mom.
just like your aunty pizza.
but cute,
loveable,
and certainly
wonderful.
you are hilarious without knowing it
laughing along because
we were.
you are going to grow into
a fabulous woman.
I know it.
and I know i'll watch it.
I know i'll help you
grow up, make mistakes, fix mistakes.
and Lacey,
Aunty Pizza
will always be here.
even if that's not what you call me,
that's who I am.
Sasevardhni Apr 2023
Until I turned nineteen,
I never considered where I had been.
I couldn't be seen.
As I have never been on the scene.

Every morrow, I called out to my aunt
To express my love,
and welcome a cup of tea
That is dear to me.

"I hailed to thee,
Aunty, tea."
When she delays a little,
I became a prattle.

A mature lady smiles and places a cup of tea
What a great human is she!

As I had to traverse to another city,
I had to shift to a hostel that had no tea
Not a day did I receive
A mere cup of tea.

Every morrow, every eve,
All I yearn about is only her and I.


Like a mother, the love she showered.
Like a roe,
Neither did I apprehend
Nor did I reciprocate.
Here my mind does thoroughly replicate.
                .... TEA....

Every morrow, every eve
I buy tea,
Just by paying the fee
which I used to get for free.

Not lovingly calling Aunty tea
But,
To an unrelated shopkeeper
Asking, 'Bhaiyah Tea'.
Tuesday Pixie Nov 2014
A missed alarm
- A hurried departure
From home to bus to bus
- To craft fair!
All handmade, all ingenious.
And reused items appeal to this sustainability-freak.
"There's not much for your kind here"
But just as I say it we spy a stall
And the goth finds Cthulu,
A skull,
An eye,
A snake with which to adorn himself
Amidst the usual background of 'Oh, he looks like Russell brand'

His cousin was riding.
Riding the plastic spastic twirl-around bull.
"Another turn? Go on, your dad didn't see you!"
She shakes her head, almost shy
But is lifted and hoisted on once more,
Smiling and giggling and kicking away.
The operator has success,
Short-lived;
She jumps right off and back to her father,
Uncles and cousins all grin.

- To cafe!
Entrance a ramp,
The outside already proclaims the spaces brilliance
Narrow hall with piano stating 'closed'
Walls adorned with old newspapers
Light fixtures are bottles
Door handle a coffee grinder
Tables old school desks,
Mismatched chairs and couches and plates;
This sustainability freak is in heaven.
The Goth smiles
"I knew you'd like it"
And even the menu provides
My dietary restrictions no obstacle.
I have a smoothie.
It's amazing.

"Judging from your case I would say you play heavy metal"
I giggle; Incorrect.
"Are you going to play for us?"
The waitress asks
We look at each other; are we?
And after our meal we do;
The radio is turned off in response.
Young children play on my violin
Their parents more concerned than I
"Be careful! It's delicate!"
We serenade the coffee and the tables and the birdie on the wall
We serenade customers and workers and the owner as well
We serenade to perfect
We serenade to give back to this space so beautiful
We serenade half in hope of being asked to perform
Of being paid to perform.
The owner enjoys; the possibility is open.
The workers enjoy; "you made today worth it"
The customers enjoy,
One chucks coins to our guitar case
A suggestion of busking
We drain our complimentary drinks and tip the coins
Wander onwards, sated, and glowing.

- To old acquaintances
Who tell scandalous tales
Of the Goth's little brother
"Tell your folks I look after him...
He's hilarious when he's wasted"
The goth queries
"And when I'm wasted?"
"Oh it makes no difference; you're hilarious sober too!"
It's truth.
No one could argue except the Goth himself;
"I'm glad you have a terrible sense of humour"

- To Opshop, closed.
And then the car,
Family bubbling around us
Excited voices clamour with stories
With news
We arrive in a field of green,
Children swinging on a tyre
An old meeting house is dwarfed
Beside the new, uncompleted
A chair in the sky
Seats white fingers
Coated from work;
Yet his is the best view.
"Uncle... Aunty... Cousin.."
Names drift into the air
I won't catch them.
"This is only a small portion of my family;
You should see the group photo!"

An older man teases
"Get your hair cut!
Oi, why haven't you told your son to cut his hair?!"
And his father expertly replies
"He can do what he likes with his hair"
His mother
"Why haven't you died yours then? It's all grey!"
Smiles spread wide at their cheek.

A bell tolls
Signals the slow meandering;
No urgency
We sit, grass beneath us
Sky above
Trees and field all around.
These three buildings so connected.
The prayer starts,
In foreign tongue
Yet not foreign
- It is the language this land first heard
Aside from sea and bird and sun
An occasional group "ah" in response
Teenagers mock; "aye"
Babies fuss,
Children wriggle
Even adults chatter to one another
Come and go as they please
Informal.
I am wrapped in his love.
And all of their love.
Lying in his arms
With sun warming me,
Love warming me,
I send it back.

And then chairs are moved
The tables to be laid
Inside this time
"Come here, you don't want to do the chores, do you?"
A crafty cousin teaches evasion maneuvers
We kick a ball,
The goth looks almost joyful
The usual "Me, sports? Eww"
Forgotten, or put aside.
Shoes back on now
"Your feet could do with some sunlight"
The cousin protests.

We eat with our hands;
For me there are oranges
And chicken salad
I put ethics aside
To sate hunger.

We swing.
The children are playing elsewhere
We claim the rope as ours.
An upside down ladder?
A missing rung?
There's more air than step.
Together we swing.

"Who do you belong to then?"
Caught off guard
"I belong to myself"
The goth smiles at my assertion
"How'd you get here, who brought you?"
I gesture with my foot
"You're so rude! You didn't even introduce me to your girlfriend! I'm his Aunty, that makes me his, and your Aunty too now."
He clasps my hand
"That's how easy it is in my family"

We serenade once more.
Nervousness closes throat
How to express oneself?
I feel small and shrunken
Push myself to claim space
- I do belong here
The love swells around me
Tall poppy syndrome must be beaten into me;
I'm trying to convince myself
I'm not being overbearing
- They want to hear us.
And they're impressed
"Oh what a beautiful voice"
"They do sound wonderful together"
All laugh as Grandma joins in
"That's Nan trying to out do them"

With Promises to jam next time,
We take the scenic exit,
Past those who have past
Past the past itself
Graves decorated with All Blacks flags,
With decks of cards,
With guitars.
Love. Even here,
Love and celebration.

- To friends
Reiki, a goodbye card, packing and kittens, markets and dinner
- The candles glow was soft,
Too soft for menus.
"I wonder why those baskets are all locked up...
Ha! Basket cases!"
We draw a piece to make Dali proud
And jest of eating candle wax
Bellies hunger.
But foods arrival prevents such oddity.
Eating pizza with knives and forks?
I decline, fingers once more.
Restaurant etiquette is not my style
Mine is puffy to their flat
- The perks of being gluten free?
And we leave them to their dessert.
With much sorrow.
"Thank you for enriching my experience here"
No, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you thank you.

"Goodbye!"
I greet
"Have a wonderful life!"
A different good bye.
And we cry as we hug,
No tears, just noise.
To cheer ourselves.
"Waahhhhh"
We giggle and depart.

Surrounded by darkness
Traffic roars overhead
Rocking support beams
They creak
Pigeons shuffle now and then
A dim light is irresistible death
Beyond the trees ripples fold and swell
And I am here with him.
Our own little patch of night time
Folding and swelling around us.
"Now you're the one keeping us awake"
I cannot argue.
This moments magic is worth tomorrow's tiredness.

One more friend to visit.
She saved us a piece!
Oh dietary constraints!
Cheesecake, for me?
And delish!
Hazelnutty and chocolate!
Nutella like.
We ***** about sudden illness
About food restrictions
About fad diets
Apparently the 20's is when the **** goes down.
Our bodies are complaining now.
Maybe we'll figure out what they're trying to say,
- Eventually.
Speak English, **** you!

- To the tent!
And blessed sleep.
It's technically tomorrow now.
Well, it's today.
"Thank you for touching my feet that time"
I curl up in his arms,
And all the world is golden
This illness raises its angry lil head
And his caring melts me
Thank you thank you thank you thank you.

