formalities were always a must,
you'd have to be crazy to forget your manners.
Shoes off, Gi on, Belt ready;
forget that and the push ups would **** you.
As soon as anyone crossed that threshold,
their mind, body, and spirit tuned into an ancient frequency.
We were raw potential energy encased in flesh,
the trespasses we'd endured throughout the week
our sole source of fuel.

Sifu would shout, We would listen.
Our partners would punch us
And we'd block; no thought required.
With every belt, we moved up in the art;
Educated furthermore in climbing ladders.
That was the first time I had ever been disciplined
And not solely abused,
My first real encounter with tough love.

After those classes, I guess I felt safer around my parents,
But that didn't make them good people.
I almost had to fight them once,
Yet I couldn't bring myself to defend the dignity
Already taken from me.

Maybe I should have let my instincts and not my sense
Guide my hand that night,
Maybe then I'd be a hero to myself as well as everyone's villain.

Mercury is retrograde,
reducing me to idioms:
life is the Cobra Kai dojo,
and we are the Pilates kids.

So *******, messenger boy.
i can still communicate,

if i need to.

She rushed through the door, soot covered her body from her crown down to her feet. Hands bloodied, fingernails eroded from the coal mines. The momentum from her abrupt entrance into the log cabin threw her to the floor. Her eyes brimmed with with tears of hate and desperation. She was so broiling hot that the prespiration dripping down her face could melt dry ice.

Her husband,  a grizzly bear of a man, was sitting in his bronzed shaded chair next to a stone fire place. He could feel the fire crackle, as if it was a person emoting undeniable anticipation. The flames seemed much louder now that he saw his wife covered in soot, the same by product he became so accustomed to. He was as solid as the stone mantel he sat by. Motionless, quiet, he was a stone  and just like a stone acted with the same sentiment. In his left a he wielded a glass cup with etchings of all the animals he had dominated outside his man made log cabin. Inside this sentimental possession was  some Johnny walker, neat.  Unlike his wife this grizzly bear was clean, his clothes resembled that of a lumberjack. Plagued with emotions he longed to wash all the negativity away, but the strategy did nothing to aid his discomfort.  His garments stitched by hand, his boots appear to have just been cleaned. Underneath this calm vessels exterior, under this emotionaless shell, doubt and self pity was brewing. He was so sure of himself when he was in the act, so convinced it was the reasonable thing to do. "I love her. I have to do it. I have to set her free..." he thought hours ago while he clenched a small maroon blanket in his right palm and a pick axe in the other. He was convinced, driven by the pressure and insecurity that he couldn't provide.  He worked in the mine since blemishes started to occupy his visage. And still after so many years of hard work, found it to be an extreme complication to accommodate his family.

His wife, in a panic, got up and ran to a crib made with expert carpentry. She lunged inside and clutched Dojo. A stuffed animal that no longer had a keeper. She couldn't hear anything.  Not the fire, not the wildlife outside the wooden walls. She fell deaf. It was as if her ears perceived the aftermath of an explosion. The ringing in her ears were almost unbearable next to the crying which left her lungs to struggle like a child's respiratory system when crying for their pacifier. Like a baby suffocating under the coal that her husband worked with constantly.

"We could have found a way!" She exclaimed while her black stained hands dug into the hand made stitching of the zebra. The kind gentle hands that once nurtured a child and created things of use and delight, now basks in a haze of blood, tears and soot.

"I'm selfish, I... But I did it for... For her.." The lumberjack clothed man thought. "There ain't no way she would have been something..." he explained under his breath. The grizzly bear hurled his possession bearing his dear friend  Johnny walker into the flames. The ignition singed off some hair from his untamed beard. He then sat still. Just as still when his wife barged in.  "No way she would have lived... It was the right thing to do!... It felt right.. It felt so right for her grave to be where I practically lived for that last forty years!" Self hate and rage engulfed his soul so deeply that he acquired goose bumps.  The husband attempted to reassure himself with wrongly ambitious speech. He knew only two degrees of volume at this point. Booming language and silence.


