"developmental" poems
A widespread condition
related to nutrition
is lactose intolerance
that is in essence
the inability to digest and assimilate
the milk sugar-lactose-the substrate
that is acted upon by lactase-
the specific enzyme
over a period of time.
This may happen suddenly
and generally
at any age most unexpectedly.
Lactose intolerance
is caused by the absence
of the enzyme lactase
that breaks down lactose
to the simple sugars-
glucose and galactose.
The condition may be
secondary, congenital,
or developmental.
Secondary lactose intolerance
invariably has its occurrence
related to a gastrointestinal infection
and its disappearance
is linked to the causative factor’s correction.
This type of intolerance-
(certainly a nuisance)
is reversible
if we are a bit careful.
Congenital lactose intolerance,
an inherited form of intolerance,
is a rare genetic abnormality
that one can unearth
soon after an infant’s birth.
This need not cause any fear
as it lasts only half a year.
Developmental lactose intolerance
also known as primary intolerance
is one wherein the enzyme synthesis
is progressively less
during childhood
and this persists into adulthood.
Gita Ashok
24/10/2011, 2 pm
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 4:58 AM UTC
On my way to work,
Whenever I pass through
The Holy Trinity church,
After a brief prayer,
The tombstone of a martyr
My eyes never fail to search
As his eulogies sensitive cords
Are sure to touch!
I admire
The tombstone’s design
A flickering torch,
Whose tongue
Is the martyr ’s statue,
That talks loud his virtue!
“Holy Trinity
Till I crossed the river of death
Allegedly, striped of my health,
Poisoned by evil doers,
Who hanker
By unfair means
To amass wealth,
I had been
A public servant
Adherent to my faith! ”
“Holy Trinity
To abide by
Your commandment-
Don’t steal-
Was my desire
Also to pull out millions
From poverty’s quagmire.
Across the board development
Working better than one's best
Efficient resource utilization
Also drew my attention! "
“Holy Trinity
A generation
To corruption averse
Is all-out
The bad scenario
In my country
To reverse.
A generation for
A developmental ******
That has lust.
I have come to understand
The coming up of
Many a lass and lad,
Whose rights that demand
I need no more reward,
When in front of you
This way I stand
Justice to demand! ”
Children of Oromia,
Ethiopia’s elephantine branch,
You have to detach
Your state, your country
From the impudent
And the corrupt
That still exercise
The outmoded
Colonizers’
Divide and rule
As a fool .
A corruption fighter
Development’s workforce
Is also a hero
Like Ethiopia’s
Valorous and dear sons
Balcha Abanefso
Geresu Duke,Abdisa Aga
And Jagama Kelo.
Children of Oromia
Giving to divisive guys
A deaf ear,
You should hold your
Country Ethiopia,
A cradle of mankind
And civilization, dear
Do not forget
Adding up
Is the current road map
Evil doers
Killing a hero
Could not bring
The change drive
To zero.
As a poet what I can say
“Evil doers
Stop to opt for
Devilish way!
But if you
Keeping going astray
You will go
To the grave in
Ignominious way!”//
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 7:09 AM UTC
“When we hand down
This flag to posterity
Paying prices of life
To the country's
Age-old sovereignty
It is with a word of caution
'This generation
Should accord due attention
To handing down
To the coming generation
A new Ethiopia
To fruits of development
A cornucopia!' ”
“Yes, grandpa
Working day and night
We shall take Ethiopia
To a new developmental height!
Once Ethiopia was great
How could we that forget?
The country's renaissance
Firm we shall advance!
For common growth
Resources we
Shall harness,
Allowing the region
Soar with wings of success!”//
I am happy to announce the birth of my poetic drama
In the Vortex of Passion's Wind
By United P.C-publication without risk and quickly (Austria)
ISBN 978-3-7103-2109-2
Release date09092015
GBP14,90
About the book
Shock treatments that attend the wrong turns of life reshape people's mindset anew and nudge them out of their slumbers. On the other hand, as forewarned is forearmed, the sagacious learn from the lapse of the trigger-happy than indulge in the vortex of passion's wind. Miss not this page turner and cliffhanger mainly dealing with HIV/AIDS in a campus of a country worst hit by the pandemic.
Please buy and read the book.You could also get your collection of poems published by www.unitedP.c-publishquickly and without a risk
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
Last night,
I spent 45 minutes
In the bathroom
Because my doctor
Told me I needed more
Calcium in my diet.