Thank you for this beautiful most perfect day.
Thank you.
It was a perfect day. Even through illness and sorrow.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYEC4TZsy-Y
Sophia Bridget Oct 2014
I love my aunty
but she lives far away
I don't get to see her anymore

I talk to her on the phone
and she makes me laugh a lot

I miss you aunty
when you coming home?
Got straight A's and mommy still ain't proud
Yelling still comes from her lips
Into the ears of her daughter
With her too wide hips
Which mommy tries to alter
And her poor daughter just falters
She's a good girl now but mommy doesn't care
Because mommy isn't fair
Mommy has an angel who's untouchable
And mommy blaming her daughter is unstoppable
His troubles become hers
For she lives mostly to serve
Her screams and cries go unheard
He gets candy for being bad
While she gets scolded for being sad
Attempting to teach right and wrong
But mommy puts her efforts down
And her own daughter struggles to be strong
But mommy is blind
And her daughter utterly confined
Over the years she lost her patience
And is waiting to say good riddance
Mommy pushes away
While the daughter hopes to fix things and stay
Mommy makes her daughter cry
And she doesn't understand why
Mommy didn't give her daughter a daddy
Mommy gets angry and calls her daughter fatty
Mommy has a saint
And daughter tries to voice her complaints
Mommy and aunty gave daughter a child
That child is much too wild
No boundaries or rules apply
And daughter sits by
Hoping she no longer must comply
Hoping soon she can wave goodbye.
Sounded better when I spoke it earlier, kept changing so it was hard to get down.
GENERATION EQUALITY

It is equality when you work with her.
It is equality when she leads the team.
It is equality to see her, think her and call her the boss.
It is equality when she promotes her accomplishments.

It is equality to pay her the same as him for the same job.
It is for sure equality when you give her credit for that brilliant idea.
It is totally equality to admit she is more competent so she gets the job.
It is equality when she has an opinion and is confident to make it known.

It is equality when deciding for herself is norm.
It is equality when bias and stereotypes no longer define her.
It is equality when her achievements are no longer firsts.
It is equality when she is well represented in critical areas of concern.

It is definitely equality to treat her with respect and dignity.
It is absolutely equality to fight alongside her for peace and justice.
It is real equality to be her allie, support her future openly.
It is surely equality for her to reclaim and take up spaces.

Not just a woman, not just a girl, not just because she is your mother or wife,
Not just as your sister or your aunty, not just because she is your daughter,
But as the very evident, clear as day Human that she is in this generation and
Generations more to come.

An integral part of a collective whole, we all need to better uphold.  
Each one responsible, Each one acting consciously, Each one shaping up,
A generation for equality.

Belema .S. Ekine
belemascribbles
It is International Women's Day 2020. Gender equality, gender parity is the way forward for our generation and the world. Let's be secure enough in ourselves to play our part in encouraging and promoting equality for women and for all.  We are stronger, better and more enabled together
Lemonade Jun 2020
My friend puking out her Christmas dinner like a little girl trying to scrub off that uncle’s touch who tells her she is his favorite kid.
For her dad fat shames her every day.


My friend’s parents sending her to therapy because they don’t get how she can like a boy as well as a girl. Or rather don’t try to, because calling it phase is so much easier than explaining to the neighbors how that is who their daughter is. They are oblivious to what it is like to live in a home where you are treated like a victim of your existence.


My friend needs help, a little attention and someone to talk to.
His family is ashamed, how they could have done better for him, how they’re responsible for the things inside his head and I still don’t know what depression does to him, his family doesn’t like to talk about it.
They’d rather consider him possessed because anything is better than people knowing that he needs therapy and love and care. “Their son can’t be suffering from mental illness, they’re a happy family.”


My friend tells me she’s turning into her mother, and her mother let me tell you, she’s fabulous and fierce for she has been through things harsher than a lover who never says,'I love you’ but wants you to be their ***** little secret and you love them a little too much to deny. My friend, she had an anxiety attack last night for she can’t go out with her guy friends, neither talk to a classmate for too long because her boyfriend might start ****-shaming her. I disapprove and tell her she is not turning into her mother but when I sit in their living room, and aunty brings me snacks while talking to me about life within these faint green walls of the house and what did I eat for breakfast. I ask her to go out sometimes because there are so many things out there that she’d be experiencing and creating, friendship, weather, languages, people, art, emotions. And smell some sunlight in the lush greens fields. She says she’s not allowed to, like a kid calling its mother, "Ma". Her husband loves his ***. And her helplessly hazardous heart, too drained to take ‘harlot’ for a word from an alcohol-soaked throat.
The same walls that once adored their wedding photographs now question their love.


My friend’s girlfriend telling him she loves him but they can’t be together because she’s doesn’t want to be seen with him in the streets. But she seeks his warmth in the winter and leaves right before spring. He loses a little bit of himself every time she does that. He blames himself for what love does to him.


The woman who wears a heavy heart to the bed, finds it difficult to put herself to sleep, holds her dog for a little too long. Whose husband refuses to try therapy.
For I can't margin in metaphors, the agony within the wives who haven't been touched for years.
And the woman who feels a little less human after every night her husband forces himself on her. Because she's, his wife. His. Possession not prized but objectified.
The wife whose husband refuses to wear a ******, she gulps down pain every morning with the pills.
Families of these women, who were taught to think that is how the society functions and who are unwilling to unlearn.      


My friend’s brother asking her to stop wearing that short skirt around guests. There's a hole in her heart every time she remembers the traces his hands left on that infertile body of the kid that looked just like her. He pretends like it never happened.
Tell me the things I can change to make this piece of writing better.
Breakella Dec 2015
Mom is drunk, talking ****
Grandma is drunk, laughing at her pain
Dad is drunk, yelling
Aunty is sobbing
Brother locked himself in a room
Cousin won't stop crying
Uncle passed out
I clean up all of their broken pieces with no one left to clean up me
Madeysin Dec 2014
I believe, God put his view on the world in new borns eyes, and when you stare down into the kaleidoscope wonders, you see the natural beauty of what this all use to be. And when I look down at you Cooper, know I'm standing in the Garden of Eden, with tears rolling down my cheeks, splashing against a phone screen, preventing me from watching you blink. Aunty loves  you Cooper.
I wish I could punch you in the face Ryan
Savannah Jane Jul 2014
vacation was little hands holding onto mine,

hazel eyes looking up at me.

mouth pulled into a toothy grin,

a two year old giggle.

saying “i love you” and dreading “goodbye”vacation was hearing “aunty pizza!” all week long

it was snuggles and playtime.

it was a silent house without you.

vacation was melting crayons and staying up late.

vacation was my week with Lacey and I wish I had it back.
Destiny Odeh Sep 2015
Osas, there's a certain darkness in me. I can't explain it, but I don't curse the darkness, because it's where we found each other. After I found you, I stopped searching for rainbows in the far reaches of the sky, you were my sunshine. You cast away my troubles and wrestled my demons. You were the missing piece that finally made me feel whole. That’s funny, because you always said that being whole is overrated, it's the holes that make us beautiful. You always made me feel beautiful. Even though the beautiful moments we once had are slowly fading, turning from vivid to grey. I can still feel your palm, gentle on my blushing cheek, stroking my hair backwards, tucking every curly strand behind my ears. The same ears you'd whisper a bouquet of wonderful words into. We were sweet together once.

You see, I wasn’t always a hot-tempered ****** like you’d often call me. I hated that word, “******”. No! I am not a ******, I am not hot-tempered, I am not viscous lava, I am not fire. I am the phoenix that rose out of the flames you lit. The same fire you came running into, but while trying to save me, you forgot to save yourself.

You were the erupting volcano. You were vicious and violent. You were a deadly collection of everything vile. You were hot and cold, you were yes and no. Did you even love me at all? I guess I will never truly know.

Ok, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry I wrote that last paragraph. I know you loved me dearly. I'm only scraping for a reason to hate you; to cleanse my conscience. I feel so stupid right now. I can't stop crying. I can't stop thinking about that night. The error of my deed still haunts me. The least I can do is to keep writing you back to life, writing back into my arms.

I got 12 years; I'll be out of here just in time for menopause. I never cared much about having unruly, noisy, silly little babies running riot, leaving a trail of ****, puke and toy cars lying around. But I cared about you. I still care about you deeply Osas.

We were of the same form, you and I. Passionately understanding each other's darkness. You understood me perfectly. Better than all the others before you. You knew how fragile my heart and mind was, yet you broke both. Why? I was crazy in love with you, you took away the love and left me plain crazy.

