the world needs a lesson in self esteem

we can start by re-examining exactly what each part of that term means

self (hyphen): "to, with, toward, for, on, in oneself"
esteem: "favorable opinion or judgement; respect or regard"
self esteem: to hold a favorable opinion or judgement, respect or regard, to, with, toward, for, on, or in oneself

the world needs this lesson because our children do not know what this term means
because the reason they do not know is because their parents did not know
because the reason their parents did not know is because every generation before them passed along
a belief that you had to fit into every box, had to blend in to every crowd, had to meet every bullet point on the checklist
in order to be considered a person of worth

because the great secret that they never told is that people were not made
to fit into boxes, or be marked on a checklist

because my mother married a man who did not deserve her
because she thought that she wouldn't be able to do any better
because that man looked at his beautiful new stepdaughter
and told her she was worthless, and that her mother knew it too

because that girl was cursed with the hips and the **** and the waist of her great grandmother
and when she went to school with her stepfather's words in her head
a boy in her second grade class said the same **** things, and worse

because i was that girl and i was never the girl who got to walk behind me in the hallways
and laugh at the way that my shirt was too tight, and my thighs were too big, and laugh even harder when i cried
because my best friend in high school was always "the hot one"
and because i cried myself to sleep every time one of our guy friends talked to me about how much he wanted to **** her

because i craved objectification before i'd even finished ninth grade
because i wished that i could sink my hands into my own flesh and rip pieces away and be left with something "beautiful"
because i looked in the mirror every day of my life and pointed out every small detail of what was wrong with my reflection
because i hoped that would help me pretend it didn't hurt when other people pointed out the imperfections

because even after satisfying girlfriend boyfriend girlfriend boyfriend, i still did not feel good about my own body
because it took finding the woman that i want to spend the rest of my life with to make me want to turn the lights on when we ****
because she is the most beautiful woman that i have ever seen
but before me, she'd always wanted to leave the lights off too
because we are grateful to each other for the confidence we have gained
and because we both wish we hadn't needed the other to find something that should have been found within ourselves

the world needs a lesson in self-esteem
and i know this because
i had to write this poem

Let's see
When she visits I'll need
Rubbers, fresh and non latex
Oil to rub in gently
To work my arms out
To prevent pain whilst issuing it out
Whips, and maybe a couple of paddles and
Chains
Because i know she's into pain
Maybe even an umbrella, or a nicely made cane
....
I think thats it
Ive quite the checklist!

Disaster Preparedness Checklist**

Double-A batteries, a map out of town
A tank full of gas, a mind full of plans
A flashlight, toilet paper, a radio
A can opener and cans to go, go, go

Leather gloves and duct tape, whistles
Waterproof matches, and match-proof water
Blankies and ponchos and a change of clothes
A medical kit and a pocket knife

But

No one ever lists a box of cigars,
And a Wodehouse for reading by lamplight

So you want... to get a degree
Why?
Let me tell you what society will tell you:
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let me tell you something your parents will tell you:
Make me proud,
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Your life will be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let's look at the statistics,
Steve Jobs - net worth seven billion R.I.P,
Richard Branson - net worth four point two billion,
Oprah Winfrey - two point seven billion,
Mark Zuckerberg, Henry Ford, Steven Spielberg, Bill Gates
Now here comes the Coup de grâce,
Looking at these individuals, what's your conclusion?
Neither of them in being successful,
Ever graduated from a higher learning institution.

Now some of you may be like,
Money is only the medium by which we measure worldly success,
And some of you even have the nerve to say
"I don't do it for the money."
So what you studying for?
To work for a charity?
Need more clarity?

Let's look at the statistics:
Jesus,
Muhammed,
Socrates,
Malcolm X,
Mother Teresa,
Spielberg,
Shakespeare,
Beethoven,
Jesse Owens,
Muhammad Ali,
Sean Carter,
Michael Jeffrey Jordan,
Michael Joseph Jackson.
Were either of these people unsuccessful... or... uneducated?

All I'm saying is that,
If there was a family tree hard work and education would be related,
But school would probably be a distant cousin,
Because if education is the key,
School is the lock,
Because it rarely ever develops your mind to the point where it can perceive red as green and continue to go when someone else said stop.
Because as long as you follow the rules and pass exams your cool,
But are you aware that examiners have a checklist,
And if your answer is something outside the box then the automatic response is a cross,
And then they claim that school expands your horizons and your visions,
Well tell that to Malcolm X who dropped out of school and is world renowned for what he learn in a prison.

Proverbs 17:16
It does a fool no good to spend money on an education,
Why?
Because he has no common sense.
George Bush. Need I say more?
Education is about inspiring one's mind,
Not just filling their head,
And take this from me because I'm an 'Educated' man myself,
Who only came to this realization after countless nights in the library,
With a can of red bull keeping me awake till morning,
Another can in the morning,
Falling asleep between piles of books that probably equates to the same amount I spent on my rent,
Memorize equations, facts and dates,
Write down to the letter,
Half of which I would never remember,
And half of which I would forget straight after the exam,
Before the start of the next semester,
Asking anyone if they had notes for the last lecture.
I often found myself running to class,
Just so I could find a spot on which I could rest my head and just sleep without making a scene,
Ironic because that's the only time I ever spent in university chasing my dreams.
And then after nights with a dead-mind,
I'd den find myself in a queue of half-awake students, zombies,
Waiting to hand in an assignment,
Maybe that's why they call it a deadline.
And then after three years of mental suppression,
And frustration,
My "Proud Mother" didn't even turn up to my graduation.

Now, I'm not saying that school is evil and there's nothing to gain,
All I'm saying is: understand your motives and re-assess your aims,
If you want a job working for someone else then help yourself,
But then that would be a contradiction because you wouldn't really be helping yourself,
You'd be helping somebody else,
There's a saying that is: if you don't build your dreams, someone else will hire you to help build theirs.

