Cute
Pretty
Beautiful
****
While most women love hearing these words from the lips of their lovers for the evening,
I don't.
They aren't simple complements, they're ways to make me vulnerable.

Now I just sound like a white girl with issues, yeah I know.
But the truth is that everyone who has told me those words as only wanted what's between my legs.
And half the time, when they got it, they left.

I'm tired of men seeing me at 8am with no makeup or heels
Looking at me as if I had lied to them
Because I'm obviously looking for love* in the wrong places

One night stands don't make hoes into housewives
But they will certainly turn housewives into hoes.

how do you know (when a broken human can be fixed)


https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2644586/how-do-you-know-when-a-human-is-too-broken/

supermarket checkout line, so lazy broken down dressed,
I’m probably arrestible for disturbing the peace,
my haired piled, and held together by a broken clip,
makeup at home in
a drawer labeled ‘why bother’
my t shirt, don’t please look too closely,
yesterday’s coffee spillage outline
only mostly gone,
and the skinny jeans that felt inappropriate
ten pounds ago,
now looking semi-completely ridiculous

is this a tv show?
wallet, a twenty and a single,
who knew a pound of ground blue mountain
cost the better part of the the twenty
in that case no need for a gallon of milk
and *** a box of chocolate frosted donuts
silently slid far far away,
evidence of a guilty plea of irresponsibility resignation

short $2.42 (cut up the credit cards)
and no convenient pit to fall into
when the teenager cashier snickers,
when a sam elliot voice says here ya are,
stammering a no, a thank you, and thinking getaway direction

truck safely, made it,
knock on the window
sam elliot soundalike is a lookalike as well
standing outside with my wallet in hand,
two heads taller than my ex-petite figurine

more stammering ******* could I look any stupider

but inside a piece of brown shopping bag torn
with ten whole digits
I’ve never seen prior to this disaster
saying call when you want to return my $2.42

turns out he got, no, he is glue and paste,
an eraser man for fine lines and sad times,
and a lasso to keep me held together,
a pocket red handkerchief hanging half out
of his back pocket, never without, calls it his tear catcher

pulled out that too tight blues-blouse
from back of my closet
that still complements my complexion,
wear it ever time that day rolls around

just dumb luck ain’t much of an answer
so I’ll rephrase, dumb luck is in the everything
cause his number was 917-242-2424
and he is a gambler in matters of the heart

bust his ***** when he says he’s a lucky man,
reply he ain’t got no luck at all
compared to me on that daft day

and every daft day thereafter
I glue his lips shut to mine, no escaping,
and paste a new $2.42
into his wallet
when he is sleeping mine,
no erasing our lines,
just redrawing them deeper and finer,
just making sure my
dumb luck is working overtime

It all begins
With pronouns
I becomes the subject
Of my project
Adding you
And collectively we
I choose you and me
And I exclude the he and the she
Until I am certain of we

You and I pick verbs
actions

Inflect them to match
fit
begin narratives

Transitive verbs take objects

You touch
tickle
tease
taste
take skin
*******
lips
me with words

Words have become a clause
But still a simple construction
So, you tickle me where?

For this you need a preposition
To position your tickling ammunition
Do you touch
tickle
tease me ON my *******
*******
thighs
buttocks
****?

Do you feel me INSIDE my mouth
****
soul?
Positioning is envisioning.

Then you use adjectives
To modify descriptions of
Sensory inscriptions
So, gentle complements touch
Soft and passionate kiss
And you become superlative

And adverbs elaborate experience
expression
exploration

You fill me deeply
thoroughly
violently with all that is you

But adverbs can also mean time
Not sweet or cursed time
Or time denoting age
But timing is always important
And grammar dictates
That
Time adverbs are placed
As a beginning or an end
Like a lover's embrace

Thus,
This morning, you woke me with
A demanding "here and now! " and I will reciprocate this, tonight, I vow.

Conjunctions are sentence connectors
And sentences behave like detectors
Bodies balancing with and, but, or
Otherwise subordinate
And the scale tips towards
Conditioning hypotaxis
Making actions a complicated praxis

(before my mind can connect, you will have to pursuade it /pursue it)

But we coordinate conjunctions
Equally
I touch you
You touch me
Exploring
Exploding sensory functions

So, together we cry imperatives
Completing our ****** narratives

Moaning
Whimpering
Begging
Yelling: Please... bind me!
touch me!
bite me!
take me!
come!

Oh! Please, come!

I love the English language... ;)

Months of stale, cigarette smoke
and spilt **** water pleasantly
offset the stench of cheap cologne
and ratty, abused furniture.
    