More crying developed. The soot stained woman slid down to her knees, then slumped down in a fetal position cuddling with Dojo. A pool of tears appeared quickly around her. The radiance of hate was still spreading and building within her. Her skin acted as a proficient barrier.  Heat from her violent life force alone would have brought the puddle of sorrow surrounding her to a boil.

"****!!!!" The grizzly bear yelled while clasping his dome in between his monstrous hands, he leaned forward in his bronzed shaded chair. At this point no tears were produced by this man, only more self pity.

Either way, the keeper had no chance to live.

Arise Great Britain, swell wi pride
this is no time tae split, divide,
a hero needs us on his side
a man apart
Brave Osbourne comes wi manly stride
and lion heart

When danger ca’s, he stauns and fights
He’ll haud the baddies bang tae rights
Nou in their een he sees the whites
and yells, “Attack!”
He’s got oor mojo in his sights –
He wants it back!

Let’s cheer his valour tae the roof
Condemn the wans wha’d cry him couff
And pray oor Geordie’s bulletproof
As on he flies
Then fit him wi a parachute
and wave guidbye.

This GM perfect Tory clone
need not rely on un-manned drone
He’ll tackle ISIS on his own
their fight dissolve
His pores squirt pure testosterone
his eyes, resolve

Just watch the baddies turn and flee
as George, wi patriotic glee
wreaks vengeance for democracy
a one-man dojo
And cries, “Come, Britain, flock to me,
and feel my mojo!”

Or mibbes we should check this twice.
Although the image may be nice
The blood we risk on his advice
may never stop -
But Geordie will not sacrifice
one ****** drop

These profiteering pinstripe ******
wha ken no life but politics
Are no the first tae play these tricks
while deals are made
Why no just wave a crucifix
and shout “Crusade!”

So hooses burn and horror grows
A stream o misery outflows
While braggard Geordie struts and crows,
"Ye want a fight?"
I’d dump him on Damascus road
tae see the light

Ye plot the death o innocents
Tae score yir points in parliament
Yir fascist mocking o dissent
it suits ye well
George Osbourne, ye're a proper gent
**** ye tae hell.

The world is so small babe,
I’m running through my life
All this cardio killing my vibe
I was high but now I’m low,
You’ve gone too far away from me,
All this distance, these miles I can’t take it no more,
Let’s go on a trip, I’ll buy you a flight to Tokyo, we’ll hit the dojo, I’ll show you my mojo,
We’ll walk around Yoyogi, I’ll show you all the arigato I learned just to impress you fondly,
I’ll rent the most expensive hotel room to make some love,
We’ll use it,
Trash
And break it,
I don’t care about money, besides, having you is priceless.
I’ll love you to Mars and Jupiter,
I’ll name some planets maybe make some up to pretend I’m a genius,
I’m definitely not the greatest,
But fake it til you make it, apply that to us, pretend you love me and I’ll kiss you softly.
My life has been broken, ripped and thrown, away in the trash but you pieced it with some voodoo,
Now let me pay back the favor back and say I love you,
Forever and ever I’ll text you at night,
I might miss a day but maybe I’m lost within my words all because you left me speechless,
Your body sculpted by Michelangelo,
Your smile painted by Picasso,
But don’t be mistaken you can do much better I’m just fighting to convince you I’m the one.
But even after all this time,
I regret not holding you, not kissing you not loving you,
I had you within my reach
Now I’m left apart from love and hope
But every text is like a take back, I scroll through our pictures and wonder, why we didn’t take more,
Maybe skinny dipping or giggling,
Don’t care never did, just need you back,
I’ll fly you back to, where paradise is set,
We’ll stop by LA, I’ll meet your friends I’ll buy some clothes to reach your level, maybe will even break a sweat ‘cause after all you are my: deepest love my queen so beautiful.
I’ll fly you to Texas, I’ll meet your family, introduce me as the super tall, ******, don’t care what you say ‘cause just driving you around is my pleasure and dreams I had of.
Don’t be mistaken, I loved swimming, within our convos, but maybe now we can settle down and agree that down down very deep down, I love you and maybe you love me,
Or maybe not I’m prolly just tripping, not in space but within your beauty, I want you, be mine,
Forever high,
On the clouds I’ll lie, I’ll lie lie lie, and I’ll say whatever childish line, comes out of my mouth, don’t be surprised if, I just freeze and stare, because every glance you ever gave, just now assure me you could be mine, but baby I’m sorry poor choice on my part,
Just let me make it up to you, I’ll take you to Lake Whitney, we’ll chill and read,
“I got this poetry book here,”
And I’ll pretend to know every line,
Understand every word,
Whatever it takes for you to be mine.

