"authoritative" poems
The teacher stands before her detained class
And from behind her authoritative podium
She equates abortion to the holocaust
A dangerous comparison in an educational garrison
But the other children nodded their heads in agreement
A benefit of having the ear of youth
Is being able to infect it with your own toxic ideology
What bacteria did this ear infection consist of?
Conservatism? Religiosity? Chastity?
The answer was depressingly simple
I was the only one there unaware of Fox News
I was a casualty of the confusion
The confusion engendered
By venom thoughts placing politic-colored glasses
on the entrenched masses
Entertainment
Used to convey anger and hate
Emotions worth conveying
But not living in
The intents and desires of their vulnerable receivers
become an incongruous disaster
What could I have done?
Minds as still as the pharaohs heart
We live in a society where we're all infantilized by one myth
Good and evil
Looking back on what I did do
I didn't do much
But I did do something
I didn't nod my head like a ******** sycophant
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
They told me there is no "I" in team.
I am an athlete.
I am an individual.
I am strong.
I am weak.
I have desires, hopes, and dreams.
I have goals.
I have fears.
As a team my opponent will never see my weaknesses,
Only my strengths, never my fears,
Only my goals as they unfold before them.
I am not afraid that my team will see my fears, my hopes, dreams or desires.
I trust my team to an unlimited level.
I am not afraid that my team will see my faults, because with them I overcome my faults.
With them I am fearless, with them I have hopes and dreams.
With my team I am not weak, I do not have strength of one athlete but many combined, focused, and dangerous to my un-united opponent.
I become my team and my team becomes me.
I do not judge, and I am not judged.
I have a goal, and the team has a goal.
They always told me there is no "I" in team.
They were wrong...
I am the team; I become the team; the team became me.
The team becomes an entity unto itself.
The team is strong, creative, compassionate, caring, authoritative, disciplined.
The team absorbs "I" and then there is an "I" in team.
The "I" becomes part of something much more powerful.
They were right: there is no "I" in team.
But there is a "team" in "me."
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
Adorable Angelina
Accepted Anchoring
At Academia,
Acute Angelina
Achieved Anchoring
Award And
Amazed Abundantly,
Angel Angelina
Always Added
Active Authoritative,
Awesome Angelina
Achieved Anchoring
Ambitions Avidly.
__Fathima Ruhee__
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 5:40 AM UTC
A Statement Solo and a Response Choral in Existential Whine Mode
Solo: Before we end for today – do begin thinking about a topic for your research paper due in December.
Chorus: I don’t understand…but you said...are you talking about the persuasive essay…what does “expository” mean…oh, this is not expository…but we’ve never written a persuasive paper…is this the persuasive research paper you’re talking about…what is the difference between “expository” and “persuasive”…but what are we going to write about…I mean like why don’t you give us a topic…I don’t understand…when is this due…but that’s the pro and con, right…it’s not…but you said…what does “bibliography” mean…so when is this due…but how many pages…so you just want the bibliography and the first page…I don’t know what you mean by a thesis that can be argued either way…I don’t understand why you don’t give us a topic…I’m confused…what do you want us to write about…but when is this due… I don’t understand…but you said...are you talking about the persuasive essay…what does “expository” mean…but we’ve never written a persuasive paper…is this the persuasive research paper you’re talking about…but what are we going to write about…I mean like why don’t you give us a topic…I don’t understand when is this due…but that’s the pro and con, right…it’s not…but you said…we’ve never written a research paper before…what does “bibliography” mean…so when is this due…but how many pages…so you just want the bibliography and the first page…I don’t know what you mean by a thesis that can be argued either way…I don’t understand why you don’t give us a topic…I’m confused…what do you want us to write about…but when is this due… I don’t understand…we’ve never written papers like this before…but you said...are you talking about the persuasive essay…what does “expository” mean…but we’ve never written a persuasive paper…is this the persuasive research paper you’re talking about…but what are we going to write about…I mean like why don’t you give us a topic…I don’t understand when is this due…but that’s the pro and con, right…it’s not…but you said…what does “bibliography” mean…so when is this due…but how many pages…so you just want the bibliography and the first page…I don’t know what you mean by a thesis that can be supported with authoritative sources and logic…I don’t understand why you don’t give us a topic…I’m confused…what do you want us to write about…but when is this due…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!????????????
