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hospitalflowers Jul 2013
you make everything so ******* complicated.
you make me want to stab myself
in good ways and bad ways;
if there's even a difference.
I don't know what you want from me.
I think you don't want anything,
but then I think you want things
that I can't give you.

I've done enough of thinking
that I mean something to people,
because that's never the case.
I was mad at you,
but then I was mad at myself
for even caring what you thought of me.
I've done enough of caring about
things that I don't understand
so I've been trying to understand you,
but you make everything so
******* complicated.

a.d.
Time seems to go by,
but pause at the same time.
The earth rotates,
but why can't we notice?
The volcanoes are erupting,
but nothing comes out.
The tides are high and strong,
but doesn't seem to impact.
(being dramatic)
© Cyrille Octaviano, 2014
Ahmad Cox May 2012
It can be easy
We have a tendency
Of making things hard
Life can be just as simple
As stepping out of yourself
Stepping out into the life
Living each moment
Excepting your life
And excepting your end
Living each moment
And spreading love
Kindness
Compassion
And empathy
To every one else around you
If every one could just live
A little more simply
And stop making things
So complicated
This world would be
A lot less complicated
And start becoming
A lot more simple
Edgar Jun 2014
He's her sickness, with him she's unwell
She's his drug, without her life's hell
He's her nightmare, with him she's frightened
She's his sweetest dreams, without her he's burdened
He's her despair, with him she's grieved
She's his hope, with her he's fulfilled
He's her failure
She's his success
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
The numerals II Sir I to another
alphabet
ABC* confession
DEF feared_***
My bowl spilled my
heart soup

Have Merci Beau-coup
The S was left alone my survival
Do you love my eyes primal
He points widely- tribal his
marriage finger my editorial
Be kinder strawberry sugar high
Do you want me to bite down
on my wafers
-I for the Ivy League his polo loafers

He's my (Lifesavers)
The bow and arrow I met my
dark sparrow what a rainbow
So intrigued my mystery arrival

Why on earth do you want me down?

To focus staying upright but kinda
Tight-Net gown

I am not a falling we have eyes
The face to face prize to be eyed
The Carribean
That Native American
Johnny Depp
When I make my first movie wish

The pirate birdseye rash
Al Dente ziti  Eggplant Parmigiana
The headless horse Dante always neighs
kills me on
Valentine day hearts lucky horseshoe

Eyes have frozen bird's eye
They thought I was
the sweet pea
He knocked me off
My Twitter tweets
  
I am the writer don't flood
My words everything is shaking
This is the Godly earth

So confused we feel-tightly squeezed
The earthquake head over heels down to our knees

She is sipping her tears down
In her chamomile tea thumbs up
The world is evaporating
like the dead sea
Bring everything alive I am
counting to 1*2*3*4*5

Down to my last words
I'm staying alive my life is more than
A Saturday Night Fever
But feeling down to my sunrise
Your heart deeply graved
I will betcha life has
more downs downward

Even when you wake -up upward

No way out of expensive
price tags we need to save
The give or take to remake
We need to finish not at
the end of the line

Where we were left off
Whats yours is mine

Sometimes you think
you are down
But life has you
well planted

To say I do
With his mind enchanted
Let me go up---++

The spirit is a complicated thing
I got wits to carry on anything

I need more guts
Now Bill said I do
Oh! No love me to please
me as I do

My Bill is always waiting
at the upside down table
Like the will-hunting
For God sake who is on first
Going up with the bucket list
Feeling down to adore me
You're going down Oh! Christ
Don't push my buttons
the elevator
I saw your Realtor
going to
The Skyline Hilton

I-O-U trillion hearts that were
down and wasted

Falling eyelashes no surprise
That stock exchange stars fault

Money lip up and honey
eyes down
Do you want this in singing
or shall we both go down
drowning

I'm going to wash that
man right out
? And sent him on
the way he's gone
The brainwashing Scientology
misery loves religious company
Like Humpty dump me
His "snoop dog so sad eating
like Pig whistle steak
Peeping Tom sales week
Anthony Perkins down to seek

The sprinkler shower
Hitchcock scene French Tickler
At Tiffany's Audrey
breakfast jewels Ruby
Hanky Panky pancakes

Like the Amazon in Prime
With fruit slashed smile
Love to love you baby at
Perkins eggs are dreamy
The shoot of ringlets hair screaming
Niagara fall and action roll fall down

You're a shade too hurtful
The red-brown chair or orange perk me
up the crown the Gala gown me

Life is so unkind why
do people smile
Going in and out the door
The rush the high like you could
mop her curls up but your hand down

Feeling inside the apple of the core

The teapot all fenced in pretending
The downspout- you're up-sprout
He's the roundabout -handle
A stranger is routing someone
is always cursing
You're going down

The game sports ball out
And your always looking
down at me when you
talk me out

Like a ring fight
falling black eye
Where is our coffee down
to nothing, she got a pink eye

Her words spilled over
upside down
pineapple printed dress

Having a breakdown
Do you want me down
I am the New York City girl
A clap of party hands
Uptown

A figure of speech when you get
lonely go downtown
To my number
address 13
what a lowdown
In the Wizard of Oz,
the  cowardly lion
crashed the window
My only lip Solo so low

My computer froze my red
rose wilted
I couldn't bring my smile
back to suit you

They were jumping for joy
Do you really want to
love a tomboy
Almond eyes of candy
Grease me down
Sandy
My pretty pink illegally
Blonde pill
Google on down with Bill

Joining the falling down crowd
But no one had a clue my face was
falling down all-stars feeling blue
When we're down and about or feeling all over the place the roundabout we cannot get over something that we go more down and down but be pulling our weight going up but who will fill our heart when you just about had enough
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013
Road Trip: Thinking it's about time (find yourself within II)

This particular poem was born as a one line response to a message.  But in many other forms, half written, it exists still, un, unfinished, waiting for the next burst energy, the next holiday time, to reach a new finish line.

This is a different but similar to a poem posted on June 2nd, "Poetry Round (find your self within)"

Any error of omission is unintentional, but know that this took many hours, until fatigue won. If you never told or revealed to me your location, know that you will be called out, to and unto me, in another poem, called "your banner is my flag."


Fact about me:  You design me.
-------------------------------------------------------

th­inking it's about time for a road trip.

create an excuse
(reasons, I got a plenty)
to stop by,
to show you another side of me,
for a drink, a meal,
and some kind
of exchange, of
form and fluids,
manner to be determined.

to come to Minneapolis,
watch you create a heated sensuality,
verbally, from melted snowdrifts,
a hot time to be had
by all the poets
of the mini-apple,
I want to meet
and celebrate ann victory.

travel to Thiruvananthapuram,
tour the treasures
of gold and diamonds,
from whence come
the bejeweled poems,
that have earned visits from
thousands upon thousands,
pilgrims, devotees, followers,
to partake at that, his,
special temple.

Gomer, Gomer,  & MJJ,
I am in your Florida,
no, sorry, not in Ocala,
near to your homer,
and I feel you springer
ten times in the
November sun rays,
that have me locked
in a full Nelson,
your productivity,
endless,
a sea of orange sunburnt words,

Tennessee,
The Carolinas,
Georgia,
The South,

I rise with it,
now, again,
that I will need a slow
sunny all lazy summer long to
learn y'alls ways,
see the wolves,
in your forests,
helm the riverboats,
navigate the quaint tides
of Charleston,
the special places
where they heal, le ville,
where the ashes of
burnt children,
retuned to be whole.

learn y'alls ways,
walk in your boots,
of seeing poems
using your special
southern saber words.

missed the original
Thrilla-in-Manila,
but rest easy, assured,
that hotbed of creativity,
where I check the
PH of the mc waters
to comprehend its
wisdom and now, it's sadness,
will be an illustrious destination
on my itinerant itinerary,
stopping by Makati City,
after all,
it is writ in the good book,
this island,
the PhilippineS,
is the birthplace
of the letter S,
Samples: samson, sally,
and So many others?

in Nevada City,
which is of course in
krazy California,
wager philosophy, romance,
be available for
succinctly seeing
works in progress,
from which I
will imbibe,
so **** deeply,
may have to
stay awhile for...

while I am there,
will need to do
a search and
Hug Mission,
to find a special man,
his unkempt prose,
his mortal rhymes
disguise not his holy worth,
even to the grassy
cal-stratosphere,
to the mesosphere,
will I high fly,
to find his sweetest spot,
then and thereafter
going looking
further on to
Humboldt County.

in Leeds, in West Yorkshire,
(Hamphshirians, Northamptontonians,
patience please)
built foundries and factories
over the magical forest of Loidis,
near to the river Aire,
yet still hides a
magical sorceress of words,
casting spells over
men and beast.
no one has seen full
her half-turned away face,
but when she summons,
do I have a choix
other than obey?
even if I get lost,
my sorceress,
you know,
I am on way too.

to get there,
will fly I must,
to Heathrow hell,
will do it,
just for you,
faithful friend,
a man da gotta do, what
a man gotta do...for you,
but first a stop off at the
London School of Economics,
Hampstead as well,
for a tutorial about sonnets,
or sams in wells,
even if I come
in my bare feet.

even in New York Upstate,
a man da gotta do,
what he mulls over in his heart,
be not surprised at a knock upon
your door, to make comparative notes,
about each other's tattoos.

in the South African veld,
hid in the highland grasses,
crouches the poetesses and tigresses,
waiting to ambush you
with words that must be seen
to be heard, to be well understood.
perhaps I'll come at ester time,
under blue indigo skies over,
a golden landscape,
seizing all the gems
that can be seen
only at 3:00am

leeward,
north to Canada,
must I, transgress,
country of my momma's birth,
fly from Montreal to Toronto, Calgary
then over to Vancouver.
Canada,
a dangerous place for me,
cause there are beautiful
souls up there,
and maybe even a
warrant to
repossess mine,
they want their
poets back.

double down by ferry,
me to Seattle,
to see a man about river,
in the Pacific Northwest,
where I have happily
drowned so many times,
that The Lord is complaining,
am hogging all the baptismal waters,
but when reminded that
nothing lasts forever,
here tomorrow,
gone today, walk on,
I add my tears
to that river,
before hitting the road.

on that river,
gonna drive me a kayak,
down Daytonway,
on the Yamill River,
see a gyreene marine,
watching me do a beach landing,
in Willamette Wine Park.
he will teach me to salute,
I will teach him how to
shake hands,
and learn from him,
it's ok,
to stand down.

man o' man
there are a lots of poets,
in these here parts,
this grand
Pacific North West,
looking for one in particular,
who will be quite easy to spot,
as he is my very own
soul brother.

will be easy to find,
though we have never met,
he will be on his kayak,
I on mine,
tho when he paddles,
somehow he manages
to hold
never letting go
of, his lovely bride,
his best half's hands.

this will a problem,
for I must teach him how to
shake two handed souls,
while hugging and paddling,
even bailing,
with an old dented pail
simultaneous.
but you can teach old dogs
new tricks, even the ones,
that can't spell
rhymers.

have mercie on me Ohio,
like a mother has to her daughter,
done a three year sentence in Cleveland,
but no jail can hold an NYC boy,
but if requested, yes I will return
to set fire to the *
Cuyahoga,
again! he he he...
but do not s mock me!
(now you know why the FBI loves
my poetry, my biggest institutional fan).

souls in torment,
where you be,
where you hide,
matters not where
you physical reside,
for we have found
each other
in each other words.

