I had a conversation with the devil
off the books; it wasn’t recorded,
the correspondence was something to revel
but it can never be reported.
We sat across from eachother at perfect level
but I still felt small and distorted.
In his presence I was disheveled
but I wasn’t the one who was sordid,
it appears he intended me as a vessel,
viewing it as I had been rewarded.

I had demons on each side
striking a bargain over my shoulder,
the heat in the room magnified;
I started to smoke and smolder.
Then they began to attack my pride
while reminding that I’m getting older.
I couldn’t run nor hide
as their weight began to feel like a boulder.
Their evil grins stretched wide
freezing me in place; my soul grew colder.

The third course had arrived
a pound of flesh disguised as an entree,
and I was very quickly advised 

to be mindful of what I say.
As though I found it deprived
it would be wise not to give that away.
I knew the victim hadn’t survived,
and my stomach turned at the hue of grey.
They asked if I had been baptized
and if I did, how frequently did I pray.

The devil licked his lips
and he whisked his wine,
more aggressive became his sips
as he frequently eyed mine.
Providing helpful quips
like the year, saying it was divine,
and dolling out some tips
one being that it was rude to decline.
He told me that he held all the chips
and that I only had a vine,
and he was determined to have me in his grips
regardless of the strength of my spine.

I finally came to the conclusion
that it was my turn to speak,
but amongst great confusion
I made no sound, not even a squeak.
It had to be part of his illusion,
I refused to feel so weak.
He implanted the delusion
but each word began to leak,
and with each pull and each extrusion
I voiced of the havocs he would wreak.

He asked if he could reply
as he was just misunderstood,
and though I knew it a lie
I told him that he could.
So he began to fake cry;
swore his potential to be good,
while pointing up to the sky
blaming his flaws on childhood.
A story I knew better than to buy
paired with an excuse that I never would.

Now dessert, finally at the brink,
anxiously waiting to get up, away I’ll slink.
He told me not every soul is equal no matter what I think,
and the apple is poison but I should try the drink.
Held up the worlds suffering and made sure I didn’t blink
and said “you can fall deeper even while you sink.”
But the conversation was done, I realized I’d been hoodwinked.
He just grew in size, I was never the one to shrink.

I got up and I rung the bell,
announcing we were done, no need to dwell.
Extending my hand out to meet his cold shell,
I was no longer under anyone’s spell.
He bought my false thanks, as far as I can tell,
and I informed him he should return to his cell.
Meeting his eyes I pushed to wish him well,
I may not believe in Heaven but I have seen Hell.

"All the guys always dream of Angelina Jolie"
she tells herself- "and she's usually in the ****..."
She's gonna thrive off that, that's where she'll get her drive.
"I can be as full of lust as their dreams," she thinks to herself-
Ignoring the guy down the block who tells her she's "got a doll of a body, but the face of a horse.
Except for her lips- any day of the week those would be sweet."

It's girls like her that make me sick, living and killing themselves off what the boys call sweet.
Just pucker up and try to make yourself look jolly-
if you offer him enough of a taste- he'll forget your voice is hoarse
from all the smoke you ****. It'll work even better if you don't talk at all and just get lewd.
"This will make him love me at last" she always tells herself-
But when he's got his fill all he really ever wants is to get away and drive.

It's funny the way it always goes, he drives
into her soon as soon as he makes her feel a little sweet,
then runs off soon as she looks more like herself
and the lures wear off. Funny how the morning after does that. Maybe the next guy, maybe a Joe or Lee,
might finally like her all around, even if she doesn't strut her wares ****.
But probably... actually, most likely, not, it usually always goes the same for ******

like her. So she'll just keep 'dolling' herself up as she hoards
away her list of mates. Maybe, though, the next one might take her on a nice drive.
Yeah, he'll take her somewhere nice and new.
"Don't feel so used," she thinks "see, this guy is truly sweet."
And she just hopes this Joe is nothing like Lee,
That last man who ****** her dry while she forgot herself.

