"engrained" poems
vicious revenge feel its strain.
Engrained forever on a decaying brain.
For its a plague with no andetote. No cure.
Nothings sacred. nothings pure.
No honor here to gain but a grasp of guilt, sorrow and pain.
A trench deep seated with animosity.
Hearts too blinded by hatred to see.
Its walls engulfing like vines round a tree.
But no vegeance shall set you free.
In realising its errors and fate
The soul desperately searches to escape.
Weary, hollow, it longs to retire
But hatred enslaves as its walls grow higher
For this is one prison sentence that will never transpire..
If you fight fire with fire.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
You're a volcano in winter
Made when the Earth splintered
Tectonic plates shifted
And you were gifted
The frigid air outside is subzero
So you become my volcanic hero
When you scorch the cold
With your warmth so bold
I await an eruption
But there's a disruption
Dormant you remain
With suspicion engrained
But entering your main vent
Was not my main intent
Yet now that I'm in your magma chamber
I can see your anger
You're made of lava and ash
So you demand drama and cash
And violently explode in a flash
You've become my Krakatoa
When I wish I didn't know ya
Because of your grand magnitude
I question my aptitude
And insecurity ensues
As confidence I lose
I realize I've gone too far
When I feel your lava discharge
That pushes me into your crater
The pain I feel couldn't be greater
When all I see is an ashen cloud
And all I hear is your lashing growl
Inside of your volcano
There is a tornado
As sure as day glow
I feel I must lay low
And dodge the debris
While playing referee
As you're dissecting me
In your burning sea
That swirls in a cyclone maelstrom
Hell is where it was mailed from
I receive it
Reprieveless
I begin to drown in fire
And wish to retire
You think you're neat
Yet despite your heat
You're a cold blooded lizard
But outside there's a blizzard
So I get used to your volcano
I can't contain my disdain though
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 6:18 AM UTC
I rest my head in the dusky hours
early in the hope I'll awaken refreshed
instead in the lonely hours
at 2am, 3am and 4am
my body rests
while my mind races with complex thought
caught somewhere between sadness and complacency
the past present and future merging into one
clashing and colliding
confusing
working hard into the night
sending my heart to palpitations.
I close my eyes and the words I see written on my ceiling
are engrained on the insides of my eyelids
crawling with the spiders
I overthink instead of sleep
I dream in my conscious state
of what could've been
what is
and what might be
restless in a state of exhaustion
lucid in a state of total consciousness
hopeless to stop the relentless tide of my imagination
from rotting my brain inside and out
ruining any faith I have in a night of sleep
or a day of clarity and competence.
The thoughts leave when I rise again at 7am
as planned
with the chiming of the bells on the nightstand
my head snaps into reality again
focus returns in the form of routine
get up, go
move on, mend.
Distracted and oblivious
my lack of sleep haunts me
until I repeat this dull cycle again tonight
I live my nightmares in the lonely hours
at 2am, 3am and 4am.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 9:08 AM UTC
The Great Newfoundland novel (summation)
A young man brimming with
Townie **** and vinegar or
Bay boy brimming with obnoxious bravado
Eventually he leaves and discovers
How people treat fellow man
Seemingly beaten down
Genetic history Of Newfoundland Truck System
Alongside founders population variance,
Upward spike in heart disease, stroke, diabetes, cancers
Lurks engrained learned hopelessness
Smouldering in "Newfie" jokes
You'd better hope I let it slide
Unless you wanna find out
What a peat moss bog smells like
Or how it feels to freeze to death
Tied to a crucifix
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
buried behind a wall of complacency
my contentment boils -- steams like pots of cleansing tea-- in the constant cold
pass the peace pipe over the bones of my enemies.