Redefine how you view education,
Understand it's true meaning,
Education is not just about regurgitating facts from a book,
Or someone else's opinion on a subject to pass an exam,
Look at it.
Picasso was educated at creating art,
Shakespeare was educated in the art of all that was written

Hurricane Preparedness Checklist

Double-A batteries, a map out of town
A tank full of gas, a mind full of plans
A flashlight, toilet paper, a radio
A can opener and cans to go, go, go

Leather gloves and duct tape, whistles
Waterproof matches, and match-proof water
Blankies and ponchos and changes of clothes
A medical kit and a pocket knife

But

No one ever lists a box of cigars,
And a Wodehouse for reading by lamplight

I've had my share of pervs.
I've been groped.
I've been peeped.
I've seen them watch ****.
I've watched them play with themselves.
I've seen them drunk and hanging with women.
Yeah, I've had my share of pervs.
The only thing that's unchecked on the
Perv's checklist is:
Getting *****.

And I pray to God it stays unchecked.

personal journal musings from last week...*

Stopped in at my neighborhood pub last night
  a couple of pints, some word exchange
Colorful place on a perfect Spring evening
  people on tap, constantly spilling in and out

The place is bustling and packed
  loud and dynamic
Sound flowing on open air
  drifting in from sidewalk patio and out to beer garden

Luckily nab a lonely stool near the entrance
  girl sitting kitty-corner around curving end of bar
Casually we cover topics from her mac 'n cheese
  to wind chill generated by ceiling fans

Conversation is suddenly confiding
  prior night's end-all fight with her live-in boyfriend
Obvious need to talk to someone neutral
  bartenders are busy, so it's me and we do

She's come seeking emotional sanctuary
  awaiting his departure to some event
Unhappy with her role in the argument
  unhappy with the person she has become with him

They'd intended to go ring shopping
  as recently as last week
She now looks forward only to the comfort of
  quiet, pajamas, ice cream, dreamless sleep

Upon leaving, she twice asks that I promise
  to be here if she finds no solitude and must return
This is no request...more of an appeal
  alone in privacy is one thing...alone in festivity another

I promise twice - I'll be here
  she doesn't return
I sincerely hope that she's well on her way to
  an ice cream induced pj slumber

              Less than an hour later...same bar stool

Pleasingly boisterous bachelorette party arrives
  staking claim to a nearby parcel of floor
Numerous "excuse me" squeeze-throughs  for drink orders
  rendering me a semi-familiar bar obstacle

One reveless wedges in, questions me
  what color underpants do I have on...don't recall
Insists that we check...dark bluish-grey
  too bad...she was hoping for purple to match her own

Impishly waiting long enough for my mind to stew
  she finally reveals the query as part of a formal interactive checklist
I apologize for not being more daring in spectrum
  we laugh, nevertheless...strike one

Eventually exchanging pleasantries with another
  a more subtle approach, but the inquisition repeats
Here we go again...Batter up!...Red?...very sorry...strike two
  I'm feeling of no value to this effort

Red offers me a redeeming pitch from the list
  someone must serenade the bride-to-be
I accept and get to meet the veiled celebrity
  she wears an engaging and jubilant aura

Gauging the atmosphere, I decide against romantic
  opting for a song that playfully questions the sanity of her choice
From my heart, I sing the chorus to Matchbox Twenty's "Unwell"
  It goes over very well and I avoid strike three

She and I hit it off, we discuss her wedding plans
  discover our roots are in the same part of the city
I'm rewarded for my musical contribution
  allowed to buy her a shot of Patrón...the checklist dwindles

Now partaking in the excitement of their celebration  
  an honorary addition to the large but exclusive group
My joyous new acquaintance has us take a picture together
  a snapshot of this special occasion to which I've somehow been privileged

A train of waves, goodbyes, thanks, and good lucks
  trails the party as I watch it crawl to the next establishment
In the hushed cacophony, I return to my thoughts
  a fantastic diversity of emotional experience within two short hours

My elbows on the bar in sober contemplation
  counting crows ...one...two...juxtaposed
A contrast of simultaneous realities
  somberly lamenting vs vibrantly anticipating

Reflecting on the beauty in such contrasts
  that serve to define the images of our lives
I finally come to the inevitable conclusion
  it's time for another pint...of ice cream

Let me tell you what society will tell you:
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let me tell you something your parents will tell you:
Make me proud,
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Your life will be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let's look at the statistics,
Steve Jobs - net worth seven billion R.I.P,
Richard Branson - net worth four point two billion,
Oprah Winfrey - two point seven billion,
Mark Zuckerberg, Henry Ford, Steven Spielberg, Bill Gates
Now here comes the Coup de grâce,
Looking at these individuals, what's your conclusion?
Neither of them in being successful,
Ever graduated from a higher learning institution.

Now some of you may be like,
Money is only the medium by which we measure worldly success,
And some of you even have the nerve to say
"I don't do it for the money."
So what you studying for?
To work for a charity?
Need more clarity?

Let's look at the statistics:
Jesus,
Muhammed,
Socrates,
Malcolm X,
Mother Teresa,
Spielberg,
Shakespeare,
Beethoven,
Jesse Owens,
Muhammad Ali,
Sean Carter,
Michael Jeffrey Jordan,
Michael Joseph Jackson.
Were either of these people unsuccessful... or... uneducated?

All I'm saying is that,
If there was a family tree hard work and education would be related,
But school would probably be a distant cousin,
Because if education is the key,
School is the lock,
Because it rarely ever develops your mind to the point where it can perceive red as green and continue to go when someone else said stop.
Because as long as you follow the rules and pass exams your cool,
But are you aware that examiners have a checklist,
And if your answer is something outside the box then the automatic response is a cross,
And then they claim that school expands your horizons and your visions,
Well tell that to Malcolm X who dropped out of school and is world renowned for what he learn in a prison.

