Contradicted
Don't live today thinking tomorrow will come
Don't live today thinking a change will come
Don't live today fretting for tomorrow
Don't live today expecting joy in the morning
Don't live today expecting sorrow in the morning
Don't live today thinking I'll be here tomorrow
Don't live today thinking I won't be here tomorrow
Contradicted
Corroboration

This is a fictional account of the abuse suffered by a young boy. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1

Lady Macbeth remarked “Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil”. All children have their terrors. The bogeyman who lurks in dark corners patiently waiting to harm the unwary child. The ghost who haunts the attic where, even on a bright sunny day the child fears to go alone or some unspeakable terror, a horror with no name which lies just below the surface of every day life. In my case the ghoul who cast an all pervasive shadow over my childhood was Colin, a man small in stature but, to a child a monster of epic proportions.
I have, on occasions tried to comprehend why my abuser acted as he did. As a boy I had no desire to understand Colin. I hated him with an all consuming loathing. He was the devil incarnate who, if it had been in my power to do so I would have destroyed with as little compunction as a man would show when exterminating a rat. As an adult the hatred remains although now tempered with a desire to understand why Colin abused a small, defenceless child, physically and mentally over a prolonged period.
Was Colin abused by one (or both) of his parents? And, if so does this help to explain (but in no way excuse) why he took such great delight in inflicting pain on me? I met both of Colin’s parents and stayed with them on several occasions. At no time during those visits was I subjected to any kind of abuse. This does not of course prove that Colin’s mother and father where not abusers. It demonstrates that they did not abuse me, no more, no less. However, looking back at my visits to their home and, in particular the fact that neither of Colin’s parents abused me, I am inclined to believe that he was not ill treated by either of them. So what turned Colin into the monster who took delight in twisting my arm so hard behind my back that I thought it would break? The answer is, I have no idea. What turned apparently normal Germans into mass murderers in ******’s *****? The answer is the same, I don’t know. As with the concentration camp guards who committed mass ****** I can speculate that some where subjected to abuse as children and that this led to them becoming psychopathic killers. However not all of those abused in childhood go on to commit abuse, while many in the SS experienced apparently happy childhoods untroubled by abuse. Colin may have been abused by someone other than his parents but even if this is the case this does not explain or justify why he became an abuser.

Chapter 2

I was born on 7 February 1971 in the north of England. Soon after my birth it became apparent that all was not right with Donald Myers. I cried far more than any normal child ought to. In addition I banged my head against hard surfaces on a frequent basis which, obviously gave rise to concern. My mum, as any good mother would took me to the hospital only to be told that there was nothing amiss. However a mother’s instinct told her that something was terribly wrong with her son. She refused to leave the hospital and demanded a second opinion. This was provided by a Polish doctor who, having examined me diagnosed a blood clot on the brain. My distraught family was informed that I required an urgent operation and even if the blood clot was successfully removed I was likely to be severely mentaly disabled. Fortunately the blood clot was removed and I am not mentally deficient. The clot did, however leave me with very poor vision (I am registered blind and use a guide dog as a mobility aid although I possess useful vision which assists with orientation).

Chapter 3

As a young boy I spent a great deal of time with my grandfather. This was due to my sister, Janet being ill and my mum not being able to look after 2 young children simultaneously.
I have fond memories of playing in what I called “the patch”, a piece of the garden which my grandfather allowed me to do with as I chose. I recall making mud pies and coming into the house caked in mud literally from head to toe.
Being blind I relied on my grandfather to read to me. Most weekends found us in a book shop. Whenever I walk into W H Smiths the scent of books brings back happy memories of time spent with my grandfather, me sitting on his knee as he read to me.
My grandfather was a dear, kind gentle man. Had he known how Colin was abusing me he would, I am sure have gone straight to the nearest police station to report him. However he never knew and, being a small child I never confided in him.
I am amazed when I hear people ask “why didn’t so and so report the abuse?” As a small child I was terrified of Colin. Had I told anyone I was sure that he would deny everything and the abuse would intensify. I was not aware of the existence of the National Society For The Prevention Of Cruelty To Children (NSPCC) and even had I known of their existence I would, as a frightened little boy have lacked the courage to pick up the phone and call. Colin would, no doubt have accused me of lying and in the 1970’s and 1980’s children where rarely believed when making alegations of abuse.

Chapter 4

I used to dread leaving the safety of my grandfather’s home to spend time with Colin and my mother. My heart would sink when Colin or my mum came to collect me from my grandfather’s. On one occasion I deliberately dropped the car keys behind the kitchen worktop in the forlorn hope this would prevent my mum taking me to stay with her and Colin. Oh vain hope, the keys where discovered and I found myself in the lair of the abuser.
Colin took care never to abuse me in the presence of others. He was, however adept at tormenting me when my mum or other people where nearby but couldn’t see what he was doing. One incident is indelibly etched on my memory. I was sitting on the sofa, in the living room. The room opened straight out into the street and I was seated close to the front door. My mum called to me from outside asking whether I wanted to accompany her to the supermarket. I replied “yes” but before I could leave to join her Colin, who was sitting on the same sofa twisted my arm behind my back and whispered that I should tell my mum that I had changed my mind. I continued to attempt to leave but Colin increased the pressure saying that if I didn’t inform my mum that I had changed my mind he would break my arm. Naturally I called to my mum that I no longer wished to go with her and she left without me.
Being outside my mum did not see the abuse taking place a mere few feet from where she was standing.
On another occasion, while Colin and I where sitting in the living room, he forced a chipped mug into my lip which drew blood. Again my mum was present in the kitchen, which was located next to the living room but did not observe the abuse. On entering the living room and noticing the scar a few minutes later she enquired what had caused it. At this point in time I don’t recollect whether Colin put the lie into my mouth or whether I concocted the story in order to avoid further abuse. In any case I informed my mum that I had cut myself with a chipped mug, a version of events she accepted.  
At times I thought that I was going to die. No small boy likes washing but I used to dread bathing due to Colin’s own unique method of assisting me to wash. This consisted of holding my head under the water so that my nose and mouth filled and I felt as though I was going to die. I would emerge, terrified coughing and spluttering.
Colin obviously derived tremendous pleasure from half suffocating me. On numerous occasions he would place a cushion or pillow over my face and hold it there until I felt that I was about to die. Years later when I attended counselling with the mental health charity Mind, the counsellor asked me why I thought that Colin had not killed me? I replied that he probably derived more pleasure from having a living child to torment than he would have gained had he murdered me. Also, had he murdered me the prospect of detection and Colin spending a long period in prison would, I said have acted as a disincentive to  him taking my life. .  
Colin was a sadist. In adition to systematically abusing me he also abused my mum. I remember him hitting her on a regular basis and on at least one occasion pushing her down the stairs. He was (and is) a ******* of the first order.
Colin didn’t confine his cruelty to people. I recall him flinging the family cat at me. The poor animal stuck out it’s claws to gain purchase with the result that it scratched my face badly. Like all bullies Colin was, at bottom a coward. I never once saw him abuse the family dog. I am sure that this was not out of any affection for the animal, rather it stemmed from the fear that had he done so the dog would, quite naturally have bitten it’s tormentor in self defence. Oh how I wished that the dog had sunk his teeth into Colin.          

