there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
drift
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore

the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect

children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn

the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge

harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light

cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay

I know that you stare when you see the black hoody
The confusion in eyes when i say i'm no bully
I own but one hoody and black was my preference
I'm not grim nor unfriendly but you hate my presence
You look in discomfort when i walk on by
As you fake a smile i whisper a "Hi."
I know you dislike how I've chosen to dress
But the eyes of the blind would be truly impressed

In winter I bundle up tight in layers of warmth
Like a love I've never felt
Draping scarf over hoody over sweater over skivvy
The wind bites my button nose and reminds me of a love
A love I know too well
Bitter cold brief sickening and harsh
I catch my eye in an ice smitten mirror and I'm torn
My eyes look like hell
How could anyone love me like warmth and fall
For this fat face of shame, tears and freckles
Even if they do
They'll never tell.

A world in colour lies
                semi-distant, semi realised,
A near-forgotten future exsanguinates, yearning
              in the weakened glow, of infinite winter morning.
The voice, the voices, the voiceless, my anger, my age,
                Pan-millennial youth in coming years will fade,
It will carry duvet and pillow from hateful home
                to halfway-house until half way home
It will make all its hearts into the shape of cardboard,
                blemish the fire with chemical ****, **** hard,
It will seek forgiveness at the steps of screen,
                beat asthmatic chests, fingers, ribs and seams,
It will see itself cower in the horrible light of mirror,
               sail to the sun on wings of fakes lashes,
And it will burn, burn not in forgiving hangover sodium,
                but burn in the eye of a guilt yet to come,
And it will drown, drown at the blessing of the water,
               drown at its birth time and time over,
And it will wound, wound in scythe and cushion comfort,
                wound the waking dream in Siamese horror of sorts,
And it will leave strangled in the cords of its university hoody,
                leave alone at night, touch itself and cry.

Bursting rhythm from the panopticon, viewing all aspects
                of itself engulfed in ex-disney coloured acid
                spewing forth from the desired wreck,
Hurtling profound and profane into and beyond
                ******* and love and love and *******,
                *****-tinged snows lubricating seasons onward into each other,
Gut-busting, gut-busting, gut-busting societal downpour to harridan office
                from liquor dormitory, escaping and elevating
                on citalopram or selegiline,
The surgeons and nurses, the poets and builders, ever restless
                at the unbolted door, screaming into their unread palms,
                comparing varying hell to holy water lakes of others,
Sipping the dew from paradise wing, discontent with all
                in purgatory-England whilst licking the knee
                of America and imagined Europe,
Wanking itself dry at the lottery of thought,
                crude reckonings spiralling sugar into salt
                landing on the tongue of want,
Feeling crucified at the Atheist tea party,
                climbing the cross of trend
                supplying own milk and nails,
Unwanting in the chrysalis, ignoring coming candles
                but fantasising a thousand symmetrical suns
                to limited avail and idea.

But idea there will be, birthed, blood-hungry
                gnawing at the heel ‘til bare bone,
And it will rip apart fat riddled arteries,
                Deconstruct, Reconstruct all the bodies and the cites,
And it will write and spell all the words wrong
                realising that what ‘they’ are selling is sign language for the blind,
And it will note of itself as harsh but not unkind,
                reject bribe bread and water be it divided or divined,
And it will say of cartography “No need as of yet,
                I have seen men lost in the lining of a suit,
Crying into their shoes, uncombed, unfettered, unfertilised, without hope,
                after laughing into empty lakes.”
We can each say “My God, my empty sky, my cartoon prophet, my local MP,
                I have seen everything and want none of it,
                I am alone in a narrow shape of time,
                watching us all unfurl to the scent of burning feathers and hair,
                to the sound of punctured veins.”
We watch silent litanies for graceful pardons of filth,
                in “Amen” then nothing,
We watch our age’s world rend lung
                through hollow cheeks and air in our bones,
We watch ourselves into eyes or no eyes at all
                watch ourselves read last lines and then
                watch ourselves realise and whimper
                from ulcerated gut, tongue or pen,
                the everlasting knell…

                “…And it will happen again…”

An Oklahoma politician
wants to outlaw hoodies
in the hood

It's true, it must be
I read it in Fox News  :)

I'd sooner be in Missouri or Cleveland
or New York City where you don't have to
wear a hoody or raise your hands to get shot


There are other things more pressing
than hoodies in the hood
that don't need ironing

like hoods in suits
and the elephant in the room
that needs shooting.

eye sometimes go to bed wearing an old hoody. It has a metal zipper  to close the front and the zipper is always cold, unpleasantly so, on my bare skin.  After awhile though, my body temperature warms the metal just enough, that it is no longer a cause of discomfort though the metal still remains inherently cool to the touch

While science can easily explain this I guess, I felt this to be a major miracle.  That flesh pliable and heart-heated to 98 degrees could conquer the molecules of metal that were made in China struck me as extra ordinary (always two words, please!) and nothing short of a personal intervention by a personal deity

When I put the hoodie on at first I would think
******* (that's cold)
When I awoke, cosy and warm, I would think
******* (that's so cool)

having studied philosophy in Cleveland,
I knew that the logic of the situation,
what I had experienced was not an
interregnum, but the invisible intervening handiwork of god, who, also knocked my glasses from the nightable to the floor,
just cause she/ he was in a bad mood, on account of having to come such a long way, just,
to reheat me
one more time.

