God creates
The colors are beautiful
I lost the hands of God
Wearing my long blue skirt
My feelings become intense
I'm a young girl
with a round face
My eyes narrow at the corners when they smile
Smiles brought about by a girl and a boy
Passing through all his smiles
Having a smell of my childhood dresses
Similar to all paintings in my drawing book
of that river
Sharp mountain
and ugly crows
''I love you, God of jasmine flower''
No one knows the death of flowers
Just telling that flowers are beautiful forever
and time is the murderer
Wanting my mother's arms
Her ******* are beautiful
I smiled, knowing a pleasure
that will not be in my ****** relationship
The sky smells of death
Last night I dreamed that a flower was dead
I saw death  
Go out of my window
with white curtains
We are playing
Making songs and dancing
Humans didn't accept the dreams
''I love you so much, God of jasmine flower''
Big
Round
and beautiful
Innocent and depressed
His eyes, are
His hands will be for whom?!
Both his eyes flew
One day, all the birds in the sky will grow up
and will have no hands anymore
Your hands have two jasmine flowers
and I will taste them till the end of my life
His eyes are beautiful
I will see the sunset in whose eyes?!
Sewing all the floral white dresses of women, tender
Devoting my eyes to my mother
Giving my heart to my sister
''How much I love your eyes''
Eglantine flower has the most beautiful smiles
The sun is young for me
The God of jasmine flower is happy
A light has remained in my heart
with his leaving
I repeated it, endlessly
and keeping his soul in my heart
Now, he is a happy butterfly
has grown up
Fluttering, slowly
Sitting on all the flowers
It is happy and free
Children and rainbows always follow the butterflies
The death of each flower is not beautiful
''The God of jasmine flower''
Oh, beautiful flower !
Still wearing your childhood golden earrings?!
Your playmates calling you
among scorching summer grass
Do you hear the innocence in children's smiles?!
The jasmine's hair is long and dark
Butterflies
dancing
and gone...

خداوند می آفریند
رنگ ها زیبایند
دست های خدا را گم کردم
دامن بلند آبی ام را پوشیده ام
عواطف من زیاد شده است
دختر جوانی هستم
با صورتی پهن
چشمانی که وقتی می خندد
گوشه هایش نازک می شوند
خنده هایی که یک دختر و پسر می سازند
از میان تمام خنده هایش می گذرم
بوی پیراهن کودکی هایم را می دهد
شکل تمام نقاشی های دفترم را دارد
با آن رود
کوهی تیز
و کلاغ های زشت
''دوستت دارم خدای گل یاسمن''
...کسی مرگ گل ها را نمی داند
فقط می گویند برای همیشه زیبایند
و زمان قاتل است
آغوش مادرم را می خواهم
سینه های او زیباست
می خندم
لذتی که در رابطه ی جنسی ام نخواهم برد
آسمان بوی مرگ می دهد
دیشب خواب دیدم که یک گل مرده
مرگ را دیدم
که از پنجره ی اتاقم
با پرده های سفید بیرون رفت
بازی می کنیم
آهنگ می نوازیم و می رقصیم
انسان ها رؤیاها را نپذیرفتند
''من خیلی تو را دوست دارم خدای گل یاسمن''
چشم های او
درشت
گرد
و زیباست
معصوم و افسرده است
دست های او مال چه کسی خواهند بود!؟
تمام چشم هایش پرواز کردند
روزی تمام پرنده های آسمان بزرگ خواهند شد
و دیگر دست نخواهند داشت
دست هایت دو گل یاس دارد
''خدای گل یاسمن''
و من تا آخرعمر آن ها را خواهم چشید
چشم های او زیباست
غروب را در چشمان چه کسی خواهم دید!؟
تمام لباس های سفید گل دار زنان را لطیف دوخته ام
چشم هایم را به مادرم هدیه کنید
قلبم را به خواهرم بدهید
''چه قدر چشم های تو را دوست دارم''
زیباترین خنده ها را گل نسترن دارد
آفتاب
برایم تازه است
خدای گل یاسمن شاد است
با رفتنش
نوری در قلبم ماند
که مدام تکرارش کردم
و روحش را در قلبم نگه داشته ام
او الآن پروانه ای شاد است
بزرگ شده
که آرام بال می زند
روی تمام گل ها می نشیند
آزاد و شاد است
بچه ها و رنگین کمان ها همیشه به دنبال پروانه ها می گردند
مرگ هر گل زیبا نیست
''خدای گل یاسمن''
! ای گل زیبا
گوشواره های طلایی کودکی هایت را هنوز داری!؟
همبازی هایت
از میان چمن های داغ تابستان
صدایت می زنند
معصومیت خنده های کودکانه را می شنوی!؟
موهای یاسمن بلند و سیاه است
پروانه ها
رقصیدند
و رفته اند

Some introductory 'food' for thought...

"When people say they prefer organic food, what they often seem to mean is they don't want their food tainted with pesticides and their meat shot full of hormones or antibiotics. Many object to the way a few companies - Monsanto is the most famous of them - control so many of the seeds we grow."
  - Michael Specter

"My grandfather used to say that once in your life you need a doctor, a lawyer, a policeman and a preacher but every day, three times a day, you need a farmer"
  - Brenda Schoepp

"Economically, many folks don't feel they can afford organic. While this may be true in some cases, I think more often than not it's a question of priority. I feel it's one of the most important areas of concern ecologically, because the petrochemical giants - DuPont, Monsanto - make huge money by poisoning us."
  - Woody Harrelson


Who is Monsanto?
Monsanto is a Chemicals/Pharmaceutical/Agriculture company that was established in 1901 in the United States, and over the last century has occupied a particularly interesting and questionable history that has within recent times took to the global scale, growing into a multinational corporation, well nigh on the complete monopolisation of the Agriculture industry whilst having established connections to the chemical and pharmaceutical industry. They are less well known for their creation of Agent Orange, of which they claimed had no harmful effects on the human body, which was utilised very predominantly during the Vietnam War by the U.S. military as a defoliant, however, caused hundreds of thousands of deaths by poisoning, and has now led to an epidemic of birth deformities in the regions of use. Monsanto experienced more involvement in war through their involvement in the Manhattan Project, which resulted in the creation of the first nuclear bombs to be tested on Japanese civilian populations. They also have a background in their production of PCB's (Polychlorinated biphenyls) which once again, had the negative human and environmental effects ignored and misrepresented hitherto 1977 when they were banned, however, was not before many fresh water supplies and the air had been contaminated and was a known carcinogen in humans, along with other health damages. There was then of course their production of DDT's in the post war period that was advertised as a 'wonder-chemical' to be used in agricultural pesticides. However, it was later uncovered that its spraying caused a high percentage of food breakdown in crop and in humans caused breast cancer, male infertility, miscarriage, developmental delay and nervous system/liver damage. They even tested the effects of radioactive Iron on 829 pregnant women in a bizarre experiment. Having no shortage of scandalous and often at times frequenting blatantly corrupt behaviour on their dubious track record, with an abundance of data and study arising in protest of the company's use of dangerous chemicals and genetic modifications in food, it is surely best to question the activity and history of this company.


What chemical poisons are being used?
Some of you are probably aware as to the fact that within many food products today there are various chemicals being used in modification, cultivation and in processing, many of which are harmful, often deadly to the human body and to the ecosystem. So harmful in fact that in cultivation workers are required to wear bio-hazard suits and due to the toxicity of the area in farming these GM crops, are required to ***** signs in the surrounding area warning of the danger.

