a sunshine fighter by nature
his shallow grave face
with its half buried flickers of fury
gives way to the lesser demon's like smiles
while he suffers the hopeless romance
of a cute girl who wants to lick
his carved biceps like a neo-glitter kitty kat
naughty naughty
he cringes all over with the
desperate grins that break out all over him
naughty naughty indeed

do you know what it's like to have a pit in your heart? i can feel it right now i can hear gymnopiede playing in the back ground filling me with a sanity but not enough remember what Rupi said " it was when i stopped searching for home within others and lifted the foundations of home within myself i found there are no roots more intimate than those between a mind and body that have decided to be whole" but instead i fall in love w the little things that i mold into big things to make myself feel important. when people see that i'm stressed and deprived of sleep and love i feel significant to their daily lives.
i want to be the rose in the garden that everyone wants to tend so they can revive the gold medal for the best green thumb. i want to be the bookmark of every bibliophile on the planet but little do they know that rose wants to die that's rose has thorns inside poking her every hope. rose hopes for love but not just any love. rose hopes that a dandelion will come who will be intelligent enough to pull the thorns out and so beautiful she will gasp for another breath just to see their petals. on weekends rose absorbs enough sunlight to get up for work. she tends to the clothing at the retail stop at the local mall and as she folds the endless piles of destroyed denim she admires the many flowers that tend to one another.she can smell the scent of the flickering candles upstairs and she makes her way up to the candle shop on her break she never sets foot inside, she worries the flicker of the flame will catch her petals. rose doesn't want to be alone when it happens she wants a dandelion to come and save her from the flame she wants dandelion to roar as loud as he can and blow the flame out. and be there ready to sweep rose off her stem. rose wants everyone to be happy she try's her hardest to make sure her garden has enough light and water and that everyone's petals aren't frowning. rose has tried too hard she ends up being the loneliness one her garden. she returns to her shop after break she goes back to folding the same endless pile of denim and she admires the buttercup walking with the california poppy looking at the lights hanging from the ceiling. the dutch iris and the crocus intertwining their petals. honesty and honeysuckle are pursing the petals together under the mistletoe. rose gathers her tools and makes her way to her wheel barrow parked by the restrauants she passes the children frolicking in the lot and she catches the heart beat of excitement of the little girl who's eyes are glued to the ipad that is playing alice and wonderland and rose can hear the garden scene and she cringes and feels like she's been swallowed by a world who doesn't know what passion is. rose wonders where the little girls mother is and she catches her mother sitting on the lap of the magnolia and she longs to be a mother but a mother who watches alice in wonderland with her child and frolics with her kids in the parking lot but pays attention to the cars coming just in case her motherly instincts have to kick in.
rose returns to her garden and flips thru the channels hoping to find a romance movie on. rose does this to her self. she absorbs her self into all the love she can get because deep downside she fears she will never find her dandelion. rose finds her self drowning in an ocean of tears. she crys out to the garden are my petals not light enough? is my stem to thick?. rose wants to dig herself a grave and burry herself there with the fake petals of a dandelion so that one day when the walkers in the cemetery hear the clanking of her stem crying out for love they will dig her up and see how much she coveted the love of a dandelion and they will find the real petals and place them next to her.  rose will tear honey because that's the sweetest thing she knows she will wipe her tears and lick the honey off of her petals. rose doesn't want to hide in her sunken city of petals she wants to tell you who she is. hello i am rose.
i've been trying to get rid of the file cabinets in my brain that i have been organized alphabetically. A- aster i love you and i promise your prayers for a new kidney will be granted. B- bleeding heart i want you to know i will drive you in wheel barrow to the hospital so you
can be sewed up. C- carnation please don't fret the world loves you and im so sorry you have a price tag that will eventually be ripped off when the children at the elementary school down the street buy you on february 14th just know that you're so much more to me than a valentine's day gift. D- daffodil you're too precious to feel unwanted your lover will come soon.i can hear the crys of them but please go back to the bed and sleep. i'm able to open my pedals up and hear the weeping of a dandelion "thank you for being there for them and just know i've been hear all along, rose. you're tired i can tell by the wrinkles of your palms please promise me rose that you will baptize yourself into the ocean of love that you keep drowning in. " rose pulls the dead roots that are pinning her down in her grave and gasps for another breath to see dandelion before the roots come back from under and tug her back down she is able to string her broken english together and whisper " dandelion i already have"

In childhood, your father’s name is DAD
Now grown, maybe with children of your own
But his name is still DAD
DAD, the teacher, the consoler, the advisor
Admonishes: “Drive safe” and “Save your Money”

Today he’s the bard
“This is like prison,” DAD laments while rolling his eyes
Tubes like thin plastic chains tether his deflated body
to blinking panels; paintings (factory printed ones)
pretend the hospital room is more than just a sterile space

Today, DAD’s eyes cast a faraway gaze, projecting
And I see the characters in his story
I see the 10 year old boy he describes, who snuck to stash a set
Of English Composition Texts in the boy’s bathroom
To escape Mrs. McElroy’s Fourth Grade course in Morose Poetry

I see the thin, sandy blond, 6 foot 2 high school rabblerouser
Who broke into the Vice Principal’s old Fiat
And buried Stilton cheese in the dashboard
All done on a sweltering May school day
The anecdote is punctuated with a smirk and a: “Who would do a thing like that?”