Proverbs 17:16
It does a fool no good to spend money on an education,
Why?
Because he has no common sense.
George Bush. Need I say more?
Education is about inspiring one's mind,
Not just filling their head,
And take this from me because I'm an 'Educated' man myself,
Who only came to this realization after countless nights in the library,
With a can of red bull keeping me awake till morning,
Another can in the morning,
Falling asleep between piles of books that probably equates to the same amount I spent on my rent,
Memorize equations, facts and dates,
Write down to the letter,
Half of which I would never remember,
And half of which I would forget straight after the exam,
Before the start of the next semester,
Asking anyone if they had notes for the last lecture.
I often found myself running to class,
Just so I could find a spot on which I could rest my head and just sleep without making a scene,
Ironic because that's the only time I ever spent in university chasing my dreams.
And then after nights with a dead-mind,
I'd den find myself in a queue of half-awake students, zombies,
Waiting to hand in an assignment,
Maybe that's why they call it a deadline.
And then after three years of mental suppression,
And frustration,
My "Proud Mother" didn't even turn up to my graduation.

Now, I'm not saying that school is evil and there's nothing to gain,
All I'm saying is: understand your morals and re-assess your aims,
If you want a job working for someone else then help yourself,
But then that would be a contradiction because you wouldn't really be helping yourself,
You'd be helping somebody else,
There's a saying that is: if you don't build your dreams, someone else will hire you to help build theirs.

Redefine how you view education,
Understand it's true meaning,
Education is not just about regurgitating facts from a book,
Or someone else's opinion on a subject to pass an exam,
Look at it.
Picasso was educated at creating art,
Shakespeare was educated in the art of all that was written,
Colonel Harland Sanders was educated in the art of creating Ken Tucky Fried Chicken.

I once saw David Beckham take a free kick,
I watched as the side of his Adidas-sponsored boot hit the patent leather of the ball at an angle,
Which caused it to travel towards the skies as though it was destined for the heavens,
And then as it reached the peek of it's momentum,
As though it changed it's mind,
It switched directions.
I watched as the goalkeeper froze,
As though reciting to himself the laws of physics,
And as though his brain was negotiating with his eyes,
That was indeed witnessing the spectacle that was the leather swan that was swooping towards it,
And then reacted,
Though only a fraction of a millisecond too late,
And before the net of the goal,
Embraced the Fifa-Sponsored ball as though it was the prodigal son returning home,
And the country, that I live in, Erupted into cheers,
I looked at the play and thought,
****,
Looking at David Beckham,
There's more than one way in this world to be,

An educated man.

Peace.

'Put my hand in the hand of the man from Galilee,

that song keeps playing in my memory, and I recalled

Or I thought I did, I imagined he'd walk with me
and talk with me
Along life's merry (or was it narrow?), way

a light touch, his arm around my shoulders,
as boys are wont to do,
I axed 'im,
help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which I think may have been blind, at that time,

I have memories like that.
packed away in old memes. That mean something...
Gold-something...
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom.
Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, Howard Bloom,
where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but these,
heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Here a seeing being done, words appearing...

fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made,
and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble collapses by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tension-power-loss collapses the bubble?

You should think, you know atoms work, this way.

Touchy bubbles disappear when their form is disinformed,
the wall of a bubble,
one quanta of power thick,
vanishes
as the charge that formed it flees.
That bubble,
not cloud-based, random super positioning,but
elect
tric-magi-tech, a touch screened
at the quantum accounting point of real-ification,
but, probably,
a bubble,indeed,
powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
(I charge thee, son Timothy, go)
That's all an electron does.
It goes, as soon as any sense can be made of it,
outa here, oughta hear it, clear,
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...
No, ah, when I think about that..

Hell,
somethi' from nuthin musta hapt one time,

but ya'll take no heed, this voice,
m'fallin angel, Tantan, droppin' in ol-fren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth
found in wines that moved themselves aright,
slurry tongued, and laughin' but pisstoff.

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Old story, God damened 'em, not me, I just
built the box.

Who told you I was naked? Noah queried Shem.

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe could be forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.
Forgot can't be forgiven it seems, sometimes...

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

I've looked so long through that lens,
that I began to see the bubble formed around me,
charged powerfully with fear,
'yond my bubble monsters lurked.

But, my bubble bumped another,
purest of happenstance,
the bubbles merged and merged again,
their power building to a wave,
crashing to the shore and no more
was I bubbled in my safe place.

I found this trail up from the beach.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
Did you regret the defeat at Ai,
or were you
Aachen, bold?

No, irrelevant, obtuse allusion to Yahshua,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Information unformed begins to boil deep in me.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick. Elect trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening as an event, in the Deep Field,
is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  
Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,
to learn. Fifty year'r longer.

Everything that's old and still works is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the potential worth of all your eyes behold,
behind the curtain,
lies the prize.

If, if, if you are a luckywinner and
you arise when I call your name
to come on down,
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, 'smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize, what's the diff?
How comes a thing to be worthy,
in your estimation? Tell me no lie.

A feeling? What's it worth?
Depends.
Safe? Priceless! Don't shout. There's money to make.

'Got a busy-ness pre-positioned high above the rest.
A super-positioned superstion. The darkness.
See, safety is a human right.
So we sell walls, impermeable. It's always, lights on
within, then
We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened
by those we make
feel safe, from the dark unknowns seeping in.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we saw the Power in Myth and
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Within these walls workers will work for food and a feeling.
And Facebook.
They choose a place and stand, and do what comes to hand.
Heartily
grip what's easiest for you to hold on to,
they are told.

Attendants bring the meds, settling every disruption
of the peace the patient craves in his comfort.
The price ain't right, m'mouthmumbles...

You are absolutely co-rect-allatime, tekayepeel.

There are wishes being made,
on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters.

If wishes were askings, what if
connecting to the source of haps which,
every expert knows, haps are
all happiness can possibly
consist of.
Oh, consist.
That sticky, gluteny idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand.
Sistere. Shield-wall and all that. Turtles all the way down.

