•A Daddy is the grown up within the dynamic, not the other way around. He doesn’t create the situation which forces his Little to take the lead. Because that’s what Daddies do.

•A Daddy offers encouragement and reassurances to his Little to help build her up, not tear her down. Because that’s what Daddies do.

•A Daddy is a grounding safe place for his Little, he doesn’t create or add to the drama which she seeks refuge from. Because that’s what Daddies do.

•A Daddy is the protector and guardian for his Little, he maintains her safety not allowing others to hurt, harm, or wound her. Because that’s what Daddies do.

•A Daddy gives correction to his Little when needed, but always in the end with the reminder that once punishment is over all is forgiven. Because that’s what Daddies do.

•A Daddy gives praise and rewards to his Little over even the little things, but also uses those accolades with care so that they do not lose their value. Because that’s what Daddies do.

•A Daddy nurtures all sides of his Little, big girl included. He encourages and facilitates opportunities for her to be both his Little and naughty big girl. Because that’s what Daddies do. (Non-****** dynamics notwithstanding.)

•A Daddy doesn’t have to broadcast his Little to know that she’s a sought after priceless treasure, he treats her as the light of his life, the apple of his eye, his **** *****, his undeterred submissive, and the best thing to him even if his eyes are the only ones to behold her. Because that’s what Daddies do. (Although some dynamics are okay with exhibition and if that’s for you, more power to you.)

•A Daddy sets guidelines for his Little and enforces those without her having to remind him in order to give her the structure that she needs. Because that’s what Daddies do.

•A Daddy is firm within his decisions, and does not allow every one to be swayed by the cute negotiations of his Little’s displays, (although every once in a while is okay. ;) Because that’s what Daddies do.

In all reality Daddies do a great number of things but my Dada is showing me more and more each and every day how those whom I previously referred to by Daddy or other such names, weren’t really living up to their titles. He is showing me the realities of how a Daddy is supposed to treat me within even the shortest of interactions with him.

daddies have it hard.

i am tired of reading poems about how much you hate your daddy
stop talking, please.
daddies
have it hard.

mommies get to be the nice ones
(if you are lucky)
get to hold the baby
snuggle her
tell her
she is loved
daddies must be hard
sometimes
daddies
have it hard.

even if they are wrong
you must allow for change
if you cannot, stop asking others
to allow YOU to change
it's not fair.

some daddies don't know
how to be good daddies
forgive them
do not
hate them
some daddies are like children
they need to be held,
too
sometimes

forgive them.
the world runs on forgiveness
and it hasn't been running for two years
you could make it all better
if you'd ******* try.

forgive
daddy

She gave me a daisy with a smile, so much care
to not let these frail peteals fall.

"Daddy dearest I give you this as a token of
what I see in you,

"In me my little petal, what do you mean so,

She smiled and ran off into the garden a chain
of daisies was her creation on the table little hands
did do there magic and after what was a long time
two little hands and a curious mind created magic
in her eyes.

"Daddy you have the daisy still,

She smiles seeing that her daddy had kept the little
flower safe from harm not crushed or lost.
No it was in pride of place in her daddies shirt pocket
pocking gently out of the tiny button hole.

"Of course you gave it me my little daisy,

Her father picks her up and gently rocks her back and
forth. Her eyes wonder around the surrounding till
they close like curtains on the world. Hours pass and
she awakens to see her daddy cuddling her fast asleep.

"Daddy wakey wakey, rise and shine sleepy head,

He slowly awakens to rising arms and a almighty
yawn, She sneakily tickles his underarm and he lets
out a half yawn half giggling laugh.

"Cheeky little madam,

Laughter ensues while her dad chases her around the room.

"Petal what did you mean when you said you see me
in the daisy every day?

She smiles and holds her daddies hand placing another
daisy in his hand, composing herself she explains.

"Daddy each petal is a the amount of times you make me
smile each day, and the centre is the love I see in your
heart everyday,

"So this one is the all the smiles I have made you see?

Looking at her daddy she smiles.

"See daddy that's another petal you have given me,

"This one daisy is just the smiles that have blossomed
today since we woke up and laughter made more,

She jumps off her daddies lap and runs off into the
garden, daddy sits there a tear slowly falls down his
face she had made him happy with tears.

Calling him into the garden, telling him to close his
eyes as she steers him where she needs him to be.

"Sit down daddy please,

He sits down slowly so not to embarrass himself by
falling off the chair before he had even sat down.
Sitting she says  "No peeking daddy its a surprise.

Eyes tightly shut hand over so no peeking can spoil
a little petals surprise that awaits her daddies eyes.

"Open up daddy this is what I made for you,

He opens his eyes and see a daisy chain that she worked
so ******* before. "What's this my petal,
She smiles from ear to ear as she ever so gently puts this
piece of work over her daddies head, it hangs so delicately
on his shoulders and then she tells him what it means.

"Daddy everyday I give you a daisy,
"This chain represents all the smiles and love that you have
given me every moment of ever day and this is just a symbol
of how many times you have done that this week,

He smiles and starts to cry,  "Its ok daddy boys can cry too,
Hugging her he tells her that he is so happy and cant believe
what a beautiful little petal he has got in his life.

"Today petal gave me a daisy with a smile, and I cried,

She is my the little lady in my life, my daughter makes me
proud to be a father each and every day my petal..

when i was a little girl
i thought my daddy hung the moon
he worked a lot
but i had the best daddy in the world

when i got a little older
i started to go to my friends' house to play
and i saw their daddies
their daddies were home every day and night
their daddies loved their mommies
their daddies had time for their little girls
but maybe
my daddy just worked a lot. . .

when i was barely a teen
my mommy died
a week later
my dad brought over a new mommy
(but daddy loved mommy)
my dad started telling me lies
(i don't think daddy lied to me..)
my dad has more time for his girlfriends than he does for me
(daddy's only girls were mommy and me)

in my last year of high school
my father left and bought a house
1,102 miles away
he still thinks he's daddy.

Stop mommies, stop daddies

I want to see the stars too,
And chase the lightening bugs like you.

Don’t **** the night,
With all of our lights.

Save it for me.
Don’t steal it with your new bought glee.

May we turn out our lights?
Maybe for just one night?

So that I can raise my eyes,
To the stars above,

And feel the magic and mystery,
The velvety black night brings,          

For now,
And for all of eternity.

Now may we turn down our lights,
And turn some off too,

So that I can grow,
Under this star filled sky

Free from  the glow,
For the rest of my life?

And my children’s
and their children’s too?

Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight

Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape

Summer again

I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening

For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….

