A pen a pen my little pen
Slowly, I took a little pen
To write a poem with a pen
A poem, to beautify my pen
It’s a bonafide my little pen

A bar-like, my woody pen
A new, and passion my pen
It’s a grey-hued and little pen
And, it has a green bark a pen
Quite soft to touch my only pen

It’s a sharpen, my little pen
An iroko wood made my pen
A yellow part covered a pen
It’s a red, strike on my pen
With a black, strike my pen

Its look like a bow my pen
To write a bit with my pen
Supple to draw on, my pen
Can be use as dotting pen
Enclosed no ink in my pen

A bit looks like my little pen
To write, like my little pen
To sketch well, like my pen
To beautify, like a baby pen
Not like my handsome pen

Love is a bonafide transaction
Very likely with malafide intentions

Only she still was,
Like i had known before,
Without a doubt,
a bonafide *****.

welcome to classy productions, this is the beginning of my classy movement, so enjoy this ride with me, and please keep your bias opinions to yourself, thank you. Yeah started from the bottom unlike, I ain't no phoney fake, I have a for you all; spoiler alert it may be honest and hurt your ignorant minds. This is my interlude but we haven't been formally introduced, my name is classy j, it's my privilege to make some sick mind blowing rhymes just for you. Grew up in a broken home, only child all alone, yeah just me and my mom, if I could go back and change things I would, but life sadly life has no rewind. I only have the road in front of me, so I  chase it, trying to find out my destiny, trying to figure out the real me. Started life, grasping for life, I've been a fighter my entire life, because I don't take **** from others. Left with my ironic name, left with a messed up family, left to walk the darkness of life, trying so hard to see. Life happens man, humans are idiotic fiends, survival of the fittest in the war zone of life, no where to hide, no way to find cover. Bonafide native that has a talent for the creative, not an alcoholic, not some drug addict, but yet society and police doesn't seem to want to accept me yet. They tell me to go to nativia, quickly let's do some trivia, to see how really stupid you all are. Illegal genocidal aliens mad about other foreign aliens, natives were here first, so I don't want to hear you fret. If you don't like it leave, when become a discriminated minority, let me know about it the next time you go by my bar. You have no clue what true classiness is, because indigenous people still are alive  and are now ready to challenge your privileged view. We used to be quiet and contempt with taking all your lie's and *******, but now we are ready to fight for what we stand for, so beware the upcoming storm. You tried to **** us, you tried to make us white, but it didn't work out for you, government you may be ******, but we will no longer be your jews. This is reality, you've been warned, it doesn't need to become a race war, cause if it came to that, would you be prepared to combat against our final form. This is a real issue, that you can no longer hid in your dark past. It's time to stop your lie's, it's time for honesty, it's time for class, so sit your white assess down, because we are now in session. You lucky this is just an interlude, because I'm not close to being finished with you, you may not enjoy this, but I'm having a blast. Evidence all over the place, why go to court, when you should just tell your guilty confession. NO more half fast apologies and no changes being made after that? What is up with that? I ain't having that! No way to truly slice this issue cleanly, because I promise there will be some after math in this habitat you bunch of tardy cats.

I like the way you destroy yourself. The way your corpse-like face, with its sunken in cheeks and hollowed out eyes, smiles a crooked yellow smile at the thought of being buried in the ground, rotting away. I thought it was beautiful the way you'd force your fingers down your throat with spindly fingers, "look a rainbow," you'd say, "it's so beautiful," you'd whisper, clutching a slow burning cigarette between the two yellow fingers of your other hand. You'd flush the toilet with such grace. The whole process would've been that of a maestro conducting Beethoven’s 7th symphony, and for all you knew, it was.

I loved that time we were lying in that figurative gutter of morality and you handed me a sharpie, "wanna play connect the dots?" you rolled up your sleeve.

I still remember that day you stole that wedding dress from the Salvation Army. it was out of style and it's still up for debate whether that stain was red wine or blood, but you waltzed right in there, a needle still sticking out of your ******* neck, took that dress in your own two, scab littered arms, and walked right out the front door like you owned the place. I could've kissed you.

In that dress you looked like a princess, with your stringy hair and frame so malnourished that it hung off of you like you were wearing a pair of drapes, you looked like a something out of a bonafide Disney movie.

With my hand in your right hand, and a bag of speed in your left, you pulled me around the corner into the seclusion of the alley.

"I look like a princess"

You looked beautiful

"And that makes you my prince"

A homeless man stirred from behind a dumpster, peeking over the top, his eyes - though showing clear signs of many years deep in any bottle he could find - showed realization. His hand disappeared in the downward direction, his eyes were wide.

“And you know what princes and princesses always get?"