A disruption!
Day room Now! Granpa's shouting,

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!
I'll drop it. I swear.

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted... in my meander.

What if, nothing is immaterial,
as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
If nothing can go wrong, it won't.
Ask the pilot flying by faith in his checklist.

What if,
asking for help helps?
Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea? An answered prayer?

Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore,
quoth the raven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories,
telling eventualities that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,

Stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
Grandpa made some sense and we built a fort, of pillows

I. When I was 5, I thought recess was probably the best thing ever invented. Until the first autumn rainfall, when the sky opened up and unleashed it's sorrow unto the earth. The children were kept inside that day. As the storm thundered on around us, we ran to play on the other side of the classroom. The boys charged to the shelf with legos and blocks, while the girls lined up at the miniature kitchen. I followed them to the tiny toy oven, even though, secretly, I thought those lincoln logs looked really fun.

II. When I was 6, I thought my first grade teacher was the sweetest woman to ever have lived. Then, one day she lined us to to go outside, calling out, "Boys on one side, girls on the other" reminding of us of a divide between genders that we did not understand. Marking off differences on a checklist that none of us had read yet.

III. When I was 7, like most little girls I daydreamed of the perfect wedding. The part I played over and over in my head was my brother walking me down the aisle, "giving me away". Because even in the second grade, some part of me knew that I belonged to the men in my life.

IV. When I was 8, I learned that the praise I'd receive from the boys I called my brothers would always be conditional. No matter what award I received, how fast I ran, how tough I fought, how smart I was, I'd always be "pretty good for a girl". And that is never a compliment.

V. When I was 9, the YMCA told me I had to stop playing the sport I'd loved for 5 years because I was a girl. I took my first feminist stand by quitting, because I don't care what they say, softball and baseball are not the same thing.

VI. When I was 10, my brother informed me that the day I brought home a boyfriend was the day he bought a gun. Because that's how you protect your property.

VII. When I was 11, a boy ran up to me on the playground and told me I was cute. For a moment, I felt confident, a feeling that was foreign to me. Until the boy and his friend started laughing uncontrollably, as if they couldn't believe that I'd ever think that was true. I cried a lot that day because I hadn't yet realized that my self worth wasn't directly proportional to how many boys found me attractive.

VIII. When I was 12, my aunt gave me my first make up kit for my birthday. When my grandmother tried to force me to wear it, I refused, yelling, "It's my face!" She proceeded to tell me that I'd never get a boyfriend with that attitude. After all, who was I to want to be in control of my own body?

IX. When I was 13, I thought gym was a subject invented by sadistic hell fiends created just to torture teenage girls. It was the hottest day of the year, and I'd just ran a mile, so I opted not to change out of my tank top before continuing on to my next class. A teacher cornered me at my locker, advising me to put on a jacket before I became a distraction to the boys.

X. When I was 14, I confessed to my mother the wanderlust inside of me. Exclaiming about travelling to new places, having new experiences. That's when she looked me dead in the eye and told me to always take someone with me. Preferably, a man. I couldn't bring myself to be angry. We both knew what happened to women alone on the streets, and I felt bad for the way I made her eyes shine with worry each time I left the house without her.

XI. I am 15, and I walk with my fists clenched and my head down. I am always conscious of what clothes I wear and whether or not they could attract "the wrong kind of attention". I attempt to shield myself from the world, but I can feel my barriers cracking with each terrifying statistic, each late night news story, each girl that was never given justice. The world is a war zone, and every woman must put her armor on before walking outside. My life has been one battle after the next. I am a 15 year old war veteran, and have the scars to prove it. I've learned from my experiences and am left with just one question:

At what age does the war end?

Is this the real world,
A ticking time bomb?
Or a clock,
As I hope I won't explode.

In my career I need to rise,
Be successful and stable with an iron fist
At the same time I need to find a husband but I'm not even meeting people
Have kids young so I'm an active grandmother,
But then, what about my job?

Everyone is having children older these days,
They say,
But what about my biologicial countdown timer?
A woman called me a 'lady' the other day,
And my friends are getting married.

Is life a checklist?
If so, maybe the world needs to rethink.

The moths followed the little square
Like he was a flame
The little square wrote a book about his despair
And the moths made a proclaim

The little square didn't like us
So he told the moths to find us, "the mess"
He told them to do it without fuss
'Cause without us his garden would be flawless

The moths came out to his garden
They found me and my kind
And pulled us out with a gun
Treating us like we aren't apart of mankind

We were put on trial by them
And thrown into fire
We were shoved into a room by 'em
And gassed because it was "prior"

Occasionally the moths were bored
So they played hangman with us
This was a game that they adored
All we could do was stare at the hanging carcass

They were our friends and family
They were the only medals we had left
We were too broken to be angry
So we ignored the theft

When the moths got rid of us
They went for the most damaged weeds
That often made us anxious
Because of it some did misdeeds

Some couldn't deal with the pain and fear
So those weeds jumped to the birds
On the floor they left a smear
The smears thought jumping would send them homewards

Though we saw death so many times a day
We were still able to eat and treat people with hate
It was because from our god we have gone astray
Maybe because we were all under weight

In our stomachs prowled lions
Our hunger was so severe
If we found stray scraps we would go for the ****
If you went for the food you were a volunteer

One time we ran out of food
So we complained even more
The moths got tired of our complaining mood
So we ran to a new camp door

We were often moved
We went from camp to camp
Of course we all disapproved
On the house that was based by our stamp

On each of our wrist
Was and inky black stamp
It was on the moths checklist
It was our name in each concentration camp

When we were saved from hell
We were all broken weeds
We couldn't even sleep well
But the ones that saved us answered our needs

The ones that saved us helped end the war
And some were normal citizens
Everyday we are grateful for their loving core
Even if we had great differences

Though the Holocaust made us different
And the memories haunt us
It was kind of a movement
Because now people won't walk into war without a fuss

Lists and errands
I'm not lists and errands

I am here
I am today
Mounds of feelings and fibers

More than a mother

My head is a checklist
It's all a checklist

Are these quick words
even written
right?

