1514

An Antiquated Tree
Is cherished of the Crow
Because that Junior Foliage is disrespectful now
To venerable Birds
Whose Corporation Coat
Would decorate Oblivion’s
Remotest Consulate.

In freedom’s blessed glorified sky through streaks of immortal gold his visage we behold
He looks upon the fields of liberty that he and the founding fathers sowed he sees the
Richness America has become he also beheld her struggles catastrophic wars abroad
And the most painful the one that divided the nation marred it with southern and northern
Blood saw the affable the sad giant Lincoln take the reins of discontent hold them by
Shear will and with uncommon sagacity guided it back in line to fulfill its destiny as the
Powerful fount that would always pour forth waters of freedom for all of earths peoples
Total unconditional acceptance of liberty and all the fruit it bears to establish a
Government like no other this golden grain has waved under bluest skies and brightest
Sun light its rich harvest has gone to darkest prison cells Mandela was sustained by it
For twenty nine years and by its moral purity it fed the lives of those that over threw
Apartied and Mandela finally freed by principals it avows rose from prison clothes
To wear the mantle of president of his country and the honor of the man instilled
Quality that transcended political office Jefferson not to be disrespectful to his progeny
Whispers today’s politicians could do well to look on this African model of good
Stewardship of public trust with that Jefferson faded back into the mist pray that’s
Not the fate of this country

Hello.
I see you you got off, scott free.
You disrespectful swine.
You hateful trash.
You living filth.

Letting me swell with anger.
A violent flower, blooming with a blood dye.
You wouldn't be able to tell.
I have quite the poker face.
I'm so close to bursting.
You can watch if you'd like.
Watch my insides deteriorate.
Watch my lifeless arms come alive.
Only to grasp your washed out neck.

And to those who run the school.
Who let hate crimes happen.
Who think a slap on the wrist is acceptable.
You are to blame as well.

My love would rather side with those who hurt me.
She'd rather just let me burst.
She's not here to comfort me.
Only to respark my firestorm.

I'm so close

Merging the surges.
Converging the urges.
Surveying and delaying.
A brutally soft touch.
A swift tug.
Scramble to the rug.

Hop, twirl, stamp.
Intrinsic epidemics.
Employing harsh thoughts.
Enjoying warm laughs.
Instant confusion.
Undeliberate actions.
Sub-consciencely projected.

Magnified emotions.
Disrespectful conclusions.
Foundations laid, entrusted.
Irrigation failed, erupted.
Defied by fate.

Caught in the middle of lies, drama, and tears
You expect me to side with her
He's my friend too
She doesn't always tell the truth
I can't say yes or no
Or disagree or agree
Until I have all the facts
But you demand my loyalty to her
You demand me to forget about
The demons inside of me
Threatening to choke me, to grab hold of my mind and shake it up and let it explode like a shaken up coke bottle
You expect me to tell you all the deats
With a smile on my face, choosing your side
Don't force me to choose
Don't force me to agree
For if I choose against you, you think I am against YOU
And if I disagree with you, you think I disagree with YOU

You think I am disrespectful and indifferent
I'm not super excited to talk about the dramas of our family
When I am living in a hell, from time to time
When I am in a dark hole, slowly falling away into the abyss of my mind
You say, You don't have to be so secret all the time
I say, When I tell you what's really going on, you think I'm making stuff up
You expect perfection out of me and when I mess up, which I do all the time,
It is a big deal and I am the worst child in the world

At least Dad is being forgiving and our wounded souls are being healed
We're reaching out more towards one another
And not causing more negativity in our lives
Any future negativity is blamed on me
Because I'm so negative ALL THE TIME
What a lie
You don't see that the negativity is here all the time, I FEEL it ALL THE TIME
You're either too blind or too afraid to see
That you cause much of the negativity
Not all, but most

Life is screwy, life is a mess
But it is also beautiful and worth living for
But too often than not
I get caught in the middle of it all

(in the dream it is late March)
there's a light rain in Montréal & the sky
is a gorgeous, early-morning variety of slate grey. imagine the lid
of an old metal garbage-can.
everything is dismal, perfect. and quiet; even the people leaving the bars are silent.
dismally, perfectly, silent.

ghosts of old cats—belonging maybe to ghosts of old ladies who lived, say, just off St. Lau, back
in the eighties—ramble downhill, in the direction of rue St. Catherine (Saint Cat! O patron of felinity!) ,
between the legs of those spilling out from the trendy & ****** clubs.
some of the ghosts wander out into the street, flash thru car tires that would've (& have) (at one time)
smashed them to pulpy carpet on the asphalt.
(who goes to pick them up then? when the tires have had their way with them over & over?
when they are just hair & porridge by a sewage grate?)

after a greasy smoked-meat-on-rye or a nightcap at somebody's place, just off the drag,
i'm in a sodden, but warm overcoat, hands curled in the bottoms of it's pockets; mis-shapen mass
of hair plastered to my scalp; walking en bas de la montagne just past the McGill Medical Centre.
—this late, the busses back downtown are never on time.
(driver's probably having a few smokes before he starts that long tour down. full up of drunk kids,
taking one another back to their dorms, etc.)
(and what does he have, to look forward to at shift's end?
        i. a cranky wife—past her prime?
        ii. a buncha dogs—yapping for attention?
        iii. some ******* kid—who's disrespectful & won't shut up or turn his stupid ******* punk-rock down?

—it's enough to make me patiently wait.  i'll wait forever, as long as that isn't me.)

