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e ot May 2015
Take a seat. Far in the back. Yeah. That's right. Right there. In that end of the wagon where you can barely see out through the rounded corner of the window next to the seat in front of you. Perfect. Be invisible. Only look at another human when you show your ticket. You bought the cheapest one you could find. You don't even have a seat. Not really. Someone could actually come and claim the one you're in. The risk of being forced away feels all too pressing. Any second now. You pause your music but keep your earpieces in as you listen for every sound. You steal glances of every by-passer in the corner of your eye. You check the clock on your phone. It's one minute past the departure time. The train should be moving by now...

Someone sits down next to you. You notice that it's a woman but you have no idea what she looks like because in this country we don't look at each other. We don't invade each other's personal space. Very important. Sharing is not always caring. We can seem cold but that's not our intent...

The train finally starts rolling. Four minutes late. You're hoping the woman next to you isn't bothered by the sound of your chewing gum. The sound of your teeth touching. The sound you make when you swallow. The sound of your breathing. The sound of your existance. You crossed your legs a few minutes ago. Right over left. Now your left foot has grown numb and your right leg is starting to ache too...

You didn't want to go. You didn't want to leave her. But real life called and forced you back to it. They lied to you when they sold the idea of adulthood as something... Yeah, what? What did we expect? Why were we itching to grow up so badly? For all the obligations? For expensive loans? For complicated papers to fill out, food to by and a roof to somehow keep over our heads? For leaving? For abandoning love and happiness in order to do what needs to be done?

I don't want to go. I don't want to leave her. But real life called and now this train is taking me back to it.
SH Jan 2012
January - the calender is flipped to.
with it, an image of red, bloated tomatoes
creeping in pregnant clusters across the page.

my books are sprawled across the desk
like nomads in search of a home.

the earpieces have cords that are entangled and
immersed in its messy and inextricable life.

my phone sits silently and unproductive
depleting its fruitless existence away.

and here too i sit under the whirring fan
watching these objects help tell my story.

even the tomatoes are productive this january.
This could seem a tad random. Written with the help of some sort of 'poetry exercise'.

Even the tomatoes are productive and yet I sit here unproductive, indeed.
sapphic girl Feb 2015
Dearest oh nathaniel,

what's that i hear?

when dusk cloaks the infinite shade of dark blue

spilling out of your wavering frown

a cuss word?

no it's

a whimper, a merciful

cry for help.



it starts out small,

not like baby steps - in fact, far from it

it's gargantuan like that giant from that fairy tale

that you yearn to reside in

and it crescendos into a melancholy howl

just like the werewolves in

little red riding hood.



under the shadows of your abode

inside the head full of numbers

all red ink ;  no pity

leering and lashing like corrected mistakes

from those animals

who solely came for the bread.



let me extricate you

no sweetie i won't fold you

to fit into a rabbit hole

you're not alice most definitely

you are already a minuscule caricature

the ones i doodle on my foolscap pad during maths

with bigger objectives and a yellow brick road

full of life

much animated than the

musical numbers

i sing in your ear

when you're

dozing off in chemistry

your crooked nose peeking out from underneath your folded arms

twitching at the notes strung together with lines of amusement and pure merriment

dearest oh nathaniel, you don't resemble Pinnochio.



instead i'll urge you to wear that glass slipper

slip it on quick and

leave a vestige

of gingerbread crumbs

that is

ineradicable and incontestable

like your heart

pure and gold

not from all those lessons in church

but from those involuntary explorations

into the never-ending sky.



and your tirades about

this school and society

that kaleidoscope in your eyes

unravelling like Rapunzel's locks

to form that opinionated you

they're part of

our counter attacks

on the Indian Ocean

all ephemeral

no aftertaste

of distaste

for it's peppered with

jest and zest.



our midnight discussions about feminism

and the women who fought in wars

they extol you from heaven

for your open-minded sentiment

they might say to me

in a hushed, demure tone

that he's like the pea

the princess eventually

found

concealed amongst

perpetuated mattresses.



the ugly duckling

did spin into ethereal

as time is of the essence

so don't compare yourself against

your friends

gymming isn't even a word

sprawled upon

online dictionaries

dearest oh nathaniel, i don't have to thumb through the dictionaries

to know that you're oh-so wrong.