“Have you seen the chicichita?
I have waited hours to meet her.
I’ve been lurking in the wood
And truly, truly, mean no good.
I am hid behind this tree
Hoping that she won’t see me;
Her Mom will send her to see Gran
And I will catch her if I can!
I know she’ll have to pass this way;
So now I’m here, it’s here I’ll stay.
My teeth are sharp, clean and shining;
It will be no good her whining.
We are miles from Granny’s house,
Where it’s quiet as a mouse.
She can run and scream and shout
There will be no one about.
I think today I’m on a winner;
I’m going to eat her for my dinner.
Here she comes all dressed in red
With her hood upon her head.
Wait a minute, if I can,
I’ll go with her to visit Gran.
Then when my day’s works complete
There’ll be two of them to eat.”
“Where you off to on your own?
Don’t you feel unsafe alone?”
“I am off to visit Gran.”
“Well I’ll escort you if I can?”
“No!  You can’t!  I’m in a rush!”
She knocked him over with one push.
He followed her but had a trip;
That’s when the girl gave him the slip.
At Gran’s cottage, she was smiling, but
The Wolf had made a smart short-cut.
He was waiting in Gran’s bed
With the covers pulled about his head.
Gran was tied-up out of sight;
Following her awful fright!
The girl cried out. Good God, Oh Grief!
Twas then she’d seen the eyes and teeth.
This was not Gran; she was undone,
It looked as if the Wolf had won!
“Where is Gran?”  She screamed and cried;
Believing that her Gran had died!
Now she was terrified and scared
But in the woods someone had heard.
In he dashed, with chopper waving
Knowing Wolf was misbehaving.
The Cutter chased him round the bed
Threatening to chop-off his head!
Wolf realized he’d lost the fight
And off he ran into the night!
In the cupboard, they found Gran;
Red Riding Hood then thanked the man.
His arrival, just in time
Means a happy-ending to this rhyme!

She walks the woods
Stays the night
Everyday at her Grandma's house

He knows the path
Walks with her
Silently he stalks her

"It's not me, it's the wolf"
She swears to her Granma's ghost
"He dug my skin up for treasures"

Found the bones of a pretty young girl
Hiding behind her bright blonde curls
Shed her skin on the side of the road

Picked up her coat and put on a show
"I will go to Grandma's home
And eat her heart out like a wounded soul"

She uses the last of her dying breath
To call out to the lumberjack
"He went all the way to my Grandma's cottage

He wears a disguise, my great red cape and hoody
Don't
Mistake him for another hooligan
He's the big bad wolf and he'd eat you in an instant"

Every time, I pass by an In-N-Out I remember that night we went to a show in Sacramento.
You, driving your van full of people and hopes and laughs and drugs,
pulled up in front of the school around 5 o'clock on a rainy January afternoon.
I hopped in, immediately overwhelmed by the love I took the back seat to myself.
In front of me was Jena, wearing her blue and purple sweater that I always will remember by.
Next to her was Fritz, dressed in his usual attire consisting of a hoody and jeans.
Next to him was Shelby, a girl I had not had the pleasure of spending time with before that night.
She didn't say much throughout the whole night nor has she since then.
Riding shotgun was Dylan, another person I had not hung out with before. He was busy mixing shisha and hash oil and I don't blame him for not saying hello.
And you, Tyler, you were driving. And as we drove with the windows down, your hair whipped around.

Almost as soon as we were on our way, I was packing spliff, courtesy of Shelby into a pipe, courtesy me.
We got it burning, just as we reached the highway and not long after that the hookah, courtesy Fritz, was slowly burning the hash-shisha concoction, courtesy Dylan.
I remember not saying much, except when we sang along to some rap song that I could not tell you the name of now.
And at one point, after the spliff had all been smoked and quick hooka session  had concluded Dylan turned around and asked me something I could not make out.
I replied back to him with a what and he again asked an non-understandable question, only this time I said "Sorry, I can't hear you, I'm really high."
Everybody in the van laughed and Tyler said she loved me and Fritz patted me on the back and Shelby turned around and smile at me.
Maybe a half hour after we left we stopped at In-N-Out for some beautiful Double-Doubles.
Once we got our food we began to understand that we had ordered not Double-Doubles but regular hamburgers. Albeit we were very put off by this, it did little to ruin our night.