...'spose I'LL have a cigarette too. waiting
in the bus shelter on Ave. Des Pins looking down over the
football fields of the McGill Athletics Dept.
still lit up. no sun yet but
now at 4 AM a dull inch or two of lightened grey out there on the horizon.. dawn will come,

though i'd rather not face the day. all the mornings are so hard after nights like this.
bound to be hungover &
spend the day hiccuping in bed texting some girl; maybe get up
in the late afternoon t'fix coffee, toast & eggs.
sit on the balcony,
make my little guitar sigh,
and try to feel normal until i [have to] puke.

"—and who was that girl i spoke to for so long at St. Sulpice last night? how many gin-tonics did she let me buy myself, nattering on?.. probably too drunk to even get her number."
"—maybe Sean or Dylan will know if she came thru with anyone we knew.."

the bus is finally here. twenty-and-three minutes late. the back of it probably smells of
stale smoke, dim sun, and sweaty, rain-soaked cloth, absorbed from jackets into the seats—the eau du jour.
it's always a bump 'n **** ride down the hill; bound to,
with the other handful of dumb & silent riders, drunkenly sway,
(or is it a natural compensation of the body, to groove along with the curves and stops?)
back & forth like carcasses of half-dozen slaughtered pigs
swinging on their hooks in back of a meat wagon..
(i'll end up getting on, but only for three blocks. i'll ******* walk the rest of the way home,
after that comparison. to hell with the rain.)

SIX MINUTES LATER:
(Avenue Des Pins still—4 blocks closer to downtown)

directly in line now with McGill campus via McTavish; this way i can
cruise down thru the silence of the main drag having a couple smokes drinking beer
(copped a 40 at a Dep before i left St. Lau—frosty under my arm enshrouded by brown paper.)
& be left to my own thoughts for fifteen minutes 'til i get to Sherbrooke
—i adore that fifteen-minute stretch down thru the jumble of
student associations, clubs, faculty offices, administration buildings, resources centres & the like;
all contained in the same red bricked, white trimmed victorian monster, multiplied threescore
on either side of the lane; all built in the early nineteen-hundreds, all acquired by the university in one of several expansion initiatives in a decade i won't bother to guess at, it doesn't matter. you don't care..

midway down the hill i stop and go sit on the verandah of one of the buildings,
the graduate studies in math offices —
cccrack that forty.
sit there with the sun JUST barely splitting the seam of the horizon feelin'
like the lyrics from a Sun Kil Moon song. nothing more or less.  
"off to a good start," says i.

In freedom’s blessed glorified sky through streaks of immortal gold his visage we behold
He looks upon the fields of liberty that he and the founding fathers sowed he sees the

Richness America has become he also beheld her struggles catastrophic wars abroad
And the most painful the one that divided the nation marred it with southern and northern

Blood saw the affable the sad giant Lincoln take the reins of discontent hold them by
Shear will and with uncommon sagacity guided it back in line to fulfill its destiny as the

Powerful fount that would always pour forth waters of freedom for all of earths peoples
Total unconditional acceptance of liberty and all the fruit it bears to establish a

Government like no other this golden grain has waved under bluest skies and brightest
Sun light its rich harvest has gone to darkest prison cells Mandela was sustained by it

For twenty nine years and by its moral purity it fed the lives of those that over threw
Apartied and Mandela finally freed by principals it avows rose from prison clothes

To wear the mantle of president of his country and the honor of the man instilled
Quality that transcended political office Jefferson not to be disrespectful to his progeny

Whispers today’s politicians could do well to look on this African model of good
Stewardship of public trust with that Jefferson faded back into the mist pray that’s
Not the fate of this country

all the blood and tears that I wasted all this years
come from the pain and hurt, that I continue to fear
I'm left alone, left behind from anything possible
I'm not disrespectful nor irresponsible
so why was I lonely most the time
I did nothing more then just a couple crimes
I'm different, I know that for a fact
doesn't mean I have to get attacked
I dream and cry just like all the rest
I don't want to keep getting treated like I'm a lab rat test
I don't blend in with the colors of the walls
why is it that I never get invited to go the mall?
why is it that I don't get asked if I'm alright?
why I'm the person they always want to fight?
I must be a figure that looks like it needs to get beat
might as well throw me in a lions den, since I'm just a piece of meat
it's hurtful and sad that I get told to die
that the only friends I have aren't humans but flies
I'm not the best looking guy in world, I get that
doesn't mean you have to bash my skull with a bat....

Blue infinity
Beautiful serenity
Breaking enmity
~
Food hopes crumbling
Stomach empty, grumbling
Taco bound stumbling
~
Smart
Polite, Educated
Enlightening, Enriching, Enthralling
Teachers, Students, Idiots, Parasites
Disgusting, Debilitating, Degrading
Disrespectful, Obnoxious
Stupid
~
Rap
Poetic, Spoken
Rhyming, Entertaining, Battling
Real rap takes skill
Hip Hop
~
Cinquain
Unskilled, Foolish
Annoying, Boring, Defaming
Cinquains wish they were poetry
Joke

If you want respect from others, you have to respect yourself.  This respect will go far, more than any wealth.
When people have respect for you; you will excel.  They will protect you, knowing you will not fail.
Having respect for yourself, will be seen by people around.  They will join in to help, so your talents will be found.
If you fail to respect yourself, no need to look for assistance.  Because of not caring, you'll receive all forms of resistance.
If you respect yourself, you'll be careful about the way you wear your clothes.
People are constantly checking you out, from your head to your toes.  
Do you think you'll get respect, if your hair is wild and out of line?  People are going to think that you have lost your mind.
Do you think you'll get respect with your pants hanging off you hips?  Since it looks so disrespectful, people think you have flipped.
Do you think you'll get respect, if your mouth is not clean?  Then you will began to wonder, why aren't people seen?
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Sometimes you see her admiring herself
In the mirror that's hanging next to the shelf.
And when she does it, oh, how she shines!
Is that, dear cat, how you practice your lines?
She seems not to care if we pay attention,
But maybe right here I ought to make mention
That being an actress, she's disinclined
To always reveal what's going on in her mind.
And she'll never, never tell you her age--
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.