So one chemical that has been pushed into foods and drink by Monsanto since the early 20th Century is Saccharin, an artificial sweetener made from coal tar which is used predominantly in Soda, Coke and processed foods, and is 700 times sweeter than sugar. In 1907 when Saccharin was first investigated by the USDA it was quoted as,"a coal tar product totally devoid of food value and extremely injurious to health" , and by the 1970's, when the chemical began to garner greater use, the FDA attempted to ban its use in products after discovering it causes cancers (particularly bladder cancer) in animals and humans, however, today is still used as an artificial sweetener, and between 1973-1994 the National Cancer Institute saw a 10% increase in bladder cancers.

Monsanto are also responsible for the pushing of another artificial sweetener onto the market to be consumed by humans, that being Aspartame, even more harmful than Saccharin, and since being used in Coke, particularly Diet Coke, since 1983, the rest of industry followed suit. When melted down at 30°C into its liquid form in use for soft drinks, it become far deadlier than in its powdered state. It was found that it caused tumours and holes in the brains of rats and is more addictive than crack *******. After a multitude of independent scientific studies arose in protest of the use of Aspartame, Monsanto bribed the National Cancer Institute to produce fabricated data. Here are some of the know side effects of Aspartame consumption in humans according to the US Food and Drug Administration:

• mania  
• blindness
• joint-pain
• fatigue
• weight-gain
• chest-pain
• coma
• insomnia
• numbness
• depression
• tinnitus
• weakness
• spasms
• irritability
• nausea
• deafness
• memory-loss
• rashes
• dizziness
• headaches
• seizures
• anxiety
• palpitations
• fainting
• cramps
• diarrhoea
• panic
• burning in the mouth
• diabetes
• MS
• lupus
• epilepsy
• Parkinson’s
• tumours
• miscarriage
• infertility
• fibromyalgia
• infant death
• Alzheimer’s

As is quite evident, Aspartame not only lacks any nutritional value, it also can have grave effects on humans when consumed. In fact, over 80% of complaints made to the FDA concern Aspartame and is now used in over 5000 products, yet facts are still being misrepresented and as primary producers of Aspartame such as Monsanto produce false data to cover their tracks.


How is their monopoly being secured?
Monsanto within recent decades has somewhat become the archetype of corruption and corporatism, devoting many millions to Government lobbying in order to maintain its hegemony over agriculture, its use of harmful chemicals and to maintain restrictions of food labelling of GM products. In fact, the company seems to have a revolving door between itself and Government now, one example being the FDAs Arthur Hull resigning due to controversy and going straight to an employee at Monsanto as a Public Relations representative. This means that the FDA, the central official force against the use and proliferation of harmful products is in bed with Monsanto, the main proliferator.

Another creation Monsanto have pushed into pastoral agriculture is their Synthetic Bovine Growth Hormone which is a genetic modification of the E-coli virus to be used in dairy products and cows. And in order to make sure this product is pushed onto farmers, Monsanto sues any that do not use it with teams of lawyers. They also, in a far more cunning and destructive method, are able to and have destroyed other, natural crop cultivation by the use of their Genetically Modified crops themselves. What they have done is modified their crops in order that they self pollinate, and that bees that come into contact with their crops are killed, causing mass hive collapses, which then means any natural crop in surrounding farms die off due to a lack of bees to pollinate them, forcing them to join the monopoly of Monsanto's GM supply.

Also, before the aerial spraying aluminium and barium into the skies began in 1998, that has seen a rise in the content of aluminium particles per/cm from near 0 to 30,000 in many areas, Monsanto patented crops that are resistant to soil with such high concentrations, meaning they now have legal ownership over crops, whereas the natural produce may be ungrowable in a number of places where the spraying concentration is high. On a side not, the spraying of aluminium into the sky since 1998 has also caused a massive spike in Alzheimer disease and lung cancers, rising from the tens of thousands to the millions of cases per year.

To Conclude, Monsanto has recently made a very big merger deal with the Pharmaceutical company Bayer, the ones who produced Zyklon-B for the **** extermination chambers. Sure sounds like some safe operations.


- an essay by JDH

The scuff of sneakers, boots and flats form the solid and stable beat.
Add in the chuckles, silences and brief interruptions to create the varying and rhythm.
All that remains is what goes unsaid but is speeding around in your mind.

That man from Uzbekistan,
He was telling us how peace and non-violence starts with us,
With middle-schools, with teens, with future leaders
To all those who laugh, when I say violence is never the answer,
You're the ones I worry about

That man from Uzbekistan,
He was speaking to us about how the kids had a parliament in Uzbekistan
Those kids had  a say in what their fate would be

Believe it or not,
But adults are not the only things to make up our society...
Infants, toddlers, 5th graders, 8th graders, 11th graders, seniors, the diseases make up us, us..

So maybe parents shelter us too much, or not at all.
And kids throw fits in the grocery store
While teenagers attempt to jump off the nearest bridge
This is our society..
But we're like those kids in Uzbekistan
We have a say in what our fate will be

That man from Uzbekistan,
He was sharing out how blessed he was to be living here in the United States
Even though he could live in a much more peaceful and welcoming society.

I have no idea how many years i will be,
Or what has to happen before we get the message across..
That's what's played out isn't acceptable

The American people,
Were baffled, devastated, overwhelmed
That all those stereotypes really were mixed within us.
Obama stood up in that room
With a shaky camera man, staring while he slumped and grieved
He addressed our nation,
Homeland,
Country
Community
Family
About Newtown,
Clackamas Town Center

No leader should ever be forced to speak about children dying long before there time was up

Or about average people ducking and diving from bullets

Gun Control is only a little layer
And that's the start of our restoration to end up being a peaceful, safe country
It begins with how youth are shown how to solve problems.

I'm willing to reach my hand out to every single state in this country
And if that means devoting everything I've got to making our restoration successful,
Then so be it..

No leader or person should be raising candles to the sky for little kids to see that they are missed.
And I took all of this in at a Lebanese Luncheon

To understand that *** is not a primary priority in our relationship means more than I can even say. To have a Dada who focuses so much more on making sure my little is whole and happy before anything else is done makes me truly feel like you see me and what Gracie needs.

Don’t get me wrong big girl time is amazing when we have it. You make my body sing for you and you quiet my mind until nothing else exists there but you. Your hands on my body remind me that I am ****, desired, and very ****** – and that those needs are not to be forgotten. They’re just not the priority. I wrote something for you that has been on my mind ever since you posted that writing 10 days ago. I hope it helps you really hear how much it means to me.

It’s ALL about Priorities

I love that your priority is Gracie, your focus on her is entirely unapologetic and that means the world to me.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love that your priority is her happiness. Life itself has many distractions and I know that devoting so much time me (to her) is not always the easiest path. But the fact that you do, even when it means 36+ hours on Skype most of which just “being” which you understand is just as important to me as playing and talking and laughing, makes me feel like the most important person in the whole wide world.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love that your priority is keeping her healthy. That you take care of me when I forget or refuse to take care of myself. The simplest things like asking what or even if I’ve eaten when you know what my response will be shows me how much you care about the smallest of things in my day.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love that your priority is helping me find peace when I’m floundering. Whether it be from nightmares or when I’m physically not feeling well, everything stops while you help me reach a calmer place in my head and that cannot be more important to me in that moment even if I won’t come out and say it. And that is one of the biggest expressions of love you could ever show me.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love spending big girl time with you, feeling my body submit to your touch and your voice as you make it sing for you. But it’s the peace your dominance brings to my mind (even if my head isn’t in a bad space) that is what I love most in that.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love that your priority is meeting my need and you see how much I need your touch. To feel of your touch on my body, from the lightest of touches to the most intimate of places. I love the tender possession of your lips on mine or the taste of your skin as I bite your shoulder in ecstasy. I love the way you make me pant and whimper and sigh and then to feel it all come crashing down as you make me *** again and again into a state of pure ******* bliss. But what I take from those moments is the feeling of complete desire for me in every way. Your need for me without filters or guards is how I’m truly learning to see that I’m beautiful.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love it when you pull me over your knee and spank me Dada, just the thought gets definite reactions and makes me gasp and blush. That moment of when my mind clicks into a literal “sub” space, surrendering all of myself to you, and with the simple strike of your hand against my bare skin, you remind me that you’re there to take every piece…every part of me to help me find peace and put them back together again.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love the intensity of *** play with you Dada, something I haven’t so openly explored before. But I trust you with my every breath so I know that even the most intense of moments you’re there to keep me safe. And in that, I would give you any part of me without you ever needing to ask.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love feeling you taking every part of me, knowing that I want to know you in every way that one can possibly know another. Not just for the primal satisfaction which I love just as much, but for the sake of strengthening our bond. One that continually gets stronger with every touch, little or big.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love when the feeling of exhaustion as you continually use my body, beyond the point when I think it can go on. When my mind cries out that it can’t even while you show my body that it can until all is silent and nothing is there but you and I in the peace of the silent black space. Then I reach out and feel you take me close to your chest and remind me that you’re always there to keep me safe and secure.

