The roller coasters never used to the scare me
it was always the lines which I feared
waiting and waiting and waiting
allowing my mind the space to run wild
with images of crushed, collapsed, metal
the loops and the speed never scared me
the rickety clank of the old tracks
or the hydraulic rumblings of the new
these things never scared me
it was my own mind which scared me
the certainty with which I knew
that I was never going to wait in another line
ever again
that after this,
all would be like before I was born
the hazy dark silence
of an unconscious mind
But the roller coasters?
I always used to enjoy the roller coasters

The kid has it all since that’s how it works.
Blindfolds cover the view of life and
Smiles seem to be everlasting.
Then the apartment needed a new couch.

Looking out windows and porches to
Watch the sunrise changes your view
Of how to buy your coasters, but couches
Take time to know. That’s the one.

My couch is white and green
With two stains from when
Nillie tried to eat pudding.

Must love rollercoasters. I mean not exactly roller coaster per se; although actual roller coasters would be a bonus. I am a marginal enthusiast.  I mean you should have that kind of attitude and vigor for life and new adventures. Rollercoaster lovers are committed to experiences over things.

Must love books, movies, museums, the outdoors, and live theatre. I want to sit in a room and read with you, and too you. I want to glance up and catch your face the moment it just enlivens, inspired by the joy of brilliant writing. I want to nestle close alongside you and share the electric energy that passes between the stage players and their audience both as they present and as we process afterward. I want to watch a movie, and discuss ourselves to exhaustion and collapse into each other. I want to experience art and history together and watch the aliveness the great humanities use to enlighten our mindfulness to the magic of living experience.  I want to cuddle up alongside you by a fire, my arms wrapped around you,  our bodies sore from hiking the splendor of a forest trail.

Must have beautiful eyes; but then beautiful souls always have beautiful eyes, because it is the eyes that reflect  most honestly the inner essence of the soul.  Must be passionate about politics, religion, pop-culture,  justice and the planet. That passion always shimmers when you peer deeply into beautiful eyes.  You are the kind of woman who knows we have only one life to live in our time on earth and you plan to maximize it with mirth and  

In return, I will spoil you with with words and pour affection on your body. I will look deeply inside those eyes every opportunity I have to gaze. I will cover you in kisses so every inch of you knows how you excite every inch of me. I will kindle that shared passion for the extravagance of human experience. I will cultivate the planting  of our sapling romance till it blossoms into the love I want to give and share.

If you are that kind of woman, reach out to me. I am the kind of guy who's looking to fall in love with someone like you.

Once, I read about a theme park
The roller coasters reached the bottoms of the clouds and
the speeds broke the sound barrier
Children went there daily
They laughed and they screamed and they smiled from dawn until dusk
They won prizes
and they were very much alive

I went to look up that theme park last month
The rides had all shut down
And they were completely still
Nobody had touched it in years
The streets of this city that were once full of life
Were dull and motionless
The windows were broken
The prizes were gone
The bright lights of all colors
were now empty shattered bulbs

The only emotion was empty
All of the happiness and joy
And the laughter and life
Was completely gone
I think of this often
How one place can hold such life one day
and the next be as good as dead?

I saw myself in this corpse
My body, decaying
The joy I would feel and the dancing and laughter has
now all turned to a blank slate of gray
My mind had shut it all away and I am nothing
I once held better days
But now I am a broken roller coaster
Abandoned and corroded
Because I once got so high
And I once moved so fast

But now I am frozen in my place, hidden away

Forgotten like an erased word off a paper

Once, I read about a theme park

And all I learned was I am empty too

There’s a strange cold, appraisal with a straight and steady stare
Which leads a man to wonder, exactly what is happening there,
Leads a man to ponder if it’s even now worthwhile
To persevere with contact with the rudeness and the guile?
It all leaves me apprehensive whilst examining askance
This peculiar reaction to my pleasant, frank advance?

What’s the ****** story here, right up and down the Coast,
Where initial stiff behaviour paints appallingly, the host?
Perhaps there’s cold distain for all the people of the North
Or inadequacy’s pink finger wagging guilty, back and forth?
Perhaps the ****** weather with its constant moody pall
Has afflicted them with gloominess, which could explain it all?

Geographic separation…that’s the answer, I suspect
With the hand of subjugation interfering, if correct?
And the constant ****** hardship and disaster at the mines
With suspicion they’ve been cast adrift to weather their hard times?
And the lack of any sympathy to coalesce at best
In a resultant indifference, now directed at the rest.

But…..
There’s a funny turn of fortune here for after a short while
Indifference turns quite pleasantly towards a welcome smile,
Communication warms to a chortelled stream of fun
And the beaming face indicates an acceptance has begun.
Just as soon as you acquiesce to a personable degree
And identify yourself as being one with them, you see….
The Coasters will embrace you with uncommon earthy grace,
And it’s Identified so easily, by the grin upon your face.