I can only remember brief portions of that night.
I remember being dropped off at the curb of a punk rock show Shelby and I were attending.
I remember meeting our friends Lukas and Dakota, who are dating, inside.
I remember standing watching the bands, thinking of God knows what.
I remember walking two blocks to a parking lot the van was parked in.
I remember getting in, again overwhelmed by the love and this time, smoke.
I remember Lukas and I went outside to smoke a cigarette.
I remember a local coming up to us and asking us for a light.
I remember talking to him about something. The weather, perhaps.
I remember hugging Lukas good bye and getting in the van.
I remember falling asleep.
I remember waking up at a gas station where the tank was filled, courtesy Fritz.
I remember getting home.
I remember the laughs
and the smoke
and Lukas
and Fritz
and Tyler
and Jena
and Shelby
and Dakota
and Dylan.
I remember the love.

Behind tinted windows we all have battles that rage
Its only what's on the surface we
can see

There's the girl you called a **** for being pregnant
There's the boy you made fun of for crying
There's the girl you shoved in the halls
The boy you called lame
The boy you beat up for kissing another boy

Behind tinted windows we all have battle that rage
Its only what's on the surface we can see

She was *****
His mother is dying
She's already being abused at home
He has to work nights to support his family
That's his only reason to live

Behind tinted windows we all have battles that rage
Its only what's on the surface we can see

Her sweatpants and hoody provoked him
Cancer is a *****
Her father is a drunk
His father is in a wheelchair and can't work
His family told him they'd rather him dead than gay

Behind tinted windows we all have battles that rage
It's only what's deep inside we can't see

Dear Poet,

I do not know you; yet I know exactly who you are.
I do not know your name; I know the verbs and the adjectives and the metaphors that can sprout in your mind like a flower ready to bloom at two o'clock in the morning. You're afraid, I know. You're afraid to open up to another person because you've been let down time and time again. You find it hard to trust people. No one knows how you feel except for that precious notepad and your favourite pen. Replace the paintbrush with a pencil and the canvas with some paper, and darling, you are an artist. Your world is coloured through the scribbled words in the margins of your study sheets, and the inspiration you get when you discover something amazing. The inspiration to write. To write about what's good in this world, to write about what's bad, about what makes you happy and what makes you sad.
You are not defined by your name. You are not defined by what others think about you. You are not defined by the way you see yourself in the mirror, or the way you interact with others. Instead, you are defined by your favourite colours. You are defined by the beautiful moments you have learned to capture in a single photograph. You are defined by the stories you tell about that day when you were 10 years old. You are defined by the songs you listen to when you're home alone. The movies that you watch; especially the ones that can make you break down in tears no matter how many times you've seen it. But most importantly, you are defined by the words you write. The string of thoughts that you could never say out loud. The words you should have said to that certain person can be told through your poems, and the words that you shouldn't have said can be scrubbed out with an eraser in the fraction of a second. See, this is why you matter.
You matter because you are a poet. You are not just an ordinary person; you have a passion like no other. You see things that the world does not; like the beauty of a sunset or the meaning behind a song or the sadness hidden through a smile. You over-analyse everything, but that's okay because you are a poet. You can find a reason to write just because of something someone said to you, or a good day, or a bad day. In fact, you cherish the bad days because those are the times when your writing shines like the sun coming up after a long day of rain.
You are so beautiful, and everyone can see it but you. You look in the mirror and count each and every flaw you see. You wish you could be prettier, you wish you could be happier, you wish you could be like the popular kids at your school. You wish you could play sports instead of hiding out in your room all day writing a bunch of crap. But it's not crap... It is the most pure and absolutely extraordinary thing in this world. Why? Because you are a poet. Your words are who you are. Don't you dare become popular; don't you dare change who you are. You are a poet. You are unique. You are so, so beautiful.
Hands stained with ink, pencil behind your ear, notebook hidden in your back pocket. No make-up, hair pulled up, wearing your comfiest hoody. You don't have brand name clothing, or an expensive car. You don't go out partying, or eat at fancy restaurants. Why? Because you are a poet. You drink tea, not wine. You wear sweatpants, not dresses. Converse, not stilletos. You are not a model. You are not an actress. You are not like the others.
You are not outgoing. In fact, you are extremely quiet and shy. But you are kind, so so kind. You care about others, not yourself. You are the listener, not the talker. You are the nurturer. You are the lover of books, of literature, of English. You are a poet.
I do not know you. But I hope to meet you one day, I hope to share my poems with you and cry over sappy love stories and get drunk off tea with you. Why? Because you are a poet. And so am I.

Sincerely yours,
Another Poet

Go under water and breathe in.

