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Sarah Mann Mar 2018
I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman.
Does it mean that I am always in competition to be the top of my species?
Does it mean that I need to be perfect without a single curve out of line in order to find love?
Does it mean that I am only defined when owned by a man?
Does it mean that I can only find purpose in childbirth?
Does it mean that I will forever live in the shadow of men?
Does it mean that I am an object invented solely for a man's pleasure?
Does it mean that I'm forced to confine to gender roles and live in someone else's story?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to accept it when I'm harassed from across the street?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to lie there silent when he puts his hands up my skirt?
Does it mean that I am only worth 77 cents to a man’s dollar?
Does it mean that I am defined by my looks rather than my intelligence?
Does it mean that I will never be capable of holding a major position of power due to my mood swings?
Does it mean that I am defined by how many men I have had *** with?
Or does it mean something else entirely.
It's difficult learning to love being a woman.
Obvious and damaging disadvantages are visible to observers.
We are regarded as second best, property of our man.
We are erased from history, our pain is minimized and forgotten.
We are oppressed and have to fight for our rights.
We are afraid to walk the streets at night, afraid for our lives.
We are harassed without care and without penalty.
We are ***** and murdered for refusing proposals.
We are expected to live on the sidelines as a housewife whose only priority should be her children.
We are expected to keep quiet in situations of domestic abuse.
We are expected to be perfect, and pretty, fresh for a man’s picking.
We can’t even advocate for our own equality without being demonized.
There are times where I wish I wasn’t a woman.
Being a woman comes with innumerable expectations, pressures, and responsibilities.
My existence is not defined by a man, or by the patriarchal expectations that have been placed on me.
I am breaking free of my confinements and I’m not afraid to admit that,
I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman. And that's okay.
//sarahmann
9:06PM Wednesday, September 6, 2017
There are so many struggles that you face as someone who identifies as a woman. Here is a poem that highlights one of those days where I was grappling with what the definition of being a woman is supposed to mean.
sabrina Aug 2014
You were so captivating,
so beautiful and smart,
your eyes hypnotized me,
so I let my guard down.

I let you see the side of me,
that nobody has ever seen,
I let you mend my heart,
and pepper kisses all around.

You're the funny type,
and like to joke around,
but you took it too far this time,
and stabbed my heart with your laugh.

I still love you after all,
and I hope one day you'll regain my trust,
but I can't risk it,
I won't say a word,
I'll act like nothing's wrong,
because I can't bear with the thought of losing someone,
who once repaired me from head to toe.
Yenson May 2019
They call it a 'Class War"
They call it a "War of Liberation"
whilst its just another instance of white oppression

Childish, immature, mean and nasty underachievers
like the kid on the beach who kicks over others sandcastle
because they are better than the ******* castle he made

Like that that uncool dumb teen who scatters the board game
because he's now seen that he is losing and cannot win at all

like those ugly pimpled friends who would play gooseberry
and ****-blockers because  they can't get nice dates of their own

like that bitter mad one who will spill ink over your white top
or new Trainers because he or she has old and ***** ones

They are all from the world of the sicko psychos and damaged
talent-less mean, envious, sad pathetic people going nowhere
If I can't make it, why should others do and be winners

They all graduate to the divisive politics of the ****** losers
Power is stopping progress and advancement because they are down
Power is bringing achievers and enterprise down they can's gain
Power is sabotaging all that is good because they are bad in all

Measly fetid minds they plot and conspire in gangrenous network
dolts, scums, unwashed losers and rejects of society, bottom feeders
Come join the Party, our specialty is chaos and disruption of winners

The pathetic jokes of the white West, losers in their own backyards
picks on an African who came from disadvantages to better them
better educated, more intelligent, cool and stylish in every way
pack full of potential, going places they can never go or reach

Our sick, mean spirited under-achievers, expert losers and scums
crawled on the war-path, riddled with envy, sick with jealousy
ruin his progress, oppose and disrupt a black man who doubles
efforts to achieve, what if losers try is given to them on a plate

What here is done for the greater good, what here is honorable
celebrated victories for psychos, racist underachievers I think not
peoples power? more sick, tormented, jealous n envious chicanery
anarchy jealousy, anarchy shame, anarchy racists, anarchy liars

One Single Black achiever demonstrates the inherent strength
and grace of our all our Ancestors against sick, persistent white oppression. That's the story here.
If its a fair war, why hide and go underground, why fight *****!
Aeia Jun 2014
paradoxically sick
poisoned through my satin-coated IV drip
drip drip drop, the minutes mirror hours
zero is one lonely number
illusory illness
poisoned so my fevered mind can undress
but then there was two, don't think i don't see you
i beg with non-moving lips

falsified delirium
you touch my deadened nerve endings, shiver...
my body bends not for you, but for your vile liquid
i will let you unfold me
Flo Dec 2015
Ask anyone and most would tell you
They'd love to travel
See the world
Visit foreign countries
Is that the dream?
Never call a place your home
Constantly moving, meeting new people
But you'll never open your heart completely
Think twice before you leave
Your sweet little hometown
Sparrow Oct 2012
I once left my heart in the pocket of a saint
blinded by sunset light, drunk from midnight madness,
and falling into the monotony of broken dandelion stems and lost eyelash wishes-
I didn’t think I would need it much longer
The burden of rebirthing beats continuously
stamping out the keys
Of my empty piano chest –
As I held onto the breaths of broken warriors
Sponging the blood off their slashed

double
layered
skin

And praying
they could keep their fight for just

One
More
night

He never noticed the extra beat
added to the twitches of his time-ticking body
deaf from the ringing calls to heroism
only on the odd hours he didn’t have muffled
by the recipes of the women he’d saved
buying out bravery like it could shield his soft tongued love
leaving nothing but the clothes on his back
woven from stardusted bomb shelters
And
left over hopes
selling the silver lining of every breath he took
just to buy the next broken-bar girl a drink

He was a saint after all --

born from the innocent hopes I wish I still had,
tucked in the corners of sun-freckled smiles
and
Mothering seatbealt arms
and
Careless Carnival Food
the kind I know some of my soldiers withered against
writhing their souls from the bodies they had been straight jacketed too
prisoners of war stuck in the memory
of just how many calories a sugared funnel cake could have
did have
will have
add up to the self worth shot out of their chest
from last nights uncontrolled binge
of two apples and a cheerio promise ring

No,
he had never been in the middle of the war
never known the taste of blood
rusting in the rain of covered up skin
drenched in the salt water stings of failure
peeling away the scabs of
addictive adrenaline disadvantages
and mapping the battle plan of tomorrows attack
against an enemy so close
it was breathing the same air your lungs had not finished purifying

No,
his hands had never held the dyeing breaths of a comrade in arms
as they shook from the fears riding up their spine
praying the poison won’t take
praying the stolen bottles didn’t break
and that violent vomiting viguals
might burn just enough of the alcohol mistake
so their blood won’t have to curdle

No,
he had never heard the desperation
of sobbing secretes suddenly swindled
from between the lips of a girl who never wanted to remember
the night that never happened
one year, five months, fourteen days --
and three hours ago
her father had asked her why she never wore skirts anymore
and why she never brought boys over anymore
and why she never left her room anymore
and why her silent cheekbone cry for help never smiled anymore

No.

A saint is never found on the battlefield
never scared by the everlasting burns
of war paint psychiatric wards
and gun powder therapy sessions
sprinkled with the hope against hope moments that maybe
we’ll have a break through --

Like the ****** morning sun rebirthing the beats
of duck taped dreams
and
medicated eyes
and
catatonic lips --

I left my heart in the pocket of a saint
confessing the sins of the hopeless hospital it fueled
between our silent lipped kisses
squeezing out the stories of unnamed soldiers
between our woven fingers
and betraying my fear
in the tremble of my body against his –
I left my heart with him on the one-night-stand whim
that I would grow deaf to the sound
of TAPS played on my piano rib keys
and
blind to the specks of blown dandelion wishes

But I still hear the echoes of them
rattling against the stitching
of his bomb shelter pockets

and I wonder if he’s still searching for me
between the crumpled recites of midnight mass mixers
and
open cathedral whispers

because I still think of him sometimes
absent mindedly pick pocketing saints for smiles
but I’ve only found lint and regret
tucked in the corners of their heroic attempt
to protect the bruised hearts of the saviors
who haven’t quite yet found salvation
Heather Elise Apr 2015
There is so much bad out here. But there is also such beauty.
Do you feel safe? Hold on to that feeling. There are times out here when it seems impossible to find safety anywhere.
It’s nice and warm where you are. Out here it gets cold and it seeps into your blood and your bones and makes you feel like a plant withering beneath the frost.
Do you feel loved? You have no idea of all the ways in which your heart will be torn apart out here. There are disadvantages to loving too fully. There are disadvantages to feeling too deeply.
Do you have the strength to make yourself numb when the world is too jagged and sharp?
You will have to learn to find love from within before you search for it without.
It will take you a very long time, and you will put it down and walk away and misplace it sometimes.
But one day you will open your eyes and you will see light everywhere. Things were dark for so long but now there is light and there is love,
oh, my god, there is love
and there is so much to be grateful for.
I love you.
Do you love me?
Rest easy.
Sweet dreams.
dream journal 1/?
Craig Harrison May 2014
Common arguments like which decade is better
the 90's, 80's, 70's or the 60's
each had its advantages and each had its disadvantages
good things and bad things
the same can be said for the 00's and the 10's
I'm a 90's the same decade that we got the TV show Friends