desist from the self-inflicted loathe

it doesn't pain me

for i'll still love

you

unconditionally

but for the sake of your sanity

halt all the macabre,

grim, gore

and

ghoul.



dearest oh nathaniel,

your smile is a

sworn clandestine

evoking a swoon

and a creak from my

rusty knees

a poignant mess

enmeshed into

a human manifestation

of super novas

amalgamated together

hypnotizing me into

deep slumber

without the ***** of a

sewing needle.



let me sweep all those

poor lies

and false hopes

unlike Aladdin's

under a magic carpet

and try to lift the corners

of your mouth skyward

however i'm no

puppeteer and i don't see

no strings attached

so my endeavours

may be futile

but your laugh

jesus christ

it resonates on a tenfold

with the metal songs

buzzing out of your earpieces

that resonate deeply

with that

"cold heart"

that you claim

to be

yours

and i hold on to

it like dear life,

dearest oh nathaniel.



dearest oh nathaniel,

for you shall see

that

decampment isn't

the easy way out

because the

emblem of

you

will be scattered

around the

asphalt

frisking and skittish.



like what i've

said

i won't fold you to fit into

my pocket

neither will i

drop you into

the sea

i am that lighthouse

stationary

though

luminous in

the falling mist

and

rising fog.



dearest oh nathaniel,

what is that i hear?

no it's certainly

not a merciful

cry for help.



it's not a

battle cry

or a

symphony

dearest oh nathaniel, don't be a fool.



it's you

unabridged

in sheer

rapture.



dearest oh nathaniel,

i'm talking to you.

**| dearest oh nathaniel - m.m |
[ you'll never know]
SH Dec 2012
"People are so hard to understand.
They are like earpieces casually stuffed
in the pockets of their private lives.
And when they step out of their stuffy
homes, they demand to have others
locate their origins, their mid-points and
their ends where you stuff your ears in.
Demand that from cords in infinite loop.
Demand that without an instruction manual."
I wanted to interject, but your sentences ran
into each other and morphed into these
pseudo-words, pseudo-rants without ends
to stuff into your ears and listen.
I would have said that people were fine
without beginnings or destinations or
instruction manuals. That behind the
metal prisons of these speakers lay
sounds, to be played into ears and
listened to. Told to.
iffahnabilah Oct 2014
I woke up,
and scavaged through my bed for my cellphone.
i realized,
my earpieces formed a noose around my neck
and my sheets,
already seem to wrap my body.
i commited suicide in my sleep.
funny.
I woke up this morning,
disappointed.
no texts.
I expected that, but i never failed to check every morning that i woke,
in case you remember me before you fall asleep.
I woken up from a nightmare.
And to be honest,
i was in a state of denial.
Did it happened,
did it not?
In reality and in sub-consciousness,
you wrecked me in both.

(FAH)
Andrew Rueter Oct 2020
A good church is a cord connecting a community
God's umbilical cord connecting humanity
like the cords connecting the computers, cameras and microphones
the AV team meets every week to uplift a hundred seats
before worship practice starts they connect with one another
providing lines of praise and prayer tracing their hopes and fears
running diagnostics
checking the cords connected to instruments,  lighting, earpieces
removing the frays and knots
because the sermon runs smoothly when all the cords have been checked
the cords run throughout the church and up the band's spines
the voice of God lets them know they'll be playing the bridge again
so everybody throws up their hands and sings along
their vocal cords trying to hit tonal chords
cords of water connecting eyes to mouths shows
the congregation is plugged in
because the cords have been properly checked.
Batchelor Feb 2020
The feelings.. best not show them.
I gotta find my fix.
There I go, total blind march of the pigs.
Hey, I got another ******* high score.
I'm the best aren't I?
That feels good.
I saw her again.
**** **** **** better find my fix WHERE THE **** ARE MY EARPIECES
Oh God that feels so much better.
Mmmmghh. Feels like ***.
Haha, what a funny video!
****, is it about *****?
****** ****, wanna get ****** up?
I'm home, again.
Where is my fix?!
My phone's got to charge?! Useless *******!
*******! Pick up! OH YOU DON'T WANT TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME ANYMORE?! *******! *******!
I DIDN'T MEAN TO GET SO ******* ANGRY
****
GOD I'M SORRY
DON'T ******* WALK OUT ON ME
DON'T LEAVE ME!
Slide over to the point already.
You know I was never sane.

2013.

— The End —