"complaints" poems
Zindagi ne, is kaddar, kiya hai, bas vaar
Bina koi, churee, ya koi, talwaar
Ghaayal; dil ye hua, baar, baar
Zindagi ne, di, chotain hazaar
Gaye thay, hum, is tarah se, bikhar
jooda na, paye thay phirse ye jigar
khaamoshi se, milta tha, bas, karaar
tanhayeeon se , karte thay, iqraar
Jhanke, hum jab, dil ke, jo andar
Sach nikala, gehrayion se, baahar
Shikayat hai, ab na, koi takraar
karne lage hai, hum, khudse jo pyaar!
Translation in English
Self Love
Life has waged on me many a war
Without even a sword or a dagger so far
The heart was wounded time and again
Life hurt and caused me so much pain
My life was but thrown helter skelter
I could not piece my heart together
Silence was but my solace
Solitude was my only grace
When I dug deep within me
The truth I could clearly see
I have no grievances or complaints now
Having realized the importance of self-love
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration,
Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world.
Gathering the neighborhood like family.
The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working
around the edges,
humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet,
even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses.
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass,
two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan.
News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically
carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army
not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness
as the Holy Roman Empire.
Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up
while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North
America,
even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical.
Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter,
up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish.
Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery
was voluntary.
What is the carrying capacity of the planet?
In China is it each couple or each adult that gets one offspring?
As life expectancy and standards rise,
family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities.
The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics
play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts,
grasslands, space.
Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho
are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints:
lost lover, lost city.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
It's stuck in my head,
Until it's gone,
When I can make endless complaints
Endless back stabs to match.
But till its gone, it is there.
After it's been there and gone,
It is there again.
Every night of everyday
And also in random hours of my days.
I see the old, then I see the new.
It seems my world has turned black and blue.
My heart beats faster
And my eyes: they cry.
I feel I am mourning a loss;
Of someone never born to be able to die.
It's the cases like this
That are always the worst.
You think you've found someone,
When they're not there at all.
So many good times
Have all gone down the drain,
Because everyone's a faker.
Don't you know I hate liars?
You liar, you deceitful and manipulative ****
You *****
I hate you,
I hate you,
And then I hate you even more.
What you have done made me fall to the floor.
I don't know how I can get through this,
Because last time I could just hate,
Which still I am doing.
You make that more difficult.
Because when all the memories
Come back again,
I don't want to believe that was you,
Surely it can't be true?
But I know too well
To be fooled more than once,
Not that there's a way you would make it twice,
Because you hate me too.
It's all because of you.
And her
And the other.
All "best friends" do
Is end up having to stab each other.
You see I am missing,
Someone nonexistent.
I knew it was too good to be true,
But that won't stop me bleeding.
I wish the 'you' I was friends with
Was actually real.
Instead I just feel messed over,
All over again.
I don't want to picture,
Not anymore,
Of what's flashing through my head.
The so many too good times.
They've been damaged again.
I trusted you
As I trusted them all,
Because you have to trust to do anything at all.
Again and again trusting proved to be devastating,
Because there is no one who actually
Has your back.
So no I don't want to picture,
I don't want another picture game.
When I'm talking about you in rants,
The devil is your name.
When I'm speaking I do not have to be sad,
It's only the times that I get to think on my own,
When I feel even more torn down.
When I see you walking around,
I wish you were not.
Do you know not what exactly you all have caused?
I can hear you all talking,
Just like we all used to do,
Then the thousands of memories
Come flooding in once again.
And until I convince myself to dry up my emotions,
I watch the dry river banks
Become diluted without letting the rain fall.
Because my tears;
You never deserved them at all.
I don't want to picture what you may think of me.
If you hate me then go on,
You can resent me as much as you can.
But maybe you'd like to know:
I stood up for you.
Even though it was proved to be true.
I didn't believe it at first,
Because it was you.
How dare you!
If you think I didn't know reasons to take sides,
Didn't you think I would defend you as I did her?
Well I God **** tried!
And if roles were reversed then I would've taken yours,
As it wasn't out of favouritism as it stood,
But because you were so unbelievable
That nothing could be done.
No friendship was saved.
Being civilised?
Well I just try to ignore your name.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
Dear Unity, be proud of the work you've done.
Working day and night, leaving complaints to none.
With your calm blue aura, full of peace.
People from sadness and separation, you release.
Dear Unity, extending the branches of your unifying tree,
Watching over like a flock of birds flying free.
