"intermediate" poems
Alam ko kaarawan mo nung abril labindalawang at ngayon
Humahabol pa ako sa regalo ko na tula para lang sayo.
Naaalala kita bilang aking best friend nung intermediate palang tayo
Ngayon pati sa facebook konektado pa rin ako sayo
Paminsan-minsan ikaw nagchachat sa kin at minsan ako rin naman
Nagsheshare ng problema at nagbibigayan ng tips kahit papano man
Ngayon dalagita na tayo, marami na rin mga problema sa school at iba kaso
Gusto pa rin kita makausap ng matagalan eh marami lang talagang inaasikaso
Nagkataon nagkita tayo sa mall at ang napansin ko bigla ka tumangkad
Syempre naingit agad, hindi ako pinagpala ng diyos ng tangkad eh.
Natutuwa ako nakilala kita noon at nagkakilalan tayo ng lubos
Kahit malayo tayo sa isa't isa, at saka nagpapasalamat rin ako
Naging best friend kita at lagi tayo nagtutulungan
Kung may problema tayong hinaharap.
Kung alam mo lang maeffort ako kung hindi lang natatamad
Lalo na sa pagibig kung pinageffortan dapat masuklian.
Pasensya na kung nahuli ako ibigay ang regalo ko para lang talaga sayo
Nagpapasalamat ako sa lahat ng alaala natin dalawa at sa susunod pa.
Mahal kita dahil naging parte ka na rin sa buong buhay ko!
Happy Birthday! To the 16th girl Vivien Hannah Isabel Estrada!
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 9:51 AM UTC
Hi! The creator too is blind,
Struggling toward his harmonious whole,
Rejecting intermediate parts,
Horrors and falsities and wrongs;
Incapable master of all force,
Too vague idealist, overwhelmed
By an afflatus that persists.
For this, then, we endure brief lives,
The evanescent symmetries
From that meticulous potter's thumb.
7.6k
A good night’s sleep before the road trip drive
The mission is to arrive at the final destination alive
Then check into the terminal and find out their departure destination assignment
Later inspect the bus for any defects
Safety being the call of duty with having no troubles in the passenger’s trip having an effect
It’s Boarding Time
The Motor Coach Engineer brings the coach bus to the terminal departure gate
Announcement is made for destination with intermediate stops in between
The Driver than takes the passengers ticket
The passenger’s then board
Once the driver gets the ok to proceed from the Operations Center to departs, the driver backs out the bus and heads for the highway
The driver then picks up the bus microphone and welcomes the passenger’s aboard
He or she also announces the destination with stops along with rest stops and meal stops including transfer points
This is a Daily Routine
Later when the bus arrives at the designated final schedule, once the bus is pulled into appropriate gate, the passengers then disembark
Then it’s thanks for travelling with us
Safety with no fuss
Zero tolerance and you didn’t cuss
It’s all about the Motor coach Engineer and the bus.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 9:22 AM UTC
I used to feel stress as some others do
I’d cry and pout and usually eat the stress away
Gaining 5, 10, 15 pounds in the process
But at what point does stress become too much?
Phase 1- Normal
A little stress
But less than should cause concern
Take a quick pause and breath
Till you feel fully awake and ready to handle the whole deal that is worrying you
Eating pattern: Normal
Phase 2- Intermediate
More substantial stress
Quite the mess inside the mind
Especially in an unkind situation
Eat a little more than normal for the sake of taking away the thought of the problem
Make a list and stick to it to reduce the impact
Don’t place the fist to the wall yet
Eating pattern: Calories increased by 25-40%
Phase 3- High
Stress has reached its max
Like a leach ******* the life away
Mind trying to stray from the food or the situation
But somehow falling pray to both
Like a host for a parasite
Eating pattern: Compromised. Calories increased by 60-75%
Phase 4- Immense
Stress too high to handle comfortably
Functional human abilities begin to cease
Like a paralyzing disease
Lies like not feeling well begin to find their way into play through each and every day
Not only is the issue stressful but the thought of eating becomes impossible
Now more problems creep in with the deep dive swim of an eating disorder side show
Eating pattern: Crippling loss of appetite. Calories decreased by 90%
I digress to address the source of my stress
A world I thought I knew and had nothing left to do but ride the wind with my sweetheart
But things fall apart yet the world still spins and at the end of the day the side I’m fearful of wins
And now I’m alone and scared of what’s next I just sit here with empty stomach rumbles hoping for your text
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
sauntry and sultry,
a fraudulent check written
in a moment of disclarity.
if you've got a bridge to sell
I'm buying.
