My confusion troubles me
My wondering depresses me
And my knowledge grows heavily
And the icing on that cake is everything I hate about me

"her writing depresses me" he says

my voice quivers, falls up toward
space and crashes
down
against the sea-salt waves. my voice

s-s-s-stutters, repeats the first
syllable five times and once again
for an even six, repeats, repeats,
repeats. my voice is

quiet and every teacher i've
ever had calls on me with a
"speak up!" but no one ever
listens.

writing is the only voice i've ever known
you will not take that from me.

Friday April 10


Walking in Limbo

a man finds himself alone
in a dark forest
filled with strange trees
and hears voices
in the wind

he walks forward
towards a light
in the forest

and soon finds himself
confronted by a ghostly image
the dead are all around
and he realizes
that he has died

and he is wandering
in limbo
he walks towards the light

and sees a man
at a desk
who asks his name

he says his name
and the man
smiles and tells him
welcome to limbo

join the others
to wait your turn
for judgement is due

and the man
walks back
through the haunted forest

trying to remember how he died
but he has no memory
of his past life

and is doomed
to wander in limbo
stuck between time
and worlds

comforted by the ghosts
around him
and the light
in the forest

writers digest prompt to write an ekphrastic  Poem




New Bodies in New Era

we are living
in a SF world
things are changing
at breath taking speeds

nowhere more
than with the coming biomedical revolution
soon we will be confronted
with the reality

that we can live forever
in new bodies
grown for us
in laboratories

with our memories intact
and I can hardly wait
want to throw off
this aging 65-year old body

and get a new 20-old perfect body
boy, I can’t wait

I would be come
what I always wanted to be

6 foot 6 inches tall
perfect athletic basketball body

perfect visions
perfect hearing
perfect smelling
perfect teeth



well behave hair
no more learning disability
no more coordination problems

no more fibromyalgia
no more arthritis either
no more aching aging pain
no more mental fog

god,
I can hardly wait
hope it happens
before I die

and I hope
I can live
on forever
with my wife

also transformed
into a perfect
**** as hell
new body

poetry soup prompt to write a poem about changes

life interrupted by corona


we live in a strange world
life interrupted by corona
the virus spread throughout the world
disrupting everything

putting life on hold
as more people
hunkered down
waiting for the virus

to pass over us
like in biblical times
the virus
will test us all

life interrupted
on hold
until the virus
spreads through the world

and then
we will all
go back
to life interrupted

writing.com Daily Dew Drop interruption


Saudade for friends I have lost

as I get older
I lose more people
every year

more people I knew
have died moving on
and I mourn their lost friendship

wished I had been
a better friend for them
and knew them better

and with the corona virus
spreading around the world
I will lose so many more

in the coming year
as the virus spreads
its malignancy far and wide

I lost my father due to cancer in 1985
and my sister
due to a freak illness in 2007

and my mother
due to Alzheimer’s in 2005
and my father-in-law as well in 2007

Demel Tucker
high school debate teammate
dead of *** in 1995

Julian Bartley and his son
died in a terrorist bombing
in Nairobi in 1998

Jon Weber college roommate
dead due to prostate cancer
in 2000

Paul Simon  friend from the visa line
dropped dead of a heart attack
in 2004

Ted Halstead
one of my best bosses
died of heart attack in 2007

Chris Richard
one of my former bosses
from my days in Bangkok

dropped dead of a heart attack
shortly before we were due
to have lunch in 2014


and so many others
I have lost
along the way

and soon there will be
so many more
as I get old in the corona era




my lover’s body inspires me

my lover
Lover’s face
inspires me

Filled ****
as hell
still got it

drives me
wild desires
tonight

concrete poem - national poetry month prompt day 9


Vogan Poetry inspires us all

Couth super- of  the world
trailer, stringendo travels afar
Rent center bank me bark me
recipe, stringendo.for sure for sure

National poetry month prompt  day eight Vogan Bot Poetry


The end of the world news depresses me

the end of the world new
depresses me
makes me want to shout and scream

**** leave me alone
to deal with my grief
amid the death and destruction

watching CNNMSNBCFOXBBC media nonstop
filled with essential dread
the end of the world is upon us

from the screaming news media
spreading forth across the land
fake news screams the president

all is alright he proclaims
no one believes his 16,000 lies
and so it goes

we are drowning with information
coming at us so fast
and furious

When will it end my friend
is anyone’s guess
in the long run we are dead

National poetry Month Day Seven poem inspired by the news


the Devil speaks In the Garden of Earthly Delights

in the garden of earthly delights
the devil makes a covert appearance
disguised as always

he wanders about the world
corrupting everything
with his evil foul deeds

the devil turns to me
and says welcome to my world
human

you will soon be mine
death and destruction
revenge is mine

you will all die
i decree it
and he laughs

and continues to corrupt
the garden of Eden
and earthly delights


ekphrastic garden of earthly delights national poetry month prompt day 6

president trump haunts my Dream

president Trump
haunts my dreams
daily dystopian nightmares
as he daily proclaims
the end to the republic

as he ushers in fascism
with his every lie
he corrupts the world
and I hate
seeing his bloated fat ugly body

that haunts my every dream
as I watch him  rant and rage
against my old friends,
his enemies in the deep state
ushering in chaos and destruction


