It's not the fact that you're older that should make you proud
But the fact that you're still here
You survived another year
Yes, I said survived
I say it with purpose
Life is not as easy as wake up, live, and go to sleep
Sometimes a day means dodging bullets
And there can be 365 days of playing straight target
Nobody knows how many obstacles you've jumped through to get here
So yes
You survived
You deserve more credit than a card
Or a cake
Or a reminder of your age
It doesn't matter how old you are
All that matters is that you're ******* alive
Profanity is acceptable in this situation due to the fact that
millions of people die every year and you aren't one of them
So be happy about that
Not the day of your birth, no
Not the once a year occurrence
Not the fact that the law says you can do something new
You should be happy that a shark didn't bite you or
that breathing is something you can still do
We've been celebrating the wrong things for too long
In a world that doesn't appreciate effort like it should,
Where all is unpredictable,
You are still here and
That
is definitely something to be happy
about.

"Where literature is concerned,
I will not cooperate at all":
A mind resolutely turned
From the social crusades of fall.

Seventy-eight years later
I agree with the "dilettante";
Twenty-five years cater
To reclusion in a shanty,

"Writing frightening verse
To a straight-toothed dude
In New York." Curse
My reckless solitude!

i am a graveyard of withered bouquets
of "writing..." dots in unsent texts
i am a house of cards of daydreams
a food bank of old birthday cakes

no real person can provide you with everything
no real person can provide you with everything

It is important to add just enough
of the lemon skin:
Too little and the cake is crushingly sugary sweet;
without the sharp texture that tickles the back of my throat
and brings on the threat of a sneeze.

Too much and the tiny yellow pieces-
like gold, like garnets, like tiny crystallized pieces of the sun,
like summer  -my youth-
can overwhelm all else with the sharpness of tears, sour and bitter.

Smell is the sense
Most closely related to our memories
It should be sight -
I can teach my eyes to see anything.

I grind the lemon carefully against the grater
releasing summer in a rush of yellow
too heady for me.
and stare out the window through the pane.

If I focus hard enough, I can pretend I see
your suitcase was only a briefcase
as you hurried down the path,
and the giant lemon tree in the front yard
was budding soft white stars of scent.
But the smell of golden pith springing from the grater
prompts the memory of pendulous fruit dropping to the ground instead –
the wanton tree already ******* for spring’s touch.

The grater grinds against my knuckles
a drop of blood falls into the batter.

I am reminded again that
only the best fruit will hang too close to the thorns,
only the theft that is given makes us bleed.

It seems as though we humans
Only remember the days of
Important occurrences.
It was Wednesday when I told you
How lonely I really was
And it was a Monday when I said
I really didn't love him anymore.
Friday we took a test
I'm sure I failed because Thursday
I did not study.
But I don't remember the specific
Day you said hello to me
Or the day I aced that Spanish test.
Saturday I saw you outside of
School and you smiled at me
Butterflies.
I remember the days of things
That are obtuse but also acute
When we made eye contact,
And my sisters birthday.
I guess this is good
I don't want to struggle
Connecting dates and times
To special moments.
Everything I remember
And everything I remember specifically,
Are special moments
Whether they are tragic
Or lovely.

I. the way it was
Running round your yard,
laughs shared and memories made.
I was carefree then

The disease found you:
Wheelchair-bound, memories lost.
Our worlds crumbled fast

Black was everywhere.
Tears flowed, casket closed--goodbye.
I don't like goodbyes

II. the way it is
Brow furrowed deeply.
Labored breathing, sleepless nights.
The stress consumes me

Looking at the sky:
golden rays brighten white clouds.
Are you watching me?

III. the way it could have been**
...
..
?

I forgot your birthday, after 9 years.
But you were the one who left in the first place
and I have no reason to forgive.
So I will only continue to forget.

I wanted to go everywhere with you,
to dive into your past, the beautiful and the *****.
To meet every version of self you have ever been.
I wanted to see your frosting stained smile
on your 8th birthday. To know you when
innocence and hope still reigned.
I wanted to hear your midnight laughter on an
ordinary Tuesday in California. To sit on the floor in
that apartment that you couldn't afford to furnish.
I wanted to walk hand in hand
through the years of your life.

And when my curiosity had been sated
with endless waves of knowledge of you,
I had hoped you would've liked to
walk through my stories.
To meet the now-gone women
who molded my soul and gifted me with
love and a sarcastic sense of humor.
I wanted you to greedily feast upon all my days gone by.

Armed with an overwhelming acceptance of one another,
I hoped we would embark on a path we forged together.
I dreamt that when I savored pasta in Venice,
I would look up to see you sitting across the table.
I imagined that your smile was the last delight
I would feel before I slowly drifted to sleep in Amsterdam.
I thought the next time I dove under a salty wave,
It would be you at my side.

I wanted to experience every taste, every touch
and every breath with you standing next to me.
For, life was more beautiful with your hand in mine.
You were my welcome rose-colored glasses,
now laying shattered on the floor.

Without you I see the world in
all of its harsh grotesqueness.
Without your cloud of sweetness,
My past pain and horror yet unknown
have taken on new strength.

I now only wish to travel back to the time,
when I thought I had a chance with your heart.

This is my day. It’s like every other day, except it’s mine.

I never wanted it. I spent most of my life trying to give it away. It was five years ago when a promise of forever convinced me that I should hold on to it, save my life for one more day, save that day for safekeepings.