Chapter 5

We all have nightmares. As a young boy one of my recurring bad dreams concerned being chased by a hoover. To anyone unfamiliar with the abuse inflicted on me the relating of my dream will, no doubt result in mirth. However my nightmare was no laughing matter as to me the vacuum cleaner was a thing of terror. We owned an upright hoover which Colin would, periodically place on my head while the motor was running. I well recall the terror as the wheels of the machine ran across my head. Colin was nothing if not inventive as in addition to putting a working vacuum cleaner on my head he also made me hold the machine above my head. My arms would ache terribly but I dare not put the hoover down until ordered to do so by Colin. For many years following the ending of the abuse “the chasing hoover dream”, as I refered to it stubbornly refused to go away. While the nightmare no longer plagues my sleeping brain, whenever I use a vacuum cleaner the recollection of a terrified little child being tortured by a hoover comes back to me.
In another of my childhood nightmares I would enter the spare bedroom only to be grabbed by a clicking monster which wrapped it’s hands around my neck attempting to strangle me.
Colin choked me on numerous occasions. One incident remains vividly imprinted on my memory. It was evening and my mum, sister, Colin and I sat in the living room. All of the family accept for me where watching television. I was listening to a talking book about a footballer which contained many amusing stories. I laughed uproariously throughout much of the book. Later on that evening, following the departure of my mum and sister to bed Colin choked me telling me never to laugh like that again as I had “disturbed” people. As I recall Colin’s strangling of me the old terrors reassert themselves. At the time I felt that I had, perhaps done something wrong. However the logical part of my brain told me that I had done nothing whatever to justify Colin’s barbaric treatment of me. He ought to have gone to prison for that incident alone. He was (and remains) the personification of evil to me. To this day I can, on occasions feel self conscious about giving in to the natural desire to laugh at a great joke when in the company of friends. I can (and do) let myself go and laugh uproariously but Colin remains in the background, like Banquo’s ghost putting a dampener on the feast.

Chapter 6

Colin possessed considerable charm which is, perhaps how he came to entrap my mum into marrying him. I remember sitting around the dinner table with guests present and Colin holding forth on Charles Darwin amongst other topics. Although not university educated Colin was by no means unintelligent and could, if one was unfamiliar with his propensity to abuse, appear to be charm itself, a man whom it would be a pleasure to have over for dinner.      

Colin possessed the capacity to make people laugh which he used to devastating effect when making barbed comments at the expense of my mum. I hated him for his comments but laughed none the less which is proof of the idea that hostages frequently try to please their captors by forming some kind of relationship with them. I can not at this juncture in my life recall in detail how, precisely Colin undermined the confidence of my mum, I suspect that this inability on my part stems from the fact that I was, quite naturally concerned with my own suffering and the abuse perpetrated on my mum was of secondary concern. My own pain preoccupied me. I had little time for that of others.

Chapter 7

My counsellor and my dear friend, Barry have raised the issue as to whether my mum was aware of the abuse to which Colin was subjecting me. I have thought about this question long and hard and I still can not provide a categoric answer. I am sure that my mum never actually observed Colin in the act of abusing me. She was, as explained in the forgoing chapters, never in the same room when the abuse took place. The fact that her son showed a profound disinclination to be alone with Colin should though have caused alarm bells to start ringing. Colin was clever. The only time I can recollect when he caused me to bare a physical manifestation of abuse was the incident of the chipped cup related earlier. On all other occasions the marks where deep psychological wounds not visible to the casual observer.
I have tried discussing the abuse with my mum. Her reaction has osilated between stating that the abuse occurred a long time ago and that I ought to forgive and forget, to questioning whether it did, in fact take place. My gut feeling is that my mum does not doubt my veracity. The anger she manifested on discovering that I had informed my wife of the abuse perpetrated by Colin demonstrates that she does not doubt me.
Shortly prior to my wife and I separating we went to stay with my mum and sister. One morning my mum, my daughter and I went for a walk during the course of which my mum received a call from my sister. Janet said that my wife, Louise had told her that I had informed Louise of the abuse to which I had been subjected to by Colin. My mum rounded on me asking “why the hell I had told Louise about the abuse”. There ensued a blazing argument during which my mum hit me. On returning home the argument continued with Janet stating that I should talk to Colin about the situation. The fact that Janet did not defend Colin and state that he couldn’t, possibly have abused me indicates that she was, to some extent aware of the abuse.
I love my mum deeply and have no doubt that she loves me. Yet whenever we are together the elephant in the room (Colin) stands between us, seen by both but mentioned by neither. In my case I fear the eruption of a blazing argument. I have always shyed away from arguments which is, I suspect down to me having grown up in a family in which vilence and arguments where commonplace. As a small boy I developed strategies for minimising the likelyhood of being abused. My main strategy was to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. I became a master at sitting quietly, not speaking unless I was spoken to and doing everything in my power not to antagonise Colin. While I don’t fear being physically abused by my mum I shrink in terror at the prospect of a verbal tyraid eminating from her.
In my mum’s case she does, I believe feel guilty due to her not having protected her son from Colin. The fact that she refuses to discuss the abuse to which I was subjected shows her inability to acknowledge to me her own sense of culpability at her failure to prevent Colin’s behaviour. On at least one occasion my mum has told me that the abuse could not have taken place as, if it had she would have been aware of it. This is contradicted by her statement (refered to earlier) that it was a long time ago and I ought to “forgive and forget”. Both statements can not be correct and in her heart of hearts my mum knows that I am telling the truth, she lacks the courage to admit her own failings and apologise to me.      

Chapter 8

At this distance in time I can not pinpoint the precise point at which the physical abuse stopped. At some indeterminate point (I think during my early teens) I began to challenge Colin’s behaviour. I remember wishing to join a social club and Colin informing me that I could not do so. Full of fear and trepidation I said that I would join to

Rainbows sit high
Imagination glides down their backs
and it scars hearts
after reaching a high, nothing matches that
Missing something now.
The paint, it trickles down and melts eyes
its canvas pain, it paints it gray.

To my fickle sea.
Poking holes in wishes you receive
The colors of the bay, they float away
Black and White is an infinite abyss
Lose yourself in the grace of it.
No in between,
just keep your eyes wide
you'll see nothing.
The sand at your feet
The glass and rocks that glaze the earth,
always find a way to cut their grace.
Don't pray too hard for me.

Search through your garden
the size of a thumbtack
the flowers rise over your head.
Trees of candy cane sprout before your eyes
You can't see what another sees,
no one to know what you know.

Taking a step inside an orchids stem
and tip-toeing down through the veins of its petals
the purple and gold
they all bleed through your mind.
Form and shape the world which you dance along,
thoughts of blowing breezes send your thoughts along their way
into this endless sea.

Watch the lines write themselves into darkened corners.
The bright and shining sun could change your world.
Swirling and spiraling staircases send you downwards without a thought,
no stopping the whirl-pool once your slipping under.
An octopus would take you in
and with every one of his eight arms he caresses your pain away
showing real effort in his cause

those who impress, settle at unrest

Watch as the berries erupt and bloom
crawl along the lines
mazes of blue
and red know there is no way to succeed.
Watch as the bumblebees sneeze with their noses covered in yellow dreams.
they pack it in with their toes in teams

A great glass lake, to skate along
the ripples
She falls along each crease,
stumbling and tumbling between each droplet.

The clouds fly high above her head,
they gaze upon her flowing gown.
They cry sad tears when they see her eyes
drowning her futures in their skies,
flowing and crashing and thrashing.

With an umbrella, float away
above the days when everything
turned out wrong.

The great glass lake serves true,
until you skip the rock of inferiority along its reflection.
The shatter will fly all about.
That is the point at which it ends
Everything you know is then contradicted and compromised
Your own description shattered

Stones drop from high heights
out of clouds with heavy hearts
waiting to smash this dream.

Great glass lake shines on.

You breathed gin.
This is blood for you.
Your hands held your hair and your eyes shut.
The alcohol lulled your brain to black.

