The apartment hasn’t been cleaned for so long and has housed a depressive in it for the same length of time so that there is a glaze of slime-dirt on the floor, made of dried coffee, hot chocolate, maybe some **** or some spillage from a tube of steroid cream to treat an inflammation that never really goes.  The rate of ooze changes?.  Clean textiles are piled up on the floor, never having been folded, and mix here and there with *****: practical fatpants that make me look like a geologist and white-white cotton blankets that can be washed on HOT with lots of bleach that I purloined from some mentalhealthfacility.  The inbox is full of—is bristling with—remonstrances from Programs for the Nondoer—you haven’t filed, haven’t turnstiled, haven’t had your hologram chip assessed by central CENTRAL intelligence, what is wrong with you.  Upon stepping outside there is a beat during which I think maybe somewonder might swirl and buoy but no, just wethumid and *****, sidewalks cruddy and Haitians and quasi-Haitians muttering “taxitaxitaxi” in front of their Gypsy conveyances with their dubious certifications.  I should go for a ride in one, a dubious passenger for a dubious palanquin.  I tried the library but it was too hot and decrepit and too filled with Books For African-Americans, which always ****** me off; are only African-Americans going to read Wright or Douglass or Brooks?  Everyone is overrated, anyway, movies and theater and the moribund beat of commerce, and as the dangerous autos pass, sometimes not running you over, you can see morechange in the pockets of the shareholders of BeePee and Iacocca Coach-Wirx.  Any friendliness exhibited seems to contain an underovertone of  You’re Not Included Whiteboy White ****** Ghost *****, all archaic names I’ve been almost astounded to be called usually while balancing on tiptoe on some lurching, roaring dieselbus, grinding past off-off-off brand groceries that do a dubious business.  While making my police report I wink at a sevenyearold boy and I get a lustrous wink back butalas this is not enough to beat back those slurrycolored brainfazes.

Blame revolving issues on foreign and ruling entities
fall in love again and my friend again is my enemy
I am not the same as i was
before you severed me
Knowing that when push comes to shove
you wont remember me
Guess i cannot fill in this void
with someones pleasantries..
You really don't belong
inside my deepest thoughts
My feelings are still strong
i hate that..

Just one more amitriptyline
and then I'll be dead
at least from the neck up
a perfect slumber,
forever restful
a perfect slumber,
never stressful

See,
I know what it feels like
to be barely twenty-three
going on forty-six
walking over hot coals
sleeping on sticks

So I throw stones
to break bones
and creative havoc
to feel something else
something other than
this pain I've carried
for too, *******, long

With the weight of twelve bricks
on my head its
nigh on impossible
and it hurts my neck
to look to the future
in a positive light

Yeah,
we're all getting older
and yes, I know
that I'm still young
because I remind myself
of this all too often

See,
I'm surely too young to
feel this way and
I'm surely too numb to
see it another way

I don't see anything
I only feel everything
the good, the bad
and all the tragedy in-between
I never dreamed I'd know
what it feels like to be born
a bird with clipped wings

You are finally out of my hair,
No more feeling like crap because of you.
Two whole seasons of Football,
And your crafty ways of hurting people.

Why I ask you,
Why did you feel the need to hurt us?
I guess we must be inferior to you.
Is it your own insecurities as a player?
That makes you feel the need to judge our skill.

Not that it matters anymore,
I finally have the courage to fight back.
The season is over and I never stood up to you.
Not when you insulted me,
And not when you insulted my friends.

The funny thing is you were never very good,
Your cruddy kicks flew everywhere like a drunk bird.
Somehow people thought you were good,
Just because players would move out of your way.

It became hard to decipher between playing good or bad.
It was like you targeted me.
Picking off a few from the team,
The emotionally unstable ones maybe?
No just the ones you knew wouldn't fight back.
I guess you don't like confrontation.

Well Goodbye Phillipa,
It wasn't nice knowing you,
But thank-you for strengthening me,
Now I know if someone tries this again
I WILL FIGHT BACK.

I see couples holding hand in hand walking by me on the street
Hollowness fills my heart as it responds in it's beat.
Thinking of the void, inside of me, that would feel like when it was filled
I admire the vision of adoration in the couple's eyes
as they kiss and greet each other.
I remember the future and all of it's mystery
I hope that's me, like the couple in view , that is in my future that greets me.
Daydreams ease the pain as I pass by them.
Visions of me and the one that shall hold my heart.
How to start the path to my goal is the trick to study.
A beautiful me and that beautiful lady to share love and adoration
in my vison that seems a little dark and cruddy.
I remember how my spirit does shine and then I don't feel so empty.
For a big heart and a grand and deeply true spirit
shall draw love to me.
When the moment draws to be ripe....I shall get hit by Cupid's dart.
Then, all my love songs that I've sung to summon her, it will be then when the right partner
who shall here it.

Over the hill which was dusty and complete lay perfectly nothing.
It stood and it stood with its big cow lips.
Reluctant to say anything in a disappointing display with some of us elderly and expecting entertainment and come all this way I listened for exactly ten minutes, aggressively.
This entire situation had been recommended to me at a party at which she was drunk.
The hill at night was reluctant to purse its dust and listen aggressively to plaintive violoncello.
The spider-lady in the living room was reluctant to sleep with the shortish man but liked the way he spoke.
For exactly ten minutes no one was sure if various members of this post-rock band could be pinned down as anarchists.
So everything stood with its dusty cow lips, disappointed.
Stood and stood like nice white kids from Canada in a cruddy hall full of apparently random images, begging to be taken seriously.