M.
Karamea
Wild West Coast of the South Island of New Zealand.
11 May 2016

I love roller coasters.
I love the old rickety ones that jar my spine and push me into my little sister and i can feel our ribcages collide with the
click-click-click as they slowly build suspense and propel me towards the sun.

my last boyfriend hated them. He felt that his stomach couldn’t stand up to the drop of gravity so he ran at the sight of the climb up to reason and fled the line when i unbuckled my seatbelt.

i love waiting in line for a **** good thrill, and i count down the minutes until the spill of my scream echoes into the hairspray of the woman in front of me as she holds the hand of her cut-offs husband.

i guess you aren’t one to pine for the wooden tracks of thrill, either. but last night i lay in bed, on my side, trying to memorize the planes of your face, trying to calculate the angle of your nose as it leans slightly to your right, you tell me it’s crooked, i tell you it is lovely. it is the finest architecture this side of eiffel tower and you run your hands from the top of my collarbone, down the valley of my waist to the top of my hip, and you tell me you wish you had a tiny car to run along the line.

most of all i love the fall.

but when i said
‘living on the edge,’
this was never
what i meant.

what i meant was real party all night
without parents’ permission;
not a pity party at night
with my self-destructing notions.

what i meant was real rollercoasters,
or go on life adventures;
not roller coasters
of all my life’s emotions.

what i meant was swim in the ocean,
or face my darkest fear.
not an ocean of my
darkest fears face me.

but i when i said
put ‘happy’ and ‘die’ together,
i meant to actually ‘die happy’
not to be ‘happy dying.’

This is the game, set and matching end-piece to what is known as:

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/385266/poetry-round-find-your-self-within/

by way of an introduction....

T'is season to move forward,
back to old acquaintances renewed,
sand, water and salty sun,
three lifelong friends who,
Auld Lang Syne,
never ever forget me

I get drunk on their eternity,
their celestial beauty,
and they, upon my tarnished earthly being,
muse and are bemused

unreservedly and never judgingly,
share shards of inspiration unstintingly,
we share, never measuring
this captain's humanity, his human efficacy,
by mystical formulae of reads or hearts

grains of sand, water wave droplets and sun rays,
and his beloved words, derived there from,
all only know one measure...
immeasurable
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/699991/adieu-my-crew-my-crew/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Pilgrimage (Reunion)


at last to begin,
to begin the 'at last,'
this reunion occurs
this first day of June
where on my
body's flesh colored calendar,
X red-marked,
deeper than any real cut of despair


this morn, leave for familiar parts,
embarking 100 steps to that
Adirondack chair,
my name, my self,
(oh god at long last)
so often, long lovingly
revealed unto you


the garden's sundial welcomes me,
Prince, Guardian, of the gate to the green,
the green steppe way to bay and beach,
a brief song of "ring around the irises,"
blooming around him,
he issues,
to celebrate his own glory recalled,
his own purpled prosed long ago one ecrivez'd,
by having the third mate
ring the greened worn,
bronzed ship bell
upon conclusion of
his raising of the gate


shorts and T white hair shirt,
costume de rigueur
of this Peconic pilgrimage,
turban and baseball uncapped,
stepping humbly
toward that worn wood throne
where carved are
the initials of
my poetic friends,
and his vast modest,
Concordia of poetic essays


Those odd disordered
collection of aleph bets
that have been prepared for this hour,
are sun dappled,
breeze caressed,
wave watched,
a fresh redressing after a
dum hiems,
a long dark winter


all rise up welcoming with voices
tremulous yet oratory,
sing with a love so spectacular ,
Handel's Messiah Hallelujah Chorus,
au naturel


the armies of ants declare this a
Truce Day,
parading before me in formation,
the rabbits race
in elegant uniforms,
white tailed bemedaled, dress grays,
announcing their  showoff arrival
with a new across-the-lawn
land speed record


the dear **** deer,
familiar families and generational,
look upon this human and
grumble while chewing our shrubbery,
an act of sherwooded lawn high robbery
but perforce acknowledging our entrance,
by uttering a Balaam blessing/curse,
a neutralized
"****, they're back"


the seagulls on the dock,
sovereign state observers from
Montauk and the far island city,
sent by the mother winds superior,
observers and reporters to nature everywhere,
Summer Season of Man Has Begun


a few white wakes disturb the water's composure,
the early low arc'd sun has not peaked in strength,
at 10:00am, the temp just breaches 60 Fahrenheit,
the beach sand untrod, no unlasting human impressions,
no children's red pails yet to them decorate,
amidst the sea life's detritus and smooth licked pebbles


Enough.


each tree ring and grass blade demands a verse,
an all my own tributary accolade,
this too much to accommodate


a year ago I issued an invitation,
do so again for my word is my bond
my responsibilities, my *******,


there are chairs for all
on my righted round and my motet left,
here, there are
no Americans,
no Canadians,
no Aussies or Brits,
or Indians and Fillipinos,
no African or Asians present,
East nor West,
None Invited here,
Only Poets


even those hardy pioneer
West Coasters, a proud lot,
and my Southern family drawling,
and perhaps lessening the mourning
just a touch, a minute modicum,
all sit quiet in the admixture
of poets come to celebrate
the blessing to have been tasked,
to write from and of places we visit
in the cerebral,
and to imbibe each other's words


Three Hundred and Sixty Four Days ago,
I wrote :

We sit together in spirit, if not in body,
You join me in the Poet's Nook,
A few frayed and weathered Adirondack chairs
Overlooking the Peconic Bay,
Where inspiration glazes over the water,
And we drown happily in a sea of words...

I am exhausted.
So many gems (poets)
to decorate
My body, my soul

I must stop here,
So many of you have reached out,
none of you overlooked.

Overwhelmed, let us sit together now
And celebrate the silence that comes after the
Gasp, the sigh, that the words have taken from
Our selves, from within.