She says, "You know…I'm not one to cuss,
But when I am hungry, I WILL make a fuss."
Yes, she can certainly put on a scene
And act as though she's an importunate queen.
She says, "My dears, if I'm weak or mild,
I'll never drive the audience wild."
That critical scene is repeated each night--
A regular tour de force all right.
Yes, it's best to try to assuage
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.

Her eyes were surely her greatest feature;
She THUS scoured the town for a drama teacher,
"Who," she says dolefully, "told me one night he
Could make me a star. ME: Aphrodite!"
But as it turned out, ol' Mr. Mittens
Made her instead a mom of eight kittens.
"But," she says, "THAT'S between you and me.
You know how I like my privacy."
It's good to always be on the same page
With Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.

One thing you learn is for her it's the norm
To act a bit slighted when asked to perform.
She must be totally in the mood
Or else she behaves in a manner subdued.
And heaven help you if you are neglectful
Of if her audience is disrespectful.
She'll exit the room like a "cat" out of hell,
And you may not see her for quite a long spell.
You never want to see her rage--
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.

She sighs and says, "It's such a shame that
Few playwrights write good roles for a cat.
My friends say--when they see me upset--
'Commercials might be a better bet.'
My talents, however, as you might have guessed,
Best fit the stage. But now I must rest."
With that she lifted her nose in the air
And strutted out of the room with great flair.
It's always nice: advice from a sage
Like Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.

-by Bob B (1-24-20)

To the student who called me a "stupid *****" in period 7 today:
It's okay.
I know you didn't do it because you wanted to hurt me,
but rather you have been hurt earlier
and you were just feeling frustrated.
It's okay.
I understand.
I hope tomorrow is better.

To the student who refused to work at all today:
It's okay.
I know you don't really think this class is "stupid"
but rather you were worried you looked stupid
and you were just feeling insecure.
It's okay.
I understand.
I can help you do it.

To the student who was out of control, obnoxious today:
It's okay.
I know you weren't trying to be disrespectful as the center of attention,
but rather you were really craving attention from an adult
and you were just feeling neglected and ignored.
It's okay.
I understand.
I see, hear, and appreciate you.

To the student who slept through my entire lecture today:
It's okay.
I know you aren't just lazy or refusing to care,
but rather there was no one at home last night to take care of you
and you were just feeling exhausted.
It's okay.
I understand.
I want you to rest.

To all the students who were with me in E18 today:
It's okay.
I know I will never really know exactly what you have been through
but rather I want to help you get through this day
and I am just feeling overwhelmed.
But I promise it's okay.
(With me)
You are understood.
You are safe.
You are important.
You are loved.

that man shall not be
speaking to me again
his rudeness of manner
is too much to sustain

my inquiry he didn't
see fit to reply to
so I've blocked him
as one is entitled too

no more shall he
be hearing from me
his disrespectful air
really bugged me

I turned it off

When I found out
Physical form meant more than
spiritual substance

When I found out that
Age matters when you have too much
Looks when you don’t have a certain one

When they meant something different
something estranged from my previous understanding

I know my body is not me
only a part

they wanted that part
without wanting only me

I turned it off

They all wanted something much less
far cheaper
than I am willing
was willing
to give

You do not understand the meaning when I say
you are beautiful

Namaste
Ashe
Amen

I turned it off

You are not able to fathom a comprehension when I say
I love you

Namaste
Ashe
Amen

I turned it off

Life has instructed
give it to self always
to the ones called family
the select few that are called friend

Show it to the world
but don’t let the world abuse it

But in that concentrated way
where two become one

I turned it off

Its disrespectful to the concept
for me to treat you according to the concept
when I  see
when I know
before it all started
before your scent first touched the air
you have no awareness of the concept

There are about six degrees of separation from
what you think it is
what you thought it was
what you have been shown it to be
what you attempt to offer me
and that which it actually is

that which I was willing to offer you

I don’t believe there is a single one
there is the one you make it work with

That one
must also be willing and able to make it work with
you

For now
for me
you don’t exist

I realize now
you never did
square pegs forced into round holes
mistakes all listed above

I turned it off

Only a truly naked self
has any right
any ability
any authority

to turn it on.

© Christopher F. Brown 2013

Should I forgive one more time?
For disrespectful words

I think I have had enough
After 17 years here-- at age 30

Should I forgive as Jesus does?
I think I will

I will not keep hatred in my heart

Even though this guy is disrespectful
The money, the money
You learn from Americans
That money means so very very much
Well your money has no value anymore......

It would be awfully presumptuous and disrespectful of me
To assume
That I know and understand everything
(For even if I studied one thing for my entire life
I still wouldn't even come close
To knowing everything about that thing)
Or that I could fully understand you
(You and I
Are two different beings
With two very different viewpoints
And for me to assume
That I could see as you do
Would be quite ignorant)

However

It is equally presumptuous and disrespectful of you
To assume
That I am incapable of understanding and knowing
(In fact, I already know quite a bit:
I've been studying up
And though I'm still a beginner
And there are some things I don't quite get yet
I still understand a lot)
Or that you know everything about me
(Again, you and I
Are two different people
And I see things that you don't see
And for you to insist that you can read my mind
Would be the very definition of patronizing)

Sometimes I get a feeling
That the walls are closing in
Look around me and there isn't a way out
The light above starts to dim and shrink

Escape doesn't seem to be in my future
Death seems to just be on my doorstep
Then it all disappears in a flash
Like nothing ever happened

Cross paths with someone you hate!
Kick their ***, it was always in their fate
Give someone what they deserve
I'm no cop, but I'm here to protect and serve!