It won't ever stop

I’ve never quite understood
Those who judge beauty
On a checklist
Whose boxes are drawn
By the pens of society

Because what is beauty,
if not in the eye of the beholder?
And what is beauty,
if not abstract
and utterly idiosyncratic?

Stress cushioned grips, Check.
Speed Racer threads of mental strains, Check.
Lazy legs with baggy exhaustion, Check.
Unshaved follicles and overlapped cuticles, Check.
Unclipped toes with rotten flakes of age, Check.
Un-fished priorities topped off with an absent cherry, Check.
Uneasy knees and crack able joints, Check.
Absent-minded realizations of accomplishment, Check.
Did I miss something crucial? Check.
Motivation…Check.
Productivity in moderation…Check.
A list of values to jump over silently…

By Day

make a point of smelling the air reeeeal good every morning -
almost tastes like the mountains. like apple pie so crisp it
cuts you open,
spills you out in the leaves.
leaves
go play in them. Make your mountains if you need to be dwarfed some
times it's worth accepting lightly
the way the sunshine tips its hat and colors you flat on your back.
These scenes are meant to be stared at by awestruck, nameless people.

By Night**

the cold might surprise you , he's an old friend who
missed you dearly.
in a good, warm, windswept way be prepared to
lose your favorite socks, and part of your
concept of self,
and find laced-up fingers that more than make up for it
don't shut the blinds
always bring a blanket and
openness, writhing and bursting curiosity ready to
trap the last flash of storm before morning-time
will slow and you will become raw
in the moonlight.
Make music out of the air by the fire, there's so much to love.

3 years, you say?
The timing is wrong.
If you make life a checklist,
You won't get along.
Love isn't a thing on a list to check off.
It's something that comes when your ready or not.
So go ahead, make your list
But you might find I was an opportunity missed.

After running some tests
Injecting needles in your veins
******* blood from you even if it's the only ounce left

He says you're sick
Holding a pen, he prescripts
It's for you to buy, a list of medicines

And so you have to try
You have no choice but to buy
Or else, as per Dr. Quack Quack, you'll die

As you take in
Your wallet's thinning
While the packets of medicines are still stacking

Then another symptom came
And so you have to visit the clinic again
Déjà vu you thought, Dr. Quack Quack greeted you smiling

He says you're sick again
Holding a pen, he prescripts again
It's for you to buy again, a list of medicines

Oblivious to you
He's preparing his checklist too
After traveling to Europe, next stop to Honolulu

The High Line (Pearls Before Swine)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Summer 2010

i’ve dated boys who didn’t make me laugh,
boys who took me to stuffy museums and bland restaurants
and told me i should be veiling my hair in church
i thought i was doing the right thing, i thought
my parents would be proud of me,
i thought maybe i could conjure up
some kind of feeling in my stubborn heart
that would make it worth my while,
everything i was always
supposed to want
in one

instead,
i found you:
a boy who likes silly accents and sneakers and
telling jokes that turn me
into puddles at his feet,
who lives with his mother  
and makes art from obscure things,
who paints just to get the words out and
never matches his clothes
bright eyes begging me to follow, making it up as we go along,
who needs the rule book, who has time to read?
and if there is a better way, we don’t need it;
we’ll take the mess. see,
we’re already there, and
if there is a better way, i wouldn’t know it

< - - Housekeeping - - >

Why is there no checklist for life?
Can you say … recipe for disaster …
If you’re planning to fail …
… then you’re failing to plan

I cut my teeth in a house where we could eat off the floor if we so desired
The floor was either that clean or some other innate wisdom was built into that statement

And I thought my inane wisdom came from ...

Do you, don’t you want me to love you?
#9 #9
Now somewhere in the Black Mountain Hills of Dakota
**** Sadie you broke the rules
Singing in the dead of night
Obla-di
Why don’t you stare into your own Glass Onion

… Beatles

(My head is spinning, ooh...
Ha ha ha, ha ha ha, alight!
I got blisters on my fingers!)

where is my indian
is it in the way i don't use my palms as a medium to transport rice into the back of my mouth
is it in the way my face turns gloomy at the sight of spice and curry
is it in my skin color that isn't as brown as you need it to be
is it in my eyebrows which aren't as bushy as per your requirements

is it in the way my tongue twists awkwardly as i say happy diwali
is it in the way amma is the most fluent piece of tamil i speak
is it in the way i didn't know how to recite the words at my grandpas funeral
is it in the way i cannot, for the life of me, name you another tamil movie besides chandramukhi?

or

is it in the religious classes i took up until age 12
is it in the ramayana epic that i learnt, age 8
is it in the sanskrit bhajans i was made to sing, not knowing what they meant, age 10
is it in knowing that ganesh is the remover of obstacles,
brahma, vishnu, shiva - the creator, the preserver, the destroyer

is it in the eyeliner drawing a bindi in between my eyes when i
head to the temple, to present myself as indian

where is my indian
is it on a checklist, is there a passing mark?
where is my indian
please tell me,
because i am tired of feeling like a foreigner in my own skin

Eternal doom is beauty enticing
The fairytale in a nightmare
There is no heaven or hell
There is a god and the devil
Neither one is in midst of prevailing
A fight tamed for human beings
Love is a defined checklist
Happiness is an experience
Trust ends the moment you say yes
Death is a panic emotion cold
Butterflies destroyed
Turned into soil
Growing the apple tree you eat
Turn down the noise
It's only morbid souls weeping

He had every item
on the checklist
but yet there was
no spark.
When I met you,
you left every box blank,
but burned that notepad
to simple ashes.