Warm to the touch,
this unsheathed steel
remains tempered.
And with smooth strokes,
I ****** in deep
from all angles,
slicing to the bone
on bone,
practicing
our beautiful
martial
body arts
to the tenth degree.

Claudia was awakened
By her punk lover
Kissing her ear she giggled
Think he was like a puppy
She coupes his face
And said good morning my sweetheart
Sensei my rose
I want to runaway to Tibet
And I would love if you spent that life with me.
“Boris Romanov as that sounds romantic... I just can’t.
Let me think about it
I have a life here”
She said getting away from him
Quickly
“Claudia Patrick” he pleaded
But she walked out.
Went she walked to her friends appointment
In Manhattan she though she only had her karate,
Her Boris
And three friends
She had nothing else
To lose.
The friend saw Claudia
Coming
And greeted her
Claudia broke down and told
Her friend
About the loving
Yet creepy relationship
And where he wanted to take her
When the friend said that you could email
Them they will still be friends.
That gave some comfort to Claudia
Claudia was allowed to spend the
Night at her friends
Unless it was class or when the friend had to work.
The wealthy friend
Drove her to the dojo keep an eye out
For Claudia’s creep
But he never showed.
She told her the owner of the dojo
That she might be leaving to teach the art
In another land
He understood
Then she spent the night with her
Friend
Not going to class
Until she was safe and made up her mind.
When she started to miss
Boris
And confident enough to deal with him
She came back
To him
Saying that she wanted to be with her punk lover
Even if meant leaving.
Boris felt joy from her words
And they made love.
Her red hair
And complimented
Boris’s blond and blue hair.

When we met you said life had broken you
It started in childhood, what he put you through
And now you felt shamed because you were homeless
Abandoned by society, drifting and rudderless

You told me as though it was a ***** secret
And thought I'd walk away

You told me how you washed in the railway station
Fighting for work to improve your situation
Never giving up and never giving in
The very epitome of "Who Dares Wins"

And you thought I'd walk away?

You looked in the mirror and saw a loser
I cried and wished that I'd met you sooner
But you just said you'd learnt a lot
Sleeping rough on Christmas Day

You looked in the mirror, hated what you saw
But I looked at you, seeing so much more
Where you saw a loser I saw a hero
A samurai stood where you saw a zero

Knocked down 9 times you got up 10
If it wasn't enough you just did it again
Shotokan Tiger, in potentia
Noble, brave, strong.

Living proof that birth can't dictate you
That a ruined childhood needn't  break you
You overcame all, yet I never pitied you
Forged in flames and born anew

Vicious abuse from a cowardly father
A little half man who claimed to be a soldier
So "brave" he beat you black and blue
But he could learn to be a man from you

In you I see a Pilgrim, bold and free
Longing for mountains and glittering seas
Always going farther, one peak more
You'll  find your Mecca at the Dojo door

So walk beside me on the Golden Road
Let me share your honour code
Be my Sensei and guide my hand
While you light our way to Samarkand

I did not go back to the dojo
Again
But the love letters
Kept coming.
I ended up only teaching you
And then you
Taught me your Tantra and karma sutra
I could feel love and pleasure with different poses
That we were linked spirituality
We did this every day
And normal making out.
One evening
You were out
I know were confronting
My sensei
And came back with a severe black eye
And a **** on your arm
From a katana
Thank god it was just skin deep
And the hospital was not involved.
“That guy threaten to cute out your heart and cute off my head
I am calling the police and tell them he’s Japanese mafia”
You said
We spent the night
At the police station
I had the letters
As evidence
And where he lives.
A few days later ended up with the dojo to my self and my instructor turned lover was in prison
And being deported back to japan.
In a way my dream came true
Thanks to human stupidity.
The appartment up top
Looked like someone was still
Living there
And the weapons he
Taught me to use
Frightened me to death.