Stories of when he spotted a shy brunette at the dance and knew
Knew he was to marry her;
Stories of when his own DAD grasped his infant grandson’s dimpled hand
Before giving in to complications of a heart attack
The bard stops and exhales a sigh

He cringes in his crinkled skin
Sunken eyes squeeze close “I’m sorry”
the nausea interrupts his tale “These drugs are…”

“It’s okay. Take your time” I console, trying to comfort the pain in the room
Now I’m the consoler, taking on the job to ameliorate
Now this man, vulnerable in his suffering, is no longer DAD
Now mortal, a child, a brother, a lover, a patient
A man chained by the body’s sickness

He is distilled by chemo
reduced to a soul, who, through affliction,
Forgets
As his children remember
He is as helpless in this life as we are.

heads turn
and minds churn
as the old white knuckle
brings life to the board
facilitation (and procreation!)
become heavenly fit
for the
paradigm day

jitter men
and podium seniors
sit cocked
in the back row
front runners
bust a brain box
(their lines frayed
and edges portrayed)

truth makers tread
the center stage
(with a new and improved
product portfolio)
an evolution
of human spirit
mobilized
in apparent
perfect form

sound bites
and titillating calls
echo from
the main hall
a wise man
cringes
on a poorly
timed exchange

mind sets moving
quid pro quo
intuitions
and convictions
viewpoints
and revelations
all fun
and fundamental
(or so they say)

depth charts
and zodiac principles
speak to the masses
abbreviations
refreshers
and timeless
lifelines

we’d like a peak
inside of you
a glimpse
of your point of view
the turks and talking heads
speak of
grand design
and inclusion

class complete
(interpreted at the 7th sneeze)
please check those thoughts
and insights
the final answers
are coming
(satiric)

His car engine hummed as he sit,
Headlights shining through the dark onto the stone step.
Music softly bumps the night as she descends the doorway.
Curly full brown hair.
Bright green eyes.
Pink sweatpants and a flirty bathing suit top.
He had never tamed one of these before.
Usually he finds cute neon haired creatures
With drug habits and back stories.
This girl goes to bars.
She's had two kids.
She knows what she wants,
Tonight it's him.

They Park before the covered bridge.
Sit on rock by the water.
Full moon beams down and brightens the night
She speak of how the full moon
Makes the old folks at the nursing home go Zombie horde.
Wrinkled outstretched bone sacks moaning and crying.
He speak of how their jobs complete opposite.
She helps old ladies, and he cons them into
Buying vitamins they don't need.
He notes how before they even met
She was already fixing his mistakes.

Splashes and giggles are heard across the way.
They follow the sounds of adventure barefoot.
Stumble upon two lovebirds and a rope swing.

The lovebirds call at them.
"Join us!"

Various hunks of withered rope are tied off
Macgyver'd in ways that look dangerous.
There no platform or solid ground to stand on.
The girl confused as to how exactly one could use this thing.
She tries
She goes swinging right for the tree.

The boy stands on the sandy ledge and cringes.
Taking in all his surroundings.
Rope swinging, he notes,
Is not something he'd be good at.

Splash

The lovebirds heckle and cheer as he stand there
Realizing it appears like he's going to jump.
The girl, rises from the lake clumsily
She drenched beautiful disaster.
"That was terrifying"

The boy steps back from the ledge.
"I don't think I'm physically capable of doing that."
He embarrassed.
The lovebirds laugh at him as they leave.
"I feel bad for the guy" they say.

"They were kind of bullies" The girl says about the lovebirds.
"You think so? I like them." Says the boy.

They pack the sandy clothes into the car.
Head back to stone step.
Girl invites boy inside.
They lay on mattress
Watch "Orange is the new black."
A dog sleeps between them.

They pet the dog together
Occasionally brushing fingers.
Awkward fumbling shyness
She'd never had a geek before.
He's the first one to sit here like this
Usually she's already being objectified.
He cared enough to talk.
She never realized how impatient she was.

She changes into pajamas.
He doesn't get the hint.
She gets up and lights candles.
He still doesn't get the hint.
She turns her back to him
The boy sets an alarm for 5:00am on his phone.
He has work at 7:45
He puts an arm around her.
She is comfortable.
She is waiting.
He's too respectful
The boy is happy to finally have found a girl he can wake up next too.
He's so happy that he never falls asleep

The alarm goes off and the boy says goodbye.
He finally kisses her.
He thought it was a goodbye kiss.
She had other plans.
Soft hands slip down and undo the boys belt.
Finally, the boy understands.
He moves on top of her.
"Do you have... uhh.." the girls hands make an awkward balloon gesture.
"N-not with me... I have some in the car, should I grab one? or just leave?"
The girl looks desperately at the boy.
"Go grab one."
"Right!"
He steps into the unfamiliar kitchen and starts walking down the staircase to his car.
"This is uncomfortably awkward" he says
Grabbing the Trusty Square Artifact.
Return upstairs
They kiss again.
She starts to remove clothes.
He unwrap the good decision.
Suddenly they hear screaming on the T.V.
"NO! STOP! Stop it! NO!"
He looks at the television and sees doggett's absent eyes look back at him.
The boy looks back to the beautiful woman below him.
He sits back, defeated.
"I'm sorry but it is apparently not in the cards tonight."
"I understand. Wow." she reply
He awkwardly place the opened ****** on her dresser
The boy kisses her goodbye.
The girl lay there thinking about the night.
How terribly the night ended.
How she needs to call that boy again.