Once again, in your debt

Again,
I await your beckoning wave of hello,
greet you in your mellifluous native tongue,
iced drinks at the ready,
the opening ceremony already started,
when all are seats taken
we commence officially,
with a blessed

*"Now, let us begin"

Rusted trailers file in,
carrying pop-up roller coasters
and tilt-a-whirls. A tall man, face splashed
with paint, trips in oversized shoes.
His drawn lips smile, but teeth do not show.
A ferris wheel spins in the distance, time
measured in each rotation, the carnival's only clock.
Perched on a saddle, a small tot
rides a stallion, tangling her curled fingers
in its mane, cotton candy stained palms
shaking the reins. The steed chained
to a central post, muzzled in silence,
frozen like his carousel brothers.

You're cute.
Adorable.
Sweet.
****.
Lovely.
Amazing.
Rad.
Beautiful.
Awe­some.
Handsome.
Different.
Weird.
Crazy.
In the best possible way.
You make me smile.
You make my stomach do backflips.
And 180's.
You make me stutter words that should be easy to say.
You make my cheeks turn firetruck red.
You make me want to write again.
You make me want to love roller coasters.
And horror movies.
You make me proud to be
A womyn
Gender Queer
Gay
A Confused Person
You make me want to learn about feminism.
You make me reconsider my original definitions for words some people use everyday.
You make my heart melt.
You make me happy.

Thank you.

Scattered, splattered gold – like sunshine, once
It crashes into a dark place, a cave by the sea,
Where no one ever goes.
She can pick it up, let it slip and drip
Between her fingers, fingertips. But
She can’t put it back together again.

This girl, someone’s child, she dances
And reads books, and likes to ride her bike
To ride roller-coasters, to fall in love like
The famous people. Mickey Mouse.
She loves love.
Or she used to, she once did, not now.

When she was young, she would write poems
And she would know so, that they were poems.
But somewhere, the rhythm of her mind changed:
Syncopation, alliteration, became the sing-song
That helped her through the night.

tonight
i don't belong here
my skin is not mine
hair like rope
up, i climb
to nowhere

tonight
pits where my eyes were
petals for lips
irises

we fall into blue
deep violet, violent blue
like oceanwater weight
i am, but not here
like kafka on the shore

So now she stays, she lives in the dark place,
That same cave where the sea places
Her secrets, things that need to be saved.
And she’s wrist deep in what used to be
Something warm, and sweet, and really quiet –
Holding sundust, smeared
Willing it back into the sky.

Hot sun blazing,
sore feet cramping,
standing in an infinite line,
that is seemingly endless,
waiting and waiting,
for merely a small piece of paper.

Finally after what feels like a year
of standing and waiting,
we pass the gleaming,
chainlink,
make-shift fence

As if we stepped through a portal,
into some alien world,
where the air was full of music,
laughter,
chatter,
and the aroma
of something deep-fried.
White tents in two parallel lines
stretched forth in front of us,
forming a long path.
To our right were three buildings
that looked like they had been fused together
and reminded me of warehouses.
People hustled and bustled
here, there, and everywhere inbetween.

We make our way down
the rows of tents and displays,
”OOH”ing and “AAH”ing all the way,
and pausing at familiar tent,
that had a banner,
and that banner
that said something
about Jack Lawford Real Estate
and underneath it,
a familiar face,
a face I call Dad.

He was sitting
within the protective boundary
between the safe shadow of the tent
and the beating sun.
We sat and talked for a moment or two,
every now and then we sipped an ounce
out of the crinkly plastic bottles
filled to the brim with water.
Once we had finished
with our rest stop
and every last drop
of our water bottles
had been consumed.

We moved on to one of the large buildings,
and there, we had the chance
to cool down and escape
the searing heat.
There, were a few things
that made me smile
just seeing them,
that I was truly
and sincerely proud of.
Each and every one
had a shining blue ribbon
attached to or next to it.
Coffee cupcakes,
a barnyard decorated cake,
and a country themed miniature garden,
with a bicycle prop
no bigger than three fingers tall.

to follow up that,
we left the building and re-entered
the realm of the shining sun,
but it was different.
It wasn’t as brutal.
We journeyed down
the long lines of the tents,
until we came across a
giant,
shining,
colorful,
sign
that read “Magical Midway”.

Here, we waited
for another piece of paper,
in the sun,
for a smidget of time.

We left the line
with little paper bracelets
around our wrists
and stamps on our hands,
that were like passports
to go on an astounding journeys,
filled with thrills,
laughter,
and more,
except these journeys
aren’t across vast lands,
they’re adrenaline
inducing roller coasters!

Because my partner in crime
is unfamiliar with the vast selection of rides,
me and my younger brother
decided to show her
our absolute favorites
before we let her off of her leash.

Every minute was jam-packed
with action and laughter
smiles and screams!
one or two hours had passed
before we all realized
our stomachs were screaming
“FEED ME!”
Once again we met with my Dad,
but not for long,
just long enough so
we could navigate another two rows of tents,
except these ones were bigger
and much more colorful,
and the smell of hot dogs
and deep fried goods tainted the air.

Nicolle and I ate
two steaming fresh Pronto Pups
bathed in bright yellow mustard
and we each had a fiery hot funnel cake
drenched in strawberry compote
and dusted with powdered sugar.
Neither of us could finish,
but we managed to consume most
of the monstrous beasts.