National Poetry Month day four prompt image from a dream



ten words random rhymes

every day I see our president
Trump proclaims that he will be president
his image haunts my dreams
dystopian nightmares propels my dreams
as the president proclaims he is president
the end of republic follows
no one hears our screams
He ushers in endless dreams
fascism inspires
our collective screams

national poetry month Day three prompt  write a poem based on ten random words


674 Santa Rosa

my childhood home
for almost 10 years
was 674 Santa Rosa
Berkeley California

A five bedroom
adobe California home
on the side of a hill
at the bottom of the Berkeley hills

you entered on the top floor
across the street you entered
on the bottom floor
thus it was in the Berkeley Hills

the house
had a large deck
with a perfect view
of the golden gate

we used
to sit outside
watching the sunset
as we ate dinner

my Mom and Dad
would have
their nightly cocktails
on the deck

before retreating inside
to continue
their nightly fights
and arguments

I grew up
downstairs
hearing their constant words
of hatred, dismay and outrage

my parents were the proverbial
odd couple
perhaps
never should have married

but despite the hate
there was still some love
that kept them together
throughout the years

we had a rec room
with a pool table
and I hung out there
with my friends

my mother tolerated my friends
most of the time
she would be somewhat sober
until after they left

and the madness came
over her
as she drank her whisky
and wine

the basement room
was added later
was my younger brother’s room
later was my room

whenever I visited
from college days
hiding out downstairs
avoiding my mad mother

my old room lay abandoned
filled with books
thousands of books
that I had read over the years

when she died
I should have taken
all the books
instead I took

about one hundred
just no space
for the books
of my childhood memories

National Poetry month day two prompt specific place poem 674 Santa Rosa Berkeley California


My life appears to a dream


For I dream
of meeting
the love of my life

in a dream
she haunted my dreams
for eight years

she walked out of my dreams
into my life
and became my wife

yes my life
resembles a fairy tale
complete with a princess

that rescued me
with her undying love
and made my life complete

national Poetry Month Day One Prompt Metaphor for Life Dreamer




Trump Derangement Syndrome Blues

Trump haunts my nightmares
dystopian visions
soon to come true

fan story 15 syllable poem contest

Saturday April 11

To My Dream Woman Who Loves Me

to my dream woman
who has loved me so
over the years
since I first dreamt
of meeting her
thank you for finding me
and rescuing me
I just have three words
to say
I love you
Saran hae
and  in a million other languages
and will love you
until the end of time

writers digest prompt to write a x  Blank  x

BLACK OUT POEM

Black out Poem
God’s Punishment

Original text


During a press briefing today to address the nation’s response to the coronavirus pandemic, President Trump was asked about certain Christian pastors who plan to defy state lockdown orders and hold Easter church services this Sunday.
“I’ve had talks with the pastors, and most of the pastors agree … that they are better off doing what they are doing, which is, distancing,” Trump said, adding that the pastors want to “get back to church so badly.”
Report Advertisement
Trump then referred to a notorious pastor who sits on his religious advisory council.
Defend democracy. Click to invest in courageous progressive journalism today.
“I’m going to be watching Pastor Robert Jeffress, who’s been a great guy,” Trump said. “He’s a great guy and I’m going to be watching on a laptop.”

Jeffress is known for his litany of statements demonizing the LGBT community, abortion, and secular people. One of his most reviled comments came in 2015 when he said the 9/11 attacks were God’s punishment on America for abortion.
“People ask me all the time,” Jeffress said during a speech at Liberty University. “‘Well, I just don’t understand why God wouldn’t protect our nation and he would allow these radical Muslims in 2001 to **** 3,000 of our citizens and why God doesn’t protect us. Surely, God doesn’t use pagans to bring judgment upon his own people, does he?’”


“I’ve had talks with the pastors, and most of the pastors agree … that they are better off doing what they are doing, which is, distancing,” Trump said, adding that the pastors want to “get back to church so badly.”
Report Advertisement
Trump then referred to a notorious pastor who sits on his religious advisory council.
Defend democracy. Click to invest in courageous progressive journalism today.
“I’m going to be watching Pastor Robert Jeffress, who’s been a great guy,” Trump said. “He’s a great guy and I’m going to be watching on a laptop.”


Jeffress is known for his litany of statements demonizing the LGBT community, abortion, and secular people. One of his most reviled comments came in 2015 when he said the 9/11 attacks were God’s punishment on America for abortion.
“People ask me all the time,” Jeffress said during a speech at Liberty University. “‘Well, I just don’t understand why God wouldn’t protect our nation and he would allow these radical Muslims in 2001 to **** 3,000 of our citizens and why God doesn’t protect us. Surely, God doesn’t use pagans to bring judgment upon his own people, does he?’”

Black out text

the coronavirus pandemic, President Trump
hold Easter church services this Sunday.
“I’ve had talks with the pastors, get back to church so badly.”

“He’s a great guy and I’m going to be watching on a laptop.”

he 9/11 attacks were God’s punishment on America for abortion.
“People ask me all the time,” ‘Well, I just don’t understand why God wouldn’t protect our nation and he would allow these radical Muslims in 2001 to **** 3,000 of our citizens and why God doesn’t protect us. Surely, God doesn’t use pagans to bring judgment upon his own people, does he?’”

Poem

Corona Pandemic is Not’s God’s Punishment



Amid  the coronavirus pandemic,
President Trump
Attended virtual Easter church services
I’ve had talks with the pastors,
We need to get back
to church so badly.”

Rev Jeffries is  a great guy
I’m going to be watching on a laptop.”

Rev Jeffries said

The 9/11 attacks were God’s punishment

on America for abortion.