Common arguments like which football team is better
Arsenal, United, City, Chelsea or Liverpool
each club had its chances, had their time
We stood by them through the good times and the bad
the same goes for every other team
I'm a Liverpool fan, the 2005 Champions League final was like a dream

Common arguments like which *** is better
Male or Female
Each are equal but have more sexes to compete with these days
we might hate our opposites at times but we love them really

Common arguments like which country is better
U.S.A, England, Russia, China or any other country
We all have our problems, we all have our good points
Leaders might argue and fight but social networks have connected us
Our leaders might not realise but we have more in common with each other than we ever knew
we are all united in our goals and our dreams
that is a statement that is true

Common arguments some times go to far
people get hurt
one word fixes most arguments
"SORRY"
Not my best poem but I hope you like it

If you would like to follow my on Twitter, search for
@Craigus987
Ricky Rose Jul 2011
Sweetness, kindness, gentleness
are cures. A heart so full of  love, when
girls touch it they think it will burst. Relationships for me not affectionate you
see. For I am not asinine. That is what I lack in my personality! When it does
come to me, then I will be truly ugly. My reflections to be a blur.  My soul a hot melted wax that keeps the wick
from burning too quick. This curse upon me heart I thought was a gift. A plague
on modern time ways. My anger unleashed only in defense to others. Humor too
positive to laugh in front of some ones disadvantages. To caring to remark
aloud unattractive looks of another, Just for my ignorant unthoughtful
laughter. My remarks are kept at a low for others not to hear. I, too, am human;
do the same as others. I  only learn from
those ***** mistakes. Raised as a gentlemen not to treat girls as a ****** toy,
only as a lover. ****** love not a lay, child at heart play! Maturity; responsibility
when called for so the landlord doesn’t kick me out the door! Food on the table
instead of ***** in my belly! Only on occasions on that one blue moon. Too big
of heart not enough aggression. Too this, a part of the curse! ....
Thomas Charlton Feb 2019
So there’s a girl across the street
A girl to whom he’s grown accrete
A girl he’s just to scared to greet
But yet still he sits and hopes

You see she’s in love with Darren
However Darren’s in love with Karen
And Karen sits and stares at Bob, who’s probably gay, probably not,
But still he drools over Linda,
Who’s stare is blank and barren,
Pointed at the anti-nerd, football loving, guru Darren.

Yes it’s really that simple,
Forget love triangle, more love enneadecagon,
Gone,
That reminds him, as it hits his head like a hadron,
Gone,
Are his hopes of him and the girl across the street.

Her features to him, were long developed similes,
They came to his brain, seamlessly, chemically,
Of course he’s never express these feelings formally,
But to him they acted as a soothing love remedy.

Her eyes were golden like caramelised sugar,
Or the enticing qualities of slowly melting butter,
Each eye, a galaxy waiting to be discovered,
And yes he means the chocolate bar.

Her hair is crimson like strawberry laces,
Which reminds him of the disadvantages of having braces,
But he braces himself as though it’s his duty,
Braces himself for an overwhelming amount of beauty.

She talks to him about all the awful things that guys do,
She then says she wishes that more guys were like you,
She says she wants that guy to show up this year,
But what she doesn’t see, is that that he’s standing right here.

So there’s a guy across the street
A guy to whom she’s grown accrete
A guy she’s just to scared to greet
But yet still she sits and hopes

You see he’s in love with her neighbour,
A chore that she knows can be a labour,
Yet she knows she can be the saviour,
Because she is even greater

So one day to no surprise, he’s looking out with eager eyes, they lock eyes, butterflies, quite surprised, more butterflies, they remain like that til sunrise, emotions start to normalise, then fluctuate because of those **** butterflies.

So there’s a girl across the street
A girl to whom he’s grown accrete
A girl he wasn’t scared to meet
And now they live and bond

Because that girls in love with Darren,
However Darren’s in love with Karen,
But who cares,
They have each other for the rest of their days

And beyond.
anastasiad Jun 2017
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Maria Etre Jan 2016
As the cold crept under my skin
so did your kisses
as you planted them softly
on the carpet of goosebumps
that covered my body

As the wind slapped my face
with chills
so did your hands
as they cupped my red cheeks
holding it still
marveling at the beauty
that has bewitched you

As the rain damped my hair
curling them with winter surprises
so did you fingers
as they hypnotized me to sleep
uncurling all the disadvantages of the day

As the flakes rested on my lashes
so did yours against mine
as you got close to me
synching your breath with mine

As January embraced me
with layers upon layers of wool
so did your arms
as I roll under
my sheets
feeling my skin
against
yours
laura Jan 2014
Of course, there are distinct disadvantages to surviving a scandal:
You lose your friends.          
You lose your trust.
You lost all credibility in what you dearly love.

You begin an intimate, five-day relationship, seducing a slick-barreled gun that sings your name.

But after a while, you unwrap your lips from around the gun. You grab your pen. And you write. Because when it's all said and done, that is what you do.

Write.
Lindsey McCarty Jan 2010
She
She's ready to spread her wings and fly
Show her inner beauty and bloom
Sick of being told she's not good enough
When the outside's all they've seen
Not given a chance to show who she is
They turn away from her appearance
She has disadvantages
Ah has flaws
But she's her.
Eric W Oct 2012
I know that life is unfair,
and certainly it is cruel.
We've all been dealt
different hands.
All of them,
with their own special
advantages and disadvantages.

It would be wrong, to say,
I know how you feel.
Because I don't.
I can't even imagine
your life.
I can't begin
to even comprehend.

I do know this, however.
It's true what they say,
that, this too
shall come to pass.
And no pain shall last
forever. So, that being said,
stand firm.

And know this:
You are stronger,
than you can ever imagine.
You are the best there ever was,
and the best there shall ever be.
There is nothing,
NOTHING,
that can withstand
in the presence of your greatness.
So, if you're going through hell,
keep going.
For if there is darkness,
there surely is light.
And if there is light
then it must surely be me,
for I love you,
my beautiful, sweet,
Marie.
Stephanie Marie Nov 2012
The ones with words like love, lust, or
Broken, dust, forgotten, and worst of all,
The ones with I’m sorry or
I miss you. That’s ******
Poetry. To read those words or
Feel those emotions and continue
To repeat them on thin lines of fabricated meanings
Because you have no way of escaping
Or are too much of a coward to admit them;
Writing for emotional advantages or
Disadvantages, to persuade others
Or yourself. That’s ****** poetry,
The clichés and hand holdings, dripping with
Redpinkblack ink, and I’s dotted with hearts.
Just to pretend that for a second in time
They made you feel
Poetry. But it’s not true. You
Did not feel those words, those words
That have hammered the ideals of
love.
Society has us falling for ******
Poetry. Beware of the useless
“jargon” created by ones “love”
For you. It’s all the same.
Now dear,
All I’mtrying to say is I want
You, but not your ****** poetry.
Kasaundra Watta May 2010
This is a very explicite poem*


im gonna hit that *****
shes gonna be gushing blood from her stitches
i can tell her whole bodies got twitches
my nine is gonna make her whine
that ***** better make my dome shine
im gonna backhand that ***
she better not **** with my head
or shes gonna be in the streets
and not in my bed
****** up a million times
wish i could take it back
but she has no right to make my anger snap and crack
my hearts burning like the hot heat of a flame
im gonna ***** this ***** up and wont have any shame
i'll admit im an angel that cant sing
sitting back and letting her do her thing
feeling weak in my soul, body and mind
got more potential then any producer could find
got nowhere in life with her by my side
but in my heart, she has left and died
now the puddle of blood at the foot of my shoes
theres no way that this far into it, i could lose
but being madly in love has its disadvantages
but for now that skanky ***** is in bandages
Inspired by that point of anger where you just want to punch something
Francie Lynch Jul 2015
I present as a strong figure,
A father who is decisive,
Fair and consensual
To the point of sacrifice.
I overheard:
     Don't worry. It's only Dad.
Well, that's not quite true.
I'm not belly-aching,

How many picture frames,
Or video clips
Will you find me in?
Who held the camera
For twenty years?
King Hamlet knew:
Remember me.

You should know
I have the feelings
Of the aggregate.
We share fear.
I know you're afraid. Me too, but
You learn to live with it,
And sensitivity is a strong potion.
I see reflections of my eyes in yours.
You're easily hurt.
I hide this one.
You're learning to do the same.
Can't blame you, but fair warning:
The benefits and disadvantages
Are equally weighed.