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 4:07 PM UTC
There is nothing I can give to you that is not past or future.
When my both selves fight, they throw insults at each other like an unhappy couple.
“You are already gone!” the one says,
“You are never here” says the other.
And I sing then. I never let any note slip away into silence. Songs in which I’m a magician,
right before the grand finale,
the last vanishing act.
I close my eyes and slowly slice away layers of skin,
so I can become less and less,
so I can sail away on the river without an end,
it’s flow imposing my soul with the authoritative demand to move forward.
There is no river.
I am pitifully human so there is no alchemy that transforms loss into beauty.
Ihe things I have built, I built myself. Like this house of memories
with it’s sole window. The moon shines through it every night.
What an unperfect image,
what my heart endures everytime I reach out only to feel
solance turning into a hell-flamed sky.
The darkness is gone like I will be gone
like everything has gone forever.
There is also no house.
Only the pale waves of a grey-winter sea,
dualism of being and not-being
a perfect symmetry,
a beautiful fragile balance.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 5:38 PM UTC
Many years ago from now
a gentleman I knew
his predilections were precise
and, to me, quite new.
He was intent on teaching
deliberate and firm
and from his experience
I began to learn.
So here arose my interest
it's him I have to thank
for taking me in hand so well
and giving me The Spank.
He wasn't ever lazy
never dealt out on a whim
he made me work to earn each stroke
I was obsessed with him.
I put in many hours
hatching careful plans
of how to win the best attentions
from this authoritative man.
I'd knock a stack of books
off the corner of his desk
and he'd lean back in his chair and say
"come here and lift your dress".
And I'd comply so gladly
already feeling hot
my bottom was presented
and his hand knew just the spot.
Sometimes he'd give me just the one
on a precipice I'd stay
longing for the three or four
I'd get later that day.
I remember him with fondness
he taught me many useful things
but most of all I thank him
for every little sting.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC
you ask me what it's like to be black
and i'll tell you it's a warm soulful fulfilling feeling
like a pair of new Chucks on the hot pavement jumping scotch on a busy summer day
eating cool iced pops and not ever being afraid
and smelling the warm carmel cake cooling on the stove
and the togetherness on a Sunday evening in grandmama's home
but you ask me what it's like to be black
in america
and i'll fall silent of conversation
because as you see history repeats itself
i don't understand why there is still need for explanation
in deep adversaries and hateful unappreciation
here we stand to be questioned by an authoritative negation
and ignorant folk,
why do you ask me such things?
why are you people mad?
why is it about race?
and i'll ask you, why does the caged bird sing?
is he not entitled to his song or his wings?
as green as the earth and as blue as the sky
i will only explain to an ear willing to listen
to a being with a sound heart and a firm mind
because as God as my witness we were created as equal
and for that given right we must die?
i will sit back and in turn ask you why;
i bet you couldn't say
and maybe we will all learn the answer some day
so join me in prayer will you?
join me as i pray:
*to the children of Chicago
who can't go out to play
to the sons and fathers of
Missouri and Florida and New York
who will never again see the light of day
to the mother's pain that may fade
but won't ever go away
to the hateful people and their hateful words and their hateful ways
God won't You heal their pain?*
they're so hard on us, Lord
now we're hard on ourselves
and on our knees we have fallen
needing guidance and help
because it isn't about being privilged
or living for the light we're consumed in
being black in america is no longer about being accepted as black
it's about being accepted as human.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
Sa pamamagitan ng kabutihan ng Kanyang Kabutihan
~~~
*the message arrive by private telegraph line,
"write,"
she behests,
more than a mortal's requests,
an authoritative pleading,
an urgent prompting
with an element of divinity attached,
almost a command
by virtue of
her virtue,
who am I to refuse,
though the writing gene/genie,
somnolent, suppressed, quiescent,
melatonined by the pills the
life force feeds us
from a bottle lonely labeled,
"whether you like it or not"
reckless explore the venues
you would prefer to never venture,
so,
this poem becomes her,
this poem be comes her,
this poem be comely
for and because of her
unbare chambers that have rusted shut,
be unafraid,
she seances me telepathically,
in the poet's way,
a crying smile accentuated with
"write of the titles you have confessed
to the body's mind inquisitor
that be stored
in the warehouses
of thy heart"
this irrecusable, willing bidding,
sneaks in the back door,
so easy oiled opened
by virtue
of her virtue
seven years of grain Pharaoh stored
in preparatory for the lean ones that
inevitable
come
yes, have so many would be's
gestated, but not fully formed,
none adequate to honor sufficient
her comely
behest
thus commissioned,
my purposeful mission,
to honor her once more,
with a simple honorific,
her wish, no matter how couched,
t'is my duty to fulfill
so here, full and filled
I grant her wishes,
with impoverished verses inadequate,
for you know her too,
as she full and fills us all*
***by virtue
of her
virtue***
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
I am not yet defiled; O hear me.