Let's go!

Escape doesn't seem to be in my future
Death seems to just be on my doorstep
Then it all disappears in a flash
Like nothing ever happened

Breakaway, from the status quo
Stray off, the beaten path below
Hear and see me now
Am I still that disrespectful clown?

Escape! From this god awful place
Escape! Live life at a new pace
Escape! Just ******* escape!

We have seen each other for a moment
you are immature, *****, ******* and idiot.
you are a tool
you are awkward and you think the world revolves around you
I have come to notice
that some people play dumb, when they are really dumb
you are unintelligent academically and socially
you need to grow the **** up
you never learn from your mistakes

You believe rumors more than my words
someone started a rumor that I was cheating
and you believed other six people instead of me.
You are so jealous of me
since I have moved on with someone else
better than you will ever be.
And every night I ask myself why I dated you
and I laugh every single day when I hear stories about you
that you are *******, ******* disrespectful and unfriendly to others.
I can only imagine what the next victim will be
and how she will tolerate your bad childish behavior.
I feel sorry for you because you never are over **** about your past
you get annoyed and bothered by little things.
You thought that I ruined everything here
but really, you helped me understand childish men like you
and now I can look for a better man.

I watched you today;
I admired your strutting decadence
Unruly, dishevelled bird of jagged honesty
Ruffled, disrespectful feathers that shine
And reflect your begging, squawking call

You and four of your friends,
Dragged down a helpless potato I
Left out for you;
Pinioned it to the ground
With strutted abandon

Oh bird much maligned;
Bird of ungainly beauty
Hobo, derelict, winged, caller
When you murmur the
Shaking stirred skies
With your flocks,

The noise black swirled and reckless
Never fails to make us catch our breath
That such flock - formed beauty could come
From a ragged kingdom call
Makes my own wings;
Take Flight

Repost for Nelson Mandela  

In freedom’s blessed glorified sky through streaks of immortal gold his visage we behold
He looks upon the fields of liberty that he and the founding fathers sowed he sees the
Richness America has become he also beheld her struggles catastrophic wars abroad
And the most painful the one that divided the nation marred it with southern and northern
Blood saw the affable the sad giant Lincoln take the reins of discontent hold them by
Shear will and with uncommon sagacity guided it back in line to fulfill its destiny as the
Powerful fount that would always pour forth waters of freedom for all of earths peoples
Total unconditional acceptance of liberty and all the fruit it bears to establish a
Government like no other this golden grain has waved under bluest skies and brightest
Sun light its rich harvest has gone to darkest prison cells Mandela was sustained by it
For twenty nine years and by its moral purity it fed the lives of those that over threw
Apartied and Mandela finally freed by principals it avows rose from prison clothes
To wear the mantle of president of his country and the honor of the man instilled
Quality that transcended political office Jefferson not to be disrespectful to his progeny
Whispers today’s politicians could do well to look on this African model of good
Stewardship of public trust with that Jefferson faded back into the mist pray that’s
Not the fate of this country

It occurs to me that I cannot move forward while existing in the hellscape that is the absence of love.

I’ve never received love. I’ve always been a stranger to it. Very rarely have I received the smaller parts that make up the whole that is love: things like justice, recognition, trust and commitment are things that have always been absent in my relationships with others and myself. My mother kept me isolated from the world because she lacked the empathy to understand that I was a being separate from her. I was, in some quiet, unconscious way, a burden to her. From her I knew care, but little more. I was fed, given a room with a bed, even video games and a computer. I was kept alive. But I knew nothing of emotional connection; there was no recognition in what she would call her loving. I was never seen, only kept. When the cruelties of the world outside our home beat my body and mind until something cracked, and they reached inside of me to find my innocence and steal it, there was no justice. Justice, which is a necessary component of love. She would punish me instead, by making it clear how disgusting I was to her- I, who was six, and eight, and thirteen- for seeking out things I was being taught were love, or she would remain quiet in her words and actions. Adults all around me abused me. My only parent, teachers and relatives were all abusing me in a world where children my age were told adults were protectors, and teachers “second parents”, like my mother would tell me.

I don’t think it’s possible to heal without knowing love.
I’ve worked to “improve” myself- a word I’m now beginning to think should have been “heal”- for years. Obsessively, to a fault. Multiple times a day, I would write something new, a new note, something I’d realized I was doing wrong and needed “fixing”- a dangerous word when referring to the modification of the self.
This could be called care. But nothing else. Similar to how my mother cared for me but didn’t know (or would often refuse) to offer me the rest of the parts needed to form the whole that is love, I gave myself only parts of it. I didn’t love myself because I didn’t know how to. My definition of love had its foundations in the actions of my abusers. The love I gave myself was rendered unkind by the lack of my protectors’ understanding of love, their abuse, and what they taught me love was.