Afterwards, we returned
to the wondrous world
of roller coasters,
except I didn’t have as much fun
because I was filled with fear
when Nicolle or my brother
mentioned riding one of the tall,
scary rides that turned me into a chicken
right then and there.
Like I had shrunk to about an inch tall,
and the world was out to get me.
I sat through multiple rides,
and my overprotective mom
wouldn’t let my go on some of the rides nearby
that didn’t make me cower in fear,
but she wouldn’t allow it
because someone could ****** me up
while her back was turned,
but I wasn’t exactly convinced.

The three of us stumbled
upon something great!
A game,
a race,
and a prize at the end!
We joined forces
and gathered our scraps
of money and went ahead,
a race to the finish,
ready, set, go!
We all felt the excitement
and adrenaline surge
through our bodies
as we aimed and fired
our squirt guns toward
the bullseye no bigger
than a marble.

Ding!
Ding!
Ding!
We have a winner!
NIcolle, my partner in crime
had finished filling the small tube of water first.
A great achievement deserved a great award.
Among a billion colorful and huggable prizes,
a huge pink and blue elephant caught her eye.
Mr. Periwinkle is his name,
and to this day,
Mr Periwinkle can be found
in the depths of her room,
and I still remember every minute of that day,
I shared a new experience with an old friend,
and the now old experience with that new friend,
Mr Periwinkle.

I am so sick of having to go to mass to please my family who will not accept me otherwise.

I am so sick of having to walk down the street covering myself because men can't de-sexualise normal human body parts.

I am so sick of the arguments of sexism, racism and overall discrimination.

-if someone accepts you, great.
-if they don't, grow a thicker skin and rise above.

I am so sick of being afraid of things like trying new food and roller coasters that make me feel as though I'm missing out.

I am so sick of being so extremely misanthropic that when someone says they can relate to my sadness I get angry that another human believes they can empathise with me.

I am so sick of being told what to do with my life.

I am so sick of not knowing what to do with my life.

I am so sick of acting like I know what to do with my life.

I am so sick of my life.

I am so sick of myself.

I am so sick of looking at my features and scrutinising them.

I am so sick of being alive.

I am so sick.

I remember being a hormonal teenager, screaming at my mother, "I HATE YOU!"

The first time she let it go. Man, how that woman infuriated me. She was stubborn for no logical reason.

The next time I screamed it, she screamed back at me, "NO YOU DON'T!"

"YES I DO!"

"No you don't, you just think you do," she looked smug.

" I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!!!!," I ran up the stairs fearing what she would do next.

"T- COME BACK DOWN HERE! TELL ME YOU DON'T HATE ME!"

"I HATE YOU!" Slam.

It is a rather funny story. The only girl raised among three boys, I was subject to torture from my three brothers and my mother. Nothing was fair. There were bad times in my childhood, and good times. Even though I was very talkative as a young person, I never would express my deepest feelings or pains to anyone. I kept silent about the things I had gone through, not even my own mother did I trust with my valuable information. They took me for granted, a bit. Once, when I couldn't take it any more I woke up in the middle of the night, and I stood on a roof, and seriously contemplated suicide for 20 minutes before heading back to sleep. I didn't have anything or anyone then, but I knew there was a world out there that was amazing. I had never experienced happiness from the outside world, and I was determined to experience it first.

I didn't know why I didn't have anyone to confide in. Why things had happened to me that I couldn't tell anyone. For the most part, I was known for speaking before thinking, and speaking a lot. But when it came to painful things, I never told a soul. I thought about it often, and still think about it today-- why don't I get it off my chest. But I still know why. No good can come from it. Only selfish temporary gain.

There were times as a teenager I cut my wrists or took speed or did stupid things to fit in. I wanted change, and I wanted it immediately. I wanted my life to be perfect. I never once doubted that something good wouldn't happen to me worth living for. I guess that is why I didn't cut deep enough, and why I never jumped off that roof. Although I was alone, I knew one day I wouldn't be.

It is strange to think almost ten years later, loved by many-- I still feel alone. I guess that is what they refer to as that complex we have as humans- partly that existentialist theory.

One day, I made a list of things I want to do before I die. I know I will never have guts to jump off a bridge no matter how many times I think about it-- because I always feel like there there is some hope left out there. I told myself, I am going to make this crazy list of things to do, and only after doing all these crazy things will I **** myself- if I determine that it is worth doing. I can always add new things to the list, or cross things off the list once I completed them-- but I can't take anything off the list until I've done it. What a fun game. I am deathly afraid of heights. I hate roller coasters. I am afraid of the dark, and I believe in ghosts. I am claustrophobic and afraid of being buried alive. On my list I have written among other things-- kiss a guy under the stars, make out in a graveyard, have pre-marital ***, try ****, smoke a cigar, get crazy drunk, go sky diving, learn to surf, learn belly dancing, get a black belt, ride the world's craziest roller coaster, learn a tribal dance in Africa, fast for a month with Jain monks, visit three countries from every continent, eat snake soup, eat crocodile meat (because I am scared of anything that can eat me!), visit the wall of China, graffiti, have a three some with two very hot guys, completely learn to let go for 24 hours and do anything I think about with no inhibitions, learn 2 new languages. I've already crossed off some of the things on this list!

It is a very fun list of things to do-- and some of these things I don't know if I could ever do-- like a three some, or eating snake soup! But, until I do everything on this list, I won't think about suicide. I figure if any of the above kills me-- that is up to fate, but at least I determined my own fate and took a risk before I died. Maybe I am a coward. Maybe I am pathetic and too scared to **** myself. You are right! It might be my Christian upbringing that says suicide is a mortal sin that will banish my soul forever. As I got older, I decided that the soul never dies-- so even if I end my body-- what if my soul passes off into another life with more suffering? It is better to use this body I have in this world and make the best use of it. No one else loves me the way I love myself. Not even my own mother can. I think that is why we are all self-centered and even think of committing suicide. We can't live inside our own head, and we want someone else to take our pain away. But we just have to learn to face life!

the fog
is home
to me.

I close my eyes,
I am still standing in Santiago Chile.
business people are
rushing back from the lunch break.
the outside restaurants
teaming with customers.
I look up,
the Andes Mountains are head of me
a weak pink fog veils them.
my mom turns to me,
‘honey, that’s pollution’
I’m glad we have the real fog
back home

I close my eyes,
I’m flying back from Atlanta Georgia.
my fellow San Franciscans and I
waiting to see our home, I almost tear up.
our water had gone out that Atlanta summer
and I remember there wasn’t a day under 105 there.
the fog looks so tasty
like I would be fully
refreshed and rehydrated
after only one bite.

I close my eyes,
I’m living in Boston for five weeks.
a storm passes by now and again.
the east coasters complain that
the fog is ruining their city’s
sunny reputation.
the southerners complain
that summer isn’t actually there.
I just smile and smoke,
I love watching the smoke drift into the fog
mingle, then disappear.

I close my eyes
I am standing in Rome
my family- taking cover in a store overhang
there was heavy rains and over cast
, but no fog ever descended for a meet and greet
on that day.

I close my eyes ,
I am looking at the tall slender buildings in Vietnam
along side the main highway of ** Chi-Man city
it is overcast- the storm last night brought down
a tree, crushing a poor shop with a sheet metal roof.
the overcast hangs, and I am feeling
a little nostalgia for home

I open my eyes,
I am back in the sunset district.
I’m laying on my reservoir,
looking out at the Pacific Ocean.
the wind blows inland
whatever weather on the westward horizon
blows in in a couple of hours
the fog sits at the horizon gathering itself up
for it’s long strut to the beach
and I wave to my old friend
it’s good to be home.

Well I don't know how it happened
You just forgot, I guess

The pain receded
I kept breathing
And now...
I wish I hadn't seen that

It hurts to see you function
I hate to watch you love
...
I really hate to watch you love.


I wish you hadn't kissed me
In the wind
Genuine surprise coursing through my veins
I thought those sort of kisses were myths, all
My heart might have stopped

I wish you hadn't let me in
Serenades and rusty blades
Dreams and phone calls
Roller coasters and secret beer

The similarities bring me down
Why can't my soul mate stay my friend?

I hate the way you make me love you.
Every word, I miss the drawl
I used to talk that way.
My twangy southern voice has left and so has my love of spontaneity
You've wrecked it all

All I have is
Anger for your smile


Exploration
You touched my bones



Leave me alone.

.i think,

  the ergo:

i'll never battle my alcoholism,
why?
   people enjoy their roller-coasters,
don't they?
same ****, different, cover...
i love the spiral...
and if you play me some
alice in chains...
akin to the song would?,
or man in the box?
          you just covered
the no man's land...
      pity is cheaper than words,
actually...
         i hate pity...
    i'm of the sentimentality
confined to:
  you do your ****,
i'll do mine...
    but god forbid i lax my
attunement to the rigoristic
attachment to,
either spelling, or grammar...
   i'm here for the free-fall...
the sort of free-fall
readied with the imagery
of Satan diving into the vacuum
of the vacuum of the universe,
with the ferocity of
an asteroid... generating
gravity and vector...
listening to the onslaught
of slayer's -
   raining blood;
or muse's song bliss...
let's just say...
   i'm here for the tartar stake...
roughly cut up...
rather than minced
baby food meat.

                            i am...

    you don't come between
a rhino's target,
and the coordinated,
posit for the origins of the charge...
i'd hate to use the incisor teeth...
i'd rather prefer at the maulers...
even though...
   it's like using a blunt knife...
you use the maulers to crush bone
to get the marrow...
      i've reverse...

             because what is speech
akin to this, sort of extravaganza?
the simpler excuse for the excuse
to not act...

                 i don't feel i need to act...
i much prefer waiting,
to acting, "hard"...
            i love the virtue some discredit...
on the simple ground
of a patient bidding a stalling...
i like it...
            let's face it though...
poetic terms overpower
the latter half of the Cartesian equation,
sum is over-laden with
metaphors...
      and cogito with
a blind-sighted focus
without a chance of a labyrinth...

the ergo-mismatch...
can't see a Minotaur even if i wanted
to...
         and i don't sometimes
feel inclined,
to charge at anything,
that's not standing before me,
in a mirror;
and is, esp. not me.

in a harsh rhapsodic voice -
i, will, not, REPENT!
to justify your pseudo-moralism!
drink your coffee!
and? ******* into your
quasi-amphetamine doctrine
of the faking of originality!
this, social-commentary...
like, half of these people never
cared about your health...
so, naturally... they don't make
much of the care behind it...
my rehab?
     visiting my grandparents,
the homogeneity of
a small Polish town...
   no cold turkey moment...
fixing up my grandparent's kitchen...
laying down new linoleum flooring,
refreshing the walls...
if you were never born
in a monochromatic,
monosyllable culture?
   you'll never know the counter-drug
akin to alcohol...
   experiencing it...
  
i'm sure, that you should ask an
alcoholic Jew...
   what cured him or her...
once they returned from a visit to
Israel...
           equivalent of
Mecca... but Mecca is not a place,
nor an idea... it's a people!

My warm breath ricochets off the surface in front of me, back onto the skin of my jowls.  I see darkness, but within that darkness, an infinite amount of possibilities.  I'm on the road, the warm summer air is heating the cool frames of my sunglasses as I travel to somewhere far away.  Destination unknown, just traveling, always traveling.  Every time I take a different path with fluctuating experiences, utilizing varying transportation methods.  I begin to float, but I am not actually moving.  It is as if the ground beneath me is simply sinking away.  The wind picks up, the sun sets as the moon lapses into being, and suddenly, I am above a city.  The bright ambient lights are off-setting at first , but I grow used to them quickly. The cacophony of car horns, metallic scraping, pounding footsteps, and atrocities being committed complete the atmosphere. Sometimes I am that atrocity.  I soar down to the streets below and my ankles absorb the shock of the landing.  It's never as painful as one would anticipate. I wander through the dark alleys, dragging my hand across the damp, rigid, bricks.  I hear whispers from the walls telling me where to go next.  I have a calling, a civil duty to uphold.  The collective conscious of the city is screaming to me, asking me to do what they do not have the courage to do.  After the deed is done I melt back into the shadows from whence I came, and wait patiently for the next task.  With no warning and no control I transcend to another setting.  I move on to another life, with no recollection of the past world.
I am five years old.  I stare up at an amusement park, bewildered by all that is going on around me. The noisy gears of the machines grind and whir, drowned out only by the carnival medleys shrieking from the loud speakers implanted in the various coasters and carousels.  It is too much to take in at once and I begin to feel anxious, something does not seem right.  A sense of familiarity kicks in, but never has anything so familiar felt so uncanny.  Swarms of people flash by as though they are images imprinted on film reeling swiftly through a projector. Amongst the multitude of scurrying figures, one woman stands still, like a figurine mounted inside a snow globe surrounded by thousands of  free falling flakes. She turns to face me, and as I stare into the pale blue puddles of her eyes, I begin to weep. Electric impulses speed through my nervous system, my vision blurs, heart skips a beat. They're letting me know that somewhere, somewhere else, a bell is ringing.  I feel the breath again and there is a blinding light.  An orchestra of zippers, Velcro, and papers crumpling reverberates against the cold cement walls.  Not completely aware of what's going on, I follow the crowd and scuffle through the corridors, my footsteps acting as a sort of metronome against the linoleum floors. It is then that I am finally aware of where I am. I am back in the real world, back in the school, out of the comfort of my dreams.  My destination in this world is predicable, the journey  not so immense, nor as intriguing.  My legs begin to tingle as the blood rushes back into the tired muscles.  The woman from my dreams is now just a pale shadow in the banks of my memory.  
While the environments of my imagination tend to differ, there is  a catalogue of fairly constant variables.  There is usually the girl.  Not always the same girl in a  physical sense, but one that provokes the same types of feeling whether she's there or she's missing.  Except for this one.  This one always leaves an ominous, almost haunting, feeling.  She is not visually disconcerting.  It is not her sandy-blonde hair, porcelain skin, or even her murky blue eyes that frighten me, but rather the way she looks at me with them.  Her eyes cry for help that I can not provide, and it seems that she knows this, and for that she resents me.  I have no knowledge of who this woman is, or what she is meant to symbolize, but she makes my blood run cold.

Like sipping coffee with cigarette in hand,
watching waves rise and fall while stepping through warm sand,
you are peace of mind.
Like smelling roses during sweet sugary May,
Laying down after a long lingering day
you are an exhaling breath.
Like the tops of roller coasters about to drop,
Watching number wheels spin until they stop
You are anticipation.
Anticipation going over again in my head
Like a pinwheel being hushed to tread
Constantly spinning.

it seems my entire life is defined by drinks.

mother's milk out the womb.

(and maybe those suckles were sweet - it's not like i remember - but her words, for the rest of my life, certainly weren't.)

an hour-long debate, with my best friend at twelve years old - apple or orange juice?

(orange, obviously, is the right answer. we rehash the argument sometimes to this day.)

the day i turn 19, a beer in my hands.

(i'm sat around a campfire with my closest friends, birthdays all older than me - the beer tastes disgusting, as cheap alcohol is, but i'm glad to be there.)

yesterday, i had 1 coffee and 2 mugs of lemon honey tea, 4 glasses of water.

today, no tea, but 2 cups of coffee, a glass of milk, and 3 glasses of water.

i bite at my nails when i'm nervous, swallow down the spit that comes with it, the bile that rises.

last summer, i visited pei, had a raspberry cordial - my favourite drink to date - then bought a case of 4 more to take home with me.

last summer, when i lived in new brunswick, my friends in the same building knew me as the one who would always have a drink in hand - a milk tea, or maybe a pink lemonade, maybe that obscure korean soda i liked.

when i left new brunswick, i took a photo of my 2 trash cans, of the way they were both filled to the brim with empty bottles and cans and jugs.

i still miss the apple cider they made there.

my life is defined by drinks, sips, swallows, taking five minutes to breathe by making myself a nice whipped coffee, trawling the internet for pretty coasters and glassware for an hour in lieu of doing actual work.