I've got stakes on this land,
broken with till,
seeded with pain,
nourished with blood,
razed, salted, travesty, and sown again.
a faulty playpen snaps shut on a toddler,
a man trips over his Pekingese
and puts his hand in his brand new
20% off buy two get one blendtec
brand blender,
showering his mother in law
with shards of wrist bone
and strips of lacerated flesh.
this is my foot.
these are my fingers, broken,
distal, intermediate, and proximal
phalanges.
these are the carpal and metacarpals.
I am a Spartan of a shitshack.
I was trained in the wicked art of
long arduous bowel movements.
squeeze one out for the ones you love.
in some small musty room
in new York city
there is a cocknballs paying $200
to get ****** on
by a wombwalker
and thinking about his ******
Pekingese.
you know its true.
don't try to think too hard about it
or you might lose an eye.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 2:36 PM UTC
By cold logic you arrive,
not through panic nor insanity,
for they are something separate.
You recall those who witnessed,
through blinded eye the beginnings.
Those seemingly oblivious of your falling to this place,
and who could offer no sanctuary or escape.
In your mind the inaction testifies, of a value you no longer hold.
Not just in your place of open eyed awareness,
But also in their world of illusion,
where you no longer belong.
There are two pathways ahead.
But only one will each choose according to their need.
Emotional pain made into the physical
Or the ending of pain both felt and caused, both past and future.
At the beginning and in the intermediate,
the times when cries for help prevailed.
Not consciously shouted but through changes,
altered interaction with the world as it once was.
To those who bore witness to beginning and middle,
at this stage comes the "why?".
"I saw it"...."Why did I not see this outcome?".... "I knew",???
To those who have not been here,
There seems to be no logic,
They cannot see from where they stand the simple rationale.
So contrary and beyond sight
that only the tag of insanity gives explanation.
At the beginners guide just so the numbers who sought to read.
At the intermediate a lesser number could give an interest.
The despair of others an unwanted knowledge and the readings so reflect a reality best kept unvoiced... too disturbing to the ear.
And fewer now here... dear reader... eyes uneducated still asking why.... you few are too late to understanding and by now despair has been defeated.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 5:04 AM UTC
An international wire transfer was made last Monday.
2,000 dollars were sent to China from America.
I expected the money would arrive in China in 2 days.
Like, how it takes 2 days for my yearly 35,000-dollar tuition
To be sent from China to America.
I continued my week as usual.
I went to Aldi, a German company,
To get some groceries.
It was fast and cheap with good-quality products.
I went to Walmart, an American company,
To get more groceries.
I waited in line for 30 minuets.
It was slow and cheap with known-brand products.
That international wire transfer made last Monday,
Still wasn’t received on next Monday.
It went through an intermediate American bank,
Because my bank itself doesn’t do international transactions.
My money is still on its way to China from America.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 6:31 PM UTC
I have walked this earth a thousand times.
Dirt. A loose aggregate of particles, held together by gravity, and moisture.
Rain. Water suspended. Resurging. Cascading in plumes, like sheets of smoke.
Sky. Blue. Stretched like canvas. Abstract. Nowhere. Everywhere.
I exist. Here. Standing. Thinking.
I am dead. I am being born.
I am existing across all time and space, but I do not know it.
At this moment, I am trapped. I am unconscious. I am unaware.
I have walked this earth a thousand times, and cannot even remember.
Because it has not happened. Has yet to happen. May never happen.
Future. A nonexistence on the horizon.
Hope. An ache. A nothing replaced with nothing.
Misery. The wretched face in the mirror.
A child wears my eyes. She drifts through life.
Scared. Alone. Free.
She plays in the forest. Her small, sap-covered hands grasp branch after branch.
She enters intermediate school. Is called freak. Is judged by her skin, her eyes.
She realises she is different for the first time.
Alien. Deviant. Other.
Her eyes fill with self-hatred.