I hate the drugs they give me here, it numbs my mind and takes away the pain, but why will I want that to go away, when the pain is all I have left of us? I feel so hollow inside, I’m an emotionless wreck now. I have lost myself! Maybe if I dig deeper, I'd discover an avalanche of emotions still buried inside me. Sandwiched between my ice-cold heart and the poisonous blood coursing through my veins. The same veins I want to expose to the spirits in the wind, and as my warm blood pours on this cold concrete like leaves on a forest floor, I’d finally be at peace. I hope to find peace in death, for death is not a dark abyss, but a ladder to light - an ascension to another realm. And in that realm I hope to find you, my darling, to explain to you why I did it. Why I pushed you off the balcony.

I’m sorry, but I couldn't look you in the face anymore. You disgusted me! I saw you with her in the breakroom at the office party. Yes! I saw you on your knees with your face in between her thighs! Even though you claimed she seduced you, I still saw you! I can't get that horrid image out of my head. It was in that moment I knew I couldn't live another day hearing you tell me another lie.

I got a blade today, from a lady in the shower, after I let her touch me in all the right places, still it felt so wrong. You have no idea how hard it is to find even the simplest sharp object in here. Random body cavity searches, routine cell shakedowns, constant reminders that I have and I am nothing. At least she was gentle when she slid her fingers inside me. Aunty Julianna was never gentle whenever she touched me in the bathroom stall at church camp.

I’ve truly lost myself, Osas. Nothing, and no one, can make me whole again. I’m covered in holes now and I don’t feel beautiful anymore. I feel bitter, sad and shattered. Even mirrors no longer lie to me. I see myself for what I am now - a monster.

"I have to do this, this is the only way." I calmly reassure myself, while clutching the rusty blade and pressing its jagged edge against my deathly pale skin.

"Calm down Adesuwa, you’re having an episode again." A voice echoed from the corner of my dark cell. Your voice. But still I didn’t believe.

"Is that you Osas?" I whispered. "Have you come to forgive me or have you come for retribution?"

"Here's your dinner." said the prison guard, before spotting the blade and sounding the alarm. I was on my belly before I could say a word, my arm bent behind me, my fingers pried open... my ladder gone.

Another day. I guess I’ll die another day.
Ben Jones Apr 2013
Now I'd like to tell you of a liquid
And a beverage clearly divine
It matches the holiest spirit
And most blessed communion wine
But it's not to be found at the altar
Of the temple, the mosque or the church
You'll see it in glasses lined up on the bar
Wherever the pensioners perch

Oh Gin, Gin, fabulous Gin
Finest concoction there ever has bin
A knee to the crotch and a kick in the shin
To him that speaks ill of that heavenly Gin

I had a great aunty called Floris
Each morning she'd sternly arise
With a fire in the pit of her stomach
And a merciless scowl in her eyes
But thanks to a magical fluid
By the end she was quite the reverse
And her face was serene and so tranquil
As they bundled her into the hearse

Oh Gin, Gin, glorious Gin
Remover of troubles and varnish and skin
There's many a baby that wouldn't have bin
If not for a bottle of beautiful Gin

Edith was crippled with cramp of the back
And terrible gout of the thighs
Her walk was askew and her bottom had swelled
To a rather astonishing size
But with Gin in the morning, the noon and night
She was right as proverbial rain
She still couldn't walk but now couldn't talk
So no one could hear her complain

Oh Gin, Gin, medicinal Gin
Bracing your face with a permanent grin
Cleans up the silver but tarnishes tin
Joyous the juice of the juniper, Gin

Tis a regular modern elixir
And a kick in the liver to boot
It's companion for many a mixer
To the tonic or blending of fruit
Instilling a mighty contentment
And removing all traces of rage
Though it's mainly imbibed by ladies
Those of a particular age...

Oh Gin, Gin, magnificent Gin
Clean as a whistle and sharp as a pin
Puts hairs on the ears, the chest and chin
Of nannies and grannies all guzzling Gin
Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.
hiperverb and imaginery poetry, based upon the eternal endless realistic living and non  logic  retoric literature.
copyrigth JOSE LUIS CT  2018
Maddii Lloyd Sep 2016
Dear Faith,
i just wanted to say i love you
and i hope you get better.

i have so many questions i want to ask you
like why?
why didn't you tell me?
let me know you were feeling like this?
i wish i could of helped you, and it didn't have
to end up like this.

i love you more then anything
you mean the world to me, you are my best friend
my rock, my saviour.
but im sorry you were feeling the way you were,
but please things will get better i promise you!
im always here for you and that
will never change i promise you! and thats one promise i defiantly
know i wont break

for all those times you said you were a bad mum,
you arent
for all the times you said you were ugly
baby you are beautiful

i need to finish this but im crying
i just want you to know how much you mean to me
and how much it would destroy me if you
were to leave...

and how about Caden? your beautiful
baby boy! how would he feel not growing up without his mum?
knowing how beautiful she is
how amazing and kind she is...
Because no one can compare to you
Aunty Maddii cant live up to those expectations

so Faith, my darling i love you so much,
we can get through this together!
i promise i will save up all the money in the world
to come and see you one day, and it will just be the three
of us
You, Caden and Aunty Maddii


I love you Faith x
Hey Father Death, I'm flying home
Hey poor man, you're all alone
Hey old daddy, I know where I'm going

Father Death, Don't cry any more
Mama's there, underneath the floor
Brother Death, please mind the store

Old Aunty Death  Don't hide your bones
Old Uncle Death  I hear your groans
O Sister Death  how sweet your moans

O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths
Sobbing *******'ll ease your Deaths
Pain is gone, tears take the rest

Genius Death  your art is done
Lover Death  your body's gone
Father Death  I'm coming home

Guru Death your words are true
Teacher Death I do thank you
For inspiring me to sing this Blues

Buddha Death, I wake with you
Dharma Death, your mind is new
Sangha Death, we'll work it through

Suffering is what was born
Ignorance made me forlorn
Tearful truths I cannot scorn

Father Breath once more farewell
Birth you gave was no thing ill
My heart is still, as time will tell.

July 8, 1976 (Over Lake Michigan)
When you think of her
You think of her smile
She than had the same smile
Since she was a little child
You can ask her uncle, her aunty,
Even the lady who claims the last time she seen her
That should could barely crawl
They claim she was a happy baby
Instead of crying she would laugh when she'd fall
And ever since than she kept the same smile
The same smile she had since she was a little child

I met her when I was eight
She was my play mate
We use to play on the swings
Try to swing over the top
imagining we had wings
We use to play house,
I was Daddy
And She was Mommy
I would go to work,
When I got home she would console me
Her lil sister was only five
She was our daughter
All this was only imagination
But she wouldn't believe that
Even if you told her
Back than she would always smile
The same smile she had since she was a little child

See we was only eight
But ever since than,
I always dreamed about our fate
We was only 12 when I asked her to our first dance
I was scared to ask her of course
But I just couldn't miss the chance
To my surprise she said yes
And also blessed, me with her smile
The same smile she had since she was a little child

That night as I held her tight
I wanted to kiss her
But I didn't know if it would be alright
After the dance we walked home together
I was contemplating a kiss
So it seem like we walked forever
You can never understand,
How confused I was when we got there
She looked at me and said,
We gone be "Best Friends FOREVER"
And of course she added a smile
The same smile she had since she was a little child

So I couldn't get mad
I know it was wrong
But I actually was glad...
When her boyfriend dumped her
Right before prom
Because I always imagined
Us two being Prom King and Queen
And now that he ****** up
It could be a real thing
So when I seen her on the stairs crying
I wiped away her tears
And let her know that I was there for her
So I walked her home
So she wouldn't feel alone
As we walked we talked
And she told me I was her best friend
I told her that was cool,
But I think, Our friendship should end here
So something else could begin
Than she just smiled
The same smile she had since she was a little child

I was surprised when she said
"I was waiting for you to say something"
A month later she won prom Queen
And I won Prom King
As we stood in front of every body
She smiled
The same smile she had since she was a little child

We both graduated and went to the same college
I pledged Kappa, Her A.K.A.
We always got complimented on how good of a couple we was
Whole time we was only a good couple because we had love
As she walked across the stage
They cheered and serenade
She just smiled because she had reached the goal that she had made
The same smile she had since she was a little child

2 years later we were already married
And my baby she carried
When she told me the news that it was a girl
For a short instance I was a little let down
Because I wanted a boy
But than I was over joyed
She just sat there smiling
The same smile she had since she was a little child

There were problems with the delivery
Which left me standing in front of you all today
So when you look at her for the last time
If nothing else remember her smile
The same smile that I now see on the face of my little child...
Grandad's gone.
He's still with us, but....he's gone...if you understand me correctly.  Hasn't been with us for a few years. We thought it funny at first, till we realized what was happening. Then it dawned on us....he didn't know us anymore. Lifetime's of memories....events, holidays, pictures, kisses, hugs and laughter....and only we could remember them. When we told him about them, he would smile and stare away...trying to find them in his mind, with no luck.