My hand was around your fragile throat, your neck read like Braille, you smile, such a beautiful smile.

"They always get, a happy ending"

And from there, I can't be sure, but I think all three of us finished at the same time.

But of all the days we had together, of every self-destructive tendency you had, I will always remember the day, all of your endless hard work finally materialized into everything you wanted it to become.

“I am the **** of the ******* earth”

This was the day you destroyed yourself. You told me why.

“I turned to self destruction for solace, solace from everything I was expected to become being shoved down my throat, I wiped my *** with morality and dogmas, and I became the antithesis of what I was supposed to be, I ******* won.”

And with that you dropped to your knees in front of the coffee table, the transparency of its clear glass surface obstructed by five pristine white lines. Like perfect little white picket fences, surrounding perfect little yards that perfect little children would play their perfect little games while their perfect parents would do not so perfect things behind the doors of their perfect little houses.

And this is when I understood.

Your *****, messy, clumped-up hair offered a half veil for your face. A $1 bill hovered above the first line; your practiced anticipation was beautiful. God, I loved this part, because you loved this part. Just before that first hit, just before the euphoria expanded, washing over you, blanketing your lanky figure and troubled mind in bliss. Your last seconds on earth.

And this is when I understood.

Before long, all five lines were absent from the table, and making their way through your system, you were glowing. You raised yourself up and teetered on your 6-inch heels, your stick thin legs threatening to snap in half and cut you down. You wrapped your arms around me, you didn't say it, neither did I. Your eyelids fluttered and you batted your eyelashes. I don’t know if it was on purpose, but it was ****.

You walked to the balcony, I knew you wouldn't jump. You just stood there, impossibly high, in your impossibly high heels, at the impossibly great distance to the ground. Your tiny frame, illuminated perfectly by the glow of the electric bug zapper, it was the perfect analogy. Your spotlight was a killer, and your beauty was destruction.

The sun fell behind the horizon lines, and the crescent moon rose high in the sky.

“I’m going to lounge on that”

The stars were faintly visible though the light pollution.

“I’m going to find the flattest stars and skip them through galaxies.”

You had a bottle of ****** in one hand, a bottle of ***** in the other.

“I’m going to visit every planet; I’m going to live in their gutters.”

The bottles were both open, you set the ***** down, shaking out pill after pill into your open palm, you smiled.

“I’m going to meet an alien; I’m going to dance with him.”

A mouth full of ****** and a bottle of ***** to wash it down.

“I’m going to meet God, if there is such a thing.”

Hours passing, felt like seconds. You’re starting to slip, you’re starting to float up, up to all those promises you made to the moon, and the stars, and the aliens.

For the longest time, I couldn't tell if your lifelessness was figurative – conjured up by my perspective of what you are – or literal. I may have sat there for a long time, admiring the beauty of everything you worked so hard for. You looked the same, and I think that was beautiful. It was beautiful the way you epitomized ruination. How you massacred every conventional idea of what it meant to be alive and well. How you taught me that a sense of loss is only relative. I think it was beautiful the way you destroyed yourself.

It’s taboo to admit that you’re lonely. You can make jokes about it, of course. You can tell people that you spend most of your time with Netflix or that you haven’t left the house today and you might not even go outside tomorrow. Ha ha, funny. But rarely do you ever tell people about the true depths of your loneliness, about how you feel more and more alienated from your friends each passing day and you’re not sure how to fix it. It seems like everyone is just better at living than you are.
A part of you knew this was going to happen. Growing up, you just had this feeling that you wouldn’t transition well to adult life, that you’d fall right through the cracks. And look at you now. La di da, it’s happening.

Your mother, your father, your grandparents: they all look at you like you’re some prized jewel and they tell you over and over again just how lucky you are to be young and have your whole life ahead of you. “Getting old ain’t for sissies,” your father tells you wearily.

You wish they’d stop saying these things to you because all it does is fill you with guilt and panic. All it does is remind you of how much you’re not taking advantage of your youth.

You want to kiss all kinds of different people, you want to wake up in a stranger’s bed maybe once or twice just to see if it feels good to feel nothing, you want to have a group of friends that feels like a tribe, a bonafide family. You want to go from one place to the next constantly and have your weekends feel like one long epic day. You want to dance to stupid music in your stupid room and have a nice job that doesn’t get in the way of living your life too much. You want to be less scared, less anxious, and more willing. Because if you’re closed off now, you can only imagine what you’ll be like later.

Every day you vow to change some aspect of your life and every day you fail. At this point, you’re starting to question your own power as a human being. As of right now, your fears have you beat. They’re the ones that are holding your twenties hostage.