That’s called priorities.

To the flutter of butterflies in my stomach and the squeal I have to quiet just when I see a message from you pop up on my phone.

That’s called priorities.

To know that I’d rather lay there in silence with you then go out with anyone else just at the risk of losing the smallest measure of time with you.
That’s called priorities.

To feel the sense of peace that quiets all of the chaos after you’ve listened to me whine, complain or just plain ***** about all that’s going on with me without word one of the mess that your day has been. That moment, that peace.

That’s called priorities.

To be able to be little with you with no boundaries, to be as little as I need to be and to trust that you’re there to be with me to protect me and play with me.

That’s called priorities.

Dada, you have taught me that a man’s priorities are evident through the actions that he takes and the choices that he makes and for the first time I truly feel like a priority instead of an accessory. And for that, the words “thank you” could never be enough.

Gracie
09/23/2015

Love hard, my friends. Love noticeably.


Love does not deserve to be shoved under the rug, to be disguised, or to be quieted. Love does not mean conforming to the idea that genuine affection is “sappy,” “cheesy,” or “cringeworthy”; instead-- love loudly.


The world wants to tell you that relationships are to be silenced. That posting multiple photographs of each other is tacky, uncomfortable, and something to make fun of. That devoting time with your favorite human being is disgusting, overbearing-- especially when you are young and the future does not exist in your hands.


Too bad, future. And how unfortunate, world. Because at the end of the day, the world does not own love. You do. It is yours to have, to keep, to share, and to do whatever it takes to hold onto it. It is mine.


When you find love, shout it from the rooftops and frame a million photographs. Post selfies of the two of you smiling wide and unwavering. Wear its colors on your face and shamelessly declare it to the whole universe and beyond: You are in love. You are alive.
And likewise, this is my philosophy: Love intentionally, fiercely, tirelessly.


Love so hard it makes people dizzy. Take it as a compliment. In an exhausted world that spins with violence, hatred, and monstrosity-- praise its joys. Snap those pictures.Tell your friends. Scrapbook it, publish it, make art out of it. Laugh about it, display it, live it. Put an end to the grotesque concept that something so beautiful, perhaps life’s most magnificent, should be sheltered. Let it grow.


This is a declaration. I am boisterously in love. There is no quiet here.
One day, you will find someone or something that your heart will never be able to shut up about. And that’s okay. Let it scream.

A devoting father will all struggles
working 12 hour shifts without a juggle
Sacrifices all his time
just to work and earn a dime

Never a thanks or a smile
nobody thinks of all the miles and miles
The entire time he walks to hike
with all the sweat it brings to strikes

His put everyday to work under pressure
working 3-4 jobs to earn a little amount of treasure
His ungreatful children brings unwanted tears
nobody can hear his silent fears

Nothing will ever be enough and he knows
but he tries his best not to show
He sits and pray behind the closed door
hearing his family screams and he cries more

His outstanding performance of hard work bloodshot eyes
completely wasted on his family disgusts of lies

I scribble on
With a half lobotomy;
A radar seeking Hell by looking up
And another dictionary
From another time and place;
An alternate timeline
Reaching right and left
As well as fore and aft;
The beard of a ******
And naïveté too;
Undiscovered depths of emotional manipulation
Unseeing, unthinking,
A new old structural familiarity
To abduct and probe
The time-honored, vacuum-sealed
Ineptitude of ideology
Whose meat is sweet
But suits the skeletons of standardized educational theories
Like a pair of jeans at age eleven that you expect to grow into;
In hope of justifying
Overuse of monetary resource
For the sake of bonus states of mind;
Scouring the depths of discarded everything
With hooks catching on to all the similarly forgotten names
Who live in fear of obscurity
Clinging, not unlike insects
To their sixteenth minute of fame;
Finding in myself no way but out
To understand that which lives inside;
With disregard for any thread which weaves past me and takes no hold,
And loathing for the ones that do but unravel before the eyes;
Lightheaded, ending any sense of continuity
When, prostrate in the comfort of another tapestry
I stand abruptly, let my dreams be drained from me through tendrils
Like the passing of a temporal existence;
Drinking in the dust and glue of crowded bookshops
In fear of losing inspiration
To the insatiable jaws of my consumerist natural state;
Rummaging in a bargain bin
In search of someone to tell me, “Stop!"
With heads in clouds and bodies in ice trays,
Stealing lines of logic and lyric,
Throwing down and hacking into
Elemental bits which fit into my own vernacular
Sacrificing beauty for originality and vice versa;
Choosing idols idly with the tides
Of knowledge and of art
Rising and falling without fail
Never apparent and never blurred by motion;
Searching for a style like an odd-numbered jean size;
Finding greater inspiration in waves of unopened mysteries;
Following examples laid by unsuccessful fictions;
Learning ethics only from the prologues of ****** novels,
Unsuspecting victims snuffed in interesting and lurid ways;
Letting technological distraction detract from the projections of psychological complexity
Which I, from atop the high horse of my own pretensions
Pretended to embrace;
Committing massive acts of thievery, fraud, and infinite lethargy
For the sake of juvenile, illegitimate art forms;
Seeking other seekers who exist autonomously
For the sake of personal independent credibility;
Leading unsuspecting, overreaching, overeating, understanding, undemanding,
Too forgiving, not forgetting,
Victims of domestic warfare
To a loveless watery grave
For the sake of my own loneliness;
Patronizing every segregated buffet
With courage enough only for a small taste of everything;
With the flavors of the day swirling around
For me to shoot them down
And pin their carcasses to elementary school walls
And Mormon tool sheds
And nature centers
And all the forgotten places of summers past
In the hope of rediscovering
Some old buried treasure
Be it wondrous or worthless;
With the uneasy insincerity of a rodent who pretends to understand a city;
With adopted methods
And repeated thoughts
And ideas which came to me in waking dreams of my own retirement;
Sharing, for a captive audience,
The formidable giants which
Inform our common denominator
Searching through myself for only the most indecipherable
With the fear of being understood
And the fear of being ridiculed
And pretensions of some preternatural predetermination for greatness;
With acceptance of predisposition for obscurity,
The cost of the inundation of the new airwaves.
The series of tubes that feed us intravenously
With information, information, information,
Having killed God and left material validation in His wake;
It could be that new gods are born in the minds of the innovators,
Those wonderfully wealthy
Whose social structuralism
Was a beacon to us all;
In the darkness of an architectural anomaly
Where lights extinguish as my body lies dormant
Alone and abandoned
Only by my own subversion;
Confined ever to a convolution of passages
While above me all my peers still carry on;
Overstaying welcomes
And letting emotionality
Color conversation
A sicklier green,
A green of a tree only just sprouted,
A green of a new recruit,
A green of an inexperienced schoolboy
Faced with the daunting and timeless act
Of copulation;
Somehow taking in the sights and sounds and smells
Of advanced mathematics
Even occupied, as I am,
With explaining my actions
Most eloquently;
Devoting myself to another cause,
Another, another, another
Always relaxing my grip by losing focus;
Desperately hoping not to let my fellow travelers
Lose their innocence
While I reluctantly, dogmatically
Keep mine on a leash;
Always keenly aware
Of the universe of worlds
Beyond my control,
And even my understanding;
On the increasingly frequent
Intrusions of risk
Into my significant reality
And the iota of explainable truth which guides the motion of my body but most frequently my mind;
Questioning the meaning of all words
Without thought or coordination;
Considering another restful journey
To clear my mind of human language
And in its place acquire thoughts and emotions from the street;
Without foreseeable direction,
Malice aforethought
Or noticeable signs of critical reaction
Giving birth to litter
Forgetting articles
And floating my sense of time up the Ganges;
Taking only seconds to counter the possibility of
Accepting more responsibility for myself;
Complicating matters with an interesting or bitter goodbye.