When it started, he was telling me about a dog that he had heard about. A poyne setter, he called it. I told him, I'd never heard of it. He couldn't tell me what it looked like, just what it was called. When I looked it up on the internet, the closest I found to it, was the plant...a poinsetta. I told him it was a funny joke, but he got mad. Told me he saw it on a dog  show on television, it was a dog, a Poyne Setter, and he was angry at me.

Not long after that, every time he saw me, he said "Anne, can you do this for me? or Anne, can you get me that?". My name is Sarah, Anne is my Aunty. She's been gone since 1963, car crash. I'm not Anne. I thought he was doing it to make fun of me for the Poyne Setter thing. He wasn't. We were losing him.

He talked a lot about the early sixties, kept on calling me Anne. I put up with it, because for every time he messed up my name, after a short spell, he'd get it right and we'd be fine.

A few weeks back, it happened again. I  hadn't been around for a while and he sat there, looking out at the sea from the porch, when suddenly he turned to me and said "Anne...I need you to find me something". I said sure Grandad...he didn't notice.
"I want you to find me one of those sweaters they keep talking about...one of those fleece things. But, he added...I want a wool one, a nice wool one. A Wool Navidad....not a fleece navidad, but, a wool one. This time, I knew he wasn't kidding.

I told him, I'd look. He smiled, and turned and kept staring out from the porch. He always loved his porch. Full of plants out there to tend, when he remembered. Most of them were dead or dying now, which was sad because he always took such care of them.

My favorite, was always the wandering jew....he'd kept it alive for nearly thirty years now. I was keeping it alive, he didn't remember it at all. We used to joke about the name, he called it a creeping jesus....just to get me angry. Now, it was just a plant, he didn't remember.

We've lost Grandad. He's still here, but, he's gone. I hope he finds us in there some day, creeping jesus', fleece navidads, poyne setters and all.
There is a Christmas Story
For each light upon the tree
A tale to share with others
For each light that you can see
Stories of the presents
Of the times from long before
There are stories in the light string
Go to the past...step through the door

Each light brings on a feeling
As each decoration does as well
There are stories long forgotten
There are stories you should tell
Of Uncle Mike and Aunty Pat
Of skiing down the hill
Of Christmas' from long ago
You think about them still

A simple decoration
Brings a picture to your mind
Of the Christmas you first got this
Of the friends you've left behind
Of road hockey on Christmas Day
And making snowmen in the yard
It doesn't take much to find the memory
It really isn't all that hard

The tree and place is different
And the people come and go
Remember back that Christmas
When there wasn't any snow
The pictures may be buried
And the gifts, now out of sight
But, if you look closely at the tree now
You'll see a story in each light

Spend some time this Christmas
Sing some songs, remember back
Of the Christmas's forgotten
Of the people you've lost track
Look deep inside the light string
Find the stories in each light
Tell the stories to your loved ones
On this Merry Christmas night
Abbie hailed a yellow top cabbie

Brenda had a sister in-law named Glenda

Cate ran late on her first date

Delly ate seven bowls of lemon jelly

Edwina drove to the town of Catalina

Fran burnt her finger on the very hot frying pan

Gwen had a strong yen to go and see her aunty Jen

Hope bought her husband a towing rope

Isobel fell under the magician's spell

Joann took her mother on a holiday in a caravan

Kylie went to the dentist with her brother Wylie

Lesley liked listening to Elvis Presley

Marcia enjoyed eating a freshly baked focaccia

Nell saw a turtle coming out of his shell

Olga lived at the top end of the river Volga

Primrose had a Pinocchio nose

Queenie knitted a multicolored beanie

Ruth could never tell the whole truth

Stacey loved playing dress ups with her friend Tracey

Tilly behavior was always rather silly

Una bought a house in the suburb of Yagonna

Verity wanted to be a well known celebrity

Winifred never stopped taking about Alfred

Xena was presented with a court subpoena

Yale told her teacher a tall tale

Zealand ventured out into the bushland
The joy of Christmas morning
Among the gifts beneath the tree
Was one for all to cherish
there was so much there to see

Books and clothes and other things
gifts were piled to our knees
but the longest item under there
Was Uncle Mike's new ski's

Now Mike, was something special
and I think I have a hunch
That you might have read about him
And his famous Christmas Punch

Well, two days later here he was
Standing, looking at his ski's
He asked his wife, my Aunty Pat
"what the hell do I do with these"

"You need to get more exercise"
"Cross country skiing is quite hot"
He said "look at this round body"
"Athletic...it is not"

After a little conversation
Well, an arguement Mike lost
He agreed to go and try them
No matter what the cost

His brother Gerald joined us,
With my brother and our sled
We ventured out to T.V Golf Course
To exercise, like Aunt Pat said

Now, the golf course is an old one
Trees and water all around
But that was in the summer
Now, just snow was on the ground

For those out there among you
Unaware of what's involved
To learn cross country skiing
Is not so quickly solved

The first and most important
point when learning how to ski
Is, stay on ground that's level
And don't collide with trees

We stood atop the highest hill
With a gentle grade straight out
It was the most level spot out there
Of this there was no doubt

My brother went down on the sled
On a hill just to the right
He was flying like a rocket ship
And was quickly out of sight

Mike, all dressed and shackled in
Was trying hard just not to fall
He was 5 foot three in ski boots
And lying down, was just as tall

We said to try just walking
The hill would do the rest
Behind him we were laughing
Poor Mike, he tried his best

He swore a lot, and we all laughed
It was not something he liked
For, Mike, need to prepare for things
To find something, and get psyched

The view from atop the highest hill
Was something to be seen
From here, you'd see the river
And, to the left the seventh green

After two hours out we decided that
We should be off and then
Mike said "I'll give it one more run"
"I'll try it once again"

Gerald, Ian and myself
had packed up, were set to go
When Mike came sliding past us
Moving quickly on the snow

In front of him, a little bump
Turned him slightly to the right
Toward the hill of sledders
This gave Uncle Mike a fright

"fall down" we yelled, as he went by
He just waved and made the turn
He hit the hill at his top speed
He hit two bushes and a fern

The hill, all 14 stories
Was more ice than it was snow
And there was Mike, at full speed
Dodging sledders on the go

We heard him scream as he went down
But what we heard, was only half
Because the sight of him free wheeling
Was making us all laugh

He shot on up the other side
Stopped and then came back
But because the hill was made of ice
He hadn't left a track

Once he stopped we ran on to him
We stood there, a laughing group of men
And Mike, all five foot three of him
said "I'll not do that again"

The skis, were gouged and splintered
The wax was off, as was the tar
He grabbed one under both his arms
And we trudged off to the car

Aunt Pat was there to greet us
When Mike, pulled out the skis
He showed her, gouged and scratched and ruined
And said "I'll not be needing these"

That Christmas is my favourite
We still smile at Christmas lunch
Of Uncle Mike's speed skiing
And of course his Christmas punch.
We went to Thames Valley golf course and Mike went down a toboggan hill, all ice, on cross country skis. It was his first time ever on them. He could have been killed, which would have resulted in a different tale. But, Mike...our dear Mike gave us Christmas memories that we still cherish thirty five years later. Boy do I miss him.
It was a terrible day yesterday
When my dear Aunty pam passed away
She was diagnosed with lung cancer and she never smoked
And she was a nice lady
And she looked after everyone she knew
She was there for everyone
It will be a Shame she isn't going to be around to see her grandkids grow up
But the thing is death happens
There isn't much you can do about it
Pam pam pam
We will miss you as you pass
Through the life cycle
And we saw that you were willing to live life to the full
And may your next life
Be just as fruitful as this life was
Pam pam pam
See you and don't forget
To send us a message in death
As you would in life
betterdays Mar 2014
as i sit here,
eating yet another
bowl of trifle,
that is rabbit-like,
in it's ability,
to seem neverending.