Amalgamate the opposing forces of destruction and war,
Spare them from the unnecessary deaths and gore.
Dear Unity, reunite us with our long lost friends,
So there will be happiness and laughter as broken hearts mend.
Clear the miserable loneliness haunting around,
And stop at no cost until the cure is found.
Dear Unity, oh unity, our guardian angel in disguise,
Getting rid of the hatred, betrayal and the emotion; despise.
Dear Unity, you are all for one and one for all,
Thank you for being there every time we fall.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
The landlord rented his space.
The landlord became suspicious.
He received complaints from other tenants,
Within a couple of weeks about loud music
And laughter coming from her room.
Banned from having friends in their home,
People would arrive in a van nightly during the summer.
The details of which emerged in the trial of insurance businessman,
Who was accused of helping her,
Without their knowledge.
She accused the abuse after a plea.
His mercy,
Her punishment.
‘The past is still very much a reality’ she whimpered.
Forced to watch for five months,
The wolf spoke as she faced the hearing
Without a translator.
They are forbidden to speak.
For her first 23 years, she was tortured.
Anti-social behaviour is having more than two people in his head,
Playing music so loud,
That it can be heard,
Outside of him.
The only person to feel the same resigned.
The landlord asked the hound to verify the affair.
He handed two leather-bound volumes containing a map of the marks.
It was on that day,
The landlord took the decision to leave seriously.
Once known,
He made the claim and gave no hint as to the tenant’s identity.
Up for a chance to win, We wish you safe travels.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
My dad says that my generation lacks common sense,
but millennials are well on our way to being
the most educated generation
ever.
We're demonized for idolizing Beyonce' and Nicki Minaj,
but wasn't the generation before us
obsessed with a heroin-addicted cynic
who did nothing to improve the world?
The number of people with
eating disorders,
depression,
and anxiety
are higher than they've ever been.
But lord forbid we take a ******* selfie
and love ourselves for that brief moment.
My generation may not be perfect,
but old people's complaints about us
are getting really old.
After all, they're the ones
that ****** everything up for us
in the first place.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
What a city I murmur to myself looking at its map.
We approached the city known as Dis,
with its vast army and its burdened citizens.
At last we reached the moats
dug deep around the dismal city.
What destroys the poetry of a city?
Automobiles destroy it,
and they destroy more than the poetry.
Dante and Virgil chased by 7 or 8 dangerous devils
Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Sleepy, ***** . . .
Our heroes reduced from metaphysical philosophers
interested in god and what man has done to man
to improvising primitive tools for survival.
Hope abandoned, we rate our chances of expiring
in the nuclear fire – excellent –
during the decline of western civilization.
On the other hand, I hope
our current problems are only temporary
and it’s just a matter of time before
the public ignores the 24-hour news cycle.
Bad news sells but the good life’s all around us.
One feels love and devotion
even for the 60 million who voted for our opponent.
Vaclav Havel said with a wisdom well beyond brilliance:
“Either we have hope within us or we don’t.
It is a dimension of the soul, and it’s not dependent
on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation.
It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart
that transcends the world as it’s immediately experienced.
It is not the conviction that something will turn out well,
but the certainty that something makes sense
no matter how it turns out.”
It resembles grief. But it's not quite grief. I'll give you grief.
Certain days planned to be eventful I look forward to for weeks.
Let the peaceful transfer of power proceed. The sorrow and the pity.
Never may the anarchic man find rest at my hearth.
When the laws are kept, how proudly the city stands!
When the laws are broken, what of the city then?
We are moving through some allegory between a City of Hope,
where history has been abolished, and a City of History,
where hope can be slipped in only as contraband.
Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching
outer space for an entity to unite us as humanity.
That person, or city, is consciousness.
Two ancient female poets are a revelation,
the clarity of their complaints: lost lover, lost city.
Our enemy eventually becomes our brother,
his misery lifted by coming to her city.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
You kept complaining
'bout those people corrupting
then afterwards you'll be saying
Money can't be brought alongside with you on the day that you die. Why are they being so corrupt?
Yet why aren't you trying to question thyself?
When in fact, you aren't any different.
Save, Save, Save
That's all you think about
Prices, Prices, Prices
I thought we were here to survive?
Money is an element for survival.
Why are you keeping every single dollar?
You always count your money as if it is your baby.
Complaints are all that I hear each day every time you pay.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 8:56 AM UTC
Said the king to the colonel,
'The complaints are eternal,
That you Irish give more trouble
Than any other corps.'