2. Take your dinner knife and push it through your heart. Slowly.

3. Open up your skull, and fill it with bees. Dance around a bit to aggravate them.

4. Stare into the sun without blinking.

5. Stick your tongue to a stop sign pole when the temperature is below zero.

6. Walk across a fire pit. Hell, just stand still in the middle.

7. Run as fast as you can and hit the corner of your counter with your hip bones.

8. Bite on your lower lip until it bleeds.

9. Lie on the ground and have someone put rocks onto your chest.

10. Pour grits on the floor and kneel upon them. You'll bleed some, but that's okay.

10. Go outside during an autumn evening with a sweatshirt on. Do you feel that breeze?

9. Read the Bible and wonder why God didn't tell anyone to write a book solely about you.

8. Play with children.

7. Stay up late and watch your favorite shows under thick blankets and pillows.

6. Put up Christmas lights and turn off all the others and think of how happy you were in every Christmas you've ever had.

5. Go to your local ball park and catch a game.

4. Look at how the stars match the same constellations in your eyes.

3. Go camping and wake up early. Make sure you make hot chocolate and fried potatoes and wear a hoody the whole trip.

2. Read poetry and sit at the ocean.

1. Fall in love with yourself too.

with hands in pocket
a man shrugs to gravelly days
feet kicking pebbles

When did the measure of your worth become a brand?
Banded sneakers, streaking vibrance,
vibrating mobile nuzzled in hand.

These do not make you.

Backward cap, for a new era,
sagged pants, swagger stance
for this hoodlum hoody wearer.

These do not make him.

Gucci bags and other tags,
designer purse, cursing contraband,
fake names make her gag.

But these do not make her.

They say don't judge a book by it's cover,
so why a person by their assets?
if it were asserted by another...

Belongings do not a person make.

Kindness, courage, compassion, heart,
personality, wisdom,
even a love of art.

These a person make.

Take some time to introspect,
inspect the way you see yourself,
You'll be happier for it I expect.

You make the person.

I am not not selling my soul to the devil tonight,
not for a 10 bob shilling note or a ***** hoody with your deep scent of pain lined within its seams.
I am not selling my nature,
for my nature has roots as big as the old oak tree that grows in the deepest forest and shelters those that seek.
I am not forgetting my place,
it's right here, next to you, by your side;
it's right here, in front of my son, holding his world in my arms, and his love in my heart;
it's right here, projecting from my heart, arms that encompass the world.
I am not drilling for oil,
I seek no riches from ill gotten gain,.
I am not your past journey,
I walked my own road to get here, i laid those bricks down piece by piece.
I am not who is knocking at your door,
for i am not the fear your heart dreads at that sound of that knock.
I am not here for you to sum up,
I am not a number, an equation or problem you have to solve.
I am not my emotions,
as they are an extension of me as my words are my mouth, and my actions from my hands.
I am not a box of wonder,
I am a clearly written masterpiece of wonder and intrigue, and i love the very soul of me.
I am not your head,
my arms lay weary at my side for the troubles you carry within your mind are too heavy for me to hold.
I am not a carnival horse,
that swings around and around, for applause, for the fame and the glory.
I am not a catch,
a fish, a lock to a door, a bubble to burst.
I am not a master, a magician, a hooligan or a carpet burn *****
I am here, open, here, honest, here, just here.
I am not,
I am not,
I am not, you.

Black Chuck Taylor's, with motor
oiled stained laces,
always match

Black V-necks or a shirt of any
color with a Black
zip-up hoody

Blue jeans, stone washed, brand
new, old pair, new style,
always denim

Black matches everything,
looks classy, hard to keep
clean

But when blue and purple,
orange and green,

and some shades of green
and yellow look the same,

Fashion isn't so fun and shopping
becomes an exercise in humility

"Excuse me miss, does this shirt
match this tie?"

"Excuse me sir, but can you tell me
what color shirts I can wear with
these shoes?"

The world doesn't understand.
I don't see the same colors of
the world and I'm clothed
Black

not from depression,
no, not that depression,
a different kind

The kind that's only mine

The kind that can stand by you
and watch a different sunset,

The kind that sees different hues
in A Starry Night,

The kind that would love to paint,
but can't even draw the lines
to color inside of, much less
paint the right colors in the first place

It's crazy to think of seeing the world
through another's eyes
but if we ever figure it out
Hold my spot in line.

Up the stairs and then right.
Down the hall, 2a, 2b, 2c.
Here it is.
Unlocking the door, finding the light switch, lights on.
Kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom.
So here I am.
Backpack on bed.
Check pockets, phone, wallet, change, keys, cigarettes, and lighter.
Lighter works.
Check wallet, I.D., license, gift card, another gift card.
Just in case.
Library card
Never.
Blood donor card, cash.
$43.
$20 in the dresser and $23 back in the wallet.
3 sets of clothes, boxers, black ankle socks, shirts, one long sleeve, shorts and 1 pair of jeans.
Hang up hoody, clothes in the dresser.
Toiletries, deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste on the counter.
Shampoo and soap in the shower.
Razor in the cabinet.
Need food.
Shopping or celebration?
Celebration.
Lights off, out the door, locked, down the hall, stairs, lobby, door.
Outside, check cigarettes.
17.
Smile.