“People ask me all the time,”
‘Well, I just don’t understand
why God wouldn’t protect our nation
and he would allow these radical Muslims in 2001
to **** 3,000 of our citizens
and why God doesn’t protect us.

Surely, God doesn’t use pagans
to bring judgment
upon his own people,
does he?’”

I am sad to report

Rev Jeffries

I spoke to God

This morning

He confirmed

He did not cause 9-11

To bring judgement

On the US

For abortion

He went on to say

The corona virus

Is beyond his control

And he is not sending it

To punish the US

Or the world

His final words

Please tell Rev Jeffries

To simply ****

poetry super highway black out poem

coffee Whitney

my coffee
morning delight
all day long
not though at night
can not sleep
afternoon coffee
leads to nightmares lasts all night


writing.com Whitney poem form
  
coffee Hay Na Ku


hot
coffee
in morning

ice
coffee
afternoon

Drink
coffee
afternoon

will
soon have
bad nightmares

must
have my
coffee now

drink
coffee
all day long

no
way sleep
will come me

curse
of my
mad coffee

writing.com prompt write a Hay Na Ku Poem
Daily Dew Drop In submissions as well



women playing the lute contemplating God

a woman sits
by herself playing the lute

deep in contemplation
thinking of God's love
for her

thinking of the devil
and his temptations
she continues playing the lute

all poetry contest

I am not at home.
Home is where you go back to after vacation.
Where you don’t worry about whether to take your shoes off in the entryway.
Where you know that the light switch between you and your parent’s bedroom
doesn’t actually do anything.
Where you know you can leave your ***** dishes on the counter
because somebody will put them in the dishwasher for you.
Where people say, “What are you doing for the holidays?”
And you say, “I’m going home.”
And they say, “Oh, that’s nice,”
and it is.
That’s home.
But I have none of those things.
Sometimes things like that depress me. And then I have this strange urge to tell someone,
just to see if it depresses them too.
It doesn’t have to be someone I care about. It just has to be someone who would listen.

My name is Rachel
But others may refer to me as
Rach, Rachie, or Rae-rae.

I am nineteen years of age.

When I was a little girl
My smile was as bright as the sun
I ran and jumped and tumbled
I climbed trees that were so tall they touched the sky
And if ever I fell down
I picked myself up, still smiling.

It was when I was ten
That my smile finally faded
And my parents grew frustrated
With themselves
And the day they told my brother, sister and I
That they weren’t going to be together anymore
Was the same day I fell
And wasn’t strong enough to stand back up.

Four years
Of complete and total darkness
Is what followed

And then half my face froze up
Stuck in a permanent state of nothing
A paralysis of the nerves
Labelled ‘Bell’s Palsy’
Was what finally motivated my dad
To get me out of there
And after a while
I must’ve been smiling pretty hard
Because the paralysis went away.

And now I’m here.

If I were to describe myself
I’d point out that I’m five foot, four inches tall, on a good day
When anxiety isn’t weighing me down.
Rarely do I ever stand up straight.
I have deep, dark brown eyes
That observe more than they can really see.
They remain hidden behind thick framed glasses
For they, themselves, wish not to be seen.
My hair is as brown and ordinary,
Long and untamed and always in the way.
I’d cut it all off, like when I was younger
But I look older this way
And my friends like it.

I spend most of my time blogging
Even though rarely does anything exciting happen to me,
But then, that’s what John Watson said
Right before he met Sherlock.

I love television and movies
I love video games
I love books
Because I love stories.
Listening to them
Watching them
Reading them
I’d never get bored.

I like books, their pages dry and crinkling at my touch.
I put more effort into procrastination than I do into any sort of work.

Death laughs, and life depresses me.
I’m afraid of a lot of things.

Sometimes I feel too much,
Sometimes I feel nothing at all,
And that frightens me.

My imagination tends to run wild,
And sometimes it’s beautiful
But sometimes it’s brutal.
Sometimes I’m just paranoid.

I think about thinking
I think about other people thinking
I think about other people thinking about what I’m thinking
I’m an over thinker.

Secretly I’m a hopeless romantic,
And I hope to fall in love without getting confused by the idea of it.
But that’ll happen when I’m ready for it.

I believe in the equality of all things, though I’m hesitant to say it’s achievable.
I know there’s good to be found in people
But I don’t understand why all I keep finding is bad.

I’m proud and prejudiced against prejudiced people
Jane Austen is my hero.

If you ask me my name
I’d probably stumble over it
Like I stumble over everything
Words seems to curl my tongue
They do wonders at the tips of my fingers
But die as soon as they cross my lips.
I get nervous when I have to speak
Or look someone in the eye
And I’m pretty sure my mouth has a mind of its own.

I like being alone but sometimes I get lonely.
I’m moody and temperamental, and a little mental
But those that care for me don’t mind.

I’m more inclined to listen
If I can sing along too.

I’m clumsy and uncoordinated.
I walk into doorframes and apologize.
I stub my toe and laugh
But other people’s pain makes me cry.

I know a few words in Italian,
Even fewer in Russian,
And they’re all slang or swear words.

When I blush my entire face is painted scarlet,
And my skin is so sensitive it’s sometimes a blotchy mess.
I stutter
Unless I’m ranting.
Usually my thoughts make more sense
When I’m not thinking at all.

I am Rachel and this is barely scratching the surface of who I might be.

The psychics were breathing smoke,
rummaging through my roommates collection of abstract art,
they told me what my favorite Modest Mouse album was,
they told me about my personality,
I told them I was a psychic,
they told me to *******.