He says calcium
Will make my bones strong,
And if I want to grow up
To be as big as my dad
Than a hefty glass of milk
Should do the trick.
I'm lactose intolerant.
But to this day I wonder,
Is calcium the culprit?
When an infant's bones
Are crushed by tanks,
And all that is left
Is the dust,
That you wipe away
With the palm of your
Blood-stained hand,
On an unmarked grave
Too old to remember,
But it keeps on
Coming back.
Back to a time
Where potential meant
The possibility of
Developmental potency.
Not the supposedly
High capacity for
Danger.
Like the flowers
In the spring,
Build their spine
From our breath;
Change is the
Life in our blood.
The minute an
Eighteen year old's
Parent's swallow the fire
Of an IED 6,032 miles away,
Believing their child fought for,
Change.
Verb.
To make or become different.
Verb.
To give or get foreign money in exchange for:
Verb.
To remove a ***** diaper from a baby
and replace it with a gun.
Where do you run to?
When sleep
is the only place
In a thousand miles
where you can find God.
When rest
is the only peace
you haven't felt
since they said
the war is
finally over.
When dreams
Are the memories
Of your children’s
Stardust
When you
Can’t adjust
To the lack of future
Freedom liberated
From materialism
When no
Dictionary
Has your definition
of Change.
Noun.
Something you find in your pocket.
Verb.
Something you find in yourself.
Change,
Is not something
You can touch;
But it's something
You should want
To feel.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC
WHISTLING AND SNIFFING SIMULTANEOUSLY
Whistling and sniffing at the same time
Can’t hold hands or rather get married
United and collaborative in any case
This duo may perhaps land into the life of some person
The kind of man whose who acts,
Performs duties of the shepherd on the flock.
Like his initial master,
He condemns wickedness,
Goes against what is religiously evil,
And exults the righteous.
But he soon he craves for another pair of his robe
For he does accumulate an avalanche of resources,
His eyes are soon blinded.
Would his robe evade being soiled?
Co-operative sniffing and whistling,
Can hatch into temptations to anybody,
Even the half-human, half God
Did he not get tested in the wilderness?
Our big man opens his eyes one day,
Finds himself campaigning and competing for,
Trying to woo for citizens’ keys,
Essentials for serving the people in a wider circle.
Perhaps his whistling guides his path.
Brings him in the companionship of
Other servants of the people.
Any devoted service present in that house really?
Brotherly whistling and sniffing,
May make one’s conscience slither backwards,
Two or more steps into mud.
He is now influential,
A famous societal figure.
His fat salary seconded with some allowances.
Or even thirded with public developmental resources,
Guarantees him total luxury.
Is this not an opportunistic opportunist?
Our Sniffer and whistler is contended,
Complacent with his success.
Jubilant with him servant is his ‘first Master ’
For keeping to the ‘sacred’ scriptures.
The vehicle which carried him straight,
One way to heaven gets crippled,
It can’t manage to hit the road
Like its American, British and Chinese counterparts,
His sincere promise goes unfulfilled
Unmet due to his pretentious pretence.
His ‘second’ Master gets extremely mad.
For loyalty and faithfulness denied.
And furiously plucks him from glory.
Simultaneous whistling and sniffing,
The ‘initial’ heaven can’t simply put up with them.
A wise servant of the masses
A true leader should only whistle at a time,
Sniff at a time.
But not sniffing and whistling simultaneously.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
The spirochetes of the ages embellish themselves in a mystical quartet, as our respirations reverberate across sanctimonious plateaus of Oedipus and Electra complexes.
Your celestial convictions are tasteful as they wistfully meander through the fuselage of hydrangea bushes and ***** foxgloves.
I can feel the beat of your apprehensive pulse.
As we applaud the demise of this psychological stage-show, where connected separations unravel their shameful mysteries into a vortex of deluded academia; it is evident when someone communicates deep convictions across pulsating swamps of cosmological hemispheres.
So, as we merge into this cataclysmic vortex of enshrinement, let us embrace the past understanding of future ambivalence where the beginning can only be understood within the context of the end.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC
I have memories
Of lying down in the backyard
Of my childhood home
Dressed in a hug
Parka, snow bibs, and gloves a size too big
The world had grown completely silent
All my fears held back
By a curtain of snowflakes
Sometimes
when the world is too loud
And everything is a little too much
My mind will wander off
To a snowy neighborhood
At night
In a small town
Often times this mental space
holds only darkness
All my developmental flaws
Packed away in moving boxes
Thick black smoke seeps between the cracks
Of pristine cardboard and plastic
Being loaded onto a truck
A size too small
It’s funny
That house never felt like a home
But sometimes
When the world was wrapped
In a blanket of snow
I felt peace and warmth
Out in the cold
Jan 29, 2022
Jan 29, 2022 at 12:02 PM UTC
It’s been two years since I first met You,
and one year since I wrote to You.