I worked so ******* trying to “fix” myself that this care became a kind of torture. I wouldn’t punish myself so much as I would work myself into exhaustion. It’s a subject too complex and full to delve into right now, but this, and every stressor in my life, was exacerbated by the fact that I am autistic. This is a definition I don’t entirely agree with but for the sake of conciseness I’ll say it– If you can imagine being born without a single tool to navigate the world, that is what autism is. I had to build much of what others know instinctively. This makes for an extremely confusing and terrifying childhood, even without abuse from an outside source. Due to the nature of autism, it can in itself be a kind of trauma. There are no known solutions to the issues it presents. In my rigorous self-studying (and observation of other autistic people I’ve known over the years), I’ve understood the core issues of autism and how to correctly- that is, naturally- arrive at the peace we so desperately need. I’ll write about it some day.

Autism made my life in isolation harder than it would be for those who aren’t autistic. Understanding the world without some kind of guidance was virtually  impossible for me. For a lot of autistic people, it remains impossible until death. I still need guidance in certain situations, mainly when in public or when feelings of stress cause regression, stripping me of my learned skills and pushing me into confusion and purely logic-based solutions (which only serve to offer relief in a short-term manner).

Only recently, within the last month, did I learn to approach self growth in better ways. Negativity is something I can now sit with, without fear of it. I listen to it, observe it. I always knew this is what should be done with feelings of negativity, but I wasn’t capable of it. I want to say that the only reason I became able to do this was because I was shown parts of love I had been refused all my life.
Recognition, justice, and a little bit of affection were all that I needed to move forward in my journey of becoming.
It was as if I had been waiting eagerly for years to know these fragments of love, so that I could finally work to modify the parts of me that needed modifying. The second I was shown this kindness, I felt I knew exactly how to use it. The gates had opened and I was sprinting, because finally, finally I could move forward. It was admittedly chaotic at first; I was overflowing with love in an overactive, confused state. The change for me was great and sudden, and difficult to manage. It was overwhelming, but I mostly settled into it after. Suddenly I was capable of accepting love, and was excited to give it. The kind words of strangers finally felt true; little positive messages left for anyone to read online were now a love I could accept and use. I looked through them and held their love in my arms, carrying it to my bed that day I remember feeling so sad and lonely. For the first time in years I wasn’t afraid of my sadness, of my loneliness, of my fear- of the results of my loveless life. I simply sat and cared for myself, and there was nothing lacking in my loving. I loved myself fully for one day.

The positive change in me that came from being given the fragments of love that had been absent all my life- justice, recognition and affection- lasted a month. Some part of me tells me that I should wait more to write about this, because right now is the end of that month.

The love has stopped, and I find myself in need of it again, and I’m wondering if I can survive by learning to give it to myself. Every time I wonder this, I think it’s impossible. That I’ll eventually reach that gate again, that my journey of becoming will inevitably stop. Self-love is made possible when we know what it is to be loved. I think this. I think this now.
Love cannot be built in isolation. I will need to be loved in order to continue loving myself. I’m too eager to continue my journey, I think. This is natural, but it leads to unpleasant things that might repel others and keep me from being loved. I’ve begged- an unbecoming, often disrespectful act. I’m desperate, but also unwilling to hurt anyone with my suffering.
It’s hard to know how to ask for kindness. It’s harder yet, as an autistic person. I want to ask for it, but something in me tells me doing this is rude. And the tension I feel from thinking this creates an unbearable stress as it grows into an unsolvable doubt: What about asking for something I need is rude? Is it possible to ask for fragments of love tactfully, without this rudeness? Is there something my autism isn’t letting me see?
There often is. The problem here then becomes, “I need a guidance most people do not need, and I know that asking for it is undesirable to others. I will be punished for needing.” Sometimes I don’t need this guidance. When I’m happy and safe, I can function independently more often. But happiness and safety are things one feels when loved. My dilemma is a paradox.

I’m tired of my loveless life. I wish for nothing more than to be able to love and be loved, because I am tired of lovelessness, because I am eager to know the terror of loving, eager to learn with someone to hold and be held, to commit love. I want to love and be loved because I am human, and because I think that at the end of lovelessness, there must be a kind of death, and I want so badly to live.
Perhaps if I weren’t autistic, my search would be less difficult and painful. I feel as if I am punished for needing, because most people do not need the things I need, and needing them is seen as a sign of rudeness, an inconsiderate nature or just plain incapacity, which are all undesirable traits.

My fear is to be undesirable for who I am. I can’t write it without crying. My fear is to be told I shouldn’t be touched because I can’t touch, that I shouldn’t be trusted because I can’t stop masking, that I shouldn’t be loved because I can’t love.
And I feel that all I can say is that I swear I can learn, if only you’ll give me the chance. I am willing to. And I’m sorry to beg, because I know it isn’t very good or beautiful, but please stay a while, so that I may allow myself to be defenseless and bare, like love requires one to be, like I long to be. If you must leave then go, but if you have the patience to spare, please use it on me. Because if at the bottom of lovelessness, there is only some death, I don’t want to ever know it. I don’t want to get any closer to it.

I hate you, parents
Yall hurt us the most when yall post to protect us
"Fight for your children!" Naw it's easier to neglect us
Tell grandma don't be afraid of me
Because my generation is reckless
We're labeled naive, wild and disrespectful
But to receive it you must first respect us
Mothers wonder why you bury strangers wearing daddy's necklace                      
Who thought it was good for them to want power and wealth?
Welp, you raised them like that now bury them by yourself
I was conceived to a house they already knew was broken and torn
They let me believe when I die
I'm going down in flames just to burn
I got health and mental problems  
I didn't ask to be this way
But guess I'm forced to live and learn.
For a beautiful death, that's all I pray

He said we'd be happy, in love- together forever.

His Forever was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

His Forever was me waiting for a love that wasn't truly there, a loyalty that only I gave,
empty words- promised after your battery and being choked out.