Fictitious stories occupy this tiny, dim
apartment, birthed on the lips of
rebellious juveniles whose tongues
pierce the ears of our elders.

In a forsaken corner, Jeremy lounges
awkwardly on a grubby-plaid sofa that
suitably complements his button-down shirt.  
I join him.

Behind his right ear rests a lonely cigarette, while
another sits snug between his lips, set ablaze
by the 1968 Slim Model Zippo he inherited from
his beloved grandfather.

His transparent sense of self-worth emanates
from his grubby, grease-stained hands, scuffed boots,
blotchy-checkered flannels, and faded blue jeans
that are completely obliterated with holes.

I look into his pale blue eyes, the depth of which
often goes unrecognized.  Jeremy is a soft-hearted,
pudgy youngster with the kind of chunky cheeks
that all grandparents love to torture.  

But his marred, acne-ridden face betrays the transition
that has been forced upon him.  Slowly, his trademark
grin appears across his face – subtle, mischievous, and
typically without reason.  But this time it appears justified.

Jeremy takes a moment’s break from his cigarette to drop two
hits of acid.  A new drug for him, he hopes to find relief from
his seething anxiety, evidenced now by the wide expansion of his
chest as he takes another, more lengthy and powerful pull from his cigarette.

The mundane chatter that fills the room continues, a seeming
necessity to offset any potential awkward silence. I feel as if
this noise is closing in around us.  But just as suddenly as I
feel overwhelmed by this sensation, the noise stops.

I look around, noticing everyone’s eyes staring in my
direction.  Jeremy is still next to me, now giggling
like a little school girl.
I begin to feel sick.

Jeremy swiftly leans forward, giving his
cigarette a premature but honorable
death, eliminating its glow as he smashes
the cherry into tiny bits against the ashtray.

As he sits back against the couch, I can see that
his eyes are now indifferent. Foreign.  With a perplexed
and fascinated stare, he watches the pearly-white smoke
slowly slither upwards towards the ceiling.

There’s no question in my mind that his
soul has fled. Jeremy sinks further into the
couch, turning his vacant eyes in my direction.
I want to *****.

His high-pitched giggle has now subsided into a
low whimper.  Gradually extending his left arm into
the air, he tilts it from side-to-side, examining it as if
an infant discovering his genitals for the first time.  

Bike wheels appear in the corners of the room.
Entertained, his eyes rapidly zigzag from the
corners of the walls to his hands. He asks me
if I can see the wheels. I don’t respond.

Intervals of psychotic emotion begin to cycle. Jeremy’s eyes
fill with tears as he tries to understand the hallucinations
engulfing him.  The expression on his face betrays the reality that
he has stepped onto the never-ending theme-park ride from hell.  

Together we leave and walk to the bus station, Jeremy
walking slowly and whimsically. The bus arrives,
and I hand him a few crumpled, single-dollar
bills as I attempt to instruct him where to get off.  

All I can envision is his mother’s first reaction to her son’s arrival.  
Would she collapse at her son’s knees, crying like a mother whose boy
has come home from war?  Would he forever be an awkward guest
at the dinner table? Would she disown him?  Would he become a feral child?






I no longer know what day it is. I am surrounded by lockers
and students, trapped in a tunnel of shadowy walls.  As I stand
alone, I find myself entranced by the blinding, January sunlight
that floods through the double doors a mile away.

My vision is unexpectedly blocked by a figure
standing in front of me. Clothed in little but jeans
and a bright, white t-shirt, Jeremy stares at me, his eyes
mirroring the emptiness I now feel.  

“Do you have a lighter?”  My hands pointlessly search my pockets for
what I already know is not there. “No, man. Sorry.” A look of confusion
spreads over his face, and I suddenly cannot help but notice the sick irony
of the scene in front of me - Jeremy flooded in light as if born again.  

My thoughts linger here too long, and just as swiftly as Jeremy
appeared, he is a mile away sauntering out through those double
doors. Estranged, I continue to stand here, hoping with
futility that this isn’t the last time I have looked upon him.