It escaped your veins,
Diluted by 37.5% truth serum.

Gasping at the
Divine realisation
Where slurred lips
Contradicted
Your once straight-faced,
Certainly-certain speakings
Of your very crooked lie.

So crooked, it wound his heart around yours.
But that ball of yarn unravelled in an instant.
And the jumper you knit together,
Came apart
Stitch by stitch.

In my fogged memory,
I had choked myself that night
With a bottle and a ball of yarn.

THE STORY OF SARA


AYAD GHARBAWI


CHAPTER 3: BEING AN ACTIVIST

  
Gradually, we become ever more radical in our burning quest to uproot every conceivable element of the corrupting culture of the oppressors.
  We soon started to call these oppressors 'Pigs', because that is exactly what they were: overweight, bloated, filthy animals who live simply eat and consume all day, and who love to live in their own excrement.
  The Pigs had to be removed, because you cannot negotiate with a pig.
  It was so obvious to me!
  Some people did, indeed, argue that diplomacy and negotiations were the way to achieve our blessed equality-based society, but that was pure idiocy to me; because, for Heaven's sake, a pig will remain a pig and cannot become an 'enlightened' pig! These criminals, who are creating poverty, and who are killing people, because they do not allow them decent health services, must be completely eradicated, or else, ordinary people will continue to suffer.
  One day I heard Tony give a speech in front of a huge audience: "There's no point in cutting the tail of the snake. No, you must go straight for the head, and that's how you **** it!" And there ensued roars and cheers, from the mainly young crowd. "And, if someone is trying to **** you, what do you do? Negotiate? Talk to them? No, you **** them first, that's what you do! That's who the Pigs are, my friends. They are out there killing you, and so many of you tonight are simply not even remotely aware that you are dying slowly – so, you must, first of all wake up, and realize that someone, somewhere, is draining out the blood of your life, and next you must identify the cancer that is killing you. So, who's the cancer?" Tony screamed, and the by now delirious crowds immediately responded with a thunderous and hate-filled, "Pigs! Pigs! Pigs!"
  "The Pigs talk and teach us about 'morality' and 'respect' and 'decency', and other subjects like that. That's laughable now, isn't it?! I mean, the blood stained mass murderer is teaching us etiquette here?!"
  "No! No!" roared back the audience. "**** the pigs! **** the pigs!" they suddenly and somehow instantaneously started to chant. So, I must correct what many people think about Tony, and that is, he 'invented' and popularized that phrase, '**** the pigs". No, he didn't; it was the audience that night who spontaneously came up with that really exciting and vibrant phrase!
  From then on, violence became more common along with the never ending chants – if not screams – of '**** the pigs!' Every day, and all over the country, the movement had flourished, and there were the most refreshing and gloriously destructive riots in almost every major city.

  It was at this time that I first heard a speech from Omar.
We waited for the man to appear, but he seemed nowhere to be found.
  My God, I heard from so many people that he was the most radical in the deepest sense of the word!
  Apparently, he made Tony sound like a child!
  He also had a well disciplined party – unlike Tony.
  Here was a place that I can find the ‘cause of my life’!
  I could work for Omar and that would be the point of my life!
  The thought thrilled me – because I was already a convert to their ideas, but with Omar, there was a real party that was actively fighting the government, whereas Tony and other leaders like him were independent activists, but with no party behind them.
    Then, Omar suddenly appeared.
  He was of medium height, average looks - but it wasn’t long before you noticed his inexpressibly burning, fanatical eyes!
  I was about a few metres from him, and I could feel the sheer intensity of passion and rage within those eyeballs!
  This man must have absolutely the words of truth, for no Man could look like that and be a liar!
And then he gently spoke:
  "**** the pigs, I hear you say. Well, that's not good enough for me. People like that make me yawn. And, I'm bored of yawning every day. We need more. We need to move on faster. I need speed. It's not just '**** the pigs', it's '**** the cops!', because the cops defend the Pigs and attack us every day; '**** the teachers!' because every teacher does nothing except to teach us with pointless information'. And, '**** every human being' who sides or serves the establishment!”.
  Omar’s eyes were literally able to stab right through your heart and soul simply by staring at you!
  I can well imagine that my reader will not believe me and will say it was because I was a convert to Omar’s ideas that I found his eyes to be so abnormally powerful – but, what do you say to all those people who did not like him, and who met him, and yet, they, too, all said that his eyes were profoundly piercing?!
  So, you see, reader, do believe me – it’s not because I was emotionally enthralled by Omar, that I am describing him to you the way I do!
  He had beautifully framed fingers – I don’t know why I noticed that!
  He had a rather longish nose – maybe, that was one defect in his face, but you hardly noticed that, given the other attractions in this man.
  And then he possessed the deepest, most guttural, and yet so sweetly melodic voice, that I had ever heard, and when he spoke, he simply entranced me – not to mention the thousands of others.
  Omar continued, beginning to raise his ragged voice:
“And, so I order you, tonight, and tomorrow, and every day, to fanatically and ruthlessly exterminate every visible sign, agent, artist, writer, philosopher, painter, sculptor, journalist, teacher, professor, lawyer, doctor, surgeon, banker, engineer, everyone who works in the mass media like the television, every film maker, every scientist, and every single employer and employee of the Pigs."
  The audience now simply shrieked the verb, '****! ****! ****!’ while Omar went silent, amidst this wild orchestra of hate being played out.


  I noticed, that unlike Tony, Omar wouldn't gesticulate or move his hands at all.
  Actually, he just stood there, rock solid, like a statue while only eyes and mouth spoke!
  The man, I swear, looked like a 'human rock'!
  He was the absolute epitome of boundless hatred; of unrestrained defiance against the rulers ruling us!
  Yes, I do admit, and I hesitate to say so, but, yes, he almost did like completely maniacal – were it not for his self control and the beauty of his words!
  The audience relaxed.
  Omar waited until there was silence, and he continued:
  "Do you see the difference between what I am saying and what brothers like Tony say? People like Tony demand from us to uproot the pigs. But what Pigs does he, in fact, mean? Who does he mean, when he says 'Pigs'? He means the rich. That's it.”