It was five years ago that I was in love. But it didn’t matter how much I loved, and it didn’t matter how much of me I was willing to give away, including my heart, including my sanity, including my day. No amount of selflessness can fix you when you’re broken, when you’ve been beaten down and made to feel like dirt.

So, I wanted to give up; and I nearly did so many times. For the longest, I told myself the reason I allowed my heart to keep on beating was that of another, and their promise that they would always be there. That they were the hero, that they were the ones that saved me.

Even now, looking back on this five year anniversary of my birthday in recovery, I find it hard not to refer to it as the loss. I find it hard not to refer to it as the heartache, as broken promises, as another year since the war has ended. As another nightmare of the broken bottles smashing. As another day to grieve those who are still alive but no longer with me. As a reminder of all of the times I came close to not seeing another day at all.

It’s hard, even still, to not make this day about anyone other than myself. To cower in the shadows, to watch it from outside of my own body, wondering what it’s like to be celebratory.

But each year, it gets a little bit easier.

Year one, I reclaimed my body.
Year two, I reclaimed my freedom.
Year three, I reclaimed my heart.
Year four, I reclaimed my name.
Year five, I reclaim my home.

For those along the way who have handed me the seeds, I will never forget. But five years has taught me that I had to plant them, water them, and let me bloom again. No one saved me, I saved myself.

When I look at the flowers, it’s because I love them, not because you did. I can stand among them, touching them freely, claiming them for anything that I wish.

Everything that I create is created by me, the pain that has made me, is always apart of me, but it does not own me. You do not own me. At the end, it is only me. And I am alive, and five years later, I want to be.

And even though I still grieve, and I still cry, I know I'm moving forward. I own this day, it no longer belongs to anyone else.

Happy Birthday to me.

Age isn't important,
if you
(and your pen!)
are alive.

a balloon floats over a child’s birthday party that the fat girl wasn’t invited to.
the balloon is the art of maintenance.
let some air out, blow some in, until it’s just right, and then tie it off.

when i was born, i weighed ever so slightly more than six pounds.
that was the last time i’d be slight.
i grew big and grew bigger
years of eating, years of blowing hot air into a balloon hard and fast
with thick, humid inside filling and filling
no longer clear but cloudy and clotted and sick and bigger, and bigger, skin ripping, breaths uncaring, breaths unwavering—

my mother was terrified i’d pop.

i came close in high school, weighing in at two hundred and eight pounds
at the doctor, when i accidentally saw the chart that i was so afraid to see
that i hadn’t seen it in years
and now, here, i saw the weight that i was so afraid, all of this time, to know that i carried.

but i felt it qualitatively
not in the knees, where they tell you you’ll feel it
not in the tightening and narrowing of my overstuffed clothes and arteries
plaque lining them, hardening into tunnels that the blood
can’t find a way through in more than needle thin streams
little brooks in a body born with rivers

not in the heart pumping hard to keep up
not in the swollen, alien stomach that i am sure does not belong to Kate Moss
but i am unsure truly belongs to me.
it looks nothing like the plus size model’s tanned, toned, macro version of a micro Moss
flawless and shiny and glazed with the flecks of photoshopped light
i am a photographer myself, i know the tricks
i felt it in the way the world treated me.

and i know that woman, my designated sister in size who couldn’t fit in my pants and whose shirt I’d drown in, the predetermined champion of my cause,
my implied, targeted marketing role model gimmick and plea to the outraged girls with thick thighs to settle
for someone shopped, just like everyone else.
edited, audited for body parts like stretch marks and pale skin and lines of hair
called happy trails but are sad
that scream desperately for air and an ending when someone,
someone they call brave, runs his tongue along the clearing where they ripped out our flowers and called them weeds, a sad reminder
that i call him brave, too, because they told me he was.

they told me he was brave for adventuring my hills and valleys.
he is no explorer, most of the time.
he is simply a tourist.

they tell me to settle for a woman who still doesn’t look like me.
and they set me a new standard to aspire to—
“FINE, BE BIG, BE PLUS, BE CURVY! YOU CAN BE THEM, BUT YOU CANNOT BE FAT. YOU CANNOT BE FAT. HER FAT IS IN HER *******, IN HER HIPS, IN HER THIGHS… BUT YOUR FAT? YOUR FAT? YOU’RE JUST FAT!”

so i looked in the mirror, ****** it in, twisted, manipulated, tried on this bra and these underwear
and yes, my waist looked slim and yes, my hips had breadth and yes, my ******* were massive and yes, I looked like her.

but then, my mother screamed.

“you are going to die! this is so unhealthy! we have to do something!”
because my high school sent a letter home telling my mother that i was abominable based on three letters and three digits:
BMI- 37.1
WEI
GHT
203
i took off my control top *******.
i undid the latch on my push up, padded bra.
i deflated my stomach.
i deflated my pride.
i looked in the mirror in shock and horror like viewing an old time slasher flick in the back of a drive in in the middle of the night in the days where maybe there’d be a hook on the handle when he came to open my door.
i did not look like her.

i let out the air in slow and painful pinches.
and sometimes it swam, doing pirouettes in the bowl like a little dancer
a teaser of the kind of thin lean woman i am not unless these dinners keep spinning
clockwise down the toilet before i feel them weigh in my stomach
and i am wise to the clock – wait just 30 minutes and you take up half the calories.
do it now, now, now, you have to, you have to – and you’ll take up half the space.
Ana told me to and she is only looking out for me.
the numbers decline to 199 and i think 189 could be mine if i put in the time
and i’m wise to the clock so i start the countdown from 199 to 189 to 177 and i quit

because i let the air out, and for once in my life, when i left my house in two months’ time for the first time,
for once in my life, i wanted to let it in.