“the nation needs new direction...”
a talking head on television
got me saved as he began
“abandon investigations into global warming,
polar bears and orangutans,
other pseudo-scientific distractions
from proper resource extraction that could save us
from the mess we're in..”

proposing, instead, the latest in scientific experiments:
ascertaining the flavor of blue jelly beans,
or the true origin of belly button lint -
useful information for armchair navel-gazers

now I'm one of them

we want an installation of mirrors on the moon
so we can watch ghetto children clean toilets after class
as they repay their debts
for the free ketchup they get
from socialist school lunch programs
they’ll learn valuable skills for eventual careers
as lifetime sanitary engineers

our right-minded scientists are poised soon
to upend the old myth that earth is round
because out in Texas, anyone can see that it’s flat;
and monkeys be ******
none of those letters are in us,
the old book says it in black and white

but we’ve since adopted the newer testament,
improved through Ayn Rand
(an atheist...imagine that!)
The Savior is an investment banker, job creator
who kept his accounts off-shore
out of reach of commies and single mothers, the ******

we still espouse good christian values
(charity for the poor, yaddayadda)
cooking pots of pasta in church kitchens
to feed them;
God helps when they need more -
like medicine for uncontrolled diabetes -
which is when we lay-on-hands and prescribe
heavy doses of prayer
(the approach doesn't cost a cent)

after all, poverty is the neo-cardinal sin
(greed, by conservative decree, is now good),
unforgiven within gates of the convention
but we’ll guarantee a spray of white carnations
on the pine box at the altar if all else fails,
complements of the congregation...

just not for gays or lesbians ...
or loose women who seek abortions
before we have a chance to peek inside them...

we aim to reclaim freedom
(from guilt and contemplation,
cerebral things like thinking...)
take our country back from
the legions of excess population
who, by some estimations, seem a lot like us
but aren't

we’ll be winners again

When good hot tea
Encountered cream;
When passioned truth
Met passioned dream;
When all the sky
Met all the sea...
And I met Katie;
She met me.

When good fried fish
First met with chips;
When longing lips
Encountered lips;
When squirrel once
Met silver fir...
Katie met me.
I met her.

Whales have no wings to fly
But they have eyes to cry

Whales are so big but kind
They're not easy to find

Whales are definitely so nice
**** them not to eat with rice.


Today is Saturday, Sept. 28, the 269th day of 2014 with 94 to follow.

The moon is waxing. Morning stars are Jupiter, Uranus and Venus. Evening stars are Mars, Mercury, Neptune and Saturn.


In 1825, in England, George Stephenson operated the first locomotive to pull a passenger train.



A thought for the day:



No place epitomizes the American experience and the American spirit more than New York City. -- Michael Bloomberg.



QUOTES FOR THE DAY:




He who is void of virtuous attachments in private life is, or very soon will be, void of all regard for his country. There is seldom an instance of a man guilty of betraying his country, who had not before lost the feeling of moral obligations in his private connections.

------------------------

How strangely will the Tools of a Tyrant pervert the plain Meaning of Words!



Samuel Adams



In university they don't tell you that the greater part of the law is learning to tolerate fools.




Doris Lessing




“The character inherent in the American people has done all that has been accomplished; and it would have done somewhat more, if the government had not sometimes got in its way.”



Henry David Thoreau



"Everything you can imagine is real."



Pablo Picasso



“Ugly. Is irrelevant. It is an immeasurable insult to a woman, and then supposedly the worst crime you can commit as a woman. But ugly, as beautiful, is an illusion.”



Margaret Cho




POETRY




TO THE THAWING WIND



Robert Frost





Come with rain, O loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snowbank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But whate'er you do tonight,
Bathe my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit's crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o'er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.


About this poem
"To the Thawing Wind" was first published in Frost's collection "A Boy's Will" (Holt, 1915).

About Robert Frost
Robert Frost was born on March 26, 1874, in San Francisco. He was the recipient of four Pulitzer Prizes during his lifetime and read at President John F. Kennedy's inauguration. Frost died in Boston on Jan. 29, 1963.

*
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.



This poem is in the public domain.
Distributed by King Features Syndicate





A TIP FOR WOMEN




Choosing Eyeliner



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JOKES



WHALES



A little girl was talking to her teacher about whales.

The teacher said it was physically impossible for a whale to swallow a human because even though it was a very large mammal its throat was very small.

The little girl stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale.

Irritated, the teacher reiterated that a whale could not swallow a human; it was physically impossible.

The little girl: said, "When I get to heaven I will ask Jonah".

The teacher: asked, " What if Jonah went to hell?"

The little girl: replied, "Then you ask him".





JURY SELECTION

The tiresome jury selection process continued, each side hotly contesting and dismissing potential jurors. Don O'Brian was called for his question session.

"Property holder?"

"Yes, I am, Your Honor."

"Married or single?"

"Married for twenty years, Your Honor."

"Formed or expressed an opinion?"

"Not in twenty years, Your Honor."