She cringes at night, recalling the  indelible days where she lie
curled in a ball, hiding from the scoundrel who
attacked her mind, her heart, and her soul, leaving her with nothing but
rancid memories of a living hell, but
even though she appeared live and well
d**reary darkness loomed in the body of
                     Scared

I was gonna write about how I was writing standing up like Hemingway at some bar in Key West, but instead I ended up nearly lying down, like some Roman eating grapes, and I’m not scrawling with a pen. I’m typing.

Why the standing up, Ernest? Was it to gauge how difficult it was to keep good posture? Was it to better measure how drunk you were getting?

He would have boxed me for those asking those questions, or maybe he’d just slam a few shots.

All of us Northeasterners enjoy getting drunk somewhere tropical. I never have a choice in the matter. Whether it’s Florida, South Carolina, or the South Caribbean (I've never left the Western Hemisphere), all I really like down there is beaches and seawater. Everything else gives deep cringes. Those other tourists, so annoying just to look at. Flip flops, whole families, and the god awful shops they keep open. You go to a place good for a beach, green hills, seawater, and fruit, and you want to buy diamonds? C’mon. I wish you’d want these islands to be like national parks; nature over here and cities over there. But the tourists enjoy fake grass huts that try really hard to sell them junk.

So who’s to blame for the sellers perpetuating petty sales and mediocre values? Is it the islanders that make a profit, or the buyers that want the wares? Or is there a third party guaranteeing that the buyers and sellers alike are propagandized to expect the less than fine things in life? Are the salespeople actually working the shops, the ones really getting rich from the sale?

i have learned to breathe under holy water -
grew gills so strong they are
lined with celestial gold.

the ocean is a puddle to me now.

and i ***** pearls of pain,
lick them clean with my acetylene
tongue.

my acids will heal what the world cannot.

pills and love potions  
can't take away
my virginity.

i am clean, so clean.

the devil watches me and
cringes at my radioactive light.

for i am dead and alive all at once.
poison, poison.

the radium drips from my lips like
babyspit and i am too pure
for god himself

so i offer my golden blood
to a higher power

that would take the pureness of it all
and make it an ounce
of what i could have been

Ego Eccentric, Collective hysteria
A mind of madness,Compassionately cruel
Do or die
Black or white
Comprised carefully of duality
We are presented a human life
The thinker thinks but will never know
Think as much as you can
As much as you'd like
Ahh a thinker,
For he is one far and few between
He cringes at the tabloids
Glamorized ****** flashes
upon the big screens
Fear mothered slave state
Is where he sighs home
A pattern to repeat
An average man's prison
One of which
He's carefully constructed himself
Barring his own windows
Processing his own food
And his own paperwork
Jail keeper sounds
The morning alarm
"Wake your body!"
Mind stays in slumber
"It's time to make money"
Yet no real wealth
Another day on repeat
Constructing his "self"
Identifying carefully
With devised roles.
The play begins
"Curtain call!"
"Places everyone!"
The lights dim
Going back to pretending again
-KaitValentine

we did what we could that night
and a supernal being is ashamed.

this is the drift of thought
in the vast ocean of gilded gold
frothing at the edge of rotund:
giving back a silenced enigma,
spewing the answer in an exhaust
of white rancid smoke
dharma burns plastered to cigarette.
burning and burning, afloat are the high-pouncing embers looking for fleeting shades and dagger-ambulations
of a shadow's swagger in tectonic soiree.

we did what we could that night.
like a flash of lightning at the back
of hoarded hills,
or say, something brutal and brash with
modern sensibilities we never jell —
we come not with softness or life
peering out of our eyes like little girls
serenaded by mad men in the eve of
forlorn nights. we did what we could
and some god cringes, winces away
like the erratic dance of candleflame.

the leviathan black spreads its parasol
and we are no strangers.
when our veraciousness starts to pierce
the veil, the populace should start
to worry of their trapped conditions.
we came here for something:
be it flesh, be it wisdom, be it plain inebriations — we will never flinch
at the squalor of tomorrow's sobering.
keep in mind, kaibigan.

    it's all levitation and transcendence.

the darkness wept as the car
groans near the end of its immaterial life.
i flick the last cigarette into the grey-faced pavement.
all oceans drowned,
all shadows burgeoned,
all fires emerged plump,
this silent radio rivers
through the wave of this ephemerality,
the onomatopoeia of strangeness,
the   thud
      of the senseless head of metal
     on the body

the   clackety-clack
       of hours thereafter!

ayeayeaye! the streets sing no mild
  appendage. the solstice is lost
    in the length and precision of all things.
bringing ourselves to the brink of absence,
    our pallid selves set ablaze, emblazoning
the quick life of matchflame or rumble of    
    thunder — the steady phoenix of
       that night! this is learning
  to breathe again, o, what currents purloined in vicious swarth as we keep
     this river flowing into our throats,
  jamming our souls to compelling music.

   remember kaibigan,
it's all levitation and transcendence.