Said the colonel to the king,
'This complaint is no new thing,
For your foemen, sire,
have made it A hundred times before.'
9k
I have been going to the track for so
long that
all the employees know
me,
and now with winter here
it's dark before the last
race.
as I walk to the parking lot
the valet recognizes my
slouching gait
and before I reach him
my car is waiting for me,
lights on, engine warm.
the other patrons
(still waiting)
ask,
"who the hell is that
guy?"
I slip the valet a
tip, the size depending upon the
luck of the
day (and my luck has been amazingly
good lately)
and I then am in the machine and out on
the street
as the horses break
from the gate.
I drive east down Century Blvd.
turning on the radio to get the result of that
last race.
at first the announcer is concerned only with
bad weather and poor freeway
conditions.
we are old friends: I have listened to his
voice for decades but,
of course, the time will finally come
when neither one of us will need to
clip our toenails or
heed the complaints of our
women any longer.
meanwhile, there is a certain rhythm
to the essentials that now need
attending to.
I light my cigarette
check the dashboard
adjust the seat and
weave between a Volks and a Fiat.
as flecks of rain spatter the
windshield
I decide not to die just
yet:
this good life just smells too
sweet.
9k
Some win awards.
Some win recognition.
Then some barely recognized for their effort and time.
Some hardly ever late.
Some dedicated more than many bosses.
Who take it upon themselves to take multiple vacation?
The good employee that others measure themselves by.
Rain,sleet or show , you're most likely see them at work.
Some takes pride just in working to accomplish an agenda.
They probably wouldn't strike even, if in a union.
Some has came in present time to regret being a members.
When they don't see any accomplishable gains from their leaders.
Good employees, don't fake an excuse to miss work.
Good employees, know all jobs depends upon a team.
A mission is set to be met.
Those that mainly complains has minor points.
Which soon becomes a distraction in the level of work.
Oh, good employees has complaints too.
In reality, we all do to some degree.
Except, good employees all companies need.
They make the weakest link becomes a member of a strong team.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
My couch,
Is death,
And avoidance is a second language,
Ask me do I speak it?
Conjoined twins,
Of misery and manipulation,
No calls,
Only cushions and customer's custom complaints,
From tomorrow,
The phone wont ring,
So I'll stay down this road,
Listening to headlines and headlights
Sing,
Moody music dwelling,
Where the lies and shame met in between,
Cut the cue, end the scene
The stage has been rebuilt,
We talked like teenagers,
And you told me that I've changed,
But the same,
Still that same number,
No more gap,
But your smile still kills,
Pain with palendromes,
We were here before,
And so again we,
Our fighting saying goodnight,
Street lamps in different cities,
Static.
I'm just fine,
Playing my part,
My mainstream maybe different,
But
Obsession has been overcame,
By the rising tide of a smile,
If the teleprompting signs shine through,
Meanwhiles and meditations
What can I do,
Except hope I'm reading,
The
Right
Script,
The couch,
It asks,
Where have you been?
I set down another,
chip.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 1:41 AM UTC
Religion is Recruiting for
Customer Complaints.
Where is my God, the disciples
and all the absent saints?
The time I have invested
sitting in your church.
This wasn't in your advert
you've left me in the lurch.
I'm asking for a refund,
you've years to reimburse
and then there is the funeral,
the flowers and the hearse.
I've sat on your pew,
spent time praying to you
and now that I'm dead,
I'm unsure what to do.
I should have known better,
you never replied.
Yet I kept the faith
until the day that I died.
Now I queue to complain,
I must be fuckin' insane!
because,
well,
you don't even exist!
Poetry by Kaydee.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
A Noun: The oblong: a thing:
The name of that lounge : a place
By the face of the strange shaped lake...
Dinosaur Egg / oval / green grapes.
An Adj.: Oblong Longboard
That’s such the coolest name
A person: Not a thing
oval shaped .
Mr. Ellipsis made no complaints
About tiny alien ant farms
“From Outer Space!”
The natives made to slave.
*Oblong grew his beard out
After the sideburns days
Mr. Ellipsis far far away*
Fires of the Sun
Will not discern—when
The Light returns
The wyrm will burn .
In oblong throes of defeat.
At peace : A Verb.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
This might not be a poem: more so a realization at most. The complaints I have throughout the day are anything but morose. Walk an hour in another man's shoes, and suddenly life has so much more I could lose. Where could I be in that first step?
I could be standing in the flip flops of a beautiful friend , taking care of four children as a new widow.
I could be in sneakers as the man selling newspapers in the desert heat day after day.