Questionable Predictions



Nostradamus recently turned 500. Here are some other predictions from lesser lights:

- Law will be simplified (over the next century). Lawyers will have diminished, and their fees will have been vastly curtailed. --Junius Henri Browne 1893

- By 1960, work will be limited to three hours a day. --John Langdon-Davies

- Hurrah, Boys, we've caught them napping. We'll finish them up and go home to our station. --George A. Custer, 1876, prior to the Battle of Little Big Horn

- Get rid of the pointed-ears guy. --NBC executive, regarding Mr. Spock of STAR TREK, 1966

- Telephones (will) bring peace on earth, eliminate Southern accents, and save the farm by making farmers less lonely. --printed in THE WALL STREET JOURNAL, Century-old Pronouncements, 1995





Stupid True Headlines



- Something Went Wrong in Jet Crash, Expert Says

- Police Begin Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers

- Safety Experts Say School Bus Passengers Should Be Belted

- Drunk Gets Nine Months in Violin Case

- Survivor of Siamese Twins Joins Parents

- Farmer Bill Dies in House

- Iraqi Head Seeks Arms

- Is There a Ring of Debris around Uranus?

- Stud Tires Out

- Prostitutes Appeal to Pope

- Panda Mating Fails; Veterinarian Takes Over

- Soviet ****** Lands Short of Goal Again

- British Left Waffles on Falkland Islands

- Lung Cancer in Women Mushrooms

- Eye Drops off Shelf

- Teacher Strikes Idle Kids

- Include your Children When Baking Cookies

- Squad Helps Dog Bite Victim

- Shot Off Woman's Leg Helps Nicklaus to 66

- Enraged Cow Injures Farmer with Axe

- Plane Too Close to Ground, Crash Probe Told

- Miners Refuse to Work after Death

- Juvenile Court to Try Shooting Defendant

- Stolen Painting Found by Tree

- Two Soviet Ships Collide, One Dies

- Two Sisters Reunited after 18 Years in Checkout Counter

- Killer Sentenced to Die for Second Time in 10 Years



- Never Withhold ****** Infection from Loved One

- Drunken Drivers Paid $1000 in '84

- War Dims Hope for Peace

- If Strike isn't Settled Quickly, It May Last a While

- Cold Wave Linked to Temperatures

- Enfields Couple Slain; Police Suspect Homicide

- Red Tape Holds Up New Bridge

- Deer **** 17,000

- Typhoon Rips Through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead

- Man Struck by Lightning Faces Battery Charge

- New Study of Obesity Looks for Larger Test Group

- Astronaut Takes Blame for Gas in Spacecraft

- Kids Make Nutritious Snacks

- Chef Throws His Heart into Helping Feed Needy

- Arson Suspect is Held in Massachusetts Fire

- British Union Finds Dwarfs in Short Supply

- Ban On Soliciting Dead in Trotwood

- Lansing Residents Can Drop Off Trees

- Local High School Dropouts Cut in Half

- New Vaccine May Contain Rabies

- Man Minus Ear Waives Hearing

- Deaf College Opens Doors to Hearing

- Air Head Fired

- Steals Clock, Faces Time

- Prosecutor Releases Probe into Undersheriff

- Old School Pillars are Replaced by Alumni

- Bank Drive-in Window Blocked by Board

- Hospitals are Sued by 7 Foot Doctors

- Some Pieces of Rock Hudson Sold at Auction

- *** Education Delayed, Teachers Request Training





HAVE A FABULOUS SUNDAY!

I haven't always been like this
once i was a girl
that didn't believe
in the possibility of love & all that comes with it
all the feelings & anxiety
all the smiles & cuddles
all the great moments shared
with someone
you truly care about &
would die for them to be happy
if you could,
although i know that most of the times
things aren't always marvelous
and to be honest, they seem to be
quite tough,
because sharing a life & yourself as a whole
with someone
isn't as easy as it seems
because people are not easy to deal with
because i'm not easy to deal with
and because you're also not easy to deal with
but for me, that's the trick of it all
if we were easy to deal with,
it wouldn't be so beautiful
all those times after a fight
when we try to be mad at each other
but we just can't
because the desire to see the other smiling again
is always bigger than any reason worth a fight
but even the reasons that aren't worth it,
brings a good yet so confusing feeling
about the need to fight
to confront each other
because then again
you're sharing some part of you
and it's a part that matters so much
that you just can't help keep it only to yourself
and that's why i love you
because you're difficult to deal with
and because you're the best person
i have ever got into a fight with,
and the pleasure of being this someone
is all mine.

Part One particular: How The Soccer Warm Operates.