You, who live in
your very own
personal hell,
I think we met there,
because
yours was
mine too,
tho not found
on any map.

maybe I will meet the
Empress Josephine Maria,
rowing on the canals of
the Netherlands,
no longer will she be
alone.

but then again, some
very special things,
like
the purest of love
are on no map,
they are everywhere.

while in India,
will seek the many musings of many lips
of aged rhyme men
and complicated charmers
so I may kiss them
with spiced humors
to pour and pour,
more and more,
upon this western soul,
mysteries of the east,
to Kashmir, Bangalore,
wherever I must,
even take a praDip in the Ganges,
I will go, find you,
un-hide you,
among the
teeming millions,
millions of
jokes and rhymes,
that make the
world spin brighter.

in Germany,
all the university students
speak English,
in Wiesbaden, they know
poetic beauty is not in the format,
some in Bamberg,
with a peculiar
Missouri accent,
which is nicht gut Englisch,
so study hard the real way,
speak the language
the new yorka way,
which will require
study abroad,
which is quite funny,
now that I think about it.

but in Mo.,
the native drums roll,
long and slow,
making words
I know
better, different,
in a way never saw before,
leaves me asking for,
mo', mo', please?

to get there, to Allemagne,
land of my forefathers,
a ship I will take,
from Southampton
across the Kiel Canal,
before I depart,
will have my hair cut,
my words reworked,
by her Ladyship,
whose keen eyes and
maternal instincts,
see the joy of life in every
Livvi little thing.

Watt am I going to do if
I need to find a Tecumseh,
taker of my naked poems,
and enlarger of them,
so truth by her,
all revealed,
we are all naked
at least,
twice a day?

In Nepal I will purr at the words
gleaned from the markets and
train stations where
voyages from Lalitpur to Katmandu,
start and end,
where there is a miracle almost
sixteen years young,
where they call their schools
future stars and little angels,
so why should poetic miracles not be
as common as its subtropical clime?

though I despise the
Dallas Cowboys,
not my  America's team,
nonetheless there is a young woman,
a true rose of Texas,
who waits and writes
so lovingly of her airman,
in Afghanistan, I have placed
their names first,
in my nighttime prayers,
hoping to be there,
schedule my visit,
to witness his safe return
and their
joyous reunification.

there are no Mayans in Maine,
but poets of similar name,
kould be, mae be,
Julia's in Jersey, new,
in Auckland,
there are poets
who don't know it,
and Down Under, too,
where getting high is easy,
getting high at
and on words
well marshaled ,
but **** sure I will be
peering and prring,
all the way.

Oregon,
don't be gone,
those wide eyes shut,
when I come by,
who knows when I
will pass this way again...
on my way to Phoenix,
where sunrayes bend to the
desires of dessert breezes.

Kentucky to Korea,
one long road to travel,
but middle son,
if you can do it,
so can I, and,
I will follow.

in a beautiful city,
unsurprisingly called
Belleville,
the leader of the band,
still leads us in belle 'noise'
and when he finishes
fall leafing us in song, he still,
rises up in the mid of dark,
prayerful haikus to write.

off to Rogers, Arkansas
to meet an Italian from Mexico
who specializes in skinny poems,
something one day I will be too.

maybe I will go to
places it snows,
there are so many,
but your photo,
and tattoo trail,
clues, will follow,
no matter how hard
you make it a mystery.

you, who live in just
the world,
don't even think,
that crazy dotted lines,
unstraight,
or huge plains,
are sufficient,
to hide your
moody dust trail
from me!

somewhere in the USA,
roses grow in ground
that needs the
watering of tears,
though this place
is hard to find,
ha, turn around,
that is me,
tapping you,
on the shoulder!

will find you,
as I am searching for
a lovely pair
of stockinged ankles,
each with a heart tattoo,
but I sure could use
a clue,
before this hobbit searches
all the shire,
derby hatted,
to find your
heart real, and the real you...

my mode of time travel?
why I am just
a dude on a rocket ship.

Wisconsin,
look for my ruby message
in the snow,
in the dust,
in the sand, the skies, the sea,
but will you answer me?

Pittsburgh,
patient, you've been,
you thought I forgot
all about you,
chimera  at the intersection
of three rivers,
all you need wonder,
upon which one
will my ship arrive
and why you still disbelieve
you are not a poetess!

ME oh my,
you too, a hidey hole got,
but, we are strange, we humans,
we would gladly bleed to please,
If we could but find
a combination of
new words that
would your heart gladden,
your eyes tear,
your lips wear,
a smile of pleasure
at our offerings poetic!
but still I know not,
the where!

Lagos,
where
I shall climb the tallest skyscraper,
calling out in Yoruba,
where is my Temitope?
where is mine,
worthy of thanksgiving
so I may carry my Popoola,
my pole of her of
written wealth?


Mombasa, Singapore,
Maryland, Rhode Island, Kentucky,
Huddersfield, Connecticut Joe, Ireland,
South Dakota,

where the merry elders
well ken somethings
about a moon and tattered clouds,
something about children and dogs,
and something about letting
tomorrow's wait.

Milwaukee, Atlanta,
chuck, in *PA.,
friend to all,
to all those scattered across these
United States of America.

can we dare not mention
"The Shaq" of Malaysia,
South Sudan, Pakistan,

of course not!

Suburbia,
beautiful, black San Diego, Detroit;

The BBB's -

British Columbia, Brazil, Breendonk, and
B'kara!
the goodness of *
Boston,
flipping out in Flipadelphia,

did you think I would forget ya?

those of you hiding among 64 stars,
the groves of L.A',
on the lanes,
the special land of I-sia-Bella,
fellow citizens of Neverland,
those of you 'at home,'
in the land of nightmares,
concrete boxes,
those who post without a doubt,
and in the box,
this who think your birth year
is an identifying mark, not,
you never fooled me,
will visit each and everyone.


even and especially,
the grays of crosstown
NYC,
the red writers of my hood,
the tylers too.

I am exhausted,
forgive me well,
if thy locale,
I did not explicate,
for the hour is very late.

yet thru subtle fissures
in the clouds,
look for a tired old man
on the wings of a
chariot drawn by angels,
bringing you a dictionary
full of new words,
a present for you,
but truly,
a present to himself
for from it,
your future poems
will come.

*but the sun has come up,
so now I sleep.
1.  What makes this poem special, if anything, is the trust and confidences we share with each other, that allowed me to perhaps catch just little bit something special of each of you, where I could.

2. Can anyone explain to me why the site labels this poem explicit?
You make life complicated
You spill your words on me
Why can't you just speak plainly
With words we all can read?
Anon Maybe Jun 2013
Things are very
Complicated.
I honestly don't know how
To function
To feel

I know that I do wrong,
And that I can hurt you
So easily

And
I don't think I care

Not anymore

Not like I used to.

Thank you.
Guadalupe Meza May 2017
Why is it so complicated?
You show me your best,
But then you turn around and show me your worst.
I don't mind sudden changes,
Just tell me why.

Why is it so complicated?
When I offer you everything,
You want nothing.
When I have nothing left to give,
You take what I don't have.

Why is it so complicated?
You say one thing,
But then you do the opposite.
When I take a step back,
You want me closer,
But when I follow you,
You want me to disappear.

Why is it so complicated?
Isn't it easier to just make
It all simple?
Marie-Niege Jul 2014
I believe that love is beyond us and not ahead of us, and if good sense was something that your mother passed onto you before she up and left you, you'd understand what I mean when I say, we don't look at us the same anymore and as hard as it is to come to terms with, love is beyond us and our grips are made up of acrylic hands, always ready to chip and shatter away, not able to hold onto anything the minute that that anything becomes, 'complicated' like we were becoming complicated. It's just not as complicated as you think. Love is is beyond us, not behind or ahead.
it's not as complicated as you think
This is a poem I am writing for all of the clouds out there who drift lazily through the sky on the dream of short-lived lives.
For the dogs who run around having no long term goals or dreams.
How I envy all of the simple existences that I see around me constantly.
When you are a person in today's modern society, it seems as if it is inevitable to lead a troublesome life, what with things like Facebook, Photography, and Freedom.
So what does this contradictory word complexity even symbolize in the miracle of the English language?
Complexity is the person who you love, and all of the feelings and thoughts that they provoke.
It is the red door, that stands for so much more, in that book that your English teacher tried to explain.
Complexity is the idea that by virtue of being accustomed to modern life, we have the determination to overlook the simple things in life...but that is kind of complicated.
Once we all learn our own primary language, the mind naturally expands to things like thoughts, feelings, ideas, hopes, desires, and all of these are accented by feelings.
So what is simplicity?
Simplicity is the formation of birds that are migrating south.
It is the sound of grass in the wind, the taste of water after a hot day.
As complex beings, we naturally strive to find simple things, because after a while, the complex thoughts expire.
But people love being complicated, so much that they try to find intricate patterns in the simplest things; even in death.
Although most people have the intellectual capacity to think complicated thoughts, that should not prevent them from loving the simple things in life.
What is lucky about our flexible minds is that we are allowed to decide what is simple and what is complex.
For example, a spider's web. It is a beautiful creation made of silky, withstanding string that latches on to any small piece of matter it can find. The web is the spiders shelter, it helps it to sustain life and to put bread on the table, or dead bugs as the case may be.
On the other hand, a spider's web is its home. The spider has one simple purpose in life, to survive off of the web. An existence with one goal, objective, and dream, to create a web is simple in a most beautiful way.
Being allowed to make anything in life, including life itself, as simple or as complicated as we like is without a doubt one of the most amazing powers we possess as human beings.
When encountered with presentations of pure beauty, I have begun to try to keep them simple in my mind, for the sake of trying to embrace the beauty for what it is, be it a colorful sunset, an undefined relationship, or the red door that doesn't stand for anything more.
So next time you go to think about something and make it your own, think before you think.
Classic, wrote back in July on some writing trip to Ireland
Tahnee Calderon Jan 2014
I want to sit in a room
And watch the days turn to night

I want to watch the shadows dance in circles
Around the room
Time and time again

I want never to have to get up
To use the bathroom, eat, or shower

I want to give in to the endless chains
Of hopelessness

I want to just sit there
And not have to answer

Just sit there
And feel
The Gold light, the deep dark, and the twilight

I want to sit there
And watch the world pass
As I crumble with each tick of the clock

While I sit there I do not want
Neither your pity nor your condolences for
My wasted life

I want you to take my energy
Like you did time and time before

But…

I want you to take it
And use it to fix
The things in your life that are broken

Use it to make you happy

Because I…

Because happiness refused me
Because it was a tease a time ago

Or

Because I did not love it back like I should have

Because misery seduced me
And then chained me up in its basement

I want to sit there
Because
I could not answer the…
The most complicated question
Are you ok?