His Forever was me with many lonely nights and calls of concerned &my; ears listening to you laughing,
saying "i love you woman" yet its not me you've said this to, that was,
10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago.

He said we'd communicate & work things out, be faithful, loyal and always devoted forever.
His Forever was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

His Forever was me being an attentive house wife,mother to his children lover and intimate companion,friend, plus budget keeper and everything else he'd might of needed,
That was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

His communication was speaking about me in a disrespectful way just to get sympathy from whom ever would sway his way
His communication was lying to me, lying to our children and everyone it'd seem- about everything,
from his wear about the newborn child and the money we, me & his children went with out,
we struggled when we never had to just so he could court a woman who apparently already has a man.

Sharing things with her and doting on her son, given her what should of been the promises he failed to keep with me.
His Forever was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

His Forever was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,
Where he said he'd do anything in his power to make things better,
but that was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

For Better become For Worse after only 3 to 4 years of marriage.

Until Death Do Us Part, was the death of what could of been something magical.

His Through Sickness& In Health was carried out by his DWI, and me continuously~ standing,supporting him & sticking by.

Yet when I needed him and stuck in the hospital there was no through sickness or in health.

His Forsaking all other, well that was the year before 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

Within the first year everything seemed perfect the illusion's of what we or I've striven to achieve...
If you're confused that was, 11 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago.

I remember holding hands and laughing for sometimes no reason at all,
Walks in the park sometimes down the street just to enjoy each others company.
Laying in bed gazing into each others eyes,hands entwined.

Love letters handwritten of all the lustrous and love felt feelings expressed where words vocally couldn't express,
A wedding day that made him cry and i watched 1 single tear fall from his eye as he said I do.
He didn't and never been that type of man since.

Fist on my face, slapped down choked and ****** assault, lies and stealing what little i had,
jail became his best friend, where he learned to hone his abilities to deceive.

But truth is,
I blamed me for a lot of it until I realized I gave all I can and did my best.
It wasn't me it was him and i had to leave, taking the children with me.

I can say all in all I've learned a painful lessons...

I'm only sad it took me,
10 years,
8 months,
2 weeks,
4 days,
12 hours,
32 minutes,
and
18 sec!*

Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright ©
Ayeshah
K.C.L.N 1977 - Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved ®

Disgusting
Unpleasant
Rotting
Selfish
Materialistic
Disrespectful­
Weak
Desperate
Rude
Arrogant
Controlling
Racist
Deceitful
Vermin­ous

Slow chew;
swallow, you
insatiable shirk.
You love to lurk in
shadowy turns;
show your camel’s
jaw, disrespectful
teeth which hash
and gnaw. While
other mouths stiffen
and gape you can
take another chunk
from integrity’s nape;
slow chew and swallow,
you insatiable shirk.

You want to know what the difference between loving a woman and loving a man is?

Nothing

Being a bisexual man I find that a few people I talk to have many questions and queries as to what it means and what it's like being attracted to both genders

Well, what I usually tell them is everyone is attractive in one way or another
And that I cannot chose only one *** to be attracted to
I do not believe there was ever a time in my life where I didn't fancy men or women

I remember thinking it was normal to like both
Until I was about six years old and kids in my class were calling each other
gay

And when I asked what that meant some kid told me it was what you call a boy who wanted to kiss other boys to make fun of them

I immediately became confused
Why would you make fun of that?
Doesn't everyone like boys?

After that I began noticing relationships within the TV shows I would watch
Girls were perused by men
And men were pined for by women

Husbands and wives

Boyfriends and girlfriends

But why?

I started to repress my attraction toward men and focused on only women

I became a womanizer by the age of eleven
A horn dog

I suppose by taking my pent up lust for men made my lust for women double

I was obsessed with ***
I just wanted to bang bang bang

Jerking off like five times a day everyday

Looking at ****

Staying up late just to watch a censored ******* commercial

******* my bed

One handed delight

I restricted myself from even looking at another boy, no matter how bad I wanted to

It wasn't until I was about sixteen when I began to allow myself to feel anything towards the same ***

I felt like I wasn't being honest to myself because I was scared how everyone in my life would see me

I had enough, I let myself become whole again
I didn't feel the need to stand up on a soap box and say "I LOVE ****!"
But I refused to restrain myself from denying the fact that I was bisexual

I finally came out to a close friend when I was seventeen
Then another
And another
They were all accepting and nothing between us ever changed

My family on the other hand
Well,  was nineteen when I told my dad
He threw me out of the house

When I told my mom she told me i was going to go to hell

But, the fact remained, I played for both teams
Still to this day when it's brought up they just call me an idiot
I can deal with that, they still love me

Now, I've only had a connection with a few people
Some men
Some women
The men in my life have usually lead to disappointment

They only wanted ***
Don't get me wrong I'm totally down for that
But I was looking for something a little bit more
Because that's what they seemed to want too, at least when we first started talking

The women in my life have lead me to discovery
I found out that I can be sensitive, annoying, mean, careless, forgetful and just all around disrespectful

But they also taught me how to better myself, how to understand someone, and most importantly how to love

I'm not saying all men are pigs
And I'm not saying all women are angels

The point I'm trying to make is that, regardless of genitals,  ****** preference or identity
People are people, with different stories, ideas and issues
And each one of them has their own desires

Some hurt you
Some help you
Some teach you
And some don't even care

But that doesn't mean just because someone tells you that being interested in some one of the same *** is wrong and that you should listen and lie to yourself

If you love some one, tell them
If you're attracted to some one, talk to them
If you want to ****, send out an invitation and see what happens

I wasted a part of my life ignoring a natural desire because I was scared of it, don't make my mistake

Listen to your heart and run with it

My name is Tommy Johnson and I'm a bisexual human being

One last thing,where did the nomenclature of the words "bi" "gay" or "straight" come from? Why do we feel the need to classify and label things?