Oh, my, how You’ve made me grow.
The toughest year I’ve seen has passed.
I suffered for months and questioned a lot—
I knew You had a plan, but I must follow through.
On the darkest night I gathered the little I had
and drank Your unblessed blood as I wrote.
Unsure of what was said, I went to bed,
and in the morning I found written gold.
The words, though, were not my own—
even more unknown was the character transcribed.
The path was now set to leave the forest,
the same unruly garden Your last blessed poet
journeyed from successfully so many years ago,
with my own Beatrice as my glorious guide.
But my Beatrice has plans of her own,
as both a Muse and developmental instigator.
She holds my hand as we walk off cliffs
knowing full well that I cannot fly.
I tried to learn the follies of Lust
and alone its intricacies eluded me;
but she showed me in an instant that what we want
can wait, the good-willed Lust, the puzzle piece, and missing link.
From here I can move on again, slowly recovering.
Each new dream sets the stage of life’s chapters,
to convey the ideas I want all to know,
and to remember the power one wields with a pen.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
Stuck in my ways things can never change,
I should have more but the days turn strange,
I'm hittin a low spending hard earned dough to roll with satisfaction,
To hand it off making stupid transactions,
It's a standoff against myself
I have great potential that is in a developmental stage
it could lead to wealth
It's hard for me to believe in self
I have many guides but no one to truly follow
I'm losing my head Sleepyhollow
Of course I'll make the choice to have cottonmouth which makes life so hard to swallow
I need my drink of water to wash away everything I did
I'm glad I'm not a father I'm not ready for any kids
**** I haven't found my left rib I know hurt more than anything
I guess pain is the coolest
Time ***** as a Band-Aid
I need a doctor cause I'm wounded
I rather have stitches
than hang around ignorant *******
I need to find a lamp with a genie to grant all of my wishes
**** I took it back to Aladdin but you know what that's not gonna happen
Look my eyes call them red either I'm high or either from the tears I shed
It could be both but there is one I do the most
Not really trying to brag not really trying to boast
Things seem easy cause my reality is on coast
I'm trying to learn the ropes before it all gets tangled
I hate this climb to the top only cuz of the angle
There is a long journey ahead I'll pack light and try to save bread
Cuz a ***** got to eat or a ***** will end up dead.
-V.v.V. Ds
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
noun
the sampling of amniotic fluid using a hollow needle inserted into the ****** to screen for developmental abnormalities in a fetus.
...
Not everything about you
is on that little screen;
not in your number of chromosomes,
not in your misshapen genes.
Yet everyone talks about you,
as if they know you:
"impaired cognitive abilities"...
"50% chance of being stillborn"...
"impacts the family unit"...
Your life and capacity for love
will never be defined by your DNA,
but rather by your smile and
your laughter and
your heart
and
and
and
...
In short, my love,
you cannot be defined by what is missing
but rather by what you can
and will be when you arrive
in all your humanity
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 3:38 PM UTC
Snow is in the forecast this weekend, but don’t let that stop you from enjoying events in and around Middle Tennessee.
The Best Buddies Club at Columbia Central High School is sponsoring a Prom Peek-a-Boo Fashion Show on Sunday at Westbury House in downtown Columbia.
Volunteers from schools throughout Maury County plan to model dresses in style for this year’s prom season. Tickets for the event are $10 each and can be purchased at the door. Proceeds benefit Best Buddies, a student organization that pairs students with others who have intellectual and developmental disabilities.
Club vice president Lilli Beck said most IDD students usually consider a parent or teacher as friends and usually do not have friends their own age. Peer buddies spend time with their buddy, calling them on the phone or helping them when needed, Beck said.
“We use fundraising to buy Christmas gifts and sponsor parties or helping our kids if they need something,” she said. “Some of our kids come from low-income families.”
Buddies also are expected to participate in Sunday’s events, serving as greeters and hosts.
“I hope I can convince one of them to say a little something at the end of the show,” Beck said.
2. You can’t live in Tennessee without remembering the king of rock-n-roll Elvis Presley, who would have turned 81 on his birthday Friday. There is a long list of activities scheduled at his Graceland home in Memphis, beginning with fans singing Happy Birthday at midnight. Go to www.graceland.com for event schedule and details.