ARIES: please remember that you are not a graveyard for all those dead butterflies you once had

TAURUS: tell us how long have you been waiting for someone to say the words "the feeling is mutual"?

GEMINI: you've sunk so low. the only difference between you and the Titanic is that someone had the decency to shout "brace for impact!"

CANCER: your life is a continual series of "i should have kept my mouth shut" and "how did i **** that up?"

LEO: remember the night you died via that lump on your throat? how the taste of guilt buried itself under your tongue

VIRGO: you can't fix people who don't want to be fixed. and most importantly, you can't love someone who doesn't want to be loved

LIBRA: it's not self-harm anymore if you let someone else see the scars

SCORPIO: they told you to stay away from trouble but honestly, i think trouble should stay away from you

SAGITTARIUS: tell us how falling in love with her felt like lighting a cigarette & then seeing a sign that says "no smoking"

CAPRICORN: tell a starving kid on the street that god loves him. that the suffering he feels rn will come to pass. i dare you to lie

AQUARIUS: god cringes on memories of you praying. especially the ones that just beg for the ones you love to love you back

PISCES: tell us about that night you talked to god, how he said "i got tired of answering prayers because all i ever used to say was sorry."

Every time
I see
A Chevy Malibu
Part of me cringes
And

Every time
I see
A Ford Fusion
Part of me cringes
And

Both are really common vehicles
And

For the longest time, I was afraid to drive
Thinking I might run into one of them
And

When my car was in the shop last week
They gave us a Ford Fusion
And

That really upset me
And

It wasn't just you
But you really finished me off for them
Plus a ton more

Ingrid hears
her mother's
cries and moans

in the night
flesh slamming
against flesh

she cringes
wondering
if she'll be

next in line
she is torn
by her fear

should she stay
just in case
her father

doesn't come
or should she
go and see

if her mum
is ok?
her room's dark

a slither
of light comes
from the moon

through curtains
a steam train
goes over

the steel bridge
just over
the roadway

she listens
for more moans
flesh on flesh

thump thump slap
she sits up
on the edge

of her bed
there are sounds
whimpering

then footsteps
in the hall
her father

shouting out
she cringes
she wishes

Benedict
was there now
she wishes

he could be
her young knight
in shining

armour on
his snow white
horse charger

but he's not
he's asleep
in a flat

down the stairs
she hears her
mother's moans

a door slams
then silence
she creeps back

into bed
carrying
Benedict

her young knight
in armour
in her head.

Society in peril,
Morality on the fringes,
The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel,
The sound of a casket’s lid closing at its hinges,
Oh, somewhere our better half cringes.

For every person looking to preserve life,
There are four others looking to destroy it.
Though compassion is our signature tool,
Oh, only a handful of us ever employ it.
There is no neutrality when our conscious hearts fail.
If our better angels remain silent, our darker halves prevail.

Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.

Everyone has a two-ton war machine.

Festering in heat,
Moral fabric unweaves.
Desecration,
Denigration,
Desiccation,
The remains of a sacred bond left tattered by deceit.
The sound of a stained glass window shattered by thieves.
Oh, somewhere our better half grieves.

The enigmatic future inches nearer,
An ambiguous choice becomes clearer,
The sound of rattling, an empty heart,
Battling, an empty mind.
The sound of hurried footsteps…
And there are others not far behind.
The blind guiding and seeking the blind,
Oh, somewhere our better half searches to find…
A shelter from all of these two-ton war machines.

Everyone has a two-ton war machine.
 
Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.

The pain lingers,
Morality rests in tatters,
Miniature death-bringers,
The sound of a bigot’s daggers,
The sound of a depressed man’s gun facing backwards…
After he decides that nothing else matters.
Oh, somewhere our better half staggers.

Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.

Everyone has a two-ton war machine.

The temperature escalates,
Morality thrown out with the spoils,
The sound of tension as it elevates,
The sound of blood as it boils,
Oh, somewhere our better half recoils.
Because everyone has a two-ton war machine.

A guilty conscience, a burdened soul, a heavy heart,
And a two-ton war machine.

Society in peril,
Morality on the fringes,
The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel,
The sound of a casket lid closing at its hinges,
Oh, somewhere our better half cringes.

Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.

I am still a Child. by Samantha Shaw



Phor (father), Mae (mother),

I tried to do as I was told,

I’m trying to obey you, trying not to betray you,

but I don’t understand, I’ve been sold?

am I a resource?  One of exploitation and sales?

I don't understand mama, what if all else fails?

Where am I going and why is it dark here?

For in my small confinement, all I can smell is my fear

It is Dtoolahkom (October), the day is Tuesday,

and since you're flying me to Malaysia, where will I stay?