Stop thinking that everyone is having more *** than you, that everyone has more friends than you, that everyone out is having more fun than you. Not because it’s not true (it might be!) but because that kind of thinking leaves you frozen. You’ve already spent enough time feeling like you’re stuck, like you’re watching your life fall through you like a fast dissolve and you’re unable to hold on to anything.

I don’t know if you ever get better. I don’t know if a person can just wake up one day and decide to be an active participant in their life. I’d like to think so. I’d like to think that people get better each and every day but that’s not really true. People get worse and it’s their stories that end up getting forgotten because we can’t stand an unhappy ending. The sick have to get better. Our normalcy depends upon it.

You have to value yourself. You have to want great things for your life. This sort of **** doesn’t happen overnight but it can and will happen if you want it.

Do you want it bad enough? Does the fear of being filled with regret in your thirties trump your fear of living today?

We shall see

on the outside, nobody'd ever known he was unhappy.
he had his mother's eyes, soft and blue,
reminded me of babies for some reason.
he used to pop in every now and then to give me the news,
gossip he'd heard at school that day,
the what-not.
i was real sick at the time, mama had to keep me hidden away sometimes,
ya know, i think she was a little ashamed seeing how it was a little her fault.
i didn't blame her for nothin' though.
anyways, he came and went as he pleased, nice boy he was.
used to wrap me up in a blanket and wheel me onto the porch so we could watch
the cars and the rich folk with dogs jog right on by, like they ain't never seen a girl with no hair
and a boy as handsome as he was.
we was a regular spectacle, a bonafide freak show,
and them people they always gonna talk, but he told me that the only people that listen are
the ones doin' the talkin', and that ain't us, so we ain't listenin'.
i didn't find out about his daddy until about a month after it happened,
for some reason people have a hard time telling someone who's dying that somebody died,
can you believe that?
he stopped comin' around so much after that, figured it was 'cause a his mama (with the eyes)
needin' extra help round the house.
weeks, maybe even a month went by 'fore i saw him again,
but he wasn't the same boy, and i sure as hell wasn't the same girl.
he looked at me, with them eyes, as if he'd just lost the lottery.
ya know, he sat me down and told me that he couldn't be around me no more,
seeing as how i was dyin' and all. ( i thought that was pretty dumb, i may be dyin' but i ain't dead yet)
he held my hand in his, his was a little clammy, i think 'cause he was so sad and all.
we sat there for a few minutes, hand in hand, thinkin' bout life and death, and the johnny carson show.
now, he never said nothin', but i think he loved me. i never got to find out the truth though.
he disappeared after that day, nobody heard from him, his mama was all outta sorts.
i think he left town, couldn't stand seein' people lookin' at him and me all the time,
the bonafide freakshow,
couldn't stand bein' round his broken mama.
doesn't really matter where he went off to, he was gone just the same.
some days, when im sittin' on the porch, wrapped up in a blanket, waiting to die,
i feel his clammy hand holdin' mine.
you see, when you don't have much left to live for,
it's people like him that save you.

I love your appearance
and I'll never change that stance
seeing your smile makes me want to get up and dance
And I can't even tell you how your laugh makes me feel
You have the personality and looks too good to be real
like you have the best deal
but you're not cheap
and your frown would make me want to weep
or jump off a cliff that's steep
onto concrete
because no one else's smile can compete
and your hair makes me keenly aware
of how it's unfair to anyone else to compare
You win, since there is no comparison
like just breathing the same airs a sin
It'll make my day just to see your grin
(I have to mention you're not too fat or too thin)
Every feature looks great down to the shin
Take pride
and let me confide
that you're bonafide gorgeous
And I wasn't prepared for this.
But I'll let it happen
and study this picture like a map then

Dear, Pa –
it’s your once-son
Danny – or better known
as Sandy, or Annie or;
Ann-Marie and to some
folks on 19th Street,
I’m known as a sinner, a ******!
My life is a movie, like
a catwalk model; and
I play a very special person, who’s got
no-one to lean on, no mommy to hold, and;
Wait, I know her. She’s familiar to me like,
I’ve known her since the beginning of time, but
right now, in physical form, she stands
in front of me in the;
mirror, Pa. Yes, I am her reflection, no
I mean she’s my reflection and I realize
that; all along, this whole time, I told myself
a big-fat lie; as a child, hatred and anger
were the tears I cried. So –
this one’s for you, my king,
my liege; this one’s the promise
that we’ll keep; this one’s the bond
between our sheets; but this one’s the
one that’ll point at you; before I lift
the middle one, to say, “***** You!”
But hey, Pa – here I am. A
woman, not a man. A bonafide,
sophisticated lady in minx
with, real diamond earrings and
fierce wings; those nails, my nose
and my lips – make me feel like I’ve
power at my fingertips.
Tonight is my show – it’s my time
to shine. And I’m going to **** it
like I know I can – so thank you Pa,
and thank you, ma’am. For giving
me the strength to be who I am.

