i remember it like it was yesterday, which i have to say is strange, because i have trouble remembering everything else. i remember you were sitting in front of me and i was terrified, palms sweating, eyes watering. i was truly scared if you, or rather of myself. a little part of me hated you too. you looked so, self-righteous sitting in your rolling chair, with you perfect posture and your clicky pen. when you started to ask me question i ignored you. id been shacked up in my head for so long i forgot how to talk to people. anyways, my head was comfortable, familiar. i had a bed full of memories and a closet full of monsters. i had drawers full of hopes (i never opened them of course), but they were there, it was nice to know they were there.

my favourite possession in my mind however, was a little glass jar on my nightstand. it looks empty at first glance, but the harder you look the more you see. there are colours, like rays of light, they swirl around and hit each other, a vibrant crimson color. theres a green in there to, if you saw it you'd swear mother nature put it there herself. theres also a blue, its the largest of all the swirls. it looks royal and dark, beautiful.

theres also a yellow. but its different, not in its beauty or vibrance, but in its location . it isn't in the jar. the yellow swirls around the edge of the glass. occasionally bumping into it  almost as if it wants in, but theres no way for it.

i remember holding back, never telling you that because i thought you'd think i was crazy. so i didn't say a thing. but man do i remember that jar. that room. i remember the colours, their saturation, how they moved. i remember the monsters beating on the closet door looking for a way out. i remember the bed of sweet memories. but im sorry, i don't remember more important thing, like how to feel. i truly am.

I'm not a click chick,
I walk with a stick,
Sometimes I smell of baby sick,
So I can't be a click chick,
I walk with a limp,
Feel like a gimp,
Sometimes I look like a shrimp,
So I cant be a click chick,
I have a bed head,
Look half dead,sometimes I look underfed,
So I can't be a click chick,
Coz they're the perfect ones,
In their designer gowns,
At the school gates,
Nibbling after eight's,
At three fifteen,
They're the clicky mums,
Toned up bums,
Makes ups done,
For the school run,
Perfect hair,
It's just not fare,
I don't have the time to spare,
I'm not a click chick,
They think I'm thick,
They don't smell of baby sick,
They think they're cool,
At the school,
But I'm no fool,
I'm a good mum,
Wobbly ***, make up,
Not done,
But I'm a happy one,
My kids have fun,
Run in the sun,
End up ***** when the day is done,
We are all mums,
Not to be outdone,
At the school run,
So quit your stare,
At my messy hair,
My wrinkled jeans,
It's ok they're clean,
You think your better,
I beg to differ, you just look fitter,
So I don't wanna be a click chick,
I think I'll stick with the baby sick,
I'm a happy gimp with a limp,
I don't mind looking like a shrimp,
At the school gate,
Coz I'm never late,
So you can take your clicky group,
And stick it up your hula hoop.

You folks wonder why no one wants to walk through your wooden doors.
You act like we’re all supposed to swear the same clothes, sing the same songs.
What if our doctrine didn’t line up?
Would you judge me for not agreeing?

Recently I’ve become increasingly sensitive and hyper aware of my surroundings.
Your church reminded me of middle school,
And I couldn’t stand middle school. Everyone was clicky and exclusive.
Since when is church about who’s wearing the best outfit?
When did we Christians become so shallow?
It’s amazing how people can judge you when you’re not like them,
Carving out an image of perfection that never existed in the first place,
Because when it gets down to it we’re all broken.
You are not entitled to people coming to your church when the feelings are not welcoming.
Except one, she gave me a free ticket to the Beautiful Eulogy show.
Sadly to say, she was the only light at your church while everyone was dead,
or just full of themselves.

*There are good reasons why churches across America are dying off.
Christians can behave worse than non-Christians, at times even more cruel and uncharitable.

Rough? Tough. No ghucking way,
easy does it, yet today,
letters forming sounds
ssssseems less clicky, fewer
hard g and crisp t endings
subltle inertial force,
psuedo sublimnity
sorted in fact, categorized

relatively as among those named
things that seem so simple,

once the inner being lets go.
In fluid dynamical solid state real

time, lazing in the sun, rolling on in ever after now.