  Now, Omar abruptly went silent.
  Tension.
  He was staring at us.
  I could feel that the audience felt nervous precisely because Omar was staring at them.
  Finally, he continued:
  “Can you imagine the limits of his intellect?! To Tony and his misguided followers, the solution facing the problem before us is simple enough: you simply wipe out the rich, and suddenly we have the beautiful society!"
  Omar was sneering, being utterly sarcastic in his voice and tone.
  "So is that it, Brother Tony? Is that all we need to do?”
  There, he stopped again, with a sarcastic, wicked smile on his face.
  The man’s body simply had no motion in it!
  I was waiting to see, if Omar would, at some point, move his body or his arms, but so far nothing!
  He continued:
“My goodness, I never knew that the gigantic problem facing us was to be solved in such a simple manner! But, no, you're being fools. Or, maybe you're fooling your selves. Either way, I don't know, and more importantly, I don't care, because, as I told you all out there listening to me,” suddenly, he began to scream with his rasping voice:
  “I'm a serious man, with a serious mission, and above all, I'm a man in a hurry!"
  Again, Omar went suddenly silent.
  I could sense, that he was deliberately teasing the audience, because they were obviously desperate for him to continue speaking, while he, would every so often stop speaking, thus adding to the tension in the atmosphere!
  The audience laughed, loving the biting sarcasm; obviously there were lots of rivalry and jealousies between the two camps, and so Omar's followers just loved to hear the buckets of insults being poured upon the followers of Tony.
  The mocking tone continued:
  "These fools are retarding our own path to victory! These followers of Brother Tony, are doing the dumbest acts that I have ever seen. I mean, what do you mean and what are you trying to achieve, when you have his followers going to restaurants and disrupting the place? I mean, is this what the definition of 'stupidity' is, or what?!"
  The crowd cheered: "Yes! Yes! Idiots!"
  "Listen here Brother Tony; I would like to say, 'it's all right, you're still young and you'll soon grow up'. But I can't say that. You know why?"
  The audience waited as Omar paused.
  He was staring at his audience.
  Suddenly, he erupted with his deafening scream:
  "I can't wait. Didn't I already tell you that? Didn't I tell you I'm a man IN A HURRY AND I'VE GOT TO DO MY WORK! DON'T YOU PEOPLE OUT THERE GET IT?"
  He roared, and the masses applauded furiously.
  "I don't have time, for children like Tony, and for his own little children, to stand in my way, and wait for them to grow up! I don't have the time, because I have an enemy out there, that needs to be completely, ruthless and fanatically exterminated, root and branch, do you now follow me?"
  "Yes! Yes! We follow!" screamed the masses.
  Silence.
  And then, Omar continued:
  "So, we know who Tony defines as the Pigs. What about myself? We must talk the talk of the brave. If you're scared, then get out of here. Why do I say this? Because this struggle requires the most ruthless behaviour on our part, and to be ruthless, you need to be brave, and to be rave means you have no fear."
  It sounded almost as if he were singing.
  Or maybe it was my imagination.


"So, who are the Pigs, you ask me? Simple. The Pig is a man, woman and child who has any Pig Attributes. What do I mean by 'Pig Attributes'? Very simple. Any human, who has in his brain, any idea, concept, believe and acceptance of any value from the rulers who rule us all. And, what are these 'values' that come from our dear rulers? They are ideas and values such as: there are the simple ones, like the belief in the right to profit, belief in the right of property, inheritance and so on. Then, there are the other beliefs, such as, belief in compassion for the rich, or cooperating with the rich or socialising with the rich. You follow?"
  The audience was silent.
  "That means, any human in our sick society, poor or not, who in any way, not only physically interacts with the rulers is a Pig himself, but also any human, poor or not, who has in his heart and mind, any empathy for the rich is a Pig himself, and so therefore, it follows – and I hope you people out there are listening to me – it means, therefore, that a poor human being who has any Pig Attributes, is a Pig himself, just like the rulers themselves. Do you understand?"
  Silence.
  And then he walked out.


  It was so sudden, because I expect a really screaming end from Omar, but to the surprise of everyone, he ended and simply walked out!
  But, I, understood what he meant.
  Basically, he was enlarging the definition of what it meant to be the 'enemy'.
  This struggle was now going to be infinitely more difficult. With Tony, the war was simple enough.
  We were 'right' while anyone belonging to the ruling class was 'evil' and that was it.
  Obviously, no member in the ruling class can deny that he's in the ruling class! They can even change their accents and their clothes, pretending to be poor, but there are computers and archives, such as birth certificates, school records, and it doesn't take long, to find out a person's origins.
  But now what Omar was proposing, that a Pig is any human being who interacts with the ruling class is evil.
  Also, anyone who has any thoughts that have any Pig Attributes (for example, being pro-ruling class), are also evil, and therefore, had to be eliminated.
  In other words, the poor can be Pigs as well.
  I loved that, because, I was never comfortable with most other left leaders, including Tony, who only focused their ire against the rich.
  To them all the poor were ‘blessed’ and ‘sinless’, and I knew, from my own background, that they simply romanticised the poor, probably because they themselves were all rich people who had never lived one day of their lives in poverty.
  With Omar, being impure, or sinful could be anyone in society – and, your background or class didn’t matter.
  That was far more logical to me!

But with joining Omar’s party, came other problems for me.
How were we supposed to ‘find’ a Pig, or an impure person?
  How can we be sure if a person has the Pig Attributes in his mind?
  It seemed ludicrous to me!
  I had doubts because as attractive an orator that Omar was, once you went home and thought about what he actually said, a lot did not make sense.
  I had so many ideas that contradicted what Omar had to say.
  For example, can’t we achieve our goals by peaceful means – rather than choosing the path of violence?
  And if we must use violence, then why don’t we attack military targets and not civilians?
  Wasn’t it wrong to target civilians and civilian places – like factories, farms, and shops?

  
  There he stood; eyes blazing as ever.
  What makes eyes 'blaze' I wondered.
  They don't actually emit any light, do they?
  So how can one man have such penetrating, piercing eyes that go right to your innermost heart?
  Omar seemed to be made of steel.
  Or, maybe it was all in my imagination, as Sanji would always be telling me.
  It was his personality and also his body language: that stern, stiff way of standing, that seemed to be the epitome of defiance against the evil in the world!
  His whole body seemed to be chiselled from the purest marble; there he stood, this heroic rock, against the tyranny of the storms and the oceans that were crashing on him; and still, there he stood, not only in supreme piety, but also, there he stood, waging a struggle against these very dark forces of evil.
  He will rid our society and our nation from evil, and one day, we shall live in a truly happy country.
  This nation and its sad people, this nation that has so many miserable, poor and unhappy people, will soon be able to live free, happy lives, without the burdens and the shackles imposed on them by the ruling elites.
  He spoke:
"They need to be utterly, and without a shred of human mercy, be exterminated, or else, it is us, who will be exterminated! It is either them or us! We need to cleanse our entire body from these cancerous cockroaches. Don't you people understand? Call it '******', call it 'exterminate', call it 'butchering them' – I do not care; what I do care and what I need in order to breathe uncontaminated, fresh air,  is to surgically and methodically and blindly eliminate the very existence of every Pigs on our land! That is why we have no choice but to fight. The criminals leave us with no choice. If they surrender their corrupting ways agai

Which is better, a clock that is right only once a year, or a clock that is right twice every day?
"The latter," you reply, "unquestionably." Very good, now attend.
I have two clocks: one doesn't go at all, and the other loses a minute a day: which would you prefer? "The losing one," you answer, "without a doubt."
Now observe: the one which loses a minute a day has to lose twelve hours, or seven hundred and twenty minutes before it is right again, consequently it is only right once in two years, whereas the other is evidently right as often as the time it points to comes round, which happens twice a day.
So you've contradicted yourself once.
"Ah, but," you say, "what's the use of its being right twice a day, if I ca'n't tell when the time comes?"
Why, suppose the clock points to eight o'clock, don't you see that the clock is right at eight o'clock? Consequently, when eight o'clock comes round your clock is right.
"Yes, I see that," you reply.
Very good, then you've contradicted yourself twice: now get out of the difficulty as best you can, and don't contradict yourself again if you can help it.
You might go on to ask, "How am I to know when eight o'clock does come? My clock will not tell me." Be patient: you know that when eight o'clock comes your clock is right, very good; then your rule is this: keep your eye fixed on your clock, and the very moment it is right it will be eight o'clock.
"But--," you say.
There, that'll do; the more you argue the further you get from the point, so it will be as well to stop.

Dorsovertical is what my head is in,
contradicted to each other like
the ocean between us
But you cheer me up
being the beautiful soul
you are.

I dont see how the the
rainstorms in the New World are,
but i sure know if its
your eyes that see it, then
its all beautiful

We went walking in the rain, the sun
grass, mud and gravel rocks and sometimes
pavements
But in that fog of the morning here
and that of the mid day there
We're lost to be found everyday
im glad we still talk

I know you dont like to be written about
by me, at least
please know though that i need
you to stay, so slowly the
melancholy of the day disappears
I need you to stay, in my words

(Frederick returned at his castle becoming a lonely man.)
Frederick was laid on the bed, seeing that beast in his room.
'It does no harm', he thought. It was tall in the evening gloom.
He was hearing the bells ringing while trying to understand
Why in front of God, this love and marriage were banned.