.

On the wings of adventure
and channel planned visions
In bonafide pockets
with envelopes streaming

When sidewalk dividers,
the colors of sunset
bring peace to the valley,
now penned in a post card

          “…wish you were here”

And bricks line the mansion
with cats in the garden,
alongside the seashells
and beaches we’ll wander

I look to the sunshine
to see its reflection
upon your sweet features,
your beauty it holds me

          “Vacation photographs cannot do justice”

In rhythmed oasis
of sweet waters churning
and moments we’re seeking
in all we are wanting

With shadows behind us
as we go out walking
to love every minute
adventures are flying

          “We find that our dreams lead us on our journey”

I follow the smiles,
that don’t belong to me
of hot seasoned concrete
and t-shirts emblazoned

With images captured,
yet still fashioned frowning,
until you arrive
and my heart swims the shoreline

          “My vacation destination is your heart”

Feathered dunes outline
finding the side streets amazing,
hibiscus and bougainvillea
and fragrances swaying

When every sunrise
does find you here with me,
of bright painted post cards
and moments eternal

          *“We shall forever live in love…”

Love Overcomes
Love Becomes
Hate Never Prevails
Hate Always Fails
Upmost Sincere
Bonafide My Dear
Always Faithful
Simply Truthful
Stay Positive
Refuse Negative
Beauty Fades Away
Inner Beauty Pays The Way
Nobody Is Perfect
I Completely Understand
My Hearts In Abyss
Journeyed In A Twist
Clenching My Teeth
Trapped Beneathe
Ground Level By The Devil
A Rebel Fighting Off These Demons
Surviving Every Season
The Climate Is The Reason
Stipulating Treason
My Love Still Lives On
After Whats Said & Done
I'm Staying The Same
No Fun & Games
My Hearts Wide Open
Truth I Have Spoken
I Went & Came Back
Lost From The Tracks
A Blurry Vision
A Bias Collision
Nevertheless I'm In It For The Best
As You Rest On My Chest
You Whispered I'm The Best
Be Aware I'm Always There
Ready To Catch You
As You Fall I'm Right Beside You
My Words Are True
Smile When You Feeling Blue
Keep In Mind Someone Cares
When Your Alone & No Ones There
I Love You With Words & Actions
I Love You With Heart & Soul
I Love You With Mind & Body
One Of A Kind Like Nobody...

I’m not afraid to admit
very few things
she thinks,
head nestling on the window,
over the sleeping Atlantic, eyes,
like drowsy oceans, swelling
over combers of clouds:
she watches herself
drift away
    do I arrive
            or depart
(a return or restart)
to the city of light
that has warmed,
since girl dreams were born,
the tomorrows
of my lamp lit heart?

yet what could I do,
but dawdle and pine,
write this and offer art:
and hope it speaks mine,

am I not a wonder?
keen, sonorous in stride,
industrious, strength,
brimming with pride; bonafide,
–zut alors
you and me,
divided. I abhor
the wind that blew          (your delicate cloud)
               from my Rhine.

is your love sewn in guilt,
cold repentance and blame,
is your sweet foolish heart,
here chained to mistakes?

what if you are a photograph,
captured among many,
held by each but for one fleeting frame,
(will you forget my antiquated name?)
which of your colours:
Manet unsentimental,
or Impressions in variation,
french vanilla in tumble,
or, contours, postcards, and maps,
shall fleshen our past–
these stilted
and dwindled days.

I think, for me,
forever in evening,
in fear of
the fast falling night,
or moving slow, pale
window glow,
afternoons, sunlit
in the space,
between grace, clocks,
and tunes: I fumble like a stone
to breathe l’espirit of you.
I know and you know.  I suppose,

unfurl in a brave new start,
above bonds of looming crows,
blankets of Western valley snows,
the beating red of my radio spire;

think of a lingering dusk,
when you see that Eiffel tower
on the lush fields of March,

but imagine us as that point,
over fresh Champs du March,
a glimmer at the peak,
on the flat earth,
apart.