She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…

     The queen will be safe here
     from the rabble
     The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
     Among these lofty cliffs
     Between the raging circuit of the tide
     Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
     Here lovers learn
     the debt of love’s bad timing
     “Drink ye all of it!”
     --the potion that assigns our sorrow….
     She will not sleep—
     while I chew this gum--  GUM?

Roll down the window!

Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings

As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity

…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly  
Their hands steady the wheel

She is equipped with sensitive *******
and those other secret places
that ladies give out as prizes
to deserving guys as long as
they adopt the right disguises
of gods, gurus, intellectual giants,
goats, children, father figures, macho brutes,
sugar-daddies, supermen, seminal vessels,
house-repairers, jar openers, jocks, hate objects,
handy shoulders to cry on, emotional support systems,
sensitive, intuitive, yet strong silent types
who can also pay the bills,
tall dark and handsome total strangers,
toy boys, clowns, jugglers, jokers, millionaires,
wood choppers, ******* removers,
bottomless reservoirs of reassurance
or just plain spunky studs when the moon is right.
In fact, anything but woffly wimps.
Oh God, no.  Anything but woffly wimps.
Yes, but what about stoic, steadfast SNAGS,
you know, the Sensitive New Age Guys
who won’t face-shift for a ****?
Yes, well, let's try to sum all this up here right now.
I think that the woman is dripping
with a brimming reservoir
of luscious and sensitive resources on tap for  
the man who can figure out her cosmic kaleidoscope  
of swirling dreams and desires,
which is definitely not to say she can’t be totally independent.
Although please don't be confused.
Friendly boy-next-door types who are handsome,
aren't too hairy, who like to laugh, who have a boyish braggadocio,
who are students, who appear to be intellectuals,
who are not nerds,
and who can **** it in the kitchen, who  can be oh, so cool,
who can convince a maiden that she is in distress,
and is in need of rescuing, while he has
a swaggering hard-on will do, too.
Oooh. You devil.
And if you think this poem is misogynist, misanthropic or myopic,
well, I’ve been around and by now, well,
I really should be panoptic
because I’ve seen all the fads,
and really, it’s sadly too bad
about those poor old
earnest SNAGS.
But you know what?
I don't think I understand anything, because
I'm really a victim of worshiping women.
I'm bedazzled and as blind as the next man, and
yes,
I'm just happy whenever I'm with them.

We were all raised on lies.
Santa Claus, God, Democracy,
all known to be untrue,
in the hearts of even the most earnest
mommies and daddies,
almost certainly untrue, all of it,
as they fed us, the society of lies,
one spoonful at a time into our innocent mouths.

Every mommy and daddy learns why,
as their guilty hearts realize why truth
can’t be told to the glistening, trusting eyes
of their most precious spawn.

Eat up, my dear thing.  Maybe
you’ll find someone else to help share
your burden, maybe to love.
Live long, and watch them all die,
Watch your every labor crumble and blow away,
just in time for all your precious memories
to rot in the ground.

The heart dares not tell the truth, even to itself,
dares not invite the question no
mommy or daddy is prepared to answer:
Why?  Why did you create me in such a world?
Because I wanted someone young to fetch me things.
Because my life was empty.
Because that’s what mommies and daddies do.
Because I’ll die first, so it’s safe to love you.

Before I met her, I wanted to be her. Does that sound stupid? I wanted to be that ****** up ****** that did a bunch of drugs and always had money because she led men on and lived free and just lived life despite a daily brush with death. I was eventually, and I had an amazingly horrible experience.

I met her when I was 13. I spent a lot of time just "babysitting" her really. My other friends hated her. We'd come over and she'd literally go in the closet to shoot up and we'd just be chilling in her bedroom listening to Hole and being really confused as to why she didn't just use the bathroom. But she liked the attention and audience. This might seem cliche or mean or whatever, but it's true.

As my decent friends grew further away from me because I continuously grew closer and closer to her, I did a lot of *******, not nearly as much as I would later on in life. but enough to say, "wow I did a lot of ******* when I was 15" and at the time, it seemed like an accomplishment. Maybe I thought I was cool, I don't know, now I just think I was stupid and weak and regret being like my father.

Obviously, as time went on, I did ******. The first 500 times Natalie offered me it, I said no. I always said no, but she still always asked. If you know a ****** addict, there's something else you probably know. ****** addicts love having other ****** addicts around because you guys will work together to make money and get more. This will probably turn into what it really is and what we were really were, and that's a co-dependent platonic couple, but I didn't know that until just now.

The day I finally did it, my god. My god. My god. My god. My god.

I feel slightly guilty writing this because I don't want to glorify drug abuse but Christ, did it feel good.

We were downstairs watching Hedwig and she gave me the eye to start talking to her mom so she could go upstairs discreetly. Then her mom was like "where'd she go?" so I went to go check, even though I knew.

I walk into the bathroom, scaring the **** out of her. She had lines of ******, diesel, whatever. We called it diesel, I don't know if that's like a common name for it? Is it? Whatever, I said "let me try it."

Why? I don't know why. To this very second I can't remember what I was thinking. She didn't ask, and maybe that's why. But she put some on her hand and I snorted it. I hated the taste. Sometimes I smell it, and I don't know what it is that smells like ******, but I find myself saying out loud, when people are around, "ugh it smells like ******."

This is one of my catchphrases I think, and I am not proud of it anymore.

People always ask me what it felt like the first time. I remember not feeling anything. I remember not feeling guilty for helping Natalie remain a drug addict in her parents house. I remember her pinching me and telling me not be obvious, but oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that it was going to make me feel like a warm pancake that just wanted to sleep wide awake.

Sleeping wide awake, that's a good way to describe how it feels.

I tell people this a lot, this process of drug use, and how I ended up shooting ****** and kind of just ignoring that I was.

I smoked *** and said "well it's not like I'm doing E"
then I did E and said "I'm not doing coke"
then it was "it's not ******"
and then it was "it's not like I'm shooting it."

Once I started shooting it, I didn't have any excuse or cop out, I was just curious as to what else I could inject into my body and became that glorified drug addict who lived free and did anything she wanted and felt like she came out of a book or a movie or a ****** up story you only hear strangers gabbing about on the train.

I was that girl. Natalie was much worse though. But that didn't come until I was about 18.

I had morals, yes even heavily addicted to ******, I had morals. I didn't steal from my family. This was one thing that would not break for me even when I was maybe putting **** in my mouth for money. But that's not even entirely true because I didn't do it for the money, it just happened that way.