my thoughts lollop,
with leperorine grace to,
fibonacci
and his box of bunnies
multipying and multiplying....
....ad infinitum...

another spoon,
to my mouth.
stop....
the sun's gentle rays,
sparkle through,
jellies translucency.
as tastebuds swoon
at sweet sugar's mango rush.
synapses hop and pop within
my head....

and in my mind's eye,
i see flopsy, mopsy,
cottontail..boy  and paul.
(not peter..copyright laws)
cavorting with fibonacci's
numbers,
1,1,3,5,8,13,21....and so on.
playing leap frog, in a hedge
maze.
they play and add and hop and
grow,
in an unending  trail,
spiraling off.... into the west,
in a sweet smelling lavender haze.

at this point, i'm now thinking...
just, how much sherry did
aunty beryl put in this magic
trifle....

if i am honest with myself  
and with you as well.
i will open my heart to confess.
to three new,

believed abstractions:

one;
after all these years(47)
i am still enamoured of beatrix's
cute little rabbits
(but i must still claim
miss jemima puddleduck
as my  all time favourite)

two;
fibonacci's numbers still rule
(what an extraordinary mind
this man owned and used
to the betterment of man kind)

and three;
....much more prosaically..
you see...
i fear i am having a moment of
metenoia ....
with regard to the trifle...
and the amount of it's delctable
connsumption.

i can now clearly
and a tiny bit queasily,
see....
what it is  to be a glutton!!!
and i find repentant thoughts
of never again will i eat so much...
(in one sitting)....
are stomping on the rabbits.




(fortunately the rabbits are
getting out of the way....
...quick little fellas aren't they..
...no rabbits were hurt in the filming
of this imaginary sequence...)
written post christmas
SayIt Jan 2013
As a Christian they say you should never fear death if you know where you're going.



I truly believe that I have a place in Heaven, yet I'm still afraid to die.



If you will be patient with me I'll explain to you why.



See when I was 6 dad, you went to work...



the next time I saw you was at this address 6...4...0 North California St.



You never came home!!!



Aunty you went away for a few months, i knew you were sick but I figured you would be up on your feet in no time...



But in April of 2000 I met you at that same **** address as my dad  6...4...0 North California St.



You never came home!!!



Grandma you moved in with us and that was an experience i'll forever treasure.



I was with you everyday for a couple of years, you became like my second mom.



One day the ambulance picked you up and took you to Lodi memorial hospital...



That was were you stayed until the night you were transferred to that building on a corner,



the building that was becoming my second home 6...4...0 North California St.



You Never came home!!!



And brother the Doctor the said you were better, as a matter of fact we were told you would be released



within 2 days, but you died, you died the day after the good news...



You never came home!!!



It seems like as soon as I get comfortable, as soon as I get close to someone they are taken away...



**** YOU 640 NORTH CALIFORNIA!!!



You are getting close to everyone that I have ever truly loved!!!



Daddy you taught me how to love and except everyone for who they were



Aunty showed true love and taught me how to care for people even the ones who didn't deserve it.



Grandma you, you taught me how to relax... to just be calm and pray about things.



Brother you introduced me to a love for music and theater, you weren't only my brother...

but my source of happiness

although I didn't always admit it.



Every time one left, I connected with the next



Than when they didn't come home I connected with someone else...



Eventually no one came back home!!!!!



Now in my phone contacts I have a number saved, the number that connects to that now familiar address



6...4...0 North California St.



I have this contact in case one day you cant come home, Mom.



We've always been close...



One day I'll  have to say you didn't come home, A scary thought that crosses my mind more times a day that I



can handle...



Dear son,



      One day, I'm  sorry to tell you this but you'll be the one to say...



You never came home!!!



That hurts my heart to know that you'll hurt as bad as I have



This is why I'm scared to die,



I'm not scared because I'm not sure whether my soul will sink or fly



I'm afraid that one day my not coming home will be the reason that you cry
Poetic T Aug 2014
To see things through child's eyes
A world seen different
Not like an adult
Everything has its place
Order,
Structure,
Harmony,
But every now and then,
Relax,
Let your hair down
(Even if your bald)
The child within needs to be free
Fun,
Enjoyable
Crazy
Be like the child within,
Play with your young ones
Not as a giant,
Become their size
Jiggle your ****,
Be silly
Lie on the floor, be their bouncy castle,
Even though all the wind is out
When you arise from the floor,
See through the eyes of your child
Imagination,
Dancing,
With your tongue wigging about,
Be the
Parent,
Uncle,
Aunty,
Granddad,
Or
Nan,  
But every so often relax
Let the child within run rampant
And have some *childish fun be free...
Brenda Mukisa Jun 2018
Her mother dies and she feels lost.
She had never had it so easy.... but always tried.
Early mornings of house work before school.
Late weekends from washing piles of cloths.
Running into class late because she had to help mama.
She didnt feel bad... or sorry for herself.
She knew mama did not do it as a punishment.
So she grew from skinny to skinny...
Healthy skin....tender bones.
In holidays she dug.
Watching the morning sun drain her energy.
Yet her *** persisted...
It was never a punishment.

Mama loves me, In her own way.... she insisted.

Aunty needs you to live with her.
Mama says one day.
Her life changes.... big houses, big cities, big neighborhoods.
We made it mama, she says over the phone...
Be good and read hard.... mama says.
Believe in God and read hard.... Aunty reminds her.
Years of love, peace and joy...
Aunty dies.

It will be well Mama insists.
Years go by... sadness slips through....
Step mummy is harsh... step mummy denies her food...
throws her out over and over....
Abuses her emotionally and verbally...
tries committing suicide for the first time....
dad does nothing..... daddy loves step mummy more....

African child.... sad, broken , lonely..... hungry.
Hold on..... dont let go.
Another day, another struggle.
Andrew Kerklaan Apr 2015
I wish that we could come back to it

The time I knew

Our own



Id give up all the world to see my Aunty coming home.



It's already been two moths or more since last I spoke your name.

I can't recall the time between and to try to seems in vein.

But landmarks on the calendar still remind me just the same



I lost my Aunty a year ago

But someone else now uses her name
My once favorite and always beloved Aunty (whom I will  leave unnamed) had an accident about a year ago in which she hit her head on the ground but since the accident she hasn't been the same...

It's like she lost the love in her life and now all that's left is this shell.
Nobody left behind her staring eyes.

Just this blackness

And the memories of a trapped soul, stuck in a lifeless body...


Please,
Forgive me for not giving more, but this was all I could bear to take.
Got Guanxi May 2015
One year on....

My Nana has unfortunately passed away after a valiant fight against cancer. In this passing we have lost a lovely woman who meant the world to our whole family. Me and my cousins affectionally called her 'straight Nana' as when we were younger we were lucky to also still have our great gran around who we called 'curly Nana' this was based on the fact that Nana Pauline has Straight hair and her mother had curly hair. In all my years I've have never heard even a choice word said against her spirit or character which is truly a rare commodity in this day and age.



She lived a full life and had three amazing daughters and a step son who she raised as her own. Thirteen grandchildren one being myself and five great grandkids. Thankfully we recently all got together and she was able to see her whole family together for the first time. I could see how happy it made her that day to see the legacy she had created and more importantly that we all were in a good place before she left us for the final time.



'May the wind always be on your back and the sun always upon your face and may the winds of destiny carry you aloft to dance with the stars '



My mother was very young when she had me so the support that my Nan gave her as I grew up was vital. Without her me and my mum would of struggled but we always had a safetynet of support that we could rely on that was invaluable to us both. I know this notion is appreciated by my aunties and cousins too. We all share our own individual special memories as well as collective moments too that we will never forget. I would appreciate it so much if anybody has any memories stories that they wish to share as I know they will help us all as a family as we cope with this difficult time.




Cara: ". I once mistakingly rang there (labour club) instead of nanas house looking for mum, nana answered anyway, and passed me on to mum! Good job I got the wrong number! 



Her husband John is a great man who was with my Nana for her last 20 years. He is a part of our family and I hope he knows that we will always be here for him and I look I will look forward to his Sunday Dinners in future and having a beer in the back garden in tribute to our usual routine. I know I'm not alone when I say we are always here for you and we love you
and respect you so much. If you ever need anything please do not forget that.


She had a a gift for poetry that was exposed when she made her way to Facebook. I would always giggle at the little dittys she would loving, yet embarrassingly post to our Facebook walls with affection, nailing little pockets of the personalities of the protagonists each time she wrote them. Reading back some of these small potent poems know I smile as a proud Grandson and I'm happy we will all each have our own little prose to refer to in the future. 




