She was always
Simply
           A
              Lock
                      Away; all they needed was the
Key.
Those who found it
Lost it soon enough too.
But those who fashioned it,
themselves
Without deterring from the task
Without trying to replicate a lost key
With nothing but a
egami euqinu
In their minds
Of what the lock looked like
And what the key should look like
Only those few,
Few, very few
Wizards
who toiled to work their magic
Succeeded.
And they never lost their key
They necklaced it around their heart
A symbol that was now etched into
their existence
Entangled in the life of the veins
That this heart so solely depended on
Becoming one with them

Those were the lucky ones

The others, the ones she wished mattered
Were still only searching
Searching
Meandering
Probing
Ferreting
Still only looking for
A key that had once been used
And whose lock was now
Rust rusting rusted
With time.

Still searching
But never creating, of course
Always only searching
Until they found it



        And then lost it again.

Even with a thousand heads and souls around me,
The thought of loneliness always resided with me
I did not intend to fit in everyone's sizes,
Nor was I proud of the bottle that shook with rage, ready to spill
My life disintegrates within a flash of a solution
I present myself and my energy to a dull audience
But the same smiles just stare speechless, gawking at me

I paraded willfully, expressing myself through art that was repulsive to many
Yet, there were a few eyes that presented a beacon, despite my addictions crumbling the floor beneath me
I reached out and touched the flames that singed my hair
Till I landed on flowers
They were not the gorgeous type,
But they were just like me:
Odd, beautiful, deterring, and tiresome.

One of them shared a joke about death,
It forced a laugh out of me, till I realized today was April Fools' Day
A skull-shaped bud cries in front of me, similar to that of a child
I take in the smell of the hole I've fallen in, though the fall was cushioned by giant red flowers
As pretty as they are, their smell is who I am
I look above and see a crucifix in the sky
Then the darkness falls in, and I accept the undeniable truth by closing my eyes.

right now
sacrifice is fueling opportunity
an opportunity to breathe
with an uninterrupted purpose
the corruption of our native soul
stop nourishing it
by constructing whiteness
sacrificing ethnicity
for the temporal indulgence
adrenaline *****
torturing
intensity of dissociation
hallucinating whiteness
the worst drug ever manufactured
forced upon our children
intricate delicate
vulnerable violence
tripping
stumbling
dissociating from an eternity
of survival of the most cooperative
deterring
forgetting
intoxicating
for a moment
momentum of ******

A cold breeze, chilling only the skin,
deterring nothing deeper,
nothing sacred, or secret, or obscure.
Everything within her was still and calm,
undisturbed by the inhospitable outside,
the snow and empty town.
Because she knew that soon
spring would be coming,
bringing life to this town,
restoring her happy little place.
Soon, she would call it home again.
The empty trees.
In one of them, she saw two blossoms.
Both of them thriving,
two pinks lights in a world that was otherwise
white and grey.
Confirmation.
Her lips curled upward.
A serene and content smile
on her glowing face.
She walked on
thinking of the coming spring
and the child that would arrive afterward.
She knew that soon
happiness and vitality would be restored
to this barren little town.

Her eyes are the stained glass broken from confession.
Her withered hair buried beneath dirt gravel.
Her forbidden mind fosters slobs of crazy.
Her mind is a battlefield of Trojan takeover.
Her bare feet remember sacred ground of tainted memories.
Her ears embrace the screech of still weather.
Her grapefruit mouth juiced with venom is tasteless.
her sharp egg shelled fingertips woven from braids of straw.
Her body is the Earthquake ruptured by the vibrations of collision.
Her thoughts trespass gated abandonment
Her firework pen exploding with gunpowder secrets.
Her gunpowder secrets deterring the sanity.
Her cracked lips cobweb from silenced words.
Her puppet stringed smile puts on a show to the audienced world.
Her soul has been toyed with by the cynical Fates.
Her echo without direction is a heartbroken drum line.
Her armor has been dowsed with sharp, penetrating words.
Her skin has painted stories interior to her porcelain frame.
Her soulless story can be dry swallowed by rocks.
Her tears bleed of whispered screams.