Without tearing myself
From the inside

Tahnee Calderon
Javaria Waseem Nov 2014
You don't limit your life to social media.
In reality, social media limits you to your life.
A selfie with this and a selfie with that.
Your life is race for comments and likes.
Instead of having a personality worth praising
You are now judged based on your social media profiles.

Status update: I wish I could visit Paris some day.
In Paris you're like, "Where can I get signals for wifi?"

Your achievements are unlocking new levels of Candy Crush
Is that the legacy you'll leave behind?
As if all these achievements will benefit you  
to unlock the doors of heaven when you'll die.
Your 940 friends won't be able to help you
by sending a booster or an extra life.

Relationship Status: Happily married.
Happy and married until the moment you both go offline.

You buy everything from behind the screen
Error 404: Cannot buy love and time.
It's a complicated maze that you won't accept
Even when they themselves call it a website.
You don't limit your life to social media.
In reality, social media limits you to your life.
Gaby Comprés Apr 2017
call me complicated,
but how can i settle for less
than what i want?
call me complicated,
but i think you’re just scared of me,
of the music my bones sing,
of the wildness of my spirit
and how my hair has a life of its own
i think you know i am too much of a woman for you
and it scares you
Forty Days

A Season of Grief, a Season of Rejoicing

November 9-December 20, 2014

For Barbara Beach Alter 
It is Christmas morning in Saco, Maine, where today Bett, Aaron, Emily, Thomasin and our beloved cousin Marie find ourselves gathered to celebrate our first Christmas without dadima (our name for Barbara Beach Alter).  Brother Tom writes that already in India he and Carol with Jamie, Meha and Cayden (the only of her seven greatgrandchildren Barry never held) have celebrated.  Today Marty and Lincoln join us in Maine.

This gathering of documents—notes, drafts of memorial services, poems, homilies—is my christmas present to each of you.  It is a record, certainly subjective, of grief and rejoicing.

John Copley Alter
1:14 a.m.
Saco, Maine 
November 9

Loved ones,
Barbara Beach Alter died peacefully at 2:55 Sunday morning (today).  Bett and I had the good fortune to be there for the final beating of her good strong heart.  She murmured charcoal.  The nurse who was bathing her afterwards noted how few wrinkles there were, and it is true.
For those of you nearby you may if you want visit Mom in her room at hospice this morning (until noon).  Visit? Darshan? Paying respects?
Bett and I plan to be there around 11:00.
Much love to all. A blessed occasion.
John


November 10

Matthew 5:13-19
Jesus said, "You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.
"You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.
"Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven."

yesterday in the early hours my mother died her saltiness
restored all that had through the months of her old
age and convalescence obscured the lens of her life cleaned
away so that for us now more and more clearly
as we hear about her through the memory and love
of so many people her good works shine forth in
their glory but it is to the days of her
convalescence the days of her dementia I would turn our
minds those of us who spent time with her at
Wingate long-term care facility remember that Barbara Beach Alter became
at times fierce in her commanding us that ‘not one
letter, not one stroke of a letter’ of the commandments
should be altered do you remember that those of you
and us who were given the work and gift of
spending time with Barry in those days in that condition

remember for instance how fussy she became about the sequence
of food on her tray how impatient with us for
our trespasses and violations how adamant that we look forward
for instance and not back at her how she would
say stop holding my hand and saying you love me
you have work to do o she was almost impossible
and certainly incoherent and demented in her obsession with law
and procedure fussy impatient imperious I do not forget being
scolded reamed out put in my place for having somehow
failed to do what the ‘law and the prophets’ demand

Barbara beach alter in the days before hospice in the
nursing home and hospital and even if we are honest
in the final years of her life found herself caught
up in the rigidity of her anxious desire to be
faithful to the laws and commandments of her life and
that made her at times extremely demanding to be with

amen and the epistemological confusion of course the clash between
her reality and ours it was all an ordeal for
her and for those of us who kept her company

and yet and yet through it all and now as
that ordeal for her is no longer paramount as she
dances in heaven all the wrinkles and discomfort of her
life removed and forgiven Barbara Beach Alter kept the faith
living in the midst such that those who cared for
her most intimately the strangers all professed your mother blessed
us


Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.
7 Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.
8 Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.
9 Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
10 Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
11 Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.
12 Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.



So, brother and sister, here are my thoughts about the memorial service(s).
Let’s find a time when we three can be present; that’s the most important thing.  My life is currently the least constrained by agenda and schedule.  And then the grandchildren, recognizing that Jamie may not be able to come.  So, our work is to find our when our kids are able to come. Bett and I are exploring that with our three, each of whom has some constraint: Emily, the cost; Thomasin, the piebaking demands, Aaron school.  But we are flexible.

Much love.

John



Walking in my mother’s wake today some trees
a gentle breeze some dogs a little boy
the neighborhood and I took joy from interaction

we are at best a fraction in love’s
calculation after all heaven I realize is not
above or below cannot be taught comes naturally

as death does walking in my mother’s wake
I found new allies learned yet again not
to take myself too seriously to be caught

off guard as a matter of principle and
not to insist that I understand but live
in the midst of forgiveness


in my mother’s wake I am reading these books for
some way to continue to knock on her door Wendell
Berry he can tell me some things and William Blake
he can take me closer and I remember she described
me once as an unused Jewish liberal so I am
reading about protestant liberalism but ham that I am also
reading Carl Hiassen’s Bad Monkey and Quo Vadimus that my
daughter left behind and mythologically Reflections from yale divinity school
no fooling Denise Levertov David Sobel Galway Kinnell’s translation of
Rilke some wake

November 11

Matthew 25:1-13
Jesus said, "Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, 'Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.' Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, 'Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.' But the wise replied, 'No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.' And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, 'Lord, lord, open to us.' But he replied, 'Truly I tell you, I do not know you.' Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour."

this morning in the wee hours my mother died one
of the wise bridesmaids whose lamp to the end was
full she carried always the flask of oil that is
joy that is the love of the kingdom of heaven
and of the bridegroom a flask always replenished by prayer
by devotion by a humble courageous living in the midst

she expected every day the bridegroom to come in other
words and she was also one who would never refuse
to share even the last drop with somebody in need

and at the end it is so clear the door
into the banquet hall was not closed to her as
it is not closed to any one of us foolishness
is to believe otherwise to believe that the bridegroom will
not come today in the early morning in the wee
hours that is when he comes in the midst of
other plans is when he comes even when we are
doing what we assume to be good work when we
are doing what gives us pleasure our duty joy comes
then unsummoned unpredictable random even according to all our best
laid plans my mother loved so many things her pleasure
included dancing late in her life terminally unsteady she invented
what we loved to urge her to do namely the
sitting jig and we grew up with images of her
Isadora Duncan dancing with white scarves in an enchanted forest

Barbara Beach Alter aka Barry aka dadima bari nani aunt
and daughter wife missionary is now I know dancing a
rollicking boisterous jig on the shores of a lake that
is as her grandson once confided to her god in
liquid form spilly Beach of course also dyslexic executive function
compromised she was but one who loved to be always
in the midst surrounded by loved ones some of them
absolute strangers she shared her oil because for her it
came welling up from an inexhaustible source a deep eternal
well of such illumination and laughter such giddy divine chuckles

for her there was to be no exclusion she would
not find the awful idea of being one of the
foolish applicable to anybody but happily she welcomed into her
midst so many it is hard to imagine how many

so there she is now a bridesmaid dancing for joy
in such elegant clothing with such perpetual brightness

amen hallelujah rejoice


sometimes I think she pulled us all out of the
magic hat sometimes I think she knit us all into
one of her theologically impossible sweaters and then with a
wink she passes through the eye of the needle and
is gone and we are left to play in her
honor endless hands of solitaire sometimes I think we are
no more than the hermeneutics of her life the epistemology
artless she was not her heart like one of those
magical meals for her then a doxology praise then praise
she knows salvation

what is a life’s work it is like a landscape
dotted with oases and gardens for the thirsty and the
lost it is like scraping through dry barren ground and
finding there suddenly not only the theology of paradise but
such seeds your hands ache to begin the planting what
is a life’s work what has been shut for too
long opens what has been shut for too long opens

a life’s work renews itself then with death the kernel
of hope that dies in springtime sprouting is what a
life’s work becomes

November 12

John 21:15-17
When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my lambs." A second time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Tend my sheep." He said to him the third time, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep.

I know my mother very much enjoyed having breakfast with
god and that the meals of her nursing home drove
her nearly crazy and that when at last she found
hospice o she again could imagine the feast of heaven
at which Jesus breaks bread with us and speaks with
such clarity do you love me more than these I
know it was questions as simple and overwhelming as this
that dominated her final days do you love me love
being  one of the last five words she attempted to
speak do you love me she wrestled in her last
months with epistemology and psychology and theology and all had
to do with whether she could answer unequivocally you know
that I love you and that she could say of
her life that she had broken bread with god we
all remember in her life those moments when there was
a great gladness an innocent acceptance of what lay immediately
in her presence now those months in the nursing home
tormented her in precisely this fashion that it was hard
to accept to be in the midst of such mediocrity
and woe to be innocent and accepting but now praise
god there she is a happy guest at the great
feast and we left behind bereft can acknowledge that she
loved god in her own fashion as best she possibly
could and do you remember being with her there in
hospital or nursing home and she commanding us to move
beyond holding her hand and saying we loved her and
to feed the sheep to do that work which will
make of this earth this here and now an outstation
of heaven Barbara Beach Alter loved god in her own
fashion as best she possibly could we remember that and
that memory is today like a great network a web
of love and inspiration o we would gladly one more
time hold her hand and say I love you but
we know also clearly I think today what the work
is to love our neighbor as ourselves to work for
peace and justice I think of my sister with her
colleagues in WEIGO and how her sisters have understood her
grief  let us break our fast together then glad for
the worldwide web that in these days is reading the
gospel of the life of Barbara Beach Alter praise god


feed
tend
feed
in exchange for his three denials Peter is given three imperative verbs
feed
tend
feed
this is the commission Jesus after breakfast on the shore of the sea of Galilee gives to Peter
twice he says feed
in the commonwealth of Massachusetts 700,000 people are hungry
1 in 6 americans are hungry
living in uncertainty about their daily bread
more than 18,000,000 in Africa
842,000,000 around the world go to bed hungry


Marty and Tom
The thinking about the memorial service is taking this slow and cautious turn, namely that we have three services (at least), one in Sudbury, one in New Haven (allowing Stan and Chuck and others to come) at First Presbyterian (with Blair Moffett we hope), and of course one in India.
The date frame appears to be somewhere between December 17 and 20, unless you have other thoughts.
The actual cremation happens tomorrow.  Lincoln, Bett, Alexis and I will attend, and then of course there is In the Midst on Friday.
Love you more than tongue can tell.
John


the thing with a life well lived is that many
people have partaken the way let’s say a river moves
down through any number of different lives all the time
sedulously seeking the shortest path to the sea to steal
a line from somebody or other meandering a watershed within
which so many of us find a way to live
our own lives nourished and for each of us the
river distinct and different white water the slow fertile meander
the delta and we say to each other this is
the composite river


sometimes I feel like a sleepwalker trying to run a
marathon sometimes I feel like a speedbump in a blizzard

an arrow in a wind tunnel sometimes I feel like

a hazard sign in an old age home sometimes I
feel like a tyrannosaurus rex trying to ride a tricycle

and sometimes those are the good days when identity is
strong like an icicle in a heat wave is strong

I try to read wisdom literature at happy hour scotch
and Solomon can’t go wrong I think and sometimes I

feel like crying

November 13

four days ago we were left alone there with your
body after your breathing ceased and the proud stubborn beating
of your heart and in those four days beloved mother
so much I would love to say to you and
share the antics of the squirrel late leaves on the
neighborhood trees music Orion the network the atlas of love
your life has left behind and all the words we
are the gospel of today and I would sit with
you there then in silence as I sit now four
days later vigilant insomniac aware that the kingdom of heaven
is not more complicated than singing than love than dancing

we are all dancing the dance lord siva teaches and
the s
Neex Apr 2015
I'm tired,
So tired,
Of myself,
Of life.