So I'm probably 16 at this point in the story. I'm meeting guys off MySpace with her, guys from rich towns that want *** or coke or ******, just guys who can't get it in their towns. She's ******* them, I'm stealing from them. We don't keep friends very long because they know what we're up to after a few times.

She also sold her parents wedding rings, I didn't even know until after the fact, or I would have tried to stop her.

Her mother was so good to me. I spent a lot of time at their house. Her mom always invited me for holidays, despite the huge family they already had coming, because she knew my home life wasn't too good and she just treated me like I imagine you're supposed to treat a daughter you like. She was also very religious, which added to the blinders she had when it came to Natalie. She thought she could pray the drugs away, the way she tried to pray my gay away.

I was absolutely heart broken and completely beside myself the day her mother yelled, "she told me what you did. She told me you took the rings."

I didn't take the rings but what was I supposed to do? Try and convince her that Natalie did? She knew, somewhere she knew, but she didn't want to believe it so I just walked out of the house and never came back. I cried about that for a long time because I loved her mother, so much more than I am trying to say here. She might have been oblivious, but she was the sweetest woman in the world and I feel horrible that she had a daughter like Natalie.

I met so many characters. Chris. I don't remember his last name but it was something really white boyish. He would drive 45 minutes to us so we could get him 8 bags of ****** when he paid for 10, but we'd pocket two. We did this a lot during the day actually. We'd get drugs for people and just never tell them you get a bundle (10 bags) for 80$, and they'd tell their friends we'd go for them, and they'd think the same thing. Why? Oh, because these were very white people that were afraid of the "ghetto." And it was the ghetto, it was Newark, NJ. The corner of Victoria and Garside, what up, what up. Come see me.

I never really liked Chris. He was a musician but he wasn't that good. I think he thought he was Conor Oberst, and at that time, he kind of looked like him. But he was just some rich white kid with an inflated ego and I didn't feel bad ripping him off, or his Trust Fund Baby friends.

I did feel bad though when one of them died in front of us.

So I guess this is where I'll start writing the "**** got real real fast" stuff, now that I've hopefully explained the type of person I am and how I got to this point.


Why drug dealers cut their drugs with poison and whatever else, I'll never know. Bad for business if you ask me, but I've never been a big fan of the business world, but this seems pretty similar.

Natalie is driving Chris' car and we didn't snort any ****** yet, which was weird, but I'm grateful we didn't. We bring it back to Chris and his friends, who are waiting a few towns over for us. They get in the car and are like "just drive around for a bit so we can do this."

They all have separate bags, and I feel terrible I can't remember the girl's name that died, I want to say it was Karen or something like that but I know it wasn't. She just rolls up a bill and snorts out of the bag and within like 10 seconds she's screaming and everyone in the backseat is screaming and I turn around and there's blood pouring out of her nose and it's all over her hands and the car and her boyfriend and Chris and I think her eyes are bleeding but I'm not entirely sure if that's what was happening. And I'm like "What the **** what the ****" because it wasn't a normal nose bleed, this girl was just, flowing blood out of her face.

Natalie is emotionless as always. I'm screaming "get to the hospital get to the ******* hospital" and the girl is like screaming "it hurts oh my god oh my god it hurts" and her boyfriend is like "yo man, what the **** bb are you okay bb."

It's weird that in situations like this everyone repeats themselves but I think your brain kind of stops working and you need to repeat yourself so the rest of you can process the magnitude of ****** up that your eyes are seeing.

Needless to say, Natalie didn't go straight to the hospital, she stopped the car a few blocks away. The girl died within 15 minutes. I don't know why Natalie or I wasn't held accountable for what happened, but I think it had something to do with me telling Chris who the dealer was, and this was the only time in my life I ever gave out a name, even when I was in jail, I didn't rat anyone out. But death is different and anyone who doesn't believe in being a rat when you're faced with that kind of guilt, is a *******.

Natalie got out and started walking, Chris got in the front seat and I followed after Natalie. He did take his friend to the hospital immediately after but Natalie was being inhumane, and it was just better she got out of the car because she probably would have driven us all into a river to avoid being arrested.

I really have no idea why she got out of the car though, she had no fear, I think she was just annoyed, like this girl's death ruined her day when it ruined my life. I guess making a joke out of it makes it easier for me to deal with, but it still isn't. For me, it was monstrous, it was desensitizing, it was mortality showing itself and I was like "I'll never do ****** again." But that was a lie. I found out a week later via MySpace message that the girl had glass (!?) in her bag as well as ****** and I have no idea. I have no ******* idea what why how. I just don't understand that.

Chris still came around for ****** though. And he still brought his friends, just not the ones that were there that day.

What am I, like 17? I'm still senior in high school and I have really ****** concept of age, and I meet this other guy.

MY GOD WHAT A MAN.

Yeah, I said it. He was 38, built like Hulk Hogan, and had the sweetest smile and the most honest blue eyes I have ever seen.

He also had been out of jail for a whole year before we met him. He was tied to a car ring where people would pay him to steal cars. He was in jail for 6 years and when I turned 21, I heard he landed himself back in jail for trying to **** someone or something.

He was nice though. I couldn't figure out why he was so obsessed with Natalie. But the niceness wore out and I finally learned what a creepy ******* he was.

He used to ride his bicycle to meet up with us and he had a lot of money, he just wasn't allowed a license. He was a construction worker for the union, made like 60$ an hour and what do you know, he was a ****** addict.

He told me how they get drugs inside jail. You get a girl to come visit you and sit down with you. You kiss them, like make out kissing because that's all you need. That like 4 seconds before someone is like HEY CUT IT OUT, and they have the drugs wrapped up in their mouth, and you get the picture. Just in case you were wondering how that works.

He also told me that I reminded him of his sister, that died of a drug overdose.
He also showed me his **** one day when he was at my house alone with me.
He also ****** off on my couch and tried to get me to **** it.
Then he tried to get me just to touch it.
Then I asked him to leave.
And then some other stuff happened that I don't feel comfortable writing about but I probably will another day.

He turned out to be a ******* ****** and I don't really trust anyone with pretty eyes anymore. But he was fun. Once he started trying to impress me, a 17 year old girl, and Natalie who was like 22, he decided he'd go back to his old ways and steal cars. I can't count the amount of porsches I've been in or how many miles per hour we went or how many car accidents there were that we shouldn't have walked away from it unharmed. He never hit anyone else, just walls and guardrails, rolled into ditches.

Seat belts, seriously, wear them. I don't anymore, but I'm going to start again.

He used to give me a lot of money. A Lot Of Money, just to hang out with him and watch him ******* and ****. I don't know sometimes when I think about these things.