Marisa Mayeda's tiny hands are steady as she smooths the fabric out in front of her and examines the stitches, checking for bunching or knots.

“Lay it flat, so you can see the whole thing,” suggests instructor Joyce Blaney. Mayeda obeys, spreading out the gorgeous patchwork quilt she’s almost finished creating. It’s one of five she’s making for the babies at Torrance Memorial Hospital.

“It’s her Girl Scout project,” explains Blaney. “Each kid got to choose what they wanted to do, and since Marisa loves sewing, she picked this.”

Blaney’s studio at Sew Creative in Redondo Beach is colorful chaos: bolts of fabric, scrap baskets, ribbons and lace. Pincushions dot almost every surface, and the hum of Singer sewing machines underscores conversation.

It’s unhurried and something of a throwback that most post-baby boomers would recognize as a home economics class—a part of American curriculum that has dwindled over the decades. It’s where Blaney herself learned to thread a needle 50 years ago, fell in love with it almost instantly, and made it a part of her life.

“I learned in a classroom of 30 kids and one teacher. She must have lost her mind,” she laughs now. “It was very crowded. I didn’t realize how challenging that must have been until I started teaching my own students.”

The previous owner started Sew Creative in 1989 before retiring, whereupon Blaney—who had been an employee for several years—bought it and has run it for the past 13 years. Any kid—or adult —can join classes, starting from age six and up. “I primarily teach classes every day after school and on Saturdays. It’s a great opportunity for kids to have a creative outlet.”

According to studies from the University of Missouri, an increasing number of millennials and younger kids don’t know basic home skills, including sewing, cooking, or doing laundry. Only 30 percent of young adults know how to properly boil an egg, according to one study.

Learning by example, such as watching your mother hem a pair of pants, has become less common with each generation. We microwave our food or eat out a lot more. Convenience has made it easier to forgo learning how to cook, and with home economics classes gradually disappearing in the education system.

“Schools are so much more about academics now,” Blaney observes. “This gives kids a chance to make something with their hands, to feel confidence and have something to show for their work. One kid even said that sewing helps her relax, to focus on the moment. I mean, that’s pretty important. She gets it.”

The Queen Amidala costume that Ava Brunner is making for Halloween exemplifies that sentiment. Resplendent in flowing white fabric and a complex pattern of scalloped ruffles, it’s an intricate and challenging design. Brunner, who has been coming to Sew Creative for five years, is now a pro seamstress at age 11, and plans to be an actor and fashion designer.

“There’s no deterring her. Once she decides she’s going to do something ... ” Blaney shakes her head admiringly. “Nothing stops her.”

Mayeda, working diligently on her blanket, just started sewing two months ago at her mother’s suggestion. She had never sewn anything before, but she had a goal and dove in with enthusiasm.

“I wanted to make a new bag for my birthday, but I didn’t know how. So I needed to learn,” she said.

Like her teacher, she’s found a new thing to love—plus a brand-new bag for her birthday this week. And come this January, five newborns will get handmade, hand-stitched blankets for theirs.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses

There's a girl with walls around her
Walls that were built to protect her from the evils of the world
Walls with masks hanging
Each showing a different face
But

I see her behind her walls

The more she's hurt
The thicker the walls become
Effectively deterring anyone from getting close
Yet trapping her inside
But

I see her behind her walls

The facades she brings forth
Are carefully calculated
To minimise any foul play
So that she doesn't have to have her heart
And soul scarred and broken again
But

I see her behind her walls

She runs behind her walls
Flinging sarcasm, insults and indifference
Whenever someone tries to get close
As she's learned time and again
That every time she brings down her walls and allow someone into her heart with the promise that she doesn't need her walls anymore
They tear her defenses down from the inside
Leaving her to rebuild all by herself
But

I see her behind her walls

I come knocking on her walls
Calling for her to let me in
Telling her that
I see her behind her walls
And that I love her
And that I'm not asking her to bring down her walls
But to build our own walls
Just us

Can you see us behind our walls?
You're not welcome

We took a bus to Wilmington
And skipped a dream or two
In order to be cognizant—
When the “Are we there yet’s”
Rebounded void of “yet.”

