I once saw a ruffian young
A would be brute
At home, no doubt,
In the grubby grecian clubs
So unworthy of their legacy.

The tilt of chin, and cocksure slant of eye
Told of a life most lived
In unimpressed contempt.
But then he met his girl, and,

The crafted affect cracked like plaster;
No more the aping swagger
Nor the bumptious over pluck

Instead an unhid grin.
And an unhid soul.
And the rapid intuition
Peculiar to lovers.
Life is short, we all know
Whether we like it or not
Maybe good, bad or holy
One day we all have to go

The children may query
Look upon a starry night
Of the trillions there's us
So why fret & why worry

For what else can you do
But to take it on the chin
The straights, hooks, jabs
  Life throws swing at you
English Jam Feb 23
They don't call me Cockroach for no good reason
A pompous thief at the peak of the season
I'll take my little slice
So lovely and precise
Remember my name, it's full of Cockroaches

His heart's ice...

They say his mouth spews a sewage-covered juice
Running down his chin
While he grins -
So fashionably
His eyes diamond-encrusted, fingers nimbly let loose
And poke
At anything glittery

He likes pretty pink cakes
Pillages and takes
Would you like a quick taste?

They call me high maintenance, upper end
Well, I'm the kind of man who invents his own trends
They give me deranged glares
As if I could care
To play my game, you must be ferocious

Do you dare?
Gaaaah cockroaches on my bed!!!!!
A handful of blood
And a goodbye kiss,
Midday, September
And a warm though last summer breeze.

She puts hands on his cheeks,
Wind caresses their hair.
He has a bloody chin,
Farewell-full lips and her last glare.
The Silver-Washed Fritillary
fluttered past us,
you named it, not I,

as it moved over the tall grass
on the Downs.
You smiled,

and I watched your smile,
the butterfly had gone
from sight, off

on its natural flight.
You said you had not
seen one for ages,

I took note of your
dark hair as you turned
your head away,

the profile of beauty
to my eye,
the slight indentation

of your bra through blouse,
causing me to softy sigh.
You turned around

and rested your chin
on your knees,
gazing at me,

your dark eyes,
liquid brown.
You related other butterflies

that you'd seen;
the shades of patterns
and colours;

the places seen,
and I sat listening
to your voice:

the high and low
of tone, the shape
of words, and above all

the lips that spoke
the words,
the softest breath,

then that smile again,
warming my heart,
but also missing you,

after we part,
and the stab of pain.
Countryside love 1961
Listen to the beat of my
                          soul's drum as I am on
                             my knees, held down by
                         the fears and anxieties
                             that run ever so rampant
         With wings clipped, my eyes
                                take in the bleak horizon.  
                                  My heart is a heavyweight.
                             My spirit is in shards, so
            what remains?

        I feel the wind's fingers lift
                                caress my skin and my
                                        chin, and with a single kiss,
                                       hope now begins to sprout
                                        from my chest to my palms

               The fire burns though I'm bruised,
                              I can stand on my two
                                 cut feet. I am scared, but
                                 if I let it conquer me, my
                                      wings will rot and crumble

            I won't be able to touch, hold
                              and reach the true 'me'
                                        The highest and greatest me
                               who sits there, looking
                           waiting by God's side

            Help me to be that phoenix,
                                        the one who falls into the
                                                       ashes of the demons that haunt me
                                                    and rises again new, proud, free,
                                                      a blazing storm of acceptance and

I may cry,
I will die,
but with Your breath,
I will rise
I will rise
I will rise

I am a testament to a Conqueror's belief
Really struggling with my insecurities. I remember growing up, I wanted to be a dragon but then it changed to the Phoenix. Who dies and comes back new and stronger. Today's been a...emotional wreck for me.
Having both an emotional breakdown and feeling so lost on my identity and self-hatred.
But I know as long as I'm here, I will rise about it.
I will rise above it.
I will rise above it.
I have to...
i. there’s a girl. narrow-boned, wild hair like a lion’s mane, sprawled underneath the shade of a looming fig tree. her teeth are all that’s sharp about her. soft curves, soft lips, a soft paradox in the Garden. in this lost land, there she is, subtle and tinged with the same stardust you once believed could save us all.

angelic, you’d call her, if she looked more grotesque. more like the cherubim of ol’, dressed in flames, impaled on swords, screeching the name “hosanna, hosanna” without mouths. but there are no wings, no heavenly trumpets, just the afterimage of divinity– something laced with hope, but already rotting. she spits out seven seeds and you don’t know if this is a land of God or gods anymore.

ii. she smiles and it feels like death.

you are unable to solve the riddle sprung from the lion’s ribcage– but the roof of your mouth tastes like honey and blood and you don’t mind. there’s no linearity, no familiar whine of a donkey, nor the sound of sand against gravel or sandaled feet marred by sunburns and blisters.

there is simply you and her and an eternity of possibilities that whisper in a forked tongue, “adam, oh adam,” and your heart drops. is this the end? but it tastes so sweet and you are alright to die like this, cradled between what was once in your womb and a creature of scales.

you do not expect the guilt that drips down your chin with each rivulet of juice.

iii. they call it love.
you call it divine absolution.
she calls it the beginning of humanity.
idk sometimes i think about eve like a lot
I’m in a bit of a situation
There seem to be weeds blooming all across my face
The weeds are red
They are blooming all aross my cheeks
All across my forehead and chin
and even some buds on my nose
I don’t like the weeds
And neither does anyone else
I’ve tried everything to get them go away
but nothing works, and they’ll always stay
these weeds make me sad
oh so sad
and now my tears just water these weeds
I refuse to show the world these hideous red weeds
i have been taught to hate the unwanted
and to strive for perfection
but perfection is something i’ve never known
so for the moment i cannot make these red weeds disappear
and from now on i’ll stop quenching their thurst with my tears
for now all i can do is love them
love these red weeds that cover my face
and hope that one day i’ll find someone who can love them too.
just a poem about acne, because i’m struggling with it and when i feel sad, i write about it.

— The End —