Natalie did something stupid, she got caught stealing from him. He didn't mind giving us money and I think that's why he was so mad. He would have just handed it to her if she asked. So he started coming to my house a lot in stolen cars, then I introduced him to my other teenager female friends and it worked out really well for me.

He was gone for good and it was better that way.

I was still only snorting ****** up until this time of my life. The taste of ****** and the amount I puked from it was becoming too much and I was losing a lot of weight and it wasn't healthy looking so I decided to start shooting. I didn't even do it for the normal reason which is, you get higher, faster and harder.

Natalie and I are in a bathroom of my friend's house whose mother is handicapped, bed bound, so we just go there all the time to get high. The mother is also diabetic so there's a lot of unused empty needles. I help her shoot. And it's scary, she would shake and tremble and it was really bad. Sometimes I'd think to myself, "it's like your body is trying to stop you from doing it."

But if you like blood, watching someone shoot up is really cool. You mix water with the powder and, ew now that I'm thinking about it, what the ****. You wrap your arm up, so your veins pop up, put the needle into a vein and you pull some blood out, I don't know the reason behind this, and you shoot it back into yourself.

I'm really uncomfortable with the whole idea of shooting so I shot into my hands because I had very prominent veins there. I eventually started shooting speed *****, ****** and coke, which was too much fun for someone as emotionally unstable as I was, to be doing something so completely unpredictable. The first time I shot ******, I never snorted it again.

I shot Jack Daniels once and never did that again either. I figured I'd get drunk really fast, right? Wrong, it burned like a ***** and I started smashing my hand into the bathroom sink screaming "WHAT THE **** WHY DOES IT BURN."

It's whiskey, Audrey. Whiskey.

I met so many more people when I was shooting. I became friends with an entire *******, all the strippers, their boyfriends, their "daddies" and just, those kinds of people, and like I said before, I'll write about that another day. But that is where I met Janelle and Kevin, aka, Jack and Sally. They were these really gothy ****** addicts and this is going to be ridiculous, but it was so beautiful when they shot up.  

Kevin would be like "okay, baby, ready?" and he'd caress her arm and she'd wrap it, and he'd kiss her and then kiss her arm, then he'd put the needle in and I'd be sitting on the bed sobbing because I thought it was so cute, in like, a really disgusting "I'm clearly on drugs" kind of way.

I didn't hang out with them for that long, Natalie ****** Kevin and that ****** because Kevin and I used to make forts inside the house and talk a lot about nothing, but it was fun and I felt like a child, and I liked feeling like I was a child and that it was okay I was acting the way I was.

A bunch of people that hung out there eventually started doing ****** and I couldn't stand it so I had to get away from a bit because my guilt came back and I felt like I was killing everyone.


Natalie started setting up drug deals so they'd get ripped off if they went without her, she started turning on me, stealing from me, she had me set up for a deal and her dealer put a gun in my mouth when I started arguing with him about how he gave me like wood chips or whatever. It was not ******, but we still ran like thieves together.

She introduced me to the next guy we were going to use, his name was Pablo. He was about 42 and lived in his parents basement. He was an outstanding artist, I mean, I couldn't figure out why he was in his parents basement with the amount of talent he had. We used to smoked embalming fluid with him and angel dust.

Now, if you ever want to know what it feels like to be Alice in Thunderland, smoke embalming fluid. I went on a 4 day drug binge that consisted of nothing but dust, fluid, her

So I've got this weird thing for olda daddies
I like that they're bald and ride around with the caddies
At the golf course on Sundays
Probably with they're olda babies
(which really means wife)
But that doesn't phase me!
Sometimes an olda daddy isn't even really an olda daddy
Sometimes it's my good friend Max,
but that doesn't make him too happy
Sometimes it's my friend Even,
But Ev the man doesn't mind!
He's got cool olda daddy hair and a fresh olda daddy mind!
He embraces his oldest olda daddy self!
He knows whats up!
He feels rich in his olda daddy wealth!
Because, not all of my friends are olda daddies
And Even is aware of this, his girlfriend is Cassie
And that's my friend too, don't get me wrong
But Cassie's a younga babby, this is a whole different song
We sing together, we drop all the baby beats
We'll drop them on you any time that we please
You never know what to expect from us younga babies
We show up out of nowhere and drive you mad crazy
That's what's so special about us babies in the world
Doesn't matter who you are, boy or girl
Everyone on earth gets pretty weird sometimes,
But us babies take the cup! That should ease your mind anytime!
Olda this, olda that, younga who, younga why
Come on gang, let yourself go!
I want to see you all give your inner baby it's best try!

the door slams shut

i hear the sound of mommy and daddy yelling.

cursing. i hear mommy screaming daddies name.

silence

i hear the quiet footsteps, boots dragging across the carpet floor.

"anabelle" daddy yelled.

i hushed, wanting to cry.

what happened to mommy, i wondered.

i heard the pound on the door

"anabelle LET ME IN" this always happened.

i thought i was daddies little girl.

he was intoxicated, the known smell entered my nose.

he sweared multiple times, tears rushing down my cheeks.

i heard the sound of sirens in the distance.

"come out with your hands up, paul!"

daddies name was called.

he banged harder on the closet door, until it finally fell to pieces.

"anabelle!" he screamed angrily in my face.

the police was right behind him, and i didn't say a single word.

"let her go" and i was dropped like a penny.

i saw my mommy on the floor like a rag doll.

battered and bruised, but beautiful.

but now, she was gone.

I’ve been hearin a lot of bad mouthin about socialism ever since the president tried to provide affordable healthcare to the working poor… I also hear some carping when someone suggested that the minimum wage paid to workers should allow them to buy the necessities of life… I don't hear too much bad things about medicare and social security…. I guess thats not really socialism…. I don't hear too much about the big bailouts of the bankers with government money after they put us in a recession… privatized gain and socialized risk must also be a strain of a special kind of entitlement...

We’ll I think this whole socialism business needs some clarity about what its all about…. so I made a list of socialist heroes so my fellow American’s can get a better feel for what going on with this red menace...

Heres a list of socialist heroes….

Jesus Christ of Nazareth...I just can't get past the Beatitudes thing. Since all the po folks of the earth get to inherit all the good stuff when they pass on.... I figure heaven gotta be some kinda socialist paradise....Some don’t buy the idea that Jesus is building a Mar-A-Largo estate for Donald Trump... while having the rest of us live in our cramped apartments…. Jesus did say he’s building many rooms but the po folks get first dibs on everything… For all the doubting Thomas’s and Thomasina’s get Sean Hannity’s fastidious fact checkers to read the good news in the Gospel of Matthew.