Oh fickle foes
or maybe friends?
once a beginning
but now an end
Once loyal
yes, by my side
the night now is
a groom-less bride
the sun is dark
or maybe clear
the brave with swords
now draped in fear
but all the ocean's
deep and wide
that gave me truth
don't ring bonafide
the slender fellow
so debonair
but now my eyes
won't look,
won't dare
oh fickle stars
or are they lights?
the open arms
now give me frights
oh what is up
now is down
what she had worn;
a pastel sheer gown
now is dark with coal
torn i say torn!
oh fickle hearts
that beat like drums
now only make me fear
of some..

days ahead
or maybe past?
what once came first
now comes last
of fickle days
or maybe years?
no longer bring joy
but only fears
oh fickle souls
that once were kind
now are dim,
they once did shine
the lake is hard
white with ice
i then cared not
but now it's thrice
oh fickle thoughts
between my ears
i say, changed to worries
and changed to fears
dark and heavy
like a rock
once a metronome
now a ticking clock
in my palm
the world ahead
but all is left is
dead dead dead
once a caress
now a slash
what once was real
falls as ash
and once it goes
to the floor
what once was real
is no more
oh fickle foes
or maybe friends
it then was given
but now i send

the fallen trees
that touched the grass
they are not there now
for me to pass
the books on shelves
that i once read
now lie burning
dead dead dead

the footsteps left
in the rain
once made me laugh
but now, what pain!

the moon that hung
above my head
has turned to sun
dead dead dead

Oh fickle ways
the earth reminds
It once was lost,
but near i find
Oh fickle hands
that I use
what once was truth,
I dare say, a ruse
The poem written
by my pen
now are chores
Again Again
The sun rises
but then it sets
the stars come out
and this i let
for what the day will
come to bring
i cannot call
i cannot sing
oh fickle strings
that pull the earth
will give thou death
but also birth.

cushions make a queer backstop
after five long years of stone
friends and family fray the nerves
after five long years alone

a backyard barbecue a battle
when the fight is finally won
still he fights to find the joy
in the laughter of his son

a bonafide war hero
not as brave as he might seem
when he can’t escape the feeling
that coming home was just a dream

Never ending golden thoughts
Our mind travels with it
Strange but bonafide truth
Time withal can nix erase
And create a new one
Like those precious moments
Giving our soul an inspiration
Impact of memorable moments
A**ccredited to move forward

Born Clarendon Square, 1875

11th year, father and hero dies

Mother's moniker, The Great Beast

Carries proud 'til rest in peace



Scripture's words so clearly lies

One off the wrist and women's thighs

Such morals never suit The Beast

On original sin, so does he feast



Red light women, gonorrhoea

Inhale and hold, but have no fear

Bow to none beneath the sky

Affliction, addiction, getting high



Poetry, prose, philosophy, chess

Science, literature, quite the quest

Majestic Monch without a guide

Dispel the darkness deep inside?



A new Sunrise, The Golden Dawn

To most, The Beast is but a thorn

From all the hate, he does defend

"I shall endure until to the end"



A crashing bore, The Golden Dawn

Such petty games, reject them all

Traverse the world and left in awe

In India, sombre spirits soar



The Savage Mountain scrapes the sky

Never scaled yet still must try

Brash bravery, they do not lack

No savage spoils, men beaten back



Convenience ties Beast and Rose

Affection hankers hard to show

Rosa Mundi and Love Songs

One lake of molten joy, one pond



In Egypt, Prince invokes the Gods

Great Horus comes, the Equinox

Aiwass speaks, so Beast does score

A new Aeon, Book Of The Law



On Nepal's peak, his peers they die

Attempt descent beneath dark skies

For such a loss bears all the blame

To climbing clique, ne'er the same



With Godhead now is unionised

As hashish opens the Third Eye

Meagre means and thus provides

Tankerville's peace is bonafide



A∴ A∴ heart, see how it glows

Tree Of Life they seek to grow

A flower's bloom begins to fade

Whilst sadly withers in the shade



The Beast now pens The Book Of Lies

His Scarlet Woman within resides

And for *** Magic does devise

"Contra Naturam", come inside



World War One, it rakes the Earth

While Wilhelm is as Jesus birth

Did The Beast truly betray

A country that had held his sway?



Thelema Abbey, hear its call

Lewd libertine within these walls

Loveday discovers only death

Benito brings its final breath



To man, a prophet is declared

Thelema's message, for to spread

Magnum opus, now complete

Of France, fair punishment is mete?



High on Hell's Mouth, his heart it breaks

But both black ink and leap are fake

War once again now rakes the Earth

Will Blackshirts bond Thelema's church?



War service scorned by N.I.D.

The face behind the Victory V?

Olla: Sixty Years of Song

A final book, the last swan song



Hasting's last battle is now lost

The Great Beast feels the final frost

"A Black Mass", many tabloids cry

Cold ashes now in Hampton lie



Amoral man, your heart did sing

Black ballads of the blackest dreams

Listen and there's still the screams

Of Thelema's ghosts, it seems





Copyright © Craig Detheridge.

2015 - 2017.

Star and fashion designer Melissa McCarthy shares her guide for feeling fabulous and the emotional inspiration behind her new clothing line. Subscribe now for instant access to this PEOPLE exclusive!