From Moat Road, to Winterslow Avenue, Clover  Croft and finally your home in Widnes - I'll always remember each place fondly for reasons as they represents different periods of my life as I've grown up. My blue bear and parties, your back garden at Moat Road. Snowballs and magic tricks, teddy football at Winterslow Avenue. Clovere Croft was a place of refuge in my teenage years, your naughty rabbits and old school cooked dinners and misbehaving Malig. The dog who you took in and never left your side. The Labour club, where you worked hard and played hard! The beautiful garden you have created that will grow and remind us of your colourful nature as the flowers grow and bloom each year. I know John will tender them with care and think of you with a smile as he listens to smooth FM and remembers all the great times that you both spent together there. 



'if winter comes can spring be far behind?'



As a woman she was truly beautiful, a short stunning blonde. Her three daughters each different in ways but each a  reflection of there mother in their own unique ways.  Looking at them now they are all testament to her gorgeous genes and gentle, kind nature.



Nana was the most amazing crossword completer I have ever met. I was consistently surprised by her ability to finish these crosswords as she watched daytime TV and it was one of the small funny things that made me really proud of her. She filled in the gaps that was synomomus to her life.

Each of her daughters have fought through hard times and she provided a back bone of support that helped them reach the stability and happiness in their lives today. I know she said to me personally how she had comes to terms with her fate and that she was especially happy my Aunty Julie has found happiness with a good man like her sisters. I feel this represented the final piece to the puzzle for her and as usual she was able to complete this before she left. She took great solace in this fact - and so she should. It made me feel a small element of contentness when she told me this during one of our last conversations together.



To all my cousins now is the time to step up and being there for your mums. I have no doubt you will be.  I am proud of you all and you all have a special place in my thoughts. You all have great qualities and potential and it's been a pleasure to watch you all grow up into fine young men and ladies, even mothers.  Please never hesitate to contact me if you need to talk or share your thoughts. I know we will remain strong as a unit and we will get through this tough time together as a family!


In closing I want to thank my Nana just for simply being her. I will hold you in a special place in my heart forever and you will never be forgotten. Each Christmas I will toast you with a Jack Daniels (Nan would always buy the guys a JD related present every year) I will never taste that whiskey again without a passing thought for you as it passes my lips. I know I will not be the only one with this sentiment.

Even as a close family - I still hope this brings us all together and that we use this experience to better ourselves in our own personal ways. Fight hard to reach your potential and stay true to your essence and the person you desire or have chosen to be. It's these times that expose what really matters to you - embrace those thoughts and do not lose them in grief or forget them in time.

I am so proud of you.
Goodby Nana. I love you.
Your Grandson,
Nathan x
this was difficult to revisit but it's important to remember those you love most and don't take a fleeting moment for granted.
Jude kyrie Oct 2015
The man with green hair and green hands.

A long long time ago
When army’s wore uniforms.
We were khaki they were grey.
My grandfather was fire warden
In WW2 he had seven sons
And three daughters .
You could say he was
a bit of a pacifist.
Make love not war
Was his mantra.
He married my Grandma
when she was seventeen.
They were to stay married
for over sixty five years.
And produce  tribe of ten children.
He had spent his whole life
Working as a coppersmith
For the same company.

His hair and hands tinted green
From the metals Verdigris.
My father was a baby just born
In the middle of the war.
We lived in Manchester.
Money was always tight.
But we were happy.
Just as Herr ****** invaded Poland
My grandad bought our first house.
We always rented until then.
It was a large town home.
The six older boys
All joined the marines
At the outbreak of the war.
They did one act of preparation
That ultimately saved the family.
They took down an old barn for a farmer
And used the beams to shore up the stone cellar
of the house.
When the air raids came later.
We would all huddle under the stair well
Until the all clear sirens sounded.
When the bad raid came
It was the early hours of the night.
Grandad was out on fire watch.
Six of the sons were on ships
In Europe and the far east.
My aunty told me much later.
When the war was long over.
She heard the bomb falling
It screamed as it fell.
Exploding just outside our house
the house caved in and they
were all buried under the rubble
in total darkness.
She said grandma was
breastfeeding the baby my dad.
Grandad was busy the raid was a hard one.
A friend said Frank your house has been hit
It’s bad.
He dropped everything and ran and ran
Breathless he reached the fallen house.
In his heart he thought we were all dead.
It took ten neighbors four hours to reach us.
They pulled the girls out first
Then the baby my dad.
And finally the dimutive figure of my grandma.
She was weeping.
She said Frank we’ve lost everything.
There’s nothing left.
He held her in his big arms
Tears flowing from the eyes of a man
Who had had a hard life.
Who never cried.
He kisses her full on her lips
A single sign of public affection
That was out of his character.
He whispered to grandma.
That odd Mary
Because I just found
Everything I ever wanted or needed.
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
mummy, mummy,
who invented school?


oh, sweetheart,
what a clever girl you are;
why don't you tell me first
who you think invented school?


I think, mummy,
school must have been invented
it must be by people
like old grumpy Uncle Grim
next door;
and the grouchy Aunty Scowl
who lives behind our house


oh no, darling,
oh no, not at all:
O darling,
wise men and women
of the past
they invented school


oh, mummy,
they couldn't
have been wise
not if you went to school
and see what happens in class;
surely those men and women
of the past
couldn't have been wise
if they created places
where little kids are tested
every three days;
and little John thinks he's stupid
and little Sue says she'd rather
stay at home and sleep;
and Tua and Helen are always
tense and nervous
and Chandra snores while the teacher talks



oh no -
oh, no darling,
oh no,
it's not like that at all:
O darling,
they were wise and all-knowing
those
sage men and women
of the past
who invented school
so little children like you and your friends
can go and learn all you need to know



but why mummy,
why a school?
is it because daddy and you
and grandma and grandpa
you know nothing and
you can't teach me
what I need to know?*



oh, no darling,
oh no not at all;
O darling,
you must listen to mummy -
wise men and women
of the past
most certainly
they invented school
Lucey Snyder Apr 2010
Long hours, late nights, many sleepless nights
Tired feet galore
Dorothy’s discarded her Ruby Slippers for shoes of glass
But Glinda kept the magic
The feminine Tin man with his girlish heart and voice
Has had a *** change now
And how a dress of mesh fits 'em oh so well

Toto was put down for eating one of the slippers
Been replaced by house keeping mice
At least they can't chew glass
Scarecrow gained prestige and balance
Those things of which he lacked
The Cowardly Lion shaved his curly mop
We still haven’t seen him since
Aunty Em gained the crown she very much deserved
Uncle Henry preferred the merchant life
Since the Wizard foresaw their separation

Now Cinderella’s in a tizzy
Her stepsisters make her dizzy
And truth be told, you never hear
She had a bit too much to drink, so near
to the ball, first dress was ripped
The other slipped far off her head when she tripped
One shoe on, the other gone
And the rest….
Well, you know.
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
the drama unfolds
and the young grow old
while the old go with a curse
I myself am grown into my fifties
and the people I’ve known
who called me Little Boy
have been called to dust and urn and to river over the decades;
and the kids I would kneel before to speak with them
now they say: Do I see you with hunched shoulders?
the earthly hours pass
and generations come and go
with little knowing though of their own flow
the drama unfolds
and the young grow old
while the old go
with a last bite of a fried chicken
places have changed
and villages and forests lain bare
and once where I stood admiring angsanas
and mango trees and peacocks
now I admire lilly-pillies
and hold the koala and the kangaroo as mascots;
people I have called mother, father
and uncle and aunty and grandmother
they now have gone, some without even a good-bye
some smiling and some with unintelligible mutterings
and ah, some in unendurable suffering
while I walk now as time unfurls like a flag in the square;
and the witnesses
of uncountable generations
of immeasurable life
those stars and the sun and the moon
keep me quiet company
and the sunlight uses the leaves in the garden
to whisper to me the secrets of things;
and in my leisure
these words I speak to you
and when I’m gone
through these you may speak with me;
and the ones I have told stories to
now re-tell the stories to their young
and time, interrupting its slumber,
lifts its head like a garden in the snake
awhile
sees all is right, all flowing as it would expect,
and looks around and gives me a look too
and goes back to sleep;
ah, the drama unfolds
and the young grow old
while the old go with a wink
Ana Habib Nov 2020
The family of two would soon be turning into 3. Jasmine and Robyn  Banerjee were a young couple who had gotten married only a few short month back and were now eagerly waiting for the arrival of the baby. Jasmine, did not care if was a boy or girl. She and her husband agreed that as long as the baby was healthy had her mom eyes and dads smile everything was perfect.