Jack London... To think he’s been spreading the Red Menace in the mind of America’s innocent children for near a century now…. When Michelle Bachmann finds out about this she'll introduce a bill to change the title of The Call of the Wild to the Call of the Commies... I don't think it will affect Sarahcuda because she don’t read at a sixth grade level yet. Alaska is safe for now....And all comrade citizens are doing just fine thank you.... spending their annual royalty checks they get from the state for all the North ***** oil drilling...  Hell during Sarah's half term governorship... she did what every self respecting socialist despot would do... she paid out a special $1,200.00 Permanent Fund royalty dividend to all comrade "North to the Future" citizens.....

Carl Sandburg... The People Yes? Sang the songs of the People Yes! Celebrated a broad shouldered, hog butchering America who wrote a biography with love and affection for our country’s greatest Republican President....  Whats that about?...And his treatment of Billy Sunday...a back in the day,.. aw shucks,... from the backwoods holler... Kenneth Copeland like... Believer's Voice of Victory preacher of his day... who hurled fire and brimstone at cowering congregants so when he passed the plate they filled it up with hoards of heavenly manna to fatten his bank account overstuffed with moth eaten earthly treasure… I'm sure even Pat Robertson believes Sandburg’s soul lies beyond the sweet redemption of Jesus...

George Orwell… Unlike **** Cheney... who said he had better things to do when his country called on him to serve during the Vietnam War... Orwell’s fervor for democracy was so great he left his native land to lay his life on the line to fight against the fascist menace in Spain... When he got into a battle he came across an enemy combatant taking a ****. He later said, “I let him go. How do you shoot a guy with his pants down?”... A deep respect for the humanity of others is clear evidence of a socialist's fatal flaw and why the righteous laissez faire American’s hate it so....Unfortunately Orwell and his comrades lost this one to Franco and his sugar daddies Il Duce and Mein Fuhrer… but we’ll keep up the good fight…..

Dorothy Day… This saint of the proletariat kept the soup kettle brewin to feed the working poor during the Great Depression... She spent her own money to build shelters to house catholic workers and didn't make a **** dime off the vulnerability of their screaming want... A squandered opportunity maybe…. definitely a coocoo loon according to the weltentstehung of Ayn Rand… so popular around these parts these days...but Dorothy laid up some serious dosh in heaven for her labors here on earth…. for where your treasure is…. there you will find your heart also… Anyone who knew her said Dorothy's heart was always in the right place….

Albert Einstein…. this guy was no dope….he knew enough to make make moral distinctions of exploitation and greed… and the self condemnation of conspicuous consumption...the destructive capacity of unfettered power….and worked hard to figure out equations to end the wastefulness of war... he did teach at Princeton though… more proof of the red infestation of the universities…. greed is good…. knowledge is bad….

Eugene V. Debs…. went to prison for his beliefs… got a million votes from jail… thats how devious these reds are.... even from prison they run for president and fool the working people into participating in the democratic process…. he believed everyone should vote… and would probably be imprisoned today for violating all the laws being passed that take voting rights away… gotta watch the reds…. next thing you know they'll close the electoral college and force politicians to pay a 100% poll tax on all the money they take from their corporate sponsors….

WEB DuBois… the souls of an oppressed people is the soul of a nation...ain’t it written that a nation is judged on how it treats its most vulnerable?.... Mr. DuBois fought to bring justice to all those lacking the means and rights in a nation teeming with diverse groups with needs and wants… it ain’t just about afro american jazz… its about the blues sung by all people on the outside looking in… he believed it unjust that only a small portion of American’s held the keys to the doors of prosperity… everyone should have a key to unlock the doors of opportunity… everyone…. that includes workers, immigrants, women, gay folks, religious minorities, disabled and the poor and lots other people I haven’t thought of yet…. but what about the real Americans...whose gonna stand up for them??????????

Woody Guthrie…. this country belongs to us… next time a frackin jacker comes to tear up your land and dump poison in your well… next time a strung out strip miner wants to plow away the top of your mountain and dump arsenic in your river…. next time a GMO attorney says the crops you planted don’t belong to you because they are contractually patented to him…. next time a big oil company says that they got a right to pollute the oceans and **** the fish so they can pump out a passel of fossil fuel… next time a bankster comes knocking at the door to take your house away… next time a tea slappin Teabagger starts screaming that the Koch Brothers should be allowed to own the national parks so they can cut the trees down for firewood…. tell em...you heard it on good authority…. that this land is your land…. not theirs….. if thats socialism…. I’m liken it….

American Socialists

Woody Guthrie: This Land is Your Land

Oakland
10/21/13
jbm

When i was a little girl;
I thought my daddy hung the moon..
He worked a lot,
but i had the best daddy in the world.

When i got a little older;
I started to go to my friends' house to play,
But then I'd see their daddies.
Their daddies were home every day and night,
their daddies loved their mommies,
their daddies had time for their little girl..
But maybe,
my daddy just worked a lot...

When i was barely a teen;
mommy wasn't present..
A week later, dad brought over a new mommy,
yet he'd always say how much he loved MY mommy.
Dad, then started telling me lies,
yet I never thought my daddy would've lied to me.

Dad has more time;
for his girlfriends than he does for me.
Before mommy died. Mommy and I,
were his number one girls..

In my years of high school;
My father left and bought a house,
So that I could never see him again.

He still thinks he's daddy.

Picketed, another generation pushing for advancement in the age of reason,
Logical, radical movement
Trying for less invasive measures of medication
To take the blinders off the prejudice of non-conformity and reach the masses
A promise to ease the pain, promote healing, the overall good
Met with violence, verbal slander, from mommies and daddies afraid of a world outside their white fence,
Fearing independence, the expansion of the mind, an openness in their youth to allow radical change.

The bloated belt bent backwards, white collar replaced by hedonistic practical libertarians in pursuit of happiness for all
Sick, disgusted with the man, the one behind the podium whom allows for this animosity on a group that did everything right, legally sound
Tired of hearing the whispers across a university, the hopeful gushing’s of elated individuals bright- eyes naive
Of a system that won’t allow something this controversial into the public, afraid to lose their hold on a potential capitol
On something that should be as easy to find in a free market as Captain Crunch, Coca-Cola, and Rice Krispy Treats.

Grinding down, fluffy-green-crystal bud
Dank yellow smoke smoldering out of pipes end, seeping out of closed lips billowing out of nostrils
Dragon fire down a throat coated with a week worth of soot, and experience
Choking, coughing, laughing away the misery
The disappointment in her fellow man to refuse to even consider the validity of a proven product
Knowing that if it was anything else a miracle drug composed of fairy dust, unicorn hair and the ***** of a thousand angels; approval would have been immediate.
Whip lash.