Melissa McCarthy‘s foray into the fashion world with Melissa McCarthy’s Seven7 is already a bonafide success — but that doesn’t mean her daughterswill start looking to mom for fashion advice.

“My daughters have their own sense of style, which is a thousand times better than having mine,” McCarthy tells PEOPLE in this week’s cover story.

Georgette, 5½, and Vivian, 8, McCarthy’s daughters with husband Ben Falcone, are already setting their own trends.

“Georgie is very specific in what she wears,” McCarthy, 45, says. “Vivie can be more flexible, but she’s said to me on several occasions, ‘That’s my style, Mama.’ And I can tell when she wears something and feels good in it.”

The actress says she only intervenes in the girls’ attire when safety is involved.

“For me it’s like: As long as you’re not going to the park in a long skirt that you’re going to trip and fall on, you go for it,” she says. “If there’s no danger issue, wear whatever you want. I can tell you like it, I can tell you feel good about yourself in it, so knock yourself out.”

McCarthy tells PEOPLE she’d support her daughters even if they wanted to wear a shirt “wrapped like a turban” around their heads.

“I just think you’re going to have so many people saying, ‘You shouldn’t, you can’t, that’s not okay,’ that there’s no way I’m going to be one of those people. I’m gonna help fight that as much as I can. So turbans for everyone,” she jokes.

Vivian is so fashion-forward that one of her designs is even featured on a t-shirt in McCarthy’s range.

“My daughter Vivie drew that cat last year saying ‘Le Meow.’ Because, she explained, ‘everyone should have a fancy cat,'” McCarthy explains. “I can’t even think of what I’ll do when I see someone on the street wearing it. And when Vivie sees it? I’d better be standing next to her to watch her little heart fill up.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

Cat-like lotto being scratched off
Shades dressed to the nines
Cat Women whites and Gray's
Pulling out her men's hairballs

Chatty Patty pancakes hearts
online more calcium her
bone Inn limit
Thank God! its' Friday
However, did it come to
the number 13 Orange
Pumpkin heads
Minus the 4 days she
needed her nine lives
back in bed

So finicky to test our time
Pulling all strings her nose cute
as a  black spot button,
Beguiled black baby cat on
her futon Miss pretty Kitty

He's the Navy Seal
The coach sealing the deal
Having *** appeal from
Heaven to earth 4 For 4
Wendy Tuna smells
Fortune tells the Luna
Cat on hot tin roof tiger print tabby,
The Egyptian Robbie dancer
starry eye glancer in the long
narrow alley Maggie May
The heating cooking up his
finicky paw the last
religious supper huge day
The black cat she's got 
 hot legs I love you honey

Rod Stewart forever young
On the ladder kitten gloves of money

Lady in cat print what
Cat's meow man handlers
Not one flaw over her dresser
Becoming the cat calculator

Fiddler on Roof Lechaim
to Life maybe it's not what
it seems
Hollywood Stray Cats big
bang theory what priority
Black Coach  secrets Victoria
Women like cats in her diary
Windmills of the Gods

The Hail Mary mastery
Tell me your dreams
Don't spill the milk
How love drops sewed me
in silk thread the test of time
We shouldn't test ourselves
like an unfortunate crime
About time knowing oneself
Well the cat got your tongue
Chosen one shelf

Like a book  going stale
We need them
Cat Coach matchmaker
You're the miracle worker
The book speaks without
being told
But how quickly our hearts
could be sold now taking
the bar exam
And your "Miss Kitty"
making her best-baked yams
So illegally you stoled all the pink
His smile is playing on me
His tiger eyes  Cat Coach so tempted
And like hot shepherds pie flicked
It's not bad luck to see a cat
when you had lied
You get what you give
Something gives how fate pulls

Meaning/mission/alleyway/
Dreaming/Cat fusion/Cat Valley-pay
Just love the way he makes you feel
Not in harm's way home cooked meal
Like Independence day cool

Kissing your money goodbye
Two glasses of wine Athens
Greece
Bigger than life Black cat
Demonstrator making her
own world of peace
German tour bus
Sparkling beer and good
cheer black cat like a
good soldier
under the chair
Dark blue sailor
He was in the alley
With cans and faded glory
You would never realize
he had a cat story
The ancient days of Gladiators
All imitators full moon black cat

Came way too soon
Bodies of the women
were sold
Roman EmpireTrump
got hired play trumpets
But darkness prevails
Like the treachery
The California dreaming
but the truth primary
Love wilderness or blind love
wildfire but brings tenderness
She said, my husband,
died happily and the other lady
told her___?
But he was happy to die
From the old world or new
We get cat licked
New world marries right away
An old world  it takes 1 to 2 years
But cats life will be even better
Nine lives you could wait
Are defeat you fall into
his bait
Fairy__tails Cat dynasty
Spartacus like bonafide
Princesses in the Coach
Teaching at the college
Taking a long tree ride
Get roared out Big Tigers
coach Please Papa Preach