No doubt we've been involved
In abandonment and lonliness.

Being sensitive,
You overthink everything.
Don't.
It causes worry;
Worry begets worry.
Too much time worrying.
It's an emotional overkill.

***** me, I bleed.

Dads are sentient
Under shining armor.
You can tell by the chinks.
Tip of the cap to Shakespeare for two lines.
Words and images
Of hate and despair.
Concrete walls
And iron bars.
Divisions of the soul.
Loathing, ceaseless strife.
Happiness vanishing
Within the night.
Masses herded.
Shivering in lonely seasons.
Unprepared, pretentious
Mongers of greed.
A small plant
Bending towards sunlight
While trampled
Under foot.
Insane, mundane
Theoretical disadvantages.
The universe has no use
For the virus of
The Human Race.
******* dry and
Leaving empty.
Necessities unreplenished.
The moon
History of the last
Failed experiment.
Future doomed
Of history's repent.
Repetitious reinventions
Gone with the limbs of
The serpent.
Contagious, voracious
Blissful ignorance.
Blinded, blurred
Worth of self.
Dependently independent.
Unable to close the gap
Between tomorrow and
The now.
Following too closely
In the wake of
Destruction.
Abandoned,
Unable to change course.
Eternal frailty.
Impregnated with
Foreign thoughts
And foreign words.
Somewhere lost in
The granules of time.
Wrapped up in the eternity
Of my own mind.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Learning disabled, hopelessly unemployed
Troy can't write the address for his next interview.
Warehouse stock, 331 Tiffany Street, in the Bronx.
His girlfriend, Trinity, also unemployed,
with one child by Troy. She's more resourceful
but doesn't realize it. For one month
she worked an evening cashier job until her mother
refused to babysit at night. Wants to go out, live
her life, too. Trinity made numerous appointments
yesterday, can write and find the addresses o.k.

Troy has nowhere to live, has been crashing
with a woman in the Bronx. She's on public assistance,
they share the bed. How Troy reconciles this woman
with Trinity doesn't matter. Survival precedes love.
Troy can't meet the rent although she gives him
subway fare. He dresses well enough in the youthful
style, dark shirt, thin dark tie. At least no sneakers
and saggy pants or skinny jeans. Smokes cigarettes
but so do a lot of people. Hedging bets on life.

Trinity is tolerant of Troy. Understands his
predicament. No stable home, no money. How
does she feel about her kid? At least she has
someone to love her now. Troy forgets
to record the names and phone numbers of companies
he applies at. Burned out on angel dust. Wants
a job that pays and offers benefits. Too old
and desperate for a work experience/basic education
program. Needs a living wage, not a stipend.
But can't read or write or even speak coherently.

Interestingly he's not desperate enough to work fast food
at age 22. So the woman on public assistance is
a surer source of income than we think. Good.
Security guard may be the way to go with Troy.
No police record, requires no writing skills, just
stand there and be big. A job with no security
for the guard. Troy's mother threw him out
four years ago, although she helps out now and then.
He dropped out of high school in the tenth grade
kicked around the house and streets two years
doing drugs and partying. Met Trinity, got her pregnant.

Does Trinity have a contraceptive in place?
We don't know. As employment counselors, is that
our business? Only if Trinity brings it up. On
the bulletin board there's plenty of information
about family planning clinics. When she lost that
cashier job, I was completely frustrated, but not Trinity.
Takes it all in stride. I gotta admire her cheerfulness,
but why shouldn't she be happy? She has friends, family,
a community such as Hell's Kitchen is, not the worst,
and a purpose for living and acting in her kid.
She feeds the baby, negotiates living space with her mother.

Troy and Trinity wake up, late August morning,
hot and humid New York City. They have interviews
planned as well as personal business and pleasures
today. They have responsibilities, society puts
survival on them, never mind their disadvantages.
It is tough and it is good. Trinity will land
another cashier position, maybe today. Troy
will go for security jobs, I figured it out, the
uniform will make him feel better, the check
too. The work boring, easy, slow, perhaps fulfilling.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
1

Asia generic guy gastronomy (and how gourmet foods eat destructively clearly beyond any) excess enthusiasm. the necessity to feed and clothe this corporeal essence christened Matthew Scott Harris revels more so within the medium of writing.

Aspirations toward fame nor fortune less significant then the mere pleasure to concoct a visually savory appetizing epistle. Food for thought moreso then to fill the void, where growling heard across the world wide web, thus, no anterior, interior, or ulterior motive asper begging for money underlies this exercise. yet...if perchance a voluntary choice arises to dole out a smidgen of legal tender a name and address linkedin to this faux popinjay person, who tries to convey decency, humility, levity...qualities that wield zest.

Connoisseur Of Ethnic Cuisine

Theme seems apropos during Holiday FancyFeasts despite the plethora of – in my opinion witching hunting - reputable male personalities suddenly accused of ****** harassment after substantial time. Yes granted so the unexpected name dropping felt like a bomb shell towards chaps, this baby boomer mwm would never suspect, point the finger, or accuse, especially one former Norwegian bachelor farmer from Lake Woebegone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Though anonymous and hardly
a substantially sized mwm baby boomer
(which dual disadvantages partly explains
lack of ubiquity among claque of cooks, yet hoop full
to get attention from some well fed dame

many popular rotund gourmands l'chaim tame
their hungry beast – wa hood put me to shame
vis a vis consuming in their one meal,
what yours truly eats in a lifetime,
none of those celery buddies,

whom this non television watcher can name
seen on any selective cable channel,
I still revel in writing while
on the hunt
   (during Red October) for a meme

poetry and prose, and decided
to introduce myself quite lame
with NON GMO marginal uptick
in any sudden fortune or fame,
yet t'would be pleasantly syrup prized

if interest
from potential mistress didst exclaim
2

desire to enjoy a repast, though
said hypothetical gal need
not be a high society dame,
and if perchance such just desserts

came via the kitchen maiden kitty,
versus kit chin middens
no boastful claim
would be uttered by me,
her intellectual company satisfactory aim.

First and foremost on the agenda,
would be to locate an affordable,
casual and favorable eatery
tubby agreeable to our taste
indubitable choice without
(any formal dresscode),
nor further haste.

Strait away to the great weigh
(or if vegetarian – whey)
station of delectable food
where the exquisite, expertise, and exotic

high steak king a claim on Michelin Guide,
Gayot Guide/Gault Millau, American
Automobile Association, Forbes
Travel Guide reputation good.

Testimony to legendary praise
explaining why patrons travel
for countless days
transforming him/her
into steady state,

where he/she shuffles along
in a dishabille quotidian famished daze
far and wide culinary craze
out of this world wide web, the wispy Lyft
wafts trace steamy filament up braise
our noses,

whereat heads nod affirmation i.e. ayes.
Even before making a glad entrance
(into Restaurant) complete
a host of fresh, enticing,

4

and delicious aromas serve as a treat.
Delicate, foreign, hefty indescribable
ole factory stimulants delight
infiltrating thru swinging kitchen doors
holding us smell bound,
though thin filaments invisibly light.

Thus upon a strategic seat we hoped for,
or politely sought from manager of the house
ah, our luck to be situated in close proximity,
where impossibility to stave gaming hunger,
though neither myself nor honorable guest grouse.

Now decision time to select one delicacy equally
as appealing as the next on expansive menu list
the resultant penultimate
decision method resorted to twist
then flick (with eyes closed) the wrist.

This once difficult task complete
twas now the responsibility of the maitre'de
to store within his/her memory,
which tummy appeared like an amazing

sumptuous (promising scrumptious) feat.
Minutes ticked away
as our stomachs growled louder
patiently awaiting the grateful moment
to dine starting with clam chowder
poetry soup compiled
within me taste testing router.

Next in line from smorgasbord feast
hors d'oeuvres
   ample enough to satiate thine palate
to whet from deep fried delicacies greased
and self restraint practiced
so the main course diminished least.

We fell upon butterfly jumbo shrimp
and marinated mushrooms when brought
an atavistic motion that memory wrought.

The Matzo ball soup with Jewish rye bread
went to the gullet with a dollop of butter thinly spread.
A vegetable, venerable, veritable, and spinach pie
herbivorous delight, apple of my eye.
4

Parmgians, pasta and poultry
(albeit free ranging
NON GMO and gluten free) dishes galore
kept off figurative lid

(no matter stuffed to gills
ready to be mounted) to eat more
quite aware that mine waist
bulged whereby belt way buckle tore.

Last (but not least)
at the FINIS of this well stocked meal
comprises selection of dessert,
which samples visible
from a glass enclosed wheel
tickling that reserved “off limits” hot pocket

hashtagged for just such a sugary treat
thus summoning forth
within an engorged abdomen,
   nonetheless, an audible zeal.

That reserved allotted sweet
baked, fried, or whipped parfait
or countless other grandiose
mouth watering delicacy.

