i check my facebook page 36 times a day for the sole purpose of making sure i have not accidentally posted a **** photo of myself

i reread an email 13 times before pressing send to ensure i have not written something in the email that could convict me of a crime

if i ever end up taking a stage , when asked if i allow flash photography i always want to say “ no ” because i’m terrified flash photography will give me epilepsy
i know it doesn’t work like that , still

i never eat nuts on an airplane out of fear of that i will suddenly develop a nut allergy and if i have to asphyxiate
i don’t want it to happen at 30,000 feet

twice in the last two years i’ve been aborted from an airplane for running screaming down the aisles as the plane was taking off

i can’t walk through san francisco without worrying my indigestion is the beginning of an earthquake

i brace for tsunamis besides lakes in colorado
i’m not joking
the last time i saw niagara falls i couldn’t take it
it was too much much
i had to plug my ears to look at it and close my eyes to listen

generally i can’t do all my senses at the same time they are too much much

like if you touch me without warning , whoever you are , it will take everything i have to not hate you

imagine your hands are electrical sockets and i am constantly aware that i am 70% water
it’s not that i’ve not tried to build a dam


ask my therapist who pays her mortgage

my cost of living went up
at five years old when i told my mother i have to stop going to birthday parties because every time i hear a balloon pop i feel like i’m gonna get murdered in the heart


last year a balloon popped on the stage at a concert and i started crying in front of the whole crowd
plugged my ears and kept repeating the word “ LOUD LOUD LOUD LOUD ”
it was super ****

that’s what i have to do
super ****

like when i asked the super cute barista 11 times ‘ are you sure this is decaffeinated ? are you sure this is decaffeinated ? are you sure this ’ - YES
i drink decaffeinated and still jitter like a bug running from the
bright bright bright

i have spent years of my life wearing a tight rubber band hidden beneath my hair so my brain could have a hug


i only ever wear a tie so that when i convince myself
i’m choking my senses have something they are certain they can blame

as a kid i was so certain i would die the way of  meteor falling on my head
i would go whole weeks without looking at the sky
because i didn’t want to witness the coming of my own death

i started tapping the kitchen sink seven times to build a shield

my mother started making lists of everything i thought would **** me in hopes that if i saw my fears
they would disappear

bless her heart ,
but the first time i saw that list i started filling a salad bowl with bleach and soaking my shoe laces overnight
so in the morning when i ironed them they would be so bright i would be
certain i had control over how much dark could break into my light
how much jack hammer could break into my heart
my spine it has always been a lasso that could never catch my breath

i honestly can’t imagine how it would feel to walk into a room full of people and not feel the roof collapsing on my
‘ NO NO NO '

i am not fine

fine is the suckiest word
it never tells the truth

and more than anything i have ever been afraid of i am terrified of lies
how they war the world
how they sound by our tongues
how they bone dry the marrow

how did we get through high school without being taught dr. king spent two decades having panic attacks ?
avoided windows
jumped at thunder

i think we are all part flight the fight
part run for your life
part ‘ please please please like me ’
part can’t breathe
part scared to say you’re scared
part say it anyway

you panic button collector
you clock of beautiful ticks
you run out the door if you need to
you flock to the front row of your own class
you feather everything until you know you can always ,
always shake like a leaf on my family tree and know you belong here

you belong here and everything you feel is okay
**everything you feel is okay

Dearest Reader,


My name is Margot Dylan, and I'm a pariah.

On the 16th of April, I told my mother that I was gay. She threw the clay mug that I made for her before she found out I was gay, against the floral, peeling wallpaper mess of a wall, in our kitchen. The decaffeinated peppermint green tea left a wonderful aroma that almost cleansed the room of the stench of 'lesbian'.

I met Dylan Dunham a few days after that, and, a few days later, she was the first girl that I ever loved.

Dylan wore a red flannel jacket, and was a butch and sometimes a *****-but I loved her even at her tomboy cruelest.

Dylan smoked a cigarette that smelled like lonerism, and she looked at me like she didn't care. My heart skipped a beat, as cliche as it sounds, whenever she would remove the cigarette from her mouth, exhale, and look at me as smoke traveled up her face. I looked at her and knew that she was everything that I wasn't, and everything that I wanted.