some days it leaks out of me.
one more laxative won’t hurt and i don’t care if the weight is fat, water, or ****, it still counts
155, 159, 163…161, 159, 155
and sometimes i still think
Ana is my friend.

but when i’m weak and jealous and out of my head
and angry at the explorer i’ve met who tells me he has so enjoyed his visit
that he’s decided to move in forever, enchanted with the landscape and the history and culture in the area, in the country i’ve built through disorder and plants and bread and loss and skin bunching and ribs you can feel and an *** you can grab so hard sometimes it hurts
sometimes i still think Ana is my friend.

but when i am deflated and counting and wearing out my plastic, and I think one way or another, I’m going to die
I’ll **** myself, with razor blades or Ativan or cancer from these ******* laxatives or these appetite suppressant menthol 100 cigarettes or maybe I’ll just jump like I wanted to
But any day, if I keep going, I’m going to pop—
I realize something about my friend Ana.
when i’m sickly and tired and ******* my brains out
and wishing i hadn’t hurt and built walls to keep out the man that filled the vacancy in my hotel heart who i promised to marry to keep in my country, the one built from feminist strength, brick and bone and stars and skin and roses and muscle and fat and beauty,

baby, take your visa back and let’s knock down these walls and we can tie me off.
Ana is not my friend.
She’s holding the pin.

On the day you kissed another girl,
I booked us a hotel room for your birthday
because I wanted to make you happy.

On the day you kissed another girl,
I was excited to spend my night with you
because I had loved it the last seven nights.

On the day you kissed another girl,
You told me you had exciting things to tell me
because you had been hanging out with her.

On the day you kissed another girl,
You told me in the car, and it sounded nice
because she has problems getting close to people .

On the day you kissed another girl,
I told you it was okay but I didn’t say that I was
because I didn’t want to hold you back from doing what you wanted.

On the day you kissed another girl,
You asked me if I had more self confidence
because you chose me over a girl who you had a crush on.

On the day you kissed another girl,
I slept next to you but I didn’t sleep with you
because your kisses felt like jagged glass on salted lips.

On the day you kissed another girl,
I needed you to hold me when I was holding back
because I was worried you would outgrow my love.

On the day you kissed another girl,
I realized it was impossible to not love you
because you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

On the day you kissed another girl,
I was confident I had lost my best friend and it was all my fault
because I should have told you what was going through my mind.

On the day you kissed another girl,
My heart tore itself apart trying to build a wall
because you tore the old ones down when I let you in.

On the day you kissed another girl,
You couldn’t hear me crying beside you in bed
because I kept it choked up in my throat and held onto you.


I booked us a hotel room for your birthday
because I wanted to make you happy
On the day you kissed another girl.

I might misplace my keys from time to time,
I'll forget to buy milk and do the laundry,
my mother calls me irresponsible
cannot blame her, she doesn't understand;
my mind is busy
analyzing peoples lips when they talk, the way they smile
or when they walk
observe their fingers as they hold on to something
do they hold it tightly? does the way they hold it influence their need for it?
I like to study peoples eyes the most
when they laugh
when they cry
when they talk or just listen
the glory is each individual eye and the way the color changes in sunlight
I'm sorry I forgot your birthday
the names of the movies we watched
I didn't mean to ignore your calls, i promised I'd call back
I will

That morning,
I smelled something cooking
so I stumbled down the stairs.

My mother
stood in the kitchen, apron adorned,
frosting a chocolate cake in the sunlight.

Her hands
were stained with dyes,
the frosting was yellow.

Her daughter
loved yellow.  My mother had decided
to plant marigolds by her grave.

She looked
over in my direction.
"I figured we could still celebrate this year."

My head
shook without me thinking about it.
It took a second, but soon she was bawling.

The counter
only supported her grief
for so long.

Soon enough,
she was on the floor,
her unanswered questions

had spilled
all over the kitchen.
I did my best to clean them up.

We sat
at the table, the third chair empty,
my mother's mistake in front of us.

It said,
"Happy Birthday, Love Always,"
she took out two plates,

and my mother and I sat there,
silent in the yellow sunlight.

Mrs Wren said
she'd have her husband back
if she could
but the guy was just

too wrapped up
in himself
and even though he thinks
the world of his kid

he thinks of other things
or others more
like that time
when he promised to come

to the kid's birthday party
and didn't show
o
he said  

I had some one come call
and I didn't want to send
them away
(woman probably

the one he has at the office
who cleavage is to die for)
and that other time
when he said he'd

have the kid
while I had a trip
with the girls out
but no at the last minute

he doesn't show
it's all I had the flu
or I had one of my heads
(more like

the ***** turned up)
and I had to stay at home
while the girls went
and had a good time

or that other time
when he said I
was the most important person
in his life

and wanted me
as his wife
then he goes off
with a smooth talking

wiggly *** girl
with her own car
and only after
he'd got as far

as he could with her
did he return tail
( or something)
between his legs

and flowers
and chocs
and o so sorry honey
I had her all wrong

it's you who mean
the most to me
or that time
when we were on

our honeymoon
( the kid conceived
that time)
and walking arm in arm

along the beach
him spewing
all the words
the romantic stuff

but eyeing all the girls
taking in their bikinis
or their shapeliness
and one even came up

and had the nerve
to chat him up
while I stood there
giving her the glare

and he o so Mr Cool
forgetting me standing
like a fool
or that afternoon

I found him in our bed
with that woman upstairs
the one who borrowed
the sugar each week

and all he said was
you know me honey
I'm weak
I can't resist the eyes

but there you go
Mrs Wren said
I love him so
despite the lies.