I'm complicated,
Too complicated,
Help yourself,
Stay away from me,
It hurts not only you,
But also me.

I'm clingy,
Never obsessed,
Though that might be your perception of me.

I expect too much,
Seemingly naive,
But I know how it all ends,
I know what always comes,
I know I'll bleed from my eyes,
But I still dive into salt.

Friendships only ever hurt me,
Relationships come back to haunt me,
For I know my insignificance,
In an immense amount of lives,
Yet I blindly dream,
That I might hold importance.

I know how it all ends,
Yet I dream,
And I never stop,
Maybe I'm just naive.

I have OCD,
My mum didn't believe me,
Perfect symmetry is my ideal,
No one understands it.

No one understands me,
I think so badly of myself,
I take some jokes secretly seriously,
I care too much about your thoughts of me.

I'm used for my talents,
Then disregarded.

With music,
I'm not to mess with,
My hands,
They apparently hold magic.

People tell me to be positive,
When I think that way,
What happens,
Is the opposite.

My heart holds supposedly false hope,
Though I hope with all my heart,
And so exude happiness unconsciously
I hurt for no reason,
Can't even pour it all out in my art.

I'm tired,
So tired,
I'm complicated,
Too* ******* complicated,
So stay away from me,
*If you want to ever be free.
Well I'm sorta empty now...
judy smith Apr 2017
So you know you’re looking at two very different styles of dress, here. But precisely what decades? When did that waistline move back down? What details are the defining touches of their era? How long were women actually walking around with bustles on their backsides?

Lydia Edwards’s How to Read a Dress is a detailed, practical, and totally beautiful guide to the history of this particular form of clothing from the 16th to the 20th centuries. It tracks the small changes that pile up over time, gradually ******* until your great-grandmother’s closet looks wildly different than your own. As always, fashion makes for a compelling angle on history—paging through you can see the shifting fortunes of women in the Western world as reflected in the way they got dressed every morning.

Of course, it’ll also ensure that the next lackadaisically costumed period piece you watch gives you agita, but all knowledge has a price.

I spoke to Edwards about how exactly we go about resurrecting the history of an item that’s was typically worn until it fell apart and then recycled for scraps; our conversation has been lightly trimmed and edited for clarity.

The title of the book is How to Read a Dress. What do you mean by “reading” a dress?

Basically what I mean is, when you are looking at a dress in an exhibition or a TV show, reading it in terms of working out where the inspirations or where certain design choices come from. Being able to look at it and recognize key elements. Being able to look at the bodice and say, Oh, the shape of that is 1850s, and the design relates to this part of history, and the patterning comes from here. It’s looking at the dress as an object from the top down and being able to recognize different elements—different historical elements, different design elements, different artistic elements. “Read” is probably the best word to use for that kind of approach, if that makes sense.

It must send you around the bend a little bit, watching costume adaptations where they’re a bit slapdash. The one I think of is the Keira Knightley Pride and Prejudice, which I actually really enjoy, but I know that one’s supposed to have all over the place costuming-wise.

Yeah, it does. I mean, I love the BBC Pride and Prejudice one, because they kept very specifically to a particular era. But I can see what they did with the Keira Knightley one—they were trying to keep it 1790s, when the book was written, as opposed to when it was published. But they’ve got a lot of kind of modern influences in there and they’ve got a lot of influences from 30, 40 years previously, which is interesting to an audience and gives an audience I suppose more frames of reference, more areas to think about and look at. So I can see why they did that. But it does make it more difficult if you’re trying to accurately decode a garment. It’s harder when you’ve got lots of different eras going on there, but it makes it beautiful and interesting for an audience.

The guide spans the 16th to the 20th century. Why start with the 16th century?

Well, partly because it’s where my own interest starts, in terms of my research and the areas I’ve looked at. But more importantly in terms of audience interest, we get a lot of TV shows, a lot of films in recent years—things like The Tudors—that type of era seems to be something that people are interested in. That time is very colorful and very interesting to people.

And also because in terms of thinking about the dress as garment, obviously people wore dresses in medieval times, but in terms of it being something that specifically women wore, distinct from men’s clothes, I really think we start to see that more in the 15th, 16th century onwards.

Where do you go to get the historical information to put together a book like this? What do you use as your source material? Because obviously the thing about clothing is that it has to stand up to a lot of wear and tear and a lot of it doesn’t survive.

This is the other thing about the 16th century stuff—there’s so little surviving. That’s why that chapter was a lot shorter and also that’s why I used a lot of artworks rather than surviving garments, just because they don’t exist in their entirety.

But wherever possible, you go to the garments themselves in museum collections. And then if that’s proving to be difficult, you go to artworks or images, but always bearing in mind the artist will have had their own agenda, so they won’t necessarily be accurate of what people were actually wearing. So then you have to go and look up written source material from the time—say, diaries. I like using letters that people have written to each other over the centuries, describing dress and what they were wearing on a daily basis. Novels can be good, as well.

Also the scholarship that has come before, the secondary sources, works by people like Janet Arnold, Aileen Ribeiro. Really well researched scholarly books where people have used primary sources themselves and put their own interpretation on it can be really, really helpful. Although you take some of it with a pinch of salt, and you put your own interpretation on there, as well.

But always to the dress itself wherever possible.

What are some of the challenges you face, or the constraints on our ability to learn about the history of fashion?

Well, the very practical issue of trying to see garments—some of them I did see here in Australia, but a lot of them were in the States, in Canada, in New Zealand, so it’s hard to physically get there to see them. And often, even when you can get to the museum, garments are out on loan to other exhibitions or other museums. That’s a practical consideration.

But also, especially when I’m talking about using artworks and things, which can be really helpful when you’re researching, but as I’ve said they do come from a place where there’s more interpretations and more agendas. So if someone’s done a portrait and there’s a beautiful 1880s dress in it, that could have been down to the whims of the person who was wearing it, or the artist could have changed significantly the color or style to suit his own taste. Then you have to do extra research on top of that, to make sure that what you are seeing is representative.

It’s a fascinating area. There’s a lot of challenges, but for me, that’s what makes it really exciting as well. But it’s really that question of being able to trust sources and knowing what to use and what not to use in order to make things clear for the audience.

Obviously many of these dresses were very expensive and took a lot of labor and it wasn’t fast fashion—people didn’t just give it away or toss it when it fell out of season. A lot of times, you did was you remade it. When you’re looking at a dress that’s been remade, how do you extract the information that you need as a historian out of it?

I love it when something like that comes up. I’ve got a couple of examples in the book.

Well, it can be quite challenging, because often when you’re first looking at a piece it’s not obvious that it’s been remade. But if you’re lucky enough to look inside it and actually hold it and turn it round different angles, there’ll be things like the placement of a seam, or you’ll see that the waist has been moved up or down according to the fashion. And that’s often obvious when you’re looking inside. You can see the way the skirt’s been attached. Often you can tell if a skirt’s been taken off and then reattached using different pleats, different gatherings; that can give you a hint that it’s then been remade to fit in with a different fashionable ideal.

One of the key ways is fabric. You can often see, especially in early 19th century dresses when they’ve been made of these beautiful 18th century silks and brocades. That’s nice because it’s the first obvious clue that something’s been remade or that an old dress has been completely taken apart and it’s just the fabric that’s been used. I find it particularly interesting when the waist has been moved or the seams have been taken off or re-sewn in a different shape or something like that. It can be subtle but once your knowledge base grows, that’s one of the most fascinating areas that you can look at.

You page through the book and you watch these trends unfold and there are occasional sea changes will happen fairly quickly, like when the Regency style arises. But how much change year-to-year would a woman have seen? How long would it take, just as a woman getting dressed in the morning, to see styles just radically alter? Would you even notice?

Well, this is the thing—I think it’s very easy, when we’re looking back, to imagine that in 1810 you’d be wearing this dress and then all the frills and the frouf would have started to come in the late 1810s and the 1820s, and suddenly you would have had a whole new wardrobe. But obviously, unless you were the very wealthiest women and you had access to dressmakers who had the absolute newest patterns and newest fabrics then no, you wouldn’t have seen a massive change. You wouldn’t have afforded to be able to have the newest things as they came in. You would have maybe remade dresses to make them maybe slightly more in line with a fashion plate that you might have seen, but you wouldn’t have had access to new information and new fashion plates as soon as they came. To be realistic, there would have been very little change on a day to day level.

But I think also, for us now—it’s hard to see it without hindsight, but we feel like we’re fairly fluid in wearing the same kind of styles, but obviously when we look back in 20 years, we’ll look at pictures of us and see greater changes than we’re now aware. Because it happens on a slow pace and it happens on such a subconscious level in some ways.

But actually, yeah, it’s to do with economics, it’s to do with availability. People living in towns where they couldn’t easily get to cities—if you were living in a country town a hundred miles away from London, there’s no way that you would have the resources to see the most recent fashion plates, the most recent ideas that were developing in high society. So it was a very slow process in reality.

If you have a lot of money you can change out your wardrobe quicker and wear the latest styles. And so the wealthiest people, their clothes were what in a lot of case stood the best chance of surviving and being in modern collections. So how do we know what working women would have worn or what middle class women would have worn?

Yeah, this is hard. I do have some more middle class examples, because we’re lucky in that we do have quite a few that have survived, especially in smaller museums and historical collections, where people have had clothes sitting in their attics for years and have donated them, just from normal families over the years.