3. Love is in the air in Nashville with the Enchanted Bridal Show on Sunday at the Hutton Hotel. Wedding and event vendors offer a variety of ideas and new styles for spring brides.
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/red-formal-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 2:27 AM UTC
Feeble-minded brains begin at youth,
Starting across bridges of developmental growth.
Family teaches us the norms and values,
Instructing kids to walk the proper line through discipline.
Educators preach the knowledge from books,
Lecturing the learned skills needed to reach logical paths.
Living is a continuous cycle of discovery that never ends,
Due to an overpass that leads to unlimited information.
Share your wisdom with the younger generation,
So they can evolve into wise people while minimizing mistakes.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 6:50 PM UTC
I was born premature
I came out tiny, skinny,
A whopping 3 pounds and whatever ounces
My parents told me they didn't expect me to have full use of my lungs
But I did
Premature babies don't grow very quickly in early childhood
But I don't think I ever saw that
I mean I always knew I was small
But I never realized how small
Looking back at all the pictures of me,
I was always the smallest, skinniest, and shortest kid around
The boys would scoop me up and carry me down the halls,
But not in the cute princess way
It was more of tossing around a toy
And I'd sit there kicking the hell out of them screaming to put me down
But it never occurred to me there was a reason I was so small
It was fourth grade and I weighed a whopping 47 pounds, the boys still carried me off, and I still didn't take it
Turns out, puberty wouldn't hit me like it would hit all the other girls
In fact, there wasn't even a need for my mom to have "the talk" with me
In fact, at seventh grade I didn't know what the hell a period was
I didn't even where bras.
In fact the first day of high school I wasn't wearing a bra!
And I cried the first day when I realized that holy **** everyone had bras on and I didn't even own one
And to my dismay I realized my mom had actually bought my little sister bras, but I didn't have any
And I was the point of interest at hushed family get togethers
Hearing hushed conversations like
Poor baby, it obviously won't happen any time soon
Im sure she will catch up
And I certainly didn't realize why my little sister was taller than me, bigger than me, and now curvier than me!
That was my job ******
And my favorite was when my mom introduced us to friends and they would always ask my younger sister how high school was and I would have to interrupt and say "Hi I'm the oldest actually"
I never thought it to do with the timing of my birth
But now I'm discovering that it turns out preemies are at high risk for physical developmental problems, learning disabilities (especially with math), ADHD, depression, psychosis, and anxiety in the teenage years
And much more likely if the birth weight was under 4 pounds! (Me)
But just like when I was four and the boys carried me and took turns lifting me off my feet
I won't let it stop me
I won't let it get to me
Being a preemie is tough.
Especially when you were born as early as I was, and as small as I was
I'll always look younger, I'll never look my own age, and I'll never be very curvy,
But I guess that's just something to add to the list of things that are supposed to hold me back.
I won't let them
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 2:21 AM UTC
Don't look me in the eyes are say you are hear to teach
***** please that's the last thing that you need to preach
I stand in a room listening to you speak of learning and education
Funny when they only thing I'm learning is how to ration
thoughts in my mind race like booming speakers
playing music so loud you feel it in your sneakers
I guess I'm not here to make much sense
but now is the time for the system to pay their rent
rental space in my mind
consuming time
thoughts that are no longer mine
Pressed into my brain this idea of education
running this **** like some federation
can't get thoughts in between regurgitated words and facts
Well I think my brain has hit the max
Maximum capacity for the ******** you're spewing
I will no longer be chewing
your lies and conformity
treating different learning like a deformity
No longer an idea of teaching
but memorization
words on a page
Here in this developmental stage
all because they are going through some 'phase'
that makes them stupid
Most of us are fluent
So don't tell me I'm not smart
because I don't know the periodic table by heart
because I'm not well versed in trail of the court
don't tell me I'm stupid
Just because I'm human
That's something that is overlooked
by the ones forcing you to study the books
Unable to see there is something to be said about knowledge of life
Or even the knowledge
not to get
pushed over the edge
Because sometimes enough is enough
And believe me
this "education" **** *****
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC
Ouroboros is its own meal
The same is true with
Those from own country that steal!
To humstrung the incumbent
Most party members are not hesitant.
Ouroboros,they adore their party,
Which they obliviously or
Otherwise sully with
A rent-seeking identity.