I have watched this moment a thousand times, yet can do nothing.
Disintegration. The act of separation.
Loneliness. A billion strangers condemned to live together.
Existence. A billion billion billion particles, shifting beneath my flesh.
There is no death that can end my being.
I have felt the atoms of my past collide, and spark into biology.
I have felt the atoms of my future shred like fractals, spiralling into a dim, dark nothingness.
I have felt all this, and none of it.
From infinity I came, to infinity I’ll go. Forever cycling in the pantomime of existence.
This pretend construct of space and time.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
she was a brown-skinned girl,
who was trapped in this world
struggiling with idenity,
she couldn't find any serenity,
she no longer had dignity,
she was too white to be black,
as people told her and laughed,
she was too black to be white,
this was now turning into a
fight/
between her and idenity,
she needed to find serenity
so finally in may, she woke
up one day and decided to be
g r e y.
G r e y [gray]
of a color intermediate between black and white, as of ashes or an overcast sky.
but little did she know
that her skin colour
didn't define her
for it was the art in
her heart that did.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC
secrete hate
let it fill your skies
breathe the flames
that you weaponize
the inhibitions of the average citizen are in their composition
lost
our prohibitions are leveraged in manipulation of indentured cost
its character assassination
alienation of a nation
built to look like suicide
and i
am so sick of these ridiculous syndicates of clueless idiots
i got no time for the intermediate silly ****
they dont know what the **** they are talking about and i am supposed to submit to it
I already screamed into loose winds
I already know the angels are gone
I already grew the **** up
And the fear is gone
******* Gone
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 9:36 PM UTC
From off the branch of an old tree
a tired rope swing sings the breeze
that travels over from afar
in my grandmother's old backyard
Intimating long lost ghosts
of children idly passing time
gently swaying back and forth
in a rhythm also I am
Shade in summer from the sun
mosaic in the autumn light
company for winter nights
glowing when spring has begun
Transforming mundane to sublime
of love, intermediate host
a gin and tonic with a lime
to raise to life and love in toast
A firefly inside a jar
I caught once, like a shooting star
beneath the tall and ancient tree
the first time I held you to me
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
My god, I'm sick of belonging
I'm sick of being owned
I'm sick of being limited to what ever the **** it is that some ***** decides is fitting to define me as
you don't know me
I don't even know me
what the **** makes you think that you,
with your cookie-cutter shape, stereotype inducing, boxed-into-labels mentality of thinking is going to understand me?
I am a planet in my own right;
as a result of my own entity,
my own ******* thoughts and claims and efforts and achievements,
rather than as an assosciate of another or a product of someone else
I am a ******* constellation of thoughts that your mind
could not even begin to fathom
once glance of my mind would send yours sideways
a one minute preview of what wraps itself around the deep,
bottomless, abyssal interrior of my skull
would entise you to smash your own
inside of me there are a thousand words, stirring
arranging the perfect sequence within their placement of my being
in order to concoct a storm worth being read;
not skimmed and mistaken as a light drizzle
but instead,
thoroughly scanned and recognised
as the tornados, the blizzards that they are,
kicking up a fuss and wiping out everything in their way
I possess an entire novels worth
including a sequel and trilogy
I am a story in my own right;
a book that you believe to have conquered and completed
a vaguely transparent, generic tale in which you believe to have mastered and defeated
but little do you know
that you have ventured barely as far as the first page
what lies within me is far beyond the reach
of the dainty intermediate level
in which you consistently surround yourself in
as though it is your safety blanket or comforter
as though you are a child with anxiety and mediocrity is your prozac
I am more than a brick in the wall of the kingdom
that you box your entire tiny, narrow universe into
and confine yourself within
in seek of refuge from a great perhaps
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
From flowing rivers of light, you will become a comet-star left alone, who has deliberately deviated from its now predictable orbit around the earth and, true to itself, wanders in the galaxies of infinite cosmos, because it is driven by some unknown-familiar homesickness-Odyssey.
You will sooner or later only take off the Enkidu-shroud of your body before your calculated mortality, as you yourself know that even a simple man sets off on his own towards the other shores of the underworld, no one can accompany him. Your restless, self-defeating Soul wanders on the paths of the deceived; it would be good for you to find your own depth and height inside. Because be careful!