Still, the rest of us just watch as she lets herself
go downhill, pretty typical, just like most other ******.
She really might stick with Joe,
for awhile anyways, but even if he cares for her, she'll be the one to drive
him away, why follow him up if she's still running down? She'll find the next one to sweet-
talk her into bed and into the draining ****.

Her story will always be the same- A new
den to sleep in with each new guy, she treats herself
to the good life she says, nothing wrong with that, while her partially sweet
looks keep falling farther back to being kicked by a horse.
And from my once close friend, I'll drive
further away, I'm too sick of her plump-lipped stories about what's-his-name? Joe or Lee...

Yeah, sure, she might show you her snapshot-nudes, she really thinks she's comparable to Angelina Jolie,
But she's not sure of herself at all, she's not all that sweet.
For all of her promises and lures, I promise, she's really just a dried up *****.

“Ding!” my phone screen lit up.
A few seconds later… “Ding!”
Instagram notifications of the newest posts from my peers pop up incessantly.

It has become ubiquitous to see other teenage girls posting “glamorous” pictures of themselves online,
Dolling up with makeup, accessories, and fancy clothes revealing their bodyline
“Wow you look so pretty”, such comments are seen under these posts frequently,
I can’t help but sometimes wonder: Is it worth seeking this validation that they receive?

Some peers wish to pursue popularity from their physical appearances,
I admire their confidence but to me, this is quite foreign
In a constellation of stars, each star tries its best to stand out among the crowd,
Similarly, most people want their physical attractiveness to be eulogized out loud

“Am I weird for not following such trends?” is something I occasionally ponder about,
I tell myself to take a step back and reflect- should I be doing this just for clout?
Why am I so different from the rest- being pococurante about such “popularity”?
Is not seeking validation and recognition from others about our worth an aberrancy?

Personally, I just hope that people will see the true, realest me;
I am confident in my own skin and appearance- I don’t need others’ validation and decree
I am learning to not compel myself to fit into and follow what is “trendy”,
But instead, work towards being me and who God wants me to be

21/11/2021

Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.

Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to  Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.

So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.

I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.

I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.

Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.

A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now

Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.

Love is the stuff dreams are made of.

And through you..

Im through.

Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.

I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head

I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.

You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.

I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.

I thought I was doing so well
and lost so much weight
and hell I felt pretty
and I put on that dress
that ugly blue dress
and I thought I looked okay
and was proud to look okay
in that ugly blue sparkly dress,
but then she took pictures
and showed me the result
and I nearly broke down crying at the horrific sight.
Hiding my tears, I finally realized
no amount of dolling up
and no amount of weight loss
is going to make me pretty.
I'm ******* ugly
and a nasty little swine
a fat porker pig
a mole on the earth's pretty face
coal that can't become a diamond
a face to make goblins laugh
I'm ******* ugly
and that's all I'll ever be.

I hate it when people ask me why instead of buying books I just read online or on the iPad or phone, as it is 'cheaper', or if I buy books, I only 'read it once' and leave it, it being 'a waste of money'.

They don't understand. People have different interests, but they... they are still similar. Art lovers, would you rather paint or draw or express your work on a canvas, or on an app, free, on a Tablet?

It isn't the same experience.

To those who obsess over movies, do you not watch a movie over and over again till you cry and weep and fall to the ground?

It's just like the first time around.

Music one of your loves? Would you feel the same love you would feel illegally downloading music for free than you would buying it off iTunes?

It doesn't feel right.

Do you love to sing or dance or play an instrument? Do you feel the same thrill as you would singing or dancing or playing piano or guitar to an app, than actually using your own voice, body or instrument?

It's not the same.

Is racing one of your hobbies? Does flinging your finger fast on an app or on a controller give you the same sense of freedom and enthusiasm that speeding down a track, cold, bitter air thrusting onto you as if it could take you away to other realms and universes?

It feel's weird.

Love sleep much? Could daydreaming give you the same escape that sleep does, could it ****** you into a world of fantasy and adventure and comedy and romance the same way sleeping and dreaming can?

It doesn't feel natural.

Is eating one of your loves? Could watching someone make some delicious, mouth-watering food on youtube give you the same happy, uplifting experience as actually baking or eating it?

It isn't the same.