But, working women, that’s much more difficult. We’re lucky from the 19th century because we have photographic evidence. But really a lot of it will come down to written descriptions, mainly letters, diaries, not necessarily that the people themselves would have kept, but there’s examples of people that worked in cotton mills, for instance, and people that ran the mills and their families and wives and friends who had written accounts of what the women there were wearing. Also newspaper accounts, particularly of people who would go and do charity work and help the poor. They often wrote quite detailed descriptions of the people that they were helping.

But in terms of actual garments, yeah, it’s very difficult. Certainly 18th century and before, it’s really, really hard to get hold of anything that gives you a really good idea of what they wore. But in the 18th century—it’s quite interesting, because then we get examples of separate pieces of clothing worn by the upper classes, like a skirt with a jacket, which was actually a lower middle class style initially and then it became appropriated by the upper classes. And then it became much fancier and trimmed and made in silks and things. So then, we can see the inspiration of the working classes on the upper classes. That’s another way of looking at it, although of course that’s much more problematic.

It’s interesting how in several cases you can see broader historical context, or other stories happening through clothes. Like you point out that the rise of the one-piece dresses is due to the rise of mantua makers, who were women who were less formally trained who were suddenly making clothing. Are there any other interesting stories like that, that you noticed and thought were really fascinating?

There’s a dress in the book that a woman made for her wedding. I think she was living on her own, or she was living with a servant and her mother or something. She made the dress and then turned up to her wedding and traveled quite a long way to get there, and when she arrived, the groom and all the guests weren’t there. There was nobody. So she went away and came back again a week later, and everyone was there. And the reason that no one was there before was that a river had flooded in the direction that they were all coming from. She had obviously no way of finding out about this until after the fact, and we have this beautiful dress that she spent ages making and had obviously gone to a lot of effort to try and work out what the latest styles were, to incorporate it into her wedding dress.

Things like that, I find really interesting, because they talk so much about human and social history as well as fashion history, and the garment is the main way we have of keeping these stories alive and remembering them and looking into the kind of life and world these people lived, who made these garments.

Over the centuries, how does technology affect fashion? Obviously, we think of the industrial revolution as really speeding up the pace of fashion. But are there other moments in the history of fashion where technology shapes what women end up wearing?

One example is where I talk about the Balenciaga dress from the early 1950s—with a bubble hem and a hat and she would have worn these beautiful pump shoes with it—with the introduction of the zipper. Which just made such a huge difference, because it suddenly meant you’d have ease and speed of dressing. It meant that you didn’t have to worry about more complicated ways of fastening a garment. I think the zipper made a massive change and also in terms of dressmaking at home, it was a really quick and simple way that people had of being able to create quite fashionable styles on a budget and with ease and speed at home.

Also, of course, once women’s dress started to become simpler and they did away with the corset and underwear became a lot less complicated, that made dressing a lot easier, that made the introduction of the bias cut and things that sit very closely to the natural body much more widely used and much more fashionable.

I would say the introduction of machine-made lace as well, particularly from the late 19th, early 20th century onwards where it was so fashionable on summer dresses and wedding dresses. It just meant that you could so much more easily add this decadent touch to a garment, because lace would have been so much more expensive before then and so time-consuming to make. I think that made a huge difference in ordinary women being able to attain a kind of luxury in their everyday dress.

That actually makes me think of something else I wanted to ask you, which is you point out in your intro the way we casually use this word “vintage.” I think about that with lace. Lace is described as being a “vintage” touch but it’s very much this question of when, where, who, why—it’s a funny term when you think about it, the way we use it so casually to describe so much.

Oh, yes. It’s crazy. I used to work in a wedding dress shop and I used to make historically inspired wedding dresses and things. And brides used to come in and say, “Oh, I want something vintage.” But they didn’t really know what they meant. Usually what they meant is they wanted something with a bit of lace on it, or with some sort of pearls or beading. I think it’s really inspired by whatever is trending at the time. So, you know, Downton Abbey became vintage. I think ‘50s has always been kind of synonymous with the word vintage. But what it means is huge,
Shreya Inks Feb 2015
There is a part of me I gotta explore;
it resides in me but yet so unknown,
some where it exists I don’t know;
I wonder if it is a shadow of my own?

It takes me to the untrodden paths;
making me walk on broken glass,
with bleeding feet I travel the road;
losing count, how long left to pass.

Tears refuse to come out;
smile refuses to make the curve deep,
it hurts to the core to act neutral;
I am so complicated, away from sleep.

I have fallen thrice but who is counting;
I am busy in walking too fast,
can’t see anybody around me;
am I the first or the one who came last?

Mood swings have become neighbours now;
they knock my door now and then,
I just pretend I am not home;
I know they’re gonna leave, don’t know when.

I feel like having albatross around my neck;
chocking me deep to the core,
I don’t know what else to wish for;
for I am so complicated, hurt so sore.

© Shreya ♥
Diamond Flame Nov 2017
I wish feelings didn't exist
But they do
And they persist to ruin my life.
All this strife.
Just because three guys
Imagine me as their future wife.

How did I get here?
Keep reading if you want to hear
But please, no fangirl tears.

It starts in my early years.
I met him.
He was my best friend.
He was my first crush.
I was his.
I left for another school.
We hadn't seen each other since.

Middle school.
I met a boy my first year there.
It was infatuation upon first greeting

The second year I finally took up conversation with him.
I fell harder into my feelings.

The next year,
He was mine.
And I was his.
If only it stayed like this.
First love.
First kiss.
Our love was pure bliss.
It's what I will always miss.
And it was my fault.
I ruined it.
I can't do anything about it.

Summer camp.
A friend.
Later a close friend.
Now, super close.
Very close friends.
We know each other inside and out.
We're always there for each other.
Always.
Things went farther.

Everything caught up.
My kindergarten friend goes to my school.
My middle school boyfriend is friends with him.
Apparently, they're cousins.
My ex/ guy friend still likes me.
My kindergarten friend likes me.
My kindergarten friend took me to homecoming.
Later, the boys fight.
I don't understand why girls want to be fought over.
It was awful.
Later, my camp friend and I confess our feelings.
So.. things happened.
I couldn't be happier,
But long distance *****.
3 hours away.
Haven't seen each other since camp.
One day, we will see each other again.
Never soon enough
We make it work
L A Lamb Sep 2014
It took me years to realize it wasn’t just me, and that the labels for women are created by men’s "standards". I wasn’t a ****. But what does that even mean? Men use “equality” to manipulate women with their standard: its fun to experiment at the time, but the girl will always be remembered as "the girl who did that," in hometown suburbia. Who’s going to end up with a woman they did nasty things to? In traditional marriages, no one wants that kind of wife. In today’s corrupt society, no one wants to know their wife was raunchy and experimental.

But what about the girls who are like that? Can’t you imagine moving away? Moving away from mistakes and stigmas and just start over? The hypocrisy and judgment against experimental women and gay men is still happening today with the "man’s" standards—the holy, good-natured man’s standards. Why are there gender roles? Why are women a minority, the curious exploring people we are? Why deny humanity for power? But humans do it to animals too! So it’s not just among gender, it’s among species! On this earth we should live with animals, but we **** and eat them for power. They **** and eat each other too, but as the knowledgeable species we are, we should respect them for there is a reason we share this earth.

But the hostility with having power is what it is to be a man. That’s how it’s been all along. And in the world men aren’t the majority, so why are they STILL treated like one? THEY are the actual minority, but they still have power! Because of religion! Straight men—who wrote the religious texts— dismissed everyone else! Slavery has been around forever! Also think monarchy and royalty—among humans we’re equal, but the power of civilization and class status and material and monetary value goes against nature. Because religious texts prove how religion started the world. These religious ideas created by certain men of misogynistic, violent, racist, homophobic creatures manipulated! Why aren’t women respected in the holy books? BECAUSE MEN WROTE THEM! And that’s why *** is reserved for marriage in religion, because inadequacies and insecurities branch off of ****** experience and the uncertain nature of what comes with exploring various lovers. It’s complicated for everybody, but men like control because they are the ultimate pessimists.

And religion has its perks by providing the one answer throughout history: "why do we exist," but it’s completely sexist! And within the misogyny formed by the different cultures of various religious men, of an evolving species, they realized manipulation could cause them power. And feminism takes away from the religion! Women are optimists, but they’re impressionable by burdens! Civil rights and democracy and spreading-the-wealth for all humankind help! But money creates problems—including environmental—on and for our earth! But why is it sexist? Because throughout the world these particular different societies created by ignorant men are still letting this happen!

And with this power, they still control women! Equality for humankind starts with feminist movements! And when it comes to sexuality, whether gay or straight, what’s the big deal? Society! Because why are so many homosexuals punished, and why are so many cultures sub missing women? Why does **** and molestation still happen? There is no greater form of disrespect towards another person! But making a consequential decision to have ***, with anyone excluding a “good man,” as according to that society, most-likely founded by a group of men its wrong? Profits don’t exist, because no single person can understand what it is that created the universe.

And hetero-****** *** isn’t supposed to be nice, because it’s aggression towards the other gender and the determination of who won the battle: the gender of child. And that could be why psychology suggests that there is an under-lying ****** nature for fathers and daughters and mothers and sons. And there is: gender aggression. But the gender that actually creates the child is the woman, and knowing this, men have made us submissive because although they’re bigger in size and aggressive, women would be the dominant side. The curiosity of the female reproduction has been a subject of fear throughout the millennia.

Bisexuals who don’t pro-create, however, usually resent straight men unless their having attractions toward them. The philosophical possibilities of experimenting with everyone to know everything is frowned upon by on all governments founded by white men. Wars have been created and people have been slaughtered! There can be peace on earth! But everyone needs to unite and eliminate prejudices and stigmas and live as people naturally, and sexually. There is balance in this universe and "living organisms" are true examples.

Women and men reproduce, to create another part of a balance. The universe, however, is impossible to ever completely understand, and the possibility of understanding it is an idealistic facade. We don’t know why women and men balance out the way they do (with an occasional mutation among humankind), but it balances with the universe. But sexuality is the purpose and the weapon, the heaven and the hell, the good and the bad and the euphoria of possibility. It’s denied in society with a civilization where one certain type of group can be the best and create power. And this balance is the key to all knowledge achieved by biology to "attract to reproduce"/"win wars". That kind of war is not in our power as humankind.

Men are a species and women are a species. To be human is to be an element of the evolving universe. Homosexuality usually isn’t a threat because it provides understanding, but in this world ruled by men, it isn’t! To compare humankind to a basic principle of the universe, the atom, a woman is a proton and a man is an electron. "Mutations" are neutrons. The man has the negative, aggressive nature and women are usually kind-minded and nurturing. But in a society where sexuality defines women, women are up against each other.

People are an element in the universe, and we reproduce due to gender aggression, or realistically, physics. We’re recycled stardust, after all. The point of this hypothesis is to provide an ideal for Utopia, where everyone is bisexual, but men and women are forever reproducing. Everyone is "wild" but wise and having *** to pro-create and understand our kind. We are evolutionary atoms. And love is two very powerful charges reacting strongly in a sequence. That’s what the universe does, it expands and creates.