Ah...juiced enough wiggle room
for one decadent byte, perchance small
enough to roll around in the mouth,
like a Chocolat Mousse, or a honey ball.

Despite that ready to explode
simply eyeing a food tray
no longer in an ala mode vis a vis
clamoring for consumption

well aware by the morrow or sooner
this bloated dirigible fulfilled human
would dearly caloric wise pay.
Chapter **
Decalogue

In the absence of Vernarth's transitory, Sardinia was still burning with lilting water. Already rejoining the plasma from which he saw him depart, he continued in the liturgy with monophonic ideologies, characteristic of trance as an element of his regressive parapsychological transfiguration. Already divided into various personalities and entities, he could have almost been instructed to leave for Piacenza and join Raeder and Petrobus to set sail for the Dodecanese to expand his duties with Saint John the Evangelist. He meets with Etréstles and the participating comrades that when he arrived at the refuge in the morning, everyone was asleep, except Etréstles who was starching some sheets of bread dough for breakfast. Meanwhile, he had sacred fire heating with sacred water for everyone. Vernarth approaches and Khaire tells him, he answers, a joy to see you.

Vernarth says: Beloved Brother Etrétles, I have already taken the notations to begin the decalogue. Today in the afternoon we will board the Sailboat and leave for Piacenza. We are in the final offering. In the Izanna tower, I called upon the powers of the Universe to present them, and I was commissioned to make notations of the Decalogue of the souls that Live in all the ages of time and its vicissitudes.

Everyone starts to wake up, look at him and say hello. They sit in a circle to enjoy breakfast. Meanwhile, outside the shelter, the horns felt moving to the rhythm of the minutes. In such a way, that the last sound of the Doric scale that the storm segregates, will provide the beginnings of each one of boarding the float that will take them to the pier of Cala Cogone. Everyone says goodbye and hugs each other, Vernarth and his brother says Khaire.

Decalogue I                  
Hanael
                                      ­      
Generosity transformed into a crowd. Many stones co-exist emanating the sweet energy of Hanael, and among these is the Onix, known as the stone of truth. Whose objectivism was dreamed of the Value of generosity in its maximum expression in the courage centered on the very vibration flower of the Gerbera, along with its sober goats of the reign of the heights? Hyperkinetic foot and ascension to spiritual psychic growth, which is the real emblem and symbolism of all the virtues of all the planes, the history not traced, or the memory that is mentioned.

Two unicorns alone will be reached by the ****** who will numb them with the perfume of her purity and her chastity, the reason why she will be related to the ****** Mary and the incarnation of her son Jesus by hugging them with her cloak. The Unicorn's single horn is an emblem of the spiritual arrow, divine revelation, the entrance of the supernatural into man, the sword of God, the opening of the third eye, whose vision is projected towards the ends of the angelic world. Hail Regina Sine Labe Originali Spectam.

Decalogue II
Saint Gabriel

Vernarth you tied to a tree with canvases draws himself to the Angel in his name meaning "God is my strength". According to the Abrahamic religions and Judaism. As a result, she became known as "the messenger". Angel Gabriel continues to have a role in the world, helping both parents and human messengers. Blowing the trumpet to announce the return of the lord to Earth.

In his mediumship, the Archangel Gabriel inspires artists, singers, poets, writers, and dancers, helps them communicate on a spiritual level to recover inspiration, innocence, purity, and joy of living. From which this egregious Vernarth Travel Wheel is not exempt until it is consecrated in Patmos as a sacred and lay reference of a spiritual being in gestation. From here he will cultivate the dignity and the Abrahamic mothers so that they can accept their body, awakening in the souls the scriptural power and communicating vigorous forces, which facilitate overcoming fear and lack of decision in life. Sponsoring God's messages to those who worship him.

Vernarth violates the Xiphos sword's decree to shed blood, but rather to purify the gesture of shedding Faith that cuts hopelessness. United in the Templars gripped by their fellow men of the spiritual warfare that never loses, that is always ready to the limit.


Decalogue III
Two premises

From the first two decalogues, the third is born. Both by the glow of the first reactivates the other, which is a rectilinear light that surprises the dark light that tries to invade its luminosity. At very meager kilowatts, the years that separate the times of adding more vestiges of transcending on moral exercise unfold from intertwining; in such a way that in periods of frank over-excited navigation, the energy of the spirit is advanced, only measurable by the actions and intercommunications of the Angels and Archangels.
"Decalogues / ten analyzes" Assimilations of divine inspiration, which will contain ten components beyond an enumeration of premises that expose the visions when justifying a test. This decalogue includes maxims such as "The Angel is the fundamental value of Mystical Perseverance."


Decalogue IV
Where is the North

The North: Biblical scholars have suggested that the north symbolizes the permanent or the eternal, perhaps because the pole stars could be seen throughout the year. It is the place of God's heavenly habitation (Isa. 14:13) and from where his glory descends (Job 37:22) to bless or judge (Eze. 1: 4). He is the true King of the North. But the north, represented by the left hand, is also a symbol of disaster. The enemy of God's people came from the north (Jer. 1:14, 15; Eze. 38: 6), bringing destruction. In a sense, the enemy was the false king of the north who tried to usurp the role of God and who is ultimately destroyed by the Lord (Sof. 2:12; Dan. 11: 21-45). To see resting in Faith, the north does not distract your gaze, it blesses resting the whole concept that shakes the predisposition to arise to all merit given by physical unity, which I inhabit where I will rest, and the glory has to exalt me. Whoever comes from the north bringing destruction, will crash upon him, bringing reparation for the faith that rebuilds itself. The north is an anti-magnet, preventing what it cannot distort from itself in the Christian saying.


Decalogue V
The desert

Vernarth has to consume the desert like a placid arid and inhospitable place when swallowing it. There is nothing in his hands, not even the most elementary thing found. Where you suffer all kinds of discomforts: thirst and heat, inclement weather, sudden changes in temperature, sand discomfort, deprivation, and material deprivation; not only of the futile things but also of the most necessary. It must be supplied in large baskets to serve those who cultivate and protect it. The desert is a meek sheep in periods of drought when it never leaves you.

The physical reality of the desert can be like a symbol of the imminent spiritual life: it is the place of the detachment of everything superfluous; an invitation to austerity and a return to the essential. It is there where man experiences his fragility and his own limitations; the place of trial and purification. But also the most appropriate setting for a renewed and mature search for our personal encounter with God in prayer, in the silence of the soul, and in the simplicity of the essential. It is here that every symbol, more than all its significance, is transformed into a test of loneliness beyond all abundance of Faith, without even having to support it.


Decalogue VI
Vampirism

In the behavior of the person who acts like a vampire, that society prevails that the behavior is dissociated to whoever does it and not. Many vampire souls have made a pilgrimage for good. No one has been able to exclude them from the darkness and stop rising from the dead to roam the night in a bulky black cape and use long, sharp canine teeth to bite the victims' necks and **** their blood. But modern vampires tend to encounter problems of strict uniqueness such as not being happy, believing even more than by dying to them they are more than a fatal vampire. "We are all Vampires in eternity who deal with darkness and light, fear and courage."
Vampire in Sardinia is drinking the same blood and sprinkling it on the earth that nothing conceals or prescribes sin. Then a child appears, picks up the flower that germinates right there, and the cycle begins again.

“When I train myself in writing saying who I am, I only receive from the purulence of the multitudes, in centuries by centuries, not finding a basis to answer me. They say they do not know what to answer because there is no content that compares to those who have no Age, Life, or compassion. That I only have to communicate with the Strigoi messenger articulated with the souls of the dead who come out of their graves at night to terrorize the neighborhood. That it is the same as I condemned to sail and swarm the World of the Nosferatu aristocracy, a survivor of all human vanity, in all the empires of the World believing to live thousands of years without knowing who helped me, because few give me the option of giving what good of me ”


Decalogue VII
Holy incense

I breathe humid air from the superior deities; they opt for my forehead, as practices that replace those that are detonating to expel theirs. Rain of aromas alter or renew low-voltage emotions for high gods, like the Egyptians who used the most precious varieties of incense. These incense craftsmen, in the times of the Pharaohs, knew all the secrets for making high-quality incense. It has been verified that in some of the precious vessels found in the funeral chambers of Tutankhamun, they kept hundreds of kinds of incense that have still retained their magnificent aroma through the centuries. On Sheesham's bunk beds of fire. Wood and Incense with ultra sensory olfactory powers, to design elemental and supernatural hearts, to house and be adaptable to hyper-connectivity. In the Hindu religion, akasha is the foundation and essence of all things in the material world; the first palpable and concrete material element created by the god Brahmá (air, fire, water, earth are the others). "Here he sleeps without waking up when the morning doesn't wake up, and sleeps when the night doesn't get dark"