Everyone assumes an original identity
in the self-inflicted apocalypse
provided by that old friend, alcohol.

Kevin was the smooth-talking,
drink-mixing extraordinaire.

Kara was the cynic.

Shawna was the kindhearted.

Evan was sober.

Tyler was in and out.

I was the ******* that took a party pill,
bounced off everyone with a handshake
and an apology.


We **** ourselves to resurrect,
piece together the discordance,
the chaos,
the girls.

While the psychics were breathing smoke,
while Kevin was collapsing,
while everyone was worried about me,
all I could say was,
"This is the happiest night of my life,
and that depresses the hell outta' me."

I longed for the sirens in the distance,
I took another drink,
I longed for renewed innocence,
I took another drink,
I longed for someone to lay beside me,
I took another drink,
it was finally enough.

I took off my shirt,
made war with the remnants of stability,
of sanity,
told my friends I loved them,
and hoped that my time ended in sync
with the sunrise.

Habitually smoking your gear
Drowning your natural drive of energy
So soon, a year becomes a week which lasts towards a
                                                            day­.

Trying to reach a high you had in your teens
Sitting there watching your life go by
Until you're ******* by marijuana poisoning
According to your friends you don't
                                                Have any

Straight people industrialise their circles
And despatch you into a corner
Where they keep the addicts, tortured and isolated
                                        Within the buzz they experienced a decade
                                           Ago.
Paying a fifty or more on something
That causes you loss of memory and an idle psyche
If you are not going to credit your ****
People will look beyond you
Even when they need you.
You are elsewhere in the invisible car-crash.

The relief of escape
the brave gunja smoking cool Mr Frosty
The idea of talking to someone like you
Has really lost me. He hides his snide profile, behind a ******.

I just have a smoke now and then.
It depresses me just enough to be depressed.

It depresses me
that I don't express my emotions
In the pure fear of being judged
Not just by my peers,
But my friends.
I keep my emotions tucked in the internal locket
That beats beneath my flesh,
Each pulse of the withering pendant
Ready to disintegrate with a
Meal of poisonous truths and pocketed emotions.
I keep my emotions tucked away,
Because they have forced me to believe:
Emotions are weakness.

k.h.

Just say ***** it.
Pull your lover into bed.
Be sure to call in well.
Spend the day swimming
among the sheets.
Practice every stroke
you know. Invent others.
By evening, you'll feel better.

~mce

it drips from the bottle
and into your
mouth
which spouts words
with no regard for my
feelings
that you don't know how to address
without alcohol kissing your
lips
that form sentences
with a mind of their own
uninhibited by their flattery of me when they were
  sober.

it agitates your face
as it rests in your
hands
that used to hold mine and it
glazes over your
eyes
that used to light up when they saw me
or when they heard my
name
that you can hardly stand to speak
without alcohol
dancing on your
breath
that doesn't render sounds
without cheap courage summoned
  up.

it depresses your
mind
that I used to find intriguing
as it was paradoxically
kind with a quick
wit
that no longer aims
to make me laugh
but is now restrained by the liquor
label
that you plastered to yourself
without concern -
would you even stop
if your own bottle said
  please?

Discontent and boredom battle mightily
To see which owns my addled wit.
Rain streaks down the kitchen windows
Making worm-like shadows on the floor.

The need to move nips at my torpor
And reads my dictionary of excuses
As I stare at crumbs on the tablecloth
And wish I had another biscuit.

What’s gone wrong, I can’t make right.
I’m stuck here with no options
And I don’t care which way it goes;
I’m too busy being grumpy.

There’s a cricket hidden in the hallway
Nine days now and it just won’t die.
The muted chirping stops and starts,
Loud enough to be annoying

But not enough to be a mask and hide
The thunder of my disappointment
When clouds and rain refuse to leave
And I am left with only empty musings.

My hands aren’t pretty any more.
They used to pose so gracefully
But time has bruised and twisted them
And they no longer reach out to be seen.

That’s just another loss to ponder:
Take a number - stand in line.
Everything depresses me, and then...
There’s that mother-******* cricket!
              ljm

The concrete depresses with each small step I take in the Arco parking lot
I fold this song up into my pocket and my schoolwork starts to rot.
Your hair hangs loosely by your eyes as you ration out my shots.
I wanted to remind you that your nails give me goosebumps, but I forgot.
Your legs laced up and shining in oil are sculpted out of bronze
Lying naked in aphids as we strive to be shameless among your father's front lawn

You are sunlight disguised by a sheet on a clothesline
In the middle of meadows made of wheatgrass and starshine
How can something so beautiful share a species with me?
A shopping cart overflowing with grace given away on the streets for free

My jeans are turning into strings of flayed fabric under your yellow moon
I'll shower you in music, if you promise to abuse it, within my crimson room
Lock me in my comfort stall with dividers emitting petroleum fumes
Break down all the walls with your desperate call as your temple, I consume
From within towers where light is devoured, against all odds, I bloom,
For a skeletal mastery with ultraviolet eyes crawls into my tomb.

You are a symphony of epiphanies for a boy made of concrete
In the midst of a city of asphalt and batteries.
You splat on my canvas and blast from my headphones
And if you opened me your name would probably be on my bones.

Keep the covers at bay
So I can admire your frame.