The next morning after their morning loving making session
After whispering sweet nothings to eachother
Boris said that he going to announce that
He at a young age had found enlightenment
She thought her scronny tattooed lover was going to do that
Claudia said that she loved him
But since they came here
He went insane
Yet was still loving
She realized that she had missed her period three months in a row
Could she still teach
While carrying their child.
Could she take care of them
Here in this waste land
She thought know and she
Called her tattooed monk that
She was carrying his kid
Claudia then she she was going to open up a dojo in
Upper manhattan
To make a better life
For her and the kid
She kissed him farewell
Feeling those piecing for the last time
And turned her back
On the punk Lama.
When she arrived Claudia left
Her beloved
In Tibet
And wished him well
She also found out that she was having multiples.
When she got to a doctor
Claudia stayed with her friends
Until she gave birth
Made a name for herself again
Every night she cried herself to
Sleep
And dreamed of Boris
And in the day she took her
Sketch book out and
Started drawing tantric art
Who involved her and Boris
The friends asked
What happened to him
And she said
That he was happier in the mountains
And she couldn’t live there
For the sake of the children
When it came time to give birth
She had for daughters
To whom she promised not
To breathe a word of their
Father.
Over the years
She got stronger both emotionally
And physically
And the girls grew up
Like wild flowers
When the daughters whent to school
She opened her own dojo
And found another
Who her daughters called
Dad.
She never told him about Boris
Trying to pretend like they
Never met in that alley
Once a upon a time
Then her new husband saw the tattoos and the name
Who was Boris
He asked her
And then as the children slept
She said that she
Was once in love with a street punk
Who dragged her
To Tibet
And he lost touch of reality
She said that he was called Lama Tashi Surya
But she knew him as Boris
Claudia cried and then tried to move on with life
Until her one of daughters
Discovered in the mail
A letter in what she called Egyptian
And normal
It said that her husband
Lama Tashi Surya
Killed himself
The letter in tibetan was both a love letter and suicide note.
Her and her new husband
Got the others around and
Told the daughters
Of their real father
Lama Boris as Claudia called him.
She found the only suitable sketch of her beloved
And showed it do her daughters
Claudia felt like it was her fault
That the love
Of her life was dead.
She closed her school
And went to be a secretary
First she was a martial arts expert
And mistress
Then some insane punk’s lover
Now a mother
And wife.
She had to leave her passion karate behind along with Boris.
She framed the sketch and
Hung it up
Above the tv so when her daughters
Watched cartoons
They knew where they came from.
From time
To time
Claudia still had feelings
For the Russian punk
Who rocked her world.

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“Claudia!!”
Screamed her mother when she saw her new tattoo through the
Shower curtain
Her mother than saw
And recognized the name
Boris
Claudia was terrified
When she got dressed and dried
Her parents
Said that karate
And tattoro
Was one thing
But being with that piece of junk
Was it.
She was cut of and disowned
She had to pack up and leave.
She took her stuff
And went to her punk lover’s appointment
When she was welcomed in
She broke down and cried
She told Boris
And that she will be living in with him
And that she had to teach classes at the dojo.
For money.  
“Wasn’t that your dream?!”
The punk asked.
She said yes but was in a sad way.
They kissed
And then
Made slow love
As his way of comforting her rose.
Soon it was time
For Claudia to go to the dojo
To teach little kids and then go to her classes.
She sadly kissed him
And left.
After Boris when with his merger
Means and bought a sliver rose ring
Thinking that would help.
Went it was her turn to be taught
She waved him in
Letting him watch her.
In awe of her beauty
And grace
Soon he left
When she was done
For the day
He grabbed her into an alley
Proposed to her
With the ring
She cried and said yes
The grosem twosome
Then kissed
And felt each other up
In the alley.
Again Claudia loved the feel
Of his piercings
Against her lips and
When he kissed her face.
At least she was loved.