We parked the bus adjacent to
The paint-peeling facade
Of lonely temple Wilmington—
Threatening no demon of the sky
With a keenly polished death spike.

It had no spendthrift window of
Christ Jesus with the sick
And poor, neglected derelicts—
Who glow with jubilee and gold chloride
For His altruistic charities.

Across its door was fastened tight
A rusted iron chain
Which barred the shallow, blinkered souls—
Who loitered at the barrier’s feet
Waiting on God to warrant entry.

But we who were of cogent view
Detached deterring catch
And entered with our chins *****—
A light-bulb-vacant sanctuary
Where taciturn shadows took a seat in every pew.

And down a velvet aisle stood
A lonely, weeping priest
Inhaling in unblemished palms—
That not a single pious doubter
Would dare inspect.

“Welcome to my church,” he said
With breathless, choking sobs,
“I am the congregation here—
The pastor, choir, usher, and Sunday school teacher
Of Wilmington Church of Reason.”

Inquired we what hidden woe
Enlaced with torment cast
Those salt discharged convulsions—
Quaking the sanctity of exultation
In the House of Apollo.

And with concise, unleavened words
He justified his tears
And whispered to our weary troop—,
“Alone, alone am I,
Isolated within this box of omitted truth.

“O, give me soothing slumber deep
And strip these sentient eyes
From ghastly sheaths of consciousness—
Repair this mended paradigm,
Or tell me that I am mistaken.

“Imaginary friends and foes
Make wretched hearts a wreath
Of roses red and mistletoe—
And bird of paradise to keep
Hope alive, alive and awake and well, hope alive…”

So each of us, a brimming cup
Of empathy, remained
To keep old pastor Wilmington—
Old usher, choir, teacher, congregation Wilmington
Alive and awake and well.

Oh I wish I could dream
neath a nightscape disaster
frowning entanglements
formed in these eyes
Fractured endeavors
from here till tomorrow
born of this heart
atop stagnant steam skies

Dripping of sense
never once fond of finding
answers in deep
as the quicksand holds on
Sinking this man
into unknown decisions
raking his soul
crossed the oncoming dawn

Painting a picture
in oils on canvas
clear as a bell
ringing quick to it’s toll
Clutching this throat
deterring all breathing
dropping the fear
ever ******* his soul

Grabbing a thread
and a rusty old needle
stitching this mouth
so to no longer speak
Draining that blood
pulled from fingertip prickings
crimson expense
slowly rendering weak

Watching the fall
from some higher up places
chuckling loud
at the sound of his scream
Checking a pulse
in an emptiness feeling
waving goodbye
Oh I wish I could dream

We’re all so beautiful
Smiling as though nothing were to interrupt
Because nothing is supposed to

But it is this life that we live
So arduous, so rigid
That drives us so
Deterring us from that which we deem natural and whole

If it weren’t for this view that has been created
We wouldn’t have left the point
From which all other points have been made

All we ever wanted was to say hello
To acknowledge even the most remote
Accepting all that comes forth
Asking for nothing other than to breathe

And it is this breath that has made it so hard
For it wishes to be breathed once more
Having been welcomed by the herd past shunned
Begging for nothing other than
A chance to have begun

words through time-eyes,
and life thought left long
with mind for days while
this one sat deterring soul
from body in a foot-lost
night. sun's end, son's end,
and the day's typewriter
just hours from death of man.
awaiting knowledge of grou-
nded truth. ground vessel of
a soylent variety, without
thoughts on past word-loss.
summer existence, like young
girl's expectations of world's
blood left in trashcan. place the
heart, forced sweating to free self
of longer lost sleep. feel right, sleep
longer during the long dark. true
waiting and lack ******* reason
when this cat has gone, been got,
has lost a white-year of quiet memories.
times destroyed, knew to rise hip. knew
to rise onward with cigarette lit of matched
flesh. sense the repetition, remember
away the flesh. blue smoke of fire in the
long dark, in the coming white-year.
sense the memory, ending waste but
still losing knowledge. gaining chaos of
thirteen out, of this one's will to be six out.