He fell asleep dreaming that while his stallion was grazing
In the green grass, his wife, Jezebel, was lying in the meadow,
The castle disappeared, while the time changed the life by rising,
And in the mirror's fate, that cruel reality remained only a shadow.

A life sound replacing the silence, which with a throaty grumble reigned
Touched Jezebel, and he embraced her, while she was sleeping there.
He saw that those two red icing eyes were keeping her enchained.
He woke her up with a kiss, and her sighs disappeared in the air.




She saw him, and said,' it’s like I wake up from a long twilight sleep.'
The surrounding assaults me with his new bright .This I’m really sensing.'
He smiled, ‘Sometimes, the memory of these kinds of dreams I keep.'
'It's a beast here envisioning me, and making the string's bad fate sing.'
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
(The ceremony of John’s coronation as a regent.)
The festive procession included the bodyguard, the table knaves,
The royal servants, the aristocrats, the dignitaries, and fighting braves.
The aristocrats carried a tabletop, on which the king's dress and jewels
Were laid out, and the councillors followed them according to the rules.

The insignia was carried by the dignitaries and displayed for the public,
Though, they wanted the kingdom temporarily to become a republic.
They carried the scepter, the golden cross, the golden eagle, the crown,
And the sword to the altar, while using words that end with a frown.

The archbishop and two of his suffragans accompanied the new king
Being followed by the bishops, abbots and clergy, who started to sing.
The procession entered the church, and the cardinal led John to a chair
In front of the altar in order to hear the sermon, the epistle and the prayer.

After the obligations about doing justice to clergy, widows and orphans,  
The king bound himself to demand nothing from his people or from persons
Visiting the kingdom that contradicted the divine and human rightness.
The new king promises to abolish the evil laws for the moral lightness.

The archbishop appealed to John to lead a good government, to care
For peace, and to protect the church. John said,'Before God I swear'.
He put his hands on a Bible, and the archbishop anointed his hands.
John said, 'I'll ask my dignitaries to collect from people their demands.’

The crown and the sword were on the altar to be used for consecration
The king was ready for the reception of the insignia during coronation.
After sanctification, John retired to a room to be dressed in his royal attire.
Returning to the church, he listened to the main sermons and the choir.

Kneeling before the altar, from the archbishop he received the sword
With words that resemble a pertinent prayer addressed to The Lord.
Drawing the sword from its sheath, he swung it in the four directions.
During the coronation, the still kneeling king asked for God's protection.

The royal councillors helped to place the crown on their king's head.  
The magnates symbolically extended their hands towards it, and said,
'The king receives the scepter and the orb!' The archbishop handed him.
At last, the king read loudly  the Gospel , and the choir sang a hymn.

The crown devolved on a minor being too young his duties to execute.
Requiring her protectorate, to govern in John's name she stood resolute.
Surah secured the throne for John to avoid the future succession struggle .
The handle of the political turmoil and  the intrigues she had to juggle.

Surah schemed to gain power, and to rule the country in John’s name
Thus, she defeated  the neighboring countries being hungry for fame .
The subdued  states could not regain their independence again.
This way, the neighboring kings became vassals during John's reign.

John's quick , easily wounded temper led him to make rash decisions.
Even so , the death of all the successors became Surah's  inner visions.
She made him feel slighted, when people didn't jump to his commands.
He lacked the patience for dealing with his administration's demands.

Unprecedented poetry,
   newfangled conception in
      idiosyncratic transparency
perceived by the hierarchy
    to be the garb of peons,
thine command accepts nothing
 less than the likes of sonnets
   penned deliberately archaic
        in Old English tradition,
figurative language
  of the huddled masses
      is strictly forbidden,
  contradicted,
     ostracized,
        anesthetized
           and possible grounds
               for poetic eradication

i couldn't stop looking at this girl. i glanced down at my black leather jacket, black v-neck, ripped blue jeans, and black boots with the buckles on the side. i popped my collar and set out to find the girl i'd just found. i noticed the lights of this weird indie club i'd somehow ended up in. this music isn't normal "club" music. it's all arctic monkeys. the lyrics of these songs empowered me, i felt as though i had to continue my search for this soul.  despite the darkness, i slid on my aviators to protect myself from those blinding lights, and also to give me a hint of mysteriousness. girls love that.
and then there she was.
sipping on what appeared to be a bottle of coke, but i couldn't tell because of the ******* sunglasses i was wearing. she was standing laughing with one of her friends. she had such a different aura to her. i couldn't help but watch as she pulled out one of her organic cigarettes.
"i wanna make her mine." i thought to myself.
the lights reflected off the sweat on the walls as i tried to keep my cool, strutting my way over to her, hoping to get her eyes to lock onto mine. from what i finally saw of her in plain sight, she had love in her eyes and perfect lighting over her; like a camera plus filter. she took drags of that cigarette like some kind of goddess, causing me to get weak at the knees and form a lump in my throat, which i soon managed to somehow swallow. i had to find out who she was. i wanted her more than i'd ever wanted anything, or at least so i recall. i played out the scene in my head - we'd dance, and numerous guys would approach her. it was hard not to. i'd overpower them. "she's with me.", i'd say cooly.
i didn't realize all this fantasizing about my mystery girl had taken me so little time, because by the time i was finished my train of thought, i was standing right in front of her. god, i wanted her so bad. i swear, if i looked at her long enough, she'd steal my soul. the love in her eyes was contradicted by the incredibly **** sparkle in her iris.
"hello there beautiful. you seem to be having a lovely time. you're absolutely breathtaking, i'm forced to believe you are a certified mind blower. what's your name, milady?"
with a turn of her head, a bat of her lashes, and a flash of her perfect smile, she answered me in the most angelic voice i've ever heard.
"arabella."

I see, your words are quite clear.
You speak the truth, and I shouldn't disagree.
I'm oblivious to these facts of yours, they're also proven too.
I can understand it's completely unbiased, and definitely not make believe.
"But...." The word of choice, for all the biased, make believe, oblivious, disapproving, contradicted, crystal clear, pain in the **** *perfectionist know it all.

i am a woman who hasn't gotten over her girlhood strifes. i am alive in conflict & chaos; when storms still i tremble. i struggle with questions of my own importance. if i am your leaning post, why do i feel so alone? i am one ocean with many seas, rivers, harbours & waterfalls - each with their own names. i am not of this realm, yet my father calls me worldly. i struggle with questions of my own identity. if everyone sees me as one solid being, why do i feel so broken? i am a lover of opposites, of balanced scales, of reflections: black & white, girls & boys, sea & sky, everything & nothing, always & never. the sometimes, the somewhat, the earth, transvestites, grey zones: they don't sit well with me. & yet i am spokesperson for the exceptions (i before e, except after c. using drugs to have *** with people is assault, except for ******. i only like to write with black pens, except when I want to use a pencil. i only drink black coffee, except when I crave a double-double. i only **** girls, except when i need a ****). each girl has her own firm resolve, that is contradicted with another's opinions: my whole existence is self-hypocrisy. i struggle with questions of conflicts in my own interest. if i am decided, why do i peer with longing at the other options? i am a planner, an organizer, a sorter: i put my problems in piles. i am erratic, scatterbrained & impulsive. i use my abilities to try to outsmart my destructive tendencies; to try & balance the scales. my flighty adventures often win over my obsessive habits. i struggle with questions of my own intent. if i am scared of commitment, why do i keep promising?