This current mud-world offers only superficial, old, tinsel-like brilliance, nothing else, with which the greedy loyalty-chambers of beating hearts can never be filled, because a growing army of ghosts of doubts is already raging and besieging it. Outside, they can understand less and less that the Darius-treasures they have acquired are only the nails of Golgotha for a coffin, and the boundary line considered honesty, from which there is no turning back, is far away.
Take good care of yourself, Man, as you can know and feel; the beast of hesitations, suspicions, the underdog, the belittling one, is only watching you, watching, suspecting, while it sneaks unnoticed into your troubled nerves and tears apart your handful of self-esteem. It would be good to believe for sure that somewhere in the holy gate of the All, besides your life, which you believe to be wasted, Someone is waiting for you. It would be nice if that crazy mechanic would put a stop to his restless atomic bomb impulses in his buzzing, cogwheel brain.
And although you have long been unable to bear the shackles of your meaningless, wordless silence, your intermediate silence, you must decide within yourself to finally forgive your stubborn, childish selfishness!
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 12:24 AM UTC
Mislayed into a abysmal reverie
Like sitting idly in the dark
Relegated and cast aside
Residing in a transitional place
A midway state of imprisonment
Bordering a intermediate reality
In a fantasy of the unknown
Compacted within rage and peace
Hallucinations and premonitions
Guide my space of entrapment
Inside this world of inception
I feel like a ghostly embodiment
A entity inside my own mind
Lost in a indefinite mirage
The apparition of a phantom
Longing for a way out
Into a externalizing release
To reach a metigated outward form
To becalm and sooth my waves
Assuaged my grief and pain
My spirit must alleviate
Wake into the shimmering light
From this overwhelming dreamland
I often question myself
How did I cross the border?
Into the threshold of chimera
This beastly uncanny form
A wonderland of uncertainty
My brain has seemed to freeze
Succumbing to a brick of emotions
I have a potpourri of thoughts
A war of the good, bad and ugly
Yielding of a unrestrained musing
And now I seem to be descending
Furthermore dropping deeper
Into a vagary of dreams
A occurrence of sloping slumber
Such a unbearable enclosure
It's hard to snap out of..
It's difficult to escape from..
This ******* of my soul
Tightly submerged in the depths
Of a hammering state of limbo...
©Michael P. Smith
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
i'll tell you something: every day
people are dying. and that's just the beginning.
the death which spreads its fingers
on their lips is nothing
but a window.
once they step outside the pain,
then anything is possible. the universe
is just a big old vacuum and
no matter
what you do, you’ll never stop the
constant spark: the entirety of all
existence. forget about
your birthday cakes, your lakeside strolls,
your speeding tickets and project deadlines
-those were all just vibrations
that came out of the light.
and i’ll tell you something else: on the day
you truly die, you will plunge into
a lake of dancing triangles. and when you swim
through violent ripples melting to a bonfire
drumbeat, and you reach the rocky shore,
you will find yourself a squeaking pup
in a fuzzy wolf litter, a striped shell collecting
erosion from the golden spiral, an infant of a Lithic tribe
whose members scooped you out of the
harsh winds and left nothing
but afterbirth poured like puddles in their
foot steps along the Bering Strait.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 10:21 PM UTC
In the intermediate zone between heaven and hell
opinions and complaints, after much moaning, may
come to be held in common.
The way a flock of chickadees
moves through the woods, cheerfully,
each bird taking a turn on point.
All meaning must be found, here, in the middle zone,
notwithstanding fears that rend and own us,
of dying unknown.
A Spring day
the flycatcher broke its neck against our bay window
nothing changed.
I buried it, somewhat reverently, in a shallow grave.
No differently, really, than I would a man
who'd died suddenly.
Who'd left footprints in the snow
which became wild lily-of-the-valley, running pine
then snow again in time.
After long enmity
Sally hugs me, asks if I've been happy.
A moment in a year.
February, the light is long, more direct.
It's meaningless, repetitious
but held dear.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
-I've got bored of words.
-You tergiversate... Small world.What this bouquet of flowers is doing in the intermediate?It's a date?
-Ah... such prolixity... More champagne?
-What's the point?
-My aim? Mmm... to try to oscullate you.
-... What?... Such profane elixir do you desire?