V1:

Love makes the world go round,
More than money or TV,
Love makes the world go round,
It matters like gravity,

Chorus:
All hands in unison,
Steeped in prayer,
Devoting homilies filled,
With perfect care.

Middle Eighth:
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To see what life can truly be,
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To be one together and to be free.

V2:
Love makes the heart beat,
More than lust or wealth,
Love makes the heart beat,
Puts us in good health,

Chorus:
All hands in unison,
Steeped in prayer,
Devoting homilies filled,
With perfect care.

Middle Eighth:
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To see what life can truly be,
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To be one together and to be free.

I was three years old and found the world to be oddly peculiar
Everything was infinite
Kisses were for showing someone you loved them
I found myself at my great grandfather's funeral and wasn't able to grasp the concept of death
And that really bothered me
It tugged at me, begging to be understood

I was five years old and mourning my grandfather's sudden and unexpected death
The world was still oddly peculiar
Things were still infinite
But I was ashamed of my grief-stricken tears
Kisses weren't poisonous yet
But I now understood how fast things could come to an end
And I felt the truth behind that inside of my heart
It had sharp edges and it never went away

I was six years old and missing my father's presence in my life
I taught myself to ride a bike while he sat in his office with the door shut as he always did
Everything remained infinite but loss was prevalent
And I missed something that wasn't there
Kisses didn't come quite as often
And I now noticed my thirst for approval and my need for affection
For I was lacking in both

I was eight years old and contemplating the world on a very profound level
Asking questions that I still ask myself to this very day
Kisses were now flagrant and everything was still somewhat infinite
But my shoulders already felt heavy with burden
Loneliness was starting to learn my name
And loss was still prevalent

I was twelve and thinking up stories as I would lie awake in bed at night
Searching for sleep
Things weren't quite so infinite anymore but at least I still had my innocence
Kisses were suspicious and sleep didn't come as easily as it used to
I was quiet but very observant, still profoundly contemplating the world and the entire universe in relation to my own existence

I was fifteen and trying to forget it happened
Kisses were longing and I was completely lacking in love
Things were no longer infinite and loneliness finally took me under its wing
It nurtured me slowly but surely
Forming sadness around my bones and a strong fortress around my heart

I was sixteen and infatuated with the idea of being out of control
My heart was bruised and beat up but the farthest from vulnerable
I felt alive again
But even so, nothing was infinite
And loneliness was now my dearest friend
Kisses were electric
I still possessed a small bit of my innocence
But I struggled internally
And the sadness would soon completely envelop me

I was seventeen and drowning in my loneliness
Choking on it every single morning
And shoving it down my throat every single night
Sadness was an inevitable constant
I knew it intimately
Sleep rarely came to me and things were tough
Life was difficult
Living was hard for me
Nothing was infinite anymore and kisses will always be dangerous but fleeting

I was seventeen and mourning the sudden and unexpected death of a dear friend
I was seventeen and grieving my grandfather's cruel and lengthy defeat to cancer
I was lost and depressed and I wanted to die
Young and reckless but hurting
And so very, very lonely
Still lacking in both love and affection

I was eighteen and hiding the fresh scars on the insides of my arms and the upper parts of my thighs
I felt hopeless and was consumed with guilt and self-hatred
I thirsted for an answer
An answer to why things were like this
Why I was the way I was
I could see no point in living
I was hanging on by a single thread
The taste of wine was prevalent on my tongue as I tirelessly looked for love in all of the wrong places
Losing myself completely along the way
I was empty and entirely consumed by my loneliness
It now held a dark shroud over my heart
With deception lurking in its paths

I was eighteen and ready to give up when I found myself in a big, leather chair in a psychiatrist's office
I was against the idea of medication
All I wanted was an answer
And it was when I finally got that answer that things started feeling a little better
At least I knew

I was eighteen and embracing my deepest, darkest secret with grace
Devoting my efforts entirely to getting better
Gaining stability again
I made several lifestyle changes
All the while, still asking…
Why me? Why should anyone have to live with this?
But my hard work paid off and I slowly became the very best me I could be
I was stable, I was disciplined

I am now nineteen and nothing will ever be infinite anymore
But the small tastes that I get to have of my now devoid innocence makes that all bearable
Kisses are frequent and I am overflowing with love
My loneliness is no longer noticeable and when it comes down to it, I can say things are so good
And mean it wholeheartedly

For the very first time in my life
*I am whole

Dear lover
By the time we fall in love i would hope that you will have already learned my name, but just in case you havent i will tell you. My name is danielle lauren shorr. danielle like some ancestor i never met, lauren because my mom liked it, and shorr like the beach. I like the beach. No more like love the beach. Maybe almost as much as i will love you. I like the sand between my toes, the way the wind blows through my hair and makes it an ugly mess, i like the way pigeons search for any trace of food like its all one man for himself and this is the hunger games. I like food. But at first i might be embarrased to eat in front of you, i can attribute this to my history of insecurity and that ******* belief that girls are supposed to order salads on dates. But fear not. Because i hate spinach and fries with extra cheese are my favorite, and soon enough i will learn to embrace it. I will always want to embrace you. To hold you, to be close to you, i have an overwhelming need for touch. But a slight fear of intimacy. I will be afraid at first when you try to get close to me, i will put up my guard and attempt to hide my battle scars and everything i dont want you to know about me yet, ive been hurt before. And i know im not the only one on this earth who has been. But when i tell you that i want to get to know you i am telling you that i want to memorize every part of you like the way i used to stay up at night as a kid memorizing lines of books. I love to read. I love getting lost in the words that someone else wrote that so closely manage to speak to me. I want you to speak to me. When you are struggling or lacking in anyway i will assure you with 100% certainty that things will be okay. I will pull you out of pits of depression with every muscle, bone and limb i have in my body, i have not always been comfortable in my own body. And thats been a cause of my own depression. So when the day comes when i give myself to you, i am hoping that you will remember that every part of me is devoting itself to learning you, i want to learn you. I want to trace the lines of your skin, connect the dots with your freckles or birthmarks, play silly little games and hope you let me win, i will let you in. But only if you let me. And theres parts of me that arent my brightest, i will have days where i will be unable to see anything but darkness, i want you to hold me regardless of what i say, or my stubborness, i am stubborn. I am a taurus. When we fight i will be a bull, strong in my pride and unable to see any other side of the argument, i will tell you this right now: give up. unless its important. I want to feel important. I will want to be included in every part of your existence and when I’m not i will get annoyed and ******* and demand to be the center of your universe. I will act like this because i want to feel like i matter. Like i am matter on this earth so important that if i disappeared even for a mere second the earth would crumble and fall into pieces. And if i crumble and fall to pieces, i only ask one thing of you. Do your best to help me back up, im not asking you to put me back together but to try your best to keep me from breaking even more. And when you break, know that i will be here to comfortyou. To hold you. To tell you that i love you. to make you laugh at the most innapropriate moments about the most innapropriate things, to make life seem a little less painful, and a little more bearable. I will do my best to help you stay your best. And if we end up not working, it will be okay. Because nothing will matter more than the love i gave to you when it was good and if in the end it doesnt go the way we thought it would, well, we'll be okay. But if it does. If this love stays, know that i will love you and give you every single day i have, i will make you remember why you decided to fall in love in the first place, i will make sure to make you feel okay, i will always make sure you're okay. if you're having a bad day, I'll be right there with you. I'll be here now and forever.
Sincerely your future lover.