Remember that day so long ago when a simple question turned into the rest of our lives. When for the first time ever the public bus was a good thing. Where we sat and talked for 2 hours about  lives we had basically made up to feel good about the people we were ashamed we had turned out to be. Where my love for aviators started. My passion for you became evident. Remember all those times you would run around the block with me before school or sit with me on the side walk as we watched cody and ashley loss there selfs I'm a cloud of smoke we knew we were to good for. Remember how mad you got and beat the crap out of clayton. That day I officially excepted that i found you attractive. Or the day I wrote all over you! That day I asked you to write me a note for my memory book just to see if you might have some interest! How mad i would get at cody and call you instead. How calming your presents was to me.
Remember that day when you became a part of my family. You came to my lame 15th birthday party even though you had ran a 5k that morning and would have much rather be sleeping. Or the cake I smashed in to your face ever party! Remember those nights by the fire or freshman year trying to sink our schedules to bump into each other in the hall way.
Remember the day i was crying the first day you ran to make sure i was okay. The first day my mom was just okay with you always popping in whenever and that day we went to the car show. That way your hand and mind met for the first time in the most masterpiece way. The first time u kissed me in the back of sals truck and all the jokes sal and ethan had about it. When I used to get rides from sal or ethan or dad just to get over to your house or when your mom or dad had to pick us up! Or preparing for a 45 minute walk home. Because we were young and had a curfew. Do u remember rolling around in that field and finding our bench all our inside jokes and small meaningless walks all our cuddles and kisses. I never thought they would mean so much to us. Remember that day i felt at home in your house and in your arms. I stood behind a wall and you told your parents you had finally brought your girlfriend home and all they could say was "ITS ABOUT TIME!" And "FINALLY" we forget from time to time how much we have how much we have built and how many people truly hope we work. Remember that first November when we used to cuddle on opposite ends of the couch! We found out just how much we trusted each other then we re-roofed my house! The first time you left for Drew's for a weekend and i spent the night at ur house! Remember sitting 10 hours at a speech tournament for me. And bringing me coffee! Remember All our pooptart and shared juice box's In the morning. All our "7:30 matt get up, where are you, get to school!" Mornings all our defeats and homework help! All your XC runs and the first home track meet. The alton track meet first time I really meet your dad. We got lost and went to the wrong school! All those times I just chill with your mom! All those random photoshoots! All those nights helping me with speeches or calling because i had something to read to you! Remember our first christmas.. That is a good one or the 100 Skype calls!
Backset photos and mall trips or scrabble games at midnight ... cheap cereal dates or all those times u bought me food at 1/2 past hella late! The time you called me in need of help or the times i call u in worried tears!  Remember that time that bee stung ur lip .. Im sorry for laughing but it was funny and all those times i beat u in wrestling ... Im still sorry about that smack or the multiple i have given you at this point... And all those times things got to much and i would just go home. Do u remember going bowling and how competitive you are but i swear you go easy on me or the way that whole first summer we swore we were going to go to the batting cages! All the " i hate you" stuff because we didn't know how great an I love you felt! Remember that time you almost killed me for dyeing my hair red! all those times we just cuddled in peace! Remember those trophies, metals  and ribbons that you hate but I'd hang up for you anyways. Im so proud of you for accomplishing such hard goals! This one is for the first time going to the Muny. Do u remember what we saw? Dodododo (clap clap) dodododo(clap clap) that was one of the best night. what a good way to spend our 9 month anniversary! Remember all those "i have the hoody" or the " no thats my shirt or no that my jacket" notes in our locker or that week we tried sharing a locker. That didnt work at all! Remember all those spontaneous $5 or less dates! Those are really nice thats what I missed the most this summer. Remember how horrible Suessical was but that lady was hilarious and Bunny and Paul talked about her with such class when they said "well bless her heart shes loving doing her thing!" Sophomore year was so crazy with all the camping and the fighting and what not! With all the random notes in my bed room in various places or selfie fall photos that surprisingly turned out amazing! That hippy day that was so existing but more happy about how great we looked for superhero day! And how everyone commented because you know sometimes showing off our relationship is cute (saids the 100 selfies on insta of us!) remember the stress of one year photos we really should have more chill. that was one crazy night! Talking about crazy nights don't think i forgot about Saturday in fact i was listening to a Tim MaGraw song and it totally made me cry just thinking about Saturday !   #TypicalGirlyCrap!  Or all those hammock or fire date nights!!!  Do u remember Halloween and all the walking we did to get back to your house !!! Holy crap we walked a good 5 miles! Or all those nights we left party's early and crashed on papas floor! Did you know they frown upon that a lot! REMEMBER CHRISTMAS THIS YEAR WHEN I TOTALLY DOMINATED AT AIR HOCKY! Not going to lie thinking back to sophomore year i don't wish it didn't happen but it wasn't a good year and I'm very glad that it is passed us to be honest! Remember valentines day and all the really sick crap that followed i really hope that **** doesn't happen again this year.  Because i may loss my **** if i have  to hold your hand and watch you get an I.V. 1 more time! Well we are 1 year and 9 days more then the 9 months when I started writing this and its crazy all the things i had to leave out that we have also fought through but when 'insert who ever wrote this quotes name' said " you shouldn't be worried when you are fighting be worried when you stop because then you have nothing more to fight for!" That is 100% correct! And i love you more then you will ever know Mattie Kline above all remember that!  