-It'll be more than tasty.It's alleged...
-But, don't you distinguish the mayhem's reflection below?
-Your solicitude.. Ah!... What a nice champagne.Hmm... Cake? By the other way or not there's nothing at the ceiling.
-You've perused my protocol... A small slice, please.
-A kiss a skirmish.Palatable as this recipe... Well... apart from an armageddon...
-Stop pushing on boy.
-I already vanquished the inception, you know...
-Catastrophe is your trophy, but I disavow your apocalypse.
-I was expecting something more digestible.How's the alcohol?
-Standstill...
-Hm!... As everything surrounding us.
-Ahhh... No... They just don't move.. don't have gravity...
-Funny waiter... Hovering waiter.Did you emend your canon?
-Champagne and desserts will not litigate your anticipation.You know.How strange is...
-The room? No... Is normal for it to circle upside down.
-A hug?
-In this desert? With all those people?
-They are frozen, and... before I veto, quivering in a hurt heart.
-Blown sand... popped champagne... Oh, I didn't notice the light fixture's embroidery.
-The sun's in the bottom.Look up... Its obumbration is into the typhoon.
-Standstill, nothing's synchronized...
-Is your tranquility dissipated? gone?...
-No.If isn't yours.
-I just still want that hug.
-Hmmm... I forgot you're a cold person...
-And you a hot girl... Irony...
-You'll melt...
-I'm apt to it...
Then an aurora flash
And splashing glass
Accompanied by springing sparks
Shattered bass walls
Begetting noctilucent dark and dusk
A hurricane, breathing the sun
Just dust to dust
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
*An eyewitness once recited
His bone-chilling account
Of his tightrope walk to Death
How he managed to return
Was, and remains, impossible to say
But his frightening story resonates*
"There I stood on my toes,
On an intermediate point teetering
Between the idyllic salvation
Of Heaven
And the macabre derangement
Hell promises
Lose your balance
And the wayfarer finds himself
Succumbing to the merciless
Pull of the underworld
Condemning him to eternal
Suffering
The scanty few who
Travel across the rope
Unscathed,
undaunted and unfazed
Indulge in the reward
Of the Holy Father's deliverance
And so I stood on the rope,
Its rough frays tickling my soles, I,
Precariously perched on the border
Of Life, Death,
Of Salvation and Damnation
Too overcome with fear to advance forward
I whispered a few syllables,
The dulcet notes rollicked up to
A Saviour above
Omniscient one who knew
The best path for my wintering fate
In a haze of bewilderment I awoke"
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
He's as straight as a curved line
Or so we speculate, or so he denies
A thousand signs, a million hints
Never as refreshing as an evening mint
He praises the men who live in the screen
Projected in front for all to be seen
“Is he attracted?” we ask
“Or is he just trying to bring joy so that his sadness will be masked?”
Deeper and deeper the bird plunges
Smaller and smaller the sky gets
His limbs flow and soon, suffocated
The days of his junk is dated
A sudden movement, always an explosion
Always seems intoxicated by a freak potion
Unnecessary but not always unwanted
But still every inch of his body is demented
His wretchedness is our pleasure
The distance between his pain and our joy cannot be measured
I say, everything in the universe is against him
We say, his very existence is sticky and dim
Angry mom
Uncleaned room
Missing chair
Math grade in doom
Lost books
Crossed and shaky legs
Blemished looks
Intermediate pad in despair
Rotten eggs
Sudden rain
Dancing legs
Junk in pain
Moldy bread
Virused usb
Relationship with girlfriend now dead
Showing off his bare body
Humongous hands
Side comments
Life never bland
But forever in lament
Alas, I bombarded him with questions
He states that he feels no hatred is most situations
Sometimes we wish that his life would change
But that would make our own very strange
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 7:32 AM UTC
this flux ripple passage
it creates
structures edges shapes
intermediate areas
transfixed faces:
love or
hums chirps rustle wooes
sighs sights surrenders
breaking points musings
tsunamis earthquakes
devastation creation
downfall cries resurections
prayers longing evolving
endurance & the eye of storms
a touch a strike
the infinite in qualia
soil of oblivion
womb songs invocation
hues of silence
ego destruction murmur
wonder nestled
heart's warehouse
crystal kindness
unknown emergence
fountains
dead languages
renewed light moons sphere
overwhelming beauty
first cry first breath of air
much much more forms