It depresses me
To see other couples
Or people hooking up
I don't know why
But it has something to do
With you

Dead bee
The moss grows round it
Water spray
Purify it
Pest is relative
Coming from where?
The cat stretches
Common sense
Rock bottom
Delve deeper, come on
There’s no soul here
Empty it out
Start again
Transcend yourself
Transcend transcendence
So yeah, there was a gardener
Wielding a pressure blaster
Which ripped the moss from its roots
The sun peaked
And the moss turned dust
Because the aesthetics of the pavement
Supersede existence
Who the **** cares?
Dead bee on the pavement
Blast it into the bushes
It depresses the school children
A hedgehog rots in the gutter
Flies lay eggs in its flesh
And create a home
Isn’t that beautiful?
What the **** did the moss get?
“China would have done this in a day”
My father says
Watching road workers rip apart asphalt
“It’s quite nice, though”
Looking into the concrete river
As mayflies hatch deformed
Due to the heat from the channel
Half the students stare at their toes
Wishing they were cuter
Stronger
Smarter
Because narcissism has become the new desire
Things are rotting everywhere
But we pretend they’re normal
**** man, rock bottom
The children pick up the bees
And stick them in their mouths
Until the moss completely coats their hearts

He is Sicilian, skin tawny the color of
toasted garlic
knobby knuckles but strong palms
steady and smooth and graceful
never wavering as he slowly depresses the plunger with his thumb
pushing two clear drops from the syringe
he ran out of dope so he soaked his old cottons
to **** out the residue
and deposit it in his vein
fist clenches twice and holds
and he dips the needle in
so light
so little
then his fingers shimmer away from his palm
and drop to his side

When I was 13 I took a trip to Alaska
my aunt brought me there and we rode on a boat
along the southern coast and through the fjords
One day we saw a glacier calving across the water
so ***** it looked like a cliff, but when a piece fell away
the ice that it revealed was deeply blue

He'd only traveled in the desert
from Austin to Iraq
but one night here
in Duluth, Minnesota
we lay on the roof and watched the Northern Lights
I told him that they were the color of glaciers

sadness is her grounding  ******* her release fantasizing bizarre scenarios escaping in literature movies music clothes she wonders if men feel cheated by her small ******* her mouth and hips not wide enough even though she has not slept with a man for years her aging depresses her stiffness of her muscles dryness of her skin thinning of her hair lapses of thought memory yet she manages to appear quite astute and stylish

2

what if you realize there is no god no one listening to your prayers no one watching over you god is preposterous myth like santa claus there is no reason to conduct yourself morally responsibly monkey screeches laughter claps wildly swings tree to tree

3

if wars were won by spiritual psychological intellectual development we’d be a different planet yet wars are won by technological advances and brute force we are an over-populating world many parents unfit unqualified inexperienced to raise children of the future this madness is heading to frightful reckoning massey mining british petroleum monsanto wall street g.e. (it’s not a light bulb more mutual fund of entertainment banks and loans appliances washington lobbyists more) these ******* **** pillage mother earth our home with unconscionable deceit greed cruelty

4

magic is tricky sometimes sincere most times contrived face of moon is woman she is sad maybe crying do you remember us making love i don’t like seeing men give in to bribes i turn away lose interest twists my stomach when will we learn i don’t know anything about planet venus yet wish she will help us with her love i’ve written too many words not sure if i’m repeating ideas do not want to bore burden you with tremendous sorrow tried seriously to **** myself twice i’m old school still pray it doesn’t matter that no one is listening i need prayer need god dear god please help me us find happiness love success weary of isolation every day i fight between self will and destiny fate patterns signals i am so conflicted where is peace?

5

this dispersion is no good way to start the morning sun is up sky is blue birds are singing flying around teasing each other no matter where the world is heading i’m going to seek find fun gratitude beauty i've just created something that never existed before each breath a birth each breath a death tiny thoughts lives micro existence the cliffs of dover are made entirely from skeletons of ancient sea creatures i stepped over rocks encrusted with shells vacant inhabited we come and go oh the fossils oh the dreams stepped on coming out of their shells spider dreamer weaving web of life whose life? mine? who am i? i am you you are here with me pure unrequited love nothing matters but our spontaneous dance nothing matters but our crying over red wine passionate search for truth oh goddess of compassion let love come to us all truest holy love uniting opposites filling all the holes not a single inch of emptiness genius of love the poets creator of all genius exquisite satisfaction in emptiness forever unfolding paradox flower of paradox infinite petals forever blooming eternal spring breeze petals of paradox falling from my hair falling all over streets houses limestone cliffs granite giants fertile valley farmland my hands form a cup i offer up to you

Shortly before my father died, he whispered to me longingly: “Daughter, treasure this, because it authenticates your heritage to our kinsfolk!”  When I accepted this object, I discovered it was a stone with inscriptions I did not understand and delicate, mysterious lines.  He continued, “It is a keepsake from our great-great grandfather and can ultimately be traced back to Bilal, the Holy Prophet’s first muezzin, and his father, who was the king of Ethiopia.”  I accepted this small heirloom, which I carried everywhere with me in my handbag.  The person who shared my life under the title of “husband,” however, threw it down the drain at our house, thinking—as he told me—that it was a fetish.  From then till now I have endured successive exiles.  So I wrote this poem to explain the secret of my skin color—given that I am a native of al-Najaf, Iraq—spiritually, mournfully, and poetically!