The new built church was filling up
For its very first Christmas Eve.

It was finished in October
On a piece of vacant land, and
Reverend James had joined the greeters,
At its entrance shaking hands.

From seeming out of nowhere
A stranger just appeared
He was hunched a bit, and limping
With a longer gray-white beard.
His suit was black and dusty,
Like it hadn’t been used in years,
And his eyes were red and misty
Like he’d been shedding countless tears.

The Reverend grabbed his hand and said,
“Welcome!  Welcome, come right in!!
You’re a stranger to these parts I guess,
But we’re mighty glad you came.
And if it’s all the same to you,
We’d like to know your name.”

“Name’s Everett.  Everett Kent,” he said.
“Been alookin’ for this church.
Knowed some day you’d build it here.
Now I can end my search.”

The stranger loosed the Reverend’s grip,
Limped in and settled down,
At the far left end of the far back pew;
Where no one was around.

He sat through prayers and sermon,
Through a couple hymns as well
And when they got to ‘Silent Night’
He appeared to know it well.  
Silently, he closed his eyes,
The words were his release
“Round yon ******, Mother and Child,”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”

As the song went to the second verse,
The bearded stranger, dressed in black
Vanished into silent night,
Not once looking back.

The next day - Christmas Morning,
The ushers found a curious thing
A parchment in the offering plate
******* with a string.
When they untied the string they found
Much to their surprise,
A stack of Hundred Dollar bills
Of a slightly larger size.
They were from a different era,
Was this some kind of a joke?
A heartless cruel trick to play
At the expense of righteous folk.

On the inside of the parchment
In an antique writing style
Was a poem, (or a riddle?)
Now they couldn’t help but smile.

“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”

The Reverend and the Deacons counted 15 Grand
The Reverend and the Deacons, together made a plan
Early the next morning of the very next business day,
They found a numismatist
To see what he would say.

He said,
“As currency it’s worthless
But a collector will pay well
These notes are rare and valuable
As far as I can tell.
You’ll get thirty / forty times the face
Look at the condition that they’re in!!
Where the Hell did they come from?”
And, where the Hell have they been?”

Reverend James contradicted
Remembering Everett Kent,
“Sir, it wasn’t Hell they’ve come from.
These notes were Heaven sent.
A stranger came on Christmas Eve
And left them on the pew.
All we did was count them,
And bring them straight to you.”

On the way home, Reverend James perplexed
Reviewed the strange events
Prayed that God would grant him wisdom
So he’d know what to do next
Surely the stranger didn’t know
The value of the notes
He mentioned only Fifteen Thousand
In the poem that he wrote.

A lawyer was a member
Of the Richland Christian Church
So Reverend James implored him
To do a legal search
He vowed to find the stranger Kent
To make known the real worth,
And inform him of the value
Of the bills he left at church.

Three days later, four o’clock
The Reverend heard a frantic knock
“I’ve found something that’ll interest you,
From 23 December, Eighteen Seven Two.


Richland Herald, December 31, 1872
The First National Bank of Richland was robbed last week, on December 23rd, by a man who, holding the tellers at bay with a pistol, demanded that they surrender all the money in the vault, without protest so that none would be harmed.  The thief escaped on horseback, though the Sheriff’s department was duly informed, and the Sheriff and two newly appointed deputies immediately gave chase.

On or about 4 pm the following day, a man matching the thief’s description was said to have been seen at the stage stop, run by Everett Kent, and his wife Mary, two fine people known about these parts for their hospitality and generosity.  As a testament to this fact, an itinerant preacher (known only as Reverend Jim) had been staying at the house for some time and conducting meetings at the stop whenever possible.  It should be mentioned as well that the Kent’s have a young son David, who, taking a liking to the eloquent Reverend Jim, had decided to also preach the Gospel and had taken the his first steps in that Almighty Direction.

As the posse surrounded the house, the thief, perhaps knowing that he could not escape, endeavored to bargain his way out of the situation by taking hostages and thereby securing his own safety.  Everett Kent, pleading for some shred of decency from the villain, asked that his wife and child and Reverend Jim be released, and that he, alone would serve in that capacity.  The thief relented (maybe the only time in his villainous life that he concluded a decent act.)  Mary and David ran from the building and were quickly placed out of harm’s way by the sheriff and his men.

What happened next will never be known to any but those in the building and the Lord God Himself.  What is known, is that yelling and commotion came from the house, and three shots were fired.  Perhaps upon being released, instead of removing himself to safety, Reverend Jim, attacked the villain and a scuffle ensued.  In the process, a kerosene lamp was broken, and the building caught fire.  Although Mary implored the sheriff to rescue her husband who had been tied to a chair, the Sheriff exercising judgment, if not valor, determined that it was already too late.

The thief (identity forever unknown), the valiant Reverend Jim and the pious and unfortunate Everett Kent all perished in the fire.  When the house had burned to the ground and the bodies could be examined, it was determined that the thief was shot through the heart and Reverend Jim also had received a mortal wound.  Everett Kent, though tied to a chair, had somehow procured a bullet wound to his right leg.

The spoils of the robbery, according to the First National Bank, $15,000 in uncirculated $100 bank notes, were never found, and presumed burned to ashes in the fire.

Reverend James felt faint
His knees and legs were weak
He sat down at his desk, and
Heard the lawyer speak.

Reverend James, there’s something more
That you have a right to know.
The stage stop never was rebuilt.
The widow moved away
And raised her son in another town
Very far away.

The son became a preacher
And later changed his name
In honor of the Reverend Jim,
Called himself David James.

You are David’s GG Grandson
You descend from Everett too.
The land where you just built the church?
Left so long ago to you?
Was once the home of Everett Kent
I found that in my search.
The widow left it to her son
And he thus passed it down.
And now you’ve built your brand new church
On that very ground.

You’ll never find the stranger
The notes are yours to spend
And the Christmas Eve Tale of Everett Kent
Has finally reached its end.

“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”
Reverend David James III,  recounted to Philip W. Lindsey on 4/13/2015

A hundred, a thousand to one; even so;
  Not a hope in the world remained:
The swarming, howling wretches below
  Gained and gained and gained.

Skene looked at his pale young wife:--
  "Is the time come?"--"The time is come!"--
Young, strong, and so full of life:
  The agony struck them dumb.

Close his arm about her now,
  Close her cheek to his,
Close the pistol to her brow--
  God forgive them this!

"Will it hurt much?"--"No, mine own:
  I wish I could bear the pang for both."
"I wish I could bear the pang alone:
  Courage, dear, I am not loth."

Kiss and kiss: "It is not pain
  Thus to kiss and die.
One kiss more."--"And yet one again."--
  "Good by."--"Good by."


Note.--I retain this little poem, not as historically
accurate, but as written and published before I heard the
supposed facts of its first verse contradicted.

Our forward motion is only
        Contradicted by the backward
Thoughts that trip us over on the
Journey of what should be strides.


But we must learn to face the
      Deductions that minus every
Second motion. Limiting us to normality.

                      Where born to be more.

So never let ourselves be
         Testament to others regression.
  We will always step beyond the safety
          of ourselves and fall like petals.