Mommy, I'm frightened, I don't want to go

No, not with that scary man I don't know.

His hands are clammy, he smells of bad cabbage!

You may not believe me, but he's a ***** old savage.

He's asked me to do things,

things I won't pronounce.

Ever since his grubby hands

undid my blouse.



My name is Mae,

Mae Luang of Myeik, just south of Bangkok

I must whisper to you, for fear they will hear my talk

I used to be happy, my family used to be sound,

but now there's no money, and I've a hunger so profound.

My tummy, it aches of pain and sorrow,

sometimes, it looks away from my tomorrow.

Fifteen years, is the age of my soul.

An adult, so I'm told,and that is why, my soul has been sold.

I've been told, "It's your duty", "Uphold our family name",

but will it still be honor when taken in vain?

I know money is out there,

it is mine for the take,

but do I really have to let my frail body be at stake?





Up in the sky, so high, we can fly,

so no man can touch me,

this little girl won't cry.

My sigh is as deep as the lake I've been kept under,

but, I see Malaysia airport, my dreams now torn asunder.

Reality hitting me with fists to thin stomach

down the spiraling hole, down to earth will I plummet.

He's coming towards me,

takes my hand and my bag,

breath smells like whiskey, I can't help but gag.

Into the car is shoved my physical being,

onto my head placed a bag to keep me from seeing.

The dark, what I fear, when rancid breath is near,

my body cringes and my eyes start to tear.

I can't help but regret this predicament I'm in.

For I know, what's to commence,

is world's most immortal sin.





We sat in our stalls after "work",

this little girl and I,

we spoke very little, she was young, a bit shy.

When I looked at her face,

so delicate and small, she whispered in my ear:

"Get out, save us all.

Run as fast as those legs will run,

don't stop until you've reached setting sun.

Onlythen will you be able to free your bound being,

and tell of our story, let the whole world start seeing.

Our lives will be redeemed, I believe in you Mae Luang,

now go and fix the rights that have been wrong all along!"





With her words in my chest,

I held my head high, and sprinted out the door when the night guard came by.

I ran until I felt my lungs would burst,

in my head rang out "the children come first!"

I'm glad I remembered to grab some money that night,

the money I "earned" helped pay for my flight.

Back in the air, my head cleared of bad thought

trying not to remember, all negativity forgot.

From that day on, I vowed to change Thailand’s wrong-doing

and now, years later,

I am the head of the board to end child trafficking.

She's a pattern and yet so complex--
An entity of incompleteness bound by the voices that tell her "she is nothing"--
A frame unstructured and yet paved by the scars life left on her--
Not an epitome of daintiness but the reflection of a clay that's been molded then chipped to bring forth all at once rugged, sharp, smooth and rough edges--
Multifaceted for she smiles in the light, laughs in the crowds, cries in the night and cringes at the slightest mention of the word "love"--
Self-conscious, never once hearing of a King who thought the world of her--
The irony of dodging people who care only to fall into the traps of the ones who would never care to figure her out--
Similar to a pressed rose--
Pressed into the lives of others, leaving behind residue to the point of self dehydration--
If tears are as perfume, heaven is filled with bottles marked with her name; Daisy--
Born delicate, pure, & soft to the touch--
But over time the petals have been dried , shriveled up into brown nothings that fall fearfully as another heart dares to come near--

She doesn't recognize it at first
The image on the DVD box with a DVD about boxing inside,
Reflecting the dim daylight whitely from its dim corner.
At first glimpse, she cringes - emblazoned on the front is a wound
More scab than face,
Of course meant to titillate brutal boys
Who want to see the blood fresh.
Then she thinks of good taste - no one just buys blood -
That curve there, blocked by sunlight, must be the seam of a punching bag
A brown one,
A symbol of the adrenaline-and-sweat Cinderella story inside.
Yes. That's it.
She shifts just a little to the left, away from the window, to discover
The glass slipper she's imagined
Is a black man's ear.

I take my keys and put it in my pocket.
Put my black jacket on and raggedy shoes
Put on my music and head out the door to the spring night air
“Finally” I said.” I'm free”
But I'm not of course. I'm trap, tied down to the ground leading me to suffocation.
The reins of my dog pulls tightly on my hands.
It cracks and cringes, it erodes in time.
But I still held on to the blue cotton chain.
People stared. Stared with hatred, remorse, disgust, disruption.
Their eyes popping out of their eye socket.
STOP WATCHING ME!!!!!!
But it is not as worst as the other snarling dogs.
They grind their teeth showing their black gums
But then nothing is more worst then the police officers
Their cars patrolling the streets like gangsters part of a drug industry.
But then I cross that bridge, that safe haven full of joy. Full of space, until the sun doesn't take it at least.
But it's okay as moonlight drowns me, renewing my soul.
The whisperings of the trees swaying in the wind.
The salty waters of the island
and that wonderful moist air of freshness.
It only survives for a split second however.
Just a second of hyper real reality.
Until the dullness of life suffocates me again.
The dogs ,the chain, the people. Everything comes back to me.
But it is okay.
That addictive moist air.
  
O how I desire that taste of moist air again....