My father said: “You were born quite unexpectedly,
Remote from Aksum, like a beauty spot for al-Najaf—‘the ******’s Cheek.’
Your one obsession has been writing, but
The sea will run dry before you arrive at the meaning of meaning.”
He affirmed: “During a pressing famine,
I devoted myself to watching over every breath you took.  
I would ****** my hand through the film of hope
To caress your spirit with bread.
You would burp, and
I would delightedly endure my hunger and fall asleep.
I could only find the strength to fib to your face and say I was happy.
I would feel devastated when you fidgeted,
Because you would always head toward me,
And I felt helpless.”
Aksum!  They say you’re far away!
“No, it’s closer to you than your exile.”
“And now?”
“Don’t talk about ‘now’ while we’re living it.”
“The future depresses me.  How can I proceed?”
How can the ear be deaf to the wailing from the streets?
Aksum, you have colored my skin.  Al-Najaf has freshened my spirit.
She knows and does the opposite.
She knows that I inter only dirt above me, and
That I deny everything except spelling out words:
M: Mother, who went walking down the alley of no return.
F: Father, who hastened after her.
B: Brother, who never earned that title.
S: Sister who buttoned her breast to a loving tear, no matter how fake.
………………….There’s no one I care about!
The trees tremble some times, and we don’t ask why.
My life surrounds me the way prison walls surround suspects;
I am the victim of a building erected by a frightened man.
With its talons time scratches its tales on me,
And I transform them into a silent song
Or, occasionally, a psalm of sobs.
Father, do you believe that--the roots have been torn asunder?
Fantasies began to carry me from al-Najaf to Afyon
And from Afyon to nonexistence,
Yellow teeth stretching all the way.
“History’s not anything you’ve made,”
One American neighbor tells another.
He’s surprised to see me.
“Who are you?” he asks when he doesn’t believe his eyes.
Would he understand the truth of my origin if I told him I was born in al-Najaf
Or that Aksum has veiled my face?
I have walked and walked and walked.
I’m exhausted, Father.
Is your child mine?
Show yourself and return me to the purity of your *****.
Allow me to occupy the seventh vertebra of fantasy!
Don’t eject me into a time I don’t fit.
I need you.
I ask you:
Has my Lord forbidden me to be happy?
Am I forbidden to preserve
What I have left
And sit some warm evening
Averting my ear from a voice that doesn’t interest me?
Answer me, Father!
Or change the face of our garden
So it changes . . . .to what they believe!
Translated by William Hutchins

intense clear blue eyes you have
i can get so lost in them
black hair just like mine
but mine shines brown in the sun
bitten fingers nails
just like my nails
lips so puffy like a cloud i could sink into them
layer of soft skin
just around your belly
or better said around you're whole body
i love you're skinny legs
that wrap my torso
i love youre red fingers(cause its so cold)
that scratch my head
when i have my whole head planted into youre belly
oh i could keep on going...

And you have a stressful family life
just like me
but i hate to see you teary eyed
my beautiful girl

" it depresses the hell outta me"

My confusion troubles me
My wondering depresses me
My depression worries me

I can no longer think for myself
What i hate most
Besides me
Is drowing but watching
Everyone else breathe and live
Playing hide and seek; never being found
I have become depression
I’m now the one digging my grave

My head is just too overwhelmed
By thoughts i didnt even put there
Too sad to live
Too broken to move
I lay here
To strong to die
Struggling and barely getting by

My mind is consumed in darkness
My confusion troubles me
My wondering depresses me
My depression worries me
As i lay here
Dead
Still breathing.

Your contours that mark the sand
Depresses the earth into an outline
You are traces of a man
Hollowed out by the horror of your pain

Oh! Son of man, where is ye shame?
You are bound like an ox to a chain
Your body sways like a pendulum
As you lower and  harvest their grain

Chains bind you to your fellow men
So that feet that once ran move now in defeat
They motion as a reminder of your labours
And the bond you have with your captors

Liberty, justice and all that was good
You were made to abandon for a morsel of food
"Yes Master, no Master, three bags full Master"
Baa the woolly sheep bleated in surrender.

Why let the dust of your labours
That fill the air with its derision
Settle willingly on your once dark skin
Mixing your blackness into a confusion

Black is the colour of your conscience
Black was the colour of your rituals
Black feet ran and black hands played
Black babies were the dawn of a new age

You let that slip through your fears
Your memory blurred by ashes
Your brain that incinerated your courage
Condemned you to the life of a savage

Rise up, son of man who fears freedom
Your traces will have no roots
An outline of your existence
Is a hollow grave without its occupant

Don't preach the Bible as your saviour
Unless you have more to offer
Don't mark your  history by enslavement
And the heritage you were made to abandon

That chain that links your past
To a future that is bleak
Is a God of eternal bonds
Secured by your hidden Masters

Your children dance in the shadows of your enslavement
Morphing  your chains into a cross
A freedom founded on great men and courage
Is short-lived by bitter recriminations

The ghettos, the drugs, the guns and deaths
The rap that is the anthem of your anger
Makes a chain between right hand and left
As your youth disappears  forever

Sadness is a curse as well as a benevolent splash of water in the face.
You concentrate on every dark thing in the world,
The grayness of the dew drops, the depressing and cold impersonal face of the rolling smoky cloud overhead.
This pushes you back to a memory: A song, perhaps, a family trip maybe, something that depresses you in a way that makes you smile futilely. Futilely in the sense that, you will never write a song like that, you feel like you will never have enough fun as you did on that trip. With this, you grow hatred towards yourself. With this malevolent tempest inside of you as a muse, you inscribe beautiful things into the notebook. With your own blood. Too far. Sadness is a force to be used by the ones in touch with self-control. Please, throw your ****** notebooks away and write in pen. Your poems will look better.