Love the world? Wish you could travel? Do you enjoy looking at pictures on the internet of the many places you yearn to visit? Or do you enjoy the experience of actually visiting the so called place you desired to go to, to see the images in real life than to look at what little detail a camera off of a phone could give you.

It doesn't look right.

Enjoy education much? Love the experience of knowing things, of adding on to your knowledge. Is watching a video on youtube of the tour guide of the museum you desperately wanted go to better than actually going to the place yourself?

It isn't the same experience.

Do you even like drinking? Like the escape of reality and thrill drugs or alcohol gives you? Would you rather drink water and juice than drink ***** or do ****?

It's doesn't feel right.

Are you a stamp collector? Would you rather collect online or go to little vintage shops and actually buy the product?

Its not the same.

Love shopping much? Rather buy the product online than actually looking at the variety of clothes and notebooks and couches? Does it give you the same sense of happiness.

It doesn't feel as good.

Maybe even love cheese tasting, or kissing, hugging, talking to your family, jumping on a bouncy castle, going to playgrounds, running, swimming, going to the gym, playing basketball, tennis, soccer, squash, badminton, collecting bath bombs, playing games, going to the park, playing with your pet, actually having a pet, dolling up your house? Would you rather do all these things virtually? Or physically, as it originally was before technology came in and 'made things better'.

That's what I thought.

It isn't the same.

It may be better, or cost less, or not worry others as much, and maybe the things you enjoy doing aren't actually right to do, and maybe it's wrong, but that doesn't mean it isn't right to them.

So, don't come up to me and tell me to go to the library and borrow books just to fall in love with it then return and let go of it. Don't tell me reading online is a better option. Don't tell me that i'm just wasting money, space. Don't tell me that its just a waste.

And, for the love of God, don't tell me . . .
Don't tell me that I should just not read at all.

Don't tell me that there are betters things out there to do.

There is nothing, no better option out there for me but reading.

*It isn't the same.

Poetry has no rules
anything can be a poem
im all for dolling it up
Oh boy its like a picture with words
but when u just try to fancy it up
strictly for fanciness' sake
all that ends up is the bastardization of poetry

What's this, mother?
- I don't know, Let's discover!
What could be in this bag?
- Oh, look, a pair of gloves and mistletoe!
A Santa magic ball and two pine cones;
three angels with flutes, a bow and Christmas *****.
Oh, look! A heart and ginger bread...
And Apple Rolls! You remembered!
the child jumps around joyously dancing
- You remembered! You remembered!
- I sure did!
The night is slowly falling, her cover of dark ink
Dolling.

Blessed a night,
With no fallacy snowflakes cover the grounds,
The air touched
With white fairies, unique, caressing memoirs
Pristine hearts.

Blessed, the moon rises
Above pine trees and fir, at the pass of each cloud
Staring into the dark proud.

The hour of kisses under mistletoe arrives.
Cards, still, lingering on tables, in the air sweetness of cake,
Paces of a stranger showing a loner path,
Caramel whiff, Carols lift into the drizzling canopy,
Bells tolling, memories falling and calling
For help.

He knows nothing of this, the loner,
Empty his heart, leaving all hope behind,
Refilled with tears,
His mind produces magical dreams.

In praise of past illusions, love for life,
Love for laughter, love for the lost...
Rebirth of love divine,
In loved shells chosen,
The sky's bright darkness manifests.

Of clear conception,
Inception, blue fill...
To come on the morrow
When Santa's gifts we'll find
Under our trees,
When hearts of true will offer
More than empty smiles
And a cup of coffee...

A sign of blissful charm, enchanting
A world devoid of magic and love.

"Better to be cold than destroyed,
Crushed under the mighty need to feel all-mighty.
Better a cold star than a burden
To your own world."

Of pristine conception,
Inception, blue fill...
Love means sacrifice
And sacrifice's treated today
For stupid act of treason to the self,
To good old reason...
Charms enchanting cups of hot chocolate
To ease a child's pain.

In praise of past illusions, love for life,
Love for laughter, love for the lost...
Rebirth of love divine,
In loved shells chosen,
The sky's bright darkness manifests.