Dylan was Dianne, before and after school. Dylan was Dianne, who wore floral dresses and lipstick and who ditched her butch clothing in her locker before leaving. Dylan was Dianne, who was straight and who thought Tyler Wesson, from church, was cute. Dylan was Dianne, who had a short hair cut because of track and field, because she explained that she ran a faster time with less hair. Dylan was Dianne, who didn't associate with me before or after school because her parents knew that I was gay.

During school hours, the only thing Dylan did keep from Dianne was the lipstick. I was envious of the cigarette because of it's burgundy stains. We would stand in a stall, as she looked across from me, after each drag. She frequently offered her cigarettes, but I refused because I only let love **** me. If she ever brought alcohol, sometimes she'd kiss me. I told her that I loved her and she said, "I know."

The only thing that Dylan kept from me was my heart, before she started to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom with Annie Way.


I wish you the best moments so they can overcome the worst,

Margot Dylan

Your honor, 
My opening statement is as simple as this, 
Because of her/
A lot of these problems exist, 
Because I'm hurt/
I have these bandaids on my wrists,
Because of her/
I'm here requesting from you this writ,
....
I'm accusing the defendant of mental Incontinence,
Now Please be warned/
She is more than mentally competent,
She believes her words are to go without consequence,
Then has the gaul to think she deserves compliments,
I mean I'm sure there's a reason for this verbal diarrhea,
Some irreversible treason diva persona supersedes her,
Known to do the most/
While sayin the least,
My heart is the house/
She stopped paying her lease,
Karma's almost as scary , dreary, and tricky as guilt,
How she stopped paying the taxes on the house that we built,
How she just machine wash memories made outta silk,
Just stopped watering her feelings/ causing them to decay and wilt,
Got this heart on my sleeves/
Gotta fill this empty CHAMBER man,
Cause if you tryin to make magic/
Gotta make some major changes man,
These mental blocks so emphatic/
R.I.P Craig sager man,
But its loose ball fouls when I dive to save our plans,
Spent way to much time buildin fences, I'm defenseless,
But still I get defensive,
Payin you attention gets expensive,
I need some time to clear my head/
I may need an extension,
On second thought/
I'm gettin sick of blockin my ascension,
So I'm sueing you for custody of my heart,
I knew you liked to play games/
Knew that from the start,
But when a ***** played too/
You never laughed at that part,
Your body was a masterpiece/
but your mind was the art,
I ****** hate you/
But I loved our conversations,
Kinda how I hate school/
But I love my education,
Now I'm trying to make moves/
That boost my concentration,
cause I cant take losin/
And you're suess when it comes to complication,
Of our useless fights/
I can make a compilation,
Preferred the premium *****/
That prize is the consolation,
Jus when things are lookin up/
I'm in bed with the constellations,
Now I keep **** to myself/
Purposeful constipation,
I told her hit me with your best shot/
Now I'm feelin vaccinated,
Tried to tell her stay woke/
And now she still decaffeinated,
Now I'm Standing in the doorway/
Leonardo decapitated,
Little did I know/
Twas your name on the affidavit,
Tryin fix new problems/
With methods that's outdated, 
Feelins crept down the stairs/
Before they escalated,
Well **** it I'd rather slide/
No fun in the playground full of mood swings,
Felt like we hit the rock wall/
I cant stand the way you do things,
Mastered the art of storytelling/
She was the kubo to my two strings,
Now your carelessness/
can only lead to two things,
Times as hard as a brick clock/
And lies that get you ******* like shoe strings....©️

with predatory instinct found
under siege, underground
Birch II, my ward, my home
before I leave pages turn to tome

with rehashed food and smuggled items of variety
cigarettes, chew, and paper clips, decaffeinated life

suicide attempt
breeding contempt
smash at walls
scream at captors
claws of raptors

manic I was, manic I remain, new rage, I am insane

line by line by line
empty words of horror’s sound
with LSD’s aftershocks ringing my ears
and feeding my eyes that hate your normalcy
with all the confused dread I can muster

one word, madness
shaking fool, lost cool
tremolo-plastic-breakfast-spoon
lifting bits of sanity to my mouth parts