winter
the wreath’s rustle interrupts my sleep. in my dreamy shiver there is lucidity. between my toes there is carpet; I can feel its green, sense its virginal cool as I shuffle across the hall. I have the urge to scream, to tear the milk-matted blanket muffling my fervid anticipation. I hear you, then: the creak of the door, the friction of skin and silk, the sapped wail of youth’s wasted power. starlight pierces the linen curtains and casts my shadow ten feet tall, two feet tall, not at all. I crawl into bed and feel your breathing but it is not you. you are the unbroken hum of the furnace.

spring
the sugared smell of candy fruit depresses my throat and ***** threatens. my eyes search the window for a stranger but only rain knocks; my clothes are still wet, dripping one, two, three on each step. they dry more quickly than the boards creak; more quickly than I can find the storm drain, my translucent skin sloughing off at your touch. you are the static of broken vhs, the rattle of the closet mirror door as it slams, the easing cries through a premature mouth. I scream again, only to feel you in my ears as cotton, in my limbs as rigor. you whisper my name and I turn like a dog.

summer
dandelion seeds litter the dew-fresh yard. sing louder, you say, and I run faster. the wet heat is psychoactive. I trip and fall and you are the grass; you are the mud, the leaves, the water, the worms. you are the earth who protects my knees, careful to keep pristine my blue-jean jumper, careful to capture every moment of fleeting touch. oak leaves sway above. as intently as I gaze at it, the sun gazes at me and my doe eyes well. maybe there is something in them. maybe there is something in them with your crystal reflection, an eskimo kiss to speak what I cannot.

fall
afternoon sun rules my body and becomes blistering, unbearable; I stir, pressing against the heat, pressing your fingers into my skin, seeking to relieve the thrill. steam curls from my eyelashes as they squint to see you through the illuminated dust. it accumulates. you are the sudden cognizance of the windburn on my cheeks, lingering october air sharp behind my eyes, forcing tears I cannot help but to explain incorrectly. you are their singed, sweet-hot puddles in my hair. you are the residue they leave long after your sublime touch made them invisible.

Forgive me, I'm broken, so my words will definitely cut you.

Forgive me, I'm bitter, so my thoughts might provoke you.

I'm still just a shell of who I hope to be. I don't meet your high expectations. Forgive me.

Forgive me, I've become numb, so your harsh, barbed, judgemental words don't infiltrate my being.

Forgive me, I'm unconventional, I'm weird, I'm unattractive so I don't get the love I deserve.

Never letting my guard down and keeping my composure tires me and this depresses me even more . Forgive me.

Forgive me, I'm a pathological liar who over-indulges on mediocrity, fear and feelings.

Forgive me because I'm unforgiving, I remember those who wronged me.

Please forgive me, because I'll never be able to forgive you for turning me into the monster that I am.

Innocence,
where did you go?
I swear just yesterday
I was a little girl in fifth grade
who told herself that she was going to do something
BIG.
But here I am
typing away endlessly,
questioning why things are this way
because I swear
there were two paths my family could have taken
when I was in fifth grade,
and the most difficult one was chosen for us,
and I don't know if I can handle it.

My sister drinks, smokes, and has *** too much,
she's only 19,
she has told me over and over again
"Don't be like me, because I did this,"
and then she proceeds to explain to me,
in very vivid detail,
what she has done.
But I never wanted to hear it.

My other sister, who is now 21.
I was not very close to from sixth grade
to my sophomore year in high school.
I couldn't have told you what her favorite color was,
and she couldn't have told you mine.
But I idolized her.
So the day I learned that she was like my other sister
for her high school career,
was the day I learned how useless pedestals were,
because people always seem to fall even farther,
and the impact hurts everyone even more
than it could be imagined.

My brother, who is 16,
is the one I absolutely adore.
I always try to be there for him
whether I am at his games
or just hanging out with him.
But the days where he doesn't say anything,
scares me.
Because I can't tell if he is okay,
and all I want to know is if someone is okay.

My parents are the best I could ask for,
but I am always under so much stress from them.
I feel like they are putting all of their hopes and dreams on me,
as if I am the only one who will do something with their life,
and that terrifies me,
and depresses me.
The expectations are not something that I wish to go through,
because they aren't my expectations,
they are somebody else's ideals placed over my own.
I also don't like how much work I do for my family,
and how much work I do in school,
only to get nothing in response,
not even a thank you.
I just get told of how I could have done it better.
I know that those sound minor,
but they still cut deeply,
because it feels like no matter how hard I try,
that I will never do anything right.
They also count on me to watch my niece and two nephews
and it has taken them two years
to mention how much I have done for those troubled kids,
whose situation tore me apart.

In sixth grade I became an aunt,
because my half-brother is an idiot
and he got this girl pregnant.
Because we are a nice family, we offered to take in this girl
and try to give her an opportunity in life to do something.
But she just lied and manipulated us into thinking
that she was going to school,
and that she was being a good parent,
and it worked,
But, one day we found out the truth.
My mom saw her out of school
when she was supposed to be there,
and then discovered that her school notebook
had only one page of notes for a month of school.
Then we all saw her hit her child's hands
and then face,
then spanked her child for crying when she needed a diaper change.
Then one day,
my half-brother and his girlfriend
took my niece away.
I was in seventh grade at the time,
already dealing with my own bullies and demons,
but that day is burned into my memory.
It changed my life forever,
because I honestly believed that I would never see my niece again,
I believed that she would be dead in the next year.
I gave my niece a kiss on her forehead,
and I prayed to God that she would be okay.
I ran into my house and I cried.
That was the day that all of my innocence was taken away.
Everything has been my own Hell since then.