Decalogue VIII
Mythology

As mythology, it is called the set of myths typical of a people or culture. Myths, for their part, are narrations starring gods, heroes, or fantastic beings, who explain or give meaning to certain events or phenomena. The word, as such, and this in turn from the Greek μυθολογία (mythology) . Mythology, in this sense, is made up of the set of stories and beliefs, relatively cohesive, with which a people has traditionally explained itself. its origin and the reason for being of everything around it. Hence, we can affirm that mythology shapes the worldview or belief system of a culture. Vernarth from Sardinia where he never thought he was undoubtedly opens up belonging to this place more than the hundred millionth essence of his Being. It unites all the elements that melt together the liquid, aqueous, physical, gaseous, and aqueous., To form the mythology of a true verb of a parapsychological regression, like a great condiment that every mortal lacks as opposed to an immortal.
Alikantus paradigm of Alikanto on his astral journey just three days after climbing in Gaugamela...! The corners of anxiety buzz after lightening their igneous hooves by the slippery stones of the footsteps that seemed to be the same projections of their tasks that marked the Tracian soil before arriving at the request of their harangue. He resorts to Medea, before arriving in Thrace after wandering around different places in search of protection and advice to protect his master Vernarth. While He was submitting to his last opioid libations of vivid liliaceous from angiosperms encapsulated by his right pectoral. That was Alikanto's missive. Ask Medea for a potion so that she can supply her master to deflate his breastplate, and thus be able to use his Panoply breastplate in combat since there were three days left for the duel. Medea arrived in the city of Athens on a stormy day with great dark Dantesque gray on the palm of the cliff, previously escaping near the Abdera cliff, whose east was evacuating black poetry,.


Decalogue XIX
Falangist

As a tactical organization for war created in Ancient Greece and later imitated by various Mediterranean civilizations. ... The term is of Greek origin, φάλαγξ (phálanx), which was used for the defensive formation used by the Hoplites, who constituted the classical phalanx.
Almost at dusk over Zeus's beards, the Vernarth Phalanges begin to arrive. The Macedonian Phalanx or Macedonian Phalanx was an infantry formation created and used by Philip II, and later by his son Alexander the Great in the conquest of the Persian Empire. The Macedonian phalanx arose, in fact, as a response to the tactical modifications that the Theban strategists, Epaminondas and Pelópidas of ground forces, developed in the early 4th century BC. C. to oppose the superiority, although already decadent, that the Spartan hoplite formation had exerted in the land combats between the Greek cops until that date.
Nothing depresses me more than not delegating others as if they were my Falangists, making them participate in defending themselves against all disadvantages and worse punishment with the Panoply armor, a superb protector of those who has no defender. "God is my Breastplate, his Gospel protects me by never being damaged"


Decalogue X
Lepanto

Where I have to shelter, says Vernarth, hostility haunts me. Beautiful landscape that is swayed between the rushes of good that tries to be less bad. Policy judgments, how close to marketing peace, and so far from founding true poetry. Still, Vernarth crossed the waters and their customs. From Lepanto, Greece. He appeared exhausted with his eyes reddened by the gassed atmosphere that greeted them in Battle. Of whose intraterrestrial castes it was the one that was in his iron spirit and reappeared in his cape as a gesture of his personality. He arrived cracking the ****** floors of Tel Gomel when he arrived ... he was assaulted by a soldier who asked for mercy to extend his bad fortune. Lepanto is a pre-military senatorial seat, and a great preparatory to the charms of the drama of my duties that will be in Patmos, never-ending dramas.

Falangist: With his helmet in his hands and the Dorus on his cloak on the ground tells him; every single thing I tried the double edge of my sword stained him. The top sheet notified me that my family in Kalidona was in a state of irregularity since my two older children were called to serve in the militias. And the second edge of my lower Dorus I bow before the meanest preciousness of that of observing with a good spirit to cooperate, now with the callousness of my soul that overcomes it exploiting and dragging my wife as easy spoil. I know that my descendants were buried under the effect of the cataclysm of Pompeii in the future. All will emigrate and then flee when they are devastated and the unwelcome comrades return to reintegrate into the Santa María festival. The Patron Saint who consoled me, but prepared me for the resistance of such bad fortune, that one day she would let herself fall with my crops in the culture of peasant angels in fruits and devotions. I sobbed and sobbed rubbing my animals through my empty eyes day and night. They did it next to me, with the singularity of not affecting me; they went to the nearest stream to sob for me so that I would not be affected by the fatal annihilation.

Epilogue
Patmos and Saint Gabriel

Once installed with the vision of visionary brotherhood that characterizes its filial union with Reader and Petrobus. It will begin in its mediumship with the Archangel Gabriel who inspires artists, singers, poets, writers, and dancers, helps them communicate on a spiritual level to recover inspiration, innocence, purity, and joy of living. As an input of character to validation the function of the Troubadour, Juggler, or Visionary. If it were not for the written and not musical notes, nothing would be more than a vision of being closer to almost hyper-reality, established by the prophecies as historical and religious support. With this last decalogue, Vernarth establishes that one in the work of oneself remains the summary of the prototype of the work. And from the work, the summary that allows the common man to be erected, who in his free will, does not deny, but rather power his unshakable satiety of science in his prostrated soul, under the key of dogma and questioning?
Hildegard Von Bingen has sparked the interest of many scholars, mainly because it seems to contain a major contradiction with respect to the rest of his statements about his visionary experience. In that absence of ecstasy that characterizes the visionary experience of Hildegard von Bingen, It also figures the fundamental difference that separates it from its contemporary Elisabeth von Schönau, and some scholars based this fact to deny it a mystical character and grant it the attribute of prophetic. The attention of this specific passage obeys its comparison with Saint John the Evangelist. The understanding of itself seeks a model, a referent, whose wide field of meaning has to be reconstructed in order to restore the full meaning of this statement. The analysis will stop at the following aspects:

1. In the gesture through which Saint John is shown, and by which Hildegard associates herself with the evangelist and, as we will see, according to the identifications of the time, with the beloved disciple of Christ and with John of Patmos, the author. of the apocalypse.

2. Hildegard's identification with Juan de Patmos will lead us to a comparison of both visionaries focused on the modes of their representation.

3. Finally, the content of the images will be reflected on from an example, hoping that all of this will be concluded with a sharper profile of Hildegard von Bingen's visionary experience.
Vernarth says: “I wander from the stony ruins in Sardinia, to go in search of those who gave rise to themselves. When I thought about believing to create them, they presented themselves to me as a whole that prophesies Creation. ”
DECALOGUE  VERNARTH
the things and thoughts and memories
we keep so private
   not even those closest to us
   are supposed to know

are those that make up
our individuality

we need
   as experts say
this very core of our privacy
so we can say
   I am different
   I have a secret
      nobody else has

I am not sure
yet I have come to understand
secrecy also has disadvantages

torn between privacy
and the desire to share
   we are drawn towards confession
   or get paranoid
   in order to maintain
   The Secret

unaware
that almost everybody
knows it
anyway

           * *
Edward S Jul 2013
I was forced to forget you again,
I was forced before, but now this is insane.

I guess I jumped the gun,
But you know I was just trying to help you in the long run.

After you said good bye,
All I did was sit down and sigh.

You know, I guess being hurt has its advantages,
And also it's stupid disadvantages.

So I guess you lied,
I tried to be there, you can't say I haven't tried.

Then, it began to rain,
And of course I sat there and got drenched to release my pain.

You said your past had been grey,
And I told you I would walk with you every step of the way.

Well I guess destiny has decided to split our roads,
I stood there for abit, but time seems as if it has slowed.

Well I guess this is good bye, your road turns and goes back to our small little border town,
While mine goes over fields of green, and down into the big city's downtown.

I'm sorry I was annoying,
I didn't know I was keeping you from the life you were enjoying.

Well I guess my mind is decided,
And I will prevent my road from being damaged and undivided.
Ken Pepiton Jan 2021
If I were an ant, what disadvantages are mine?
If I may love with all my being,
being an ant?
You would then be, I mean,
I would then be,
imperceptible in the grand balance of power.

If I were an ant, I think I could do no evil.
-- an old proverb that keeps itching to mean more after all...
the outside of the house
was looking rather dull
and over a color chart
I did ponder and mull

a shade of maroon
made for great appeal
so did a rich shade
of Kensington teal

with the color decided
for the paint job
into the local hardware store
I did nonchalantly lob

the chap behind the counter
asked if he could assist
I said of course you can
as I waved my wrist

we walked to the paint and putty
section of the store
where there were gallons of paint
sitting on the floor

we discussed the advantages
and disadvantages of exterior gloss
and I opted for a shade
known by the name of Rock Moss

the paint was placed in the trunk
of my Nissan four wheel drive
I then set out for home with a paint
which would bring my house alive

the overalls that were in the tool shed
I quickly hauled on
and I proceeded to paint
the exterior walls with great aplomb

there I was on ladder high
slapping the paint brush around
when all of a sudden
I landed face first on the ground

the house painting job
came to an abrupt finish
ye olde ladder and I parted company
after the skirmish  

a painting contractor is finalizing
what I didn't quite complete
and by next Friday week
he'll have the outside of the house looking neat

it has been an adventure
improving the exterior of my home
yet I wouldn't have had the adventure
but for the ladder wanting to roam
jerely Sep 2015
The power of speech
is to get people's attention.
It is the most powerful words
that it may sweep you off.
They convey everything
to small to big thoughts.
Either, negative or positive.
Words of speech has advantages
& disadvantages as well.
It may vary on how you
can relate it to people.
Some may bad or
some may good to others.
Some are sweet or some are bitter.
They are like a magnetic shield
flowing on top of your tongue.
It drives you crazy, insane.
Provokes you or less.
But will give you lessons
to teach you in your life.
my opinion only.