The hour of kisses under mistletoe comes back.
Cards, toys, ribbons and lights floored, flavour of cheesecake,
Shadows of the past and footprints left around,
Caramel whiff, Carols lifted to gently touch the angels,
Bells tolling, memories falling and calling
For help.

Blessed, the moon rises
Above pine trees and fir, at the pass of each cloud
Staring into the dark aloud.

I was thinking about things… feeling afraid to be honest

I didn’t know where I belonged anymore…
I didn’t fit into the wedges of their pie...too big, each time
And I don’t want to be alone.. Wheres my Comrades??

So I wrapped My Head around Your Arms,
and let myself be Held By Your Breath blowing through my Heart..

and suddenly it occurred to me
why I’m the Breeze that Blows between all things.. I AM
and then I realized… who can be free carving up the real-estate of the Universe!
I can’t do that!!! Thats not a Job for me.!!
I could feel that Leaping Joy Again! I must Be FREEDOM…
I’m the Aura !!
the one who creates the Filters to move between!!
I’m the Game Designer!! cause thats what this is..
a Game.. and we’re the  pac man widgets running the course

So I sent that genius-in-a-bottle-talent-scout-Company a suggestion or two..
Just this evening in fact.. they weren’t hard to find..
It was like sitting on the porch Listening to Granny from the Clampets…
dolling out the  fundamentals.. Wisdom..
What WE used to call Common Sense..

TEXAS TEA  for Goodness sake….
Already Bubbling UP! UP! UP!       JOY!!           Pure Joy Again..
You Cant Control ME!! thats why Your Afraid!!!! I’M FREEEEDOM!!!!!!!!!!!

Laughter is whats going to heal this Planet
It was the Wisdom that told me that..
Makes sense.. Pulls the toxins out of the Planet and all the people too
Thats whats holding in the Heat,
not air-conditioning Vapors from a parts store
Poisons of the Heart..Dyingness..  
Lifted UP on the Bubbles of Laughter..
The entire Planet all at Once!! A festival of JOY!!!!!
YES!!!   That could actually Work!! JOY FEST 3.0   
 (3.0…you know, not 1,or 2,  3.0…like we’ve been here a while..
as if we were actually the first Pick,
and not the last..   Wait, I was the first pick..
???????????????????????
ALL the time, God is Free,
God is Free, All the Time

My heart feels cold
Heavy like a rock
tied to my feet
Slowly dragging me
to the end of your strings

I feel my words drowning me
I dont know if you listen to my songs
Underestimating the rythm
My heart beats by its own
I know you cant listen

You found your own
Maybe im not ready
Maybe you were not
Can I be a better version of myself?
For you, It seems like I couldn't

Every time you touched my skin
I gave you myself
You could not see it
Everytime I spoke to you
I gave you my mind

*** was not my game
Your touch blew me away
Smelling you my favorite part
Of that day

You were a closed book
No blank pages for me
The more I wanted to be a part
The more you pushed me away
Dolling next to you

Staring at the girl who used to be innocent and pure,
Now just a mannequin of hated nothingness.
Dressed in the color red, a representation of love,
Now representing only that of which she lost.
The tears running down a perfect porcelain face,
Smudged makeup smeared upon its appearance.

I am beginning to realize I was nothing more than a burden, a bother, a mirror reflection.
Mocking me as my world comes crashing down,
My heart now unknown and forgotten.
The perfect picture you painted me to be was not even me at all.
Dolling me up, and puppetting me around, to follow your every will and whim.
You pressed me into this mold of a person, you taught me who I should and shouldn’t be.
So now that you’re gone, which me, is me...?

*****-eyed toddlers, sipping soda from Molly’s Hatchet
Dr. Roberts dolling out prescriptions using Pauli’s racket
Intergalactic minds racing down the halls
Juggling cruelty with a ******’s *****

Samson held in an awkward dream
Likeness paid for using Steam

Burdens left on a turned-over sill.
Polyester found in the sweat poured from a still
Flimsy breezes gust in through openings in the flume
Driving backwards into the arms of a woeful doom