August 4th, 1942
My sweet darling Judith, I’m sorry I could not write before
We’ve been so busy, training and preparing for war
It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen your angelic face
Oh how I cannot wait to collapse into your heavenly embrace
How are your parents? Are they doing well?
And what about our daughter Dorothy? Hope she’s not giving you hell
Just know, I miss you all with all my heart
And cannot wait till we’re no longer apart

October 2nd, 1942
Oh my dear sweet James, I’m so glad that you finally wrote
My soul aches for your return, like a knot in my throat
My parents are well; they just bought a new home
And Dorothy is finally learning to walk, oh the places she’ll roam
How are you being treated? Are you doing well?
And what about the other soldiers? Hope they’re not giving you hell
Well I can’t wait for your return; I’ll stay on guard
And protect our home, like your protecting us abroad

November 22nd, 1942
It pains to hear I cannot see our daughter growing up
But every morning I rejoice while I sip from my Dixie cup
Because I’m alive, and I know all of you are safe and sound
And ill make it back home, to see you again, my love found
The other soldiers are fine; I met a friend named Mike
He’s also from Mississippi; we have much alike
The sergeant can be a pain, from time to time
But I know its all for the best, living in this grime

December 28th, 1942
Every morning I wake, I pray that you’re still alive
I don’t know if I could make it, how this family will survive
Christmas was hard; my father has passed
My mother is in tears; I don’t know how much longer she’ll last
But, I maintain my faith in our child and our love
And most of all in god almighty above
He’ll bring you back home, all safe and sound
And our family will be stronger upon this ground





January 27th, 1943
My heart drips tears of anguish upon this ****** ground
For your father was the greatest of men I had found
It seems like Christmas was eons ago
And in the New Year, I fought in the trenches below.
My friend Mike fell victim to a land mine.
I hope one day we can visit his shrine
He was a great man that I wish to remember
A shinning light in the cold darkness of December

February 14th, 1943
Happy Valentines Day from your family back home
Since my father has passed we had to take out a bank loan
We sold the house and now my mother lives with me
With your daughter it’s a generational house of three
Times our getting hard, but I imagine for you its much worse
This war is nothing more than a curse
How I plead every night and morning for you to come back
And get this family back on life’s track

February 14h, 1943
Happy Valentines Day my love, my world
Images of you flash every time my body is curled
For you are the only one that I fight for
But, I don’t know how much longer I can fight this war
My body is weak, and my spirit is drained
On top of it all, I feel my soul has been stained
I don’t believe men were meant to see such death
But, for you I shall hold on until my last breath

March 18th, 1943
Happy Birthday Judith, Hope things for you are going much better
Hope you’re not falling behind on the debtor
Hope your mother is doing great
Hope our daughter has plenty of food on her plate
Hope you wont get too mad
But lately I’ve been quite sad
Hoping this all will just come to an end
Hopefully I wont loose another friend

May 3rd, 1943
How dare you hang your head low
With all of the duties you still have to go
The payments are hard, but we manage to get by
Everyday I try and try

June 3rd, 1943

Oh sweetheart don’t take my words too harsh
But, you cant begin to even imagine the night I spent in the marsh
It was wet, it was cold, it was filthy, and scary
There were mosquitoes, and pests, and animals of all kinds to be wary
And what? You don’t think that I try?
All the horrors I’ve seen just trying to get by
So save the lip for another man
For I have dealt with all that I can.

July 4th, 1943
It’s the 4th of July, America’s independence day
Yet you are overseas fighting a pointless war away
They should let the Jews take care of their own
And not force good men from their home
There’s a large BBQ tonight at the mill
I hope there will be a good thrill
To finally get out of my cumbersome house
To bad I don’t have the company of my spouse

September 4th, 1943
Happy Birthday James, the father of my child
Things back home have been crazy and wild
My mother finally passed, she caught the fever
And I have lost god, for I am no longer a believer
This is all getting too hard
Dorothy got a stray dog, so now we need a yard
I don’t know how much more I can take
So please, James, hurry back to claim your stake

November 26th 1943
Oh Judith, be patient the war is almost over
But, luck is more than just a 4-leaf clover
You must try and stay strong for us both
Dorothy still has much to learn, and much left in her growth
I’m truly sorry to hear about the passing of your mother
She was kind, loyal, and was unlike any other
Hold on, it will all be over soon my dear
And I will see you again in the New Year






December 21st 1943
I’m sorry James, truly I am
But, I have decided to leave you for another man
Dorothy needs support, she needs a father
And I need someone to lean on, somebody to bother
I feel so alone, and I have nobody to cry to
I have nobody to laugh with; I have nothing to apply to
I’m lost in this world; I’m no longer the woman you know
I have lost the house, and now I live with a fellow named Joe
We met at the mill BBQ that eventful night
He was kind; he was generous, and very polite
Oh, James, I write to you with such a heavy heart
You must understand, that I could no longer take us being apart
I don’t think I could ever forgive you or forgive this war
You left me, for so long, holding the door
But, I can no longer hold this anger inside me
I can no longer carry the burden beside me
I can no longer live a life, wondering if
I need peace of mind, before I fall off of this cliff
My last wish is to have you write back to me
I need to know you understand so that I may be free
I must know, for fear I may take my own life
And leave Dorothy orphaned, in these moments of strife
Ill never forget you James, my dear
And one day, I hope, that our spirits our near

December 25th 1943
To the family of Second Sergeant James E. Wiseman
My sincere condolences for your loss
The body of James, was recovered by Lieutenant Ron Simon
On December 14th, he was buried under a cross
His spirit will be carried on by his platoon,
And his name we will remember
My hopes is that this letter will reach you soon
For James, was a shinning beacon of hope, in the cold darkness of December.