Let not the crazed hornets or serpents or ophidian or the
buzzard bee come near me.
I am not yet defiled; console me.
I fear that the snake charmer may with rhythmic body clocks clock me,
with predatory hissing paralyze me, with authoritative power anger me,
on wicker constraints constrain me, in bamboo-patches pierce me.
I am not yet defiled; provide me
With beauty to free me, dressage to cover me, silence to come
to me, souls to save me, charmers and angels
in my wandering existence seeking fights to waver the war within me.
I am not yet defiled; forgive me
For the provocative glances in me, my presence when womanity holds me,
my mythological beauty by deities beyond me,
my head held high when they slay by means of my
crossbow, my addiction when they poison me.
I am not yet defiled; rehearse me
In the dreams and the prayers I must take when
art interrupts me, material disturbs me, splintered souls
gaze at me, smiles fade at me, the knifes edge
stains me and everlasting scars pain
me to shame and the shames taints
my skin and my heart abandons me.
I am not yet defiled; O hear me,
Let not Perseus who is warrior or who thinks he is King
or a rival to me.
I am not yet defiled; O fill me
With gasoline against those who would inhabit my
bones, would sink me into empty caverns,
would make me a prisoner locked, a monster with
blood dripping, a monster, and a passer of dis-ease
who would execute my self, would
flush me like ***** oozing and
***** and ooze and *****
like alcohol seeping in the
pores would drown me.
Let Poseidan not make me defiled and let him not **** me.
Otherwise **** me.
© Sia Jane
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
What hollow, caustic foulness lies behind the neatly edged hedges,
fences, plastic window frames and glass?
Resting, waiting to be woken, scream what now must not be spoken
Blood-lust of a gutless middle class
What simple lies must needs be told in bold authoritative tones
To activate the drones and make them fight -
To know, that if the call should come they'd march to that benighted drum
And sacrifice intelligence for right?
How big a monster must be built to shoulder guilt for every creeping fear
and insecurity and loss,
Till every hip and critical disclaimant finds a reason for believing
and then carries it, across.
How many layers must be stripped to tip the wretched shreds of indecision
into morals blown apart
And harmless bigot who, at work, was tolerated with a smirk
Now drives a dirk into a stranger's heart?
Now doctor, teacher, business leader, well-respected educated man
proclaims his harmlessness anew,
Make no mistake: the quills are fine and ready as the porcupine
prepares to show what harmless beasts can do.
Dec 2, 2010
Dec 2, 2010 at 9:46 AM UTC
Apple falling to the ground,
Look what you've set in to motion now.
The gravity that loves to pull me down,
The defiance that loves to get me high.
Just the bright balloon you forgot to hold.
Acidic clouds framing my distant goal.
I can't look back, I see the gold.
Let go and fall in to the sky.
To a patchwork space of stars and time,
Holes brimming with unknown, an endless mine.
To the string that ties me, your authoritative bind,
You can't say goodbye, so you just lie.
I am only filled with air, no helium.
This knot my balance, sweet equilibrium,
delicately pressed between your forefinger and thumb,
I am leading your way, just like I should.
You've considered the scissors and a brighter place,
Sending me on with a last glance at your face.
You go off to your addictions, their calls you can taste,
You'd entwine me in a thousand pound weight if you could.