I don't know how one compliment
On my haircut could possibly
Ignite an entire firework show
Under my skin,
But that's just what you did.

I don't know why
All it took was your silhouette
As I sat silently in the back
Entirely deterring from Larry's sermon,
But it simply did.

I can't comprehend
How your complete dorkiness
Could decisively alter
My future in matter of a minutes,
And yet it did.

Though not even a glimmer
Of you and me is a possibility
A girl can and will
Dream within the pages of poetry
Of a kiss that lingers with locked fingertips
Of watery eyes spilling out from the hushed passion
Stirred by the inconspicuous beauty you so clearly see
Within every confine of me.

Let my fantasies unfurl in a world
Where hope runs rampage
And love forever thrives.

I shall never know,
if you faked those blackouts.

The ones that made you crumple
on the stairs. Or else out in the cold
of Andy's rusted shed. Once I caught

you naked, you know,
during one of your blackouts.

I shall never know,
if you faked those blackouts.

I wouldn't have blamed you,
a shed-full of
wasted tanks and canisters;
lighter fluid, degreaser, air freshener,
foot spray – they spoilt the flooring,
and they spoilt our thoughts.

Never once deterring
from the self-manifest dream of escape,
of truth and eventual decay;
we took to bare arms
to satisfy
our escape from oxygen.

And, in open view,
you laid out naked with her.
You more studied her,
than ****** her,
you more observed ***,
than became it.

I wanted her
as much as I wanted to be you.

So, I traced my dreams to your nothings,
upon your heralded wisdom,
but never could I untangle
from some impossible condition.

No, I never could untangle
the means from the ends,
and never could I darken
at will,

my old blackout friend.

I've been left out and cast aside
My shadow is all that's by my side
I'm waiting for my turn
To embrace
what is
deserved  
to all

So much luggage I carry from the past
I can't ask for help cause' nothing lasts
Let downs are always expected
The world has spoken,
I'm rejected

Promising to let you down is the only way I won't let you down
I'm beneath
the
soil
in the
ground!  

*******,
No one can come in
I'm not ready to go somewhere I've never been
That's why I won't pull anyone in
What I keep inside is deterring

I'll remain a stone unturned
Demanding what I'll never earn
Because I'm a peice work
A job that probably won't get done.

The Partner, who you can confide in when times are unkind
someone you can depend on as the view becomes blind
with the heart of Hercules, until you are absolutely mine

I will be the man you need me to be towing the line
I will be the man you need me to be for all times

The Fever, which defends the honor you cherish and reveal
as the protector that gives life without compromises or deals
fulfilling the innermost wants, caring with selfless zeal

I will be the man you need me to be taking on any woe
I will be the man you need me to be deterring all foes

The Lover, who you can feel deep within the bones
like the ribs of Adam creating the partner with tones
stimulating moisture thru desires, making you moan

I will be the man you need me to be like a fine knitted glove
I will be the man you need me to be as a cure for all past loves.

One touch.
Light as a feather.
Yet, a grip as powerful as steel.
The hands around my neck.
The thoughts that never leave my head.

How can the feeling,
of just a simple thought,
be so desiring, yet so deterring.
It´s something I want,
That I can never have.
Like the glimpse of sun rays in the darkest winter day.
That warm feeling, that so rarely occurs.  

I search, but I never find.
Because good is gone.
Lost, like my favorite pair of lingerie.
Whatever about that, that made me feel so good about myself,
even though I knew,
it never mattered.