to be turned into
we don't have enough poems
enough air enough shouting
cause horses are in love with the grass
tigers are in love with their prey
mountains are in love with water
pain is in love with stones
love just a reference
and we need to destroy its name
for its true face
this quiet spirit
cosmic vibration
in exaltation
Jan 31, 2023
Jan 31, 2023 at 5:40 AM UTC
Dear the Old Me,
You're depressed
Why don't you seek help
You're afraid
You still in primary school
You have no idea
What depression even is
Or that its even a word
At this stage your 9 years old
And your depressed
You just don't really know it yet
You can't explain why your sad most days
Why you cry in your room everyday
Why you always hide under the bed
Hiding away from the world
Let's go forward to year 8
Your at intermediate
You've discovered depression
What it is
It explains everything
Things were worst than ever last year
You were alone
Scared
Depressed
Cried every single day
Felt unwanted
Year 9
You've started self harming yourself
It takes away the pain
Just a little bit
Helps you focus on something else
Just for a little while
Takes the weight off
Just for a little while
You want to die
You've almost gone through with it
Many many times
But you're scared
Put the scissors down
Put the string down
Put the knife down
It's going to be okay
Year 10
You're getting there ***
Things are getting better sweets
Trust me
You're getting better
Slowly
Painfully
Year 11
You're getting bullied
Being told your fake
Ugly
*****
****
But it's okay
You have people there for you this time
To support you
You couldn't be happier
You've met a guy
That you've never really noticed before
He's better than the rest
Witty, kind, quiet, intreging
Your childhood best friend is with you
She's right by your side too
Year 12
This guy now means the world to you
Your best friend and you are closer than ever
She's more your sister now
Things are okay
Average
You're getting bullied
It's starting again
***** **** fake
You get to school and your friend doesn't notice
How broken you are
Your best friend can tell right away
You can't stand it you breakdown
Go to class
That guy grabs your arm
Pulls you aside away from the terrors
Asks you what's wrong
You cry right in front of him
He doesn't mind at all
He pulls you close to him
Against his chest
Your making his shoulder wet with your tears
He doesn't mind
He looks after you all day
Keeping a close eye on you
You realise that day who your real friends are
Next day you get threatened
Your scared
He tells you he'll protect you
He does
He keeps you safe
Right now your 16
Have the best friend ever
Best guy in the world to protect you
Best friends ever
Happy family
And great things
Dear the Old Me
Things do get better
Way better
Hang in there love
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
you’ve just hung your vibrant
dripping orchid that you’ve dedicated
to your mother
who passed not so long ago.
It hangs on wire I’d given you.
My drawing skills are beginner, you say,
and I won’t learn anything
at the intermediate watercolor workshop.
And I take a deep breath and
hold back the anger sour in my gut.
With one comment you dismiss
all that I’m worked for
over the last ten years–
ten years of painting on and off
and drawing for even longer.
I am not a beginner.
My paintings hang colorful and
bright on the other side of the room,
and I’d written on one (finished that afternoon):
“I’m learning to be brave.”
These hands, dry from scrubbing paint stains,
have learned
to swim in deep paper oceans
under a bleeding sun,
that too much water crumples the paper,
that scotch tape is not painter’s tape,
that sometimes done is better than good,
and a good drawing is essential.
I don’t know everything,
but I know more than I did ten years ago
when I had no money or knowledge
about paint or canvases.
Instead I remember at age 16
making my own canvas with glue, printer paper,
cardboard, and tears.
Here I painted lilac sunrises of better days.
This is my growth.
This is my intermediate.
Do you think I’m some beginner
who’s lost her way,
who’s aiming for things
higher than her reach?
Do you want to guide
me to the right path?
Why does your path
happens be your sister’s
400 dollar watercolor workshop
instead of the cheaper
100-200 dollar weekend one
that I signed up for?
This is where I could tell you that
I look all of the skill around and me,
all the art prints in stores,
and think, Yes, I can do that.
Yes, my paintings
hang on the wall next to yours.
And I’m not afraid to take them
down and start again.
This is what I’m thinking
and can’t tell you.