my rebellion is rooted
deep within my veins
{burried under tact and sweet smiles} but ready to return
the blood of warrior women waiting to return
runs within me- my abilities are their evolution
from the color of my eyes to my tolerance for pain-- rooted
into my skullspinesoul
in a field of dinosaur bones-
only the strong survive the cold
this ever present frost
follows me like the windigo; its return
deep in the decemberjanuaryfebuary ache of my bones
a disease malignant in the
deep r
u
n
n
i
n
g
tap-roots of elms- etched
into
time like
skeletons in the ice
tested {thawing} with every return
of this ******* season, evolving
from the lifeless bones
of trees to the wings of birds
brittle, but strong;
bundled with love(hate) protecting me from the cold
letting go, but wanting them to
fall back like
cigarette ashes in the wind
this is no place or time in my life for slow acceptance but
I find safety in the muscle bound bones
aware, lying (insomniac), waiting for someone to breathe
life into the marrow.
my love- deep, engrained, rooted
the pulse of human heat keeping me from the cold
will I ever change?
bundled against the cold, the cracking of my bones
is like the creaking of the dead trees i stare up at
with their songs of change
and the end of fears never to thaw out again
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 10:41 PM UTC
At one point I called you father, and meant it.
You were not my father by blood, simply by marriage.
I had longed for a father figure for as long as I could remember,
A man who would love and raise me as his own.
The good memories were brief snippets of happier times,
While the bad were vivid, distinct memories that lasted for what felt like hours.
A nightmare that I could never escape from,
They were engrained in my memory like the words to my favorite song.
I wish I could forget all the difficult memories and focus on the good times that we had together.
What little they were, anyways.
I wish I could forgive, the way my five year old self did,
Oh, the love and admiration she had for you.
Now all that was left was anger and a bitter resentment.
The anger and confusion that came with the abuse that you perpetuated.
I would never call you Father again, if I ever saw you
I would look at you in disgust and pity,
For you will never know true, selfless, love.
And for that, I feel sorry for you.
~sdr
Oct 15, 2021
Oct 15, 2021 at 2:25 PM UTC
I want to do anything you want to
cause I am open to anything that will get me closer to you
and just let my warm breath
caress you from your neck
to your breast
until the sensation
steals your breath from ever crevice
and when I'm finished
you won't forget
I engrained
in your vein
memory
burned
in your brain
you will never
be the same
Nov 9, 2019
Nov 9, 2019 at 11:55 PM UTC
Feel pity for the turtle,
Born captive in a bowl.
Swimming in a circle,
A life been bought and sold.
He has his natural instincts,
Engrained in DNA.
I wonder what he thinks,
Being captive every day.
To him, it must feel wrong.
A missing link to life.
Pondering all along,
Why his surroundings don't suffice.
If released to the wild,
Survival would be scarce.
He's been captive since a child.
Born an artificial heir.
The turtle knows only this society,
It's what he's been born into.
His intuition - alive, indeed,
Tells him what turtles do.
I watch him in his tank, a curse.
How it must feel strange.
Born to fulfill a turtle's life purpose,
But forced into walls, by humans who exchange.
I feel pity for the turtle,
Then realize my foolishness.
Humans, too, know the artificial -
Yearning for natural happiness.
We build up our own glass walls,
And bear children to not see,
That there is life beyond this all,
That offers more than we think we need.
We, too, are like turtles,
Having a purpose to fulfill.
We overcome so many hurdles,
Within glass walls that ****
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
What was meant to be a kiss good night turned into
staying up two hours past our bed time;
I don’t remember much of what was touched
or what was said, but your repetitive drunken whispers
telling me that I was ‘so ******* gorgeous’
will forever be engrained in my mind.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
The sweet sound of innocence
from rampant fits of laughter,
Lemon bars embellished
with a coat of sugar,
Cartwheels in
the freshly mown grass,
the taste, the smell
forever engrained in my mind,
The sweet, syrupy
cherry lollipop,
tinging my tongue,
ever-so-slightly reminding me,
nagging me to feel
this nostalgic desperation,
for a time and place
that no longer exists.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
With miles to go before I sleep
and sounds around risen from the deep;
If I heard them, should I keep
the memories from haunting?
And as the grey rolls into black,
can you see the white hiding in the back?
The foundation that let’s us hold fast
and gives the hope to make it last.
I see faces in the pages
jumbled between line spaces.