Jerelii
Sept 11, 2015
Copyright
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2022
a farewell to quills / qwerty: alternative title to -new year's resolution and breaking thresholds of my mental stamina

rereading some works of Frank O'Hara thinking:
i wish a naive 20 year old once more,
just for as little as an hour - curse this aging and
getting predictable in one's assurance
    and disappointments -

i'm crushed today, absolutely crushed...
last night i managed to "****" the madam of the brothel...
that's the thing... i was coming back from
work, i drank one bottle of cider and a little
bit of whiskey, but i must have walked
around the brothel roughly 3 miles
in endless bouts of despair and excitement...

vomiting what little i ate that day...
thinking i'm constipated with an unfinished
little nugget of **** lodged up my *******...
queasy, excited, lost.... child-like...

like i said: "****"... she's a big woman...
i'm guessing in her 50s... definitely late 40s...
it's rather intimidating... and i'm like 5 months
shy from being 37 myself!
plump... but given her age that looks great on a woman
and... my god... the greatest pair of *******
i have ever seen... absolutely...
    a *****-**** where your actual **** disappears
completely?
                    it was just too intimidating...

whenever she let into the brothel for a £10
sat me down and inquired whether i'd like something
refreshing to drink... or she would let be choose
what music i'd like to listen to if all the girls were
busy...

******* no. 1 - lasted me for about 5 minutes...
flop... i finally broke my mental threshold when it comes
to casual ***... casually authentically transactional ***...
no games... not dating games...
no "relationships" / hook-ups...
me, going to the butchers - laying down £10 on
the table the butcher giving me a lump of beef...
that's it... no not me being older and dating 20 year
old women and beating them at the game
just by being older...

                                     the complete ******* opposite...
i don't know what her prostitutes told her
and why she suddenly made herself available!
(oh ****... i'm going to be sick... right this minute...)

.....................................................­.....................
...........................................­.................................
...............................­...........................................
.....................­......................................................
..........­................................................. (10 minutes
spent in the toilet puking, later).......................

unlike with Isabella - from Grenoble -
who i lost my virginity to -
i was a fresh 18 year old who already had
some experience with kissing and hand-jobs
while she was 21 and already with experience...
she just implored me to put on a ******
while speaking half-drunk half-passionately
(strange combination, i know)...
                  
older women... the gap gets even worse when
you get to the age of 36 and the woman is
in her late 40s or in her early 50s...
                                the allure is staggering...
a Grand Canyon of experiences -
                                      i am not ashamed that
i tried to get a ******* twice and twice failed...
as we were talking she didn't cut any corners:
it's not strong enough...
   oh **** me... for the 5 minutes it was hard
the way she just slapped in on her tongue...
but as the limo kicked in i just brushed it aside...
like dirt under a rug... not really taking myself
seriously - the situation was serious enough...
                          of course i didn't blame her...
                           and of course she knew that i couldn't
for the first time in my life i mentioned ******...
my head was aching with this notion...
but not too much: back in high school i already knew
guys in their tender age of 17 and 18 who had
early success with girls who were already
popping ******...
                                             but i know my bouts
of impotence... there's a word in Polish that perfectly
describes it: TREMA...
             which doesn't mean trauma...
                                the jitters... stage-fright...

oddly enough with her prostitutes hardly any problems...
but most of them are younger...
    with her prostitutes it's usually the opposite...
there's the hard-on but a mental constraint of being
unable to finish, to ******...
this was a completely opposite problem...

i dreamt of **** that size ever since i learned to *******
aged 8... and now having finally arrived at
my Mecca of fantasies and "expectations"...
******... the jitters...
                          which i could understand if i was
20 and she was 28... but not with my experiences...
not nearing 37... well...
                                   but she's nearing 50... ergo?
the canyon of expectations grows exponentially...
why? because... technically... i bought into
some Oedipal... she could technically be my mother...
not quiet... and on top of that:
                            she's the madam of the brothel!
she's the one who employs prostitutes and gives
them protection by employing a bouncer
who says a friendly: hello mate, how are you?
upon opening the brothel's fourth door...
oh yeah... you have to walk through 4 doors before
entering...
i have seen guys get rejected on the 1st door...
and the 2nd...

all these factors played a part...
ergo? my new year's resolutions are here...
my drinking has finally caught up with me...
i'm actually getting bored of drinking...
i know i said that once...
and never stuck to my guns of giving up
the habit... i'm also getting bored of smoking
cigarettes...
                     i can't smoke on the job
because i get nervous when sometimes having
to attend to large crowds... large crowds of
drunk football fans... i can't smoke in the morning
either... i get this morning tobacco sickness...
plus being a serious cycling enthusiast:
what's the point?
plus being pestered with a genetic predisposition
for high blood pressure...
the drinking is not helping... the smoking is not
helping... maybe that's another factor when it comes
to this one bout of erectile dysfunction...
high blood pressure...

and... writing... well... if i won't be drinking alcohol
my truth serum will be gone...
              and if i won't be smoking... what sort of writer
would i be if i didn't smoke?
the one eating carrots as a way of distraction and bad
habit?
                     i might as well admit that...
i think that i've written all that i have wanted / not wanted
to write -
     there's just no more incentive to continue this
dream - give up like Scott Fitzgerald... but instead
of turning to more alcohol... actually giving it up...
   all the vices... get in even better shape and...
                      go back to the madam and **** her like
300 Spartans...
                  
but on top of that she gave me more depressing news...
Mona and Kdarda ****** off... it would seem for good...
Mona became pregnant... what?!
oh yeah... she's in her 2nd or 3rd month...
she's back in Romania...
                                               who did she become
pregnant with?                                   ...
    ...                                          silence... not that i actually
asked the question...
                                    i sometimes wonder what
happens to those used condoms...
                                        it's almost like in the urban
myth i once overheard in Poland about...
either a man or a woman who sold condoms
having pierced them with a needle...

              well i have an urban myth of my own...
even though it's not a myth but a sad reality of being
with a woman, in a relationship,
who tells you she doesn't like you wearing a ******
because if there's going to be any latex involved it
won't  go inside of her but will be outside of her
so she tells you she will get on the pill...
                       only years later you realise....
it was impossible that she was on a contraceptive pill
because... you just performed oral *** on
a ******* who let you have unprotected *** with
her because she actually was on the pill
i.e. you can't perform oral *** on a woman who
is on the pill because there are no sweet juices flowing
there's only a ******* pharmacy down there...
it's bitter... so ergo... if that girlfriend of yours calls you
up a few weeks after she broke up with you
and tells you that she's pregnant...
                       on top of you suspecting her ex boyfriend
beta orbiter hanging around her flat in St. Petersburg
when you went over to visit one glorious summer...

why have only prostitutes  been the most
                                                 sane women in my life?
oh this night i'm going to drink my last
and write something rather epic...
                     because after tonight...
                                 a hiatus... complete darkness...
sure... any internet communication already established:
kept... but i'm not sticking my head out anymore...
i've done it for 8 years and i'm finally feeling the strain
that writing creates in the psyche...

i also realised yesterday that the ego can be sometimes
right... my ego planned that i wouldn't go to the brothel
until the next year, a day prior to ******* off to Poland
to celebrate my grandmother's 80th birthday
(and obviously stocking up on duty free Camel cigarettes) -
as i was circling the vicinity of the brothel
trying to find the darkest parts - alleys, the park,
my ego was already telling: but you said so yourself
that not until next year, look at yourself: you're a nervous
wreck! you're not in the mood for ***... not tonight...
you just finished a shift and you're tired... just go home...
but i didn't listen to my ego: it's a painfully useful realisation
that this otherwise usually fickle entity inside of
my head with its pseudo-schizoid advantages / disadvantages
of rummaging in two tongues is somehow still
trying to help me, persuade me, comfort me and tell
me the whole truth rather than some delusional spin-off
some variation of a Satanic-whisper...
yesterday i was illuminated... but of course i didn't listen:
since it wasn't my conscience talking...
     i've already done the supposedly "evil" / "taboo"...

it's for the best... for the past 8... hell! more!
how many years has it been where there wasn't a single
day where i wouldn't spew some sort-poetic but mostly
rambling every, single, ******, night!
non-stop! sometimes, in my peak, that would involve
me sitting from 10pm through to 8am in
the morning - going to bed with the sunrise and
getting up with the sunset...
                             becoming this nocturnal monster -
living a life associated with the comings and goings
of an ivory tower, ******* Merlin the whacky etymological
historian of sorts...