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/making fun of the squidge nose, i.e. missing groove, excesses in the ******* region just became, boring... way past what she called a cranium deficiency, namely the occipital bone undevelopment of slavs... go on... show me the marijuana high-brows... your little Hong Kong gimmick... i'm just, dying, to see the asiatic feline squint! as much intellect, as is required to place a dwarf inside a pyramid. egyptology? a passable sentence, burdened with a study of: once upon a time./

he's hardly a martial
"artist"...
     if he kicks a 14 year old
in the *****...
   ***** whipped
                    wannabe;
have that asiatic squint
ready?
       i get it,
          too, *******, sunny,
for your korean rice slit
worth of eyes;
     what, because the mongols
never made it as far as
crimea?!
          thank you, send me
a postcard.

Between want and need is compulsion
between you and me there was an explosion
of wanton greed and corrosion
because you wanted me to be frozen
to keep sculpting until I was broken
but once the ice cracked and opened
I was awoken
no longer a token
you wanted me but now you don't so
you take me to your dojo
to tell me it's a no-go
while I scream 'oh no'
and drink a shot of soco
to ponder what I don't know
which is whether you're a want or a need
all I know is I never wanted to bleed.

The teacher calmly sat in the dojo,
Waiting for his class to begin.
Seated on his cushion, he silently
Focused on the center within.

A student rushed into the building,
Stopped and gave a cursory bow,
And said, "Teacher, my goal has not
Been very clear to me until now.

"I want to master the martial arts.
What can I do to get there faster?
How many years does it take
A person like me to become a master?"

"Ten years," replied the teacher.
"Ten years? That can't be!"
The student exclaimed. "But I'll work hard--
Ten long hours a day! You'll see.

"If I practice and read and study
And work harder than all my peers,
How long then?" After a moment
The teacher replied, "Twenty years."

-by Bob B (2-28-17)

°An old tale retold here in verse

I slept poorly last night,
a night of tremulous dreams
and not much rest.

Poorly, an odd adverb.
The old sleep poorly.
How strange to be that old
and dream young dreams.

I dreamt I was alone
on the floor of the Dojo,
failing my next belt test.

My fading body would not flow:
it stumbled, faltered and forgot.

Beneath my teacher's gaze,
I tasted my failure as if a kid.

I have not feared failure
in the decades since I became one.

But again I knew the metallic
panic of inadequacy,
like the stricken adolescent
who prefers stillness to misstep.

I miscarried and once more
knew the terror of it,
as if I were fourteen,
at a school dance,
wearing the wrong shoes.

Where do these
stabbing visions
originate?
How does fear
stop our hearts?

I do not know these answers,
only that I slept poorly last night
and had not much rest.

  ~mce

ask me about my safe place
and i'll tell you about mirrors
three and a half walls is what i remember
a little cracked because you leave the fear
with your shoes at the door, bow before you step in
eyes closed, breathing in
out
rivaling your reflection and rest assured,
you will be stronger than before
i want to write about uniforms pristine and fists clenched and how proud i was of every little step closer to the front line but the strength is in the moments i can count over my knuckles over and over again :
i. red moon scars bisecting the destiny lines i don't care about but look black belt! look how tight my fists are
ii. walking down the street us three brown brown black mothers suddenly in front of their little ones and HYAA! from every third passerby; downtown is so beautiful
iii. sensei's office: trying not to cry because it takes all i have to crawl to the dojo every monday and by the time i'm standing there hands flat by my side the three strips on my brown just aren't good enough, 'thank you for coming today'
iv. third time i have passed out in the past half hour but you're making me get up get up get up spinning hook kick i nearly pass out again because i DID IT
v. ichi nee san **** it's all japanese translating into 'i bully you because you are strong enough today' snap kick, in your face
vi. coming home comparing the bruises my mother is smiling shaking her head and her own is begging us to please just quit
vii. the living room is our own little battleground I'M TRYING TO WATCH THE NEWS GO BREAK YOUR BACKS IN YOUR OWN ROOMS
viii. i have muscles no you can't make me shut up
ix. the morning after: every limb creaking like abandoned warehouse floors but i'm relishing the burning with every turn of my head, stretch of my legs because it aches sweet like valour sweet like brave
x. just the stairs we used to choose the elevator over because yellow belts what do you want from us, just the dread of mondays and thursdays dissolving into bliss in meditation, just my legs dragging me back to war when the rest of me would very much rather be back in bed but it's been an entire week without punching bags and i miss the victory when you hit and the nobility when you miss miss miss and just the burning pride watching my baby brother punch so hard my little sister and her leg flying well above her ahead and just
knowing that i will never ever be afraid