I speak of fear, sheer limbic,
Reptilian fear, and there’s the rub:
Obliterate thought and all that’s left is fear,
And fear’s known associates & cronies:
Hunger, Thirst, *** & everything else
Triggering our amygdale nether brains,
Each synapse a single primal scream,
Rich Reichian fodder and sacrificial yawp,
Whitman’s bleating syllable, straight bedrock,
Down low on the Hierarchy of Human Needs.
Abraham Maslow: another shrewd Jew from
Brooklyn, New York. Atta boy Abe:
Adrenaline pure and simple,
An instinct for survival.
I suppose my only regret in life,
Was that I was not old enough to be
A victim of the Holocaust.
I mean nothing facetious or disrespectful by this.
(Like Jesus, I was born a Jew.)
All I mean is that a stint at Auschwitz or
Bergen-Belsen, might have done wonders for me,
Saving me much time, given the number of books
I’ve read on the subject, just trying to get my heart &
Mind around the throat of evil.
My story is truth, not science fiction.
Yet, I confess to having some difficulty
Discerning the difference lately.
Perhaps this is why my mind wanders.
That’s probably what I love best about Stanley Kubrick—
Another insightful New York Jew.
His vision of space, namely the shrewd perception,
That after 5,000 years of recorded human history,
It was going to be difficult.
It would be a challenging enterprise,
Noodging the human race to choose,
A more cerebral path;
A state of mind & brilliant grace,
Embrace a kinder, fearless self and future.
Kubrick understood he must first take us to Odulvai,
Our primal anthropological killing fields,
Then he could transport us to outer space.
Only then, could we evolve,
Adapt to cooperation and tolerance,
Shift our future focus,
Our natural and spiritual resources,
Our potential.
Collaboration not competition.
2001: A Space Odyssey: released
A year before the Apollo program
Put a man on the moon, five years
Before the space station Skylab.
Kubrick’s gift to mankind was a clear new perspective:
Man in space looking back at a very small holistic Earth,
And an infant self, both diminished,
Made insignificant in a vast cosmic context.
Other forces were at work, of course,
Lying in wait as always, global forces
Co-opting the vision, drowning it in an old
Unabashedly mercantile reality.
That Darwinian old world order,
Again, reducing human existence
To an economic absurdity.
Globalism: the scariest Bond villain yet.

No one in town knew his name. Generations have passed on, but he was still there. All they knew was the little house on the corner of Brindmore Street. It was a house covered by nature, once thought to be inhabited, but that was far from the truth. Edward Trake lived there; alone and delusional Edward was becoming claustrophobic.

He was now eighty-nine-years-old and had been a resident of the town More for eighty of those years. He worked in More, got married in More, settled in More, but never had children in More. His name would eventually die out, just like his marriage did when his wife Linda knew he was sterile. He forgave her after some time and heartache, but always thought of how things could have been different if he was able to conceive a child. He loved Linda; they got engaged and talked about children, both fond of a family life. After two years of trying they both decided to see a doctor and fix any potential problem. Linda was in full health and in her prime, Edward however was not. He was told he could not produce a child. A month later Linda left.

Linda eventually re-married and had the kids her and Edward had dreamed about. And although Edward was not the man to deliver Linda’s wants he became another father figure in her children’s lives. He became Uncle Edward and was involved in their lives as he would have been if they were his children. The only problem was that they weren’t his children. He was glad to be apart of their lives, but to him it felt like owning a house and sleeping outside. He had the convenience of being in their lives but nothing else. He could not help in their development, because at the end of the day he was just an outsider. Uncle or not he was nothing.

The last time he saw Linda or the children was one of the last times he left his home.

The argument started after Linda’s husband, Allen, had yelled at their seven-year-old Patricia for coming into the house covered in mud. Patricia was in the backyard playing house when she decided to make “mudpies.” Edward loved Patricia’s imagination and often fed into it, but her father was a strict man that lacked in creative thought. To him she was being disrespectful and needed to learn a lesson. The problem: Allen had his idea of discipline firmly cemented, which were lessons brought through physical contact and emotional suffering. Edward didn’t approve of smacking a child, whether they were wrong or right. He knew Linda felt the same way, especially after previous talks of future children they came to agreements on discipline. So, out of respect for Linda he felt that he had a right to step in. He thought the title of “Uncle” meant he could express opinions. Unfortunately he was wrong. After a few years of marriage Linda lost her right to have an opinion as well. Something about one being meek and something about inheritance.

“She was just playing, Allen.” Edward yelled over Allen’s intimidating voice.

“Mind yourself when you’re in my ******* house,” Allen screamed back, directing his attention to Edward. “This is not your child and you have no right to say anything. When you have your own children you can discipline them however you want. And since you can’t have children you should shut your **** mouth.”

Edward was fuming, “You think that’s fair? Do you think you can attack me personally like that?” Edward said while clenching his fists, “You’re something else, you know that? I feel sorry for you.”

“You feel sorry for me?” Allen erupted into laughter. “You’re pathetic, you know that?” Allen continued, “You come here and entertain my kids and wife because I got what you can’t have. I have a family, you loser. Why do you think my wife left you? Because you can’t have kids? No, it’s because you’re a loser. Now get the **** out of my house.”

Edward stood still. He was doing his best to stay calm, but Allen was hitting him where it hurt. He knew about his insecurities because he knew Linda’s past.