Gone, gone, gone.
         Here, here, here.
         Don't leave me.
I'm not
         You're thinking about it.
         You promised.
I promised.
You promised.
Never enough, never enough.*

Stay                                    *I have to walk away

Conflicted, conflicted
My mind so encrypted
There is no escape, my memories inflicted
Pouring through thoughts as my emotions drifted
Searching for absolution, through sands of sorrow I've sifted

Conflicted, conflicted
My spirit isn't lifted
Entombed from mistakes wondering what I did
Errors and consequences and a farewell I do bid

Conflicted, conflicted
Thoughts and emotions contradicted
Standing here hollowed, my heart evicted
Still is the world, not much to be gifted

Error, error
Fear and terror
Time to shut down or be lost all over
Again and again with my soul torn asunder

Error, error
Shut down or be caught by despair
To late, it's here, it caught me unaware
The damage is absolute with no way to repair

Error, error
It will never be better
Not a shred of care
Caught in Medusa's stare

Begin rebooting sequence
Letting shutdown commence
Countdown has begun
Five, four, three, two, one

Nothing but darkness
Soul as a black screen filled with emptiness
Clearing all of my thoughts, my whole head
If I didn't reboot, I'd be as good as dead

Startup commence
Beginning with mental defense
Fortification complete
Open emotional files, hit delete

Blank canvas and nothing more
An empty shell of what I was before
It will happen again and again
It will stop, but nobody knows when

I am a blank slate but in the depths of my mind
Are the thoughts and feelings I wish I could leave behind

Hands open, fingers spread
revealing your palms - your history,
As the deep grooves tracing your past
seep into the rivers of your future.

Your gentle grip contradicted
By those coarse fingertips,

They are yours to have, but mine to hold.

My friends all think I'm crazy because I stand in the middle of the street and talk to a God that doesn't exist while high-fiving the windshields of passing school buses. I stopped taking my medication again because guilt taste a lot better than artificial happiness, and I stopped wearing that cross you bought me for my eight birthday because it contradicted the sense of uselessness I received for my twelfth. Life seems a lot less precious when you're talking to your parents in the TV room of a psychiatric unit and look them in the eyes while they tell me not to cry and say that 'pain is only temporary'. All I do is write letters to a man on the moon about the time I realized how hard and easy it is to die. Send me to therapy and make me take pills. I'll smile, but I'll always remember how to tie a noose

A man with great power, a man with two faces
Who appeared focused, but his heart lied in different places
A man with charisma, a man with two minds
Who tried to guide us, but his contradicted loyalty binds
He wanted to better all of us
But the true rulers gained his trust
His intentions were good, but now he's drunk on deception
Which caused him to spread to us the misconception
That he shepherds us towards the light
But as we follow, the light did not glow bright
At this point it was too late
We face our inevitable fate
Too many of us were surprised
To be lead to our demise
But for a very select few
As we strayed away, the light grew
But does the light warm you when you watch all the others meet their doom?

you gave me love just to take it away
you gave me life so that i may die
and you gave me a heart just so i could be heartless
the life i have lived is not worth living
and it is so that i have died
but in death is rebirth
and in rebirth is death
every opposite has an attraction that governs its repulsion
and it is so i contradicted myself

when i had loved you were only my dark
because i thought inside you i could find a light
and even when i found it
i became lost in my conviction
devil and god
demon and angel
what is the difference but power
one to reign oblivion over life
one to comfort those in death
but in this world
can you tell who is who?

you gave me love just so i could feel it
you gave me life just to be numb
i loved all those that scorn me
as all those who scorn me are me
and i them

what is life beyond life
and what is death beyond death
as god so loved the devil
that he saw his own evil as good
and cast him unto himself
what is the devil but god
and what is the god but devil
these demons my guardian angels i feel found

why must i exist to exist i wish not to be
but that is why i am
we are made to go against and rebel against
but that is why we are made to subserve

It's not an issue of ordinary old head-bashed-off-the-dash hookery.
It's something more.
Not like the something before.
It can be answered lysergically,
I swear it,
I've seen it and I've been one with two and every other number so I swear I must've been it.

It was so cold, the learning.
Colder than the yearning.
Knowing nothing's what it seems yet it is everything at once.


And I cannot be contradicted because my evidence is infinite.
If you'd just take the time to sit and spit silence for a split second, you'd know.
Part of listening is thinking of a response.

And you might not stand on corners like the forlorn father mourners but you too are just a ***** for lonely men.

Foggy glass, disoriented lens
Distant lights, feelings beacon the whirlwind within
Touch, pass, patch up leaky feelings of the past
Smile and laugh what a perfect cover that goes up fast
Feel passionately? Dear god, watch faces become aghast
Shun, make fun, outcast those who express emotions
Oh no, fall in step with typical motions
"Be yourself," they say, "We prefer you that way."
Utter ******* they feed you with, they don't want the real you
They want a smooth perfected version which surely isn't true
Contradicted, inflicted lies, don't fall in it's a vortex of demise
Mindless behavior we all evoke, based off one hell of a joke.

It is hard to strive,
In a relationship where I have no say,
It’s hard to keep this love alive,
As you make it each day harder to stay,

We argue day and night,
I can’t take anymore pressure,
Brought on by your ambition to be right,
Because you are afraid to be the man that’s lesser,

If you where to believe the sky pink,
And I contradicted it was blue,
To every possible level you would sink,
Until I agreed that your theory is true,

Is that really worth more to you than us?
I cowering to every opinion you preach,
We cannot even a simple idea discuss,
Before you wish me to my ideas beseech,

Why cant you just be wrong for once?
But no its impossible for Mr. Always Right,
We don’t stand a chance,
As every little thing causes us to fight,

We argue and bicker,
Of it all I grow sicker and sicker,
For once admit your wrong and have some might,
But no its impossible for Mr Right,

I can’t anymore,
So Mr. Right I hope you’re glad you finally won,
With this last debate I am walking out this door,
With you Mr. Right I am done,

So Mr. Right you where right for one thing,
I was stupid and neurotic,
To stick around and to a narcissist cling,
So I hope you’re happy lost me over something idiotic.

People always ask me about my anxiety and trust issues;
Why I was perfectly fine and then one day I wasn’t.
But I don’t exactly know much,
Except that it’s made of moments like this.
Mostly it’s annoying or upsetting but finally I see what they do.
That combined with not being able to do anything about it,
It’s driving me mad.
Maybe I should have given up after I’d been hurt the first time;
But you were so persistent in being sweet to me.
So when you told me that you liked me I decided to just let it happen.

What could go wrong?
That only lasted about two months,
Before you met someone else and I wasn’t good enough.
With that affection you had given me you also took the bandages.
My heart began to unravel.
Just when I got used to the idea that it didn’t matter,
That I couldn’t expect the things that held importance at night to bleed over into the day;
Right when I’d moved past it,
You’d become the remedy to the pain you had caused.
What could go wrong?

That’s what I said the first time.
And the second.
When other people decided to make my personal life their priority.
Remember that?
You ran scared like you could turn the feelings off;
And two weeks later we fell back into our usual pace
With absolutely no trouble or second thoughts
That is, until a face-to-face moment.
No more sweet, on-the-cheek kisses or affection.
You stayed distant until we were 100% alone;
Zero chance of anyone at all observing any slight romance between us.
As soon as we were alone you had your lips on mine,
Melting me, melting into me.
Just like that it felt like you were gone.

“But what could go wrong?” I said.
More like screamed, as over and over I somehow felt my world crashing down,
And memories bringing me back.

It was 8 January 2012 when you first told me you liked me;
Spoke of the butterflies I gave you.
Scared that I wouldn’t be adequate or that you’d meet someone else,
Shyness leaked its way into special moments.
When you assured me that you liked me,
Liked me way too much to go anywhere anytime soon,
I believed you and those words.
What could go wrong?

Early March, the 3rd I believe, when you met that other girl,
And started what would be a constant fear-fueled jealousy,
But it was such a blur that I can’t quite remember.