Flick, flame, fumigating
Baking myself into a calmer state, watching with ******* grace
Twitching with the need to take action
To control this negative reaction, to slap the of face limp **** conservatives
So consumed with themselves, blind to the pain of people who have lost hope in other forms of relief
Alternative therapy shut off by a system obsessed with its war on drugs.

The imaginers of now were children once,

each day they each imagined tomorrow.

Their daddies had just won the war
happy days were really here again, this time.
---
Now, we see what we see, it's not what we saw.

And this is better than I imagined.
My first oral book report was on 1984, in 1962.

Percentages and stats, the odds,
out of 8 billion…

I carry my weight, saltwise,
I'm light, too. Immaterial in fact.
I watched the internet take form
before my very eyes,
magi technic never seen since Darius the Mede.

Good job, geeks.
Reared on radio waves your
grandfathers never heard,

your signal receptors from mito-mom,
oh, what a plan. The promised ones.

Many sons.
hmmm 60 cycle white noise in the field,
the field of fields,
Future Farmers of America and stuff

Powers we imagined,
a color TV we could watch
in the backseat for days on Route 66,

a restaurant just for kids

Toys 'r' Us oh, wow,
those came and went

and our Grand kids
are imagining tomorrow,
doin' fine with less of what we thought was cool,

taking for granted all I
accepted as granted, in the "It is Finished"
Golden Parachute
Package deal,
Grace and Peace
that multiplies.

Daddies going to **** himself
he told me last night
told me he was dying
and god does he do a lot of dying

I know my dad is a compulsive writer
the fool works himself to death
but look at the hunger in his eyes
I think he will live forever

He gave me the banners
that burn of poetry pure
and I cried as he cried
as he walked out the door


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

I am to tell my friends about the Little People with their eyes all green + needy for their Firemen Daddies spent all their time looking out of windows/ locking eyes/ opening car doors/ stereos and cereal bowls. I can’t be held responsible for what’s been published in the Upanishads, creation myths and scripture—better send me up to that little coffee shop in Ireland where the rat-tailed people go and wonder/spell ubiquitous lessons out in the snow. I am tired—tell my patients there will be no more tomorrows. Tell them I am cold stranded in the produce section—lecturing to Thomas on the fuel pumps. Send my mother a letter of sincerity & stamped with all the times I went out looking for images. In mirrors I was hungry for the cool essence of weightless sight. Tell my father mime out my appearance live in perfect unison. I am no agent of response. Just an eggshell hard-on gawking at the puddle markers blessed in disguise.

America, she bleeds for a full week
fireworks, freedom, long sighs and holy nights
spend days with the couchless and meek
then light one up, sink between in her thick thighs

underage trickery, plastic cards
and daddies to sneak in clubs
lauv on the radio and fake love throbbing hard
forget ancient grudges, clean cars with new suds

party again, launching fire in the sky
avoid the cops and pray salvation
don't come around too soon, twilight and the sea
bug guts on my screen, drinking, repeat until the sun's return

She was a Hatfield
And I  a McCoy
It was just love beween
A girl and a boy

Our daddies grandaddies
And those from before
Might think us irreverant
To open that door

She lived two towns over
It was love at first sight....
We would slip out and meet
Every Sat. night
The neighbors all thought
It just wasn't right
But we were in love
And it wasn't our fight

Only two counties apart
She lived in West V
My home was Kentucky
The suitor was me

To us it was foolish
The feud was so old
Even though it was famous
From the tales that were told

She lived two towns over
It was love at first sight....
We would slip out and meet
Every Sat. night
The neighbors all thought
It just wasn't right
But we were in love
And it wasn't our fight


We'd meet after dark
At a barn down the line
We were not feuding people
For that night she was mine

We would run off together
After school was complete
We'd change both our names
We would be real discreet

She lived two towns over
It was love at first sight....
We would slip out and meet
Every Sat. night
The neighbors all thought
It just wasn't right
But we were in love
And it wasn't our fight

Our folks would reject us
And spoil our joy
Cause here was a Hatfield
With a real McCoy

For now, we'll be secret
Share our love cross the fence
And we'll wait till our kin folk
Wake up with some sense

its a funny thing you know,
something you shouldn't have to long for,
something you shouldn't have to deserve,
yet we are left with nothing but the idea that it is what we need to earn.

we are taught daddies little girl is always going to be the heart broken,
and daddies son will always be the heart breaker.

that mommies stay home and take care of babies, while daddies work long hours and **** their secretaries.

that little girls love pink, little boys love blue,
little boys can out run you, but can you outrun the demand of their love?

When you got the
Whats-the-use’s
cuz ole' Scratch
done pulled off yet another coup…

Remember to remind yourself to
keep on…

When you don’t think you can…
When you feel so alone…
Dig out… from under…
cuz if we stay
down
then wrong will win…

Yes…
it is a long and dusty road...

but let us not lay prostrate
no matter how tempting
in the aftermath... and
seemingly well worn path
of insanity's destruction...

get up
Beloved…

Lift your eyes to the hills
From whence your help comes… and
Speak a word
To your self…
Encourage
Your self...
Lay hands on
Your self...
Dust your own self off… and
Keep on… keep on…
Run On!

I heard the singer say
“I think I’m gonna run on, to see what the end is gonna be… “
And that feels
mighty good to my soul… so
Let’s run on…
And see what the end is gonna be…

Take my hand
Beloved…
Let's run on
Together…

And see what the end
Is gonna be…

Daddy, where have you gone?
I remember you holding my hand
and walking me to school.
You said "I love you" and
turned and walked away
So tell me
Daddy, where have you gone?

Daddy, where are you?
Are you safe,...happy
Momma's here, so is
Little Joey.
So tell me
Daddy, where are you?

Daddy, are you going to come home?
I made potato pancakes hoping you would.
Little Joey doesn't remember you,
but Momma and I do.
So tell me
Daddy, are you going to come home?

Daddy, have you witnessed death?
Momma killed the pigs yesterday,
you use to do that.
I have witnessed death,
So tell me,
Daddy, have you witnessed death?

Daddy, why did you leave?
I watched you walk away.
You turned and waved
I never saw you again.
So tell me
Daddy, why did you leave?


Daddy, are you happy?
Little Joey is always smiling,
it makes me and Momma
happy too.
So tell me,
Daddy, are you happy?

Daddy, why did you leave?
Were you angry with me?
Were you angry with little Joey?
Were you angry with Momma?
So tell me
Daddy, why did you leave?