Today isn't my birthday;
But it is yours.

I used to love this day.
Just touching the start of the year,
Another day to celebrate.
Planning for months in advance.
Making sure every detail is in place,
Every "i" dotted and "t" crossed.

But now,
Now it's just another day.
It used to be one of my favorites.
And now I have to pretend it's another day.
But it's not.
It's your birthday.

I guess now I realize I was
Trying to make today memorable,
So that you wouldn't forget me.
But that didn't work.
I wish it had.

Happy birthday.
I'm so sorry.

i remember small bits about him.  maybe less about him, and more about
the things that had to do with him.  i remember the look of his piano: glossy,
always shining and clean, the pedals made a haunting squeal every few stanzas.
i remember that his shirt fit to his arms very well, showing off the fact
that he was in shape.  the veins and tendons in his arms were always visible,
lifting and writhing under his usually tan skin.  i can remember how his
shadow danced and swung against the wall as he played songs that his mother
had taught him when he was young and new to the music world.  he sometimes
burst out laughing in the middle of a song, remembering something funny that
had been said earlier that day.  i think that's what i miss most about him- he
was never on time for anything.

i remember small bits about him, but i can't recall what he smelled like, or
how his forehead creased when he was worried.  i can't remember what his face
looked like.  i can't even summon up the memory of how his lips tasted on my
tongue.


--

the trees were reaching up, doing gymnastics across the sky on the morning
that he left town.  he was wearing his old winter coat and ratty old hat,
pulled down tight to cover his ears.  the ground was a mess of never-raked
leaves.  i was a mess of never-wiped tears.  the sky was white, and i thought
to myself, 'i wonder when it'll start snowing...'  

he held onto my waist one last time, and placed his lips to my neck.  he
inhaled and i heard his breath catch in his throat.  he looked up at me one
last time and cleared his throat.  "I should go, Anne."  he turned then, and
started walking down the dirt path away from our house, our home.  the snow
began to fall, and as he faded into nothingness i swore i'd never forget him.

--

on the night of my twenty third birthday there was a full moon.  my friends
and i thought it would be fun to have a fire and see which of us could count
the most stars.  the yard was surrounded by tall oaks, which were home to
hundreds of birds.  when i was young we hung dozens of birdhouses i had
painted up in the branches.  some mornings i like to lay out in the grass and
listen to the birds wake up and sing.  tonight the birds stayed up, as if they
wanted to celebrate my birthday with us.  they flew from tree to tree,
darkening the sky along with the smoke from the bonfire.  

the full moon brings out the crazy in animals.  i remember when he was still
here and we would run around down by the creek in the moonlight.  but the
birds were wild.  we ended up putting out the fire and going inside, afraid
they would dive down and attack us.  i've never seen them that riled up.

--

i remember the night he showed up quite well.  i may not remember how the
tears ran down his cheeks, or how his breath was catching on every syllable he
spat out, but i remember that night well.  the moon was thin, and i was
sitting at the kitchen counter, reading a book i recently purchased.  i heard
him knock- a truly hollow sound.  when i opened the screen door i saw him
sitting on the step, holding his head in his hands and his hair in his fists.  
his veins were still visible, and his shoulders were strong.  he had grown out
his hair and it was strewn every which way.  i suspect he thought i could help
him.  i knew i couldn't.

he stayed over that night.  i walked him to my bed and tucked him in.  he
brought the blankets up to his face and he inhaled deeply.  he smiled beneath
the covers, i suspect.  i read him some of the book that he interrupted when
he arrived.  he fell asleep soon after and i left the room, headed for the
couch in the living room.  i wish i would've stayed in bed with him.  i might
have remembered more than this if i had.

--

i awoke to the sound of the old piano.  i thought i was dreaming when i heard
his voice diving and tiptoeing with the notes he plucked and played.  i padded
into the room, where we first fell in love all those years ago.  he was
rocking on the bench, tears dropping to his lap from wet cheeks.  there was a
note on top of the piano, addressed to me.  it began with 'I would like to
thank you, Anne...' and ended with 'but we both know I won't be staying.'  

he stood and turned to me, and just like last time, he placed his lips to my
neck and inhaled my scent.  "I've missed this piano."  i wrapped my arms
around him, and murmured in his ear, "and the piano's missed you, but we both
know you won't be staying."  his eyes met mine, and i smiled as i wiped away a
stray tear from his chin.  he nodded, and gave me one last hug before he
walked down the driveway for the last time.

my birthday is in 4 days
Hell yeah
*This one's gonna be good

As your Laughter burst Tears of Sigh Relief
Him having left your Morning Heart deserved
Purse his Regret; Your Shining Light revealed
And Transform to Prime Victory reserved
This is your Day. Which Days will follow Print
And more would your Candles stoke Blessings a-light
To Follow your Waves; Which Waves define your Mint
And make Honoured Suitors open for your Sight
By this - Friend - invest such Time for your Hour
Though Connected Bonds take much to un-tangle
That - in due Sincere - place Wishes from a-far
Only for your Joy which God will Handle.
And your Heart - the Reservoir - fills Great Sense
Share your Themes to the World; And all in due hence.

