If your favorite flower is the rose
Do you not then liken yourself to a rose
Is not your beauty equal to that of the rose

Behold I stand perfect beauty
A white rose among the thorns
Behold I stand for you to see
A perfect beauty inside of me

If mine favorite flower is the orchid
Do I not then liken myself to the orchid
Is not my beauty equal to that of the orchid

Behold I stand handsome beauty
A black orchid among twisted roots
Behold you stand for me to see
A handsome beauty inside of you

A single petal of the rose so delicate of it self
A single petal of the rose so flawless of it self
Delicate beauty equaled only by delicate perfection
Flawless beauty equaled only by flawless grace

A single petal of the orchid so sensual of it self
A single petal of the orchid so ****** of it self
Sensual beauty equaled only by sensual grace
****** beauty equaled only by ****** perfection

Where there is white rose there is you
Where there is black orchid there is me
White Rose Black Orchid You and I
Wherever you go there too will I be

Does not the rose equal your grace
Does not your beauty equal the rose
Does not the orchid equal my strength
Does not my strength equal the orchid

Doth not the white rose possess the black orchid
Can not they bee one can not they be the same

Doth not you have mine heart
As the white rose has you
Doth not I have your soul
As the black orchid has me

The orchid has fallen for the rose
Has fallen for the orchid
And in my field of white roses
You stand a sultry orchid black

If only to look if only to feel
If only to hold if only to love
A rose white is me this night
Take from me this rose white

This rose white this orchid black
Together as one we cant take back

My castigation was decided long before my backslide. And that is inexcusable, the righteous might declare "unfair". But I don't want any belligerent accusations against this 'unjust watchfulness' from above. Some entity must have understood that I didn't need guidance; I needed walls: some forcing to reach my destiny. Without my jailer, I'd have chosen one of three and let them lead me into a darkness that the pitiful call 'demons'. Claws and teeth? No, each monster was irreplaceable and I loved them. If possible, if they could comprehend a 'love', I vow they would have loved me. But the Warden took them: my punishment before my crime. Perhaps the disposal of these beasts seems considerate, but toss aside those foolish illusions because the burden has not lessened rather, it is unfamiliar. Omitting strength, for I  lost my foundation, I stand in fear with this hole. The Three aren't returning; I'm left with loose bindings - the knots are the songs of my memories. Beautiful Terrors, do I need you? Let me tell you their stories.

Number One:
I remember his voice calling for me. "Daisy! Flowers for you." It was our little game, and I'm sure he made girls jealous when he handed me a bouquet of roses.
My name was Petunia, but I hated that name, and I loved all that's yellow.
So when we were little he took my hand, and we went into a treefort, and he dubbed me Lady Daisy.
He was 7 and I was 4, and there began my adoration.
Then I was older and heartbroken, and I was calling him. "Waldon! It's hurting me."
He arrived so soon, I was still in hysteria - that of a 14 year old gone through breakup.
Then I cried harder because somehow my brother presented me with a tulip and declared, "It's an early present from the only boy who's going to love you more than I do."
17, and I understood fascination. And Willow (for though it's girly, I liked it more than Waldon, and he let it be) was entranced by a wild girl. She was a shockbomb - a warm sungirl that rocked stilettos and never littered nor waited past a minute.
He fell for her so hard from so high.
One day that girl kissed him straight on the lips, then jetted off to England.
Said he could follow her in spirit.
I couldn't hate her because she left his body, but it was hard to appreciate his body when the government took even that away, insisting he be laid beneath cold dirt. Then too many questions: "Why did you hold his hand for three days? Were you thinking of following? Petunia, why won't you buy flowers for the gravestone?" Then there were horrified eyes when I asked who Petunia was, because I had forgotten. Or, truthfully, there was no Petunia, only Daisy. And Daisy had Willow. The Flower and the Tree: that was supposed to be the story. So I refused to buy flowers, and without any sort of ceremony I stopped being 'Lady' and became 'Crazy Daisy', who talked to her demons. Now you see why I never wanted to part with Number One, because although he was a monster (you can't deny the terror of a body with no spirit), he knew me best.
Dear Warden, I've no suicide in me, and there's none left could lead me there, and it may be that I've grown taller, but I'm practically blind.

Number Two:
She was weak since I can remember. I'd say her vulnerability was pneumonia, which I can only presume led to my hatred of 'Petunia': two words incredibly similar when reason encounters a child.
And I liked her name "Maribel" because it sounded like a flower.
I mimicked my brother, but he was persistent that I must call her mother.
Again, this made no sense until 8, when I had a revelation that all this time I'd had no family. At least not in the heart of a girl, because Maribel wasn't a vibrancy to look up to., though she was my one relation.
There was just her in a bed. Sometimes a man visited but I never knew why Willow grew tense; all I saw was my mother acquire spots of brown. How I loved brown, because it seemed as though she was genuinely Mother, like all those other moms that the sun tans, or that could be given filthy hugs that left patches of dirt. In turn, I always welcomed that man, and he was a 'saviour'.
And Willow's father.
Death found both Willow and that man (I know, now, the difference) before I understood 'abuse', and try not to blame me because she never complained and I thought abuse meant people were unhappy, but I saw both of them smile. I laid her beside him, but with space inbetween: a ground for my casket. Because I'd gone slightly crazy and I was telling Number Two that if I awakened as a zombie, I'd need to be able to find his hand first.
That was nuts. But Warden, I don't fully understand. You stopped her bleeding, but I'm left with nothing. I hear their voices in my head, telling me I'm healthy, but I know I'm barely breathing.

Number Three:
I dealt Three tragedy. And in doing so, I guilted myself into worthlessness. Classic to the moral law is: it is not acceptable to introduce a roommate to a shady character. But I ignored the concept of shady - applauded my nonjudgmental attitude, because with my twisted past I would have also been a shadowy figure. With a sweet, sweet smile, I handed that bright girl over to a Peacock who promised to give her 'a good feeling.' And I ignored her tears, because he said he'd please her.
Maybe if I hadn't been loopy, the only way I could "be" with One, I might have noticed that me and he weren't the same, and I could have judged him like the others.
Annie, I'm sorry, please just shine once more.
Even if you're afraid of me and my wickedness, don't be ****** into the gloom, because I can't offer advice to resurface, when I think there's none.
Now, there's Zero for me to turn to, because that's what I am. I am empty. I suppose that's what happens when I trust a boy who leaves, yearn for one who's weak, and think I've the durability to rely on myself (but I've equaled a pitch black crater for a while now).
You're more clear now, Warden. I can understand why you've taken everything. Since nothing I had would give me my fairyland ending. But where's my reward? I need my gift first, because these feet don't know which direction to head, and it's more like I was holding onto rocks that cut me while they warmed me. My feet kick against the waves, but in this half-in half-out position I can't get a good momentum, so a hand now would be nice.

My stories, did they surprise? I hear all this chatter about monsters, but I think we've got them wrong. Monsters simply have a hold one you, and there's no release before you've no choice but to part. They are strong, and it's true that I saw nothing stronger than the Willow.  Only my jailer saw my potential, and he directed me to Zero. He asked for recognition so that I knew my task was not optional and he raised my walls until I stood there, lonely - pushed into belief in myself. But now I am the strongest I know, and I am walking on wind, and from up here I cannot see a single barrier. But Warden, don't you ever leave because if those walls break for a second and I see my demons, I know I'll lose flight and beg them to come back. And that would be the end, because there's no chance Number Four.

I was stung by a bee right between the eyes when I was casting one of those cheap little Mickey Mouse fishing poles. I froze as two hands lifted me onto a counter, and ******* dabbed chilled ointment on my skin. I sobbed quietly in humiliation. I was 4, and it was the first time I realized that Mother Nature could be a real *****. 

My father fell in lust (not love, he swore) with some curvy young something which hovered around the company where he and my mother both worked. He drove us back to Oklahoma, then left again. I spoke girlishly with him on a pay phone near an elementary school once, but I didn't see him for two years. I always knew the color of his hair was close to mine, but his face was a mystery. I was 6, and it was the first time I realized that you can love someone, even when you shouldn't. 

I swam past a little boy in the community pool, which belongs to the University in town. He told me plain as day that I was fat, blunt as a butter knife. I cried for half an hour lying on a hot beach towel in the sun, then all over again in the changing room. He was ten years my junior and I am now an adult, but to this day, I glance at my waistline every time I pass a mirror. I was 14, and it was the first time I realized that people can be unhappy with themselves, even when they don't need to be.

It was the second Saturday in March when my work phone rang, and my mother screamed that my stepfather was dead. She yelled at God the whole way home, angry with Him for taking her heart away. They were supposed to grow old together, she muttered, through thick curtains of tears, and I remember the ambulance lights, my aunt holding my mother to her in a way that only a sister can. My brother was silent and white-faced as my uncle kept repeating things like, "It shouldn't have been his time, he was too good of a man..." Some woman said later that my stepfather was already an angel, that he just needed to go home, as if that was supposed to help. I was 17, and it was the first time I realized that things happen for a reason, even if you don't believe.

I watched a tow truck haul away my first car, which still ran, but conveniently equaled my share of rent when drug across a scale and stripped for parts. I was hungry, I was tired, and in my head, I was all alone. I had never felt so burnt-out, used-up, and sad in all my short years. A few phone calls and hugs goodbye later, I packed my things and moved across the state. The feeling of leaving left me smiling and shaking like hell. I was 21, and it was the first time I realized that sometimes your only choice can be your best choice, and that jumping in head first makes the water look less black and cold. 

I fell in love with the same person twice. We let each other down, no doubt about it, but I was never the kind to strip a human of his dignity. I mistakenly hoped he'd have the same understanding. What I was left with was the feeling of being knocked down to my knees, when no hands had ever touched me, and I finally stopped trying to be part of a life I had no stake in. I was 23, and it was the first time I realized that heartache should be treated in a hospital, for it lies dormant inside every living body, deadly and unsterile, but it will never be curable simply because you can't touch it.

I was driving to work this morning and saw a little girl waving from the backseat of a Buick in another lane. I smiled and waved a little "Princess Di" back, feeling my heart flutter and rise oddly like a healing bird when she grinned happily over the back seat. And so I turned up whatever song was playing just then and said a little prayer for her. She was probably 4 (making me recall that bee sting), probably fresh to pain and grief, so I said: "Little one, there are things in this life which will make your heart bleed and your body sore, but hold on, add them up, and you'll see that living's worth the hurt because someone out there will love you, and you will love someone out there too." I'm still 23, and this is the first time I've realized what it means to be free.

I thought some guy would swoop me away with a cape,
instead it equaled ****.
Never thought he would be so shaded,
'cause now I'm feeling jaded.
No one knows,
and no one cares.
People say she asked for it,
others ask why didn't you say no?
Honestly, I never wanted it,
but be careful what you wish for.

.
Hello    archangel,
fallen goddess behind my morgue.


    Whose complexion equaled the moon,
craters and abysses,
    cascading like salt on
an empty

    wound.


With the crosshairs of nicotine
a mirage on her cracked lips;


“Leave me,

    lowly poet,

Your pity is unbecoming.

I am the 13th fallen sister,

    so linger here

no longer.”


“Death is an old friend,

    I fear not his company,

nor his demise.”


I’ve never seen such eyes;
glass-stained,
divine & unpredictable.


“I’ll **** you.”


“Darling, I’m already dead.”



Her monologues could summon the dead,
she preached of the lovers
who bore no fruit
and the heartless
that lay eternal
in the eyes of
her dalliance.


I’d often find myself
yearning at the pebbles at her gravestone,
impatient, to be graced by her
ink soul and  rhapsodic  presence.


“Are you my friend,

poet?”



“No,

I am much more.”


And for centuries
of cracked dawns and
folded nights,
shallow moons &
crippled suns,
we’d meet---
poet to god,
at her morgue.


“Poet,

why must the most beautiful

people die?”

She once asked me.
Alured, I answered:

“When you’re in a garden,

which flowers do you pick?”


“...The most beautiful ones.”


I’d spend my seconds ‘neath the gallows,
among the bones
of her brethren,
all had fallen before her,

from the house of god.


I bargained my soul with Ursula,
my sins with Lupus,

    I ignored their tempertantrums

& discord.


That very evening I stitched a universe,
upon her shoulder-blades.


“What are these?”


“Wings.”

“In sickness and in health
till death do us part”

She exploded in my heart
threw me off my feet

Across a living room filled
with nights only she can host

I spoke of her to those across the world
who will never experience what it is
to fall for a city
it is beyond patriotism
this ineffable love for a sleepless phenomenon
who homes strangers
shook the world
with shockwaves
that equaled the chemical imbalance
its people have for their city

Under the debris of sparkling glass
she was broken  
there’s so much she can withstand
even when we always stand by her side
shards engrave themselves under thick skin
poking at the body that still believes in love at first breath

At a heart that does not know how to stop
At a will-power that questions its creator about its strength
At a body that homes an identity beyond this world
alien to it

toxicity hovered in lungs

And across skies
blushing clouds
turning them pink

Sunset wasn’t serene

The ocean cradled bodies

on their way to the afterlife

They cried salty tears


Fed up.

Her soil has felt the stomping anger of grieving mothers, fathers, husbands
families
the last words of suffocating victims who never lost hope till

The angels opened the doors of the sky

To welcome new brave souls into the heavens
to lead by example
their white coffins
wed the earth with the skies
they watch over us

Brooms brushed her face
Hands held others
Homes homed
Revolutionists revolted
Nooses were hung
judgment day is knocking
at our hearts
and mind you, we are known
for our hospitality

She cannot cry

She never did

It never suited her

But she sure knows how to roar
how to devour
parasites feeding at her immortality

I wear your ring around my finger

“In sickness and in health
till nothing does us part”

Green grass, green trees,
Green mugs filled with green tea.
Green water over mossy rocks,
Green bikini jumping off the wooden dock.
Green door squeaks as I walk in,
The flood of green memories begins.
Green playground, new friends
Flash-forward with green nail polish as childhood ends.
Green lawn chairs around a warm fire,
Roasting marshmallows as the green-gray smoke floats higher
Those new friends, they grew old,
And we laugh as we remember never doing what we were told.
Green paint on rocks we found
It is here I realized to whom my soul is bound.
Green bugs buzzing around my head
And countless green pillows stacked on my bed.
Blue-green lips after hours in the icy-cold lake
Brought about a smile that is hard to fake.
Green apples, small and sour
Walking through the green field picking green-stemmed flowers.
There is a green stain on my heart and I grin,
For that green island under my green cabin.
You have given me memories impossible to forget
And throughout my travels, nothing has equaled your green yet.

his name is josh,

and he would send me selfies of his other half and babble about her until i am almost praying for the tomorrows we are not promised, all because i want to see them together years from now. on nights when his thoughts are all over the place and he does not know what to do with his emotions, i worry; but he shows me that he can conquer anything and everything, eventually, with her hand in his. that really, sometimes, love can be all you need.

his name is paolo,

and he walks me home even though he doesn't have to. in between coke floats and sidewalks, i came to know a boy who would plan a spontaneous harana because he had a guitar and formal attire; who would find in his heart patience and forgiveness when it was he who should have been receiving it. on the days i fear he is on the verge of crumbling, he keeps his chin up and begins treading the walk home by my side with nothing but stories of admiration for the girl who puts the lyrics in his music.

his name is steven,

and not a day passes that he doesn't check in on me-- to remind me that i should eat three times a day; to ask me how i'm doing; to send me links to things as forms of harmless distractions. he has proven over and over again to be ideal despite certain setbacks. he is fiercely protective and he knows how to listen, and although there is no one for him at the moment, anyone he has loved and will be loved by him is lucky, whether they realize it or not.

his name is ian,

and whenever he talks about the girl he loves, he brightens and i am sometimes left to wonder if he is talking about some other thing; like the celestial beings of the universe, or the wonders of our earth. he is as balanced as a boy can be and as fair as one could ever hope; he is so many good things in the world, and yet, love holds him captive in the best ways known to man. i will never get sick of watching him fall over, and over, and over again for the same person.

his name is niño,

and though he is what you might call a reckless romeo, there is no one in love that has ever equaled him. the things he will do in the name of that four-lettered word has driven me crazy; i have watched him struggle with it too many times. but the beauty of it all is when he still stands after being kicked to the ground, how he fills the cracks in his heart with love and nothing but that. how he willingly gives out pieces of him to complete others. how he will adore his girl until the rest of the world shies away, until he has re-defined it for everyone to come after.

you see, if you ever plan to love me, know that i have stood as witness to heartbreak and heart ache... at the same time, i have also been exposed to the most beautiful brands of love; different fights and different names of courage and different reasons and different people to fight for, but still, all the same, in the name of love.

they have taught me to be brave, and patient, and kind, and reasonable; and soft in all the right places, brutal when it comes to it; they have taught me to be what a person expects in love and they've taught me what to expect from the person i love, as well.

i refuse to settle for anything less.

I never really understood
Slam poetry
There was a man, a mic, and a spot light
There were words put on paper and words said
There was an eb and flow and there was this rhythm
Everyone seemed to speak the same
Getting faster getting slower
Getting higher getting lower
And there were profound words whispered over coffee cups
Obscuring the chocolate drizzled over latte’s foam
It seemed odd and foreign
Until I became a slam poet
After all I think it’s how they say
You never know a man until you walk a mile in his shoes
But it’s because I used to look at those words they said and
Over analyzed them
Over scrutinized them
I filed them
Color coded them
Cross reference and proof read them
1+1 had to equal 2 but with slam
It equaled like eight
And I could double check again and again
I couldn’t get 1+1 to equal two

But it was because at that time I was a straight A student
Reading seven books at one time
And doing thinks like science fair projects for fun
Because I had realize,
even without knowing I had
That if I was up to the rims of my glasses with books and papers
I couldn’t see my life around me
I paid less attention to the dishes I had to clean if I had equations running through my mind
I never saw how much dad drank if I was reading and writing
I took all those gold stars and straight A’s and plastered them over the cracks in my life
I joined everything I could
I did choir
I did drama
I was the editor of the year book
I did extra credit and went overboard on home work
I made my projects with blood, sweat, and tears
And my academics were my life...
But soon the time came that I got a B

And it didn’t fit quite as cleanly over the hole in my roof I used it to patch
And I didn’t shine bright enough to block out the darkness
And I began to see
A simple column of letters
Two letters
6 A’s and one B
If put it under a microscope it would be made out of the same black ink spatter on pulverized and pressed trees
It would still bleed the same if I dripped water on it
But it was different
Darker it seemed
And at night it didn’t lull me to sleep as well as
An A
It was only 80%
Not my usual hundred and with
less zeroes it couldn’t block out the
sound of my surroundings as well an A could
I couldn’t wrap myself in it and hide
I couldn’t click my heals and have it take me to a happy place
No
It was a B

And I plastered my report cards over my cracked old windows
But there was now a hole where my B would have been

Light leaked in through there
Light that shown on my house
Casting a shadow down on the floor
And the gold star and sticker coated family looked fine standing before me
But the shadow silhouettes were of scary people
Hurt people

And I never saw it all along because a smiley face with bright purple letters saying thing like
“GOOD JOB!”
“GREAT WORK!”
“EXELLENCE!”
Had been neatly peeled from perfect tests
And as gently as it was lifted it was placed onto my family’s faces
The stickers stuck because of their tears
The tears that no longer existed
once hidden by a sticker
I then began to see that the light from outside could show me the world
I then went and stripped my wall and windows
Of reports cards, essays, and projects
I shut off my computer with power points of greatness
Flipping slide
after slide
    after slide

I then opened my windows let air and light flood into my room
And it showed me things
Beautiful things

But then the light flooded into the rest of my house
The breeze became a draft and invaded the rooms
Illuminating the ugliness and hurt

And I tried to shut that window
I tried to glue back up the papers
I tried to sow back together ripped up gold stars

But I was not fast enough
Me
like Pandora
tried closing that box again

What was done…
Was done

It was too late
I saw it all, if only briefly
And now that room full of academic tokens of my achievement
Seemed darker
Even with the windows open
It was darker
Light shown in
A dusky twilight
At noon
And my heart beat faster
My breath quickened
My scream scratched at my throat
Trying to get out but not finding a foot hold
It just clawed and kicked
And on an intake of breath that scream lost its hold
And fell back down my throat
Landing in the pit of my stomach

I then walked out of my room and into my house and looked at my family
I saw the ugly stickers on their face
And peeled them off
Without care and in a haste
I was frantic
And desperate
And afraid
Under those paper adhesive masks
I didn’t recognize the faces
And now I was in a house full of family I had never gotten to know and I was afraid
Not like a scary movie
Not like a dark basement
More like being on a stranded island
Watching a cell phone with service
Get carried away by a seagull

I then looked to see the panic mirrored
In my “families” faces and didn’t find it

I then walked back to my room
And cried myself to sleep
In the dusky twilight
At noon

And when I awoke I found a composition notebook
And a pencil…

This is comemmorative
Just a small poem to say
If poems written equaled
Years lived
Then I would be old
A century old
A hundred is so much
So many poems in three months
Or less
And now it seems so attainable
One fifth of my goal complete
And a single milestone passed
How quickly it's passed too

Once a friend died
I cried and I cried
Such a great pain
My heart's well drained
None has equaled since then
And free of tears I have been

When I was little my father
Used to take me to the beach
With my tiny baby body wrapped up in his arms and
His coat that fit the 6 foot 8 inched
Man with room for an extra 4 foot girl
Who was too cold to walk by herself.
I loved the sea only beach it
Provided the beach
Which provided the walks
Which resulted in my dad with the
Extra large, forest green windbreaker.
I didn’t care for the ice cold water
Or the frigid air
Only for the effect that It had, that ended
With me inside that forest green windbreaker.
I didn’t even really like the walk because 2
Of my legs equaled one of his
But I loved how 2 of his arms equaled
One of my 4 foot bodies.

born into a nature land full of catastrophes.
age addition every 365 days, eventually turned 8 years old.
hyperactivity and impulsivity crawled out like a tiger.
classroom confusion, youngins yelling for calling out.
lack of raising carpal bones equaled receiving the "detention disease".
homework not finished, studying not finished.
grades diminished, brain thought to be different.

As summer fades
Fall has begun
Our once bright days
Now setting Sun
Uncertain what the future holds
Just know that I am getting old
For youth one does not get to keep
Through window blinds of life I peek
A path that's been filled with mistakes
I've walked alone but chose to take
My baggage with me where I went
Much money earned; much money spent
An epic track that seemed to reach
Earth's corners as I search and seek
For happiness with love and joy
These things I lost when just a boy
Were taken; someone stole from me
No safe to crack; there was no key
Defenses were not set in place
A child who had yet to face
Like Adam when bereft of sin
Attack that had struck from within
Where body fully left in tact
A shattered mind you won't get back
And over shoulders look for pieces
Equaled grains of sand on beaches
Traveled much, went far and wide
Blind to the circles spun inside
If challenges aren't met and faced
One can't expect to win a race
In life, with loss comes also gain
For cost brings lessons for our brain
All adding up to wisdom learned
So as time goes we can discern
This is the trade for youth with age
In our "life book" we write a page
Our bodies start becoming meek
Does not mean outlook that is bleak
As faculties get old and fail
Some ways our vessel is a jail
The footsteps made are less and less
But minds expand an endless breadth
A question though of great concern
is, What if someone never learns?
They pay the price; accept the cost
But in return there's only loss
There's no trade off or benefit
An idiot who is a twit
You'd almost feel some sympathy
For one pathetic and who's weak
Unless of course you realize
The suit he wears; tried on for size
No twisted arms; he was not fooled
All info given; went to school
Just sat and stared off into space
So much potential he would waste
Break-even point, where are you at?
Is it still forward or way back
There comes a point, true with all things
Sometimes it hurts the heart and stings
We realize the end has come
There's nothing more that can be done
All effort from here on, a waste
The money spent is better saved
Don't think of it as giving up
More simply that one's time is up
Life is a journey that's for sure
But may be one that is endured
Instead of riding off in glory
Constantly are saying "sorry"
Trying to right each mistake
There is no life; an endless chase
A dog who tries to catch his tail
A nonstop game of "try-and-fail"
You ask "Why should I even try?"
Pathetic tears to say 'goodbye'
I have one choice that I can make
That will erase all my mistakes
If I'm not here I can't ***** up
Forget "half-empty", there's no cup
The disappointment and the shame
No longer need to play that game
Sure people might feel bad at first
But don't forget; somehow subvert
In closing I can finally be
What all expected me to be
A hero or a champ who "wins"
Not loser who just fails and sins
So tears don't cry (and you may not)
I'd say that I had fought the fought
But you know that is one more lie
Don't need to add; just say 'goodbye'

I don’t like having to put in the effort on things that leave an extra page missing
I can’t trust it
You’re every little thread I’ve tiptoed around
Making sure I don’t move on unchartered space too quickly  
I felt like you didn’t want that too
With your experience and all
Your chapters have started
There have been important people
Leaving fly leafs
Or bookmarks
Waiting to be scanned through blankly
Or
Revisited
I don’t know who was important enough
And I’m too afraid to ask
As to who
That little thread head was
So I made a subtle investigation
I’ve wandered around some parts of your book to merit
Audible versions of this girl whose book
So well covered
In dusted promises and doodles
There was an innocence left of her
That was so kept
She needed to hold my hand
To lift her pages so slightly
“Careful”
She whispers a great deal
These past few months
She’s trusted me with
The choreographed pressure of how
To feather the leaves of her past
On good days she’d read back ours
I’ve quoted enough lines and characters and memories
To entertain her of how it once was
The threads vibrate and echo
Reiterated but answers back the same
The untangled locks at least
I’ve seen fly leafs
Those were left with no closure
“We kind of just stopped talking” or “can we not mention her”
I’ve seen bookmarks
Of relatives and family and friends
And lovers
The bookmark had thread hair that tangled up so much that it left an aching worry in my heart
She was a lover
A lover with a bookmark
The bookmark who echoed a little too differently and brushed my skin too often when I’d lift a page
A little too close to the chapter on which she was written about
I don’t have quotes on her
But I have their stories
Stories have become our currency
The currency that equaled trust
The same currency that taught me how she was
And how to be
The currency that mattered
I’ve invested on these stories and have managed the skill of being gentle
I was the chapter that started after the messed up spool of the thread head lover
I guess that’s why it brushes in so close to me
I’m worried that I’ll end up tripping over thread, hold a page too tight
That I’ll rip down my own pages
And mess up perfectly fonted words
Forcing you to
Close down a chapter of me with a torn out page
You were too sentimental to throw away
And just be left as not even
A bookmark
But rather a poor excuse for a fly leaf that
You’d rather not talk about.

Oh precious Hyacinth, in my eyes a jewel
In front of your radiance, my knees fell
You’re like a glistening pearl in a ****** shell
I am enamored by your enthralling spell

Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!

Oh King of Sparta, you bear the tastiest fruit
On the land he is the handsomest youth
This is for everyone a crystal clear truth
That’s why in my heart the arrows of Eros shoot

Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!

Oh precious Hyacinth, you have equaled the glamour of a god
Your face is fairer than any mortal lad
Your muscles are firmer than any man had
Because of such beauty, you make me feel glad

Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!

Oh King of Olympus, let me have this seductive mortal
For him my godly being turned carnal
The appeal of his flesh is oddly unusual
I want him to be mine for time eternal

Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!

Oh precious Hyacinth, under my wings you’ll never fall
Come to the West Wind’s most desperate call
To you I’ll reserve the prettiest room in my hall
The most romantic & blissful haven for all

Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!


Oh deities & humans, grant me this costly man
Boreas, Notus, Eurus, bring me this heavenly Spartan
Let our powerful Anemoi bequeath him from his clan
Turn him over to the Western Wind, his greatest fan!

Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!


-02/11/2015
(Dumarao)
*Hopelessly Immortal Collection

the tinted weakness of late day.  the sound of a mother being driven into the child by its legal father.  biology as paperweight.  as bird hopping on earth.  god as the oh well limbo in limbo.  are the many heavens of discarded appliances equaled in number by dolphins unimaginably safe?  does the thought, to be darkened, arrive?

I added 2 and 2 together
Expecting a value of 4
But it always equals less
And it never equals more

I’ve been hoping for a change
A sudden halt in time
But you’ve never been anyone’s
Yet you’ve always been mine

I have loved you for forever
And it seems I cannot show
Just how much I need to love you
And how much you need to know

I can’t fathom why you love me
I can’t grasp just why I’m sad
But you’re everything I’ve needed
And you’re the best thing that I’ve had

This feeling in my stomach
It doesn’t seem to tame
I’ve been trying to hide my hurt
I have cried myself to shame

You are 2 and 2 together
You have always equaled 4
You have never equaled less
But you sometimes equal more

We've been stung so many times black bears drink our pollinated ****.  I always wondered if numbness equaled toughness.  You, Wrestling your whiskey den and  leaving nothing but black turds through out your furry funfettie carpet.  How hard working you were before the predawn sunrise of a meaningless morning.  Now the blue moon cries sobriety for half a creasant .  I guess it isn't easy to change a phase not when somebody already gave out the calendar.  Each of us circle holidays just get drunk next to a clock.

I'm baffled at your confidence
I would have thought such cunning equaled in intelligence
You prove me wrong yet again
By assuming your words similar in advancement to manipulation

Your arguments have not progressed
As my ability to weave in and out of conversation traps
Like a robot your speech is limited
Triggered by topic of interaction

Your inability to compute my well devised arguments renders you repetitive
"You speak in riddles"Is a line heard much too often
As are those clever attacks questioning my mental stability
But they're too often, my dear, too much you *question your own

Flesh like an imagination,
Fur on fire lights the way
Through shrubby jungle puzzles.

Forest keeps eating the path.
My sanctimonious half,
Shaken from an ancient sleep.

Trauma swoons with swift row,
Inner, Present, Equaled.
Sear platforms of self through scenery.

No safety to harbor.
Age is wasted on the old,
Didn't know wisdom is ethereal.

Oblivious to the fact I
Outlived my inner circle.
Justify your justice,
My toys don't talk anymore.

Everytime I see your face my heart skips a beat

Your lips so soft and sweet

I long to cradle you in my arms, to hold you while you weep

Trade your heart with mine, it is yours to keep

How I wish I could fix you up and make you whole

If my misery equaled your happiness it would be my goal

Soon the song of a blade will be the only answer I seek

To dream of you forever, in my lonely sleep.

The censors are in
And the mad houses
Have been unlocked
For the carnival

Friends and former
Lovers embrace your
Bodies and watch the
Clouds billow in the distance

For the background is
Always more beautiful
Then the horrid
Foreground

Not in this hour
But the next there
Will be social
Justice!

There will be a fire
To be put out that
All the masses of the
World can see and
Truly understand and
Articulate!

As of right now,
SGT. BECHER is
Blasting his horn in my
Right ear, causing
Blood hemorages of
Every type and sort

But what of love!

What of pure hate!

What of a human race
Born into INHUMANITY

Legions of snarling dogs
Licking their chops for
The next fix that will COME
But not
SUFFICE

Consumption is a word
No one
Will's to understand

Small has always
Equaled weak

And the born strong
Will never back peddle

In evolution

It just

Isn't

Done

So to abide the wealthy
Warmongers piling
Ammunition on top of
And inside their
Grandmother's brazers!

Is to let them win a
Game they were meant to
Win ANYWAY

Roads were meant to be walked on
Mountains meant to be conquered
But people,
What were we
Meant to do
With

Ourselves?

I got, sick thoughts, bravo for the one that brought it
They say talk is cheap, so I took the offer and bought it
Lend me ya ears, I fear they’ll fail to recognize real
And with these brown eyes, I’ve seen how pain kills
Uh, and **** stresses me, I do get lonely too
My disguise, cause when in Rome I do as the Romans do
And thats where I had it all wrong, my imperfections
Infected with fame, but I’ve started to learn my lesson
Did you, ever forget me? I know I’m not the greatest
Opposites attract but you were negative and I hate it
Between you and me though, I want it back like tevo
Rewind my life and give me back my people
I loved, and deep inside my love remains the same
Relate that to a widow who dreams of yesterday
Our tears are made the same, to wash away the pain
A rebirth from this hurt that left me crippled and lame
Its kinda crazy how I’ve been, absent, ghost ridin
Feel like I lost my wings and the planes on auto pilot
Crashin in rocky mountains, watch as this stress amounts man
I wanna be a kid, but no one ever found that fountain
In search of my allowance, but effort never equaled success
Instead, could drop a verse about all my ******* in bed
Not me, I want more, so I kissed and wished her goodnight
Success is when I’m with her, I want that moment for life

I wish I could paint
for the emotions I feel I'm not sure how to put into words.
Words run away as saltwater drips from clinched eyes of pride
believing if she can hide that hollow heart that beats inside
of a young girl stuck in a young adults shoes she will feel brand new.
She demands control but her soul, wont let well enough go.
Perfection she will never achieve for she is not headed into the correct direction.
Anger and disappoint in herself seems to effect the progress of her health.
She wants help but too afraid so this being called fear tends to get in the way.
In hopes to cleanse her body of derby of sin
she showers to the the degree of obsession then the sun rises so she repeats her acts all over again.
Signs.
Signs so loud that she can not hear her voice as her lips move
She forgets the sound it makes.
She struggles to breathe as her lungs inhale hate exhale frustration
of how much she types yet nothing is spelt just right.
As if every word misses a letter,
every line misses a word her mind has yet to learn
so she digs deeper hoping to find the words her fingers burn for.
Eyes fixated on scares made to force perfection but she can't see if for she travels in the opposite direction.
Nails grow from undeserving hands,
hands that grew from arms the cradled a being so young in days that his eyes were shaped as small buttons of love.
Love, affection, approached with either she ran in the farthest direction
for if love equaled happiness that would dissolve much like she wished she would everyday she blinked and a reflection of her face was me she didn't want any part of it for it was too much to handle a
perfect definition of imperfection as she.
As she weeps I watch for I know
the person she cries to be nothing a like is me.

'Halfway Down' - a poem by Chard Deniord**




Halfway down: the sight of a doe
through the trees in the meadow.
I stopped to stare at her staring at me.
The silence arced between us like a wire
in a current that equaled strangeness
over time, and since her stare was wild —
so charged with fear the moment froze
on the line of sky and field, man
and deer — she broke our stillness
in her flight from me. I stood alone
but double then as the man on the path
and the memory of the man she carried
with her beyond the meadow into
the next meadow and the meadow after
that where she returned my image
to the field of her forgetting in which
I roamed like a deer myself, remembering.

The sun started to shine
When the rains ceased
The clouds had cleared
Inside of my head
Are dry and warm sunnier days.

A newer design
and a newer stride

Equaled more than wants or lustful pride.
I wave to those who once thought that they were above me...
Now, side by side
We now walk together.

The wall of doubt was then torn down.
I then climbed over the rubble
Now, such is a clear and smoother roadway.

This is my new travel and newer way
To a better destination.

Together we walk as part of a team
to a place called "The Brighter and More  Colorful  Town."

Wow
You did a number on me
It was 8 letters
Times 3 words
With 1 meaning
That equaled
2 gether
4 ever

How much you built me up
Lovely words
Typed back and forth
The things you said
On the phone
That caressed my ears
How much
You loved me
And then you
Walked away

I guess
I’ll never really know
Except I can
Guess
It wasn’t enough
Enough to respect
My feelings
And before you get
All defensive
Really
They are
My feelings

I had my concerns
About you
And I really wanted to
See it thru
Such a little thing
Ended it?
Well
Then
It wouldn’t have lasted
Anyway
But no
Hard feelings
Am I upset?
Yeah
And angry
Just a little
But I’m mostly
Thankful
Thankful for the experience

I learned something from you
I learned something about
Myself
About what
I want
I learned that
I have the strength
To stand up for
Myself
To assert
Myself

I don’t know
If you ever really were
Who you said you were
I want to believe you
But I will always question
Were you true?
Too good to be true?
Yes

Now I pick up my
Bruised
Dented
Chipped
And dinged
Heart
Tuck it back under my arm
And walk away
*****
Stronger
Prouder
Smarter
With more love to give
I hope no matter what happens
That’s how I live my life

Yes
It hurts sometimes
The pain is palatable
Tears fall
That’s just so
When it’s good
You know it
So
I say goodbye
I hope you find
What you are looking for
I’m glad you let me go
And didn’t keep me hanging on
In the in between

Maybe someday
I’ll drop you a line
Let you know
I met someone wonderful
Amazing
Someone who
Erases the memory of you
So completely
That I have to struggle
To remember your name
Not that I ever will
You were
And will always be
Amazing

831

from the flat, scorched fields of Nebraska
to the rugged, snowy tops of Alaska
we danced a jig - no, a rap
swaying beautifully to the beat
of a one-two step
loving and fearing and trusting
and listening

Threads twisted and crossed
until a beautiful know came into view, untying impossible.

Ups and downs and a deluge of life
produced permanent stains on the separate strings
playing a harmony never equaled or paralleled.

It began as a single note
and quickly progressed to chords and
talented fingerpicking.

A unique song
that echoes  off peaks, across the plains, to the valley.

And life came again
separating the melodies
tearing them apart.

And they screak in protest
knowing that they will play together again
and decorate the terrain
with joy.

Memories alone let them
spread their wings and

SOAR

Folks, I want to tell you a story
About some brave men, men who gave
          their lives
For the cause of Freedom, men who
          left wives
And children, so that people like you
          and me
Could breathe air rich with the glory
Of human sacrifice given for their
          fellow
Man: --- Folks, the story of the Alamo!

      In Eighteen hundred and Thirty-
          six,
In San Antonio, Texas,
A hundred and eighty-some-odd men,
In late winter of that year, would try
          to fend
Off some four thousand Mexican
          troops
At an old, former Catholic church
          called the Alamo.
Headed by the shrimp, Generalissimo
Santa Anna, the Mexicans, camped in
          groups
Around the makeshift fortress, were
          determined
To capture it, and it concerned them
Not whether the takeo'er was done
          thru surrender
Or destruction. The Texans would
          defender her,
Howe'er, down to the very last man,
And it would be the Alamo's last stand.
          ---

     The cause of the battle may be
          stated briefly
For it was a reason as old as
          Humanity:
A tyrant declares the freedoms of old
          are abolished
And his new powers must be
          acknowledged:
The Constitution of Eighteen twenty-
          four
Was swept away and replaced with a
          dictator sore:
The men of the Alamo then showed
         their defiance,
With God and Right for their Reliance.
         ---

     Now, tho the situation was
        hopeless,
And the Alamo was certain to fall,
Three fiercely independent men
        would stand tall,
And lead the defenders, and with a
         boldness
Hardly equaled in the annals of
         Human History,
They all valorously engaged the
         hateful enemy.
        
     Jim Bowie was there, knife and all,
Leading a rag-tag band of volunteers,
And tho he was sickly, bedrid, too, his
         peers
Would stand by him and come
         running to his call.
     Davy Crockett, a legend in his own
         time,
From Tennessee he came to fight
         alongside
The Texan Revolutionaries,
And become one of Law and Order's
         luminaries.
     William Travis, at age twenty-six,
         he
Was the young colonel, who, with the
         fateful breath
Of courage, laid down the sentiment
         tingly
Of all those Patriots with the fearless
         words, "Victory or Death!"

     Now, come Sunday, the Sixth of
         March, ere dawn,
In ice-cold weather, the hell-bent foe,
Prodded by a pulsating but fruitless
         siege
That caused not one of those gallants
         to cringe,
Launched a mindless, all-out assault
         on the Alamo.
With cannons and rifles flaring, with
         swords drawn,
Heroically, the men inside the battered
         mission
Were putting scores of Mexicans out of
         commission
As they greeted the tumultuous
         onslaught.
O! the bloodletting that was spilt as
         they fought!
The tidal wave of red uniforms scaling
The walls and being pushed back! --
         Failing! -- Failing! --
But then succeeding! as their great
         numbers
O'ercame the valiant but
         undermanned resistance.
Like an army of ants, the prodigious,
         pernicious persistence
Of the Mexicans paid off, as the
         Alamo's cumbers
They poured o'er. Hand-to-hand
         combat ensued,
 Until every single Texan stalwart was
         pursued,
And kilt! For ninety minutes, the Earth
         shook
On her axis, as the early mornin' Sun
         would brook
No interference of his sharp gaze
That on the momentous event he sent
         his rays
Faithful upon for want of deserved
         praise.

     The end had finally come: all the
         Texan
Warriors had died at the hands of the
         Mexican
Hostiles, but they did not perish
In vain! for, a deathblow was
         administered
On the abhorrent adversary --
         considered
One of the most repugnantly feverish
Armies e'er assembled -- in a
         Samsonian form,
For, for each Texan who the Jordan
         crossed and the Gates of Trust
Passed through, eight Mexicans bit the
         dust: ---
The Alamo fell, 'tis true, but Texas was
         born!

Now, my friends, no story about the
         Alamo would be complete
If the battle of the following month
         'twern't
Included: At the San Jacinto,
The Mexicans were taking a siesta,
When the Texan Army, under the
         tactical sheet
Of surprise, stormed them, and what
         that resting outfit heard,
Besides the fire of arms, was a war cry,
         cried
Louder and more powerful than that
         rising, sleepy-eyed
Belligerent could have e'er dreamed
         of, for --- lo! ---
It 'twere the God-like war cry of ... ----
         "Remember the Alamo!"

                         ---rmjt

There isn't one threat you can give me
That isn't equaled to all I have on you...

Do you really want to go there?

Test me...