Seek that you do not fear your Mortality;
for it seems rather foolish to fear anything
but especially so such an inevitability;

fear not Mortality;
Mortality is a question
and the answer is Life;

many fail to respond;
they may indeed live
but they have no lives;

they sacrifice their time
to Pantheons external
rather than devoting their fleeting time
to the one internal;

fear not ephemerality;
it is an opportunity
but like any other,
it can be, and often is,
overlooked- ignored- misused-
squandered.

Fear not your Mortality
for it is an opportunity
to transcend this reality;
life is a sacred and holy opportunity;
(and these words, from an atheist!)
it's up to you to make the most of it.

Like dried leaves fluttering
                With trembling stems
From an earthly passage, She took
The high road when Winter called
                Her back to the elements,
                       Back to the spiritual vent that yawns with souls.

In her gentleness remained memory – legacy;
                A smirk – that fun, secretive thought
                                Whispering across bloodlines.
I could never know her as well as you --
That tight, heavy knot at the back of your throat.
That dull thud of a monotone ache perched in your gut.
That knowledge that she was two in the same:
                Throwing the bread and serving it, too –
                Spreading around discipline with comfort to follow.
She was The Maker; The One –
                Now faded to brooches, to photographs, to stories.

I felt the muscles in your arm tense (As mine
did, too)
I felt the surge of tears beckon the realities of grief
                Like the smoke curling ‘round the swinging censor
I know why you ignored the Holy Man; sermonizing
                Her Life as if she were familiar.
                His discourse as bitter, acrid tastes upon breathing morning.
                His fabricated familiarity – the pinching, twitching nerve between your neck and shoulder.

Holy Man -- Bone Man –
                We could proclaim the mysteries of Faith
                But She taught us the permanence of Love.
She knew more; what she taught was
                Tangible
                Alive
Her Lesson more forgiving than any Act of Contrition.
Her Body more sustaining than any wafer of Christ.

Two side of the same blade –
The Love she taught us taught us Grief as well.
When she followed the Holy Man out – the Bone Man -
                You, Her Son –
                You knew.
You flew out like a sin to forgiveness
And staked your devotion, character, and eternal Love
                Upon her dwelling.
                                One more tangible reckoning of her attendance here;
                                One more connection that grounded her presence on this plane.

We followed Her – We followed You
Blind to your seeded bond that will never grace any words on a page
Yet drawn to the Lesson she taught
                And the Lesson you maintain.
We followed you
                Like trails in water : molecules bound and devoting the leader we call Mother.

Like fairy dust caught in dappled sunlight they dance.
Swirling gracefully like a ballerina pirouetting
on a child's music box.
Graceful specks of fine dirt engrossed in cloaking
surfaces smooth and coarse.
Like petticoats caught in a summer breeze
rippling, and dipping, causing a sneeze.
Dust motes like a kilt swirling,
whirling in the kaleidoscope of daylight,
engross you in devoting a poem to their dance.
Those molecules, atoms of time passed.

tumbling around, just outside of society’s idea of normalcy, he walks for miles on end.
with a golden notion, he dreams of love, life and truth.
he lives these dreams and always has.
he creates love around him, by devoting himself to truth in life.

woken by a stampede of angry cattle, he laughs.
his vow to never injustice these animals is so very solid and they don’t even know it.
with a washboard on his back, he’ll scream for wonder as he wanders, and it will ring out with purity and beauty.
i will hear it and so will the people that truly love him.

adventure is on his soles and he will track it all across the nation.
a bold child of the rebirth.
he is simple, he is free.
he is ***** gold.

When I was a child,
Watching a wayward world through a lens of wonder and possibility,
Bound to an unusual captor of bats and gloves,
Reaching towards the rest of my life,
Over the head of the life I was already living,
I fell in love.
Not with a person or an object,
Nothing but a symbol of everlasting youth.
A team,
A place,
A game,
It was baseball.
Not just the game but everything that accompanied it,
A family,
Brothers becoming brothers.
A world,
The smells of trees and rain and concession stand hotdogs,
The sounds of a ball thudding into a catcher’s mitt and cheering fans,
The tastes of early morning Starbucks and corn nuts and bubble gum,
All of it stuck between basepaths,
Sitting on a bench in a dugout,
Spilled on the seats of my father’s car.

All of these little things,
All of the memories,
Just moments passed,
Lost in the depths of my mind,
Taunting me as I wish to return to them.
Although not yet old, I am older,
Reminiscing on the good and the bad of my youth.
I can still remember the veil of paralyzing loneliness,
Pierced by the family found in my brother’s team.
I remember the tears shed as I watched my father devoting his life to that team.
Those bad times were outshined by the good,
Team dinners in faraway towns,
Sunsets over outfield scoreboards,
Driving back to hotels in the dark with the windows down and classic rock blaring.
This is the way that I grew up,
Lonely but free,
Unhappy but secure,
In love with a thing that took so much from me,
Lasting Stockholm Syndrome bleeding from my life as it was to the life that I have.
I have lost this love,
No longer experience the ups and downs that can only be described as the reality of life.
I cannot weep over this lost love,
Cannot wallow,
Knowing that this is how it must be.
I must let go,
Grow up,
Get old,
Move on away from the family I found and the world I discovered,
Life doesn’t slow until it stops,
Barreling towards a hollow canyon,
Disappearing over a cliff to be covered by fistfuls of dirt,
Watered by the tears of loved ones left behind.
I must leave my love to rest before I lay in that hollow canyon.

Why must we grow up?
Grow out of our innocence and naivety, careless inexperience?
Why must we take for granted the memories of our youth?
Where do we retrieve them when our age returns to us and we miss the forgotten beauty of the world through a child’s eyes?
I wish the softness of the summer breeze would return to me,
Find me again in my days of regret,
In the sea of sorrow following me from my youth,
Sending waves crashing over my head.
I am not yet old, not yet wise,
But still, I mourn the loss of days past,
Loss of sweet summer softness,
Of the relentless rain ruining the chances I had of forgiving my father.