So, instead I smile and tell you,
l consider myself intermediate.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 10:38 AM UTC
The central location, the angel of natural oils
such as black and silver. Oh, well with China,
this is your sister, a message Angel Heaven Asia
belly coated bar is not growing, it is known in
the market to begin to feel the atmosphere brother
and Russia starting strippers bad, odorless plastic
file templates losses in the garden in Einstein's city,
the police said, these smoking firebrands for the
information, it can not be seen, which is the other
half was in bed, and the angel of the you Metallica
of the Orcs of the darkness of his brother in the
thousands [of for the] in a few days, most of the
former with a black brother's infertility haste, indeed,
you led to a string of women with child of the
Underminds of the 500? Yu's brother, afterwards,
in ***** and with good reason able to use a bow,
Mark says, that durst presume their arms are getting
ready for a war, interrupted, for the birth of Rhee's
injury to be inflicted on a child to speak the Gospel
of the yellow Earth of the flock, for Karachi with the
cold and the darkness into the heart of our God, and
in the custom in public out of her ***** it lies, and
in the gate of the court, a man: Something went wrong.
Express light; Harvard He added. Finally, he asserts.
How to share a bottle of wine, as well as in the love
of God, and what will you do? and You can choose
from black Africa into something that cannot be white.
What does this mean for 13 hours in Europe? This
product has an unemployment? My Africa. conditions?
Armenia, with the wisdom of a question between some
of these fears or another. Vitamins are present, and
John Charles is not exclusive. However, the vitamins?
Vitamins and Therapy; News. "(1) What do you
remember about it? The father has changed. And to offer
a woman's life. And the city. Therefore less. "1: 1 enemy.
However, they are waiting for what they want.
And peace from God. The hood is constructed. Cravings
and juice. \ 1 = []? And the same thing? Marcus sees the
anti-social Harvard (10) ... Color is a wonderful love of
intermediate Gap Socks. Africa loves you For the physician.
Rome It can be placed in Europe; As the weekend's
northwest result. And now. The use of vitamin Karalini
These program. vitamins? Vitamin 1: 1: 1 hours.
For there is one of them, it doesn't get worse. 1 but
cannot remember - that is, He is a father. The woman
said: This double grab runs deep in this world. "1: 1,
and I do not think so, But the initiative. Where \ 1 = 1 (|);
Marcus | But smoking is not of the same ...
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
Jack ladies radio true lover
Alchemy witch drooping banana tree Goddess!
Stripper, a woman, sweat of thy face
Now ferments in cider
****** flames
Let's dance gold
Watch band kiss looking for glory
Einstein's story until they reached his book
pure enough to temples allowance
Bob light of a queen
other; the monster
The dog slumber tomato
According to the state corner
the spirit of the developers with the intermediate body,
The angel of death shore table
long lives have taught the nature of the propaganda of the mountain,
nourishing the body thin
or tail against the dream
Thirty-two years looking for a bigger wave
the image of the city of the sun, a way leading to his evil way,
Kneel wide pool Asian center
In making Italian exchange
the income of the ***** were a genus; Version: cut
developer point mad
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 6:16 PM UTC
When the rain comes, the police cars always skulk around town because they know trouble is coming.
Especially in the early summer when it rains without pretense
In the after noon when the sky is still clear
And a rainbow is expected.
There is a certain tangible energy in the air as the water comes down in unperturbed lines from God to Earth and momentarily wets the tongue of Paulding, Ohio for no other reason than it is marvelous.
For a moment, puddles form in now glossy streets and the world sags with glory and peace.
I always fetch my navy blue umbrella and walk around slowly like Audrey Hepburn
And pretend to have nothing else to do.
Because it's summer now and it's true.
But the authorities already know what's afoot.
They cruise the streets with shark eyes and let the water wash they're vehicles.
When it first comes, what is it?
Is it the rustling of trees?
Is it a sign of the apocalypse?
A heard of angry locusts?
No, I see, as I look out the window. The rain is coming, it is a whisper from heaven. A sigh of choral Angels who saw the need for beauty on the ground.
The rain comes at random in the late spring and early summer,
that intermediate time of wonderment and rapture.
When the rain comes in straight lines to earth, tangent to the arc of my soul.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 9:29 PM UTC