The products of Earth—topography, geology, history, anatomy, biology, philosophy, physics, chemistry, oceanography, zoology and psychology–expand and create as well. Maybe there is a Great Creator, but it’s not comparable to the negativity created in the religions dominating societies.  It’s essentially what created the entire universe, not just what’s on earth, and not just humans. Humans, animals, plants, weather, planets and stars are all recyclables. We on earth are equally products of the universe, and after we die we’ll become something else. But religion, humanity and science aside, something made this universe. Something made our life and ability to think with secrets and balance, and whatever it is, it’s a ******* creative.
stargazer Mar 2014
There's this girl sitting in the corner of her room,
With emptiness in her eyes and sorrow in her heart.
Not knowing what she's going to do
With her meaningless life.

There's this boy that loves her, but little did he know
She's in war with her mind,she's losing herself,
But she just smiles all day, making it seem all alright.

I'm sorry that you fell in love with someone as complicated as me
...
Pagan Paul Nov 2018
.
The hypotenuse stretched
as far as the eye could see,
across a vast lateral plain
an horizon mathematically perfect.
And yet …
In the main square of the hypotenuse
the town crier bellowed out tidings.
The Triangle Triumvirate was unstable,
the discovery, nay re-discovery,
of the Mystery, the most horrific of Mysteries,
the Mystery of the missing
Fourth-Side.

Dweeb was a box standard barbarian.
Quick to anger, slow of wit.
Like last night at dinner.
He had Three potatoes, his sister had Four.
He shouted and thumped the table,
his angry voice expunging his ire.
Then his sister had explained,
to calm and reassure him.
Three was more than Four
because it had Five letters in it.
And Five is more than Four.
He thought about his axe,
then about his abacus,
and then he ate his spuds.

The Fourth-Side drifted in spacial isolation.
Of course now it wasn't a Side.
Being attached to nothing, it was just a line,
but it had some tricks.
It could coil and curl itself
to form rude words in joined up writing.
It floated on reminiscing,
about the **** angles it had made
with all its previous adjacent lovers.
The memory caused spasms
and it formed into a rude word
that should never ever be written down.

Teena, Dweeb's sister, vomited.
She had kissed a puppy,
and was being sick in the morning,
was she pregnant?
But, it was never a puppy, always a stork.
He mum had told her, warned her
'never kiss an errant stalk'.
Her mum died of the pox, whatever that is.
Something clicked in her head.
Oh! Stork and stalk!
Well they do sound the same,
especially in a harsh barbarian accent.
But the puppy had sneezed
as she had kissed it goodnight.
She thought about her axe.
And then she threw up again.


Equations to be solved #7
Vlad the Impaler was a Barbarian
+
Vlad the Impaler was a Libra
=
Dracula was a Librarian?



Right Angle was worried.
Duly so.
If the Fourth-Side Mystery was solved
he'd have three other Right Angles to deal with,
instead of a sixty and a thirty.
The Triangle Triumvirate would cease.
An intense Quadrilateral Mexican stand-off
would ruffle his perfect two-seventy external.
He had to divert attention away,
far, far away, from the Fourth-Side.
By Jove he had it! Bingo!
Let them try to solve
the Mystery of
The Back-Side.

Dweeb loved winding up his sister.
So he hid her puppy in a box.
But now he was worried.
Was the puppy still alive?
Or dead? Or both?
This may sound like a ****** stupid question
but where did that last thought come from?
Yes!
Yes what?
Yes, it was a ****** stupid question!

Teena though it very strange.
When she rang the dinner Triangle
the cat sat on the mat,
Salivating!
Curiouser and curiouser.
Conditioned response or learnt behaviour?
Teena dismissed the thought line,
she didn't ask ****** stupid questions.

It had no idea
about its status as a Mystery.
The Fourth-Side has issues.
Complicated issues.
It had somehow conspired
to tie itself in a knot.
And spacial isolation had become crowded.
Missing links everywhere, the sofa of time,
excommunicated integers, 1970's wallpaper,
it all floated about in spacial isolation.
Above all Fourth-Side was intensely agitated.
Couldn't anyone quieten that yapping puppy?




© Pagan Paul (06/11/18)
.
My psychedelic washing machine mind on spin cycle!

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/29495/strange-world/
.
Wolfey Mar 2013
I can't explain any of the pain I go through.
Either its too much,
or you wouldn't understand.
Probably the second one.
I'm a complicated person.
I get confused easily,
about MANY things.
Sometimes,
I can be the happiest person on earth,
and the next second,
I'm all depressed.
It's just the way I am.
She said those words
'Let's be friends'
If I never hear
those ******* words again
I swear to God
it would be too soon
Comical words
invoking cartoon
characters that are
kooky and dumb
Because that's where
these filthy words are from

You must take me for a wide-eyed naive
Or an escapee of the mentally insane
ward of a prison or "hospital"
or whatever politically correct term it's called

You can take your friendship
and shove it up your ***
I know,
I'm sorry
Such a statement has no class
It's crass
But I don't give a ****
I'm angry right now
For a moment
I had hope
You got back in somehow

I built such sturdy walls
grand and tall
Made you stand outside
Press that intercom button to call
Kept you at a distance
But time turns scar tissue dull
You smiled and you waited
Baited me into a lull

We'd hang and talk
You'd smile and laugh
Hours upon hours
the time would pass
So comfortable; So easy
Something others don't have
Thoughts and dreams start again
But Nope,
Sorry! Too bad!

A forgotten feeling
Also an ember burning deep
High hopes birth expectations
That you did not want to meet
'It's just complicated right now'
Some ******* that you say
Oh! Okay! That makes everything better now
Hip-hip-hooray!

You were just being honest
Saying how you felt
It was me with the problem
A hand of cards that were self dealt
All the work I had done
The counseling and the meds
Heart-to-heart talks
Many books I have read
Feeling so confident
but overconfident I was
Unaware of the noise
A teeth shattering buzz
Blindly I stood
with the answers there for me
Head in the sand
Look away; don't want to see

'Only fools love'
you said to me once
Thought I knew what you meant
Had an inkling or a hunch
But not a ******* clue
is the sad, sad truth
Your forked-tongue spit it's venom
Words used to sooth

Mask after mask
you pulled from your face
Never the truth
Confused in a daze
You grasped with tentacles
Ensnared with your web
Lies are your candy
I was endlessly fed

My mind a toy
Not anything more
My heart for your consumption
***** kept in a drawer
Rip me apart
Please tear me down
Your never-ending heartache
I'll choke in and drown

Under your foot
Under your thumb
An insect; A maggot
Piece of dirt; Lowly ****
What am I now?
What have I become?
What was I to begin with?
A child on the run
Running with fear
You made my heart run
Mouth running had your ear
My torture was your fun

Should I call you a '*****'?
Smear your name? Shout out '*****!'
Would that equal out the playing field?
Somehow even the score?
Playing games, put on pause
Maybe save for later
But there's no saving this time
Tend each need; I am your waiter
Forever I'll wait
so endlessly I am waiting
Madly love you
Yet for me, I am hating

Thunderous booms
The sky streaked with light in veins
War is raging all around us
and in the balance we remain
Here I remain
even though there's no balance
Must be insane
Have me committed to this mess

You are a jigsaw puzzle
with half completed pieces in my mind
The rest of it a jumble
The other pieces I can't find
The nervous dog who is confused
I follow your commands
Unfulfilled, I'm simply used
Didn't go the way I planned

Now to me you speak
as you tell me so much more
of the textbook cliche nonsense
Told a million times before
You feign heartfelt sincerity,
interest and concern
Who you care for is a short list
It's as if I'll never learn

There was a version that before
was living at one time I think
But nothing in this life is free
As rain pours down, in mud we sink
So proudly I strut and adorn
my stunning hand-made concrete shoes
The complimentary attire
fitting all the bad I choose

Now frozen here
as I am kept
unkempt in this very dark place
Place marker for my maker
Marks
Without a mark
An unmarked
grave
Written: March 8, 2018

All rights reserved
Tearani C Jul 2012
He said
I don’t understand
I’m so simple,
Your complicated
To you everything crosses over
All of it is interrelated.
I am into linear thinking
After this happens
This is created.
Keep lines from touching
Situations separated.
He takes a step forward
Foot hitting hot pavement
Pointing to squares of the sidewalk,
Ones split down the middle
The other shattered
An asymmetrical lace
Like pattern.
And what he really said
Was simply
“this ones you and this ones me”
But that’s what he wanted me to see.
And I saw all the situations
I had thought the exact same thing
And how to him this conversation
Probably seemed like random conversation
Without a place or destination,
He’s probably wondering
Why it would leave me sad,
Smiling and laughing because I cant explain
All the things the sidewalk means,
Describe the point where
Every crack happens to meet.
And I don’t think a single thing leads to
Any other single thing.
And to me that seems...... complicated.
this poem is inspired by real life events, my boyfriend will remember this moment in our lives. something about it urged me to try and capture it.
Gurleen Kang Jan 2014
I'm fourteen and going on fifteen,
     still don't know the world.
And everyday I say to myself,
     It's more complicated than I thought.
A girl not living in the present,
     Just It always happen.
I don't know why I'm running,
     Just ruining my life along,
     Don't be known.
I need more time to know the World,
     Love,Responsibilities,Happiness and
     All the emotions that I hold in myself.
Just a chance to prove myself.
Whole day I just spend to,
     make my future bright.
But in making it better is that,
     I'm losing myself.
I don't know about the world,
But it's more complicated than i thought.
anastasiad Nov 2016
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A hardware-based encryption

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Minute, it layer sector growth standing

A person. Security a lock

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Only two. Digital acceptance

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A residential electric permission merchandise firm this China Biteansuo (BitAnswer), Shenzhen-use the actual (Euse) Safengine Corporation.

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http://www.passwordmanagers.net/products/Windows-Password-Recovery-Software-1.html Windows Password Recovery Software
Naveena Vijayan Dec 2012
Never imagined life to be so complicated,
Could somebody tell me what’s wrong and what’s right;
Hippocracy and fearlessness are the partners whom I haven’t dated
With an affair with them, sadness and guilt have taken their plight.

What do I do? Am so **** confused,
Am in grave need of an extra supportive soul;
So could somebody get me and my shadow fused?
To confront the challenges and reach my goal.

Wish I had a mind which could practically see things in black and white,
Never once halting to wonder why I did, the things which I did
But regretting is one of my mind’s hobbies, flooding my eyes in the darkness of the night
I want to gather myself and attain stability, am scared of a gradual mental breakdown as time slid.