Btw the surgery you helping with  recovery ..  yah u the real mvp lol

A poor room homed me in the childhood
With cold stone walls and a leaky stove;
Some days were spent under cover
With a hoody, a hat and pair of glove.


Nathless, there was no poverty of food;
My mother managed well the stew
With rice, potatoes and some carrots,
Her care cook'd a lot out of few.


Beside, the careless neighbours stood
With a lil bowl of sugar and eggs,
Trading on a sip of juice for gossips,
Paying the fee of the one who begs.


Way-outie, we were never even gloomy;
Despite the days of water and light off,
Mother managed the waves of hardship
Like the sailor's star never falling off.


Is a grace of God, the unfortunate broom
In which I scarce tasted thick happiness?
Sugar tastes sour after golden honey;
For rich, my treasure was unhappiness.


I enjoyed the oxford blue sky of the moon
While mom sweeped the streets for stubs,
I jumped up moon-high finding pennies
Far away the parties' hubhubs.


What a pity I feel now, for all the poor
Who had money, goods and no misery;
They know nothing what is life like,
But for true rich, life itself is glittery.

If you see my ex girlfriend can you tell her,
tell her i took her t-shirt and ripped it up,
tell her i made something good, **** good out of it;
can you tell her, tell her,
i still have her shelves she left me,
and on the shelves lies a card she wrote for me,
because it reminds me to be strong,
and tell her this card,
even thought it sits on her shelves,
it is no way a regard to thoughts of her, now, still.
Can you tell her,
I threw away all the kitten food i had left over,
I took the kittens to a new home,
because they would be better with someone else,
i thought, that was for the best,
can you tell her that?
Can you tell her that,
I miss her, but i don't mourn her,
I don't care to feel anything for her anymore,
as i look at the pictures,
i left of us, messing around,
in the park,
the two most beautiful girls we knew.
Can you tell her it took a year and another girl to get over her?
Can you tell her,
it was her that made me get over her?
In her hoody as i walked home,
from the night before,
i realised i had cried so many tears for the wrong person,
but i still loved who she was,
can you tell her?
Tell her that i love her and always will,
because there is something inside of me,
that is broken,
broken like a record,
and it never stops, going around, and around,
like she was the record player,
and i was the record,
and she scratched me,
and i was never the same.
And now can you tell her,
tell her that i killed me to love her,
and she should never be afraid to die for someone she loves,
because i want her to know,
that in the midst of all the broken pieces,
i was inside of her, outside of her, and had her,
but i never let her know,
because like a broken record,
i was stuck at the same spot from the last ride.
Can you tell her?
Tell her i think about the times she made me laugh,
and the time she officially asked me out,
and i had no clue,
and i loved her for that.
Can you tell her,
she is missed, and loved,
and though we will never be,
she played me a song i had never heard before,
and i fell in love with the music right then.
Can you tell her?

I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.

His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead

For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.

But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet, over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.

I'm always drawn to the silent kid
Pushed far back in the class.
Grungy hair, never cut back
Flipping his pencil in the air.
I thinks it redeemable that no one knows
Where he came from or where he goes.
It simply goes to show
That he keeps to himself and my curiosity grows.
I don't pine or crush or stalk him though,
I don't know him aside from the hoody logo.
The one he wears days in a row.
And when the teacher called him to speak
His voice was low but hardly meek.
Like a tone that no one hardly shows.
He rarely uses his voice to vocalize prose.
But when he spoke of religious concept
I could hear his sarcastic intellect.
"I don't believe but I accept. It's just a thought of perceptual inept."
That's when I knew I had to neglect
My learning endeavors and speak to this gent.
Inching closer to his desk
I start off slow and ask his opinion of certain text.
He broke his stare and turned it to me
Almost disbelieving I could see past his cloak of invisibility.
Very wary and abruptly short
He told be to turn around.
My brain screamed "abort!"
I lost this one but he was unaware
That we still had a few hours left in there.
And in his silent stubbornness
I simply sat and told him this.
"If William Blake was all devout then in The Tiger why was he calling God out?"
The boy rolled his eyes at me
"Did he who made the lamb make thee?"
Of course he did!
I already knew
That just for a second I was getting through.
"He wants to have the unfailing faith without getting whiny with trials and disbelief."
This took me aback and challengingly seethed,
"If you're defending him then why do you disbelieve?"
He raised his eyebrow in confusion, almost enjoying me
"Hey you're the one who first asked me? Don't ask me a question then mentally ***** at me."
I held back a smile and could instantly see
This shy kid and I would get along perfectly.
The he retorted first asking me,
"You're not some kind of Jesus freak?"
Laughing uncontrollably, I breathed,
"Of course not. Never touched the stuff. Grew up religiously but that was enough. God has my infancy but my adulthood belongs to me."
Then he stopped and looked at me...
I earned a smile
What a blessed sight to see.
And then we sat there together
Silently.
We waited days to exchange names
Though he was my shy kid
And I his crazy dame.
Conversing over theories
And explained
How ours were better.
"No, yours is lame."
We chuckled in the back of class
Quite content for the time to slowly pass
Borrowing pencils
Ripped pages from binded rings
With silent words scribbled
That we were quietly passing.
Never speaking of our other lives
Outside this class of mutual lies.
Just two hours of acceptance thrives.
I use him and he used me
To create a silent under towing
Of our ideas so different and refreshing
It was our home we invented without moving.
This shy kid and I
I can't explain
If you had one to yourself you wouldn't complain.
How honest and blunt you'd never expect them to be.
Go talk to one
You'd be surprised to see.