12 July we had our first “official date”
The 23? Our first kiss.
The 27 and 29 we went out again,
And 9 August you broke my heart.
I guess you didn’t mean to, didn’t have a choice.
But you did.
And on 1 September when you waltzed in and out, I let you.
Like some kind of yoyo, things continued.
You stayed the one to make me happiest,
But maybe I shouldn’t have put that responsibility on you;
Made you the only person I could trust with absolutely everything.
But I did, and you were.

Until 28th January 2013.
When you said you didn’t like me and hadn’t for a while.
Still through the following months your actions contradicted your words.
Much like the psychology I had learned.
You probably don’t remember much but I’d explained your behaviour to you.
About how there must be some conflict,
Between what you want and what others define as acceptable.

Now it’s crossed my mind that perhaps I was just making excuses.
Because I don’t want to see you as anything other than the prince I have been seeing you as.
Even now I’m making excuses for you.
Saying that maybe you had a viable reason for all of this.
Deep down, I sense that you don’t.
Probably never did.
This is because you were never willing to be serious with me.
Not serious enough to get into a relationship.
Not serious enough to so much as mention me to your best friend.

So yeah I guess it seems like I’m bitter,
When really that’s not it at all.
It’s called pain, heart-break, whatever.
It’s the feeling of uncertainty.
And all the questions about nearly every moment we’ve ever shared.
Wondering if it’s because I wasn’t pretty enough,
Or if I didn’t give enough;
Why somehow I just wasn’t enough for you or anybody else.
Or maybe I was; maybe I was too much.
Or loved you too much, or whatever.
Somehow it could be a billion things or none at all.
Somehow none of that matters.

Just not knowing and never getting an explanation,
While you leave wordlessly to happiness,
And I sit in silence overcome by thoughts,
Crying in the shower for hours…
That is the cause of this passive-aggressive bit.
About how you’ve broken a part of my trust in you.
Just like many others.
Surely not the first and certainly not the last.

Climbing up from this prolonged descent,
two halves combined being what destiny meant;
losing my discontent, rare of malcontent,
forever yearning to breathe your scent.

An enchantment you present …

Hand-in-hand this world we shall explore;
these winds are impossible to ignore,
means more than some ******* metaphor;
pounding fists against the locked door.

Your mind I do adore …

Together we’ll overcome the conflicted,
negative thoughts vanished, all contradicted;
time’s ******* restricted, frustration’s inflicted;
the hourglass has been thoroughly afflicted.

I’ll survive ‘cause I’m addicted …

Like a match strike, the love’s automatic,
want to join your church, for I’m a fanatic;
your character cinematic, soul charismatic,
talking to you makes me ecstatic.

*I’m your addict.

He talked like a ******.
Walked like one.
Loudly assisting tourists in the
Line outside the bus.
My luck seated him in
Front of me. I answered
Evasively. Mentally begging

Shut up. Shut up.
I was tired.
I was hungry.

"Would you like a piece of pizza?"
He handed me a sealed
Bag. This close
His eyes contradicted his person.
Sober. Friendly. He smelled
Of aftershave and
Society.

"I shouldn't eat this, I'm working
With a Yoga project
To help addicts recover
Through meditation.
Should stay healthy. Been clean
For three years, though I
Know it doesn't seem like it.

I just love to talk to people."
I ate his pizza. We spoke.  
Squinted in laughter.
He cried like a girl when  
He saw Avatar, he confessed.
"My sons still take the p...
Outta me for that.
I'm so glad they'll never

Have to go through
What I did. I'll
Make sure of
That for
Sure, for
Sure."

I usually write poetry
On the bus.
This Friday afternoon
I lived it.

I knew exactly who my husband was going to be
In 6th grade
Daniel Radcliffe star of harry potter
Heart throb of all tweens
We definitely were destined
He was my first true love
One I prayed for every day

Yet as I grew up
Puberty changed things
Love changed
He was now skinnier
Indian
And got beat up a lot
Love needed my protection against bullies
But could always blow my mind with new music
Love wasn't the smooth talker his brother was
And was too shy to hold my hand
But made a permanent seat for me in his soul
Board exams ended and love left me

Only to surprise me once again
Love was fairer now
More childish than before
Love's hair was shinier than my own
And knew none of my 80s songs
Love taught me to doodle
And found pleasure in small pranks
Love never took anything seriously
And always had time to show off

With another round of board exams
I deserted love this time
The pain of being the other one
Far to great to bear
Far greater to forgive

Soon enough it was time for college
As I walked into class full of nervous excitement
There sat love on the first bench
The newest version
A skeleton of the past
Filled with new words and strokes as cover
Love was more different now
Quieter than before
Preferring the company of nature than those he ****** called his own
Love was sweet and thoughtful
But could never open up his heart
Love knew where this was going
But ran away from it in fear

And so love stayed away
For almost two years
Lust slowly tried to take its place
Stealing bits I only saved for love
But I banished it away
Its dark presence my once insecure heart no longer needed

And finally
Just like that
Love stepped in once again
In an avatar I'd never seen before
I almost didn't recognise love
As it stood before me
Scars and happy memories mixed in his tears of insecurity
Love wasn't strong enough
And always needed my assurance and trust
Love was the smartest man I knew
Whose loved verbal bouts dripped in sarcasm
Yet love managed to save my soul
From the depths of dark evil
Pulling me out ****** into the sunlight where we lay naked
Healing our broken pasts
Love contradicted me in every way
His emotions and affections a conflicting paradox I couldn't untangle
But in the end love, could not handle emotions
Love walked away dumping all his promises into the sea with the remains of our friendship

And I realised
I did not know what love truly was
It came and went in so many different forms
Never the same
Never the boring
It walked in the door arms filled with happiness and possibilities
And walked back out soon enough
Leaving a cold silence behind

Love is a contradiction
Of everything we believe in
Remoulding our perspectives
Like a soft ball of clay
It breaks and rebuilds us
With every fated visit
Destroying and creating newer versions
Of ourselves
Stronger versions of ourselves

Maybe this is what love was destined to be
A teacher for our souls
A soothing balm for our wounds
A definite spark to our courage
And an infinite universe for our imagination

A little raven haired girl sat alone
Throwing stones
Repeating a mantra
Amare est delere et amari est deleri 
With tears down her face fighting a tantrum
I pondered how a girl so young
Could speak in a different tounge
her body seemed so pale
And extremely frail
Yet she gave off an aura of a warrior
An aura that contradicted her exterior
She said her mantra like a soldier
Would each time becoming bolder
It was then that I realised what it was
And what it meant because
It was something I learnt as a child
To stop me from loving so wild
amare est delere et amari est deleri
To love is to destroy and to be loved is to be destroyed
And I knew I must help this child and fill it's obvious void.

Blessed are the weird people...
Poets, Artists, Writers, Misfits.
For they teach us to see
the world through different eyes.

Devoted living,
Contradicted goals are just the things we despise.
For we grow in contrast to your limited sky.
We live to be free
An avian species yet to fly.

Understand that your soul
isn't bound by a
three-dimensional
earthly existence.
She who is brave is free.

We yearn for the sky
Hope for the light
Treasuring the summer breeze
Escaping the cold winter nights
Trapped in our diversity
Everlasting battles of creative adversity
In times of logic
Rhymes and rhythms seems Shakespearian, somewhat nostalgic.

We are the drifters,
& dancers, the sun worshippers
& risk takers. The dreamers,
the lovers, the believers
& change makers.

*We are the offspring of Creativity
The red-headed step child of derivative.
Conveyors of empathy.
And without us nothing would exist
We are the golden child of heavens bliss.