This suspenseful sinking is all that I know,
Bought as a souvenir of that cheap city show.
Just a light globe of laughter, an unwanted load,
Get out while it's still good.
Those scissors slip and cut me free,
You took all you wanted to from me.
Lift me as high as helium could,
This lie was meant for Hollywood.
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 9:21 AM UTC
How provocative can I get?
People always tell me
My brain and my mouth don't connect.
I have a good head on my shoulders
Or so they think
And an unlucky case of
"Foot-in-mouth" syndrome.
The awkward first impressions are the best.
I'm pretty good with adults
As long as they can hold a conversation with me
Long enough to break the ten foot-thick ice.
But oh, I'm smart
That's what they call it now?
******** my life up
Throwing everything that has been given to me away
For a boy, a dream, a utopia?
That's smart?
I think not.
Sexcapades never go so swimmingly
With men ranging in age
A mouth like a cannon on me
Spewing curse words around authoritative figures
Never leaving anything to imagination
Being too blunt
Speaking first, thinking later?
They call me provocative
As if it is a problem.
Well, if I'm a problem
Then count me in.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
Waiting for Abby
History confined in-between walls
denied access from authoritative protocol
on stone steps I sit as traffic passes
I walk through a park there the trees clutter
sun breaks through branches
as the wind commands a flutter
"free to the people" thus I saunter
where knowledge is uncovered
and writers live on in eternity
I find my treasure
Abby
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 11:55 PM UTC
They protested war in the sixties
Today we occupy the 1% and their wealth
Times haven’t changed in accordance with public opinion
But the police state has grown more authoritative
Media output is under corporate thumbs
Social media is a lie proportioned from mass de-intellect
Intellectualize the comeback of systematic rational thought
Distraction of disaster is distasteful destruction
Defined, refined, combined, combed in
A darkened bomb shelter to hide in
The enemy ambushed in guerrilla warfare
Has the benefit of never seeing the enemy coming
Taken to the streets in prolific protest
Condemning the condemnation of a capitalist nation
It’s party time to destroy the two-party system
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 9:41 AM UTC
What if you bumped with a stranger?
Neatly dressed and obviously good looking
With eyes that melts when he gazed
And handsomeness you can’t resist
How would you react?
What if he offered a hand to help you rise?
You find that hand well maintained
With those long fingers and soft palm
Would you not hesitate to accept it?
What if he beamed at you?
It is a kind of warm and sincere smile
With those nice, glossy, red lips
Would you trust him your smile too?
What if he looked at you intently?
Considering the admiration you found in his eyes
With the fact that he is the most
Attractive man you ever laid eyes on
Would you give him a hint of your attraction?
What if he asked too much ‘bout you
Yet never gave you the chance to know him better
Would you let yourself be entertained?
By his deep, authoritative voice
Would you rather talk to him with fondness?
What if you've been asked to go out?
Get to know each other well, have some fun
Would you give him just a chance?
What if you found yourself enjoying his company?
‘Til your feelings for him developed
The once admiration you've felt grew and now blooms
Would you give yourself a chance to love and be loved?
Would you question the shortness of time spent?
To let that feeling reign
Would it matter to you?
How much you've known each other
Not that much yet the feeling overflows
Would it be a big deal to you?
That you’re just mere strangers
Who accidentally met, out of millions?
In this wide, topsy – turvy world…
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
I am called an angel
I am called a ninja
I wear silver bangles
My color is of ginger
I have doll like eyes
My figure is of a small coke bottle
I hate tales of flying lies
I live in the pacific portal
I smile when I am sad
Tears are always in abundance in me
I have a temper and I do get mad
I am only a human, you see
I love reading and adore writing
But my mouth ain't a word diarrhea
I love silence and scenery sitings
I've been writing for over an year
I am in love with my adorable dogs
Who make my lone day bright
Cloudy yet windy, misty or fogs
I love this weather, as a cold night
My inner me is a mischief child
I am in my early working thirties
My imaginative writing gets wild
I am quite authoritative
I teach info tech, I love my students
Knowledge sharing is my best part
I am intolerable to fake mutants
But, I hate to see them depart
My name is Seema and I am a free writer
With the challenges I face
Each day makes my life brighter
With the blink of time in trace...