I could be in a different shoe every day, as a comedian loved by all, who could make everyone laugh, but himself.
I could be in heels in a doctors office, facing the reality of only a few months left.
But I'm not. My shoes are worn, but my heart is not. My days might be long, but my bed is warm. The jobs I work help keep our bills paid and our food plentiful.
I was going to complain today: but when I realized how beautiful today was, I had nothing to say.
Where could you be, in that first step?
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
All present in the stream of time,
Connected they build a line, a river which flows uninterruptedly,
The here and now, is the future of a pasts dream, a wonderous reality,
It is the futures past, the memories recorded within the depths of it
Gravity distorts time, causing it to slow down till it's stopping point lensed from a black hole, lurking within shadows of remorse in space,
Fished out from the sea of passing events, it keeps flowing, but now it does so while not including the fallen one who embraced a blackhole,
Time only knows one path, straight ahead with no slips and turns,
The present is the pasts future and what was thought to be possible,
It is the little wealth every living being possesses yet it is overseen and forgotten, until the moment of ones death drives gladly near,
From the womb to the tomb, drowning within the waves of a temporal lengh, the event of an entity's existence and its period.
A pace for an allotment, given from the complaints of an worldly life,
Spend it well, unlike the spring we cannot turn the tide, recycle again!
But for that matter the world of dreams holds a sweet embrace to all,
After all, you don't need to die in a dream.
~ Umi
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
You see your friends told me that you had complaints. But I can't tell since you are always in my face. If you can't be a man you know what you can do. Pack your bags and leave the cash because baby we are through.
There's no doubt that I've had it up to here. There is no doubt there will be no more crying no more tears. There is no doubt about the way I made you feel. ******* you know that my love was real.
I am sick and tiered of you running your lines. Get up out of my face because you are wasting your time. I won't hold your hand the way your mama use to. I have no time to sit and deal with this drama. Since you can't be a man you can stay with your mama.
You know what? I've had it up to here. No more crying no more tears. It's all about the way that I made you feel. Because you know that I am the real.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC
Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday
Oh why do you taunt
Only half way to the weekend
I so desperately want
I have to tolerate you
Because I have no choice
But my complaints against you
I wil certainly voice
Far enough away from last weekend
That I already need rest
Yet far enough from the next one
My endurance to test
I don't like you Wednesday
Never have, never will
As you tease me of the weekend
Knowing it's too early to chill
So enjoy it Wednesday
You enemy of all that is good
Just know that along with Monday and Tuesday
We'd skip you if we could!
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
*Being unemployed is like….
Being stuck in a hole in the ground
with a broken leg and no cell phone,
while surrounded all on sides by people who ignore
your very existence,
or treat you as if you are less than…. well…anything.
Their silhouettes casting quickly passing shadows
on the concrete around you.
No one offering you a hand.
Each time you reach out for help
you are rejected coolly and professionally.
No one wants a failure, but they also don’t
want the responsibility of helping to create a success.
The ones who do reach out for you,
don’t really care about your success or well-being.
They see a quick buck,
easy to replace or move past,
should you realize you are worth more than their
verbal abuse and manipulation.
No one wants a self-valuing person either.
They don’t even want a human,
with thoughts
emotions
and memories.
All hiring businesses want, is a robot to do their every bidding with no complaints,
no questions asked,
even if that person’s health or sanity is on the line.
Or even their life.
In a world created by ourselves, we are unimportant.*
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
"You are twisted
and your tongue permanently tastes of cherries." -
you say,
but I just tie cherry knots
with my fruit-infused tongue,
and laugh at your complaints.
Red neon numbers remind me
of your lips on mine.
Gripping at the empty side of the bed,
wishing I were somehow still in your head.
You and I were similiar and collided
in coexisting lives.
I can see a jaw drop
the hand moving south
as if to slip into the knife drawer
of a total solar eclipse.
Six shots deep so I could forget your name,
and all of the reason I love you.