Eventually, i close the shopping tabs, take a sip of coffee, and resume with the rest of my life.

I miss the open highway
I’m besotted with quick getaways.
What other sensation can compare
to pulling G’s with wind-whipped hair?

When my foot’s on the throttle,
I feel unstoppable.
Faster, faster, no faster,
that’s the rush I’m after.

Where are we going?
There’s just no knowing,
and no matter where we roam,
the GPS will get us home.

One thing was guaranteed,
the speed limit would be exceeded.
I adored the wide open straightaways
and the feeling of a racing-day at Marseilles.

I remember in the Appalachian mountains
the plunging, snake-like, winding canyons
as the speedometer edged past ninety
how my escort, Charles, would glare at me.

I’d let off - a little - and laugh, I mean,
isn’t freedom the American dream?
To hear the growl of a V8 motor,
as it turns rural-roads into roller coasters.

BABY vamps, is it harder work than it used to be?
Are the new soda parlors worse than the old time saloons?
  Baby vamps, do you have jobs in the day time or is this all you do? do you come out only at night?
In the winter at the skating rinks, in the summer at the roller coaster parks,
Wherever figure eights are carved, by skates in winter, by roller coasters in summer,
Wherever the whirligigs are going and chicken spanish and hot dog are sold,
There you come, giggling baby vamp, there you come with your blue baby eyes, saying:
  
    Take me along.

Every single day I tell you how I feel.

Why has it turned out this way?
At times I sense you pulling away then you snap back coming to your senses.

Admittedly we need each other. The pain of withdrawal is too much. Addiction is bad but what do we do? Our connection brings with it completion of who we are...

That missing piece was found in the most unlikely place but who cares about when, where, how? It is the why that keeps us together.

My emotions are real and they are steady. You are the single point in my numbing world where I feel myself in feeling you.

In all our time together we were beautiful. This beauty is not destined to fade.

When you are down, I feel it. I feel you every day. Do you feel me too?  Do you sense my affection as being true? What does your gut say? The eyes trick. Emotions are roller coasters. Logic gets perplexed and stand like a deer in the headlights.

"When we are together" this screams loudest of all! When will we be together again?? I come to you the way a moth goes into the flame—focused, magnetized, excited, heart racing, tears of joy I hold back...

Rehab is not in order for me. I am not willing to give you up. The sheer need of a 'fix' drives me. It will never die.

We aren't a couple. We are One. Live in denial if you wish. Live without me if you wish. That gaping hole inside you will return and it will try to **** you in because it was once filled with a love real enough to touch and a woman strong enough to wrap her mind around you, knowing your history and never speaking a word of it because she looks at YOU. She looks into your eyes and reads you. And she loves you all the more.  

Trifling affairs provided a momentary fix but it was so fleeting. They were all incomplete. They were so easy. So boring... Same thing over and over like a hamster on a wheel. Yes, their bodies were different but their responses to you, the same. 

I am you in female form except pursuit of men was never my thing. I'm smart though you think me stupid at times. I anticipated your next move before you made it. I stayed with you as I let you lead.

Even now, this final step before total withdrawal.

Little by little you wean....
You're not the type to cause harm when potential for backlash is present. You win hearts which seals your secrecy. They love you. They will hold their time with you as sacred.

I knew exactly where this was headed and I let you lead. Yet... Why do you hold onto me? I played you as well as you thought you were playing me.

But what about me? What role am I playing? I tell you I play no role with you. I am open to you. You have the ability to rip my heart from my chest and pulverize it. Do you wonder why a part of me is detached? Do you not know the answer? You know me better than anyone. Step out and use logic for this one.

You have so much fear I will do to you what she did.. You have no reason to believe I won't... Except I waved a flag for you. I guarded you. I put myself in the line of fire—where I rightfully belonged.

It's complex and yet simple.  So tired of the games. No games.

The moment you touch me my detachment attaches.

We only just exist.....-ed.

I used to dream of ice cream, toy stores

roller coasters and Star Wars

It’s just dregs now, bitter

A nightmare, Twitter

I dream of my mother scolding

Being more than senseless, molding

My father at his cruelest

Exaggerations, clueless

My little brother stolen

my arms not strong enough to hold him

Running, searching, groping

Falling into the ocean

Gasping, reaching for the rungs

Water filling my lungs

Great depths

Unknown wrecks

Sunk ships misery

No buoyancy

Car accidents

Missed tests

Broken hearts

Fire starts

A gunman in the classroom

A sudden crass boom

Glass flying through the air

People screaming, nothing there

Just a little snippet of a book I've been writing here and there.. on and off..
Any feedback would be just lovely =]
((Sorry that it's not an 'actual' poem.. but it's by a poet so maybe that still counts?))


There's one memory that sticks out more than most… I'm not sure why, but it does. It's a simple memory really. Nothing out of the ordinary. I think the reason I've been hanging onto it for so long is because of the emotion in her voice. I don't think she lied often, or at all, actually… But this was realest I had ever heard her voice sound. I'm not sure if my description of it makes sense, and frankly I don't care. In fact, I don't think my specific emotions could ever be felt by any other human but me. I was the only one that could ever know how it felt to see her that way, because I was the only one that actually felt it. Anyway, it went a little something like this…

"Why are you so worried about me?" She folded her arms and turned her face away from me. She could be so dramatic sometimes.

"Look at you! You're a mess! I don't understand… I hate seeing you this way because this is not the woman I want to marry!" I screamed at her for the first time in my life. I will always regret that.