Claudia had to
Go to her classes in the dojo
Something she dread
Now
Not that she didn’t love karate
But she wasn’t sure if her love was there
Or not.
When she arrived not finding Boris
She was relieved
Everything went clockwise
Until the end of her lessons
She saw her lover there
Hair spiked
She saw that he
Had a bag full of stuff
He said that he hurt her
She said no
But that she loved her ******.
They kissed
Happily
He said that he though a few nice tattoos would help
Her feel less freaked out.
Though there was one
That he had her get
When they got the tattooists
She was said that she was going
To get some strange writing in the inside
Of her right thigh
That was the tattoo that he wanted
When it was done
She was again a little creeped out it was
Writen in a strange script
And he said
It’s tibetan for Om mani Padme hum
The rest of the ink
The Claudia got
We’re flowers on her neck and chest
And stars for her arms
After the tattoos
The young lovers
Went back
And then Boris gave her some colourful flags not unlike
The ones in the photos.
And some rings.  
Which pit on her fingers
As they walk into the door
They made out
Undressed each other
And then Boris
Dropped the flags
On her neck
And over her shoulders
“My new shrine
And temple...you my love”
Claudia felt touched
And they gently kissed
And he asked about the books
Saying that she might
Want to learn about them
As they kissed
While being in each other’s arms.
Then he got between her
And kiss her on the thigh tattoo
And other places.

cultural darwinism:

too much time spent
looking through
the ****
of a chimpanzee
expecting to roar
like a lion...
and now enough time
spent looking
through the ****
of a homosexual
looking for
a higher mind
  of heterosexual
male's
worth of an imploded
fwench kissing
marathon
of...
   what didn't satiate
the body,
sure as hell made
up for in a thai
circus of convo.

i: unit of one...
am but the wishful
attention span
of: the crux of algebra:
verbiose,
  and... more verbiose...

cabbage +2 + 2 'n' 1 kids...
mother
             sgt. pepper's
and...
that collage...
like a bearded man
doing an American Pie
Ostreicher...

me? my fetish with
the...
polish-lithuanian
charge of the winged
hussars...
against the Cossack
rebellion...

hardly a lawd tennyson...
but a great
sienkiewicz novel
to: mind you what
and what not...

the middle-Asian
fetish for cabbage...
like mine:
the *******'re going
to do with all that turmeric
and chilli, and ginger,
garlic... and?
stink with a stink's waaa'th
w'ah?

the pride the boot
and then...
expecting some
côte d'ivoire
brute...

           and i'm to be:
the napkins provider...
i, the:
       curtain fling -
à la flop...
      
  ***. fetish for western
cuck...

             like ski jumping...
noriaki kasai...
and...
what happens in
sapporo:
stays in sapporo:

while in ****-yo:

          rabu hoteru:
  súkī súkī: thai goose:
guess lucky lucky...

suave... baige 'n' all...

indentations: loci: print...

that movie!
no!
not ninja scroll!
not tenchu
or ten-times-achoo!

  funny... not howl's
moving / floating /
whatever the castle did...

or spirited away...
that... manga *****...

shingles for a schmile...
like: teeth...
but less ordered in:
the arithmetic of...
buck-tooth
kicked out...

   that ******* manga
***** though!

         what was it?!