And I really miss those days where I looked at the world
as this beautiful and exciting place
and where every new answer fascinated me
to the point where I loved asking
Why?

But now I hate that question,
because there is never really a straight answer anymore.
*To be continued...

Food

I don’t personally like eating
It makes you fat
Though you get nutrion…

Food can affect you emotionally
Can be a reason for your boredom
It depresses you in a way

It can take you from 6 pack to 1 funny pack
it can build you and deform you

We live to eat but not necessary to eat physical food
Food for your soul
Food for your thoughts
Those are good food
Not too much of nutritional food

I resent eating too much
Liquids can be good
Alcohol not bad as lonh u Drink wisely
Binge is for the imature…

Fizzy drinks your sodas not that bad as long as you don’t abuse them…
100% juice can get you a running stomach
Water is the best I can survive days with it only…

Food need a proper plan
Your temper the diet you temper your body
You temper your emotional circle
Your sleeping circle
Food gets you tired
Reason for fatigue…

If it was up to me I wouldn't have a name
Menace to society now I see the irony
Every sound is a different kind of feel to observe
A different present moment
How we live during certain  times
It just flows in me snd I let it **** me
Stages of our life that we cant define in time
Character from a high being innovating
With worth in their brains
We're all soldiers since birth and we rebel
And we **** inside..... and we live consciously
*******
A grasping student
I belong to her.... my mother from above
mother of my heart, you are one
And we create ourselves
Just a being from planet earth
We are the creators of life
And mother nature is just being
Treat her well
Stages in my mind
Cages are being broken
We are beings
I see them in my room
There's no mind
There's no rules
There's no mystery
Embrace misery to learn and earn
I'm just a being
Fall for yourself
Open arms...vulnerable
Feel you
I see you
We're just beings
Aliens are here
They're just other conscious beings
**** social media I see myself in keys
Lost in black and white
I own the measures
So vulnerable
**** a phone
My lord, we are our own
What is ******
A way of being
Aliens
I see classically
The MUSIC
I see
Stages are shown
**** a title
The being
Myself
I feel it
I'm just a ****** to you
FUCKKCKCKKAJAKQIIQ
The self
DUDUDUDUUDE
GOD
Communicating
I'm so free
Recording in my mind
Molecules I see you
Messengers
To this feel
The being
This experience
*** and the being
Insane in the king
Voyage the self spiritually
I'm ******* in person
No LANGUAGE
Spiritually depresses
THE SELF

Back in time

SPEAK IN ***

Characters

Languages

****
nd death

BACK IN TIME BEINGS

AND DEATH

I am energy
****

MuSic and death

I AM AN IDEA
Human

Humans e
DOkao

Omggggg in my head


In my head

Prrscrfkkk

Peace and sacrifice k

*** peace
Ggaggaga
Ajgkkkk
*** ACCEPTANCE
THE MIND

*** I'M LIVING
*** I FEEL
***

DUDE
In my head

HEAVEN
HELL
I SEE THE GODS
THEY SPEAK IN CODE
MODERN

I SAW EVERYTHING

I WAS NOTHING
I WAS SO SATAN
I WAS SO GOD

we're not alone

In the wake of wistful winds
Blue fog shuffles and descends
Depresses graying grass into darker earth
And burdens arthritic joints of trees
Whose auburn graces
Suppressed
By deepening mist

Cries of tarnished gold
Wilt, brief petals sigh away their lives
Unheeded beauty pushed aside

Before night fall, before I nod off to sleep- I am the worst of all the things that have always bothered me.
The devil of all the worst to keep.

The stories and what they meant- behind the pen and words to describe them so patiently.

Without purpose, and of no direction to speak. I paint them in a line dividing my mind and my reality.

Of these things I've hoped to have accomplished but have failed and how if you've succeeded then it bitterly depresses me:

So, dark streets with no lighting but for the car. A long drive seemed fairly uninteresting. All thoughts about the girl sitting next to me.

And how she stays quiet for a while before she starts to talk about the things she seems to thinks we need.

And in that moment I can sense it- a destiny. Not for the rest of our lives but for the hint of self discovery.

All the fallacies we believe, can they start crumbling?

It's short lived, the quickly dissolving feeling of warmth. The lines falter between the physical desire for lust now and the need for love more than anything.

And if I missed out on both was it fear of further failure or the consequences of love that's been shattered?

I never wanted to get left behind. And so I treacherously denied myself the feeling of hope and watched it all slip by.

Without hesitation, no doubt of anything at all, I pushed on to try and find meaning. No meaning. We just expose all the carnal parts. To try and find healing in the arms of those we hope to know.

I want to experience love without doubt, without wondering if there went something wrong. I want to bury the ghosts and put them deep in the ground. And I fear the dangers of my fears that have been overwhelming me. I want to know why I fear to love the most out of everything. I think it's a shame that I just can't seem to get over you.

Why am I so scared?

I see her blank stares. As she tries to read me. Tries to understand. But it's not dreams or fairy tale land. I'm being haunted by the past and all the broken glass used to cut skin and write out the names of sins.

So was it ever half as much as it seems to me? Or is it just a gentle whisper of what I had thought it had been?

Just us grasping to nothing and holding on tight to the ropes in the hopes of something glorious happening when we sense those feelings we so long to forget.

And so all we know is regret, and I am afraid to admit that I might be ashamed to be feeling. So I try not to feel anything at all, and so I let you leave and you forget and you forget and you forget what we were close to feeling anyway.