Her body looks touchy in the light,
I urge to play with her all night.
Yes, she says and I hold her softly’
I take a deep breathe, to confirm if she’s ready.

She didn’t mind, and i proposed for a birthday gift, she can’t say yet.

I run one hand up her neck
touching her makes me wanna peck

For I love kissing.  

Across her body, my right hand goes,
I have been practicing, believe me, it shows.

Another deep breath, the tension reduce
staying focus, every moment dues
Boldly toast her to the room'
She gently stand up, no offends and we move.

Getting to the room
I gently push her to the wall
I make her feel the groove
My vibes and my moves
Triggers her to do

With my two hands,
I grab her head while kissing her
She close her eyes and
French we go.
So deep and no, i need to go’
she pull me back.

The sounds and feelings grow more immense
The movements, become more intense

My heart stops as I see the door open
Her mom walks in and says;

Your guitar is too loud,
please turn it down.
And she reply’ ok mom.

Well, I’m a bad boy trying to be relevant.

She forwardly push me to the bed
Stylishly she unzip my jean and holds my ****
While she **** the head
She fingers herself and makes me lick.
At the long run, I inserted my sim.

She took her face off as she feels the hit
She screams and still pulling me in,

While I diligently *** her with styles
She wonder, who am I

Four rounds we go
Hard and slow
She feels light and dope
She’s smiles and says that’s your birthday *** BOB

By Nabs

In an apartment located between never and always.

101.
A boy, barely seventeen, is baking a cake for his mother anniversary.

Humming the song of long forgotten memories with his little sister as she help stirring the batter.
Throwing a pinch of salt, a drop of vanilla essence, and affection for his family.
His mother had gone to sleep for almost ten years now.

The cakes will taste absolutely delicious, though a bit burnt on the side.

Nothing frosting can't cover.

102.
Silence blanket the room, unnerving the guest.

Fidgeting gestures and nervous glances will be exchanged like baked goods.
The Old lady, who occupies this room, smiles a beatific smile that isn't hindered by wrinkles.
The guests will leave one by one, a little girl with big doe eyes stayed behind.

"Thank you for protecting me", the girl whispered as she watched her grandma fades away. The smell of sakura tree and cardamom wafts through the air.

106.
A man in his thirties is dreaming about sleeping for the millionth time.

The rooms is messy, with clothes scattered around and the occasional remorse carved to the wall.
He rolls up his bloodied sleeve and take out his gun, he goes to the window and jumps.

He is glad that this is his last job for the day.

107.
This room doesn't have an occupant, yet.

But the walls are loving and finger paints decorate the room.
Furnitures are assembled in a way that feels homely and was carefully handcrafted by the the native american.
The smell of baked cookies is saturated in the walls.
Children laughters can still be heard echoing between the walls.

The last occupant didn't **** the children after they've kissed them good night.

203.
A young hispanic teen is running on a hand made treadmill, with a speed of 0.5 km/hour.

Sweats drenched her tank top, her skin glisten.
She keeps running and running and running, even though her breathing is labored.
An dusty wheelchair lays in the corner of the room.

She still cant stop being in awe that she could feel the ache in her legs now.

It's a good ache.

205.
This tenant used to have a halo of golden hair.

But now a tuft of midnight blue, so dark that you could mistaken that the glitters stuck in his hair as little stars, greets anyone who would be his guest.
He lays in bed with the girl from 204.
He's rubbing circles on her hand, feeling the steady pulse of her beating heart.

He can hear his heart breaking into pieces, but as he look at the razors blades on the nightstand, he cradles her head and kisses her eyelids.

She doesn't stir, but her chest rise and fall like wave lapping the shore.

210.
An african-american single mother with three children, twins and one babe, is watering the little herb haven they have on the window sill.

The basil and tomato looks ready to be picked, she thinks that making a hearty tomato-basil soup with a dash of fondness will do good to cheer up her little runts.
The twins will agree readily, because they haven't eaten anything for two days. The babe just gurgles bubble.
As they eat their soup and said their daily prayers, the mother phone chimed. She have just received $500 for the job she did.

She's too glad to feel regret that she was treate as less human and more of an item.

301.
A woman was on her phone, talking about quantum physics to her partner.

She is elaborating The Chaos theory, when a knock resounded at the door.
Her partner awaits her out side with a bouquet of Einstein heads and a simple silver band ring.

The woman knows that they're nor legal to marry here yet, but she appreciate the sentiment.

302 & 303.
A family of four filled this room, sitting on a carpet reading Qur'an.

The mother who is kind, slowly teach her youngest how to not fumble with the arabics
The oldest, who is not the first oldest, will continue to devour the holy book, hungry to know more about their religion that people dubbed wrong in this land of so called freedom.
It's been 14 years since the 9/11 tragedy.

The father is just glad that he could still feed 4/5 of his family.

307.
A blind man in his forties lives here.

He is sitting on his living room towards the windows.
Tracing the braille book with his hands, the ghost of color tried to haunt him.
No one could be haunted by something they don't remember.
The tenant across the street committed suicide.

Sometimes he feels grateful he can't see a thing when he heard cacophony of screams and denial.

The world too dramatic for his taste anyway.

310.
This room was empty.

It last occupant, which was nine years ago, was a young boy who stood all alone in this room, except for the bundle he cradled in his hand.
He was cooing at his little sister, promising to bake her cakes for her birthday.
Ignoring the way his chest tighten the longer he stayed in the room.
His mother didn't come home from the hospital yesterday.