You’d like if I was a rock,
You want me to act all hard
Not capable of shock,
Stable, strong, and without scars

I’m not that heavy
I’m not even tethered
To the ground beneath my feet
Instead I fly like a feather

Fly like a feather,
Up in the sky
Falling victim to the weather
Yeah all day and night, I fly like a feather
Fly like a feather

We all get caught up
In various places
Wearing various faces
Inside various races
Racing to the day
When we finally come face to face
With what we want until we have it
And we wear it as a bracelet
But once you get the bracelet,
Soon you’ll want the necklace
And soon you’ll have a checklist
And soon you’ll go out reckless
And drop all that you have
Until you get the cracked message
That your enemies are headless
Fallen victim to your leverage.
Can I get a beverage?
I’m way too thirsty
I’m a feather in a whirlwind
And all of this wind is whirling
I don’t know what I want
And I want what I can’t control
And I’m admitting it, for once,
That I have many shallow goals
And all of my real goals
Don’t really reach to my soul
I have this beautiful life I stole
Smiling faces, honor role,
But when I’m faced with a storm
Of someone whose wonder I can’t code
Then my mind short circuits
And it’s stuck on flying and rolling

Like a feather
Up in the sky
Falling victim to the weather
Yeah all day and all night, I fly like a feather
Like a feather

What everybody wants from me,
Would that make my life so much better?
Should I try to soak up some water
To make myself a bit wetter
So I can shiver and die
In this cold harsh reality
Instead of daring to keep flying
To keep everyone else without me?
I’m doubting my reasons
My instinctive seasons
That command, keep marching
That command keep bleeding
Out your heart, mind, and soul
Even though it’s so shallow
But sometimes shallow runs deep
When your mind stuck in the shadow
Of your dreams, dreams manipulated by hormones
I’m stuck in fantasies of wanting to not be alone
But there’s attraction involved
And my problem is not solved
Should I go for what I want
Or leave this issue unresolved?
Well, I tried pursuing girls, twice I succeeded
But to sum it up mildly,
My progress was deleted
And my good intentions,
Well, those were defeated
And I got what I deserved
Because I’m chuck full of weakness.
Dreamless, I moved back to isolation
Where I was told how to act
And told to just be patient
But I’m not a monk
And I’m not yet muted
So when I meet a cute girl
My final thesis is proven,

I just fly like a feather
Up in the sky
Falling victim to the weather
Yeah, all day and all night I fly like a feather
I fly like a light feather

What’s better,
Acting normal until you and me are together
Or expressing myself explicitly and making you not get hurt
By showing you how I’m thirsty
Sending texts and writing letters?
Let me know what you prefer
Don’t make this choice subjective.
I’m in your storm, I’m moved by your beauty
It’s the rain and the wind,
The appearance and intelligence
I want this and I turn you away
I can’t escape, I love every day
In my mind there’s nothing,
But there’s so much to say
I don’t think when you fly me,
You just whisk me away
And I’m never worried here
In this storm, this blessing,
Why are my words smart?
Why are my words jesting?
Is this manipulation,
Am I treating you right?
Can I ask more questions
Is this the day before the night?
Is this the light to the dark,
The storm before the calmness
Of the upcoming loneliness
I’ll feel when you don’t return my call?
When your storm stops and never comes again at all?
Well, like, I said, I might want to be a stone,
So once your storm’s done, fine,
I’ll be a feather alone
Until again I’m a feather blown
So light, so free,
So without any control
This is all I’ll ever be!

I fly like a feather
Up in the sky
Falling victim to the weather
All day and all night I fly like a feather
Fly like a feather

I wish we could be together
Up in the sky
Having love, making weather
All day and all night, whether wrong or whether right,
I fly like a feather

I've got a head full of
laughter and an aching heart
and moonlit walks and waffle
talks

-Indie Folk

-Iced Tea

-Laptop

-A slight breeze

-An empty room

-A memory

Long sleeves, long enough to cover all the way to my thumbs? Check.
Pants, not to tight but covers all of the scars? Check.
Smile, perfectly in place to keep the outside world out? Check.
Friends, laughing, FAKING the happiness? Check.
Teachers asking, hide your head, and try not to be noticed? Check.
Avoiding close contact with anyone you know? Check.

She replays those questions in her head, it's the same every day.
She is quiet at home, no one to talk to and nothing to say.
She goes to school and for a moment, her mind clears.
The pain is gone, but her eyes always threatened with tears.
He is there, edging them closer but they refuse to fall.
When they get close, she jumps up and "answers a call."

She has never cut in school, but the kiss of the blade is daunting.
He is calling to her, and she knows he's taunting.
"Come to me, come closer," he whispers with promise to take the pain.
That's what he promised to take away, but that's not same.
When she got close enough, she couldn't complete the task.
He sings to her through alcohol, he is in the bottom of her flask.

She writes a letter, a goodbye..
All the while she tries not to cry.
The tears streaming from her eyes, mix with the blood flowing free.
She writes to a phantom, as she thinks, no one will miss me...
So goodbye cruel world she whispers as she closes her eyes.
She falls into the black as it begins to rain, the world can't hide it's cries.

This is a story about someone who we all know.
You don't think you do, but i promise she is there, wherever you go.
She smiles and waves..
She may be the happiest one you know, but she caves..
The blade will kiss her skin and she will drown in her black.
She knows you don't care, cause you don't think to ever look back.