Daddy, are you in the War?
that is what Suzzie said.
Her daddy is in it.
So tell me
Daddy, are you in the War?

Daddy, are you safe?
I heard Momma talking
about the War.
she said it isn't safe.
So tell me
Daddy, are you safe?  

Daddy, what is war like?
I think it is ******
and lots of people die.
Lots of girls lose their Daddies
So tell me
Daddy, what is war like?

Daddy, are you hungry?
We have shortages
of food now.
I am hungry.
So tell me
Daddy, are you hungry?

Daddy, why have you been gone so long?
It has been
three years since you
left me at school.
So tell me,
Daddy, why have you been gone so long?

Daddy, can you come home?
Momma is older now.
Little Joey isn't little anymore.
But I am still the little girl you
left at school.
So tell me
Daddy, can you come home?

Daddy, are you dead?
Joey thinks you are.
Momma refuses to think so
I don't know what I think.
So tell me
Daddy, are you dead?

Daddy, are you in Heaven?
Are there angles?
can I come to Heaven if you are there?
So tell me
Daddy, are you in Heaven?

Daddy, are you missing?
Suzzie's daddy is,
and I thought you might be too.
So tell me,
Daddy, are you missing?

Daddy, do you miss me?
Momma misses you,
so does Joey, even though he doesn't remember
you.
I miss you too.
So tell me,
Daddy, do you miss me?

Daddy, will you be there for my wedding?
I have always wanted you to be there,
But now Joey is here,
He is going to give me away
For my wedding, if you aren’t there,
So tell me
Daddy, will you be there for my wedding?

Daddy, will you be there for the birth of your first grandchild?
Momma will be,
And I want you to be too.
So tell me,
Daddy, will you be there for the birth of your first grandchild?



Daddy, did you find Momma?
She left yesterday, she
Wanted to see you,
Just like I want to see you.
So tell me,
Daddy, did you find Momma?

Daddy, did you meet John?
He was my second born,
He died last week.
Did Momma meet him?
So tell me,
Daddy, did you meet John?

Daddy, will you meet me in Heaven?
I will be coming soon,
Joey went to the war like you.
I want to see him before
I leave,
So tell me,
Daddy, will you meet me in Heaven?

Daddy, do you miss me?
I missed you tons,
Over the years, but now I will
See you again,
Daddy, this is my last breath,
I will see you soon, but Daddy please,
Tell me,
Did you miss me like I missed you?

Knicks

Waiting at the bus stop,
Jamming to some hip hop,
Checkin’ on my wrist watch
Clock is running tick-tock

And he made his way down the block
Walking in my direction,
With his face hanging behind that faded fitted

He is the boy that never goes home
Who thinks selling dope and
having high hopes makes him grown

Late nights on street corners,
Protecting urban borders,
Claiming blocks for blood,
selling rocks for what?

He nodded at me and I smiled back
not ever ignoring the bloodstains on his shoe laces
He was a gangster

And I never understood how such a bright boy
could be such a coward
Because that’s what they are all
Cowards who hide behind colors
Blue and red tied brothers
who leave their sisters and mothers
How could you?

Whose familiar face standing beside me
As if we never shared the same last name
Cameron

For all those times that you pushed me from the doorway
Just to kiss the sunset with your piff

I prayed for your protection
I prayed that you would never forget
mommies’ and daddies’ lesson
and that my love for you will never lessen

And I prayed that a bullet will never befriend your skin, I prayed
That someday you will understand
that being a brave street soldier in the dark
still made you a coward come sunrise

And sometime I feel that you may be color blind
Because I do not understand how you see strength
in your blacks and reds
When you have blacks and blues tattooed all over you.

So tell me what side do you belong to
when your lips are synced supo....
but your eyes are swimming in cripped colored kisses
mixed with hints sdfnarega...
ajrngjeag...

They got you
now you have an appetite for revenge

too proud to bleed for the bullet
yet quick to let finger tips lit triggers
your fine arms are too short to box with God

I remember when you told me
that you favorite rapper was TuPac
and I bet you wonder if heaven has got a ghetto

but you will never know because attempting to play God
and pimping mother nature
will never get you high enough to get there

so he will just send his angels down to tell you
that it is TuPac for one more gangster

and now you are off to hell’s home, homie
where you won’t have back pocket
for your blood colored bandannas to hold on to
like umbilical cords connecting you to the wind
you will just be dead skin
lost like the next of kin
of all your other blood brothers who sin

and all your fighting for meaning nothing any more
because in hell you will no longer
have your boys willing to die for you

just demons waiting to dance with you
holding out red roses that used to be white
before they used them to clean the messes
you made when you were still alive
what are you thinking?

you coward
running from your own light
shaking hands with the darkness
as if you were never taught to recognize the sun
mommie’s son
my brother

I just wanted to make you come home
make you breakfast in the morning
and remind you how beautiful blood can be
when it is not used as paint on concrete canvases
but when it is served aeruhgiureg on kitchen tables..

and as my bus pulls up,
I rummage through my pockets for my dollar
wishing I too had a faded fitting to hide my face beneath
because I would hate for you to see me cry for you too

and as I step onto that bus and walk over to my seat
I silently pray to God
that he will forgive me for calling you a coward

because who am I to call you a coward
when I couldn’t even find the strength to tell you how I felt
couldn’t share my quick healed cuts with you
and the tears that raced down my cheeks

so fast to prove that blood is indeed thicker than water
My brother

you stayed at the bus stop as we drove away
and I don’t know if my bus wasn’t going in your direction
or if you just lost your direction
years ago in the red silk lining of papi’s coffin

but I won’t dwell
I will sleep tonight
not forget to dedicate my prayers to you.

Wake up in the morning,
get dressed and
if you find yourself missing your little sister
I will just be...

Waiting at the bus stop,
Jamming to some hip hop,
Checkin’ on my wrist watch
Clock is running tick-tock

Dear Dad,
I love you - oh so much!
I understand
that you were the one
who stood beside me
ever since I was little
ever since Mom lost it
and fled off, eventually.
But I still thank Him
for every single day
He gave you to me.
And Dad,
I know you're scared -
Daddies get scared too -
And I understand
that ever since Mom -
you have lost too much
But you won't ever lose me, you see?
I won't ever leave you!
The wind won't ever carry me away
to places you can't go
Well-
unless it takes me to the ladies' room
then you'd have to let me go.
But after that,
I'll find you outside and
hold your hand.

Dear Dad,
There's no need for P-38, no.
That P-38
You swore you'd use
that on every boy
who breaks my heart
But Dad, cant you see?
It's okay!
I want to get my heart broken.
I want to know how pain
is associated
after the expiration of love
I want to know how you felt before
Because I want to be wary,
I want to take caution
on the next dates I'd have.
And I have to get hurt
to build my own muscles
to become as strong as you.
So that the next man who
breaks my heart
I wont cry so hard all night
that I'd feel the guilt
because I kept you awake.
You'd then call me a princess
and pledge to avenge me
because princesses, you say,
shouldn't be in distress.

But Dad, I am not a damsel
of course not!
I am a warrior!
A ******* goddess at war.
You have to ingest
the fact that your baby girl
has grown into a soldier
in a war she trained herself into
because it is her war.
Keep your P-38, Dad.
There's no need for that.
She's in a battle -
let her win it
without you.

But dearest Dad,
at the end of the day,
I will fall inside the
castle of your arms
and tell you my
whimsical adventures
and assure you
that I'm still your baby girl.
That way,
you won't feel old and
you won't feel like disappearing.
Because you are my King
and kings don't leave
their daughters alone in the woods.

*

Dear Dad,
Somebody broke my heart today.
Where are you?

Camping out is an experience everyone should have
The cool grass in the morning and the birdsong
Timeless air keeps you alive, energises the soul.
Freezing feet and nose is inevitable as blanket or sleeping bag
Don't quite make the grade
The hard ground or undersheet has a smell that remains
In your nose and in your memory
Bringing the place back to you in your latter years.
Once breakfast is cooking everything seems OK
The worst part is the transition of night into day
Then day into night,
It's easy, stay up and just look upwards
No light pollution, no clouds, no sound
Drink in the inky blackness as Orion's three winking lights
Demonstrate how wonderful life is
But more importantly how small we are
Tiny dim orange lights glow in the tents and vans
Muffled noises diminish as the occupants climb
Into their cosy beds and roll themselves up
To keep out the cold, the inevitable insects
One by one the darkness becomes complete
Until no more music can be heard or
Voices, rustling sounds or whimpering children
Wanting their teddy bear or comfort blanket
Mummies and Daddies soothing
The silence is deafening save a cool breeze
Just flapping the tent canvas, small cracking
Sounds as it rolls and then straightens.
Rolls then straightens gently, gently, gently
The guy ropes straining a little then relaxing
Another night comes to the campsite
Enveloped in darkness all are safe and inside
Their little tent or van
Goodnight campers, sleep tight.

Max Hale

I'm so proud to be the Father
of the lovely young lady
that you have turned out to be.
There's none other I would rather
for a daughter because you see;
You my love mean the world to me.

Daddy has his "toys" still, he keeps them in good condition,
His sentimental joys or whatever he may want to "need,"
His toy car, his toy planes, his toy guns and ammunition,
And can you sense them? Millions of them, spinning at full speed,
At thousands of miles an hour, drilling to make the oil  bleed,
Just to make these toys be everything we'll ever know or see.

These "handy helpers" help themselves to all of their toys,
Vaguely I feel quite amused, they've given us everything?
So to speak they've "protected us," blown up and destroyed,
These things have clothed our bodies-whether or not-it's "free,"
And every day these are our "heroes," our micro-manage "masters,"
The ones who made this world the way it is so they can all succeed.

So I ask you this, did it ever occur to anyone here this is just a game?
That I never asked for any of this, never signed up to keep on playing,
But still we're all a ****** lot to ask for less, we're all insane,
Sorry! I just can't help it, I'm not just the one for living in this craze,
I'd rather have the other world, this one of golden sun and sand,
Of warmth and freedom to explore, rather then work for my old man.

She rose the lifted gypsy smile
Little women Big-spender
Gimic
Desperate housewives selling
their soulful tears epidemic
This wasn't 666 Satan heart broke
Got to Lee Remick when she spoke
Going to Denmark Gypsy booth

You could feel the white satin
Saturday in the park dictator
with Stalin, her lips moistened
with her watermelon
But why so manic
Zero tears to panic

City frantic the Rose sensual ******

Over a tear-drop dangling
Love waiting anticipating
How she smiles her earring
drops down waves
fight her fear
The big whale
don't flip my tear

Holiday she's the jingle cash
register Knighting meets Gale
nothing didn't register
Let me entertain you, shy tease
Natalie, Clue lounge tears Grunge

So strange they stripped away
scarecrow harvest October
Remember the Nile love
November
The nightmare gypsy
unfortunate events
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The holiday wasn't
exactly a  Supercalifragilistic
*$ ++ monarch
But she wears herself whip cream
lick
Going for the blue crying her eyes
out "Blue-Terry Cloth"  was sick
eye velvet' the men of the cloth

So religiously afraid of the
Goth  Rosy Lee path
Left her aroma mark
The world is a blackout
Her shoutbox rosy boot
So creepy like a fox-trot
So much to upkeep
Memory lane yellow
brick road

Brown-coffee-accident spilled
she yelled demons allowed
  The buyer made me
Accountant clicking tears

Gypsy  tug of war
Doll Raggetty Annie Oakley
Crystal Expensive tear
doesn't come cheap money
50 winks who wants to sleep
Rose Pomedeur widow weeps
What a square Mr bigfoot
Get off of my cloud boot
Moved her rolling stone


Her tear was in the plate he didn't
even have the heart to pick it up
French danish pastry so prim and
proper  
Another naked spy bad romance
Her cry needed to be homemade
like her rose candles
The roaring twenty- she's 13 going
on thirty
Gypsy of forty your getting old
but flirty
  (Shes so Harvard) Sugar daddies
forever young
Help me Rhonda teardrop tipsy
Graduation Cap the eye owl gypsy
Jeremy the beamer drummer
Gypsy Rose hummer
A thousand tears her death card
People have no regard

Living on a crystal tear end
He's her bookend so beat in
her beatnik house
All staged Cher the Gypsy outfits
Cry babes girl product
What conduct Rose -Lee spanked
on her knee tears popped the waterbed
He never showed one tear
Cry me a river crystalline diary
All preliminaries
We missed her lonely sober tear

Mona Lisa Mona Lisa how the men
have met you how death becomes
you
I'm not buying your cry I was deeply
hurt it set such an impact
The -new- Boy George culture of tears
Over-erase she highly medicated
More I see you having affairs
happy, sad, overjoyed,
you have been had

Carribean Depp Pirate rotten teeth
Statue of liberty is crying at birth

I am not going to lower my
standards just skip
Cinderella so sinister to sweep
Wizard at her boutique
Mysteriously eyes unique
Best tear to enhance is always
the antique now start crying