(20 minute interlude):

ah!

               urotsukidoji!
shin-towing
a pajama in bamboo
strict-tease...
via: dojo-open:
**** flower
    alias kimono...

sigh / aye / sigh / aye /
soogh-too'ji!
Shanghai express...

but i whittle
Pole'lock's breath
of the anglican
might but might not add:

         pale Franckian
'aving imported
the: what the Moroccan
sheikh didn't
deem "necessary"
to export...

           but i'm on
the receiving end:
tell ******* coco
what the copper turban
said...
try that...
ain't no *******
cul de sac sushi
palace wish where
whatever comes
after, come prior to:
"a" from...

world salad from now
on...
    it needs to be
IKEA literal...
no nuance...
   no... just literal:
give me the verbs
and...
  and no 'uance
considering 'ouns...

me?
   i like the idea of
the English language
having the capacity to
entertain more requisites
of letters 'come surds...
  
      cockney playing
conckers...
    C C, K K...
            either cold or:
kindled spirit:
yo ** ** and
a fidgeting compass
originating in Sigh-bear-ah...

cold Solomon:
a cod's whallop...

in summary:
i'd still prefer the tongue
of a gay
to a body of a woman
should it be suggested
i pass the hour in:
"prevailing"
to consecrate myself
upon the altar of
a continuum;

but hey...
that's life...

     her life...
i no chimpanzee shrunk
worth a fight
into her dynamo
of the Mars: ahoy!
if she...
       toying mantis...
           mother... tarantula.

The walls of the narrow way echoed the feelings my tongue couldn't deliver into words….
The silence could gulp even my darkest fears..
Long forgotten shreds of memories
The sound of the fans in my Dojo..
The counts of the sensei….
Ending in sweetbread and a night ride in our grandpa's old active..

Remorse defeats my rage.Why???
I do not know..

Days when you demanded chocolates for the prints my gloves left on your cheeks,
But today, the marks your fists made run deep inside my tummy.. It erupts a vacuum inside me that cadburys can never fill..

Realising,
That pain loses its purity once the ring disappears…
Wondering,
When did I start confusing maturity with arrogance.

2007,
I remember looking down at you,
on the floor clinging on my knees
2011,
The first day of your school
Break visit
You hugging me tight,
Rain pouring down, June smiling down on us…
Breaks later, me still trapped in the baker block strapped to your arm with a bunch of primary kids…..
2020,
Now I have to lift my heavy head up to see your face…
45°somehow drifts as even further…
I don't know if it's the gravity or the silence that hurts more..
I 'am' happy to see you..
But the years of dragging must have dissolved my smile…
So I ask myself,
When did maturity become a license for arrogance?

I wish we could go back to those times… .
When I say those times I do not mean the Christmas nights…
The hangings , the lights, fixing up the tree past dark..
the aftertaste of nuts and plum on the edge of your tongue,
The bittersweet of grape wine that still ferments my throat…
Watching the star on the porch till February because no one cared to take them down… .

When I say those times,
I don't mean the weekend trips, BBQ in the middle of the forest,
the smell of lemon,
the juice dripping down the chicken
watering our mouths.
A feeling, whose reasons, our brains seemed to forget..
I do not mean the times we jumped up and down in my bed to the rhythms of our mom's radio that's now broken and dusty somewhere in the attic… ..

When I say those times,I don't mean that day when we hid inside our little house when you punched a kid in the face when he commented on my body….
Not those times you shouted at me when I was joking about death..
Definitely not that time when we were walking home from the bus stop and you threw your finger in the air, to those idiots when I clearly had a voice.

I am talking about those times when my heart wasn't as cold. ..
When my resting face wasn't a static form of indifference.....
When you used to make sexist jokes to provoke me .
before all the vigour died, but I can't seem to find the end point in time…

Before I could differentiate between love and hate..
Now I'm shattered into pieces and no matter how carefully I integrate,
My feelings get nullified in the end..
When you kicked me in the stomach,
All I saw was the antagonist of all my nightmares,
A misogynistic face of patriarchal chauvinism lashing out at me
the fear and the rage consumed me
leaving me helpless.
But deep inside this emotional sphere that I carry around at the center of it all,
the feminist in me dies….
their lives a girl whose own blood burns her skin.
She weeps.

I do not cry for her.

I can't comfort her.
Maturity has made us strangers.
How can I blame you for the drift between us, when I have created spaces in between pieces of myself ……
when I'm burning down bridges, every day. Inside of me,
so I'm sitting here in this dark hallway, wondering,
when did maturity became a synonym for distance… .