He dropped a bottle, we watched the lactic leave and cover the floor.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
He tipped the vase that was onced said not to be touched,
Drew on walls with all sorts of colors.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
Ran with bread in his hands that wasn't his,
Walked on property that said NO.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
Absent from school, days and days,
Sobbed and pout in stores when mother said,
I'm not buying that.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
Grades were lowering,
Smiles were deterring.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
Tussled in the streets with the no-good-doers,
Trying to protect the change in his pockets.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
He came in the house of the mist of nights,
Bashed and bitter,
Partied till sunrise.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
He met a lover,
Left her for another and another.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
He howled and beaten people,
Threatened their lives if they spoke of it.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
Jumped in mysterious cars and tarnished the neighborhoods,
Took innocent lives,
Was sentenced life.
"He's not a baby boy, he knows better."

Whenever I allow myself to think of love, my mind runs
To the chambers where secret memories are stored,
In sealed chests, on high unreachable shelves, deterring me
From opening, dreaded Pandora boxes, stripped of hope.

Yet sometimes the endeavour to reminisce overwhelming
Feelings I struggle to repress, commands me to climb the stairs,
Unclose the safes of the unspoken, as I forbid tears
From pouring, out of clouded eyes, still loving.

You are there, with your roguish smile, chivalric deportment,
Statuesque poise, Michelangelo’s David, I compared, giddily
Gazing at your tragic features as if you were, the one
And only whom I could ever love, desire, crave, forgive.

Suddenly though not unexpectedly, intrudes the scolding guardian
Of remembrances, treating me as an impostor in my own mind,
A thief of frames concealed, yelling at me as you used to, reminding me
Of reality, your swinging lunatic humours, mercilessly lashing me with words.

Scars time will never heal, they lie when they say it will,
It has no power over what we were, nor can it erase even the slightest
Faintest flare of what we felt. Whenever I allow myself to think of love,
I still think of you, but that’s the maximum I consent to do.

As I approach the broken path,
The rolling hills,
Deep dusty baths
Of valleys waning
Far into the distance,
Beyond the smoky sky’s reaching;

I notice black broken rocks askew.
The breathless air,
Late mourning dew
Disrupted.

The land sits at unease,
Holding its bated breath
For something that would never happen.

I stand
Dazed; mind deterring
My hitherto partner.

I think to how I have passed this way before,
How it was different
How it was my first time
How the land was fresh and full of life
How time has degraded it.

Now it had passed,
Yet scars were left;
Not only to the land…

Struggling, I now remember
In blinding clarity
That I had passed this way before,
Alas, not alone.

I am power

I watch eyes leave the ground
and walk up to her lips.
My magnetism has them lingering for longer,
hoping for a stronger look thrown at them.
I see double-takes
and furtive smiles,
I see her glide through crowds on clouds for miles.

I am war paint

She has no smile on,
her jaw is tense,
and you better not approach her
without an answer to your question.
I have nothing to do with defence,
I am a shield
but only to brandish her strength,
don't worry,
she won't reach for your jugular
till you do.

I am grace

I am an involuntary parting of the sea,
I see her bring down empires of doubt, and thrones of inadequacy.
She has no smile on,
but you hope to see one anyway.

I seem to have that effect on her.
She seems to never pick her battles without me,
and her wars are somehow always smudged with my name.
She refuses to be tamed,
she says the others don't suit her the same. 

I am constant support.
I am faith.
I am visible signs of the strength within.
I am deterring, I am inviting.
I am living legends played out on her lips, I am quiet histories whispered into no air. I am fire and rescue,
I am hope and destruction.

My name is Red.