Freshly-washed ****-head desires the woman
I left in the real anti-world called home

close my eyes and see my last trip
bathroom tiles explode and cover sink, tub, garbage can, mirror, telephone, and leg-arms
bad trip, but it was better than your unreal world

take your meds now

two-******, bipolar, mixed-manic, one-eyed, living, breathing, copulating monster under eternity’s bed

anger pounding at my ******* coming out as a giant, stinking ****

the them that sit behind the desk
regulate lives of poor inmate crazies
eat their meals and take my soul
others play cards, I write, **** time, **** tension, **** myself, with treatment plans, unreasonable demands in ******-babble B. S. words like suicidal ideation, that doesn’t apply to me, does it?

I want my trip back, I want to live in another place with another face
I want my trip back darling
I want to watch the words explode, I want to watch the tiles grow up my legs again
to watch as paper becomes pen, to bathe the tiles off of my inhuman skin
I want my trip back baby
I want to breathe in prism air where nothing and eternity collide
in spectacular displays of sonic-boom, emotional madness
incredibly---------------edible-------------sadness

I see the me looking
from inside LSD’s mirror and want to rejoin
the missing-hated-wasted-rain-forest
blackened by man’s desire
with silk-rose-petal-eye-bomb-shell

LEAVE!
leave me, for what I did or did not do or have or think or say or what

style means nothing more nothing less, you know?

it takes confusion to produce effective illusion
to produce base desires feed the fires
smoky the bear at the demon’s lair
with broken feet suckle the ****
of unused, aggressive, possessive MADNESS!!!!!

natural-organic-popcorn-hulls in rotted-bleeding-tooth-socket-decay-pain
elusive means justify idiot ends, so dig the pick into the hole in my jaw
as I scream the insanity away from my ears and into your eye-ball-socket-hole-skull-spot

clipped fingernail
package in the mail
next time I won’t fail

sleep, sleep won’t be my lover tonight, her arms won’t touch my shoulder
I won’t feel her finger-touch-tip or rub my ***** on her ******
I want my trip back
love me, love me, love me
for love or money, for emotions mistaken, for idiot sensation, for all the things you do for me, for my insanity’s sake

my world slowly fills with unbearable ills, chemical need so deep it erases my soul

feet sore from pacing
door to door to door to door

on and on seconds bleed out minutes, bleed the hours, tears bleed out the poison self-inflicted, pen bleeds ink onto paper

thoughts coagulate and scabrous emotions take

The forest green of the trees
contrasts so greatly
against the soft pastels in the sky;
Did someone paint this neighborhood?

The odors of garlic & parsley
wafting from across the
charcoal street.
Hums of today's news,
all the latest gossip,
ooh'ing and ah'ing;
endless snippets of candlelight chatter.

Occasional dollops of light
peering up from sedans passing by.
Sounds of zooms
blocked out by the steady pulsating
of white earbuds.

Dogs yipping, sometimes a real bark.
Neighbors come and go,
reciprocating cordial hello's.

Street lights slowly coming alive,
for at 8:37, the sun has begun
its transition to slumber.

They always say,
TGIF, thank god it's Friday.
As day slips to nigh',
the crackles and pops of vinyl come alive
behind a slightly rusted window pane.

Tonight's secrets not yet revealed,
a couple strolls by
holding hands,
sipping coffees, decaffeinated.

A man drunk with regret
and a 40 in his belly,
he breathes a clumsy, "Hey."
Malted liquor questions,
their smell & sound, unmistakable gurgling.

Street lights now fully illuminated,
glances exchanged from
passer-byers.

He opens the car door for her,
and into the dusk they drive.
Vehicles come by in even
greater numbers,
and still searches the young man
for $9, a toothbrush, and a shower,
even cold.

Just another night of
just another day,
in just another city,
in just another neighborhood
on just another street.

Silence, loud, ominous silence,
filtering the senses,
the stories,
the magic;
Isn't ordinary   extraordinary?