well... today was eventful: just by waking up i was transported
into a warping of thought...
i needed to have a conversation with myself...
woke around 2pm... exhausted... lay in bed for
3 hours, hungry, hung-over...
       not moving, like a reptilian predator...
what did i have to eat today?
   my father used to call my drinking antics by using
the metaphor: rat...
   i always thought myself more of a fox...
although ask the Chinese...
                rats are not something to be cringed at...
they spread the wrath of the gods...
                       i couldn't **** a fly i couldn't **** a rat...
i remember this one instance in Edinburgh...
i was with Ilona and a mouse managed to enter my
wardrobe... i could see it: eyes glistening...
what did i do?
    i built a maze in my bedroom...
     with a trap at the end... "ushering" the mouse out
it ran through my elaborate maze and into my trap...
i caught it... pincer index thumb held up upside down,
she took a picture, giggle... purr me...
what did i do with it?
       i went outside of the flat (Montague St. can't
remember the flat number, tenements)
and left it on the communal staircase... thinking...
well... it might just scuttle away...
what did the mouse do? a ******* KAMIKAZE jump
two storeys down...
              which sent... shockwaves of trauma back
into my at-then-present-consciousness...
   when i was younger this bully of a kid...
thick glasses... curly brown hair... encouraged me...
to drop my hamster from a height telling me...
he'll survive... so... i dropped the hamster...
watching it fall... watching it hit the ground...
watching its tiny snout paint a ******* of crimson,
hue pink, hue... all the Hugh Grants and Heffners
in red...
    as i ran back to my mother and grandmother
crying... talk of parachutes... opening...
some magical force this bully persuaded me of...
the parachute didn't open! the parachute didn't open!
it was a joke for a while...
                           but i was the killer of my own pet...
and this kid... i still don't remember how
he came into my life... he wasn't the kid of any of the neighbours...
he just appeared in my life for this particular instance...
and there i was thinking i was morally superior
when i took a walk alone down a little stream
watching two boys **** a frog by smearing it with
lipstick and setting it alight...

things changed when hamsters became dogs...
Axl... i loved that dobberman... ferocious beast...
me and the upstairs kid: BIOŁY... Mark? Martin?
he was so blonde he could pass off as albino...
we were playing my Nintendo console...
because... i was the "rich" kid in the neighbourhood...
well... rich... living in those old communist satellite
state sort of tenements...
i was the kid with all the presents but no father
in my life and a drunk grandfather who was still great:
better than nothing given i only had one grandfather
and you're sort of supposed to have two...
so we were playing... got into an argument...
i don't know what happened in-between
i just know that Axl bit the boy's nose and the same
glorious gush of red-energy emerged...
                            
"i"...well... my grandmother had to get rid of Axl
after he almost tried to take my eye out
after... perfectly reasonable come to think of it...
he started biting my Alsatian ***** Bella
                 and i stood over him and in cold-blood
treated with "paint-brushings" of a PEJCZ...
             whip... honestly? some things sound so much
better in different language...
blitzkrieg sounds so much better than lightning-strike...

i still can't believe i managed to "****" the madam
of the brothel... she even tied her hair in pigtails
to give an impression of being younger...
my god... given her age... what an attractive specimen...
oh... and a plump girl can pull it off...
seriously...
                       but only when she gets older...
younger, plump girls... eh... nope... but when she gets older...
i just regret disappointing her...
but... a learning curve is a learning curve...
i'll have enough time to improve...
it's not like into video games... i never passed beyond
a PS1 games console... ergo...
there's plenty of night and nothing and brick-walls
to meditate / be ****** into... the odd sudoku...
a Chinese ideogram or my favourite:
a return to the syllables of Katakana...

all throughout i'm listening to just one song...
Salmonella Dub's Problems...
a New Zealand band...
                              back when i was a ***-smoker
i invested enough time to branch out
into a ***-smoker's type of music genres...
New Zealand...
   i worked two shifts at Twickenham...
first shift? England vs. New Zealand...
second shift? England vs. South Africa...
my god... the difference in spectators...
the South Africans felt... so proud... sort of ageless...
imagine a tribe of African living in Finland...
this is what it felt like... the New Zealanders seemed
like farmer-boys, sheep-shaggers, the Welsh...
they mingled and bred with the local population
of the Maori... the South Africans didn't...
South Africa once colonised by the English
fell into the hands of the Dutch...
    but these Dutch of South Africa weren't at all progressive...
of the modern day Netherlands...
they resembled escapee Nazis living Argentina...

we received the best compliments from the managing
team... our gate worked smoothly...
i don't know why i was given the megaphone
reciting robotic messages i.e.
a. 'ladies and gentlemen, please use all the available
turnstiles'...
b. 'ladies and gentlemen, pleasure ensure to use
the minimal traffic of all entry points via gate DELTA...'

Greek... hmm!
     fork in the road... so that's diFFer to... say...
hello sunshine:

      P            H
           Φ Θ    
      H            T             just add Poseidon's trident

of Psi into the mix... Ψ: alternatively see diFFer...
just so... the **** of iota of the omicron...
with psi emerging from the O that's an Omega
turned upside-down Ʊ + I = Ψ

    mind you... with these seeing, living eyes...
an F and an "F" mind sound the same...
but... the disparaging associations of meaning
create a... literacy barrier...
still persistent in the advent of graffiti...

the last time i beat an animal without eating it
was my second arrival of Maine **** cats
into the household...
i didn't know who the culprit was... so i smacked him
and i smacked her...
she was the honest one...
but the second time the incident happened...
well... by then i knew who was ******* in my bed...

i know that by quitting drinking i'll be the inverted
version of a bear... i know that i have sleeping
issues, which will become more exemplified
by a reached: hope for sustaining my sanity...
but this high-blood pressure ******* has left too much
turmoil in my head...

oh right, my father's rat to "non-existent" analogy
of my buying alcohol antics, smuggling bottles
of whiskey... alone, drinking... and then during
the day playing the party partisan of society...
like a fox... or rat... whichever...
what did i do today... i had a bed sobering up
session... and a in the cold sobering session...
i lay on the jacuzzi cover in the jacuzzi shed...
fidgeting... trying to conserve energy: i was fasting...
i folded my hands into an akimbo
putting one hand into the sleeve of another arm...
folding my trousers into my socks...
lying flat... then lifting my legs up
touching the beams of the shed...
      
             like, a wild, *******, animal...
i imagined: but i did... steal a slice of bread
from the kitchen... smearing it with butter...
again "stealing" a tub of a ****** speciality,
i.e. a vegetable salad consisting of raw celeriac,
raw Bramley apples... petit pois (canned),
cooked parsley roots, cooked carrots, cooked
potatoes. hard-boiled eggs... raw leaks...
all smeared with a dollop of mayonnaise...
pepper? yes please...
                           and a can of spicy tomato tinned
mackerels... eating it while standing up
in the 2nd shed... the 3rd shed has my father's work
tools and my Tour de France 2nd bicycle...
the Kolarzówka... which is a spring / summer bicycle...
it's not the autumn / winter mountain bicycle...

i hate cars... i adore buses...
if i hear some alpha bru'h trying to sell me a sports
car... i start to think of Dalmatians and...
can, you, ride, a, horse?!
owning a car makes absolutely no sense when living
in London or its vicinity...

oh **** me, even the thought of tomorrow shift is giving
me the Gremlins...
supervisor, again, why?! can't i be the break-guy?
i'm not even qualified... yet... i'm being given this
******* leeway like i earned it... oh, right,
i have earned it...
            i just don't want to experience
the fudge-packing headache of a delay in
constipation... which is not exactly a headache...
just a pulverising anti-music... a vibrating headache
that doesn't ache...
a vigilant reminder of: would i come out of
the Manchester Arena suicide bombing with PTSD?

i smile, i pause... i smile again... i clock faces...
it originates in my childhood...
this... sensation of numbing at the fingertips...
when... people... who don't own what
you own... are given a frightful... free... access...
and... you're sort of o.k with it...
you're not o.k. with it...
but you give up a stating ownership of objects for
the people using said objects for their own
pleasure... you feel pleasured by peoplg
being pleasured... but you just don't understand
why ownership of things is somehow important
a tier above the presence of the people
bypassing you owning and them: not owning
said, used, things, for that shared...
interaction... numbing of the fingertips...

i'm sad. Khadra is gone... Mona is gone too...
i'm left strapping myself to excitement and paranoia
and erectile dysfunction ******* the madam of
the brothel... watermelons, watermelons... watermelons...
ich spreschen Deutsche...
a bit like my surname... ******... Stalin...
made easier for English-speakers...
because... what the **** could they do with the addition
via E(sch)lert?!
                          oh sure as **** they couldn't find
the Slavic acute S in the Germanic SCH... could they?!