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The baseball regularly have fallen a long way due to the fact 1918, once they were invented using a many other named Jervis by Luton as an easy way associated with bets within the link between soccer meets. A few men and women paid for cents hoping of receiving the ? jackpot.

The particular basketball swimming pools is actually a sort of pari-mutuel betting just like the sweepstakes. Every one of the cash secured through each one of the bets members lies inside of a "pool". Your organisers, and various other other individuals, bring their reveal what is actually quit will be contributed similarly between the winning trades. In most cases, fewer than 30% of your complete swimming pool will be delivered to your winning punters. Compared with your wager put that has a ******, your go back on pools playing outlays will never become effectively decided upfront considering that the final amount involving individuals will be not known, in addition there might be several winners with the exact same appropriate winning predict. In these cases the bonanza is actually contributed.

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These days, a thousand pound goldmine is common. The four primary agencies -- Littlewoods, Vernons, Zetters as well as Brittens -- situation around millions of deals every week. The biggest firm is Littlewoods private pools, which provides available prizes that could reach over ?50 million every year, exercising with ? thousand per week. Invariably of such items usually are distributed, this indicates that will all over 06 , 000, 000 people england on your own have a fiscal curiosity about the particular sports outcomes.

Component A couple of (Not really the 'Full Perm) ( blank ) around the corner.


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She doesn't think she's beautiful but ugly
It's strange to me
Its hard to complement a girl full of insecurities
She hides her pride behind her eyes
Those ocean blue eyes
The ones full of love
They shine when the sun kiss them
I swear I get a glimpse of heaven
I feel like I'm floating, no flying
But then I crash
She says I don't make her feel pretty
And it's silly of me
To fail at a such easy thing
My attempts fall on deaf ears
The words "your beautiful"
Never reach the top of her hills
Her insecurities stop them cold
Like the steel around her nose
That finds the sun an shine bright
My complements hides in her blacks streaks
In her golden blond hair
The hair she uses to hides her face
As I brush it away
In that one second our eyes meet
In that one second she looses her insecurities

Your nouns are spread
On sheets
Of white impeccability
Attached complements provide
Detail
Description
Of beauty
Excellence
And we both inflect
Flex
Our verbs
With precision
In perfect concord
We take specific (pre)positions
Towards me
Around you
Inside
In out in out
Up
Upwards
Denying every possibility
Of negations
Conjunctions
Limitations in scope
And we end existence
In a loud
Exclamation!

smile…… Manipulate…..complements ...... Manipulate……act interested……manipulate…..show some tears….. manipulate…….white lies….manipulate…..it’s a drug, to manipulate….flirt and manipulate…. escape pain or consequence…manipulate …..socially acceptable to manipulate…to get what you deserve…manipulate….to get what you want….manipulate……to change some one’s mind manipulate…..to be successful manipulate …..O i hate manipulation! i rather have paid every speeding ticket, stood in every long line, gone to jail, paid more than full price for everything, not got the job and been broke…..never been kissed…failed at everything….then to have ever manipulated in my life! O God i hate manipulation and it’s subtleness.. a quiet vice…a secret soul killer…. Call it what you will….swag….cleverness….success…..it doesn’t matter manipulation wears any Word you choose…it’s all self-centered…. me me me me me….. hehehehe…..stop!!!!…. Manipulation must die! Especially in its most subtle and acceptable forms. Even if i have to struggle…even if i lose everything…it must die…”those who save there live will lose it, those lose their lives will find it…………Christ guide me

My whippet ran
as fast as the wind.

With a cheetahs gate
he could catch all.

And now he rests
his race is done,
all rabbits happy.

*Shanzi is a syllabic poem in seven lines  4/5 5/4 4/4/5
Unrhymed
Lines 1 and 2   INTRODUCE the SUBECT
Lines 3 and 4   AMPLIFY what is affected by the image/subject.
Line 5 thru 7    Focus on NEW SUBJECT that complements and provides a meditative conclusion.
Shanzi may be Titled