~
Corrosive elevation
Metabolic creation
At the mouth of cough drop falls
Trails of caustic, nomadic influence:
Coffee lips
Decaffeinated tongue
Resealable groove
Reusable embryo
White hunter
Melt snow
Hang fire
Black crow

Mechanical peak
Summit on a stick
Chiseled grey
The smoke ascending
They call "day"
Lovely shade of sadness, this
Wandering endocarp
Hidden in caves, hollows, crags, cellars, and cisterns
It came naked
From out of the acrid woods
And said

"The locust are upon us..."
~

This evening I can feel the fingers of Migraine - black to the bones and crawling with snakes - as they push my eyes forward.
This is pure seduction, the pressure. I can see it - my frail, jagged optic nerve resting between the first and second finger like a cigarette. With each drag Migraine takes, a flash of brilliant pain (high-beam, spotlight, strobe, flashbulb) skitters across my field of vision. I mistake them for rabbits.
And the chase is on. Mechanical dog, mechanical bull, mechanical rabbit of pain like firecrackers, in slow motion. Half-time signatures flutter again as the thing made of snakes inhales my eyes. I guess I am making love to it.
The rain is coming in waves, marked by drops you can count on your hands, in intervals of five minutes. It comes and it fades, mimicking the snake-monster-thing living in my skull, huffing everything I see, getting high on the fumes of the images I feed to it: this paper, these words, blue pen and black sky.
There is a similar sensation in my stomach. I tried to drown butterflies in decaffeinated coffee, and they are fighting back, with constant pressure on the flexible walls of my insides.
They are hungry but know that they must wait three-and-a-half days to eat. They are taunted by words - short responses. They are teased by intense surges of memory, and by smiles that stalk the underside of my brain (have they seen the snake-monster?), waiting to submerge themselves in the calm, reflective water of my face. **** those ripples. They fall down my spine, from the base of my neck where Migraine has made his nest. I shiver.
I am made of ink, rabbits, rain, and butterflies tonight. These shapes I force my pen to draw are serendipitous, falling randomly (rain drops that have collected on the leaves of a tall tree but remain long after the sky has finished sobbing) atop the heads of unsuspecting strangers and one beautiful girl. Why does she always carry that **** blue umbrella?
The answer, of course, is gray matter and black memory, more harsh than my last cigarette will be, four days from now. The answer is experience, drought and flood. The answer is in Migraine, who makes up one third of my soul, and the soul of every human - although he may pick up a different face and hobby.
The answer is that I don't know the answer. I will not until she sets aside that artificially colored canvas reality-shield she carries, and talks with me. With the rain falling on our heads - hers filled with memory and brains, mine with whimsy and Migraine - the mechanical rabbit will come down from his track to dance at our feet, to kiss our rain-soaked shoes. He will lead us to puddles we can jump into.
Splash. Glorious Splash. Migraine is receding to his nest and the butterflies have taken one step closer to contentment. The rain falls, the ink falls with it, and sanity once again speaks to me.
I've missed you, old friend.

This offends me as a vegan transgender hipster democrat voting Native-American-Indo-Chinese socialist anarchist hybrid illegal alien agnostic-atheist Germanic social engineering major dropout who only vapes fair-trade organic non-GMO decaffeinated French-pressed compressed and hydrated extra-skim grass-fed only protein soy breast milk on the regular and does Hindi Kama Sutra naked crossfit hot yoga 5 times a week. And frankly, since I am also a non-binary tri-gender genderqueer male feminist and I identify as a proponent to legalize cannabis and a Rastafarian, pansexual, genderfluid, Apache helicopter beta mutt of mega multi alpha beta gamma delta omega combo god of hyper death who's adamant about polygamous polyamorous relationships with an pure-bred alpha chihuahua which helped me cross the border of Mexico to let love trump the hate and get a job 3-D printing pink ***** hats all day. My dog also walks me to the local skate park and doggy styles me, while my gender neutral photographer neighbor takes pictures and sells them on the dark web antifa site and if you find that weird you're an ignorant arrogant homophobic gender-assuming globophobic bloodthirsty bacon-loving gun-toting cis-gender pan-****** patriarchal incestuous sexist racist white-privileged misogynistic populist biased objectified white-privileged anti-communist **** indoor tanning Cheetos cheese-puff-loving republican.