“I’m not leaving with you like this. I couldn’t care less about you, I’m here for the kids.” Edward said, still holding back his frustrations.

Allen looked at Edward in shock.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but you have two ******* seconds to leave my house. Now!”

Allen screamed while cracking his neck. He was ready for a confrontation with Edward.

“This is Linda’s house, too. In case you forgot.”

Allen charged after Edward. Edward stood still and when Allen drew near he reacted swiftly. Allen tried to hit him and missed. When Allen leaned back to throw a jab, Edward landed one clean punch to his jaw. Allen dropped to the floor and was out cold. Patricia ran out of the room screaming and crying, and Linda stood there in disbelief.

“Get out of my house,”
Linda’s monotone voice sending shivers down Edward’s spine.

“What?”

“Get out of my house now, Edward.”

“But-I-but...I was trying to stop him.”

“You have no right. You need to leave.”

“Linda, I know you don’t mean this.”

“I do, and you’re not welcome here anymore,” Linda said through teary eyes.
“You should go before Allen wakes up.”

“If I leave now I won’t be back.”

“I know. Now go before he wakes up.”

Linda walked to the front door, opened it, and stood beside waiting for him to leave. He looked at her and they both had tears running down their cheeks, silently sobbing. He walked toward her and they stood there, speechless. He tried to speak, but found it impossible. He leaned in, and kissed her cheek, then stumbled over his feet as he walked out. She stood at the door as he walked off. After five steps he turned around to see her still standing by the door.

He stared at her for a minute, which felt like an eternity, before he found his voice.
“I still love you,” he finally said.

“I don’t love you. I have Allen.”

“I know that’s not true.”

“Edward, you’re not my husband. Allen is and you need to accept that. *******, you can’t keep doing this to me.”

“I was your husband, Linda. I love you, and I know you still love me.”

“You’re mistaken,” She said through tears, “Now go. You’re not welcome here anymore.”

He walked off and never looked back. He knew he was out of line, and couldn’t put her through this. He walked off and never had the chance to see if she saw him walk off into the distance. When he vanished from her view he also vanished from society. He felt his life was pointless without having Linda and her children in his life.

At the age of eighty-nine he decided he couldn’t dwell on this incident anymore. He lived a long life, maybe not the happiest of lives, but a long life nonetheless. He went into his bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed. He was staring into the prescription bottle help firmly in his wrinkled hands. His sleeping pills were his fate. Twenty pills would give him the sleep he has been searching for. He wanted to leave this life through sleep and enter the next life feeling fully awakened.

He took his medication, not recommended by his doctor, and rested his head for the last time.

One week after his death he had a visitor. It was the first visitor he had in over thirty years.

Unaware that the man she was looking for was dead, Patricia knocked on the front door and eventually left. Before leaving she left a letter in his mailbox.

Dear Edward,

You not might remember me, but you were at one time involved with my mother. My mother, Linda spoke very highly of you. After my parents divorced she was hesitant to contact you, and she wasn’t sure if you were still around anymore. I loved the times we would have when she would talk about her youth, and your name was always brought up. I believe I heard your name said more than my own father’s name. I spent the rest of my years wondering where the man my mother was so fond of ended up. After a few years I was able to reach a few people that led me in the right direction. When I told my mother what I was doing she was very supportive and wanted to know every detail as it came along. Unfortunately she passed on before I could find you, but I know that her will is still as strong as it was when I told her about my decision to find you. In Heaven or on Earth I know she would be delighted that we could have the chance to reconnect. I’m sorry if this is too big of a shock to you, but I knew deep in my heart I had to find the man that was so special to my mother. I hope you are well and this letter is still significant after all of these years. And thank you for being by my mom’s side through her worst even though she wasn’t aware it was at the time. I am grateful even if she wasn’t at the time. I hope we can meet soon.

*Sincerely, Patrica.

There is a strangeness in fog
that is palpable
and perhaps it is the strangeness in me
which responds

It is no accident I know
that I was raised
where fog is legend
and so remains
a cloying fact of life
for coastal Sunny California
is coldly blanketed each morning
six months of every year
in chilly dampness

What once was familiar
now changed
hidden within soft billows
of clouds brought to earth
the monotonous drip
from the leaves of the trees
the eaves of the roof
the rocks on the hillsides . . .
stars and planets obscured
only the mysterious moon
peeks through the diaphanous veil
lighting her shroud from above

now moving
now shifting
a glimpse of . . . something
caught
only to disappear once more
deep within the flowing haze

Yet where others find in fog
a thing to fear
I find in it a pleasure
seldom found elsewhere
for me familiar comfort
in the heavy grey mist
enveloping me
as a blanket of spirit
or ancestors

And perhaps it is this
the others fear
for the spirits of fog
can be cunning and cruel
hiding dangers
from those unwary
or disrespectful

But I miss the fog
laying low upon the cliffs
turning ordinary landscape
into otherworldly and strange

I long for the lonely cries
of the foghorn at sea
and should the sea monster come
I pray it finds
the love it seeks

Cori MacNaughton
19Jan2007

I have decided that today,
I'm going to try.
I'm going to try to not be afraid
of what people say to me.
What they have to say about me.
My strategy is simple:
anticipate, accept, and understand.
If you anticipate someone will say something mean or disrespectful,
you can prepare yourself.
Then, if they do say something, you accept. Accept that's the way they feel about you. Finally, the most important part: understand. Understand that it is not your responsibility
to try to make them feel differently
or prove them wrong.
I did all this today hoping that tomorrow,        
you find the courage to try and do the same.