I keep searching for the definition of my existence
Searching for the pieces which could help complete this puzzle,
But I wake up every morning, giving god the day’s attendance
Only to stay confused and put on a muzzle.
Annie Helbrew Aug 2015
Puppies and puddles
Licks and hugs
Soft and lovable
Just look at their mugs
A smile on their face
a twinkle in their eye
they're just so sweet
no need to ask why.
Little wet kisses
soft gentle nuzzles
not very complicated
like crossword puzzles.
They arrive with love
and joy in their heart
just wanna share
and not be apart.
Annie Brown Aug 2010
When I say "I don't want to talk"
it's not always the case
Cos I'm a complicated member
of this old human race

And when I say "I want to be alone"
that may also not be true
It's just my way of saying
how much I want to be with you

I know it doesn't make sense
and I know it isn't fair
But sometimes we just say these things
so you can show how much you care

"I'd really rather not talk"
means come hold me while I cry
"There's no way we can do it"
means I want so much to try

"I wouldn't be great company"
means please just come around
and listen to the things I say
without making a sound.

Sometimes I spill my problems
just hear them out loud
or to know that someone's listening
my voice not lost within the crowd

But sometimes I mean what I say
no hidden message or other need
and the day that you worked that one out
was the day you set your seed

Too many others in the past
were too blind or scared to see
That nothings ever simple
in complicated me.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
E-Emotion
Angry, E-book hunger
Tear diamond drop

      Join Me
@ The Body-book shop

The Gold bonds his book Hot Rods
She reads about the Angels and Gods

He covers her mind and book
with his lotion

Are we ready for the E-book
In tip-top condition motion
Someone is mysteriously trying to tell me something?

How the moon hangs low
The book made her eyes
Open to really know?

I phone to book she's the grab bag
I'm leaving on a Jetplane
One chosen E-Book
Was Scarlet love flame


How the book needs to grab you
The day you were born or reborn
Never to lose your sight
But why does he split your pages

In a hot rush* money wages

The heart is bleeding out words
Feeling so crushed the bookend
Energetic stare or the blank stare
Your enticing book
What happens underside me
The pages one-sided

You're the sweet of the complicated
getting bittersweet to be love mated


The sundae banana split
*My ring book marker my lovely curls


I couldn't share my book what it said
Do you really love me
The spinning wheel
Feminity of book so girly but
Love so dizzy

To be told overstocked to be sold
But someone loved it
Its been properly viewed
Buying and reselling hearts of
book timeshare

His workout
he loves his curls
Ebook he sees he memorized
all his European beauty
turning do you love her books madly
The beast  is inside Jekyll
Girls needed to hide but got
Hyde
The book seeing our life
From a blinded pageview
What's beside our words
We need to be upfront
Once in a million chances
The whole planet of funny books
beach house turned
Blank page
of a clown funhouse tree stalk

What is the point of view
Like an adult book raided
If you're the unadulterated
The innocents being naive
Wanting him so much
Whats the use it's like a
the blank page
Like your hairstyle
the sixties pageboy
You need book law and order
Like the Feng Shui book surrender
Be focused Graphically cool artist
And paint it colors no
gun it blanks no favors
My book place has the ambiance
Different mysteries
and suspense behaviors

Somehow it thickens
like "French" roue paste

You didn't want one
page to waste
E for the Exodus
A blank page is love minus
You're hitting a plateau
E- love of kiss-book
French Chateau
Ebook has a pattern the same thing
It repeats and devours your thoughts
The ancient Grecian her structural
form of statues
That rip page needed words to capture

The Clean-Slate page to restart
your flight
The prize
Emprise
Empire to the book hire
E-book desire
E-lust
It sets an example
we need to trust
Not to mislead your mind
Whats behind the book
Exhumed or to be doomed
Like Witchcraft magical hands

This wasn't the Godly land
The blank page had a spell
"The Burned Book" no one
will ever know
Can we take it back what was written inside
We need to restore give more (Cat and Mouse) chase

As my equal poison mind of sugar
Equally or naturally book gifted
Wrap silk ribbons or too much
the anxiety of red tape
Explosion of E=books
Elixir eyes to the Ebook doorway
But the blank pages were
still inside

E-book and the text
Whats next *** journalism
The kingdom of Elust
E-book became all excuses
Those blank tweets of
Hummingbirds
Like you got some
earwax all codes and emblems
My blank form income tax problems?

Storming damage to the max of my book

Hitting rock or book bottom
You're still living in a shape
of an eggcup

And reading by your nook
Your Ebook swish wish a nymph
floating mermaid

Things turn (Retro) just go
The book was the turn of events
More pages to heart mend

We are not experts or philosophers
Get inside the greener grass
like a grasshopper

Your lovely book a tranquil place
You were booked into your gown
But your ebooks is being
transported to other towns

Her heart was skipping his pages
She never got the chance to read
His chosen page
Life is so the open book
Eyes wide shut
E-book a cozy nook and where does it begin or end did I see some blank pages in between. I need a new for a taste for something on my speed I love to read it fascinated me every page but something stopped me to continue I wonder how long will this go on being fun and retro just go to the bookstore you may be pleasantly surprised of what you might see
Chrysta Ashlock Feb 2013
My Perfect Stranger,

I have a proposal of sorts; I want to start writing a story, in which you are my partner in crime. The crime being – living without one another. Not being sure to know if we’ll ever be apart of one another’s lives again.
Scratch that – the crime, the crime would be a lie because in truth I want to begin a story to where you are my partner in crime, yes; but you’d be my partner in crime for life. We’d commit no crimes, speak no lies, confess all truths with the bluntest honesty that could spring forth from our hearts. Enjoy every possible moment spent together, for they have become few and far apart.
This is not just a start of any typical story, but it will be the start of our story. The real story – It can’t be written, it can’t be spoken by anyone other then you and I. We’re the only ones who know how our story begins, though we’ll never truly know how it’ll end. This is a second chance, if not the first chance.

“A kiss is what tells the beginning to every story… It’s up to you where that story will lead.” –me.

The past may be the past, but we lived in that past, and the past that once was will become recognized, if it has not already. It will not be viewed harshly as it should be. Every possible thing that occurs in life does so for a reason which only fate, or as some people come to say destiny, can tell. We live to forgive and forget, though nothing is truly forgotten. We are here to make mistakes then to learn from those mistakes; if one was to never make a mistake then they’re not truly living a life well lived.

“Welcome the future with open arms; embrace it like an old friend. Learn to forgive and forget the painful memories; keep your tears at bay; have faith in yourself and others. And mostly, remember that love and trust will always be your guiding light into the darkness.” –me.

“Everything happens for a reason; don’t underestimate those reasons… You live to forgive and forget and to move along with the life you’re leading. Therefore, with that said, don’t waste time with melodrama or pity arguments. Don’t put up with people who attempt to drag you down with them. Because I can guarantee that those people; the ones who try to play you like a cheesy board game are never worth a single breath escaping your lips. Those are the ones who will never find happiness, true happiness, bliss, No, they’ll forever be lonely. Keep moving forward, look onto brighter horizons. Love the ones you hold close to your heart. Cherish your children. Lead your own life, not someone else’s, nor let any other being lead yours. Smile. Kiss. Love. Trust. Be honest with yourself and with others. It’s all worth it in the end.” –me.

Maybe our largest mistake together was making stupid decisions when we met. We made the choice to fall in love, to date, to live together and try to be happy all within a mere week of meeting. In doing so, hearts wound up broken; smashed into stardust. Trust was ripped away and friends were lost.
This time, this time will be different. I, in this beginning, will tell you of me. I will tell you everything which has occurred throughout my life, it may be the past, but my past tells a lot of who I was which has made me, well, me. I will be bluntly honest with you. I will answer every question you could possibly fathom to ask me. It’s just, I don’t know where to begin…

“The past will never cease to constantly be snipping at your heels with every step you take; it’ll always be there to remind you who you are and what paths you’ve chosen to lead you to where you are. Don’t break promises, don’t break hearts, because it’s happened before; your sometimes overwhelming past can come toppling down on you at any given moment; so be careful. There’s no one who wants to slip, fall face first, losing all consciousness into what once was.” –me.

“People change… I’ve seen friendships fall apart and relationships destroyed. It happens. Truth hurts. People lie. People cheat. Everyone destroys someone else in some way, it’s an ever going cycle of life. Live your life. Even when something unexpected comes alone, enjoy it, love it. It’s all worth it in the end. I can promise you that.” –me.

“Not everyone can read me like a story book or a torn out page of your favorite fairy tale. There’s more to me then just that. My life, better yet, my story is more complicated then most may think.
I used to be the girl that you would see walking alone down the street at night, cigarette in hand, bag in the other, all the while letting the world completely pass me by. I was the girl with the electric green nail polish and nearly enough eyeliner on my eyes to last most girls the entire year. Though all I am to most is just another pretty face.
There’s always new lives forming, coming alive, seeing this rundown movie for the very first time. Then there are also lives ending, running away from a failing life. Praying that the next world is better then the one they left in their very wake.”
–me.

Let’s begin like this; I am complicated, spontaneous, gullible, unnaturally trusting of others and a big ball of confusion at times. I care too much for others, even when they’ve chewed me up, spit me out and kicked me around in the dirt, I still care. I hand out second chances like a stranger hands children candy from his van. One would assume I would have learned my lesson of doing such nonsense, but nonetheless I continue to forgive too easily. My heart throbs when I am upset and feels as if it is going to burst wide open so all of the world can see. I have the unfortunate tendency to bottle up how I feel because my thoughts process too quickly and I become speechless because the words I am trying to speak just refuse to form into speech.

“Trust; it’s a highly important factor in ones life. I have very little for those I have met here, all except for one in which I trust completely with my life, my heart, my child… Yes, I may be very trusting, but that trust only lasts until you’ve broken it… Everyone of you thus far, besides that one person has broken my trust. So therefore those of you who broke my trust can go **** yourselves and relinquish yourselves from my life; it’ll be much better without you. And you know exactly who I’m referring to.” –me.

I fall in love too easily and too quickly; as you have first handily witnessed. I do intend for that to change, which, with my most recent excuse of a relationship I came to realize that it has changed. I never fell in love with him, I never had a true attachment, just annoyance. There is no excuse to why the relationship was even formed to begin with, let alone why it lasted more then a few short days. That relationship is over now, and that relationship will never get a second chance like others have.
I have changed; I’m no longer the person I once was. I still care and I still love, but I’m no longer the me I used to be. After our first run around, something switched off, or maybe even on inside me. I don’t fight, I may argue my point but it has no intentions to cause any harm. I began to communicate my feelings more, even though it seems to do no good.
I believe that everyone deserves to be happy, and I look for the good in everyone, that’s why I constantly push and try so hard, to bring out the better and happier person in those I am trying to help. And it seems to be the people I end up dating are those I subconsciously am looking to help; I am drawn to those who are in dire need of change without ever realizing so. It’s like a test I’m giving, and so far everyone has failed. I feel as if I’m here to help others, to make their lives better even though sometimes it may not seem like I’m trying to help at all; but I really am.