I have forgiven him since.
I forgave him like I forgave myself,
Regretfully.
I often miss that swirling storm of emotions I felt,
The loneliness, the worthlessness, the heart sickness.
So young and so filled with pain, balanced only by the Children of the Sun radiating from my chest.
Views of the maple-*******, the leather-launcher, the grenade-catcher,
Smells of earth and freedom,
Sounds of gentle violence, drawn-out intellectualism,
Overwhelming my senses and filling my days.
Those memories will follow me into the reaper’s grasp,
Rest with me in my eternal cradle.
Despite the storm, the pain, the sickness,
I dream of that cradle where the memories, the bitter and the sweet, will come together in the storm,
Meet like lightning and thunder,
And follow me into peace.
I am not yet old, but I long to be,
To once again feel my love and its infinite reach.

i shook hands with my priest and he told me god would listen to me
after years of talking to myself, i gave up
if this is the result of a benevolent lord, i want no part in such cruelty
every day spent suffering in this godless existence is another flirtation with the devil's temptations;
he hands me independence and assurance that this universe has no explanations
and in exchange i lose the love i might've had for myself
for a god or for life or for anyone

it's not that i need a god to explain it or to comfort me
it's that they lied when they told me a ghost was worth devoting my life to

It was like all the windows in the world were opened,
and the curtains made that lovely snap of a sound they make as they billow out-of-doors.
And everybody in New York was out on their fire escape watching Fourth of July fireworks tint the night sky.
And from the streets of New York rose a cacophony of city sound that was somehow pleasant,
devoting itself entirely to a sort of refined sincerity that was gentle to the touch and sweet tasting as it resonated.
It was so loud a deaf person would have heard it, but so quiet that only I could.

I am a writer.

One who can close myself away into a small dimly lit space and gush life onto an insubstantial substance of fibrous material..in hopes that once finished..reads of something that makes sense and releases a tad of this confined fury..that whirls in my ever churning mind.

I am a Dreamer.

A human born into disparaging circumstances, that grasped for anything tangible, as early as I can possibly recollect. With a never ending desire to find truth and love beyond the abuse that I endured throughout all of my childhood..Determined to view life..clear of the filters embedded over my eyes, attempting to force my mind to function through the inherited dysfunction.

I am a Lover.

Believing in a Love so genuine, that it literally heals all human afflictions .
Investing in a hope in all things soulful and lucid.
Craving to Love free of the bounds thought fathomable, truly devoting to other souls..the most valuable asset - Time - and desirous to Lead with Love in every moment.

I am a Writer.

Wake up tear faced
Wet and soggy pillow
Thoughts of yesterday flood my head
Mind wrenching messages
True or untrue?
Shake off the hurt along with my covers
Lost in a book to escape the realness of life
The last page's turn brings back reality
Sneak away from the ache and into the shower
Mind buzzy busy
Dry off to get clothed
Close the drawer and stop
Just like that
Pause.....
And it all floods back to drown me in my own guilt
Completely unannounced
Hot tears stain my cheeks
Break down and a mind ****
Doing fine I told myself
How dare Thought be rude and burst in uninvited
Unaware of how much I've ignored
It makes things better
Until hurt sneaks up on you again
All the time
Never ending
Once a day
To all day 
No one to honestly talk to
Serious matters 
Everything on the chest must come off
They say it will feel better
You'll walk away with light feet and postured shoulders
But....
I know 
For some reason
Difference calls my outcome
Mind games whisper failure to my heart
Slouched my shoulders stay and brick by brick my steps 
Every day gets heavier
More stress and more panic
Across my message will not go
No one to hear me out
Always the factor of skipping out on my feelings
Listen instead of ducking into a battle
Wishing I could say all the words rioting in my mind
It drives me crazy in there
Desire to scream lungs out
Craving fixed hearts
Hungry for your lips
Devoting all my sorrow
Encouraging accepted apologies
My battle never won

So ride, soft-hearted child, over windy dale
And through the forlorn wood 'til ancient home
Lies far beyond forgetful dream of mist.
And by your riding seek new lands where hide
The truth of things behind the rough-stiched "seems"
That lie like faults in explanation's cloak.

The road is rough and may be chill, but on!
From rolling hills you ride to muddied cross
Of roads, at side of which there dwell the old.
Their shacks of wood like stubble on a chin;
There are some torches burning, most are out.
Yet from them learn that flesh is no concern
For there are worlds within too vast to know
That with a careful watering can grow
To dwarf the hardships of a life. But you
Must never linger: journey is your test,
And many are the hills must be traversed.

When find yourself at tower shaped of sand
On lonely shore astride a silver stream -
Yet holding court on every afternoon -
A knocking should you make, seeking the ones
Who guard ancestral wisdoms writ in ink.
On tales-that-stay drink heartily and sup,
For in their beauty labyrinthine there thrive
The hues and details both to paint the world.
Yet I implore you, feast but to your fill:
When greed grows in a man he must succumb.
There will be time to eat again, but go!
The weeping willows of the road miss you.

A spark from yonder forest gleefully gleams,
Some spot of grace in land of dying leaves:
The sapling children, all in flower dressed
With minstrel colors. Speaks with voice of lyre
To you does winsome child, and from him shine
The song-like airs of fancy, faith, and whim,
Un-understood in all your trudging road
Made clear in forest glen by wiser sight.
The knowledge of yourself can turn
Your sight to farthest reaching stars;
The knowledge of your land does bring
An eye-to-eye with all your kin;
But knowledge to **** knowledge lives,
Devoting life to seeking joy,
Windblown and free as songbird's singing breath.

O travel on, mine eldest son, come home!
'Tis fit that here from wanderings return
And rest your weary brow from all it knows.
Sleep deep, you eldest son of human race,
Sleep, sleep, forget your journey through the land.
And when the ripening sun does bloom at morn
All fresh will be your journey's start.

So ride, soft-hearted child, over windy dale
And through the forlorn wood 'til ancient home
Lies far beyond forgetful dream of mist.

What a mistake I made
Investing my love
Devoting my time
Into someone so incapable of loving another
You don't even love yourself
So depressed, you want to die
It happens to the best of us
But that's no reason to give up
I shouldn't have been selfish
I should have just been the friend you needed
But instead I pursued something more than just friendship
And it's led me to being so hurt and alone
You're much younger than me
You're not really committed to me
I'm such a fool
For almost falling for you
I need to step back now
Before the damage grows
You're not ready for this
You can't give me what I want
I want your all
Every little piece of you
Emotional and physical
But you're not ready for that
And now I must take a step back
I love you and always will
But you're not ready for this
And it's all going downhill

of all the months,
february leaves a sour taste in my mouth,
like I’m choking on all the love that isn’t in the air,
tasting the blood against my tongue,
of all the people I have put to rest,
for trying to take pieces of me,
just to feel more whole themselves,
jokes on them,
missing pieces from a puzzle,
aren’t really that valuable when you never had a whole set to begin with.
I never believed them when they said we need love to survive,
love is not the light my body thirsts for,
when spring comes around,
i will bloom as long as that stream flows back to my veins,
as long as the sun radiates against my spine,
and that’s the thing,
love is never promised,
I don’t know how long it’ll be here,
or when it’s coming back,
and I refuse to stent my growth in it’s absence,
I’ve spent enough time wilting away waiting for it to come back,
without even realizing I don’t even know what it looks like,
or how it feels to be in it’s presence,
but I imagine it’s a lot like picking the petals off daisies,
praying for answers,
Waiting,
it does not enforce my growth,
If anything it has only taken it away.

as if love is something we should celebrate,
maybe if we stopped devoting a single day to it,
one day to flaunt all the warmth we hold in our hearts,
we wouldn’t feel so cold every other day,
maybe It’d mean more all other three hundred and sixty four days,
maybe we’d be more willing to show it everyday,
If we weren’t all so afraid to fall in love,
If being in it,
didn’t mean at some point we know we’re going to hit the ground,
besides,
what’s one day in a lifetime of goodbyes,
a lifetime of using sidewalk concrete to conceal,
what we all know is irreparably broken at it’s core.
but all twenty eight days,
not just the 14th,
make me feel like I’m at a funeral,
one I have no place being at,
mourning all the love I’ve let slip through the spaces of my palms,
how does one mourn what they never had in the first place,
being in love makes me feel like I’m at a poker table,
surrounded by people who are so willing to play their cards,
poker faces strong,
all their money on the table,
waiting around to lose,
I don’t belong here,
I never had any love I was willing to put on the line anyway,
I fold.