Whatever happened to one?

One telephone company –
Ma Bell!
You picked up the receiver,
Attached by a squiggly wire,
And dialed the phone – literally.
You put your finger in the hole
For the number or letter;
Rotated the dial and back it came,
Rotating in reverse, and making that wonderful sound:
Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka
Then the person on the other end answered
And actually said – Hello…
No lost calls – no breaking up…
Simply one –
And it worked.

Bleach is even more confusing.
If you wanted clean clothes
You went to the store and bought
Bleach.
You did have a choice –
Bleach or Bleach.
One!
It was easy
You picked up one bottle or the other –
Either one – they were both the same –
One!
Easy.

Today there are 7,826 ½ choices!
Bleach that smells like flowers;
Bleach that smells like fresh air;
(I’m not sure how that’s possible)
Bleach that’s like a cool, refreshing stream;
Bleach that spills and splashes;
Bleach that doesn’t spill or splash.
Bleach in colors –
Liquid – Solid – Powder…
Will there be decaffeinated bleach next?
(More about coffee another time)
I’m beginning to understand
Why people take drugs –
The bleach aisle alone is
Enough to torment the brain!

One was simple.
One was effective

Choices are nice
But better left for the
Wine list.

http://www.leaves-of-ink.com/2019/06/choices.html

My sons sit in
the faux leather chairs
next to the faux fireplace.

It is switched off
for the summer
that is coming.

The boys are switched on
for much the same reason.

I am watching them with lazy eyes.

(halfway)

The homeless man is here too.

He sits in the chair opposite
my youngest.

They are exchanging introductions.

No one is nervous.

(I am too near for that.)

__


When I am alone,
the homeless man
will ask me to buy him
a cup.

I usually do.

The 1st time this happened,
he pulled a fast-one.

This tattered man
asked for a triple-shot
espresso
with steamed milk,
setting me back
5 dollars.

Now, I’m the one who orders.

(A small, dark-roast,
with plenty of sugar
and milk.)

Last time,
he chuckled to himself
and happily vibrated
down the path.

Today, he is well-met,
but,
remains
decaffeinated.

*

-JBClaywell

© P&ZPublications

I am thoroughly addicted to you
And I have been for years
Much like I am to coffee.
But you're analogous to the kind that's decaffeinated...
I guess I just like the taste.

Whatever happened to one?

One telephone company –
Ma Bell!
You picked up the receiver,
Attached by a squiggly wire,
And dialed the phone – literally.
You put your finger in the hole
For the number or letter;
Rotated the dial and back it came,
Rotating in reverse, and making that wonderful sound:
Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka - Ti-ka
Then the person on the other end answered
And actually said – Hello…
No lost calls – no breaking up…
Simply one –
And it worked.

Bleach is even more confusing.
If you wanted clean clothes
You went to the store and bought
Bleach.
You did have a choice –
Bleach or Bleach.
One!
It was easy
You picked up one bottle or the other –
Either one – they were both the same –
One!
Easy.

Today there are 7,826 ½ choices!
Bleach that smells like flowers;
Bleach that smells like fresh air;
(I’m not sure how that’s possible)
Bleach that’s like a cool, refreshing stream;
Bleach that spills and splashes;
Bleach that doesn’t spill or splash.
Bleach in colors –
Liquid – Solid – Powder…
Will there be decaffeinated bleach next?
(More about coffee another time)
I’m beginning to understand
Why people take drugs –
The bleach aisle alone is
Enough to torment the brain!

One was simple.
One was effective

Choices are nice
But better left for the
Wine list.

on saturday morning we grace around recycled rustic tables, lowering our heads over gluten free brown toast topped with gently scrambled free range eggs, adding soya milk to decaffeinated, ethically sourced coffee, self contained in guilt free reusable cups -

and still we fret.

They didn't even have Barry’s Tea
the coffee was Robusta Decaffeinated.

Hard seats without cushions, no view
and not allowed to tip the waitress.

It was as cold as a dogs nose,
we were stiff, as with rheumatism

of nights inactivity and the atmosphere
was a stratosphere of liquid silence.