They adore the incumbent
Yet they spell nation's
Slow but sure death
Siphoning budget earmarked
For infrastructure,education,
Agriculture and health.
They adore their party
That took power
But with a deadface
That lets them, with
Nation's wealth, take a shower.
They adore their party,
However with their bureaucratic logjams,
Create on nation's developmental
****** encumberance.
Yet they entertain
A wild dream
Their party could
Let the country
Forward advance.
They support their party
As a Scare (self-defeating) tactic
Sees better
For social justice
Requesting demonstrators
To scatter
Shooting one or two
With a ******
'cause what they enunciate
"We adore"
Citizens abhore
Marking it stifling and "a bore".
Worse still
Barefaced they entertain
No shame or fear
Using 'public media'
"I **** thee
Because I love thee!"
To din in people's ear.//
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 8:33 AM UTC
The first lesson they teach us in EMT class
Is to never lose our compassion,
Never forget that every patient is
A human being with a story, a family, a life.
They tell us to keep our emotions in check
But to never lose our respect,
The trust in the competency and freedom of choice,
For we are the link of survival
On the worst day of their lives.
We were not there to know the reason that led
Up to the call,
But we are there to get them through the danger that followed.
Why then does the text book instruct us to abandon our respect,
Abandon the presumption of humanity
At the mere thought of the words 'developmental disability?'
Why do the words Autism and Down Syndrome suddenly
Make it okay to condescend and patronize as if to a child,
To infantilize an adult whose intelligence we are not qualified to assume?
Why is it my duty to respect a neurotypical patient
And my job to abandon it for the developmentally disabled?
I wonder if they would encourage my peers to treat me the same?
After all, who cares that I am top of the class and squad leader to boot?
Who cares that I answer the most questions or scored highest on the test?
I am autistic. I am considered less than human.
No.
The textbook is wrong,
Primitive despite being updated in 2018.
Respect every patient means Respect ALL,
No exceptions,
No diagnostic caveats.
'First, do no harm.'
Treat with empathy and compassion.
It is their own inhumanity that prevents them
From recognizing the humanity inside us,
The developmentally challenged.
I live on planet Autism,
Population 1 in 59,
No less of a person than any other,
Perhaps more human really.
That humanity is the force behind my First Responder drive.
Do not deign to treat me as small child or foreign planet inhabitant.
Forget the basis in the archaic.
Respect and compassion for all cannot be checked at the door.
I am not less than.
My struggles have, if anything,
Forced me to become more.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 2:50 AM UTC
One quote that I should always like to remember came from an eleven year old girl named Elizabeth. I was helping a bundle of girls about her age bowl in the Special Olympics. I am not sure what her handicap was, I guess developmental problems of some kind. To me she seemed to be a wonderfully happy little girl who just wanted to be held. She was sitting on my lap, waiting for her turn when she told me the most devilishly perfect, beautiful lie.
"I am not ticklish"
Imagine what it would be like if the only lies told in the world were just sneaky attempts to get hugged, kissed or tickled.
I am not ticklish either, Elizabeth
Dec 2, 2010
Dec 2, 2010 at 7:48 AM UTC
Gazing warmly at a freshly set pearl necklace
The source for which was wholly reckless
A girl sheds tears of convoluted joy
Wondering if she’s just a manipulated toy
A body, gift-wrapped and sold
For no more than half her weight in gold
The new in search of old
Grasping at a material hold
…
Passive thoughts draw him away from the hummer
He was gifted in pursuit of slumber
Light breaking in through a window pane
Illuminates developmental strain
The man pounds back a bottle, or, what little remained
A bit trickled down, leaving his shirt stained
Looks over to see a girl ashamed
Of all within her which had so recently changed
…
He wasn’t handsome, but the girl didn’t mind
Through gifts, he showed himself to be overly kind
The man was a bit heavy set
But that didn’t stop her from getting wet
Innocence, a forgotten trait
Her consciousness told it straight.
But the action bared no weight
It was just a simple twist of fate
…
Age cripples all who care
Leading youthful eyes to wander and stare
Desperation hunts with the worst of intent
For a youthful soul in search of dissent
It lasts as long as it can
Which isn’t, truthfully, a long span
He leaves a concrete man
While the girl’s just a flash in the pan
…
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
In the cool
early hours
of a Thursday
in September
I find my way
into Big Sky
for a couple
of doughnuts
and a cup.
Just next door
is the Goodwill
employment offices.
There they find
sheltered employment
for adults and youth
with developmental
challenges.