I’ve got five minutes
Then I must leave my verdant patch
On the skirt of a wind-rustled lake
hidden behind Logan's Roadhouse

Five minutes
to mentally finger with the fetal position
In which I awoke this morning,
there as the sun drew long shadows,

I, a diminutive daub of nautilus,
On a California King,
rippled plane of sand,
Sporadic shivers, beneath a chenille blanket

I, the town crier of dawn as
My own dreams ran screaming through the silence
Pointing a finger at
my sanctuary… “Here is your pearl thief!”

Men in hats, briefcases, heel-toe black clicky and shiny shoes
on leashes lugged,
Yanked by noisy hounds passing by
stop, sniff, snarl-toothed *******…

then one caught my scent,
“Five minutes more sleep,” I implored
"Find another dreaming fleshy mess of bones!"
And leave me to my pearl.

But it’s a universe that simply will not wait
And suffer fools for sleepers,
not a moment more
Yet for my many sleepless minutes after,

Dusk till dawn, and still beyond,
it’s always,
                  five
         minutes
more

Sheet music for the uninitiated.....

Tis like a foreign language inked out
Aligning the page from left to right
Spelling a noted curiosity. For those in the know
‘Get’ the inside story, know the melody it plays
Yet it shuts out and discriminates the uninitiated
It closes in and becomes a circle, a clicky cliché
A secret sect for them and not the rest
The page can be left open for the uninitiated
And its secret remains safely intact
Even as eyes are cast over its score
There’s a silence, a secret coded verse
Playing and taunting you, unashamed
To reveal its melodic soul, fully knowing your
Not invited even if you want to be

Until tis ready to.........

Clicky teethed and Eighty-Nine,
She hears the distant high - pitched whine
Of ratty kids in four-strong choirs
Who sing of Kings as she expires.

Wasn't wealthy,  wasn't witty
Not too smart and not too pretty
But loved a man she wed at twenty
And he loved her,  and that was plenty

Kiss me with deflating lips
Beach body beached on my mind
Fated errors in our minds rejoice
At distance confirmed and hammered in

To lift a veil and see the wolf
Corrugated eyes blend with the sea
Of unthought masses watching TV
Of the dark road, the foreign path

It's hopeless when your sleep
Loses its pull, its fire to be
What happens when legends draw their maps
And don't mark the road you knew they'd make?

I know I'm too young to feel this desperate
Never found the days that would keep the nights warm
Never saw the glint to the Tigers bite
Never saw the moon above the wave

Too old is an expression lost on eyes
Glassy for timebomb putty
Artists weary become manufacturers
When ignored, when declined

Beach body, that's what I had, a belief in clicky thoughts
Understanding caved in to knowing
And knowing fell to fact,

I've built my way, carved in gritty stone
That as sand my footstep knows
I'll crawl forward, step by slip
And follow the path up till the ahead.

Little indispositions
Lead to impositions
First a clicky hip
Causing you to slip
Next a wonky knee
A disability
Headache coming on
All your tablets gone
Just a small suggestion
Of minor indigestion
Becoming imminent
Grab the peppermint
Can’t see to read
This is all you need
Taking all the facts
Most likely cataracts
Sick of indispositions
Calling your physician
Except when you do
You’ll be in the queue
Indispositions taking toll
Sickened, feeling old
Can’t stand the heat
Can’t stand the cold
If this sounds like hell
Now you’re feeling well
Throwing away the pills
Forgetting all your ills
You are oh so strong
Your pains nearly gone
No indispositons
No impositions
All tucked away

.........

Happy happy day!

Vexations
Tell the boss how you really ******* feel
His job totally ****** ***** and he does as a boss
Blame him for you having no sales!
As he’s in charge and talks to the client
Who sends over new leads you call
Give me some good leads and you’ll get sales
Simple as that give me old **** leads
What do you expect me to get nothing?
Why I feel frustrated and *******!
Unlike the clicky bosses who click along
And most of the other reps with a sale each
Give me a sale and I’ll feel a bit better
If the right offer comes up see you later