He is there too, don't forget that..he hides his pain with a smile..
But he too will end up like her, just another name in a file..
Here's a little secret, guys cut too.
You may think they are so much better at this than you..
But i promise they beg for us to look and see.
Just like she, he, and me..

im imperfect
and that’s not okay
some say im important
but i feel nothing
i lack compatibility
im a ***** when i want to be
the amount of friends
that i left behind
would maybe surprise you
and a few months ago
the amount of friends
that were right by my side
would make you smile
life was easier
when i didn’t care as much
waking up to notifications
became the first thing
that i would actually digest
it became an important task
something i couldn’t live without
my emotional safety vest
i felt like i mattered
i felt an ounce of human
when i felt needed
but now emptiness inside me
leaves me feeling dead
but it’s a good feeling
to once finally wake up and digest
cereal for breakfast
it’s a bit comforting
knowing that you care
for yourself
the way you used to care for others
it’s comforting to mean something
to yourself
to love yourself
to cherish silly moments spent alone
to spend a weekend in bed
i have been hurt
and by now you’d think
that i would have already bled out
from being stabbed in my heart
by the people that tore my life apart
i was used for what things i possessed
and seen as joyful
but deep down i was depressed
it’s hard to feel like a human being
when you’ve been treated like an object
i put people first and they put me last
and for a while
i was content with that logic
of coming in last
and not standing up for myself
when i started standing up for something
standing up for myself
my opinions
and my true friends
they ran away with my two cents
and laughed at me like the villain
everyone played the victim role well
and everyone for while
were all so sure of themselves
that they didn’t give a ****
about how i felt
missing out on parties and laughs
for not being wanted by somebody
******* and your compatibility checklist
im a human being with mutual friends
i can’t be the favorite of everyone
and i understand that
but don’t tell me “not my house, not my party”
and fake your emotions to convey you’re sad
you’re a manipulator at its finest
and most of my ex friends
convinced so many that they were all sorry
and always were trying
but to me that’s the fakest **** i have ever heard
so why would i want to party with them all
feel bitter and hurt my liver
day drink like your life is meaningless
and have others pity you
for what?
because you’re all alcoholics
covering up your habits
by playing it off as a celebration?
and with that said,
i will never understand
how they hated me for so long
for speaking my mind
after being on mute
after they all said i was wrong
and if you talk **** about me
behind my back
than to you, i obviously meant nothing
im just a car ride
a place to stay
an ATM
not a human being
that means anything
im simply just empty
im the person
you make videos on
to talk **** and spill tea
but check yourself
and fix you’re life
wake up to reality
im not your next breakthrough video idea
and i would try to play the victim
but you’re already so good at that
i can’t be the one you love
because you emotionally ****** me up
and because i can’t force feelings
that i don’t have
but even in another universe
if i did have feelings for you
i would still see you for who you truly are
i would see you for the hurting and broken person
that hurts people through social media
i would hurt you back if i could
the same way you hurt me
the same way you claim your ex hurt you
it brings me so much happiness knowing that i don’t have the same feelings you do
it makes me sane not having you around
it breaks my heart how some left
there are some that i still wish the best
i couldn’t save all my relationships
just like i couldn’t save myself
i was hoping
and waiting
that i could escape my minds holding cell
i was praying to God
that one day a miracle would come
where i could keep things between the group and i at ease
and still save myself
i prayed and played memories in my head
like a constant running tape
a constant running strain
a knife sliced twice in my veins
to simply feel the flow
of emotions all go
to simply have you to stay
to simply have you all
in a glass container all to myself
but still hoping you’d all feel how i felt
i wore my emotions on my sleeve
held them together the best that i could
tightened my feelings up
like the metaphorical belt i was
hoped you’d all come back at one point
but realized you all never would
analyzed my future and better days
and found my mind stuck in haze
and since that day that it had to rain
my feelings towards you haven’t been the same
i was the punchline to all your jokes
but the person you ran to when feeling low
your daily dose of realism
and daily dose of inside jokes we told
being the medicine to cure your depression
taught me to never give out kindness for granted
i graduated high school
but i found this to be the hardest lesson
it’s hard to burn the mental images you have saved in your mind
to start a new path without your best friend in your life
but its even harder
when they do things to bother
your mental health and the ways you felt
i couldn’t breathe with you around me
it’s not good
to feel like a fish out of water
and some say im the manipulator
the bad guy, the bully, the hater
some would say i don’t have compassion
and that my only passion
is making people hate me
and lately i have let that mentality
get the best of me
and remove all of my sincerity
when they all wanted me to be a better friend
i just wanted a friend
a friend in general
as basic as that sounds
i simply wanted another human
to feel joyful with when they’re around
i wanted conversation and late night drives
i wanted discussion where we would talk about nothing
and after hitting midnight
the day still felt right
a day where we did nothing
but felt like we did everything
never did i once ask
to have a “**** everything” mentality
just like a potter
the reason i don’t bother
is because i was molded this way
conditioned by the world
to be there for all
but with the group
it became my obstacle to get over
my last and final wall
to jump and to hurdle
to flow tears that drown out noise
but to only hurt a little
i felt helpless
swimming in foreign waters
of despair and feelings of belonging nowhere
of panic attacks
and shaving my hair
of late night talks
with only myself
trying to reprogram my mind
to be someone else
felt like the only one going insane
like they stayed in line
and i was switching lanes
how could i ever love myself
when the people in my life
made me hate how i felt
how could i be anything
other than what they conditioned me to be
trying to be nice
while fighting hostility
isn’t an easy task to many
i became the puppet to all of them
but now im known as the puppet master
you all switch up and change
when you know in your brains
that im what you’re all chasing after
an easy target to shoot down
an easy friend to keep around
a person to talk down upon
when i have done nothing
but love and care and be there
for you all
i loved you all more
than i used to love myself
i loved you all so much
that i gave out all my help
and in return i didn’t ask for a lot
just simple love and small talk
but it withered up and died
much like all your hearts
to me, the devastation, persuasion, and destruction were all the hardest parts
you all blame me
but you’re all sick in the head
cause what you put me through
would maybe make someone
end their life from all your hatred
from all the texts you left me saying,
“you disgusting *******”
“you stupid little *****”
“you ******* *******”
“you little ******* *****”
maybe if i killed myself
you all would escape me forever
or maybe you’d all show up
to my funeral with hand written letters
and speak of my accomplishments
and all the good memories
and how you’ve all been friends with me
since the start of the century
you’d say some *******
that would make me want to come back
to speak my opinion
and say what you all lack
and speak on how you all are ****
and are drunks that drown their souls in spirits
until you become worthless
and how i gave second chances
even when some didn’t deserve them
and we’d maybe banter
until i lie and say you’re all deserving
even if, dead or alive, i was still hurting
you don’t care about my pain
unless it’s a physical mark on my body
so instead of wondering why it has to rain
you should’ve made me feel something
cause you failed at being my friend
you all did in a sense
you took my innocence
and tortured me with it
i will never be able to get back many wasted months
but i won’t hinder on it any longer
i will be the person you all fear one day
i will become someone stronger
im imperfect
and that’s okay
im important
i feel like something