and my love is like the 29th of february,
sure it comes around every now and then,
but what difference does it’s absence make.
february is still february without that one day,
I wonder if february mourns that twenty ninth day,
sees her in a hotel bar every four years,
goes home,
remembers what it’s like to have that piece of himself back,
only to spend the next three years spitting it back out,
because he’s learned how to exist without her,
learnt to live with being incomplete,
learnt to make his heart feel whole without it,
maybe I was never whole to begin with,
but now I feel like I’m always digging for the gold in other people,
because everyone I have ever loved has stolen the wealth I held so recklessly in my ribcage,
I’m hesitant to love,
because my heart is coated with rust
in memory of all the pieces of myself which I have given away,
And I’m scared one of these days it’s beat will just stop,
like an overworked machine,
whose gears have spun themselves into brokenness,
that repairs will never truly fix.
or maybe it already has,
I’ve spent so much time looking for the pieces of myself I have lost in other people,
trying to  replace the missing spaces in the stained glass windows of my soul,
please do not come to pray here,
for the wind is circulating between the slits of my heart’s cracks,
It is frigid,
like the wind circulating in February’s palms
love has done to me what this earth has done to him,
keeps handing me cards which make me feel like I am going to win those pieces of myself back,
only to realize that those pieces aren’t even mine anymore,
they’re gone.
yeah,
I fold.

So EXACTLY... WHAT... !?!
Is The... " INDUSTRY "... ?

A Place For Sheep To BLEAT... !!!!!
Or Somewhere For The Weak...
To CLAIM That They Sound Sweet...

REAL ART Is RARELY Seen...
Within The... Industry... !!!!!

Because of These Sheep...
Who Choose To Be Meek...

So Therefore DO NOT Speak...
On How They're MADE TO BE... !!!

PUPPETS Like The Muppets...
Who Act Like... ***** In Buckets... !!!!!

While Those Who Choose...
To Speak The... TRUTH...
Are Seen As Crews
Who CAN'T BE Used... ?!?

I Guess Because... ???
They WON'T BE USED... !!!

To... " Play The FOOL "...
When They've Been Schooled... !!!

The TRUTH Is It's... " EXCLUSIVE "...
To Be Someone Whose Music...

Gets To Be... " INCLUDED "...
In Being Seen As GROOVING... !!!

They're Seen As Being... " Artists "...
When They HIT Profit Margins... !!!

When All They've Done Is BARGAIN...
To Get Their Music Charted...

Producers TOO Be... " Cooling' "....
On Artistry That's Movements...
Are Challenging And Prudent...

They'd Rather Be Producing...
For Music That's Recouping...
BIG BUCKS For Sounding STUPID... !!!!!

And Artists Who Be Choosing...
To Do Music That's Proving...
That Artistry IS... LOSING... !!!!!

It's Really Quite INCREDIBLE... !!!
What They'll Do Cos' It's... " SELLABLE "... !!!!!

Setting Up Their Schedule...
To Work On Instrumentals...
That CLEARLY EARN Them Medals... !!!

For Stooping To...
... "low levels"... !?!

And Nowadays The... " Lyrical "...
Is Seen As Being......................... Dismissible.......

Because It's CLEARLY NOT...
What THE INDUSTRY Wants... !!!

So This Verse HERE Is CRITICAL...
To The Industry's... UMBILICAL... !!!!!

Because It's Chord...
DOES NOT Enforce... !!!!

Those Whose.... " CREATIVITY's "....
Made To FEED The... INDUSTRY...

If Your Art's Made For WEALTH...
You NEED TO... CHECK Yourself... !!!

And RECOGNISE THE HELL...
That Comes For Souls Who SELL... !!!

The DEVIL Has Lived WELL... !!!
Off... INDUSTRY Type Smells... !!!!

So Those Who NOW COMPLAIN...
About The Game... TODAY...
Should RECOGNISE THEIR PLACE...
UPON The... " Wall of SHAME "... !!!

BEFORE Saying What They Say... !!!!!
Because THE ROLE They've PLAYED...

Has Shown How They've ENSLAVED...
The ARTISTRY... They CLAIM... !!!!!

To Be Their... INSPIRATION...
For Making Their CREATIONS...

If MONEY Is Your PRICE... ?
For... DEVOTING Your Time...
To Creating Art That's FINE...
And UNIQUE By Design...

Then RECOGNISE The Line...
That You CROSS EVERY TIME...
You CHOOSE To Make The Music...
That You Say... KEEPS POLLUTING...
Our NEW... CREATIVE Minds... !!!!!

I'm Gonna Say That TWICE... !!!!!

If Money Is Your PRICE... ?
For... DEVOTING Your Time...
To Creating Art That's FINE...
and UNIQUE By Design...

Then RECOGNISE The Line...
That You CROSS EVERY TIME...
You CHOOSE To Make The Music...
That You Say KEEPS POLLUTING...
Our NEW... CREATIVE Minds... !!!!!

When YOU KEEP Contributing...
To ART That Should Be... "MUTED"... !!!

And RUN AWAY From Movements...
Where Art DEFINES IMPROVEMENTS... !!!!!
Because of What It... CHOOSES... !!!

To Deal In MORE THAN LOOSENESS... !!!

And Artistry That's... " Coolness "...
Comes From Being... TOOTHLESS... ?!!!?

I Guess They'll Say THIS PIECE of ART...
Comes From A Place That's WAY TOO DARK... !!!

So WON'T Get A PASS...
To CLIMB UP The Charts... !!!
And... SHINE Like A STAR....

"Okay, Blah DI Blah !" …

These INDUSTRY Farts...
REALLY Make ME Laugh... !!!!!!!!


But THESE WORDS Impart...
REAL VERSE That... PIERCES...
Through THEM And Weak Hearts... !!!

From Producers To Rappers...
To... Singers And Actors...

One Day You'll NEED Answers...
For... What You Have Done... !!!

DON'T PLAY That You're Dumb...
When It Comes To... Your Stunts...

WHO You Have... "Worked With"...
And WHO You Have.............. SHUNNED... !!!

To Get Your Art NOTICED... !!!
Because It LACKS DOPENESS'... !!!

COMPROMISE ISN'T Cool...
If That's What You've USED...
To Get Yourself... INTO...

A Game That's NOW RULED...
By Art That Now PROVES...

How Artists Have SOLD...
TRUE Artistry... short... !!!!!!

And Have Made A NEW BREED...
of Fans Who Now FEED...

On Art That Is MADE...
NOT FOR THEM But For Heads...
Who Could REALLY CARE LESS...

About... REAL Artistry... !!!!!

So... As I've Now Said...
If YOU'RE One of THEM... ?
DON'T... EVER COMPLAIN... !!!

Cos' You Should Be ASHAMED.... !!!!
of... " PLAYING The Game "...

Where.....
Artistry's Drained...................................

For What's FAKE To GAIN FAME... !!!

You're Just PROVING How Weak...
That You... TRULY BE...
By Sowing THE SEEDS...

That FEED The....

...... " INDUSTRY "......

You're not created only to write epistles of sad poetry and use too many metaphors,
Devoting them all to an address that won't write you back.
You're not made to be here to be held back.
Or to wait around for a call of your name from a voice that'll never bother to come around.
But you're made to love and to be loved,
To see things and to be seen.
To capture beauty in every way that is possible.
You were made to be.
And this is your call,
So be it.