Hallucinations become engrained in
my vision while I listen
to the clack of chalk
scribbled
spat from fingers
and thoughts
dribbled.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC
She walked along the side walk slowly
watching the cars go by
All the while there was an unshakable feeling
that she was held in someone elses design
Since she was young like everyone
it was engrained how to think
how to act
how to dress
and with in such a vast and astonishing world
there were so many limitations
She stopped for a moment and took off her shoes
but could only feel cold pavement
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
I'm a rap game prodigy
irony like Socrates
that I could spit this philosophy
so flawlessly.
Unmatched like I'm scalene-
scaling my way to the top
so high like I'm a scaffolding
go ahead fold and scowl at me
and watch me cackle sarcastically-
while I tell the masses to become appealing
the apple of my eye is hip-hop do you feel me?
Massive attacks while the males become *****
and subject to the ways of misogyny
oh **** here we go again, this bothers me
what? equality?
Misuse the muse and move through your mind
makeshift mammals mimmicking media monkeys
no wonder half the world's a ******
like you when you see-
the way I spit so fluently
second language, feel the anguish
anger within me resentment
followed by residuals
the world is red and we're all cruel
consumed by corporate corruption
no function left to the fiction of fascism
so fasten your seat-belts and see me belt
way more than 16sixteens, it's sickening
how sick this flow can be so ambiguous
hip-hop is bigger than us-
it's luck, it's lust-
it's a **** you when there's a lack of trust-
it's **** it's love
it's touch, it's ****
it's drugs and grudges
and beef and *******
it's empowerment, cowards
and records strictly to deflower.
it's appreciation and admiration
and it at one point shook the entire nation-
i'm complacent at the placement of this prophecy
that hip-hop has engrained into me
I'm grateful for the grandfather's
and the sons and the daughters
the step-fathers and mother *******
cut throat music industry
if you don't **** with hip-hop you don't **** with me.
*****
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
“hey” is the only thing you say
pressing your hand against the doorframe
and leaning in
looking past me as if you would see anything different, but it's all the same
nothing has changed except maybe you and me
and whoever decides to fill my body next
the chain on the door covers your eyes
and i can't help think about how different you look
like a stranger; one i wouldn't expect to meet me
at my threshold with groceries in a brown paper bag
now, of course, you only bring me a heart
and say it's nothing
“hey” is the only thing i say,
unlatching the chain, and letting you inside
like i'm letting you drip down my throat
i busy my hands with the locks,
the locks i put there, at first, to keep you in, and then, eventually, to keep you out
but now it seems, to anybody watching this exchange between our worlds,
like i put them there
to keep my back turned to you,
to avoid you while you spread out on the couch
and let all your dead-eyed visions collect on the coffee table
“hey” is the only thing you say
when you notice the missing ash tray,
the one you used to use as a church,
where each burnt shell was an empty prayer,
and each smoke tendril was a hand to send it up to heaven
now it's just a black spot engrained in the wood
now you're just a black spot engrained in the wood
some things did change, i guess, but nothing as much as the two of us.
i remember when our old bodies fit together so well,
and how they rested so easily right where you’re sitting
i remember when i shared that smoke with you and helped you send it up to wherever you wanted it to go
i want to talk to you about that smoke, now, among other stupid, half-symbolic things that i'm not entirely sure you’d understand or even remember,
but i don't. instead i finish with the locks, which are also stupid and symbolic, and spread out next to you on the couch
i wish i had my own dead-eyes visions to unload next to yours, but then i remember that i left all of mine
somewhere inside of you
“hey” is the only thing i say, and sometimes, its the only thing i can say.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
We are laughing while passing a bottle back and forth between the two of us
Our breath reeks of nicotine vapor and the remnants of marijuana mixed with whisky
I down half a bottle of Maker’s Mark and you ask how it is I am able to do so with such ease
I tell you it isn’t difficult and it isn’t
I want to add that swallowing bitterness is much more pleasant on one's own terms but I do not say this part aloud
Instead I act like my insensitivity to alcohol is a skill not relevant to a family history of addiction
Built from uncles and fathers using liquid as a method to cauterize open flesh
A mechanism of numbing that has been passed down for years as casually as a recipe
We keep our secrets tacked onto hard labels and the inner caps of beer bottles
We antique our inheritance with the reminder that it has always been this way
This ability to drown myself under the weight of high content is nothing more than expectation
I make wine to water the moment it reaches my tongue
I convert drunken slurs to a language understood
I know sour breath more than I do mild
I didn’t learn drinking from beer pong and taking shots
I didn’t learn how to from games at parties and competition
I didn’t learn it as an activity or an outlet, I learned it as a habit turned routine
I was introduced to liquor with the same hand that walked me to school everyday
With the same lips that kissed me goodnight
This comprehension for the intoxicated soul is as engrained as my predisposition to become one
The only thing impressive about this relationship with alcohol will be how I choose to survive it,
Not all of us have.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
this is a poem about the Tulsa Race Riots
terrorism doesn't compare to self destruction.
disaster between the slaves, and their masters
we're richer, but they're smarter.
black wall street abolished, its name never in vain
although we remember, we'll never understand the pain
with our own eyes, it would leave us blind
by flash bombs, envy, discrimination
and hatred of our own kind.
gunpowder made buildings fly against the street lights
red and green, bombs still singing, ears still ringing,
we might as well be deaf.
the grass is always greener,
but our skin will never change or fade away
and to live in the past destroys our future
because just when we started to rise from the ashes
we burnt ourselves down again
from opposite sides of the city,
north and south
attract like polar opposites
wasting away green with envy
you can try to forget
because theres new paved concrete
but its still the same street
we owe to the stampede
jealously, destruction, revolution, prosperity
worn out buildings and bricks trapped us
but we're still free
under state laws
but only conditionally
the city sleeps when we do
but stays up late with disdain
days wasted and blown into the air
like concrete and fame
its a shame that
race riots black wall street and greenwood share the same name
it can't stay this way
one day, tulsa you'll change
you'll paint the streets again
faces engrained on
black walls like oil spills
treading new roads
buildings towering above
there are bodies below our feet
but that doesn't mean we're above them
and one day we'll breathe again
we'll write the names back into our history books
their sacrifice on our tongues
remembered, never in vain
like saviors honoring the pain
but never throwing it away
greenwood rising again.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
Feelings Travel Poem
3/15/2014
flying creatures
end up crawling in your sneakers
when they lose their will to fly
traverse among the clouds over continents
but those that swim are worse.
swimming creatures
they'll weave through your dreams
leave an island to be lost at sea
thinking you can't see
what's under the murky emotional water.
walking creatures
take their time on the gravel and grass
surprisingly harder to find
like little fuzzy things,
granule grains engrained in my eye sockets.
small enough you can fit a million of 'em in your pockets,
ready to reveal whenever.
What do the flying creatures, walking, or swimming
all have in common with me?
That they carry their feelings inside tiny hearts beating
and their feelings travel all the same.
sometimes feelings fly,
sometimes they swim,
sometimes they lose their will to walk and crawl.
Hear this creatures.
no matter if you're feeling so small,
trapped in between life's walls,
or feeling nothing at all,
those feelings you'll carry at all - times,
Because feelings travel.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
Everything (physically) erased, nothing ever forgotten. Every word spoken or written is engrained in my brain, I will never be the same. Unlike no other you came you conquered you (changed). Seven existential hours that would change my DNA and internal making, making, making what I knew up until then surprisingly malleable. Your words your actions your face your voice filled up every millimeter of me that everything else inside was pushed to the brim and seeped out of my pores. Everything I once was became everything you ever were, ever are. There is a chair in the back of my mind that is reserved for you to sit there and continue to hotwire (my mind) and thoughts into something much better than I ever could have fathomed. Your puppet strings control what and who I am and it is impossible to think there is any other living organism that could possess that undeniable ability. There is a keyhole somewhere inside myself. There is a key inside of you. Keyholes the size of pinholes as vast as Sirius. Small, believable, existing. Keys the shape of orchids and birch as natural as the metamorphosis of roots (into) trees. I never knew what (my) purpose was until you. Or maybe I always knew what I was before you and you opened the windows to the (soul) otherwise known as brown eyes so timid to everyone besides you. The smallest organs became so (full of) nothing but visions of you. There is a special place in my slowly beating heart perfectly executed to fit all of you. A twin bed that only holds one girl has an infinite amount of room for whatever (love) you could continue to bring into my life. The impossibility to (for)get and erase has left me with an endless amount of hope to see you again. The possibility of knowing that you are still somewhere out there and I am still somewhere down here, although unsure where. I cannot ascertain whether or not feelings are reciprocated but I know I know they are. I know you know where you are. I know you know I do not know where I am but you could figure it all out for me. You had it all figured out for me. Plans stretched farther than the 3000 miles separating my red string from yours. Our strings are still connected. There is nothing in the world that can cut them no matter the distance no matter the people no matter the time no matter the place. I know and somehow you know fate will bring our two oceans together. One calm ocean full of creatures so logical and tides so serene they make a beautifully flawed human being known as yourself. One ocean plagued by waves and uncertainty as to what is below the surface that makes up a human being, me. Both oceans surround land full of love. Our continents will merge. Our love will emerge. (You, only you.)
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
We can never forget September 11, 2001
We will forever remember such a date
A date that will live in infamy
A date that has everything in it:
Sadness, fire, death, destruction and bravery
Heroism, sickness and resilience, except happiness
9/11/2001 is a memorable and a daring date
That changed the world. Things are not seen like
The day before. We have a different perspective
About life and everything under the sun
We learn new ways of mourning, sighing
Fighting, of course new ways of being absolutely resilient
No, we will never forget this fateful day where terrorism
Became a new word. Everybody is talking about the death
Of so many brave first responders: firefighters, policemen
And many others who wear proudly their uniforms
We shall never forget 9/11. We will never forget 9/11
The sacrifices made by the brave civilians who had lost their lives
Are priceless. The eternal flame in our heart cannot be extinguished
We know that everyone in NYC and elsewhere will always
Remember how the world got shocked, stunned by these egregious
And deadly actions perpetrated by a bunch of sick cowards
9/11/2001 is a monument engrained in our brain which will live there
For a very long time. The memories of the braves are metastasized
In our psychic, no one can suppress them without killing us cold
"911" is no longer three numbers but a historic symbol like Pearl Harbor
9/11/2001 is now 18 years old. 18 years of tears, fear, pain and suffering
We shall never forget 9/11. We will remember. We can never forget 9/11.
Copyright © 9/11/2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 8:29 AM UTC
There’s strangers I’ve loved unconditionally,
In train stations and subways their eyes have met mine,
In checkout lines and park trails their words have left me comforted
In the ugliness of it all strangers have shown me beauty
For it’s not about the time you’ve known someone
But the relentless respect and adoration they’ve shown you
In this angry world I’ve found happiness I carry with me through all of my days
There’s smiles engrained so deeply in my heart I can’t help but feel their warmth
theres strangers in this world that I have
loved, and there are strangers who have loved me
Feb 5, 2021
Feb 5, 2021 at 9:23 AM UTC
At night I like to rest my fingertips on the protruding hipbone that is still covered by a fleshy layer of cushion. Of fat.
Why do we shy away from that description so often?
Fat.
Those three letters haunted me more than anything for the past 7 years, and I would hear it all too often.
And when I didn't hear it, I'd see it in their eyes.
I was not like the rest of them.
No Abercrombie for this pudgy middle schooler, and no eating candy unless I wanted to be ridiculed and stereotyped.
But not until my senior year of high school did it finally get to me.
I stopped eating. One almond at most and nothing else.
Fat.
Fat.
Disgusting.
Shameful.
Ugly.
All synonymous in my head.
Now it's completely different.
I embrace my beautiful body.
Every curve, every scar, every red engrained stretch mark.
I wear them with pride.
I take off my shirt for my lovers without fear or shame.
My body is bigger than societies idealistic and impossible standards of beauty...
And thank
God
For
That.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
How can something
I've refused to sing
Denied and sworn was fiction
Seem suddenly real to me
How can someone
Make me feel so undone
From my false reality
Despite everything I've done
How can it be
That the nighttime sings
When I'm alone inside my head
When will I finally see
It was you all along
Standing in front of me
It was you all along
The girl inside my dreams
How could I be so blind
To have wasted my time
Trying to forget these things
Cause all I've ever needed
Is the girl listening to this ballad
How could I
Have thought so highly
Been so naive
To think this wouldn't happen in time
How would I know
That you had stolen
My heart long before
And left, yea you left my love to grow
It was you all along
Standing in front of me
It was you all along
The girl inside my dreams
How could I be so blind
To have wasted my time
Trying to forget these things
Cause all I've ever needed
Is the girl listening to this ballad
You're the faceless girl
Who has haunted my world
My dreams came alive
Shining like your golden curls
You're the one I need
I need only succeed
In your eyes
Sing your ballad with me
It was you all along
Standing in front of me
It was you all along
The girl inside my dreams
How could I be so blind
To have wasted my time
Trying to forget these things
Cause all I've ever needed
Is the girl listening to this ballad
You're free and wild
Never gone out of style
Everytime I see you
I'm left standing beguiled
There is something I can't explain
A girl inside you, who can't be tamed
The girl I love, the girl I adore
You have the freedom engrained
I cannot break away
But I can face the day
But when the night comes
I don't know what to say
How am I supposed to be
What they need me to be
To be strong and brave
When I spent it all on you
I will not forget
Yet I do not regret
These memories I've kept
But I do regret the things I've left unsaid
It was you all along
Standing in front of me
It was you all along
The girl inside my dreams
How could I be so blind
To have wasted my time
Trying to forget these things
Cause all I've ever needed
Is the girl listening to this ballad
Listening to her ballad
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 4:34 AM UTC
I wrote a poem titled “Autobiography” about
four years ago- I wrote about how I was born
prematurely, about how I worried which aspects
of my parents I’d inherited. I wrote about how
I dressed, my favorite colors, and my irrational fears.
Other parts addressed some insecurities, my
introversion, and my girlfriend (at the time).
All of these things still hold truth to my character,
they will forever be engrained in the fiber of my being.
But I feel like that autobiography needs to be updated.
That worked for me four years ago, but I was much,
much younger then. I was young and hopeful, you
could even say naive. I knew nothing of the pain
that I would one day harbor in my heart, I knew
nothing of the anger I was to be consumed with.
There’s a part of me that wishes I could tell that
younger version of me- maybe prepare him for what
is to come. But even given the opportunity, I’m not sure
that I could truly convey what to be prepared for.
But we’ll chalk up my pain to character development,
and hope that one day, when I revisit my autobiography
again, I’ll look back on this chapter with a smile on
my face and the scabs on my heart scarred over.
I hope I continue to write my story and that I have
people still willing to listen to my words.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 6:29 PM UTC
Don't worry, I'll keep you right here in my little box for safekeeping.
I'll stow you away in my secret hiding place deep in my mind and never take you out until I know it's safe.
You are my little marionette, your strings taught and wary from overuse.
The wood you are made from chipped and abused.
Don't worry, I'll keep you right here in my little box for safekeeping.
You are afraid of the monsters outside, creeping, but I will protect you.
I am brave.
I will defend you from the evil that surrounds everyone and everything and I will keep you safe.
Your little marionette arms hanging by your sides, already prepared for the heartbreak of rejection.
Don't worry, I'll keep you right here in my little box for safekeeping.
You'll never be able to run away because I control your strings.
The strings you could never use to walk on your own.
The strings, only I know how to employ. My fingers toiling with the knots. You are bruised.
Don't worry, I'll keep you right here in my little box for safekeeping.
I swear I will never stray.
This promise will be engrained on my mind, sewn on my heart and tattooed on my fingertips.
You are mine and I will never let you go. Never.
You are mine and I will never let you go. Never.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 2:42 PM UTC