©sim
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 4:26 AM UTC
My morals are a patchwork
Stitched together from various other minds
A well worn quilt I wrap myself in for security
For blameless justification of a deformed belief system
Twisted and gnarled with an arthritis of the spirit
A hollow vessel made into a crock ***
Full of someone else's ********
Stirred by resentment
Stewed in fear and
Served with anger
To mask my ignorance and indifference
I have a reputation for trivialities
Snippets of soundbites
Subliminally soldered
Onto my sub-conscious
Where they acquire the character
Of authoritative wisdom
More pious than a prophet!
Holier than an ancient sage!
I am a 21st century shaman
A guru grifter
Embryonic episodes
Aborted for mass consumption
Over cocktails and hor dourves
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
One of my favorite books is Gone With The Wind
I read it when I was younger and liked to imagine I was like Scarlett
She was decisive, sassy, bossy; nothing could hurt her
I thought I needed a man similar to Rhett Butler
Someone who was authoritative.
Someone who could "put me in my place"
I thought of myself as indestructible
No one could actually hurt me
But they can.
I've realized I'm just as fragile as anyone else
Maybe even more so
Words can hurt me
And they do
I don't need someone who is mean to me
Or tells me what to do
I'm not indestructible
So I don't need someone to destruct me
It took me growing up to realize
I'm just a little girl
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
I hated high school
And the image of popularity
What a waste of dear time
Pretending to be perfect
It takes far too long
I would rather be flawed
Dangerous
Unpredictable
Rugged and ****
I never liked the 'perfect girl'
I liked the girl with the cigarette and leather jacket
And the shorter hair
Who looked at me and winked
And agreed to skip school for coffee and ***
Who cares if we just met?
I admire the free girls
But unfortunately, common parents
Will scream when they hear
Their daughter likes gauges
Or tongue piercings
Because magazines will make you believe
You have to be pink and tiny to be ****
Poor brainwashed mothers and fathers
They expect
Expressive reform
And a staunch to true personality
Sacrificing yourself for the pleasure of others
Is the surest way to confirm your existence
As nothing more than a name and face
Imprisoned under false authoritative rule
Why not escape from this place
Where beauty is structured
Fold
Into yourself
Where beauty is a matter of expression
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
The days where you were respected have become a memory
But it’s going to take a century to expunge all the damage you’ve done
And rewrite the wrongs that you’ve held as a nation of conviction
The world looks with weary eyes as the skyscrapers climb
In the name of bombs dropping, wall street journalism, and cash flow
The initiative that everyone is judged by the actions of corrupted officials
Humanity ruined in the eyes of offspring growing into a world of detestation
The silence of the unvoiced majority grows louder as the streets crowd
We are not the same and we are not part of the hidden agenda
Of world ********** civil suppression, and authoritative tyranny
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 8:07 PM UTC
Let's see, my oldest son was about seven years old. The boys had to ride a buss to
school, which my oldest did not do well. He has this way about him, that tends to have
women authoritative figures letting him off the hook, when he's been naughty. I always
thought it was his eyes and devilish smile. They both still get him into and out of
trouble. But those are stories for another time.
This particular year, he was having a must difficult time behaving on the buss. He had
discovered that he could be a real clown and the girls loved it. Go figure. The buss
driver gave him multiple warnings and "Buss Tickets" for misbehaving. But, somehow,
he was always forgiven by the schools principal (a woman) and never got detention.
Even when we insisted on it.
All except this one time. On the last day of school, he decided to end the year with a
bang. He came home from school that day and acted as though nothing had
happened. Later that evening, I received a phone call. It was the buss driver. She was
laughing before she was even able to tell me why she called. Although I was 100% sure
it was about my oldest.
Apparently, he was a little angel the whole ride home. That alone made her suspicious.
She pulled up to his stop. Out he got. Then he mooned her. The way the buss driver
told it, it wasn't a quarter moon, nor a half moon. But a FULL MOON. He had hitched
up his pants and ran before she could get her wits about her. She said she laughed all
the way home.