Her in-laws had other ideas. They looked after her and was very understanding about her plight. The morning sickness, violent mood swings, acne, aches and pains. They advised her on what they thought was right but every few days or so her mother in law had something new to say. “ Don’t eat too much of something or the baby will have birthmark just like it somewhere on the body” or eat fish so that the “baby will be smart” or something more annoying like “ do not bathe, the baby might be born early” The mother to-be smiled politely or rolled her eyes as far back as possible while silently wishing someone would take her a way from these kooky people.

Jasmine, was a school teacher by profession and her husband Robyn ran a very successful travel agency. She had been told that it would be best if she resigned from work, at the very beginning of her pregnancy. Robyn provided for both and why did a woman need to work after a child is born?

Baby Dia was born on a Friday at 8pm in a clinic after a long and tiring labour. Both the doctor and nurse were smiling when they handed the pink bundle of cries to Jasmine. She did not even have 10 minutes alone with the baby before the door burst open with an eager set of grandparents and a father who looked, troubled.

What is it? Cried one of the grandmothers

“A girl” said Jasmine smiling

“hmm”

“a boy would have been better”

“ I Know she would bring bad luck to the family”

Not something to tell a new mom but everyone was suddenly looking each other instead of her. No one went to congratulate the mom or take a second look at the baby. Jasmine’s mother in law looked upset. Her mom just patted her hand, hurriedly mumbled something, and left the room with her father in tow. Jasmine felt bad upon hearing everything and wondered what kind of people she had been living with till now. Her husband was quiet the whole time.

Baby Dia grew up to be a happy smiling baby who made little to no fuss, slept through the night and always seemed excited about expanding her palate. She did not see much of her father or grandfather. They never showed much interest in her. They never warmed up to her. Robyn smiled, picked her up or played with his daughter every once in a while, but for the most part he worked long nights, on the weekend and went on week long trips when he needed to.

Robyn was working late again for the third time this week. He had hoped for a boy for so long but ended up with a daughter. She was precious to look at but women are complicated, expensive and overly emotional.

One afternoon, 4 year old Dia was playing outside with a few of the neighbourhood children. She had great fun but came home looking a little more then just *****. Her pink frock had holes in it, her wavy hair came undone and she was holding only one shoe in her hands. Her mother was no where to be seen but her grandmother hollered at the girl.

“Look at you, dirt all over the place,” why cant you just play inside with your dolls or toys only boys get this ***** and stay out so late” Dia paid no attention to these words and went to her grandmother for a hug. The old woman shooed the little girl away and locked her in the bathroom.  “Don’t come out till your squeaky clean” her grandmother warned. What was the big deal about getting ***** Dia wondered?

When she had turned 7, Dia started attending events and invites with her parents. They were all invited to a wedding on a Saturday night. She no longer had to wear scratchy frocks anymore. Her mother had bought her something better. A pant suit with a pink scarf. Dia loved it and dressed up by herself with no help. The dress was great, but the scarf was a nuisance. It was long and she felt suffocated. What was there to hide? Her mom draped in a pink saree, frowned when she came out wearing no scarf.

“Put on your scarf it comes with the dress”

“I don’t want to its ugly and I wont able to play with this on”

The normally calm woman, suddenly felt annoyed.

“Look, I have a shawl and your grandmother is wearing one too” that’s just how women dress, and that includes little girls.”

Her grandmother sitting in the back of the car murmured something about teaching her manners and modesty. Dia didn’t flinch

“ I have manners and my legs are not showing” Modesty in the “Banarjee” household meant that woman were not to expose their legs or back or any other parts of the body except for the hands and feet” Such rules did not apply to the men.

The next morning Jasmine spoke to Dia about the incident.

“I wanted you to wear the scarf last night because its how girls dress. You are a girl and you have to cover yourself to avoid trouble. Good girls always cover themselves and listen to their parents.”

Dia nodded but she didn’t understand anything. She was hungry and just wanted to eat.

When Dia was 11. One of her father’s colleagues came over. A kind man, his wife and annoying son. She liked them. They always brought over presents. She had gotten blue bangles last time. She saw them, from her window. She could not leave her room until her mother called for her.  It was always to work in the kitchen, Serve the guests, tea and snacks, set the table and do the dishes while everyone talked in the living room or sat in the backyard. Everything had to be cleaned up and the tea had to be exactly right. Not too dark, or too sugary. Grandmother says that if a girl did not know how to make proper tea she would not get a good husband in the future. Dia smirked when she heard this, her husband can have milkshakes for all she cared. She hated tea. Drink too much of it and she would get darker. Drink to little of it and the headaches would start. Dia could only leave the room when they left. No one really stayed over except of her mother’s parents, cousins and the occasional 50 pounds overweight aunty who always had her face in the refrigerator and inquired about her grades and skin tone every single visit. Girls were expected to stay indoors as much as possible. Always hidden but from what Dia could not always understand.

A few days after Dia turned 12 she had gotten her period. She read all about it on the internet and the librarian at school had lent her some books while explaining everything to her. Such topics were never discussed at home. It was a horrible experience. The bleeding, cramping, headaches and bouts of anger. All this because she was girl, every month for a very long time. 50 years perhaps. Her mother and grandmother smiled, when she told them. They took her out for lunch and bought her new clothes. She could no longer wear shorts or sleeveless tops anymore, even in the privacy of her own room. A brassiere had to go with everything now and long scarves and vests were a must. Along with this Dia had to follow other rules. She could not wash her hair on the first day of her period, she could not bathe in hot water. She could not paint her nails, have anything sour (pickles, lemonade) or make food for anyone because everything will spoil. She could not enter a place of worship or cradle baby because he/she might get sick. Dia thought all this was pointless and when she inquired about it, she got a smack to the face for questioning ancient rules and rituals and was told that this was how it was for every woman before her in the family. She earned a second smack when she asked who made the rules. Probably a man.

On her 14th birthday. Dia had gotten into a fight with one of her best friends. It was over something trivial. What to wear for a school event? Dia had settled for a saree and her friend settled on a gown. Dia was not fair but a little dusky. Her friends skin tone was like milk. The girl took great pride in that. She went as far as saying that Dia’s grey saree made her look like a crow. Dia was too upset to say anything in return, so she quickly walked home. She walked to her room and did not come out till the next day. Jasmine had noticed her daughter’s sour behavior and snappy remarks, so she asked what was wrong. Dia tearfully told her the truth. Her mom laughed and said that good friend’s squabble over anything and forget it 2 days later. Gave her money for ice cream and a movie and left for work. Her grandmother while doing the dishes told her that it was normal for girls for fight because women are competitive, they always want the best for themselves and have no problem belittling someone else to get it. Dia asked why, she got the usual response. “that’s how girls are” Dia through her grandma was being extra negative that day.

When Dia turned 18, she met a young man through one of her classes. She was studying health sciences and aspired to be a dentist when she was much older. Teeth always fascinated her since she was young. Her friend was a taller a bit older (21) and studying to be an Emergency Medical Technician. Dia and this boy had been friends for awhile now. He came from a good family and had no siblings. But she always thought him to be a friend. They studied together, hung around and had fun. He on the other hand started asking too many questions and took up a lot of her time. He was nice, positive and always made her laugh, but she had to let him know how she felt about him. She thought of speaking to her mom about this. Her father had heard everything instead. He sat beside her, listened to everything, and told her to wait for the boy to come to her and then break him the news gently. There was no need to talk to him first and cause a scene at the college campus. This would affect her studies and make her look her bad. This upset Dia in a major way. A woman was able to have feelings, but she could not voice them out? She could not take the first step in a relationship?  She mumbled her thanks and took a long shower that night, thinking everything over. The next day she approached her father again. He gave her a long look and said that if she broke things off with him first, he could go around spreading rumors or get her in trouble at school. No one likes a bold woman who always speaks her mind. She should just focus on her studies. Dia did not press him any further. She went on with her everyday life and lost him as a friend in a month’s time.