My skin dreads your fingertips ghosting over it
Whispering lullabies from the distant shore
My lips dread your pair that trail butterfly kisses to the juncture of my jaw
My ears dread the dulcet tunes murmured from your pillow lips
That caresses the inner workings of my heart with bonafide admiration

My heart—the one you have—is the only one that adores every little gesture you make
Every slight remark
Every subtle action

But the rest of me does not want you
Because as much as I adore you
I cannot picture us together
Without the image shattering again.

Young and free
You used to be
Wild as a foal
Now, as you get old
The road home gets longer
And the hold of death gets stronger

And its avenger gets closer

A storm is brewing

Ancient and true

Rain drops fall

Thunder calls

The Son home

Shalom is coming again

He shall come to regain His throne

Upon which the Son of God will make Earth a death free zone

And souls will be tried

And bonafide

True or a lie

And will accordingly be sent

To Heaven or Hell

All will be well once again

When He comes again.

i made with you / gumby graphics

gifts of kiss

parameters of malleable minutia in misfit music

meanderings of our midnight sting

     our bodies in bonafide brevity, singing

seeking seiks' mischievous apathies

on the fringes

IMAX movie-like scenes without acting out / words

tongues

the levity or suspenseful sanctions / unhinged

     members and mouths mapping galactic absurdities

Mars and mercurial in star-crossed appetites

burning as suns should; meteorites / streaking sky;

in wonderful dining and gustful bites - eyes

    full of asteroid-desires coalescing

masculinity in every copious opus / in rites

of unforgiving depths / in blinding supernova nights,

forever ever / in a name of fantastics and amoebas

    these boys worshipping planets x, y, z / emotions coax & ***** elastic

strength of steeds, drinking the implacid body's

mead / wrestling without a fight's reprieve

fires, our mouths, / incite body-art / completely received

     intrigued with warm inner spaces

     paint brush of hours in museums of sweat / engraved,

encased / ******* sunburst theories on theories of tastes

and comets stroked / our body-art in hues

which love forever ever levitates . . . in spacial haste

      wormholes and Thanatos amused.

Beautiful Eros rain : Bodies paint.

(nebulae & you.)

There was a boy
Who had a girl
And in the grapevine,
Hanging by a pearl
There laid a boy
Stripped free and mild
Four laces entwined
And eyes beguiled

He bicycled
Down from the hill
Grasping a gun
And a feathered quill
He spoke in books
And ailing shouts
‘Neath the moon, he shook
And began to sprout

He said,  “Hush you want me badly, I know
But my lone beliefs are bonafide
You found a love a long time ago”
As he turned, the lover cried,

“I dreamt your call
Dressed in a shawl
I’d lie on your head
In a deathly bed
From dust to rust,
I want the boy
In this I trust,
I’ll love the boy”

He struck a pose
Fits in a frame
He ate a rose
Five hearts he maimed
They pranced around
Their stolen tags
And gave their pounds
For fiery drags

On squandered soil
They lift their roots
Their hands unspoiled
And aim acute
“I want you so
You know me well
But love is sold
'Neath hollow bells”

He said “Hush, you want me badly, I know
But why can’t I call you by your name?”
“This is nothing if you only show
Your incumbent shame”

"I want your call
I’ll wear your shawl
I’ll kiss your head
And lull you to bed”
“From dust to rust
I want the boy
In this I trust
I’ll love the boy”

He said, “Hush, you knew me when? I think not”
As he tended to his burning leaf
“Life is sweet, but it too will rot
I won’t be deceived”

“I want the boy
Give me the boy
Don’t be so coy
I want you, boy
I’ll love the boy
I want the boy
There was a boy
Who gave me joy”

8 years old
We're told "you're too young to unlearn how to smile and hate the world"

8 years from now on
You'll forget the art of care freeness
and little girls

So 6 young hearts
Kick start
And venture into
A labyrinth
Of question marks

Mischievous
Wide-eyed
We had nothing to hide
Our smiles were bonafide...