Dj spinning the wheels of steel
Best lyrics I spill that send thrills
Picture perfect Picasso
Make my own moves like Carlito
Move dinero black don Vito
Keep suckas in check
So stay off my grande bicho
We turn culo into closed
Casket I'm.cold heartless *******
That's my persona
Smoke more yay then T Montana
Took a bite of the forbidden monzana
Tell these fools I don't bang
With panics only frantics
Childish antics make for required carcasses
I'm bark up the wrong trees
Rivalries I love em I'm.above em
Eight levels ahead with mad bread
Hotter than a baker
Brew up the hardest thymes
The lyrical barrister call me Mr
Big stuff Cuz my peace heavy d
Mid weight like hos who can shake
They **** looser than Jello
I'm a president never let me peoples go
Modern day pharaoh with a thorough
Of wisdoms hearts full of clay
Which means I'm cruddy no fears
Show ya real tears like when the shot gun
Enters ya body goin at 200 miles per second
I'm reluctant the only one to ever bless the mic when I recite don't try to fight
Only to meet ya fall and mobster even gall
After me butnnever touch my epitome
In the safe house with my spouse
Tucked in ya blouse
Homes!! Ya minstrel cycle leakin'
Which means ya close to shakin'
Hands with the grim reaper
Puff cabbage make the biggest clouds
Now ya resting lovely open casket
Awaiting to be covered with the shroud!!



I didn’t ask to be assaulted with words
When you knew all too well that there was more than 15 bottles in my system
And my feet couldn’t find a way to walk a straight line.
“You only say ‘I love you’ when you’re drunk.”
I forced my drooping eyelids open to look at you
And I wanted to laugh.
It was past 2am on a Friday and I was lying down on my threadbare sofa
Your hands pushing a bucket towards me because you know me

You know me too well.
You know that on Thursdays the commute home was faster and the jeep would drop me off by the bar a street down from my cruddy apartment.
You know that I like this denim jacket you have because it has a pizza stitched onto it.
You know that my wallet is practically begging me to stop at the third shot but my heart won’t have any of it.
You know that no matter what, I will dance to Pussycat Dolls whenever they come on, even if I’m in the most contaminated restroom to exist.

But you don’t know
Of the way my head screams over the pounding of the music whenever you say her name.
Of the words that get stuck in my throat every single time you close the door behind you.
Of the times I wanted to know what it was like to have you near me when I wake up.
Of how I wanted to sing the cheesiest songs to you in the karaoke room.
Of how I closed my eyes in the presence of the night stars when I could hear how happy you were.

Sometimes my mind wanders to the thought of your lips on mine and your hands on my spine
But I remember that you said that she tasted like a fallen heaven
And I remember that I must taste like the loneliness of rain

You know that I fill in the gaps of my life with paint splatters in the colors of the sea
You know that there are tunes I will remember even when I’ve long forgotten the words
You know how my smile barely ever reaches my eyes
You know who I am.
Who am I anyways?
The sober girl who knows
That the only time I can hold your hand
Is when I get drunk enough to say “I love you”

So I say it again and again and again.
Because now you will laugh it off and say I’m drunk
Because you will forget about it the next day
Because when I’m sober
I can look at you with clear eyes and know
That you only say “I love you” when I’m drunk.

Thick-muddy roads around some sick cruddy homes.
Drugs flowing in toe by toe.
Water’s running dry or poisoned,
Just waiting for the Vultures to show.
Institutionalized woes, seen in droves.
Internalized hatred making each other foe’s.
Systematic destruction killing everything we know.
But that’s the way it goes,
In the savage lands where people lose their very souls.
We in the savage lands, where things are running foul.
With some not realizing we never really got rid of the white cowl.
I don’t care what you have to say!
Things aren’t ok, ok, ok!
Don’t you see racism is still alive today?
Uh, education? What education?
After 100 years of attempted extermination.
Forcing their indoctrination, lock us up,
Incarceration.
Isolating us from the rest of the population,
What’s that called again?
Alienation!
With missing and murdered indigenous women.
Yet the police take so much longer in their investigations.
Confiscating children out they homes,
Calling it salvation.
It’s like a third world country out here man!
It’s like we living in Damnation!
But that’s just the way it goes,
This is the savage land, where people have lost their very souls.
We in the savage lands, where things are running foul.
With some not realizing we never got rid of the white cowl.
Yeah, so I don’t care what you have to say!
Things aren’t ok, ok, ok!
Don’t you see racism is still alive today?

good pay is a job that fulfils 10.07.18

welcome to a hobby
poetry reading is a job
for understanding its like a parliament lobby
sanity it will rob.
don't want to make a difference
i challenge this study
looks are not the appearance
9 to 5 will never be parton cruddy.
what is the satisfaction
is it just that payday delighted
4 blank walls is greater interaction
positivity is no where sited.
would you swap to thrive
even if you needed upskilling
according to statistics its one on five
one poor sod works and its fulfilling.
mr kersey i'm applauding
he works  for st andrews health care
the right career choice is always more rewarding
i choose poetry i'm now extinct and very rare.