A boyish smile, a frivolous response, lips grazing my neck
Put on a plaid shirt and I’ll take mine off for you
Never ever never ever never ever ever ever
let your pride win
and we can set to sea in a canoe until you can let me in

I’m a sucker for sad eyes. That’s the compassion.
Pair those with thick-rimmed glasses: I’ll believe anything you say --
And I had a puppy once, so it’s a natural reflex to fill the bowl with water and affection and treats of all sorts.
My heart gives and gives and runs dry and quits
My heart quits and quits and floods with isolation and goes back to giving;
giving
giving
Tell me I'm living --
square one, I’m a hamster
You know, exasperation shouldn’t be as normal
as brushing your teeth
But then again, we’re all supposed to floss everyday and I always seem to forget to,
like Well-Being in general as my heart
gives and gives and dries and quits and gives and quits
and quits and quits
on everyone else that exists

You know,
I don’t want a man that fuels a petty cycle as long as a noose wrapped around my neck
I don’t want a man that shrugs off pain because he’s a man
I don’t want a man that eats his feelings or drugs his feelings or explodes his feelings all over the bed

I’ll desire disregard
and not long enough kisses that cut off like a woman’s water breaking midsentence.
A rocket,
An earthquake
I’ll want a fading away so that I can feel like I want something
& I’m a sucker for freckles and hard rock abs and defined biceps.
& british and french and irish accents.
& most of all, a man that doesn’t need me, or even want to see me
all that often

the space to contemplate
Am I Enough
The waver between
I want to be Enough
I don’t want to be Enough
I want to be Enough
No, I don’t want to be Enough
So I can want
Want
Aspire
Dream
Desire
Live in ifs and buts and maybes, dazed like a complete and utter
cliche

I don’t want a man that gives me a purpose
I don’t want a man that gives me flowers
Okay, I want a man that gives me flowers
and chocolate and good morning kisses and his time

I don’t want a man that snores
But he’s allowed to snore
I don’t want a man that cringes at a menstrual cycle
I don’t want a man that lives halfway across the world or a man next-door that lives in his head 24/7
I don’t want a man that punches his pain through walls
Or mirrors
Or ******* or dickwads or ******* faces

You know,
never ever never ever never ever ever ever
let your pride win
and we can set to sea in a canoe until you can let me in
if you let me in
and I can let you in

I don’t want a man that won’t let me in
I don’t want a man that won’t let love in.

Rain comes
the flood
from her eyes
and she tries
to resist desire

Torment
disguised
as a love
as a friend
as her lover

Rain drops
falling down
touch the ground
cold as ice
extinguished her fire

He touched her face
and she bites
and she screams
and she cries
but it doesn't matter

And she tries
to hit him hard
to make it stop
as the clothes
are ripped apart

She does not like
the taste of ***
his dead eyes
how he cringes her hand
doesn't matter

Doesn't matter
she screams
she cries
she's passed out
but he keeps making "love"

Sometimes when my mind drifts
it goes back to endless hallways
and that all too familiar scent
overtakes my senses

My spine actually cringes
at the thought of the needles
piercing the central nervous system
they forgot to numb

my thoughts swim in the pools
that formed in my mother's eyes
as she quoted the neurologist
"your son is dying."

I can still taste the confusion
that drowned my confidence
and left me wondering
if it'll ever resurface

my dreams never stopped crying,
if they even have the chance to exist
they're nothing short of terrifying,
nightmares replaced the rest

it's odd that I can remember
the sickness that consumed me
but completely and utterly forget
the happiness that prequeled it

Girl waits anxiously,
Foot bouncing
Hands tapping
Mind in overdrive.

The woman in charge
Has her hair shaved on both sides
And tattoos covering her torso.
She takes two smoke breaks
And decides she might as well get paid.

Science? On your body? Whatever. Get in.

The girl holds out her foot
Pink and white and black
Ready and willing
To be punctured
Like the god's coloring book.
She talks to drown out the nerves.

Her friend follows
Awkwardly? Quietly?
Holds out fingers
To be used in case of emergency.
The first gets a vise grip on them
She starts singing pop-culture
From decades past to distract.
It just seems out-of-place.

The woman pays no attention.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Refills her ink
As an artist must have supplies.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
She loves these needles
That penetrate and alter.
Allow the body to be a canvas
Both practical and beautiful.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The girl's hand sweats
Death grips do that, I hear.
She has to wipe it off more than once.
Her friend is being little help.
She cringes!
Needle got close to bone
To nerves.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

She finishes
Puts away her needles
And her ink
Cleans her canvas
Though this was not her favorite artwork.
She sends them out.

She hobbles
Foot newly changed.
Human symbols now visible,
She is no longer just earth.
Her friend follows.

She now has the mark of humanity
Of science
Of society
Forever on her skin.
She now belongs to the world.

The city is shut, sparing its prey until tomorrow. Night rules, dreams creep down the street, eyes dead
Her poised being is the center of universe, that girl
She is loath to beg yet for the twenty fourth time of the night she sings out, God?
It’s two in the morning and they are sitting at the balcony, God and her, both holding a cigarette
Mother and father are in screaming colors but she is, only, the darkest blue
Two of them are contradiction, a vexing rendezvous but they yearn for each other so once in a while they talk

People talk
A boy across the house is found dead
Parents roaring, raging, crashing the ground, he’s wearing a pair of new basketball shoes. Blue.
He is one of million, a delicate kind, very comely, a subtle presence. Neighbors murmur maybe God
fell in love, maybe God enraptured by the boy. But God is peeking behind the closed door with the girl
Between their fingers still a burning cigarette

Maybe it’s the taste of Marlboro Red, the girl
wishing an epiphany, a revelation, for its been too long, the girl and God
writing each other’s eulogy. The girl has been dead for God and God has been dead
for the girl, ruptured for a very long time, there’s no way back. No long talk
can fix the burn of cigarette,
the eternal crippling affliction taped up in every cavity inside the holy temple of their body

A lady in the house with doors and windows painted blue
is murdered. She was having a dalliance and neighbors talk
behind their open bible. God cringes, God recoils, her god is a beige-tied, cigarette
scented with hair slicked back. She was in his thrall, calls her name in a mesmerizingly fetching way making her girl
again, an ingénue with a pair of chatoyant eyes. Bodies clashing, her muse, they fuse, he choose to ruse, dead,
God is amused, time is lapsed, but perhaps she was not divine. A lady in someone’s car trunk, murdered, dear God!

Inhaling. Conflating. Cigarette
smoke all over the veins. A bright blue
car parked across the street. A week since the boy died. A week since the lady went missing. People talk
about somewhere this week another dead
body is going to be found. Maybe in the park under the slide or on a high school bleacher, like the girl found God
under her bed. The first encounter of God and the girl.

God
and the girl run out of cigarette
counting the days God and the girl
Next time won’t be cigarette and balcony. God and the girl next time at a bar with blue
sign where sinners and saints sipping absinthe because God won’t talk
to anyone but the girl. God and the girl sipping absinthe because the city is shut. Eyes dead.

Oh what a corroding flavor this is.
A concoction of disregard and lethal words.
The wake of such leaves the mind baron.
The seeds have been sewn.
And with the coming harvest does each pew wreak destruction.
One of many in fact.
Sprouting new yet familiar cringes.
The root is that of hell fire.
And the forge is aflame once more.
A conundrum of gleeful dissonance.
The sear is almost as unbearable as the creation of its last creature.
The howls echo throughout the night.
Branding malicious means deep within the void it had become.
The scent of blood is in the air.
As the lust grows
So does its wretched grin.

nothing bothers me more than people who say they have found god.
no one has found god.
life is not about finding god.
"GOD" is intangible and not something we can grasp,
but we pretend to.
people put quotes around his words
and then put those words in his mouth
they string ideas of her into beads and crosses -
what exactly are  you clinging to?
people don't know.
we are too small
and we are not wise enough.
god is the whole universe.
god is nothing.
god is a tree, a bird, a thought.
god is a little boy with a piece of candy stuck in his hair,
an artist in a garret,
a dog on a cushion,
a girl in an alley.
i don't believe that god has abandoned the church.
i believe that the church has abandoned god.
i don't believe in my catholic roots.
i don't believe in christianity.
i don't believe in buddhism.
i don't believe in islam.
i don't believe the bible.
i don't believe the priests, the shamans, the medicine men.
i don't believe the trappings we place around god
(our weak ideas of her,
our sorry attempts to define him).
i believe that god is people
god is rain, god is the sun
god is the night air
god is the words on paper
god is the paint on canvas
god is creating, god is being, god is gone.
god is here, now, and everywhere
and i only call her god because i lack another name for him.
it has no name.
i understand this
or i think i do.
god knows me intrinsically
or not at all.
god loves infinitely and sees to the depths of humanity
or else god is old, decrepit, and alone
curled in a corner of the world
trying to shut out the mayhem of his earth
(what have i done?).
god cringes at our killings
rejoices in our births,
or is vengeful, red, and full of war and death.
god is spring, summer, and fall.
he is the snow in winter, she is the birdsong
at my window.
she is multitudes and she is one
wildly insignificant
and all-knowing being.
she is the creator, the destroyer, the lover.
she is nature, she is earth,
she is people,
she is the industry, the tapestry, the travesty.
she is love, she is me.
she is loss, she is you.
she is life, she is them.
and i love her,
as anyone loves her -
if you can love an energy,
an idea,
the ungraspable concept that a grain of sand
is the same as the greatest mountain in the world.


but i don't presume
to know her.

my tallest towers so proud and most needed bridges
are just sandcastles too close to the shore
all of my kingdom carved all the valleys and ridges
can't weather my storms and wash away once more

being bi-polar kills you slowly but you never forget that you're dying
as each new attack comes even more fierce than before
family can forgive doctors can try but there's no denying
there's more pain in store and it's going to end just like before

with me trying to remember the cruel things I said in a rage
painfully recalling the monster I become without knowing
tearing at loved ones and shrinking the size of my cage
trying to recognize the face in the mirror with so many scars showing

and knowing that all of the days I feel great are only mania, not inspired
my accomplishments just the bi-product of a sickness infused
and they will all be burned down to ash in my fires
and a tattered soul so sick will continue to be abused

I ache so painfully in ways that make me insane
on my knees even without faith praying for anything I might regain
sick with wishing for answers to the behaviors I can't explain
spitting up, in cringes, bleeding out tears I can't contain

this beautiful life is so cruel through my eyes
in sunsets I see only the cold of the coming night
adoring a heart like mine isn't wise
and that truth leaves me to be alone in this fight

love the good in me because it's here if only fleeting
love my warm spirit as it loves you deeply too
love me for my depth and keep my heart beating
know that I cherish the peace I find with arms around you

then fear me for my outbursts and hateful tantrums askew
learn my love comes at a terrible price never paid
grow to hate me for words said and things I do
it's the unbearable cost of an unsurvivable trade

I might have days that I shine like gold
all they are
is my story half told

I am a monster

I am a monster

lie down embroidered in the cool darkness
startling signatures dotting infinite oblivion*
capsizing a raging fiery glow transition
singing of great chorus daunting premonition

anticipate the halt of breath prior
the splinter in time where the trees
gander the melodious swell intimate
the slumber left behind to the well of day

that fraction of a moment
my bedroom window encompassed
upon softest pastel pallets, kissing the breeze
soothing the scars and ceaseless throb

amazed, drinking in the spilling of sunlight
clouds streaking the stains eradicating, pulsing over
nature chirping and sighing with that of sage
lucid bliss settling gently on defenses in my chest

and as the day swirls and falls, pulses and cringes
coming home, bustling with stings pinching
thoughts gone quite tired and violent
the sun descends, and night begins

shadows cast, swimming in direction
like a flood of acoustic strumming
and wink of yawning black cat
the world softens and slows

lives retreat and flowers sway in the breeze
aching hearts and bitter limbs rest in sheets
linen of softest cloth, woven by threads
a comfortable place to rest my head

and the day descends and night takes full
crickets crying and mystery lurking
fingers soothing the spasms in my brain
with every turn of page, the stroke of brush

resting with the sliver lurking
everywhere I go, ghosting in echoes
reaching out with eyes quite closed
*mind swirling with undefined competence

Skipping rocks on quicksand
covering my empire of dominos
that only fell for girls
with a general knowledge of obscure trivia:
an empire where Latin is a phoenix
rising from Ash Wednesday
for a fourth-quarter comeback
reunion Tour de France,
where the truth costs less than
**** jokes in bulk at Costco.

All this while I wait for christ
who cringes through crazy eights
with cards collected by Captain Crunch
from birthdays past.

I'd stop skipping rocks and appointments
if being swallowed
scared me like shoehorns
being anyone's weapon of choice
or the doctor's orders
including an extra fork for sharing dessert
but mainly the obsolete
laser for fixing Everything
hidden somewhere in a lab
coat worn by a wicked *****.

She stuffs all the bad things
into a closet
and then hides the key
after she locks it.
Her face turns all red
when I ask what's inside.
She screams out her lungs
and yells "everything's fine!"
So I rattle the door as to
blow out the hinges.
And when I glimpse inside,
she thrashes and cringes,
"we don't need to talk
about our past no more.
Will you just go sit down,
will you please close the door?"

You are killing your own people 
You are killing off our sequels 
...
You're dying 
If I told you that you'll be ok 
I will be lying 
... 
On the ground with you 
We're united by a state of hysteria 
So pledge of allegiance to your own grievance if you want to 
Our allies realize our lack of participation within the United Nation 
They know that's it's a race of the racist 
It's hunger and starvation for ******* 
So they don't support our sport 
They don't get a kick out of our matrix 
Master the skill of being manipulative 
And maltreat our own citizens 
Who will have our back when we're getting attacked?
For sure not the group of people who our history once beset 
Wait reset 
Why strain something that isn't our stress? 
Hold up quest!
Consistent warfare give us a rest!

Do we ever handle things professionally? 
There's pros and there's congress 
And according to our constitution 
It's precedent that every president 
Is only present 
Im a skeptic of their effectiveness 
They're just a face for this place 
A image so when things cringes 
We can look at him in disgrace 
Sometimes I think I've been misplaced 
..... 
Misplaced 
Taken away and placed 
In this place full of waste 
Place full of wasted minds 
Place full of wasted minds who waste their time 
Place full of wasted minds who waste their time trying to waste everyone else's mind and keep others below their waist line 

United States of Hysteria 
Where you have to equip yourself with a personal barrier 
The superior preys 
The inferior pays 
And the wealth relays 
The baton get passed to relatives 
This is where you can cross the finish line first and still be without work 

So we pledge of allegiance 
With our right on our heart 
Stripes and stars is for
Lashes and strikes to stun our awareness 
Our apprehension just blow effortlessly in the wind 

They cover their flaws 
The gover-meant to **** us all 
Is there a such thing as a war on war? 
We nuclear our own fears 
And air strike on our own tears 
Use Sub Atomic Bombs against our own peers 
Chemically engineer everyone who's mere 
All hail U.S.A 
All hell U.S.H