We dreamed of superpowers
Meteor showers
Climbing towers
Magic, meremaids
Flying ships
And finding home

In our unlock golden coffer
All we had was love to offer
A currency that once was just enough....
Guess we grew up

Theses days
We've ceased
To give
A frail and feeble ****
We've got new better plans

Crystal clear
Each year
Since June of 2010
We've grown cavalier
And bland

We used to dance in rainstorms
Fight our battles, win the whole world
We spoke in flames
And held hands while we burn

Now all we ever do is *****
Apathy, we mop it
With apologises  
I'm sorry's
I worry..... I worry,
We grew up

Things have changed
And minds have aged

We're so far in this infeasible maze

When did black and white decide
To propagate
Cause everything now seems so.... Gray

We've forgotten the beats of our own drums
We've lost touch in tunes we used to hum
We smell of sin

And no longer bubblegum
Our season is yet to come

We're houses with water stained walls
We're standing
But no longer tall
When did we stop having a ball, I don't recall
I don't re-call

Here... We are
So far
We've walked a lonely road
We're like nomads finding home

But some-where far inside
The 8 year old resides
Whispering "you'll be alright"

So let us live
Let live
Forgive and hope we don't
Fail the souls we used to know

Let's walk each other home
Little souls please don't let go
The unknown is ours to roam
Our little souls will walks us
Home

If there's doubt it's probably wrong
If it burns it's because it's hot

If it breaks it was never strong
If it's real it can't be bought

If it rains it's bound to pour
If it makes you crazy you should run

If it truly sees you it won't ignore
If it's intended there's probably a pun

If it's perfect it's definitely flawed
If there's no proof then it's not legit

If it perpetrates it's a bonafide fraud
If it's not the right size it's not a good fit

If it meets you halfway that's not enough
If it hurts it can't possibly be true love

The universe (essentially) isn’t what it seems. WOW! SHOCKER…! But this very (obviousness) isn’t what you exactly think, either. As it’s much MORE complex then anyone can ever transpire on a regular basis. It’s exactly what the title of this passage gives away… That there’s a reason the universe is an obvious smoke-screen. Now, is it the darkness that is a void itself…? Is it the general theme that everything in this ever-expanding void, is again, (essentially) too desolate beyond recognition? B-but why is it (essentially) too desolate beyond recognition? Well sense of selves, a-and all individualities that mask themselves with impressions they don’t even realize they are (doing just that themselves). Except with pure obliviousness. Something that’s “meant” to turn that very (someone) into a king, respectfully. OOOOOKKKK…! One would say with just a hint of slight confusion. A king of what, exactly…? They ask once more as there (obviously) MORE intrigued then the “slight confusion” fuels the curiosity forward. Good question. The narrator simply responds. Well you see… There’s this thing apart from all the formalities and what not. There’s (essentially) what’s called an oblivious king. A king who’s too oblivious for there own good. And it could (very well be a someone o-or something) for variety itself has no flaw for specifics of that aptitude. Because if it did, then everything “couldn’t and wouldn’t” spiral out of control for something to not (substantially and correctly) act this way, when it’s (supposed) to otherwise be of the complete opposing opposite. Which doesn’t seem to stand good with (what’s the smoke-screen for)? Because if the universe is “meant” to seemingly be a smoke-screen for (something) entirely different. Then the universe is then (essentially) just a mask hiding away the truer appearance o-or “identity” of what the true variety, really is. Which in case in point, is what will generally make you into a king. A king for no (instance of power) can cause obliviousness without surrounding themselves with the light that is delusional (for knowing too much). Then the one who spoke out first then scratches their head. Well…ok, that’s ahhh…well…. They then catch themselves going off cue and re-straighten out their posture to then correctly (clear their throat) to respeak (there again), own opinion. K…K…K…. S-so then what does any of this mean…? Then as if pointing a finger out directly at the one narrating this passage, there finger radiated with a boiling direct seriousness. Not to mention whatever light that is delusional for… They then stop in a flustered pause re-scratching their head with MORE contemptment then (slight confusion) could ever be sounded correctly anymore. Re-scratching until there was possibly no scalp left. For the gross dandruff that started to flake all over the place made them MORE oblivious to what even an (oblivious king) is truly all about. They finally gathered there voice back into commission, and got a hold on there breathing as they inhaled, then immediately exhaled. Feeling now calm and collected. … (For knowing too much…) They said as they expressed at the EXACT same time as exhaling. Followed by an obvious sign of relief they were glad to feel. Because there’s another instance for power to reckon something out of one’s tip-top shape. And just like an oblivious king, there’s the (high of confusion). A type of confusion that goes WAY BEYOND what one (couldn’t begin) to understand. For the smoke-screen grows ever larger. Which then prematurely (beyond one’s own reckoning for absolute truth…) The universe grows more better and broader in its own concealment. Hiding the face beyond the truer variety that (would otherwise) make you into a bonafide king! For if you know the identity of the universe itself, before the (founding) even took place… Then (essentially) if someone were to find out, (and they were still there own oblivious king) for the wrong ideas on how to handle such a truth. Then were all *******, pretty much! Especially what’s on the other side of that universal mask!