Last night at a party I had five shots
And five revelations along with them
Thank you, tiny sweet shot glass for
Burning away inhibitions.
Burning hot,  liquescent cinnamon
Goes straight to my knees and my phone
As I sat on the kitchen counter, texting,
And I had some things to say that
         I never dared to before.
One: Like how when I thought that
you wanted me, I was an apparition
that had been trying to break the veil
between two worlds, to no avail
and you with your kind eyes
          resurrected me.  
Two: That I’ve never been noticed by a
good man. Nor have I noticed any.
You were sugar and spice, but
telling someone that you miss
them and then never fulfilling
the sweet promise of someday,
         isn’t very nice at all.
Three: The first time you told me I was beautiful
I couldn’t believe you. Because I always believed
that complements were gifts men gave
to women to remind us that we are only our
bodies. And as a girl who is most comfortable
when she retreats deep within the recesses
of her imagination I find this troubling.
Besides what good is beauty when it only
          serves to make sweeter my fire.
Four: the second and third and fourth time you
called me beautiful I believe you meant it .
Because you offered up those treats without
demanding payment and I thought that’s what
respect was, what longing was. And it felt good to
be wanted for more than my body but still...
I felt the heavier meaning your words
And your eyes spoke in sonnets
And the more you said it the more I needed
to hear it.I had never needed to hear it before you.
But your insistence that I am beautiful
made me want you and for the first time
               I let myself want.
Five: I hate that if you called me right now
I would go to you, in a heartbeat.
I hate that you inspire poetry so cliche.
That everything I  feel about you
is as the Sun rises each day:
Spectacular yet under appreciated.
I hate that I make excuses for you.
That I understand how you could
forget about me, change your mind
about me. I hate that I don’t think
you did anything wrong. I hate that I
should hate you but I can’t press send
because I’m still hoping that you will
come back to me, like how
the Sun longs to share the sky
                      with the Moon
I took your words like a shot of whiskey,
nervous at first and then all at once.
They tasted like heaven, and burned like hell,
a confusion of syrupy sweet nothings (nothing
because that's all we ever were) and the sting
of your silence when you left town. When I
first saw you I wrote a poem about how
I didn't know your name and I  was not brave
enough to ask. I knew you were going to be
important but I didn’t know then that
       the afterthought of you would
                                burn so much.

Do not elevate each other to Gods,
place each other on pedestals
claiming goodness only
and beautiful soul
without the means to harm.
Do we not know that
every light contains a dark?

At first I only saw you
You, your brown hair,
your acne covered tan face,
your smile
just as it was

Then more of your personality started to show
and I fell in love you
Your silliness,
your sense of humor,
your sense of fun
But then your image changed to me

I didn't just see you
your smile
your hair
or your face

I saw someone extraordinary
the cutest smile
acne that complements beautiful skin
adorable curly brown hair

But then you said you didn't like me

And that destroys me
but i can't stop loving you

G  o  d  ,   s  t  o  p    l  o  v  i  n  g    h  i  m
                       ­    j.b

The soft edges of femininity,
Round, *******, complements,
Heels, ***** of the feet, sockets,

Soft eyes, soft hearts, soft hands
Tinkering, thanking, crossing, legs.

Girlhood is enclosed in a silver box
With mute pastels and a heavy soundtrack of strings,

Strings which bifurcate, dissect, divulge,
Horrors, bells, instruments and lush melodies.

Girlhood smells of iron, hot animals, heaving,
Converging, pin ******, the sharp alacrity of Knowing.

Eyes are wet, armpits go black , round edges
Protrude into a potbelly, grow and stagnate,
expand and collapse.

It almost seems like complements define who i am… ..whether i give myself the complement or someone else does….it’s so addictive…. “O baby your so ****…. smart… funny… successful…yada yada yada...maybe this is true…but it’s truth is only temporary and temporary truth is never really the truth at all….it’s but a stepping stone…to then live a complement as truth is to live a counterfeit… ….don’t believe me? Then ask a casket………Mirror Mirror on the wall……..complements aren’t what they say your are at all…..yet a complement still can help you grow…. they do have their purpose…but take a complement and leave it where it is…don’t wear it like skin…..don’t believe it is your identity….lest you wake up dead covered in lies…………..

An emporium full of visual delights, moonbeams bounce and dance, around a pitted cloud clear site.

A shooting star shining, a whooshing sound if heard, lights the sky as it blazes bright, starting in the east, accelerating, disappearing out of pleasured sight.

Stars blaze illuminating dark, the galaxy forming its magical map of horoscopes in this glorious orb, Its North Star guidance for some who navigate upon our planet earth be it on land air or under the sea, a million or more miles the distance should we achieve the ability to or want to go see up close these glowing planets of rock, gas and ore.

Dying stars growing in their brightness, as if, a last attempt of holding life,
Glowing brighter than before their internal charges disperse, fading no longer able to ignite.

Dancing colours in the north and south, painted great abstracts wide and far,
Hues of fusing reds oranges yellows greens across dark blue,
Spectacular moments for those with time to sit, observe and view, these magical electrically charged special dancing hues.