It's not cool

Your brain is a utopia but it's not invincible
You make one wrong move and you're out
Don't tear from the roots up and claim "it wasn't me"
Every decision that you make is on you

You stare in the mirror and what do you see?
something you don't want to be?
All you have to do is change who you are
Make decisions that will benefit over falter

Kids these days thinking that it's cool to do drugs and drunk drive
Killing themselves and leaving there family behind
For what? Now your mom got one less mouth to feed? **** that

I'm tired of this illusion that deterring your health is what gets you by
"I just need another drink, another hit"
You need help, you're sick

Get up, change your ***** *** clothes that you've been sleeping in for the past week and take a shower
It's not a math equation its commonsensical

You're not cool

If I saw my grandma today I’d hug her and tell her I understand
I understand why words of affection fell from your lips like young birds unequipped to fly
Why I the love yous were more gestures than genuine
Of courses it was there, it had to be.
that need to remind that you choose life was your receipt for its price
Cause it cost you your youth and taxed your marriage
You meant well, but when you’re a straight shooter there’s bound to be miscues
How can you expect a kid to sail across troubled waters when their sails are clipped by sharp deterring words
Your eyes distant with lack of recognition but you expect connection
A gaze filled with disgust cause you look in the mirror and you don’t like what you see.
A reflection of you that can’t be recognized
Grandma who hurt you?
I know who hurt my mom, but who hurt you?

Conspiring to expel the varied notions,
which tear us apart without emotion;
This energy that steals away our souls,
leaves mortality to feast upon the whole.

Mysterious flights of fancy take their aim,
deterring wishes to arrive in hopeful gain;
And sensing all emotions which arouse,
by exploring every truth in future's vows.

While cloaked in purple shadows' wrath,
the strong will seek a never-ending path;
Which prevents all doubts of everlasting light,
to invoke clear answers to anxieties of the night.

Distant voices carry on relentless rhymes,
as disappointments mount in forward time;
Each soul will suffer all its lonely wants,
when searching in a field of garish haunts.

If only we could see what lies ahead,
perhaps the days would pass without the dread;
Of life completely wrapped in mystery,
the terms of which are guarded preciously.

Headstrong Tornado

I feel like I failed myself for not joining the Royal Air Force

I wanted to join for years ever since I was a kid

But my teenage moods got in the way

Like they did with most other things

And still do but I see them for what they are, moods

Which stopped me from being elite

And serving my country and deterring the enemy

Be it Soviet Russia or anyone else

Looking back I realise things were as bad as they were

My moods were a hurricane of what?

Teenage angst about not having a girl?

Pressure cooker emotions caused by my dominant mum?

Peer pressure rivalry to be normal and one of them?

Being bullied and having to fight for my existence?

Simply living and being me in my head and world

A world where I want to fly and dream of the sky

Like I have every day since I was born

The fact that it could of been different

Nick the Tornado F3 pilot intercepting Soviet Bear bombers

But my eyesight went bad and i never got full grades

So it was my unfulfilled dream up in the clouds

Yet it wasn't all doom and gloom

I did re-arm IX SquadronTornado planes with practise bombs

This was in 1986 at RAF Honington with Sgt Edwards

That made up for my career failure

Even if it was just for a day

In my memory that day never ends...

The hate is there, buried, vaguely on the surface,
deterring, detached, detesting and serving its purpose.

An invisible web of lies is what’s broken and blind,
within us, without them, a situation, foreign and undefined.

Pleasure rising as intolerance and indecision placates,
I look to my greed, my selfishness and wants as I advocate.

A knot of trust, tried and true, with a twisted unrealistic worldview,
Let’s continue, retry, forgive and see nothing new in round two.

Clutch to hope and wonder what about life makes it so unfair,
Getting answers to questions that no longer matter, I swear.

Undone and forgotten, you’re everything that I wished removed,
I’ll stay with you to make myself unhappy, even if my heart doesn’t approve.

I place the blame for troubled times on situations out of our control,
It was those eyes, that smile and false promises that put good decisions on hold.

Our love was relevant, once, before nature took its course,
We were unstoppable until we became unlovable,  such an unnatural force.

Teach me grace, give me mercy, use your words to fan the flame,
Take my pride, lend me leniency, it’s our disregard that’s to blame.

I’m the rock, sturdy strong, crashing waves the least of what’s breaking,
A steady stream of forgettable memories is all that we’re making.