A week shy of her 21st birthday, Dia received an acceptance letter from a prestigious university. She was ecstatic and did cartwheels after reading the letter. Her parents had no qualms about her studying at a university that was far away from home or living in a hostel. She had matured into a young woman who they could trust and she had not made a faulty decision till now. Dia was not interested in parties, drinking, or staying overnight with friends. She was a good girl. However, they only let her go after letting her know that they would start looking for a boy once she graduated from her program. Dia said yes without thinking to much about this. Graduation was still 4 years away.

Dia went to complete university in less then 4 years time. She did not waste any time after graduation and enrolled into dental school. She had flunked only 1-2 courses during one semester. Her grandmother had died during one of them and her grades fell just slightly. This brought upon change in the Banerjee family. Her father had changed after his mom’s death. He was no longer in a rush to get Dia married and stopped working. He picked up a hobby and worked on that. Her mother took a break from teaching and now worked as a guidance counsellor for teens at a reputable high school.

During this time Dia was going steady with another dentistry student, with her parent’s permission. He was alright in most ways but sometimes pressured her to take their relationship to the next level. She always resisted and asked him to wait till they get married. Woman had to remain pure till they got married. If one’s purity is gone or lost it would bring great shame to the family and the couple. He said he he understood until one day he did not anymore. In a fit of rage, he let her know she belonged to him and he could do what he liked. They would be getting married soon so why did it matter. She resisted the urge to strike him and let him know that she belonged to no one but herself. He called her names before calling it quits. It hurt, but Dia knew that she would meet the right man sooner or later. Her parents did not say anything to her regarding this.

When Dia was 25 she did meet someone, he was a doctor and she went to become a dentist. They did not a have a grand wedding but a small private ceremony. They had paid for everything and Dia sent her parents on a much-needed vacation. Her husband, he did not pressure her to do anything she did not like. He grew up abroad and helped her in all the things that men did not normally do back home like cooking, cleaning, shopping because this was considered to be “ Woman’s work” and was “normal” This surprised her at first but amazed her later on. One night after too much wine and fun her husband went to bed.  Dia was still awake giddy from the wine and had other things on her mind. She gently woke her husband up. He was not pleased. “Let me sleep woman, its not the time to do anything and I have to get up early. He left it at that and was snoring in minutes.

She looked at him and frustration and wondered why it was normal and acceptable for men to satisfy their needs wherever and whenever possible, but a woman was always rebuked when she wanted something from her husband. She had certain needs and rights over him. She quickly undressed, slipped into a nighty, and went to sit in the balcony for a bit. The moon was out and the world was dead asleep.
Dia poured herself the last of the wine and thought about everything.

A woman always has two choices to fight or to follow the rules. Since birth woman are groomed into becoming a certain type of woman, once they get to that stage they are either married off or left to work and hop from one relationship to another. They were taught to be quiet, obedient, smart and always fully covered.

Why did a woman need to be covered at all times? Not just her body but her mind as well. She must keep mum about her wants, her needs, and desires. She always must think about the others and society before deciding on something. No one looks up to a woman who speaks her mind and focuses on herself. No one appreciates an independent woman. She must always be dependant on a male somebody (father, brother, husband, son). She must always do what she is told and taught because that is the way it is. That is how girls are.

This is all Dia grew up listening to. Who came up with the rules? Society. A society, where men dictated most things and told woman what they should and should not do. When a man will never understand what women go through or why they must handle and balance out so much. School, home, family, career. A woman always has to choose.

Everything comes down to a choice and she will forever have to sacrifice something or the other because it is the womanly thing to do. Men are never really questioned about their choices. They talk, they lead, and the women follow. That needs to change. People need to unlearn these age-old stereotypes. They hurt both the men and women. A man grows up but ends up lacking so much in terms of emotional intelligence and respect for the other gender. He grows without understanding what gender equality means and why it is needed.  A woman grows up but not without sacrifice, selflessness, and crippling obedience. She is seen as inferior, weak, or untamable if she does not do what she is told, asks too many questions and wants to better herself in some way or form.

A woman’s identity should not be made from excuses and lies.
Ashley Kane Mar 2018
Please don’t pity my situation
I’m frozen in situ
Don’t smile and **** your head
Don’t say awww or that’s a shame
Don’t pat my hand and assume it will happen
Don’t tell me I’m missing out
Don’t tell me I’ll never understand until it happens to me
Don’t assume your life is more fulfilled then mine
Don’t pretend it makes you more mature then me
Don’t make me a faux Aunty to another friends fruit
Don’t joke about lending or sitting like it’s the same
Don’t imagine Yours could ever be a substitute for mine
That they could replace the ache in my heart or fill it with what it’s missing - even worse be greatful for the privilege
Don’t act like it’s a grand gester like your giving my life meaning

When things are awful and bad don’t tell me you stay for them and use them as an excuse to not walk away
Don’t tell me if I had I’d under stand
Don’t make me feel incomplete because I haven’t - I’m already feeling it
Don’t call me lucky because I sleep in
Don’t say “nice for some” when I go out it isn’t my choice
Don’t assume this is about freedom
Don’t pretend it will happen one day
Don’t put your false hopes onto me
Don’t assume he will leave me if I don’t deliver - we’re much more then potentials Ps
Don’t assume it’s because of the weight
Don’t give me a gimmick or tips
Don’t tell me your storys
Don’t talk about it or predict about it
Dont tell me about feelings in your waters
Don’t treat me like this is my only purpose
Dont think I get hurt because you grow and blossom in a way I can’t
Don’t assume I’m bitter and resentful
Don’t pretend I can’t be happy for you
Dont treat me like I’m broken like my whole exsistence revolves around a broken womb

.......I’m so much more
.......I’ve seen so much more, felt so much more, grown and lost
.......I live so much more and want so much more
.......I have more plans and options then you can imagine

My back up plan is full of love and life still!!

(C) Ashley Kane FB
Not to offend - I think someone out there will understand
From quiet homes and first beginning, Out to the undiscovered ends, There's nothing worth the wear of winning, But laughter and the love of friends.
Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953), British author. "Dedicatory Ode," Verses (1910).

Dear Parents

Thank you for deciding after two years of marriage to have a child, me.
Sorry I wasn't the boy that so many of my family desired, sorry I was late, sorry that you missed the "Rumble in the Jungle", if it's any consolation I know who won.
How I came to be is quite beyond me. Father's family disliked mothers and vice versa. Dad a steelworker, Mam a trainee chef, dad flipped a coin with a mate, my mother was the stake.
Four years later sister came along, then another four years the son, that so many yearned for made an appearance.
I saved my sister's life from my grandparent's dog, lost an ear in that battle, a bit like Van Gogh. Plastic surgery at seven, still hate Cocker Spaniels to this day. I tell everyone I saved her from a rabid Doberman (I know parents, there's no Rabies in Great Britain) what did I get for my trouble? A stuffed white cat and a sister that I made sit in a cow pat.
Thank you parents for sending me to a school that made other kids suspicious of me. A welsh medium school, might as well have been Hogwarts, but they taught me well, (I can swear in five languages) and read and spell.
Dad taught me how to head ****, mam you taught me how to make cake.
My sister taught me how to share, my brother taught me how really not to care. Live each day as if it may be your last, I told my brother that often.
Dad, one of 13 kids, mam one of 3, like me. Dad, I hate your sisters that are alive they remind me of the Moirai, or the three witches from Macbeth, I've tried to like them but I'm terrible at lying, and to be honest they are in their late 70's so they must be close to dying.
Mam, your sister is a lesbian, I think her army days gave that away. Your brother like mine a source of consternation a Navy man that never went to sea????
Now, my grandparents are all dead. Apparently, I have inherited my father's mother's temper. She disappeared for 3 days when she thought she'd killed my grandad!
I'm married now, no rug rats thank God, I'm aunty material, selfish and wicked.
Now, this sounds I know a little quaint and odd, but I know we've had our share of bad luck, but, 42 years wed, still in the family home, surrounded by trees, neighbours we've known for years and people we'd like to poison. But,we've laughed so hard mam you have a hernia, dad you are the male equivalent of a ****, you'll be flirting in the OAP home **** yes, sorry parents as one of your three I get to pick the residential home! And, as they say,that is a good life.
Jo **
P.s I didn't mention our family mental illnesses, early 20th century communism, possible adultery, coveting the neighbours Ford Capri, or pet cemetery in the garden. I'll wait til all are dead then spill about the good secrets.
© JLB
17/09/2014
01:43 BST

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