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave. A soul mates purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master.” – Elizabeth Gilbert

I have had many bad run-ins in this short life I have lived thus far. I became pregnant at seventeen and I was far from ready to have a child of my own; I was still a child who needed to experience more of life before bringing another life into this cruel world. In result my child was removed from my care because I fell into the hands of disastrous acts. I met the wrong people whom only drug me down farther along with them. I fought and I fought to get her back in my arms, and after a year I finally did. Though now, I look at her and I feel as if she belongs to someone else. I don’t have the bond which I should have with my daughter and no matter what I try it just won’t spark. This is a terrible confession, but it is of the truth. I catch myself more and more looking at my baby and asking myself if this is really real. Asking myself where has time gone? I missed so much of her growing up that it’s tearing me to pieces now, years later. Nothing seems to be real anymore. I need that bond between me and my child more then I need anything else, because she is my shining light in this world.

“I can’t find reality; my reality has just become a non-stop ride through hell and back. Send someone to shine a light as bright as a shooting star so I can find my way back to what my reality should be realistically.” –me.

I, myself am indeed an open book, mostly unwritten. All you ever need to do is ask me questions… Tell me of yourself – open up to me completely; because if you can tell me everything and if you can tell me everything that has been hidden, I can do the same. Be adventurous with me, be spontaneous; do things you never thought you would fathom of doing. Live with an open mind to the future; because our future could be blindingly beautiful, and then again it could also be terribly tragic. Though we will never know until we try; that’s how life works, as you’re well aware.

Though I am afraid that the beginning is coming to a slow halt; so I am asking this of you – please consider being my partner in crime, to help me continue writing our story, our fairytale. It may be the most adventurous challenge we’ll ever come across in our lifetime.
I do hope I provided a well spoken beginning, telling of some, let’s say “important” points of me and my past. Just remember, I want to find what once was lost; I want it to be found properly from both parties involved. Maybe we’ll be some of the lucky ones who’ll, one day find true blissfulness; just maybe.


Your Perfect Stranger
this is also NOT a poem... this is a letter I never sent to my "perfect stranger", my ex, the true love of my life even though I never sent it to him.
written: 7.07.12
Can you feel this fear
Orchestrated by a tear
Made by a scared thought
Pushed by what the mind taught
Listen now to this trembling story
Illustrated by an apologetic sorry
Compacted by a mirror broken
Agony of those words never spoken
Time came when terror made a mark
Erupted to ignite this morbid spark
Darkness becomes a tad complicated
Copyright Chris Smith 2014
Last night was grass ripping, candy melting disappointment
His eyes have grown cold around his warm (once warm) chocolate eyes
We had an amazing weekend camping in the Catskills together (except for the rain and when he took my phone)
he can’t live without me yet
his shoulders are weighed down, I don’t think he remembers what dancing feels like-
except when we make love
The only (last) smile I’ve seen on him was before/during/after *******
I have spent my whole life making things more difficult for everyone I love
My penguin found it was easier to trap himself in a glacier than to
face the possibility of not catching any fish

I believe him when he says he doesn’t remember his freak outs
his night terrors, when he manically thrashes like venomous wave crashes
I believe him to be drowning
I know how he feels
I am my mother dealing with myself 2-3 years ago
and so before and hereafter
I stopped drowning myself when I saw my loved ones swallowed by the tide
swallowed by my overwhelming sea of depression ( okay it took me a few tries)
but I had support

My love is drowning and I’m afraid I’m going under
which is alright considering I’m with the love of my life
but what about all of my ferocious attempts at trying to stay alive?
All my mother’s strength wasted on carrying a shattered girl
All my brother’s love he shows in funny ways yet
All my brother’s love brings peace into my days

How can I rely on someone when that someone relies on me?
How can I carry the weight of a beautiful boy’s mountainous
depression/suicideality
How can I not help or be there for the most wonderful man going through
the most terrible sandstorm when I know EXACTLY how that feels
How am I going to continue believing in myself when the luckiest,
most unbelievable circumstance of love doesn’t believe life is worth living?

Depression can be temporary
Depression can be lifelong
How can I watch myself fall off the step
I waled back and forth from until my toes begged me to stop
until my soul begged me to stop

I know of few things to be true
I know of our age and how we’re too old to be this young
I know I have never loved anyone else as much as I love him
I know he thinks he loves me, I believe him
I know we’re meant to be together not in a soulmate way
in a I want to wake up next to his soft face, mahogany eyes and golden smile
for the rest of my life

I know he is having trouble turning on the lights because he;s terrified the bulbs will explode
I know it took me a really (really ******* long) long time to accept myself
and I still have a ing way to go until I actually like myself
I know he’s struggling and I’ve done everything I can do to help him
and nothing at all to help myself
I will always love him
Diversity of motivation among self-harming individuals

An estimated one in twelve teenagers has committed self-harm. Of those many will continue self-injuring into young adult hood. Yet older adults are not immune to committing this act. In 2003-2004 adults age 25-44 were responsible for nearly fifty percent of reported/discovered self-harm cases.  There are many reasons that people self-harm. These reasons may include self-harming as a survival mechanism, self-harm as an outer expression of inner emotional turmoil, and self-harm as a means to exercise control over one’s environment.
Contrary to popular thought, only one in ten people who make the decision to self-harm are suicidal. The majority of people who cause injury to themselves willfully have a wish to avoid killing themselves. The act of self-harm is developed as a “technique” to cope and survive the afflictions of life. How can we know that this is the reasoning or thought behind the action of self-harm? “Cutters” typically reason out the least amount of damage that will “remedy” the stress intensive situation that they find themselves in, and exercise an enormous amount of restraint in inflicting only a measured amount of damage. Cutters’ common logic is that through this expression of injury, further damage to their selves may be headed off. --------, a former cutter, attests to the reality of this when he says, “Every time that I touched a blade to my skin, I would resist making a larger cut, a deeper wound. Every time that I hurt myself, I did so only in response to what drove me over the edge; Each time the amount of physical damage that I did was the very least that I could muster. I fought to do the least damage I could, no matter how intense the pain that I felt became.” He sums it up rather nicely.
Secondly, self-harm is used as an outward expression of deeper, more complex emotional and psychological phenomena. It is not a diagnosis; it is a symptom. It is a symptom of a struggle that is inherited by victims of abuse, those who lose a loved one, or experience other traumatic events during their childhood. These groups are far more likely to indulge in self-harm. One study conducted by Boudewyn and Liem found that of those college students that reported a history of self-harm, fifty two percent had been sexually abused as a child. Those that self-harm do not simply cut to cut, burn to burn, or mutilate to mutilate. There is a deeper motivation. This motivation is commonly emotional. These motivational emotions are often the results of tragic or traumatic life experiences. It is seldom that a cutter’s motivation is a want for attention.  In fact, most cutters are chameleons.
Self- harm is used as a tool to exercise control in a chaotic environment over which one would not otherwise have any means to control. Among chaos and turmoil such as the loss of a parent or close friend, relational betrayal, divorce of one’s parents, or consistent, one time, or sporadic physical, emotional, or ****** abuse an individual is radically more likely to engage in self-harm. Outside reasoning on this is only speculative. For this reason it is valuable to look at the action from the perspective of those who commit it. Cody, the same individual mentioned earlier says something else that lines up with this common scholarly opinion. He says “I remember the very first time I cut myself intentionally. I was in the ninth grade, in the school bathroom. I had just experienced what I saw as betrayal by my best friend of about ten years. I felt like I lost him. I felt like things were spinning out of control, and I couldn’t control the way I felt about it all. The only way I could feel that control was with something sharp in my hand.” This is characteristic not only of ----- but also of many other cutters.
Cutters are not (necessarily) crazy. On the surface it may appear that cutting goes against the ingrained survival and self-preservation instincts in human beings. This is actually the opposite of the truth. Many who cut feel that if they don’t inflict smaller harm to themselves that they may indeed fall to suicide. They feel that by letting out their pain in increments, and escaping in fragments, that they can slay the thoughts of suicide and urges to escape that they carry. When at the edges of rational, some instincts may take different forms. What may seem counter intuitive – an act of self-harm – becomes the definition of an instinct that it seems to defy. The desire to survive becomes so strong that it is necessary to inflict pain. This is not uncommon to survival situations. For example, the movie 127 Hours reenacts the experience of a man trapped under a boulder in a beautiful and secluded gorge. He cut off his own arm with a dull multi-tool in order to escape death. That act is the epitome of self-harm as a survival instinct.
Cutting could lead to a series of events that tailspin out of control. Loss of control could take the form of the spiral of therapies and prescriptions that would follow if it were discovered that one were cutting , or it could be the accidental slip of a blade gone too far. It could end in hospitalization. It could even end in death. However, those individuals who choose to cut, as long as sober, take precautions to avoid discovery or more injury than is intended. They are meticulous, careful even. They reason out how, where, and when they can cut “safely”. They are very much in control over the act, when they feel they cannot be in control of anything else.
It may rationally appear that pain is pain. That it would make no difference whether out or inward, because whatever its state, the pain is still owned by the individual. However, emotions are often harder to process than physical events. A burning rage, hate or guilt may well be harder to cope with than a burn to one’s arm, leg, or hand. An emotional cut to the bone may be less painful than a physical one. It may be said that the act does not transform the pain, but multiplies it. This in essence may be true, but one form of pain allows a man to ignore another. A pinch may allow a man to ignore the emotional pain of a nightmare. A small cut may allow ignorance of the bigger cut on one’s spirit or psyche.
There are widely varying and increasingly complex variations of motivation and cause of self-harm. They may include, but are absolutely and in no way limited to: self-harm as a coping or survival mechanism, self-harm as a tool to exercise control over one’s increasingly chaotic environment, and self-harm as an outer expression of inner emotional turmoil. To believe that cutting is simple is to nearly deny it altogether. Its essence is complicated. Stereotyping self-harm or self-harmers may well lead to opinions that will ostracize or further encourage the occurrence of self-harm.  Since the motivation and causes of self-harm are undeniably complex, to attempt to brush this under a rock would be to diminish its importance, and to deny healing to those who need to understand it.
Hooria Iftikhar Feb 2021
People say I'm complicated,
But If they see close enough,
I'm not that complicated
I just stay away from people,
Because I don't want to hurt myself.
I don't talk much,
Because talking doesn't make the pain go.
Im heartless,they say!
But the mask is too strong for them to see my true self!
Why don't you love anyone?
Because love hurts like hell.
Why don't you make friends?
Because friends can break your heart too.
I'll always say;"I'm Fine"
Even in the worst times
Because explaining your pain is kuch harder than faking a smile.
The show will go on,
It must never end
Until death comes in the way...!!
Not so good and incomplete caz this was one of my first poems and it's been incomplete for years and I just don't want to complete it!!
Labyrinth Apr 2014
Do you like me?
Or do you not like me?

You are such a cubic,
I have to play around for so long,
And when I think I've got it,
There's one ******* white block,
Trapped in the center of the **** reds.

Is there a hack way to work you out?
Do I have to pull out each block,
Pull them out one by one,
Until I accidentally break a piece?

Each time I lose my temper because of you,
I remind myself,
I remind myself that,
I need to be patient with you,
Because if I force you apart,
You'll break.

I swear,
You are such a cubic.
My Norman No More
2.04.2014

— The End —