Reflections distorting down below, hues shading, appearing blushed as oceans gush and light rides upon a moonlit magnetic heaving tide, a tide awaiting, a stage set for two

Only you can see the magic being created in front of misted, barely woken if open eyes,
Only you can see the rising spirits coming up to play upon the core of sphere,
Under the kaleidoscope twinkling melee filled bustling sea and sky.

Rise up, a beckon, a call to you, come join this light filled orb of invisible tunes,
Where a piano plays a serenade and the orchestra complements with
Soft sounds of Trombones, cello’s, violins, tuba’s, drums and flutes
A tempo set to sweep excited people off their seat and on into their dancing shoes

Rise up in your sparkly dancing dress and shoes for you are floating Imagination growing with every timeless move

Twinkling stars blinking approval, reflections in the agreeing tide as it ebbs and flows.

Rise up, move, dance, sway, step and jump to those imaginary magical tunes
A prince of darkness, a dreaming queen  
A loving scene, a glory electrically charged night time dancing dream.

I’ve memorized my ceiling.
Every unruly pattern
embroidered to the plaster,
ugly and confusing
constellations in the shadows.

My fatigued brain can no longer
differentiate between dust motes and sunlight.

I want to destroy something beautiful.
Some things need to be
written between heartbeats.
To appreciate nostalgia
you must forget it comes
in soul crushing waves.

I want to sleep for a hundred years
arms of silence winding around my head.
My fingers are slow to curl,
every limb weighs me down.
I’m faced with a puzzle

What is origami.
Where can I burn paper cranes.

A relaxed *** of tea complements
the tide that inhales the sand and
all the possibilities
that come with blackberry brambles.
Something about blue
makes you fall in love with the sky.

You don't make me happy. You are my happiness. The difference between the two is simple, but important: You see, if you only made me happy, just the thought of you would be enough. A picture of you would suffice to keep me content. But it isn't. You are my happiness, embodied. So when you're away, my happiness is gone as well. Thoughts are not enough. I don't feel complete when I'm not with you. I need you. All of you. I can only hope that you need me, too.  
I always thought of love like puzzle pieces. I know that metaphor's been done a hundred times over, but this is a little more specific. You see, everyone is built in a certain way. We are all pieces. Some people are whole pieces unto themselves - an entire picture, clear and beautiful. They don't need another puzzle piece. They're complete as they are, which is fine. Most people, however, are parts of a whole. They need other pieces to help them make sense, to see the whole picture. Some people have a lot of spaces and gaps, and it takes a lot of other puzzle pieces working together to keep them happy and to make them feel whole. Most people are halves. They are half of a picture, searching for the other half of themselves. However, these are puzzle pieces, meaning not every piece will fit with another. The pieces have to be the right size, the right shape, the right color. Puzzle pieces are complex and dynamic. Each one is special. Even if a piece is shaped really weird or has odd edges and angles, it fits perfectly with another piece somewhere. They just have to find each other. No one is wrong, and no one is unlovable. They just have to find the piece that complements them.
Somewhere, there is another puzzle piece out there that will help you make sense of yourself and see the whole picture of who you are. I always liked to think of it like that. I like to think that someday, someone as unique as I am will help me create a beautiful picture, a whole picture of myself, that we can both understand and be happy with. And I will do the same for them. Just like a puzzle.

You lit my way to this place I never thought I could glint.
When I got cold feet, you're all thumbs; giving me a lift.
You let malaise rotate 180 degrees,
Which turned into thousands of exuberant stories.

I was perturbed when the lights dimmed.
Wanted to go on your way but it is winding.
Determined hands tried to reach,
Throat was screeching but your ears were stitched.

Can't define what you have-
Complements the colors of my well-being;
Spur this mettle and ebb away tides
Albeit you're deadpan at times.
Why can't I ***** out and snuggle somewhere without you?

Maybe the reason is Y.O.U.

11-04-11

Your slim figure & stylish cloths,
complement your feminine & **** figure.

The white of your big brown eyes,
complement your pretty white smile.

The fullness of your shiny red lips,
complement your long black & silky hair.

Your long eye lashes & darkened thinned brows,
complement your beautiful skin.

Your soft & ***** voice,
complements your hypnotic .

My heart yearns to save you.
I worry for your very life.

Your perfectly manicured fingernails,
disfigured by the burning, smokey cigarette.

The order of  on your cloths & breath
distracts from your flowery perfume.

Your shortness of breath,
accentuates your asthmatic conditions.

Your strong & intermittent coughing.
worsens by your addictive habit.