He cradled the baby closer like it was his last precious thing.

His little sister turns out to be more than a thing, she turns out into a wonderful person and he is thankful for it.

Its been my birthday
You did not even call
Completely shattered my heart
The hardest fall of all.
I waited for hours and hours
Not a glimpse nor sound of you
Wondering what went wrong
And if all of this were even true.
I stayed there waiting for you
But I'm kind of glad.
I'll be the best you never had.

A letter to my best friend -

Dear Piu,

       I know we are not in touch anymore. Everyone is happy as they thought we parted our way but they can't able to understood our friendship. I always used to say our friendship didn't need any convo but now am writing this letter to you. Yeah I miss you a lot. Sometimes it feels like we lost our way someway. We lost ourselves. Without you I became all alone. I have lost myself somewhere. Our friendship is something that no one can define in words everyone do get jealous of our friendship. But then how we lost ourselves.How we do lost that cute,adorable friendship of our. It's easy to say we are not parted,  but somewhere I also know we love each other a lot Piu but then also somewhere we became as stranger. Today I got to write a letter for you and am writing all the emotions. I love you a lot but you know what I also have tried to be connected to you to be in touch. But you got that much busy that you don't have time to talk with me and you have forgotten my birthday also. Nevertheless if I forget all that but whenever I call you on your birthday you always said thanks but am busy call you letter. I have lost the beautiful friend of mine who have given me another life. I was the person who always got angry and you always consoled me. But after being parted I tried very hard. I never got angry not even have said my pain to you like before but then also if lost you. Here I want to express all my pain and agony to you that now also I do miss you a lot and love you a lot. But don't know where to again find that frnd of mine whom I lost in this big world. Please I am requesting I will never get angry on you, never irritate you and never complain you about anything but plz give me my Piu back plz. I can't able to live without her. I am suffocating without you my darling plz come back.

                       From,
                            Your Aku

there was a big brown bear he was very old
he had furry coat but always felt the cold
when ever  it was winter he began to shiver
his legs would bang together as they began to quiver.

soon it was his birthday and he got a big suprize
a nice red thermal suit  that was just is size
he was very happy now the cold has gone
and for grandad bear he always got it on.

Dad’s passing spans 18 months beginning with lung cancer surgeon removes left lung  for 6 weeks he receives radiation treatments Dad gains strength everyone gives thumbs up within several months doctors discover cancer spread to tumor in brain head shaved tumor removed skull resembles stitched baseball Dad lapses into twilight state body shrinks everyone knows his life is ending doctors and family wait for cancer to attack vital ***** only matter of time in january 1991 iraqi scud missiles launch at israel Odysseus in lobby of movie theater when he hears news calls Mom from telephone booth she asks if he is ok nothing could prepare him for horror he feels witnessing Dad slowly die Mom Penelope Odysseus quite vulnerable during this time dependent on trained intensive-care nurse to watch over Dad at home administer drugs monitor condition nurse able-bodied to guide or carry Dad to bathroom assist in his goings cleaning him Mom hires several nurses who each borrow money from her and Penelope Sean each nurse never repays loan and steals jewelry from Mom other belongings from house once a week Odysseus takes Dad out to lunch accompanied by nurse Odysseus places cap with bulls insignia on Dad’s bald stitched-up head Dad nods gives high-five Odysseus talks about feats michael jordan and entire team perform Dad avid fan Odysseus drives Dad nurse in toyota to favorite lunch spots Dad has no appetite no words but manages frail smile in august 1991 Odysseus has first one-man show at prestigious gallery run by Keith ******* Keith published Odysseus in college literary magazine decade earlier 17 large color field scapes hang on two long walls Dad too ill to attend opening never sees show in film documentary shot at gallery by Sean Odysseus explains “the work is about opening up possibilities clean slates for new worlds rawest moment of narrative very beginning of story all we are presented with is stage i’m scared of story right now suspicious of story don’t even want to deal with story once story starts then everything gets messed up all these things happen at this point in story it’s just this exciting stage full of possibilities full of potential the very beginning and you don’t know what is presented yet” near end of Dad’s struggle in late summer Odysseus asks Mom and Penelope to allow him to visit father alone in hospital they reluctantly consent Dad lying semiconscious in bed Odysseus holds back tears looks at withered father Dad breathes inconsistent occasional fluttering eyelids Odysseus begins to talk aloud about their lives together wonders if Dad reached his goals? does he feel fulfilled with life? is he prepared for death? Dad is 71 years old does he feel cheated of time? did Odysseus disgrace Dad or make him proud? Odysseus feels guilt suspects he may have embarrassed even shamed Dad wonders if Dad deep in his heart believes Odysseus is sad disappointment? he forces words out of his mouth “Dad can you hear me? Dad i love you Dad forgive me please for not becoming what you wanted me to be Dad” phone rings suddenly who could be calling at solemn moment? Odysseus lets it ring but ringing will not stop unwillingly he answers “hello?” “Odysseus don’t do it! Don’t hurt Dad!” it is Penelope calling worried he might commit some murderous act Odysseus and Penelope snap at each other for moment he hangs up thinks what a tragic breach of trust realizes no one not Penelope Mom Chris anyone in family honestly trusts him he wonders if Dad overheard angered remarks with Penelope what a sad way to die hearing your own children quarreling Dad dies august 31 1991 same date cousin Chris’s son Maynard celebrates 3rd birthday Mom’s brother Karl comes from california to help family discovers Dad took out undisclosed $15,000. loan to offset lack of earnings Dad typically overextended himself Karl pitches in to compensate for borrowed money after Dad dies Schwartzpilgrim house falls apart Mom weeps for many months they were married more than 50 years Odysseus feels sorry for Mom all alone in big house she invites family for dinner but it is never same Odysseus’s inheritance is old toyota with 80 thousand miles Dad said he wanted to buy Odysseus new volvo Odysseus is grateful for car which allows him to drive Farina to lake in dream Dad is sitting in back seat bandages wrap around his head same way doctors dressed him after brain tumor surgery Odysseus driving toyota looking for parking space there are none to be found they drive around block several times Dad suggests “try driving around the block one more time maybe parking space will open up” Odysseus answers “no i think we need to go few blocks further” Dad says “Odysseus you’re in drivers’ seat now but try my way one last time” they drive around block find parking space right in front of house Odysseus wakes up confused asks aloud “Dad is dead right?” it is not easy losing a father forgiving forgetting