As I park,
hoisting myself
from the driver’s
seat;
I notice her
trying the locked door
to those offices.
Thinking nothing of it,
I continue into the coffee
shop and begin breakfast.
Soon, she is shadowing
the Big Sky entryway,
eyes as big as
hubcaps.
Dressed as modestly
as possible in her
bright green hoodie
and ankle-length denim
skirt, she stares at
us all.
Her eyes are wide with
nervousness and a searching,
a yearning for faces known
and familiar, safety.
Settling for the security
of the donut-shop’s doorway
and the sunbeam therein,
she hovers still.
Her eyes come to rest upon me.
Having been in similar
situations for what is
too-quickly becoming a
half-century, I recognize
what this girl’s thoughts
must’ve turned to.
“There’s someone like me.”
“He’s different, and thusly
the same. He’s safe here.
I will be as well.”
With her owl-eyes she looks
me up and down, focused on
my outward-turned right foot
and the crutches leaning on the
chair opposite mine.
I smile.
So does she.
I wink.
When this happens,
her face flushes to
the color of roses
and her large eyes
sparkle like emeralds.
The doorway continues
to serve as her haven from
the unfamiliar, but she’s
relaxed a little.
Full of pastry,
coffee, and the desire
to finish the task,
I make my way outside.
Rising from my seat,
gathering my crutches,
I step toward the young
lady seeking solace in
the sunbeams.
Leaning in,
I cannot help but notice
that she is quivering
with apprehension.
I say quietly:
“You have really pretty eyes.”
Her unease dissipates immediately.
Her spectacular emerald eyes relax
and she smiles with her whole self
and says:
“I know.”
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
The offer of exploration
is as clear as a dusted chalk board,
fading into oblivion.
This developmental poetry course is
turning lop sided,
who wants to record a hushed whisper,
chasm five ways into the inner self
or recount a colour,
with an emotional resonance.
The ghosts of the past fail to impress.
They cannot compel.
Surely the now is more pressing
not some cultivated co-dependency
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
Twelve billion years, I’m still here
Existing beyond the void of love and fear
Where nowhere becomes somewhere
And emptiness becomes me
Bound by the hierarchies
And called of spirit to be free
Subjectively pursuing the objective life’s best
My soul ever fighting this simple-minded quest
Still I proceed and the vanity never ends
As fast as I can put it down, I pick it up again
A god that ascends or a god that descends
It makes me no never mind
I probably worshipped one or the other
In a better vanished time
Time in a moment disintegrates
Love like a molecule evaporates
Thoughts are like clouds passing over real loud
On into this world they penetrate
Solutions with new problems that complicate
Blinded by neuroses my desires run wild
I turn over control to my inner lost child
Developmental damage on the ladder of my soul
Pretending not to notice my issues become my foes
Twelve billion years, somehow I’m still here
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 8:50 AM UTC
I’m a bit of a sensualist.
First, let me emphasise emotional resonance,
there has to be an emotional base,
not just an appreciation of hotness.
Then, there’s a sense of longing and mystery—
that male unknowableness.
Don’t forget the hard strength of those rough male edges,
you know, the feeling that he’s kind of sculpted from
a marble that you just want to run your hands over.
And this jet-black hair, the curves and the spiky bits,
casual, careless, not fussy or particular,
and his warm, firm, implacable hands.
Oh, God. Gimmie some.
“Sensuality's connected to desire, ya?” I asked the room (Sunny and Lisa are there, studying).
“It sure is,” Sunny said, flippantly, “and you just need that hot boyfriend of yours to spank it out of you.”
“No,” I winced, “that’s not true.”
“Ooo! I love this song” Lisa said, as ‘try’ by BETWEEN FRIENDS began to play on our Echos.
.
.
*Songs for this:
this is what falling in love feels like by JVKE
golden hour by JVKE*
.
.
Our cast
Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.
Lisa, (roommate) 21, my bff and a high society princess, who grew up in a 50th floor Central Park South high-rise. A (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.
Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 8:39 AM UTC
before we were born the dice were rolled
perpetual insanity, developmental disorder . . relative normalcy
w
h
o
k
n
o
w
s
?
the ****** of life or the balm of scented roses
w
h
o
k
n
o
w
s
?
the balm of the scented garden evaporates
the garden roars into flame
consumed beyond belief
all
we look
for
is a
way
out
of
the pain ! ?
death knocks it's hand on our head
life opens and closes the door
what we glimpsed gives heartache
too bad the bottom has no floor !
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC