You questioned my virtue
After witnessing all the things that I’ve been through
From the time I kept my heavily gates locked and suffered the repercussion
A swollen face and minor concussion
To the time I had a miscarriage scared and alone
We still loved each other but first I needed the father of my child to atone..
I always thought my honesty was something you adored
Never thought the day would come where you would be the one calling me a *****
I could never be this open with anybody other than you.
I thought you were my best friend but now that couldn’t be any less true.
You used to tell me everything
From the highlight of your nights to the grimiest of schemes
Something along the way was lost
I sit and wonder what it could be
Now I cry cause I can’t remember the last time
you kissed my forehead ever so gently
Your kisses aren’t the same
But whose to blame
I remember the time when I could fall asleep in your arms
I hated how those pictures of me passed out They didn’t do any justice for my girlish charms..
I thought you knew me and my insecurities
I thought I knew you but I look at you now and I don’t know who is standing in front me
I’m sure you feel the same
I don’t know how it got to this to point
and I sure as hell don’t know who to blame..
What if it could be a good thing
Maybe the birth of our son will give us a new song to sing
I still want to be your wife but
I guess I should be grateful that I’ll always be in your life
I always wanted to have your child, I wanted at least four.
I don’t know where you’ll be after you walk out that door..
And I’ve never been so scared
Never thought the day would come where I wouldn’t be spared
Will you ever come back?
You’re harder to reach the further you fade to black..

The chalky Cliffs of Dover crumble in my fist.
Tucked away neatly in my pocket.
I have the power to become a person completely in control.
The tension seething in my chest no longer.
All I need is the key.
A simple motion not readily accepted by the masses.
'Tis not we who wait for the dust to settle but for the dust to settle we.
The reuptake of life hidden but always near.
We care not for the hands that pass the life from person to person.
For they could be from the grimiest of grim and still our hands are cupped for their foul crooked benevolence.
We are gods and what is purity without the soot and **** and **** to define it.
Synthetic courage and emotional restraint what more could the people want.
Only a few care for the real me, the anxiety, the truth.
Why pander the rest when I have complete control within a plastic seal, tucked neatly in my pocket.

We walked along
the flowered streets
and felt the gentle sunlight
dripping on our shoulders.
I think I smiled
for two days straight
and every laugh
was like the uncorking of champagne.
The buildings on either side of us were egg shell white
and just as delicate,
their slender bodies and effortless sophistication
somehow humble and full of history.
Every turn was met with unending beauty,
so much so that it made your eyes hurt
and your chest ache.
Winding streets slanted us in the right direction
and the smell of fresh bread, crepes
and something without a name
made our stomachs feel warm and full
and rumble too.
The dirtiest newsagents was a palace
and the grimiest bar the same,
the topsy turvy,
tipsy language in the air adding instant elegance
to the ***** walls,
the filth on the table tops somehow romantic.
We left the city
and it whispered goodbye,
through the car horns honking
and the dogs barking,
a melody most sublime.
We left the city
but it never left us.

i love like a mangled dog,
rummaging through the grimiest corners
for some sort of semblance
of tranquility disguised as chaos

fangs constantly bared
but ceaselessly yearning
to be a subject of someone’s affection

tell me,
how do i stop loving like this?
contorted. star-eyed. gullible.

tell me,
how do i stop being loved
with anything but love?

until then,
i’ll still wait for you by the porch
tied on a leash too close to my pulse.

i’ll keep on waiting.
(when) are you coming back?
are you coming back?

I want to become defenseless to you.
No walls, no hidden emotions, just me.
Just you and I, lying on your bed, talking, things that I have drowned with my bare hands because I couldn't face it anymore.
Excavate my burial grounds with you fine hands,
I want to show you the dirtiest, grimiest parts of me.
I want you to know that I am not afraid, not afraid of what could or could not happen between us.
I want you to believe that there is no part of me unseen.
Exposing every inch of my body to your piercing eyes

Look. I can't change the way that things happened or how they will. I can't prevent you from crying or even hurting at all, and I know that's my own fault. I've stopped time for you but I can't change time in itself, I can't change what happened or how I reacted or all of the things that I'm ashamed of. I'm just. I'm tired of pretending I'm some saint who can fix everything that happened I don't want to pretend for you, you don't deserve that, I've pretended way too much..
If I can stop the world from changing as slowly and effectively as it does.. for you.. for just a second. I just want to show you what you look like to me now and in this moment; so beautiful; so strong and consistent; so deserving.
You'll never listen fully to everything I have to say and you'll never grasp the concept of the fact that you deserve things far better than me. To quote the analogy of a friend.. you're a 50¢ coin.. I'm a penny. I'm the grimiest, most rusted, two faced, over used penny you'll ever see, ever meet, ever know. You know me. And I'm so sorry for the hell that that brings you.
I'm a bitter bully who drags you out, out of her way, into every beautiful place you've ever known and I leave myself there, in a kiss, in a touch, in the whisper of your name until you blame yourself for why you hate them and can never and will never return.

i once walked from Boulevard Pershing,
near the hotel Concorde Lafayette to the west of Paris city centre
300 metres from the metro station Porte Maillot
to... the 3 ducks hostel... 6 Pl. Etienne Pernet...
upon arrival i was welcome by an American
bartender... and when asked how my journey was...
well, i walked...
you walked?!
yeah... i walked... my first time in Paris...
like my first time in Stockholm... solo... in a hostel...
upon landing it really was a city of lights...
the Eiffel tower was my beacon and my hypnotism...
once upon a time i had that pet project
of going to capital cities alone...
Athens... well... i thought: Venice might be better
than Rome...
i sure as hell i visited Berlin... i was going
to hit on Prague before... the last year & some happened...
3 years in Edinburgh: i wish there were more...
London dragged me back in...
but... it's one thing to walk in a capital city...
taking the public transport...
it simply doesn't allow you to sample the entire:
horizon of the city... the nooks & crannies that
otherwise: a bicycle ride allows...
just today i thought... enough of this area of
makeshift London that's being eaten up...
that the county of Essex is willing to give up...
i need to get some urban salt on my face:
you do return from a heavily urbane area
with a residue on your face that looks like
***** salt... but feels like the purest of sands...
from circa Havering-atte-Bower...
a little village on the hill with Bower Wood
Havering County park... oh... i'd say
1 mile from my home...
from there to Canary Wharf via Canning Town...
via Barking...
taking the CS3... i passed... just after leaving
Barking i came across architecture i can only
best describe as...
postmodernism "gothic"...
            gothic architecture looks menacing...
so did all i passed...
but it was gothic tinged with postmodernism...
it was very much cubism meets Lowry...
although there's this very short segment
of the CS3 where you ride past the
recycling centre at Beckton...
all shaded by trees and a roundabout
underpass... the route becomes very narrow
and there are just enough turns to make you
galvanize your speed a little...
it's a brutal landscape... Barking in general
is brutal... it feels very much like:
Babylon with Pyramids... but the sun was shining
today: and you know what happens
when sunshine glees over Glasgow:
it can almost feel like Edinburgh...
sunshine elevates everything... just like Edward Hopper
said: i just want to paint sunlight...
even the grimmest: grimiest of place can
be elevated & it doesn't have to feel all ******...
before arriving at Barking i had to pass through
the multicultural hub of Ilford Lane...
sari shops... halal butchers...
as a white immigrant: since i'm not... English
per se: by the demands of "born & bred"...
& even thought i was the only one of about
3 white, male faces... it somehow didn't bother me...
seems like being a minority has had its perks
all along!
Asians girls looked at you like some curiosity
equivalent to a spice mixture of cumin,
cardamom, coriander... cinnamon...
must be the suntan: the copper-neck appeal
i sometimes acquire in the summer months...
if these people are "supposedly" conquering these
lands... do they think their...
high-spiritedness and vigour will not
wane under the scrutiny of the weather?!
i sampled some of their imam rhetoric...
yes yes... but once all the english girls have been
vehicles for **** & revenge and rooted out...
while the white boy'ohs are not reproducing with them?
where's the revenge going to come from?
that desert is going to dry up...
these people will return to their own
sacred rites of: oculus per oculus...
an eye for an eye... no?
i'm starting to see the bigger picture... the tomorrow:
i'm starting to like living with a minority status...
it's called Darwinism: proper...
not Darwinism upon inception: with all
that eugenic crap: let cousins **** cousins!
this is... how a species adapts...
i can't exactly grow a pair of wings or become
invisible... i make concessions...
i adapt by... well... making compensation
leverages...
if i'm not a white: native of these lands...
i'll fit in such fine: or so i hope...
after all... a monochromatic society makes much
for nausea... esp. when i return to Warsaw...
my grandmother is still living... when she dies...
though... what reason will i have to visit that
old... fable of a land of my birth?
the English in me is already my own...
i own it...
i'm not just going to give it up...
like i won't give up reading philosophy books in
****** since... they make no ****** sense to me in English:
i'll just read them in one language...
and translate myself an interpretation...
that's how it's going to work...
it worked just fine up to now...
why should it stop?
come to think of it... what happens in eastern vs.
western households?
oh you know:
in western households if a man / woman is still living
with their parents... rather than:
living alone... & paying rent to some stranger...
for some hope of reaching some one night stand quota...
then they're LOSERS...
there's a particular spice to this word...
it's best associated with Sichuan Pepper...
that tongue numbing sensation best associated
with: how the French & the English slowly: but surely...
lost the trill of the R...
there's not much to LOSE when the fatalism
of mortality has your ***...
there's only a waiting game while
some people amass more... and have to give it all
up or... leave it to... failed ******* sons
akin to: how the amassing of wealth & prestige of
the Krupp family became
  Arndt von Bohlen und Halbach....
these supposed "losers"... amass nothing...
leaving nothing... all the better for it...
at least not a dead-end lineage... just dead-end
per se...
but... i can clean around the house... take care
of the cats... be a custodian to the affairs
of the "estate": make a variation of tortellini
with a beetroot borsch...
and... chances are... i will not see my parents
enter an old-people's home...
neglected: relegated to merely a dementia
status...
clingy or... how do those eastern
inter-generational households fair...
compared to the west's championing
of individualism when...
  rent goes **** knows' where: Arab moguls?
two fine examples...
one door down a Nigerian couple in their 60s...
their son & daughter still live at home...
two doors down a Sikh couple likewise
living with their son & daughter...
their son recently managed to throw a houseparty
that attracted circa 30 guests...
oddly enough: he wasn't regarded as a: LOSER...
opposite my house: an English household...
the younger daughter will be moving two doors
down parallel to my house with her would-be hubby...
so she will be in: screaming distance from her
mother's home...
if i am to be paying rent?!
to some anonymous ghost face ****...
forget it!
Darwinism doesn't imply: adapt to the hard-earned
orthodoxy of eugenics in tow:
after all... eugenics came prior to Darwinism:
i don't care much for Darwinism...
i didn't care much for the Copernican inversion
of whether it's a heliocentric or a geocentric model...
in terms of perspectives and coordination:
orientation: i need the "flat-earth" model
to get from X to Y... i don't exactly need
a Z... unless i'm... ******* sailing!
but even then... "Z" doesn't require me the allowance
of... "the earth isn't flat"...
sure as **** it does... if i'm going
from X to Y... no?
the anglo-saxon households will fall, last...
when it comes to inter-generational living
"fall-outs"... i don't mind the periodic celibacy
patterns... if i feel the urge to "get some"
after one of my feline companions entices me too much
while grooming her:
i'll ******* to the brothel and get it over & done with...
i don't need a dating app to... waste my time over...
dating apps... i so *******
oblivious to their existence i can ast least attest
that happens in real life...
i'm also out to not crave ambitions for
offspring... funny how that works...
well... so who's going to take care of you?
me... with the proper incisions when the game is up...
i figured out around cruxes on my body where bloodflow
is concentrated...
under my right-arm-pit...
in my neck... all that's required is a hot bath...
and plenty of mr. whiskers und ms. amber...
i mean: for ****'s sake...
reinterpret Darwinism with individualism:
the "premise" stands:
i will not give up my private library collection...
cooking food others enjoy...
ownership of two cats... but still "living" with my
parents for... four empty ******* walls...
and a chance to somehow... merely...
bring back a dating partner for nothing more
than a fling...
it's like that quote i heard about Neopolitan cooking:
minimum effort: maximum satisfaction...
that's all life has to be...
mind you: is it so... ******* unbearable
to not be able to love your parents, esp. when you can?
i'm always put off my white, western women,
they want too much...
they're never of interest to me:
i know what game they're playing...
i never heard of a herd of "individuals"...
sure... rent... but we can **** in the garden...
in the forest... like this one spice-up i picked up
off of a park bench... a Thai Surprise...
we ****** in the garden... so?
Darwinism without a superiority complex
of the people who conjured it up...
can become... refreshingly... revelatory...
you just don't need to line other people's pockets...
i never used darting apps... never felt a dire
greed to do so...
CS3 is fine while cycling towards Canary Wharf...
i like the grift... the grift...
but the CS2 from Ilford towards St. Paul's...
it's great *** Mile End: on your way back...
but little Bangladesh coming in...
it leaves me with a distaste... too much of
Asia... not enough European postmoderist
"gothic" grit.... nothing too much familiar with
industrialisation...
coming back on the Bow overpass
at Stratford... an Asian couple...
let's just leave a tinge of scrutiny on her...
she looked like Cindarella: before donning
on her ****-up make-up and her glass
stiletto...
she pushed the various traffic buttons
and
stood... in the middle of the bicycle route...
thank god i was d0nning my sunglasses..
it's impossible...
i was eyeing her up...
she was eying me up...
her boyfriend was next to her...
eh... the niqab does little...
easier to don a pair of sunglasses:
if the concept of playing poker arrived for the Arabs
"too late":
i'm pretty sure the ninja attire could be made
simultaneous to the niqab...
chicken or the egg...
did the niqab give birth to the ninja
attire, or what it...             ?

but there's a trajectory where household living
resembles little what: investment in
wholesale looks like...
i like to think of Darwinism as a way
to adapt...
to make concessions...
  they're not pretty concessions...
as an ape... supposedly... i can hardly make
peacock remarks... or therefore:
peacocking... years later though...
but by then...
the fear of exploitation will summon
a paranoia in me of diabolical proportions...

i will have to summon: ****! mode.

that being said... CS2 ius great on your way back from
Canary Wharf.... to... the outskirts of...
what is London... what isn't London...
best life in Paris, though...
best life after life's over: Edinburgh: for sure...
in that respect... London's traffic.

they find hair in unusual places.
Some grow under noses,
as spikey thorns in roses.
Some sprout out of chins
as pointy silver pins.

They’re so long
you could hang your bathrobe on.
They’re sharp enough to scour
the grimiest bathroom shower.

We pluck them
bleach them
wax them
even shave them

But they grow back
just as the dandelions on our front lawn.
And not only that
but they come in thicker.

I could grow a mustache, even a beard
if I kept them there.
I thought it was bad enough
when I had to shave the hair under
my arms and legs!