I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.

His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead

For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.

But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet— over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.

White nights, grey days,
Phosphorus and gin;
Graffiti-laden pavements,
Diamond rain and paraffin.

Chalk dust reveries,
Aerosols and spit;
Zero-hour freeways,
Magnetic parapets.

City high, city low,
Monoliths in drag;
Silent spaces, dwelling places,
A hoody and a bag.

Freestyle evangelists,
Salvation strikes a pose;
Train tracks, kitchen hacks,
The rapture and the snow.

If you see my ex girlfriend can you tell her,
tell her i took her t-shirt and ripped it up,
tell her i made something good, **** good out of it,
and it fit real well,
in all the places i've got left;
can you tell her, tell her,
i still have her shelves she left me,
and on the shelves full of heavy books and antique cameras,
lies a card she once wrote for me,
because it reminds me to be strong,
and tell her this card,
even though it sits on her shelves,
it is no way a regard to thoughts of her, now, still.
Can you tell her,
I threw away all the kitten food i had left over,
I took the kittens to a new home,
because they would be better with someone else,
i thought, that was for the best,
it was for the best,
can you tell her that?
Can you tell her that,
I miss her, but i don't mourn her,
I don't care to feel anything for her anymore,
as i look at the pictures,
i left of us, messing around,
in the park,
the two most beautiful girls we knew,
that i never deleted.
Can you tell her it took a year and another girl to get over her?
Can you tell her,
it was her that made me get over her?
In her hoody as i walked home,
from the night before,
i realised i had cried so many tears for the wrong person,
but i still loved who she was,
regardless,
can you tell her?
Tell her that i love her and always will,
because there is something inside of me,
that is broken,
broken like a record,
and it never stops, going around, and around,
like she was the record player,
and i was the record,
but something scratched me,
and i was never the same,
played in repeat, over and over, again,
a line sung of love, hate, misery and lust,
in a song that never stopped playing.
And now can you tell her,
tell her that i killed me to love her,
i wore my heart proudly,
bleeding on my chest,
from old battle scars and war wounds,
and tell her,
she should never be afraid to die for someone she loves,
because i want her to know,
that in the midst of all the broken pieces,
i was inside of her, outside of her, and had her,
but i never let her know,
because like a broken record,
i was stuck at the same spot from the last ride.
Can you tell her?
Tell her i think about the times she made me laugh,
really laugh til my soul fell out,
and the time she officially asked me out,
and i had no clue,
and i loved her for that
because she made it part of us.
Can you tell her,
she is missed, and loved,
and though we will never be,
she played me a song i had never heard before,
and i fell in love with her music right then.
Can you tell her?
She left a legacy, and changed the clocks when she left.
Can, you, tell her?

I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.

His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead

For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.

But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet, over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.

I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.

His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead

For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.

But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet, over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.

I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.

His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead

For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.

But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet, over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.