"You mean I'm not allowed to be upset? Ever? Our whole lives together you want me to be little miss sunshine?" I wasn't sure what she was trying to prove, but I knew she was furious. I should have spent that time making her smile. I should have spent that time buying her flowers. I should have done a lot of things that I never did because I never realized how short our life together really was. I always thought things like 'we could do that tomorrow' or 'I'll get that for her next year.' As if I was so sure the next year would arrive. How foolish could I have possibly been back then? I hate myself for snapping at her like that. She deserved to be treated like a queen and I was kicking down her like a peasant.

"Well no! Actually you're not! I love you Charlotte. I love you more than the breath in my lungs. Hell, you are the breath in my lungs! You know that! You're my everything and I'm not ashamed to say it! I don't care how stupid it sounds! I love you like an idiot! I will always, always, always love you! I don't care if you're upset, or angry, or lost all your hair, or half way across the world, my heart will always be in your chest. It kills me to see you this way, that's why you're not allowed to be upset. You may be frowning a little, but seeing you this way completely destroys me! It rips my heart out and I'm bleeding right in front of you. Don't you see that? So tell me, what can I do? What can I do to make this better?" I sounded so utterly desperate, like someone had tore me right out of a John Green novel. I didn't like being that vulnerable, but I knew she had to hear every word of my plea.

That was when she said a sentence I never wanted to see spill out of her mouth. "I need you to leave." She was stern, honest. Charlotte stared out the window with the saddest eyes in the universe. Giant pools of liquid mercury streaming down her cheeks. Her tears were poisonous.

I didn't even argue with her. I didn't try to win her over. I knew Charlotte. I knew that she was no damsel in distress - she simply didn't want to be saved. She didn't need to be rescued, not once. If she demanded that I leave, then I left. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

Before I left, I studied her face for a handful of seconds. I didn't know how long she wanted me gone, I didn't know if our forever together was ending right before me. I didn't want to forget her angelic presence. I wanted her to haunt my dreams. She probably thought I was crazy, staring at her like that, and I kind of was.. in a way. I was completely crazy about her. That expression had never made so much sense before. She made me utterly insane. I belonged in a mental hospital because of her, and I was okay with that. It was worth it. Man, it was always worth it.

When the door shut behind me, I didn't look back. I was too afraid to see that she hadn't chased after me. It was foolish to think that she'd do something like that, but sometimes I loved to pretend that we were in some wonderful romantic comedy. We'd kiss in the rain. We'd sleep under bridges. We'd steal food from the local market. We'd ride roller coasters together. We'd have friends over for brunch. We'd sip earl grey in front of the fire. That was how I imagined our life being lived. It never worked out that way, though. People never do the things you expect them to do. Just once, I wanted us to be a couple worth remembering. I wanted other couples to judge us in pure envy. I was a monster, back then, that fed on attention. I was ugly, but I knew what Charlotte needed.

And she needed me gone.

I don't even remember where I went that day. I don't remember if I was gone for minutes or weeks. I just know that every second without her was a millennium. Our relationship was never a healthy one. I never knew that it was possible to love someone too much, and then I met her. Charlotte made my heart sick. Every thought I had when we were apart was about her. I loved her more than I had ever loved myself, and that was extremely dangerous.

I suppose she took me back at some point, found me hanging out on the corner by my job. Told me to come out of the rain and back into her arms. She could always find me; it was almost eerie how quickly she could hunt me down. I swear all women had stronger intuition than I could ever begin to fathom. If a child was hurt, a woman would come in running with bandages before the child had even begun to cry. Before someone could mention they were cold, a woman would wrap a blanket around them. I often wondered if two X chromosomes gave people the ability to read minds, or hearts. The weird thing about women was they never realized how truly powerful they were. We knew, we always knew. They were goddesses.

The cracks in her voice still ring through my ears sometimes. It bothered me a lot because she had said something to me that I could never bring myself to say to her. How could she not want me around anymore? It simply didn't make sense to me. I couldn't logically put it together.

Now I laugh at the irony of it all. Back then she wanted me gone, but she was the one that ended up leaving first.

I still plant flowers next to her headstone. The saddest part about all of this nonsense between me and Charlotte is that I've gotten her more flowers after her death than I ever did when she was alive. That broke me up.

Anyone that claims to have no regrets has lived a very boring life indeed.

These were the things I thought about when I visited her. I am so lucky to have that memory of her. I am so glad that she made me leave, because I paused time for a moment. I actually stopped and focused a hundred percent of my attention on her. I committed her smile, her laugh, her voice, her face to my eternal memory. I burned those seconds into my brain. Now I knew for sure, that I would remember her forever. The way she existed when I loved her the most. I am so fortunate that Charlotte was so clever. I'm sure it's a bit of a stretch, but I was under the impression that Charlotte always knew exactly what she was doing.

It was a stretch, but I had to believe it. She has always found a way to outsmart me. That's why I loved her dearly. She was the only one that cared enough to challenge me.

Our time together was brief, I think in the end it only added up to three years or so. Sometimes I think that it was better that way. Maybe we would have been toxic together. Maybe we would have grown old and bitter. Maybe we would have gotten a divorce. I am so grateful that we never grew old enough to make those mistakes. When I think back on our time together I will always smile. We were happy, we were so ******* happy.

Maybe it is better to burn out than to fade away.
But I'll never really know…