You’ve read the words a million times
Seen it from novel to novel
You read about the daughters
And those they love
The ones who got sick
They hope
And hope and hope
then things go bad
And the only one who can still hope are the daughters
I’ve read their words from all across the decades
Sympathized with their pain
With their grief
With their internal struggles
But I never empathized with them
And in the past
I had this thought
In my head like a sticky note adhered to the fridge
Stuck there right next to the grocery list and the kindergarten artwork
It read
I would never be a daughter

Then the words leapt off the pages
Of the hundreds of novels
Inserted themselves into my narrative
Gluing themselves to my skin,
I tried to rip them off myself
But they peeled off my skin with their literary fingers
Taking some of my skin with them as they launched and
Ripped the sticky note off my cerebral refrigerator
I became a daughter

Sometimes I still can’t believe that word is a part of my life now
Cancer
And I understand what these daughters have felt
That it feels wrong that I should be the one feeling hurt
It is those I love that are sick and I am healthy with no physical ailment on me
No tumors or scars under my skin
But I feel as if they are in my heart
There is a tumor there and it won’t be removed
Because how could one ever remove a metaphorical tumor
Why does it hurt?
Is it because of the chemo
Cherishing the Hope that Everyone is Mostly Optimistic
Devoting myself to keeping everyone else in balance
Holding the weight of the world even though I could easily just let it go and crush
Every horrible thing in this life
But it became a part of me when that word entered my life
I can’t make it separate, make it leave, can’t stop being who I was born to be
Someone to hold the weight
Except one
One weight that ain’t no metaphorical tumor

The person I love is sick
The novels have inserted their words into my narrative
I just hope I can revise their endings
And move cancer into the index
The credits
anything
instead of having  the last page read
the end

But, then I see the one I love stand strong
As everyone says this is the end
She won’t pretend that this it
Because it isn’t
She takes the pen into her own hand and erased what the world had written
And writes the end of part one
The end to this chapter in a long happy saga called
life
And she writes to the daughter
I'll see again
when you finish part one
In your wonderful fairy tale book

A kiss is a millisecond, or hour, (or whatever other period of time that you escape reality and become one with another person) through touching their lips with yours. But, as we know from Flight of the Conchords, a kiss is not a contract. It's a promise. A promise that you're sharing that moment with only them, and that you are willing to spend that increment of time devoting yourself to the only thing that matters to you in the present: them. A kiss is cherished so much that a small chocolate candy was dedicated to the universal verb of love itself: to kiss. To smooch. A Hershey Kiss is sweet, small, and traditional. Just as the action is. A kiss is vulnerability. Naked, without anything fake holding you from the other person. The real you is summoned from behind the front you put up for everyone else to make you seem stronger, only to wisp through the soft pink lips that have whispered so many secrets, said so many words, and bit themselves so many times in a blushing moment when they said you were beautiful, into the others lips where they have done the same. Kissing has no rules. It's who you are in a peck. A movement. An open smile, a nibble, a bite, a tickle. No wonder why it's a special thing. Kissing is melting into the very place you are standing or sitting or laying and melding to the person's soul. The most innocent way to become one with another, risque enough to be special. Kissing can mean nothing, as well. It can be so over used that the meaning and spark has gone from it. Melding to the other person, mashing the color of your skin and the smell of your hair and the warmth of your breath into a pool of indifferent gray. Kissing needs to be used wisely. People often overlook the most beautiful thing in the world, so I decided to give it some recognition. Love, Frances.

In August you told me you would be home in a few weeks
I had hoped it would be sooner than that
It's a lot later now and I am still waiting
The chill of mid December has arrived
January is approaching quickly
You are completely out of sight
But not out of mind
It has been close to six months
And your ghost still talks me to sleep every night
It's hard for me to believe that I ever believed you
But I did
You said you were coming back for me
It's almost the new year
And I wonder how it is that I am still thinking about you
I am still thinking about you
Wondering if you ever think of me too
I am still holding on to your promise like it wasn't built of string
It broke the second you gave it to me
But I held on like my loyal hands could fix it
I know I should let go now
Maybe that will be my new years resolution
To forget you
For real this time
Maybe my new years resolution
Will have less to do with hoping
And more to do with changing
Cleaning out the contents in my box of future
Most things in it have reached their expiration date
Maybe my new years resolution
Will be to wipe your name from my vocabulary
To make it into a word I am unfamiliar with
Maybe my new years resolution will be
To stop checking your page to see if you are happy
I want to be the one who is happy
I know you still follow me
The past months have been spent showcasing my life
In hopes that you'll see it
And wish you were a part of it
Maybe my new years resolution should be
To stop wishing you were a part of it
Placing dreams on stars that have already burnt out
I am devoting myself to that task
And training myself to not love you anymore
But it's only Christmas eve.
So I've still got some time.

i joined a poetry site so i could  write a rhyme
to help to ease my mind while passing on the time
there a lots of people here who do the same as me
devoting there free time to share there poetry
there are different poems that the people write
some are full of sadness others with delight
but each and every poet has a different way
they put down in words what they want to say
so god bless all the poets who give there time so free
without all these people this site it would not be

A turtle dove beau as exquisite art
Beats with enchanted, compassionate heart
Inspiring with her call of peace
In her the march of love apace
A truth that strikes like magic dart

All hands in unison, steeped in prayer
Devoting homilies filled with perfect care
The luscious light of love appear
In hearts, to vanquish fear, despair

For unity we strive and dare
Imbued with cosmic passion rare
The flame of love be ours to stoke
The light resplendent and bespoke
Which doth our spirits stoke

Why Life Is Worth Living
March 29, 2012


easter egg hunting                          looking up and seeing the sky
                              opening your eyes underwater                       burning candles
    drinking water when you’re thirsty               watching the snow fall
                           seeing fireworks explode                                  laying in bed
dipping your toes into a river                   intertwining your fingers with another’s
       feeling the sun on your skin                        painting what you imagine
singing along to songs         having bonfires                  sitting by a fireplace
                   riding horses in the fall                 chocolate milk
        watching lightning split the sky                 the way you feel after workouts
fishing on a calm day                 knowing you are worth something
                                  swimming in the summer                  watching the sun rise
backrubs            that ‘new baby smell’                    smiling
      proving to others that you can do anything                     having family dinners
falling hopelessly in love                        skipping rocks
                    helping others who need you         laying with the one you love
writing because you want to                     sipping hot cocoa in the winter
                               feeling strong                      capturing time through photographs
holding a new baby                breathing after it rains                trampolines
          playing sports          expressing yourself           building things
listening to the ‘peepers’ chirp                                              learning every day
creating new life                   making dinner for fun           planting a garden
                 seeing old friends       staying up late reading        feeling accomplished
suddenly understanding a math problem            experimenting
              falling asleep without any time between when you climb in and sleeping
          seeing your family                   picking daisies
getting sand between your toes                    devoting yourself to something you <3
                                   saving lives                               hearing the melody of a piano            
   sharpening a pencil because you’ve worn it down creating something beautiful
              realizing life is better than in the movies                          running
making shapes with sparklers                               curling up in a blanket
                          movie nights                   cutting the grass          observing the stars
thanksgiving dinners                ice cream on a hot summer day            popsicles

A wonderful evening I spent, trying in vain
(Wonderful, for I was alone with the sound of rain)
To find a word that would describe you,
And by some luck rhyme with 'pain' (that’s my pain) too.
Though I had my doubts about what I stood to gain,
Devoting my precious loneliness to your memory;
I understand now it was a hope that you'd someday see
That we could have been happy, if for once you believed me.