Nervously lighting another cigarette
My hands twitching and my head spinning
I look back at my trips to the city
With my first love, holding hands walking all over the island of Manhattan
Wearing my leather jacket, hoody and skull cap
Then, to my current love walking side by side holding doubt in one hand and self loathing in the other
She’s so good to me so why do I do the things I do?
I am a *****
I am a pig
I am a liar
A hypocrite
And a user
Or am I just dishonest to myself?
No not just to myself but to everyone
We walk through the Village with Scott and Tony
Laughing and seeing the street art
Drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes
Looking for the next stop of our interest
I think of the girl I’m seeing behind the curtains
Do I want her? She’s unsure as I am
Asking herself if she wants me
I don’t want me
I’ll do the same to her as I did to the others
I'll lie and build obelisks of false love stories
I was a believer in love
One and only one soul mate
But the pain changed that
Now I believe in making it work
But also free love
Or am I just a bitter ****?
I don’t know
She tells me she doesn't feel special
I don’t show her off like the one before her
It’s me not her
She gives me love, honesty good times
Social networks all blocked
No contact
Secret meetings and deleted conversations
I hide my tragic impulses
Everyone knows but not really, not at all
I kissed a man two nights ago, he wants me too
But I’m just looking for a good time
Am I just young and reckless?
Or am I stupid and remorseless
No, I’m not remorseless
I wouldn't be writing this of I wasn't
Then again this situation is just another trial
Another error, a tribulation
One step closer to finding out my limits and who I really am
If I leave her I am no better than then girl who left me
A drunken decision
A painful incision in the capillary of lust
The roads are blocked, good
I can’t make a decision without them being aware of the bigger picture
I bide my time
Time
Time heals all wounds but the scared are there until forever
My stomach is in knots 24/ 7
Constipated with guilt and indecision
I ask god, Buddha, Shiva, Jesus, Mohammed, the Greek gods, the Egyptian gods, for the answer
What do I do?
What do I fix?
How can I change?
I’m tired of crying like a little boy with a scraped knee
I need to be honest with myself
They both mean nothing but they want me
I need to find a person that means something more than just a place to stick my ****
I stick my **** in other people’s lives and **** it all up
I’m a monster, a ***** devil
I’m emotionally detached I see it now; I need to find my way back to the belief I once treasured and respected
It's all on me
But I don’t know what or who I want
I must find the pedestal and place someone up there
Or do I?
Do I really need someone right now?
Is it time?
I don’t know?
Should I just be alone with no attachments and go on doing what I’m doing?
No, that’s not solving anything
If I’m going to be alone I’m going to be alone and not look but be looked for
I don’t know why these people are in my life
I put them there
I built the rickety bridges
And what of Kathleen?
Just sending out more lies just to get my rocks off
Nope not going down that road stopping that right here
And what of Mary? Nope not doing that either
I’m learning
But now I have two
I used to have none and that made me want everything
Now I have too much and I wish I could throw it all away
Maybe the gods sent me this to make me happy maybe I should enjoy the luxury of having people wanting me
Or maybe it’s a test to see if I deserve to find the one and only, if they exist that is
In the subway I see a girl checking me out smiling; I smile back with my girlfriend next to me
I’m disgusting
I cheated on my first love seven times and never told her, she cheated on me once and confessed and left me, karma
I deserved the pain I brought it on myself
Whoever I choose I will not cheat ever again, but who do I choose?
I need more time
So I’ll take it, I'll fake it then make it or break it
Or do I chose myself and negate everything
American spirit takes me away
Back to Manhattan
The glitz the glamour, the icy winds tearing at our faces
We wait for the 167 to take us home
I can’t sleep I text the new girl and ask many questions to get to know her better to make my decision easier, it does not help
The fact that I do that just proves my weakness
I will wind up with neither I know it
The decision that the one before had to make is now before me
I feel as though I need to choose the one I’m with to do the right thing, but what is right?
What’s right for me?
Marijuana clogs my process so I won’t partake in its consumption until the decisions made and maybe not even after
Who am I kidding?
I will

I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.

His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead

For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.

But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet— over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.

she appeared in a dream
way back in my younger years
a solemn, solitary white woman
kneeling silently at the altar rail
her long brown hair covered
beneath a long white veil
looking like Mary
she spoke not a word
her hands clasped in prayer
we all watched from the pews
mesmerized
without moving, she called my name
sounded like Mrs. Pino
my 5th grade catechism teacher
she kept calling
she wanted me to come forward
to receive recognition or an award
glued to  the kneeler in the pews
I thought to myself
‘Lady, you’ve got the wrong guy’

he appeared in a dream
many, many years later
decades
he drove a red Honda
up to my back porch
in the projects
I often dream of that childhood place
as still home
he got out of the car to address me
tall with faded jeans
gray hoody and sunglasses
obscuring his face
couldn’t even see his skin tone
as if he were purposely unviewable
my unempowered eyes searching
he stood there in glory
looking like a son of man
he wanted to know if I knew him
I kept ogling to see who he was
but I couldn’t tell
he asked again
I didn’t answer
still focusing on ****** features
instead of the all of him
he turned back to the car
got in and drove away
leaving me still wondering

Your not only tarred by the clothes you wear,
It's colour if skin and style of hair,
It's your walk your talk or accent you speak,
It's your ****** gender, your strength or your weak....ness,
If your a hoody a goody or an old fuddy duddy, you are judged,

Your not only judged by the way you live life,
It's the size of your house, your car or your wife,
It's your stance your glance or posture indeed,
It's your choice of career, obligation or greed....yness,
If your a banker a tanker or just the local ******, you are labelled,

Your not only labelled by what I have said,
It's by where you have shopped or where you dropped dead,
It's the illness, the sickness, the disease that you had,
It's your funeral, communal, whether good or bad....ness,
If you have drive, are contrive, want to survive, get out of the beehive.

Tina Ford