Yesterday was my father’s 60th birthday so I called him.
How many times have I heard tears of joy at the end of a receiver?
I don’t know how to answer these things,
I do not have a response to my own age sadness
nor my father’s.
I told him I had class and hung up.

Sometimes, I wonder why god does not give me a phone call.
It seems everyone has been hearing from him lately
and I wonder if it is because I do not brush my teeth
in the morning or if it is because I spit on Ricky’s pants
in third grade. He called me foxy
I just wanted to be human.

Do you think people are ghosts until they speak their mind?
Look at Anne Frank and Michael Jackson-
They are the closest things to humans I can find
when I look in gutters and radio signals
(I don’t find much there)

I bet you’re the type of person
who looks in between couch cushions and finds
job interviews and an always loving mother
who will never forget to pack you a lunch
and will always remember the exact time
of your birthday or your soccer schedule

I bet you and god talk on a regular basis

You are the type that I wish the best of luck to
out of respect but never necessity
and you tell me my eyelids are too heavy
and I should stop ironing out my poetry

I want to write you a letter
and dot all of the eyes with hearts
but I don’t mean to be ****** at all, I’m sorry
I just miss feeling as good
as my first kiss which wasn’t very good
but I am running out of firsts
and last is my least
favorite word in the dictionary

Tonight I will try calling god,
but my roommate will pick up the phone
and instead I will crawl into an envelope
and wait, wait--
I hope this is not something that will disappoint you

Happy Birthday, Baby
The countdown now is done
Though last year was quite a surprise!
You now are 61…

That’s cause for celebration
Despite what you have said
So sing a Happy Birthday
Raise a glass-break some bread!

I know how hard you work while
Those copy machines keep breaking
Those customers keep on *******’
Is it worth the price you’re making?

So punctual!  Dependable.
Clever at fixing things, too
While I’m at home in our garden
Harvesting whatever grew

Watching tomatoes ripen
While you’re crawling on the floor
Looking for that wayward *****
On your 6th call-and 2 more!

I might be on the back porch
With Danielle upon my lap
Wishing YOUR day goes swimmingly
Maybe time to take a nap?

I stop to pick up flowers
And your birthday cake I’m mixing
While machines keep on breaking
And you keep right on fixing

Just consider this, Dear Bill
And believe it can come true
By next year you COULD decide
To retire at 62!

You changed me

Although you’re not here now
I’m disappointed you can’t see who I’ve become

I started growing the first time you hugged me
The force of your arms
Wrapped like a ribbon
Around a birthday present that is my body

You controlled everything
With that universal remote on your wrist
I’m surprised my emotions wouldn’t flicker
Each time you pressed a button

You had so many faces
Often times I felt as if
I was looking in a mirror
Not to say I love my own reflection
But those who know me well will say
“I look like my personality”

You know,
Headphones nowadays are two ear buds
It’s not meant to go in both ears
Both rather so you can have
Someone to share your music with
Some songs are harder to listen to than others
But I’m getting better

Do you keep my heart in your *****-pack?
Unzip it like a pulse
Keep it next to other unimportant things
Cell phone, money, gum

I can’t walk gravel roads like I used to
Or see lightning bugs the same again

I know it’s not right to do
But when I’m with a girl
I compare her with you
Needless to say they never size up
So here I am single, which is funny to me


People give me compliments like you used to
My dimple, the smile and how I act
Living with laughter on a mountain
You were the echo
That made me think
Someone else was trying to talk back
Now that it’s gone
I’m talking to myself

I’d take a rocket to the moon with you
If you fell,
I too would faint

And now,
Every time I smoke
Upwards Into the night sky
I am surrounded
By a billion ***** of light
And they scream your middle name

I have no idea why I let this relationship get this far.
Single people wish for such things on shooting stars and birthday candles.
Not me. Not anymore. I had to **** this *****.
Settle our score.

Perhaps the **** thought I would pop the question.
Either way, I had us both in the car and sped off in no particular direction.
I gorged her fat *** with chocolates and wine.
Funny, in a few hours this sow would be no problem of mine.

Her apologies and anxiety led me to this dark place.
I loved her jokes and she had an okay face.
The nagging and indecisive ways is what finally got to me.
Ah! Perfect lets head into this park full of trees.

Normally only gay men hang out in these parts.
It will be pretty funny when they come across this cut up ****.
I had the axe wrapped in a towel in the back seat.
This ***** had no idea what would knock her off her feet.

And just like that she made a real funny joke.
My conscience got the best of me and made me choke.
****! Feelings stop me again.
Why do we end up doing this every weekend?