It's a moment before you start
The pause after you've finished
The continuation after the pause
It's reviewing yourself in the goal you have in mind
Making it toward the line that means you made it
Make it everyday
Start it
Pause
Continue the next item
Review
Disobedience to the list ensures no outcomes
Obedience is an A for Effort and a satisfying day done efficiently
Follow it to the letter
This is the founding of civilisations
Rituals, Manners, Habits
Let yourself follow
In order to follow through

That Old Drug Checklist? Completed. No Shame. So get over it.

(It's rather colloquial, however, revealings as well. This is what I said to a boy from driver's ed who wanted to be my boyfriend... So I tried to scare him off. Hahaha. **Rationale a la 15-year-old):

Maple: It's not exactly something I talk about, ever, because it just demonstrates my insanity. But, I want to try everything. Every substance, every drug.

Justin: Um, why?

Maple: Why not?

Justin: Well, cause it’s bad.

Maple: If you believe in good or bad, right or wrong. I don't know what I believe except that we're all robots of each other and nothing matters anyways.

Justin: Hmm, that’s a different way of thinking about it. I think that curiosity isn't bad, just be careful. . .

Maple: I don't know if I am, but, meh. Is there really any good reason to do anything?

Justin: Umm, no, not really. It’s what you feel, not what others feel. Well. . . just be careful.

Maple: Safety is a conspiracy.

Justin: Why do you say that?

Maple: Think about it. You can insure everything you own, walk on the right side of the road and follow strong Christian morals that give the illusion of safety, as if you’ll go to heaven if you’re good and hell if you’re bad. But, with one fire, one plane crash. . . well it's all gone. The entirety of you. And who even knows if there is that insured heaven anyways?

Justin: Hmm, you know I think that the way you think is very interesting and mostly true, I mean, nothing is ever completely safe. You can't always be careful, but I also think that you should use this and try to live life to its fullest.

Maple: Thank you. But what is living life to it's fullest? Everyone always says that, but what does it mean?

Justin: Well, like you, I know that what you’re doing is unhealthy, but your not afraid to try different things. You experience more then anyone else, cause most people play it safe in their comfort zone.

Maple: Exactly! Always judging but never trying. Society has made these things into taboos, but are they really? I know that getting addicted is a terrible idea, but everything in moderation. Why always sit on the sidelines making assumptions behind whispered hands and backs? Why not jump into the game?

Justin: Yep, that’s right. You can't sit there say that’s bad or you should do this if you haven't done it yourself. Because if you haven't, you don't know what it’s like and you’re being hypocritical.

. . .

Maple: Um. . . Says the boy who just told me not to do drugs “cause it’s bad.”

How nice would it be if
Empathy
Was as easy as cross check done move on?
As simple as sewing several stitches
Slapping on a “come back in a few weeks”
Put some ice on it and pop a few pills?

Empathy means realizing no trauma has discrete edges.
Trauma bleeds.
Out of wounds and across boundaries.
Sadness becomes a seizure.

When someone carves their soul open
Letting its contents spill out
The blood and guts in all their glory
How can the bandaid of that must really be hard
Stop the stream of sorrow?
How do we expect to be a tourist in the suffering of others
While reducing them to a bundle of symptoms?

Empathy is not a meteor shower of synapses
Firing across the brain
It is a choice we make to extend ourselves.

If you want to show empathy
Get your bags packed and your passport ready
You enter another person’s pain
As you’d enter another country.
You crawl into that box
Even if it’s a tight fit
And you sit.
And you listen.
And you let yourself be pierced by pain and bittersweetness
And you look for the horizon beyond the visible.
You don’t steal an experience, but you share the slice of story.
You learn that even if you mark checklist item thirty-one
It will never be over, never really cross check done.

cracked out
humble with heaps of pride
braggadocio Pinocchio
I haven’t slept in days
so watch the hours turn into haze
blown out of barely open windows
hide me from the world
I’m making a pristine machine - unbreakable
foreseeable as a weapon of poor taste
chasing wasted with chasers
are you shaking?
only with excitement
rage
hunger
My dad says get a job, get an education
so I chose a dead vocation with no hopes of vacations
and everybody is talking about the future as if it exists
it only exists in clenched fists and endless lists
of all the wrong turns you made on the journey
from then to now
I’m eating sacred cow meat - medium rare please
coming up with ways to scare these dumb ******* kids away from apathy
to put the shield over their hearts and the rifle in their hands
but wah wah nobody understands blah blah blah
shut the **** up for once
act like you actually have a pair of *****
even if you don’t
back in the day when we used to rob neighborhood garages of beer
and played with pills like candy
nobody threw tantrums about how unfair it all is
so you think the world owes you something?
the only thing it owes you is one death
so why are you wasting all of our time with your I could have saved the world
cry baby *******
I’m looking for slutty girls
pearl necklace on her checklist
so I can slam her on page verse
me versus the world, right?
left out by all the cool kids
drinking boohoo flavored kool-aid
so I made myself a parody of pretension
cunning, coming, *******
you are the joke so I guess that makes me a punchline
I’m running sprints from the baseline until I’m throwing up the right choices
so continue with all of that angsty impotent sadness
so long as you stay out of my part of town