the only reason i have so much casual *** is...
i have yet to court a match of intellect in
the bedroom!
like i told the madam, excusing my limp-*******-****
situation... i shook her hand...
and this is what we do, formally...
but seeing you naked... touching your thighs...
your *******... my hands could talk for a seemingly
forever... and it would not tire me...
it would: embolden me!
things change... when... simply ******* prostitutes...
you get a stab... at... ******* the madam
of the establishment... you become nervous,
you become small... you become castrated...
you... hit rock bottom...
and then... Lucifer... Icarus.. what's up is down...
what's down is up!

you light a scented candle in your bedroom...
light your last cigarette...
does it matter that Muscovites are issuing concerns
over the Kiev-monstrum? no, not since the Orange
"Re-vo-lu-tion"...

i had... two... in all earnest... i had two... ****** revelations...
without all the chit-chat... two... both... prostitutes...
Mona and Khadra... a Romanian and a Turkish beau
respectively... there was only one woman in my life
that spoke... "respectably" similar level English to mine...
the rest... w either gave way to imagining Braille or...
whatever... but... insert crocodile...
why cry... when it, apparent ******* rains?!

i will miss them... tenderly, fully heartedly...
even as the Madam stroked my beard while i excused my
dysfunctional "third-party"...
                 why would a limp **** somehow diminish
my manhood... i.e. if a man is sized... surely...
a woman is sized too! a man's length and girth is also
reciprocated by a woman's depth and girth...
no?                              ergo?

plus all the mood swings that both the sexes share...
and have to... "en-ter-tain"...
but **** me... a madam of a brothel... me her and the pigtails...
well obviously i didn't deliver...
but... i'm thinking... if i quit drinking...
if i quit smoking...
that fat *** slurping lip brigade of an altogether
complete ****-buddy is waiting for me...
and i'm waiting for it... and the night and the foxes
and the crows are in my company...

well then! all the tales of vampires and werewolves...
can... become... true!
i can become a monster that understands
why... he feeds off being...
"casually" neglected...
why... it's not him who broke up with
a woman but the woman breaking up with him!
perfect!
which is why Mona and Khadra ****** up to
either Romania or Turkey, pregnant...
and i was left trying to **** the brothel's Madam..

melons melons! i'm telling you: **** like melons!
heartbreak and the heartless...
mind you... what's the other "thing" women notice
when courting...
apparently... ha ha... apparently... TEETH!
women like with no concern for dental insurance...
women like teeth... and hair...
i like... ****... what is it that i like?

                             i like snow... i like forests...
there's a difference between those more associated with oak
than those more associated with pine...
pines... entertain the existence of the scouts...
who are the scouts?! BIRCH... oak forests are the elders...
usually creating isolating environment
of island-dwellers...
               oaks don't appreciate birches...
and in terms of pines... well... in terms of pines and pins...
who's the one searching for the camel....
already in possession of the needle?!

my goblet of fine **** and saucy riches...
           i.e. my mouth...
                     i'll get ready...
as stated... once you **** your way up to having
the madam of the establishment that's
a brothel interested in you...
first time: disappointing her...
second time? you're going to quit drinking...
you're going to quit smoking...
you're going to sober up... simply because...
those ****... the fact that she's older than you by at least
one decade... and i like listening to horror movie
soundtracks... which makes perfect sense...
ugh... pristine nugget of fat and ageing...
it's like...
                  oh... ******* and jerking off...
that's off the table too...
        
             she's an ***-prized sort of a beached whale...
she's a Renaissance spectacle of the desirable woman...
plump... peachy...
now that i've had a taste... once the holidays
are over... when she asks for an entrance fee...
i'll need to seek out my hard-on in some other brothel...
paying her: sure... but only with you...
pigtails my ***...
                           freckle on her face...

then i'll start serving the concept of money...
Oslo? Brussels? Berlin... Berlin?!
ah... Bucharest...
                 no no... not south enough... Athens
i've already done... Istanbul...
        oh... wait... stop drinking... stop smoking...
regain friction with a hard-on...
**** the madam of the brothel...
   while her under-workers subscribe to texting each
other madly trying to figure out:
sq. not trg.!

now i'm becoming the baron of my own belly!
Detractors and admirers
of Europe,
I have always heard speak
of economic advantages and disadvantages
in this campaign
but I have never
never
heard speak of ideals.
I thought I was European.
Am I?
And if I am,
what does European mean?

24.6.'16
Dark n Beautiful Apr 2023
When you have finished your work, I have something important to tell you all

Come in closer, closer, I remember walking down 54 street on a cold December in Manhattan

I had just finish with a job interview

a little frustrated but nevertheless

I have given praises to the almighty for allowing me to see another day

Never mind I was jobless, after two years of sending out my resume and making

Numerous phone calls to business throughout the city.



It was a cold day in December, I hit the pavement and was looking and praying to find myself a job  

As I was walking down the busy street, I saw a queue from here to Halifax

So, I decided to join the line,  

not even knowing what it was all about (nosey me as usual)  

I never even asked any of the people on the line, what was going on



So, this white lady with a clipboard in her hands, came out of the building and was escorting A few people at a time, to come in.

I stood trying to be looking smart as I am, and waited

When it became my turn, this lady looks at me from head to toe

And said to followed her, I did as I was told

She led us into the room, and started to hand out a test sheet:

She said we half only twenty minutes to complete it

I stare at my test sheet he had like 40 questions,

And some math, and vocabulary sentences to complete

I finish the test in less than 20 minutes,

Wondering what is next to come with the lady

I got up she stare me down once again,

Took the test sheet and asked me to wait in this waiting room:

Once again, I did as I was told.



After another 20 minutes she came and got me,

He exacts words.

“We are looking for people to work in Macy department stores,  

Throughout the city in all departments store

what hours can you work miss lander?

I sigh for a moment and say, the morning shifts

She said I ace the test; she took ANOTHER look at me again:

And spoke. You will BE BETTER OFF in the shoe department

Not the clothing, not the beauty counter, but the shoe department

I put my fake smile ON and thank her so much,



How dear she, after praising me on my test results

Because my *** was black,  

she wants to put me in the shoe department:

I filled out the necessary paperwork for pay roll

And I shook my head in miss believe,

I came home, and I tossed the paper in the garbage

And never took the job.

My beauty is meant to be seen,

To love beauty is to see light

I might not have been beautiful to her, but

Beauty is happiness,  

Racism is really a curse,

The advantages and the disadvantages of trying to keep a person down

They just can’t see beyond the color of our skin.



Rather than just saying we’d like to live in a more fair and equal society, we need to do our part to achieve it. (Quote)
Jermon Nov 2019
At times,
It all boils down to this,
In a world of advantages and disadvantages,
Justice and injustice,
We question our entitlement,

But,
Knowledge is key,
so the question is,
What Is The Price Of Ignorance?
!5.10.2019 - Sometimes we ask whether things are fair, we blame our ignorance. Aside from stubbornness, if we didn't take the effort to seek the truth, then, we'd have to pay the price of ignorance.
Yenson Oct 2019
Be all, see all, say all
in insignificance, sightless and inarticulate
what else to own but superficiality and posturing
belligerence in the absence of self-worth and substance
inadequacies, vices and shame all painted in snowflakes hues
the gut wrenching fact of the disadvantages of life's station and status
that limitation of social placements and scarcity of development
the cossetted ignorance bred and the hackneyed minds
the riveting pain of resultant bad choices made
the hate and self-loathing ingested within
that staining perception of oppression
the anger of not being good enough
of un-taken opportunities
of being down-trodden
the inferiority complex
frustration of hardship
invisible and unheard
what can they do, what can they say
oh hell, find them a way to vent and depressurize
find them a scapegoat to blame and share their suffering
give them an object to demonize and castigate and burn at the stake
give them a sacrificial lamb to relieve their incessant angst and anger
Let them be all comrades
Let them inflect suffering and gape
Let them be able to say we have tied Colossus down
Maria Williams Jun 2016
Down.
Down.
Down.
Into the rabbit hole.
You'll never find your soul.
You'll never be the other half of a whole.
Advances of disadvantages.
Disregarded deep rooted feelings.
You never ******* knew me.
Evading sleep patterns.
Dark dreams.
Twisting and turning.
**** me.
I'm ******.
Last hug.
Last love.
Last trust.
**** lust.
A future of failure.
Suspending disbelief.
Eyes wide,
But I can not see.
It's dark in the color patterns.
Of different bags.
Landslide.
Cliff hang.
Drop to your knees and ******* beg.
Filling voids with flesh.
Surrenity in superstition.
Arms length,
Never breaking the surface.
Surface scars.
Surface bruises.
Bruised egos.
The truth loses.
Always ******* losing.
Ryan O'Leary Jul 2019
Capitalists would rather
eat well, whereas, Socialists
would rather sleep well.

Mind you, it is difficult to
slumber on an empty stomach.

Yet, full bags can't bend or
empty bags can't stand!

It is a matter of balancing
advantages against disadvantages,

       " Weighing Up "

But on a See Saw, the Socialist
always has the better point of view.

— The End —