Your persistent & consistent.
Slowly deteriorating your body from within.

Why can't you stop?
After many visits to the emergency room,
Why can't you stop?

It doesn't make sense!

The rain keeps falling
As dry as a drought.

                       “ Rain drops heavier than water,
                           When it’s laden with doubt. “
He said,
                       “ The ground simply can’t hold it
                                     … So it must go without. “

               ” You’ve never known water to stain,
                  But you’ve never felt this kind of rain.
                  It’s thicker than your skin.
                  It stains your clothes and what’s within.
                  It sounds like hammers as it pounds -
                 And yet, the ground won’t let it in.

          So it flows like a river that only gets bigger;
          It runs like a force that knows no remorse.
                     Despite endless efforts to stop it -
                     It still runs like a faucet…
                                        With nowhere to drain. "

But if the ground holds no plants, is the water so vital?
Is the rain’s sole purpose this lifeless recital?
The ground stays so strong.
It holds fast, like pure stone
But can one stay so long when one’s so alone?
When one is forced to move,
               Will the ground or the rain?
And when the first one has gone,
               Will the other remain?


For now, they coexist,
Each facing a challenge it can’t resist -
Both unstoppable and immovable,
                              They hopelessly persist.
As complements, they combine
                        With the product of a flood.
But the water that’s collecting
                        Has the consistency of blood.

There’s a heart behind this water.
It pulses, instead of flowing.
So you turn to the only man you know,
             for parting words with danger growing.
And he says, as you leave:

               “ I wish you luck where you are going.
                   My son, you’ve only seen the rain . . .
                    . . . The winds are not yet blowing.

Nothing complements a cup of Earl Gray tea
quite like a walk around Nevada City
and a few cigarettes.

Of course
knowing I will see you tomorrow
and complement your outfit (because it will be nice)
will do fine.

I asked for a dance and you promised me two
and I won't think of much more until the second one is done.
And even after that I'm sure I will think of little more.
Until we dance again.

The football players will still get "pumped up" on four or five EPI pens before a game
and I will still hate them
and the girls will still post on Instagram
and I will still hate them
and she will still laugh at my jokes
and I will still love that laugh.

This has all happened before.
To me, my grandfather, and a boy named John who lived in 1970's New York.
It's all been done before,
it's all a copy of a copy of a copy of  Jesus
but it will still never cease to amaze
(occupy)

Shock and Awe was a failure, some will tell you
and 40 percent of the Central African peoples will be infected with ***
and Jesus will never leave the cross.
And you laugh will never cease to amaze
(occupy)

With whispered complements
Sootheing scratched hearts
We held each other tight
I curled into her clavicle
I've slipped into a real life romance
As beautiful and tortured as the novels describe
It's fantastic.
I love it.
Well,, there was some kissing.
If I'm honest, quite a bit.
But obviously there's more to it than that.
See, she's amazingly awesome
Poetic nonsense can't capture it
It's one of those things
All full and complex
All beautiful and rich.

My Whippet gone,
now dust once again.

I've given him back,
from whence he came.

To run again
in cosmic fields,
waiting to be born.

*Shanzi is a syllabic poem in seven lines  4/5 5/4 4/4/5
Unrhymed
Lines 1 and 2   INTRODUCE the SUBJECT
Lines 3 and 4   AMPLIFY what is affected by the image/subject.
Line 5 thru 7    Focus on NEW SUBJECT that complements and provides a meditative conclusion.
Shanzi may be Titled

Harrogate, TN  November, 2014

In another life, I was born a painter.
Gliding colors over canvas to imitate emotion.
Stepping back and marveling at the impressionism or the modernism or the realism of what I just created.
And people could look and gawk
and give gracious complements.

In another life, I was born a dancer.
Helplessly allowing melodies to transfuse my blood and move my limbs the way ocean waves move water.
Elegance in my bones, loveliness in my tendons, beauty in my ligaments.
Boys would leap toward me
and I would jeté toward them or grand jeté away from them.

In another life, I was born a singer.
A voice of gold and diamonds
that people love to eat
and bathe in.
Like summer sunlight in the springtime,
snow on December 25th.
Things people love to experience.

But, in this life, I was born a writer
so I live with what I must.
And I'll paint with my words-
give them color and life and realism, with just a hint of impressionism.
And I'll make my words dance-
across white pages, dressed in black, the smell of sweat and blood soaked within their skin.
And I'll make my words sing-
sing the ballad of my heart and the ballad of my mind and, maybe, even the ballad of the world.

Words are not inadequacy,
even in a world of painters, dancers, and singers.