Well, I started to apologize through my laughter. I assured her that we would most
definitely take this in hand. But she stopped me and stated "Oh, I'll handle this". She
shared with me her plan. I had the hardest time all summer, not telling him, that I
knew what he had done.
Next year, the very first day of school, my oldest went to catch the buss. Oh, I had a
hard time waiting to see what would happen. That afternoon, when he came home, he
was upset. "Look what she did Mom! I can't believe it!" he whined. There in his hand,
was a bright red "BUSS TICKET" The reason on it was marked in bold felt
pen..."Mooning". Now, you would think that he would be upset about the mooning.
Noooo, not my son. His exact words were...."I can't believe someone that old would
remember what I did."
sigh That boy has never changed
On a side note: He and his Dad had a long talk about that Ticket.
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 5:37 PM UTC
His earnings were no use now,
A bottle of antiquated Romanée Conti would undoubtedly do,
A premium Gieves & Hawkes ensemble donned,
Jeff Buckely trills of lilac wine as he puts on his GJ Cleverley shoes.
He turns up the dial on his harmony producer,
Fading out the shrilling yawp of the telephone upon the table,
He sits up in his silk sheet bed,
The lights dim to a squint and the Psychotropic tab make him unable.
A pill for each mood now a-swirl in his gut,
He deliberated if that earlier he should have elected the lamb over the pork,
Then peers to the room’s edge to the dark of a crook,
As slippers pulsate and instigate to a mellow sway and begin to curiously talk.
“What you do there?” They spoke with pry.
He enlightened the foot snugs that he wished to die,
That he hated a life as obtuse of this,
Now once able and mind half disabled he would take a knife,
To his wrists.
A razor flavours blood of the open arm,
As authoritative calls bellow and boom behind the door of his sweet,
They would never find the cash in the Caymans,
As there was none; just good wine, fast cars, his suits, and the fine shoes on his feet.
The slippers float and thus speak on:
“You are a fool to yourself you have done it all wrong, they have notably found the note”.
“There is little time left you should hurry now,”
“Take one last sip of the wine and let the razor meet your throat.”
The door bucks with each thump,
Through the yells and demands it begins to give as it creaks,
He lays a gasp in his ruby and blood,
He is now a fade and almost absent and the slippers are asleep.
They will salvage him from his discharge,
This man of hate for life, life of lies, thief of the poor and unto his soul,
A man who obstinately wanted more,
Until more was a bore and nothing no longer more fed the avid hole
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
I haven't stopped loving you the way I always have
I haven't even looked to others for the affection you refuse me
The sustenance you starve me of
I haven't tried to change you although I'm sure you'd say otherwise
Nor have I tried to lure you with tempting bribes
In fact I was the one changing throughout these times
And if i had the choice, I wouldn't have it any other way
Because you told me time and time again of your right of choice
And though i respect this, you still find ways to accuse my words of being authoritative
Can't you see that I am the only one that preserves you barely free Will?
Or has your lie been told so many times you believe it truth
You've turned my cries of hurt into unfair apologies
And I've allowed this belittling as long as I can stand
I have fought the battle for the two of us so far
Because you said you wouldn't be long
But long has long passed
And your feet seem more solidly where they are
You never send word of your expected arrival
I'm stranded, alone, loving a man that shows no love
So I call to you, in the only way I can
To say I have dropped your sword as well as mine
It's your turn to practice this free will you apparently have
Choose if you are to run after me, or are to remain.
Sinking through the the grounds upon which you stand to the fires of the prison we all know below.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
"I learned in from Oprah. Every year you put your clothes facing toward you
in your closet, and you put them back facing away from you.
and by the end of the year, you know which clothes you don't wear
and you can throw them away."
I listened to this announcement from my authoritative boss
with a look of horror and disbelief
I must have looked like he just said:
"Every day I forget how to tie my shoes,
so I look on YouTube for a tutorial."
I know now, that look I gave, must have said everything
and I said softly, "You mean, you don't know?"
And he must have felt like such a dork in my eyes
and what man wants to feel like an attractive woman
thinks he's a dork
He must have shriveled inside, first with self hatred
and then furious, tumultuous anger, a tornado of
recrimination and fury, carrying houses and cows and trucks in its wake,
and aimed directly at me
I need a poker face
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC