Croaky Karaoke

You poke your eyes out,
you put your eyes in,
you poke your eyes out,
and no vision makes you shout,
You do the croaky karaoke,
and twist yourself around,
people next to you become astound.
You pull your ears off,
you put your ears on,
you pull your ears off,
now you can't hear the applause.
You do the croaky karaoke,
and twist yourself around,
no longer can you hear a sound.
You pull your tongue out,
you put your tongue in,
you pull your tongue out,
the blood starts to pour like a spout.
You do the croaky karaoke,
and twist yourself around,
now it's tough even for a clown.
You yank your teeth out,
you put your teeth in,
you yank your teeth out,
and that's what life's all about.
You do the croaky karaoke,
and twist yourself around,
by now your underwear is browned.
You rip your head off,
you put your head on,
you rip your head off,
people are using your eyes for golf.
You do the croaky karaoke,
and twist yourself around,
now you're dead, as you fall to the ground.
It was a party at the ***** colony,
the croaky karaoke was pure comedy.

She had eyes like a crater,
Innocent as any girl could be.
I think she had some bruises when I met her,
But it never seemed to deter me.

I chased her like a dog chasing tails,
Was only then I started to notice her ***** nails.
And then those Yellow eyes,
Blue and Yellow never look pretty to my mind.

She belled me with croaky breathes of air,
I rushed to her house shook and scared.
She was slumped against a wall with the choker she used to wear,
Strapped around her arm and specks of ***** in her hair.

She's got track marks like a craters,
Darkness lay dormant in her soul.
A once natural and elegant Beau,
Now alone in the world of ****** and Blow.

you are not your age,
nor the colour of your hair,
you are not your weight,
or the size of clothes you wear.
you are not your name,
or the dimples in your cheeks,
you are all the books you read,
and all the words you speak,
you are your croaky morning voice,
and the smiles you try to hide.
you're the sweetness in your laughter
and every tear you've cried,
you're the songs you sing so loudly,
when you know your all alone
your the places that you've been to,
and the one that you call home,
you're the things that you believe in
and the people that you love.
you're the pictures in your bedroom
and the future that you dream.
you are made of so much beauty,
but it seems that you forgot,
when you decided that you were defined
by all the things your not.
/gt

I miss the bright blue hair that doesn't stand out.
I miss the croaky voices when we all decided to shout.
I miss the midnight raves in all of their madness.
I miss the people being free and just pure happiness.
I miss just the people and how amazing they are.
I miss the walk to the village 'cause we're all too young to drive a car.
I miss the henna on my arms which instantly washed away.
I miss the pride march and queer disco all of which were pretty ******* gay.
I miss the ****** baloons 'cause why the **** not.
I miss the one ******* girl who I didn't tell was hot.
I miss the political jokes and the question time Q&A.;
I miss the jokes about consent and the woodcraft way.
I miss the workshops on politics, on science, on the war (against fracking).
I miss everything including the café and folk suply store.

Looking out, I hear the croaky calls
Of husky-throated birds and the
Frothy licking of sea tongues.
Purplish azure spreading widely,
Timelessly, when once my Father told me

The beauty was infinite and he smiled at the pair of
Big bright brown eyes
Glowing up at him in belief and awe,
Believing the secrets of the sea
All the wonderful things he told me.
Holding my hand, imprinting the sand
With our shallow foot prints: big and small
My chubby hand in his, the other
Collecting the glossy, opaque nails of sea dragons.
Sometimes we found sharp, dull-colored ones
And these were the faded scales of their leathery tough
Skin. Craggy black wings folded jaggedly-
Mountains, the ignorant people called them
Only we knew underneath those folded wings
Lay a sleeping, ancient dragon with its
Golden eyes watching out for its children,
The White Sea dragons that ran along the edges of the waves.
Speeding on rapidly, diving under
Out swimming the run of short brown legs
Decisively deaf to a child’s sunny yells.
When the sky was littered with stars
Before I began dreaming I could hear
The rush of wind as the dragons unfolded
Their restless wings, the gentle splashing
As their children twisted in and out of the water
And what Daddy said, Sweet Dreams,
Arrived shortly thereafter.  

Yet today I search vainly for their younglings
Gone in sunlight, in the midst of red foreigners
Coming out of hiding after dragon-hot sunsets and
Only behind closed eyes.
The spikes on their powerful wings
Have melded into dark shadows of trees
The jar of multi-colored sea glass remains
By my bed, reminding me of how when Daddy’s eyes
Could no longer burn bright with belief
In such magic, he placed the spark in new eyes
That were identical to his:
In both shape and color.

Remember that one night you fell asleep—
my fingers running through your hair?
I wanted that night to last forever,
To be completely encapsulated in that bubble,
"Mmmm…that feels nice"- a throaty murmur,
And your voice was sleepy, croaky,
"Don't fall asleep or I'll ******* **** you"- a playful threat,
"Mmm...'K...I won't…" eyes gently shut, you were already under

Sometimes memories fade yet still remain beautiful,
like colored lights seen through a foggy window

Gazing upon a perfectly peaceful face,
My fingers continued to caress the silky wisps of your hair,
I kissed you right at the hairline--the place where your slight hair is duckling down feathers,
Incredibly fuzzy and inviting,
I let my lips drift

I curled up near to my pillow and felt Something so strong and warm unfurl around me

I think it was Love.

There was a tier in the dark, where everything rode silently below the surface. Where secrets and sorrows never rose for air. In this place, when all light died and the wolves grew old, the crows rode upon their backs.
Crows as black as rotting teeth, they spent the days shrieking in the fields, and at night they gathered in their shadowy roosts, making evil plans and discussing the inevitable fall of mankind. Only there would he come to realize that all men are only as sick as the secrets they harbour.
The crows stank of a different rot. They had been feasting, somewhere, somewhere in the dark and the gloom, in the hidden places, on hidden bodies. They stank and they carried that stink with them. Their eyes had beheld things he dared not imagine, and they gazed upon him with those same little eyes, conspiring with one another in harsh, croaky declarations, as if they really had some awful language of their own. Screaming gibberish.
It was known to all that Christopher Weiher possessed an almost irrational hatred toward all crows. He sometimes wondered if they were now just waiting for him to die.

Enid parts the curtains and peeps out at the sky and the coal wharf over the road where coal men are loading up the coal trucks and lorries she can hear her father's loud voice from another room she blinks at the sound the sky looks blue and a sun is coming over the railway bridge so maybe ok to go out and see if Benny is around and what he's doing today but her father's bark of a voice makes her shudder her mother's screech rides on the air over her father's bark in a kind of operatic duet she closes the curtains and sits on her bed waiting for the row to subside and hopes it will not overrun into her room and bring her into the firing line as it did sometimes she caresses her body in a way no one else does or will her ears on the alert for sounds coming nearer  she gets up and goes to the bedroom door and listens the voices are still in duet but softer now but more bitter then a thump thump sound a scream and cry and Enid moves back from the door and her eyes wide open she stares at the door as if at any moment it will explode inwards and her father come in on her in a spiteful rage she moves to the wall by the window and stands there waiting sensing her stomach rumbling with hunger needing feeding but she daren’t yet go out to the kitchen and the bruises on her arm and body have only just begun to fade from last time she creeps along to her bed and climbs in between the sheets and fakes to sleep maybe then he'll not disturb a roar of words explodes from the passage and a screaming voice counterpoints then silence and door slams and then whimpering then silence then a radio comes on  music replaces whimpering and roaring voices she sits up on the side of the bed and listens intently her stomach rumbles her breathing she notices is heavy her pulse is racing along she can sense it as she holds her wrist between fingers she gets up and walks slowly to her bedroom door and opens it cautiously and peers out along the passageway the radio is playing music her mother is singing along to it in a slightly croaky voice Enid walks down the passage and into the kitchen where a light bulb shows a messiness of plates and cups and saucers and a frying pan on the grimy stove she looks in the larder and takes out a box of cereal and taking a bowl from the shelf she fills the bowl up with cereal and pours in some milk she looks for a spoon and for the sugar tin you've got up then? her mother says standing at the kitchen door a cigarette between lips a bruise on her cheek Enid stares and nods about time at least you were out of his way God he was in a foul mood this morning her mother says moving into the kitchen the smoke from the cigarette following her into the kitchen and making Enid's eyes watery get your breakfast and best be out in case he's home lunch time and still in a mood her mother says Enid puts a spoonful of sugar over the cereal and goes into the sitting room her hand shaking she trying to keep the bowl steady and sits at the dining table listening to the music on the radio behind her she looks out the window through the net curtains at the railway bridge and out onto Rockingham Street and the beginning of Bath Terrace her mother enters the room a cup of tea on a saucer in her hand the smoke about her head and sits opposite Enid deep in thought rubbing the bruise on her cheek Enid wants to ask what was wrong with her father and why was he in such a mood but she doesn't she just eats in silence looking now and then at her mother's face and the bruise spreading there and the music seems too happy for the occasion and she wishes it wasn't on but she listens all the same don't annoy him when he gets home her mother says try and keep out of his way Enid looks at the cereal bowl the pattern of flowers around the outer rim what's up with Dad? she asks her spoon half way to her mouth short of money says I waste it says I don't know how to save her mother says looking out the window her eyes watery red the cigarette shaking between fingers Enid wants to go to hug her mother but doesn't in case her mother has bruises where Enid can't see says I spoil you too much her mother went on looking at her her eyes hollow and deep Enid says nothing but spoons the cereal into her mouth and stares at the tablecloth with its blue pattern her mother's words now drone on and Enid tries to shut them out and think of later and seeing Benny and talking to him he knows what she has to put up with he knows and he'll take her some place and she can forget for a while what has happened at home maybe they'll go to the park and ride the swings and slide or go on a bomb site and Benny collect stones for his catapult can I go out with Benny? she asks her mother breaking into her mother's monologue of woe yes I expect so her mother says tiredly but don't let your father see you with him you know your father doesn't like him or you being with him Enid nods and finishes her cereal and takes her bowl to the kitchen and washes the bowl and spoon under the cold water tap until clean and puts them on the draining board to dry catching sight of her father's shadow out of the corner of her eye.

The Prince while
playing croaky on his lawn
did say in a gruff voice
for he had a bit of a cold that day
the secrets of his past are inside his head
I wonder if he will be happy after he is dead
or indeed happy now.

You are not your age,or, the size of clothes you wear.
You are not a weight,or,the color of your hair.
You are not your name,or,the dimples in your cheeks.
You are all the books you read,and all the words you speak.
You are your croaky morning voice, and the smiles you try to hide.
You're the sweetness in your laughter,and every tear you've cried.
You're the songs you sing so loudly when you know you’re all alone.
You’re the places that you’ve been to,and the one that you call home.
You’re the things that you believe in, and the people that you love.
You’re the photos in your bedroom, and the future you dream of.
You’re made of so much beauty,but,it seems that you forgot.
When you decided that you were defined by all the things that you were not.

Randy McPeek

there are certain days on the EL
Saturday or Sunday
and the sky is orange and different clouds
and airplane streaks glowing
and all above the city

Everyone is calm
And I look blank
and I feel weeping

For the fat black woman waiting by the doors
never took a seat
her eyes are skittish
like a doe
alert for insults
she shrinks her shoulders
when people enter
or when they leave

For the older white woman across from me
pills **** alchohol something
heavy mascara eyes resigned
seeing yuppies entering at Girard
feeling the contrast
thinking what could have been
croaky voiced and thin

For children laying on seats
staring at ceilings
or plastic windows
white hair beads clacking
eyes like rocks
parent clicking at phone
yelling at phone

all pushed in an EL car
and I love them all

and together we ride

Frankfurt, in a bunker, in 1942
I discovered the injured man
Tended his wounds best I could
Ofcourse that shouldn't have been the plan
He was German, a young solider
But I just didn't follow orders at that time
A picture of a child and a pretty girl
Being German was his crime
I watched him go and breathed a sigh
What had I just done
We were taught to **** another nation
But my conscience had just begun
He looked back and nodded his head
Was it happiness or relief that weighed on his mind
Did he wonder why I'd helped him
Or was I just thinking blind
A conference in Berlin 1992
I started with my talk
On war crimes and dangerous times
And the paths enemies walk
As I stood to take my leave
I felt eyes watch my move
A large hand on my shoulder
I thought oh no someone doesn't approve
There he was an ageing man
But I couldn't forget his face
He smiled and we stood in total awe
And then we hugged with a respectful embrace
I often wondered why you did it
Said his old croaky voice
You should have killed me but let me live
I thank you for my families rejoice

In cage he grew
In cage he flew,
And staring the blue sky,
Was the only thing he could do.
He wasn't sick at heart ,
He just wanted to, taste
The freedom of flight, that awaits.
The day came the doors were open ,
He came out, but now ,
the dreams were broken.
He wept a bit and Turned back
And gave a look,
To the cage and to the man.
He hopped a bit ,
And flapped his wings,
And now in the air ,
He could see, the worldly things.
He flew here, he flew there
Nothing he could find anywhere.
Dreams clashed like a house of cards
Was this the freedom he always asked for.
The clock of the world moved again
The house of the cards clashed again
For now it was the dark shades that was around
No shelter no home
No cage around.
He reached upon a tree
And looked here and there
For now it was the Nightingale
Whose voice he could hear.
Flew to the stage
Stood in front of her
Listening to her voice
Trying to sing with her.
He just lost and forgot
for he is now disturbing someone
She stopped, by his croaky voice,
And laughed till he was awake and alive.
She stood near to him
What a beauty it felt to him,
Apology he couldn't make
As he was lost in the lovers lake.
Nothing she said
And flew to her home,
Leaving a picture of her beauty
In the eyes of our romeo.
The whole night he stood there ,
And watched her sleep ,
Glancing at her beauty
That paused, his sleep.
Madly he banged his head on the trunk
Just to test, if he was drunk
No it wasn't the wine he drank
It was the beauty of her eyes
In which he swam.
The morning came with bright rays
The canopy made a romantic phase.
A beautiful voice
Came to his ears
Yes! Yes! She was near
"Who are you? " she asked
"I am a traveller who is lost "
"What's your name?" she asked again
"Lost my name in the past pain"
She kept quiet for a time
And then made a flight
In between the rays of light.
Dusk came she started to sing ,
And the owl started to stare with out giving a blink.
She saw him and stopped
She flew to a branch and hopped.
He came near and asked
What made you to stop?
Said nothing she stared at moon,
Silence was so high
As if she wasn't here.
And the next moment ,
Yes, she had disappeared,
He searched for her
She wasn't there.
For if now she was lost for ever and ever.
He came to her nest,
Hopped inside, peeped at the moon,
And started to cry .
When he slept he did not know
Little bulb was about to glow.
Morning he woke up
It was a The dark shady place
Yes! It was the cage
Yes! It was the cage

Your words trap me in my own body
Your breath on my neck leaves me aching
Your voice when you wake up is croaky
Your hands on my body are bracing

The skin on your chest is like fire
Your arms round my neck is restraining
Your lips on mine give that desire
That I want when I say I've been waiting..

​
you are not your age,
nor the size of clothes you wear,
you are not a weight,
or the colour of your hair,
you are not your name,
or the dimples in your cheeks,
you are all the book you read,
and all the words you speak,
you are your croaky morning voice,
and the smiles you try to hide,
you’re the sweetness in your laughter,
and every tear you’ve cried,
you’re the songs you sing so loudly,
when you know you’re all alone,
you’re the places that you’ve been to,
and the one that you call home,
you’re the things you believe in,
and the people that you love,
you’re the photos in your bedroom,
and the future you dream of,
you’re made of so much beauty,
but it seems that you forgot,
when you decided that you were defined,
by all the things you’re not.

"Want/need/feel/blah"

But our bodies makes noises when we are not around
Are mistranslated
       misunderstood
       misused
       mistreated
Crack of the arctic knuckles crack

-The whip on the horse to make it go faster
-The egg on the bowl to keep your hands clean
-The dawn that splices through skinny windows crack

Blue
I have noticed our Shadows
How they snap on the sidewalk
Like high-heeled claps and click

Went my back when I stretched
And I remember when this first started
And I asked if I could lean on your shoulder sweet spot
And I did for a while
And resting next to your throat was noisy
And we don't do that anymore
And I don't do that anymore

And
There you go, that familiar sound
(that same old sigh, that ticklish taunt, that numb noise - croaky crack)
You would think "Anymore"
Is a blah word
Because that is what my feet said

Blue
You are not around anymore
Our bodies aren't on speaking terms.

High above the world's hectic tumult
Emigrating doves tore breeze in solitude
Gleaming ***** paused and then resumed
No one to bother or worst intrude
Embracing the gulp of dust and vapour
And riding on their tantalising bubbles
A crass crow came candid with croak
And bashed and entangled with one of those
The collision followed a cat fight
Only during their unison flight
A crass crow and doves and doves
Those doves were weirdly enough
The spectacle highlighted with the impressive shower
Of the feathers of the one that couldn't empower
Gleaming ***** resumed with the cult
Of curses and gloomy ******
Fly high as they with their sarcastic grins
Cracking jokes of the ****** and assassin
"The innocous crow soul rest in peace
This's what we can pray for thee"
Reached they their destination
Without any guilt and confession
The morning kissed their eyes
As they began again flying high
One of them entangled with a crow
This time both breeds were equal though
Lest the history repeats itself
Or there'll be pleads and requests
But the former often occurs
And a cat fight had begun
The croaky crows were the winners
The doves flew away in tension
The next morning embraced the eyes
Of both the groups for their regular journies to skies
History repeated itself
One of both again entangled
Lest the history repeats itself
Or there will be pleads and requests
The former often occurs you know
But not every time on show
A round of pleads and requests followed
And all reached their respective homes..

Letter

What exactly do you want from me?" She asked tenderly. Her eyes searching mine for an answer, compelling me to break my silence.

Me? I don't know. I've said that enough through my eyes but if you want me to put it in words so I'll explain it in the most obvious way. I want you. Your attention and your time. It's not that I'm some crazy psychopath dying to get an eye from you. I'm just a splintered soul who finds his solace in you.
I want to be with you. Either in person or just clung to your thoughts. I want to wake up next to you, to see your serene face shrouded with dim morning sunlight. I want to wake you up everyday differently. I want to giggle around you and to see you giggle with me, to let your laugh echo in my room of silence, sedating my soul, letting me feel vibrant.

I want to cook with you without thinking about our bad cooking skills. I want to twirl around you sheepishly while trying a hand in cooking recipes that are way beyond my capabilities. I want to sing dramatic duets doing salsa on our kitchen floor. I want you to make faces on having my delicious food and appreciate my horrible cooking experiments to save me from getting dull.

I want to have a garden full of roses and lavenders to water it with you and then playfully want to get indulge into some water fight against the green grass. I want to see your wet face with perfect smile laughing girlishly to let my head imagine how beautiful you must have been in your teenage.
I want to have pets with you. I want you to hold my hands to make me learn how to play with them touching their fur and befriend them without running from them. I want you to entangle your fingers with mine while crossing roads where I can barely open my eyes. I want you to cover me in crowd. I want you to hold me right to let me know you care. I want you to respect my tears knowing this heart of mine is fatuously emotional.

I want to sleep peacefully against your heartbeat, giving rest to the storms of my head if only you know I'm an insomniac with millions of mood swings. I want to ***** about how my workplace ***** and then rest my head on your shoulder crying myself to sleep. I want you to cover me up when I throw blanket in midnight. I want you to rest your head against mine to let me feel your warmth while asleep to fight back each witching hour of darkness.
I want to explore the world with you. That never meant to go on trips that are beyond our financial potential. I want you to wake me up in midnight to take us on some adventurous roadtrips to explore the fun we've missed while living and running this futile race of life. I want to drive insanely to scare the hell out of you. To go on long walks in cities of no recognitions and unknown faces. I want to go on adventure sports with you. Hiking up the mountains, diving skies and waters. Hence plunging deep in the ocean of togetherness.

I want you to surprise me on my birthday at 12 when I'm least expecting it to be remembered by you. To see you sing a happy birthday song and realise how horrible your croaky voice sounds. Yet the butterflies in my tummy flutters to show how elated they're to found you. To just get cute notes over fridge, desk and tv saying how annoying I'm and yet how my presence makes you feel alive. I want to have intellectual conversations about love, life and future yet I want to suddenly turn the table towards lame dance numbers. Dancing with you till my feet ache and breathing gets shallow.

I want to unravel secrets you've been concealing from this utterly judgemental world. I want to sit on rooftop at 2 am with you talking about how life must've origined and why death is scary. Admiring stars, moon and chattering about galaxies. Foremostly I would like to get lost in the galaxy your deep eyes allure me of.
I want to watch some over the top emotional movie and end up curling in your lap crying my heart out. I want you to pat my back and tell me how it's just a movie and my dumb head need to fathom out the difference. I want you to startle me with bitter truths rather than soothing me with comforting lies.

I want to lend an ear to your pain and smile in your contentment, I just simply want to be with you, till my breathes last and to make you feel whole with me. Holding your hands, fighting, reasoning, laughing, blushing and living I'm just a young mind with an old heart, heart which may not necessarily believe in clichéd fairy tales but wants to feel that corny romance, romance that's beyond age and time, time that binds our hearts together to make our own little infinity, infinity that entwines our dark souls conjointly.

I just want to get old with you, that's all I want.

Have you ever wondered what it's like to **** someone?
I have.

I imagined it being an exhilarating experience.
One I will never forget.

Of course, you have to make sure you do it properly.
You don't want to get caught, do you?

I remember her watery, crystal eyes.
Her violet wrists and ankles.

The way her hair stood up when I touched her.
The way she winced whenever my cool blade touched her.

Was she panicking?
Probably.

I remember her gasps for air.
Her hoarse, croaky voice.

One stab.
A velvet sea laid out in front of me.

Two stabs.
Red, glittery hands.

Three stabs.
It's getter harder to see.

Four stabs.
I fall down.

I smear the blood on the wall.
As if it were a cry for help.

I wanted to do this so badly.
Why am I now regretting it?

Guilt swarms my body.
My head aches.

Have you ever wanted to **** somebody?
Because I have.

Today's the day I ****** a blade into my stomach.
A crimson waterfall.

My final words are yours to read.
On this ****** sheet of paper.

Today's the day I shivered with a blade to my wrist.
Hesitation, but the urge to die.

My final words are yours to read.
On this creme coloured wall in red writing.

Today's the day I
died.

My grandpa was a proud man
And with his thunderous voice he was a loud man
He'd used to boast about carrying heavy bags
With one hand lifting his pants that sags
He'd brag about how he was as strong as a thousand oxen
But this was all before the toxin.

Now, my grandpa isn't a proud man
Doesn't really have a days plan
Let alone a night one.
He doesn't speak much as his voice is croaky and dry
He doesn't sit at night to sing or to cry
He simply sits hoping to waste away and die.
When once he could carry heavy items
He struggles to carry himself now.
The effects of the great alcohol
Use to make him whole
But now it creates a hole
Within him.
The light that burned inside him
Vanished with every sip of *****.
Selfish affliction
To a selfish addiction
And how I wish this poem was fiction.

Batel was showing me
how to fold up
my shirt sleeves
although I knew how

I liked her fingers
touching my arm
her eyes searching me
as she did it

got it?
she asked
sure it looks easy
when you do it

she walked off smiling
and I watched her
wiggling backside
move away

I carried on
with my work
at the nursing home
making beds

tidying up
the rooms
taking some
of the old guys

to the lavatory
or for a bath
or talking with them
about the old days

about their war
trenches
bombs
dead friends

mud
lice
and old Sidney
singing the Red Flag

loudly as he bathed
his croaky voice
very moving
and I sang along

to make him happy
but it was Batel
who came to me later
and said

how's the shirt sleeves?
they’ve come down again
I said
shall I do them

again for you?
that'd be good
you are flirting
she said smiling

I’m working
I said
yes
on me

she said
as if I would
I said
she folded up

my shirt sleeves
and I sensed her fingers
on my skin
maybe you could

come to my place
she said
for a coffee sometime?
you're married

I said
I’m asking to coffee
not to marry me
she said

ok
I said
be good
and she went off

wiggling that backside
of hers
Hey Benny
old George

called to me
take me to the bog
I'm in need
of a ****

ok George
I’m on my way
and I thinking of Batel
and a promise of a kiss.

I have blisters on my fingers
from playing for too long
because I was trying
to learn your favourite song

I have a croaky voice now
from singing far too high
from trying to sing a melody
that reaches towards the sky

My guitar is out of tune
because of what you said
you told me I was good and
I let it go to my head

My uke is sitting sadly
untouched for quite awhile
because what I play isn't worth it
if I can't make you smile.

I try and I try and I try
To be something that I am not
To make beautiful things from my hands
To sound like an angel in a chorus of a thousand voices
To be a goddess among men and make others envy my beauty

Whatever comes from my hands is not what I picture in my mind
It's just a clump of lines and scribbles with no definitions or purpose

My voice does not carry an angelic tone
It's raw and croaky

I am not beautiful to draw jealousy out of girls and men alike
I am not thin and tan
My hair can't hold curls or volume for extended periods of time

What I can offer the word is this:

Pages upon pages of unfinished works that I view as my masterpieces
Words that flow out of my fingertips
Water from a melting snow-capped mountain
A raging river that refuses to flow in one direction

A voice, loud and distinguished
That commands the armies of a thousand thoughts
That brings enemies in with quiet curiosity
Until the foes are turned into friends

An inward beauty to replace what society judges
My smile is not enhanced or altered
It is raw and true
I bring people to happiness
With who I am as a person
Not how I look
You are blind if you can only see the outer portion of life

This is who I am
This is what I can offer to the world
And the world cannot force me to take it back
These are the gifts I was given a long time ago
And they come with no receipts