Instead I sat there
with him,
(not you)
crying over cherry stems.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
Life is all around you
Live each day like your last
Don't sit there on the sidelines
Life goes by so fast
Listen to the music
Sing songs that you don't know
Don't sit there all in silence
Turn up the radio
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance,
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance
Don't matter who you came with
Dance with who is near
Wave one hand high above you
With the other, hold a beer
Live each day so loudly
so loud that nothing drowns you out
Make up words while singing
And dance, and scream and shout
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance,
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance
Come on and get dancing
Feel the rhythm of the saints
Just feel and then go do it
And ignore all noise complaints
Sitting doing nothing
Living, silent in a trance
Get up, and start to party
Come on...welcome to the dance
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance,
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
are you generally happy?
a semi-innocuous query
now actualized as a two sided bladed poker,
hot stabbing me smack dab in
the chests hollow crown bullseye,
continuously, as in all life long, and eternal longing for a
“yes”
it fits inside a pubescent aged wound that
refreshes with every breath;
a life long struggle for an accurate definition,
be a general of genuine happy,
that alone would deliver, bringing on bright day satisfaction
as a human, one operates on parallel continuums;
slide slipping on well oiled poles that over the years,
their lengths, increasing with add-on extender poles
formed by
twisty turny slips and falls of sundered hearts and sad loves,
marriages nicknamed Titanic, children found and lost,
complications responsibilities that are denied meeting the words
“The End”
a life that many would envy, questioning what’s wrong
with you dude, are you blinded to the riches yours,
reality is
shoulders permanently bent, a spine that’s held together by
spit and solder and curved by wearying wearing longing for
a straightness that is also called crooked unobtainable
and a piece of a peace that comes and goes
like a highway billboard that you pass too fast to be fully read
the body is corroding and worser yet to come and that’s a hand
you selected - luck of the self-selecting-drawing -
the opioids of the mind offers are rejected
the clarity of painful self exploration valued overall -
the place where the poems come from,
and go to die,
a landscape of a scene repeatedly visualized
but never been and never left,
the crazy contradictions come in two flavors;
vanilla smiles and chocolate weeping of tears that have
etched pathways cheek-chiseled
the city is a struggling strife for most,
the next red line on the side
of the measuring cup and
everyone has a cell, a credit card,
and a measuring cup
<•>
here I stop can’t finish
someone missing alerts me
to their real worlds troubles
making my complaints super superficial but
the silent running of the stilleto
cuts shallow
repeated hourly
the cut color,
pitch black
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
I live beyond morality, cloudy
Skies issue complaints, however
I hardly have the time.
I often catch myself
Staring at creatures.
Wondering where they
Wander, and why.
I want to fight dragons today.
I want to find a voice
That suits me. Grey skies
And frozen cranes, bother me.
The stone wet, and
Broken. Lifeless creatures
Can be neither evil nor
Wealthy.
Broken Binaries. Broken
Machines. What glues
Our heads to our
Bodies?
Is there a separation?
Voices
Walk down the hall and
Interrupt my view
Through the window.
Focusing again I see
Opaque. Unable to
Look past the glass.
Only up to it.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 1:17 PM UTC
To some it’s all conjectural,
Philosophically conceptual.
You think you’re intellectual
But your reasoning is ineffectual.
Reviled both by heterosexuals
Insulted as well by homosexuals
And some ugly issues contractual
We are the besmirched bisexuals.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
The straights tell us we must decide
Then put the other gender aside.
The complaints range far and wide
Even gay people opt to deride.
We don’t feel welcomed anywhere inside.
Why doesn’t tolerance coincide
When nobody seems to take our side?
It’s freedom, get on the bus and ride.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
We know, after years of research
Gender choice is not learned in church.
It can be shaped with rods of birch
But those are better for birds to perch.
Denying us freedom is an ugly lurch
Past including truth in a morality search.
Back to when we were ruled by a church
And any variance was besmirched.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC
"Justice runs down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream"
Martin Luther King, Jr.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brothers and sisters
Arm in arm
In grace
With faith
And agape love
Marched towards hate
And the steel of repression
No door to heaven is easily opened
Sometimes the only choice is to die
Not quickly
But slowly and painfully
The arc of justice bends under the weight of human sacrifice
They thought
"This is it for me"
Yes this was it
But it was time
Time for the signs to come down
The signs that said
"You here"
"You there"
"Not for you"
"Sit in the back"
Separate but equal
A lie of monstrous proportion
There is no equality
When all is not shared
There is no equality
When a night stick crushes inalienable rights
There is no equality
When a child is called a ______
There is no equality
When the love of Jesus
Is not enough for some people
When the love of Jesus
Is not enough for some hearts
When the love of Jesus
Is not enough for grace on earth
Let me take a moment
To cry
To feel the shame
Let us take a moment
And understand why some among us remember Selma
A memory of pride and pain
A memory of the willingness to die
For what is right
To give up their life
To give up their complaints
To give up their selfishness
To give up what we take for granted
So that they might die
For someone else
Because it was time
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC