It seems like whenever you struggle to look yourself in the mirror.
Whenever your skin irritates and appalls you,
You find someone who could spend a day in front of the mirror
Someone who treats their skin like a temple

There's an elephant in this room, there's no denying that
No allegations, no assumptions
Just here to state the facts
I see all your dirt
And the **** you try to hide
But what I don't see is your respect
Did it die along with your pride?
And the love you say you posses
Or did it get erase along with all the traces of your text?
Yeah, you thought I didn't see all the lies that you succeeded in
And I played it blindly like I reside in Stevie's skin
And what really irritates my soul, is I could've played that role
The difference is I was investing in commitment
While you was the one auditioning
Now aint that bout a *****
Either resistance was too hard
Or even with a straight flush in your hand you were incompetent in playing your cards
February 22
Where were you that night?
I laid peacefully in my bed, eyes closed tightly, thanking God for sending me a wonderful man
Instead of being April's, I was playing your fool
Swimming foolishly and open in your deceitful pool
Drowning
in 12 feet
But I still wouldn't get out if I could
The irony.
Man, I swear your ******* be so good
I respect everyone's privacy
like there's a No Disturb sign on the door
But your cell phone has been ringing vigorously and that
I wont ignore
I gave you your space
You could've freely ran away if you wanted to explore
You give a person enough rope they'll hang themselves
And right now your toes are dangling 57' from the floor
I'd slave to bake your cake.
Let you eat it wholly.
And you still want more!
Selfish
I bet you didn't even think of me as she laid in your bed naked
or if when you slipped on that contraceptive
Emphasis on the IF just in case I stand corrected
The betrayal
The wonders living in my mind roams in a frenzy
In a million years I never suspected you
Faithful is what you pretended to be
And when I bring it unto your attention
You're worse than an evidently guilty man crying innocent
Obviously, you love to play with fire but when I deliver it you can't sustain
That's like constantly running to get an umbrella when you "claim" you love the rain
You can't handle the truth
BE A MAN
every moment its time to defy it you coil
Just face the aftermath with your ten toes planted on the soil
Because every word you deliver, every punch you throw
Will travel through this universe and manifest to your soul
You didn't like that huh?
Your emotions sings that you're ******
Storming out the door like a madman
But where's he going at a time like this?
To get some fresh air?
To **** another *****?
Men offer me pleasures that I happily resist
But now that the truth comes out he can't handle the ****
He wanna throw his hands up and be a little boy
Hell, I might as well go to K-Mart and buy his *** a toy
Or run to Priscilla's and get me one as well
**** being deceived, I'd rather indulge my own pleasure and be by myself
But the way he makes my legs shake
My heart flutter
My soul yearns for more
Makes me reconsider to stay
Did he do it ruthlessly?
Was it a mistake?
I'm all out of thoughts, I don't know *** to think
All this **** is unbearable
I'm going out for a drink...



                          Copy Right 2013
                                ©Patty Ann

Your bedroom is always so dark, an empty void.
I could really use this line as a metaphor to describe my heart, but I won't.
I'm not fond of metaphors to tell you the truth, and you never understand them anyway.

Your bedroom is always so dark,  but not quite pitch black.
There's an artificial cerulean glow coming from your clock's display, which is a tad large for my taste.
And to be honest, it irritates me some, I like the red alarms quite more.

Your bedroom has a very plain bed, where we like to snuggle.
I curl up with you to intensify my persuasions - it's no secret - and I'm okay with it for now.
I'm usually the spoon  and you're the noodle, but we both agree that the pretzel is that much more amazing.

Your bedroom has a very plain bed, on which we amaze each other.
The single blanket we lay under, sometimes over, is covered in me, because of you.
I always laugh a little, and think that you sleep with me every night, even when I'm not in your room.

I’m a rockstar; it’s true cause’ I said it.
Hair’s quite ****, just have to grow it out.
I’ll play til’ my hands bleed without a doubt.
I listened to the chords I brought about.
Okay, I sound like ****. I’m going to quit.

Was that a G sharp or a B flat note?
Excuse me for being a ****** brat,
but I’m going to start an angry chat.
This instrument? Not mine. And that is that!
Vexing it is, so I become remote.

I loathe guitars! I cannot play them right.
That riff was supposed to be heavy metal.
Not math rock, but it’s enough to settle.
That might change if I use guitar pedals.
Cmon, keep your head high. Let it stay bright.

A friendship with my guitar has begun.
There are bounds I’m still trying not to reach.
And one day, I’ll be good enough to teach
or possess an audience at the beach.
Hey, the guitar is becoming quite fun!

****, metal. I’m a stoner rock artist.
I can play bends, solos, and vibrato.
Look, I even came up with a motto:
to thrive, start with anger in a bottle.
With my advice, you will go the farthest.

My fingers’ pink blush irritates my skin.
Still eager to play. I ignore the sore.
It doesn’t feel like a chore anymore.
This instrument? It’s mine. It led to doors.
It helped me find heaven and become kin.

there is a slow burn that
irritates from within

my only relief is drinking
from the living water
that quenches my thirst

I was deeply mesmerized, through her dull look I was incised;
Her eyes looked far beyond my world & all the memories I bore,
Her tears were suppressed in her captivating me with a stare,
Her lips would say the words on mine with each word I’m looking for,
Her breath would flow into my heart with each beat I’m dying for,
Still I sought her to the door.

Forever I chose to roam, everywhere with her is home;
She just lingered in my heart but I left my peace outdoor,
Winter was a time of sorrow, but we dreamt of new tomorrow,
But tomorrows came with terror, terror that did taste so sore,
But tomorrows were much painful than the days I lived before,
& she lingered than before.

My heart strings I tried to weave, with some threads of endless grief;
Searching for some face some trace, of her upon my memories floor,
Deep in me I tried to call, I found nothing can console,
Glimpsing her straying in some castle lain deep within my core,
She allured me to beguile me somewhere lost into my core,
Lost within forevermore…

In me a thousand demons weep, aching me in wake & sleep,
Scathed & scorched, seeking your smile that lulled their wicked hearts before,
Thousand raging mutineer, down the silver chandelier;
Those whom you once did inflict, & left their life in twitching war,
Those you provoked yesterday, & incensed their nocturnal war,
They are whom I’m dying for…

As I stood glimpsing you fleet, shadows smothered down my feet,
Fragile were my crisp heart beats, those beats that were solid in core,
Though I am the one you crave, you raised in my heart my grave,
Yearning was harrowing, severing, one can’t endure nor ignore,
My desire have seared my hearts with fires I cannot ignore,
& my fires taste so sore…

I’m condemned to watch you flee; it plucks feelings out of me;
While these voices stuttering muttering; voices I’ve not heard before,
Voices resonates in my veins, filled my heart with myriad stains,
Stains of noises of the voices of my bones & flesh & gore,
Stains of lovelorn lays & cold old days & my spilled livid gore,
Stains upon your castle door…

You were poising through each room, in fragrant feverous perfume,
Burning all my flames vehemently, surging all my beasts to roar,
Flaunting fluttering in each chamber, on the eve of deep December,
Tainting this untarnished heart that just sought you & nothing more,
Confounding that steadfast faith that believed you & nothing more,
Now faith won’t taste like before…

As I give up empty tries, your eyes kissed my bleak goodbyes,
Then you lurk behind the dungeons of my dreary darkling core,
Wicked me O wicked day, when I pursued you to stray,
But in straying I keep praying if you strayed it won’t feel sore;
I’ve strayed in much lonely nights, & lonely nights did taste so sore
Without you into my core…

As you stroll in me & breathe me, look beyond me gaze beneath me,
Look beyond your horrid world, the morbid heart apart you tore,
Now is fainting swooning searing, & your absence keeps on tearing,
Every shard of hope that lingered deep inside you fill with pore,
You severed my happy thoughts & happy thoughts are not galore,
Wish you were some place for more…

I’ve renounced every Love, & still you rove & still you rove,
Still the phoenix flame is aching, healing, waking me once more,
Thousand times your name I call, now there is no place to scrawl
Your name on the walls of my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
set your luring eyes to my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
Haul my heart unto the shore…

Shattered chastened, I am sitting, watching my cells as they’re splitting,
All my soul is torn asunder, falling under, horrid curses that I bore,
My fate is to stay awaking, tasting nightmares as I’m aching,
Scathed & bruised, the hells I cruised without you seems not like before,
Scathing breathing, grueling seething, senses I’ve not felt before,
Without you inside my core…

Stricken thrashed & Flayed & shattered, each shard in my heart is scattered,
Quavered fluttered, badly battered, almost dead at your front door,
My flesh is cleaved off my bones, drained in deep hazy unknowns,
Disassembled was my conscious, rapt & smitten was my core,
Insecure, no cure can take it what erodes me deep in core,
For you’re not here like before...

If you only chose to waive, come along & dig my grave,
Lest you watch each wave subduing me away far off your shore,
Swooning fading every night; choking, burying alive my light,
Out of anguish that you’re absence scourged & languished, twinged & tore,
Now it flays me mauls me impairs me feeding on my screams once more,
Those that rise far off my core…

My blood flows with fire surging, steadily emerging, steadily emerging,
They keep suffusing submerging in my heart as you ignore,
All your torment seems in vain, my soul’s liquored by my pain,
All my tears are blood that’s falling all like rains in days of yore,
Now I’m stewed by your long absence that I forgot days of yore,
When we used to sway & soar…

Nothing can ever awake me; you seize me as you forsake me,
You absorb me as you ache me; you possess me from the core,
Illude..Spirits..Opaque...Livid.. Once before words seemed so vivid;
Once before our Love was prancing, prancing as we used to soar,
Once before our hearts were fighting, side by side on Love’s vast war,
When you thrived deep in my core…

Now you’re presence irritates me,
It cleaves warmth off my embrace,
now your absence ghost still hates me,
You have left me abstract space,
Wicked, fallen, out of grace;
& I can’t hold on anymore…

Many a time I catch myself
Being vexed by someone
Who gets under my skin
I can't let it go unnoticed
Brushing it under the carpet
Has never been my style
I think of how I might
Get rid of that feeling
Without having to bruise

After years of experimenting
I have come to realize
That it is coming from within me
As I have had some unresolved issue
That needed to be looked at
In objective contemplation
When I or someone close to me
Have done the same to others
I moved on without correcting

As age progresses, I wish
I would come out clean
From all that I have passed
Having asked pardon
Or having prayed for one
Who was irksome without knowing

This awareness puts me at ease
With new experiences,
As each a tool for a better conscience-
I could just pray for that someone
When s/he too doesn't know
What s/he is doing
Or even when known
Didn't know how to correct

My fruitful moments are spent thus
In praying for friends and foes alike
As the friend of today could have been
A foe in the past
And the foe in the present
Could very well be
A friend in the future
Regardless of the friend/foe
Dynamic, I would beseech
As it puts my mind at ease
With all that IS, making me wonder,
Have I moved on to becoming
Wiser through my vexations?

Pride hurts loved ones of the proud,
Pride kills love and patience,
Pride destroys harmony,
Pride irritates!
Pride,
Pride,
Pride,
Pride,
Oh pride;I wonder when "I'm sorry" became a tongue cutting statement that its become so hard to use,
Pride!you defend yourself even when you know you're clearly wrong,
Pride;I hate you so much,
But perhaps there's an element of you in me because I'm only human,
Wish I could scrub each and every inch of me in order to have nothing to do with you!

Men of few words are the best men
Shakespeare's Henry V
(Act 3 Scene 2. Line 41)


yet men still
pleasure themselves oft,
the music of their voices
soothes their conscience,
even as it irritates
those unchosen few
who must deign
to listen to the
ration of their excuses.

I fare not well
in this endeavor,
for as poet and
recorder of all that be
known as human folly,
more is always best
or at least, better!

for no man knows
the limits of his import,
his web of self-deception
cast far and wide,
for it must perforce
hold him aloft,
on all the tissued lies
he hath convinced himself
to be the absolute truth,
and nothing but...  

so let us ascribe
to those fools
who call themselves
mistakenly, men
a smokey, fleeting honour,
for many words
they do employ to
plead their case,
proving well in
a fashion most
contrary and contradictory
that their worth is
worst, when they speak
long and eloquent of their
vainglorious heroics and medals,
watch their words ascend,
and like smoke, forever disappear.

that is why, young reader,
heed the lesson of the
American cowboys
who say little,
but walk tall,
and sit straight
in the saddle,
and sing consoling songs of
lonesome love around the
dying fire.

She arrives in high stilletto’s
And a miniskirt so taught
That the boys are all distracted
And our job becomes a rort,
And the office girls get ******
And production spirals down
So then our new Middle Manager
Rolls up her sleeves and goes to town....

She sticks her oar in frequently
And stands with jutted hip,
She’s territorial dynamite
And serves us gloating lip.
She often curries favour
With Department Heads and such
And makes a fuss at our expense
Which irritates so much!

She has a way to circumvent
The types she will not face,
In using her authority
To snidely put them in their place.
Her manner is too sharp
And too dismissive for my taste
And the condescending smile
Has me grinding teeth to paste.

And the way she stands and taps her toe
And glares beneath her brows
Has the office juniors panicking
And avoiding, as allows.
There’s an issue over paper
And the telephone account
And the petty cash, though balanced,
Is a questionable amount.

Historically our working week
Has employed a give and take
With an easy flexibility
That allows us all a break,
But the new Middle Manager
Has reversed the mode of work
So that everyone competes
And the roster’s gone beserk!

Her manner’s often strident
With a whiplash to her voice
And the snarl of her vindictiveness
Leaves us all with little choice
But to bend our backs to labour,
Work our fingers to the bone
And suffer her till knock off
Then, thank God, we’re fleeing home!

There’s a memo in the “In box”
Rumour has it, from on high,
That due to overdue restructuring,
That some redundancies are nigh.
And though there’s great reluctance
And some measure of regret...
It seems our new Middle Manager
Has got her notice...Sorry Pet!


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
15 January 2011

Its morning
and I ride the bus to school with you.
We stare through the graffiti scratched grooves in the window
the sun hums hymns over everything
but we notice the shadows
what is invisible to them

Most days we don't listen
teachers preaching system
but we don't find that interesting.
We nod to their speech
but really its the beat we tap with our pencil and rubber
swinging on chairs as we try to find balance

There is no need to talk **** in the playground
we're schools ahead of them;
girls not eating in front of boys
frontin' like they don't like girls
just irritates us.
We could hide in the toilets
but we want them to see
us cuss them with our book and pen
how we be marking paper

Some days we don't go school
we call Kevin, he takes us to P's
and we watch them.
At first they make words make love
then they make words hate us
they cuss destroy trust
punch chest they get vex

Then I will lean forward,
skip along the vinyl,
jump onto the needle,
fly over the speaker
riding the bass onto your shoulder.
You will strain to hear
as l whisper
*put your headphones back on

I go back to the old house, down off Harper Road and across from the old bakery. The paint is green now and the shutters look as if they would like to peel off the sides of the windows and float down the street. I stand there on the curb. I say, “This is my childhood home,” and it sounds like a lie. Then, “I used to live here.” Finally, “I don’t live here anymore.” That one’s better, truer, but it still sounds like a warning.

I find a neighbor too, a little older woman with reddish hair and beautiful pearl earrings, and I ask, “Do you remember a little girl who used to live here?”

“No,” she says, “you know how it is with neighbors these days, no one ever stops to say hello.”

I resist the urge to say hello; we talk about the weather. When she asks if I was the little girl, I lie. I don’t have a particular reason for this, but the knowing glint in her eyes irritates me. I talk about a cousin, an old acquaintance I wanted to find.

“Genealogical research,” I say, “a hobby,” and I keep lying until the woman with the pearls is no longer curious, or paying attention. I do not remember what I say; there are certain kinds of lies no one is ever particularly curious about after you tell them once.

I wait a polite amount of time and then I go back to the Motel 6. The girlish, conventional corner of my mind is whispering sadly. What a shame, she says, no one here remembers you.

The rest of me is a woman, vindictive and satisfied. Good, she says, and means it. If she had her way, she would burn the house to the ground like so much tinder and be done with it. A better ending than this, she says. She’s smiling; she thinks I should have slapped the lady with the pearls right across her ugly face, there in the middle of the street. You and me, she says, we don’t get paradise, but we’re old enough to choose our own hell. You and me, baby, we get a choice.

I light a cigarette in the dingy motel bathroom. It’s the first I've had in days and as close to paradise as anything else I know. I study myself in the ancient mirror, unfortunately positioned on the wall over the porcelain toilet. I say it out loud, testing the words, watching them weave through the smoke. “A better ending,” I say, and I try very hard to mean it.

I’ll stay alone,

My eyes twist and twitch,
From place to place,
From this beauty to that
Beauty to the next beautiful ugly thing,
And my smile irritates me,
As much or more than any other matter,
I left you when you loved it,
The noisy smile, not far from my eyes,
Yet lately so far from sight,
I hate to hear it and the memories
It recalls, so I drown myself
In half smiles and music,

A few shots for the flu,
A shot or two, and a note
Signed and spattered with truth,
Countless shots to forget you were mine,

So many people say the worst goodbyes,
Are the ones never said,
I can’t help but dissagree,

Tell me you aren’t coming back,
Say this isn’t really goodbye,
Let me know it’s just, bye.
So many people say the worst goodbyes,

Tattoo with a paint brush,
It’s a curious thing,
It seems so many have tattoed
Strokes of thought upon me.
And you’ve peeled back flesh and bone,
To lay black ink upon my heart,

I’ll drink up shadows,
And the red of my veins,
Let the black fill my arteries,

And drink away another day, in memory of your name.

There's comfort in discomfort
And love in being lost
There's thinking and there's knowing
There's fire in the frost

I find myself at the end of a short journey
Most everyday, these days, if I'm honest
And I find I don't remember the journey
Soon, I won't remember it happened
Even forgetting the ending to it
A journey to my friend's house or the store
It's all sand that was washed away
By the ever-forming tides in my brain

I wish the tides were more effective, obviously
Wash me away as a whole entity, cleanse the world
They say there's pain in forgetting
Which I guess would explain why I'm like this
I have a friend who used to say they were a cancer
It was when we were younger and I didn't get it
Maybe it was because of their zodiac, I thought
But now I'm older and now I get it

After about a week of deliberation, I see it now
This, in a sense, is a song or a tale
That, if you look closely, debates the ocean
A frightening and dark depth of immeasurability
Would it be a pop culture reference now;
If I were to say I'd see for myself
Or would it simply be a pretentious reiteration
Made in the poorest of tastes?

My best years are behind me, I tell myself always
Thinking "oh, how I've wasted my time upon time"
But I've been telling myself this for my whole life
So when the **** were my best years, really?
I am perhaps the most attuned I have ever been
Rather than a teen singing opera in the streets
I am an adult screaming into metal tubes
Pretending that one day it will make me a living
Stretching my body thin and disappearing under pools
Pools of sweat, blood and tears, in a manner of dramaticness
The sun burns my skin off and the salt in the waves irritates the exposed muscle

That previous line was too long and it didn't fit the scheme
But I think that sort of helps with the deranged nature of the prose I present
I say to myself as I keep writing lines that are almost as long as that one

What the **** is rock music?
People tell me "oh I don't follow what goes on with rock music"
Or they ask me "what kind of rock music do you enjoy?"
But then we're counting Elvis Presley and Les Rallizes Dénudés as the same genre

Rambling on as usual, which presents a conundrum, do I finish the poem yet?
Or do I expose more of the thoughts with no connection?
I guess the connection is these are the things that keep me awake in the dead of night
And these are also the ones that I wake up for
Here's another one: Why do I love?
It comes so quick and stays so long and pains me to say that it churns my stomach
It makes no sense and though it's an impulse I cannot control I wish I had some modicum of understanding
And there's an even longer line, to show how strongly I feel about this!

You know, the reason I switched subject materials (or maybe I didn't even do so)
is partially because I forgot I was writing this, which fits in with the subject to begin with
It comes and goes in waves and threes, triumvirates of pathetic hasty fugazi deliberation
Ill-considered and hazardously conceived, murdered at birth
In a video game, that'd be called "spawn camping", and I for some reason felt the need to point this out

The time I tried killing myself (or succumbing to these waves, if you will)
It was the very waves that prevented me from it
I stood, perched, completely naked but for a pair of underwear, on my desk, looking out my open window
I felt the need to jump and I didn't even think about who might miss me on that day, I could think of no one
But then I kept thinking and things came up, musical concepts or scenes from films or random thoughts about historical figures
And before I knew it, I was sitting.
And though I'd felt it just as strongly as before, I could somehow even procrastinate suicide
Now if that isn't a superpower, I don't know what is!

The waves, they crashed against my open skull and my exposed brain matter
And before I knew it, I faced both the predicament of pebbles and skin
My amygdala and hippocampus were both as flat and smooth as the skin of a newborn
And yet as wrinkly and terrifying as Willem Dafoe in the Lighthouse
And there I was, a trembling infant, wracked with grief, paranoia and the shivers
And there I was still yet, I was Methuselah and I forgot what made me so

If I have to be honest with you, frank and earnest, as vulnerable as I always am...
I forgot why I wrote this by the time it was completed
But that is not the only thing I've lost
I look in the mirror and I see an ocean, formless, unending, ceaseless, hurdling ever toward
Toward, toward, toward
What is your identity, oh great one of the waves?

Time is restless train,

the more you travel,
the more it irritates
your senses, you see
the changing views of
nature, trees, fields
with wheat and corn,
sunflowers and memories,

Time is restless train,

until you go to the end
you forget what was your aim,
you forget what rest from you,
in which fast wagon you are
how long time did you travel?
who you are and where do you go?

Finally is all the same,
the train is heading to the
last station of endless lake.

- nour -
  June-013

There's no one who bugs me, irks me and makes me mad.
There's no one who hounds me, pesters me and irritates me.
There's no one who angers me by forgetting special occasions,
or forgetting to call,
or gets unsalted butter rather than salted at the grocers.
Only You.

There's no one who makes me roll my eyes
with his twisted philosophy, illogical excuses and faked innocence.
There's no one who makes me purse my lips in disagreement,
when he comes home from so-called overtime work,
smelling of cigarette smoke and whiskey.
There's no one who makes me bare my teeth with exasperation,
when he doesn't talk when I want him to,
when he seems to not listen when I think he needs to.
Only You.

There's no one else who knows to buy me tulips,
when he's trying to ask for my forgiveness.
There's no one else who sings "Wonderful Tonight" off-key,
when he sees me in my most tattered pajamas,
with my hair standing on end
and my cheeks and neck crawling with rashes.
There's no one who cooks a meaner chicken soup,
when I'm sick and force-feeds it to me in bed.
Only You.

There's no one who kisses me in the sweetest,
most breath-taking way in the park,
in the rain while we're jogging.
There's no one who makes me laugh
with his spot-on impression of my favorite comedian,
while watching a home video on date night,
and sharing a big bowl of buttered popcorn.
There's no one who makes love to me in such a selfless,
most gentle way, making me feel like
I'm the most loved, most special girl in the world.
Only You.

There's nobody else who makes me love him,
who makes me want to keep loving him,
in all his perfection, all his imperfection,
all the things that make him a man.
There's nobody that I am most willing
to brave all the storms with,
nobody I desire to grow old with,
and give all of my self to...
Only You.

Is that God or Desperation
     That gets us through the night?
Are the faces in the ceiling real,
     or figments of the light?
Do we fill our minds with banal thoughts,
     to help us on our way.
Do we mark the time thats slipped and gone?
     To live in fear of that final day.

An argument is meaningless
     to the one who lives in faith.
Though all of us are faithful,
     and in that faith so few will sway.
Yet still the act of lashing out,
     seems to have it’s own relief.
Is that God or Desperation
     when we question those beliefs.

Is that God or Desperation
     that keeps us shelling money out?
In the quest to find some meaning
     are some willing to sell out?
Is the “truth” that some are preaching,
     worth the solace that it gives?
Even if that comfort irritates,
     and causes other men to ****.

Is there truly any way to live,
     when the fact is we all die.
Or is the truth what makes the soul,
     feel vibrant and alive.
If we embrace our own mortality,
     is it then that we really shine?
Is it God or Desperation,
     that leads to a novel life.

I know a girl
who leaves lunch early,
earbuds in one hand,
history book tucked into the other,
who gets reclusive in big groups
and would rather spend a Friday night
reading with a teacup nearby
than out at a party.
Not when she sings.
When Maddie sings,
she shines,
and all of her nerves
seem to melt away in the first verse
as she shows everyone
how amazing she is in her element.

I know a girl
with really long legs,
who still crawls up the stairs sometimes
and trips over her own feet
more often than anybody I know.
Not when she dances.
When India dances,
she's dazzling,
and her smile is the brightest onstage
and you can just tell
through her incredible grace and radiance
that this is what she's truly passionate about.

I know a girl
who loves meeting new people,
but gets really awkward
the second time you talk to her,
because after introductions
she has no idea what to talk about
and has never been skilled
at articulating what she wants to say.
Not when she writes.
When I write,
the words just spill from my pen
until before long
I've found a way to take my thoughts
and turn them into something I hope
is worth leaving behind for the world.

I know a girl
who isn't nearly as confident
as she should be.
She puts a lot of thought
into how people see her
and watches all her words
(not to mention her actions)
very carefully.
Not when she's with you.
When Sophia is with you,
her laughter is effortless.
She sets aside
everything she's worried about
and allows herself
to get lost in the moment,
eyes sparkling and focused
on nothing but you.

I know a boy
who has a lot of insecurities.
And he and I
have a ton of differences.
We don't get along
pretty much ever
and a lot of the time
he irritates me beyond belief.
He can be sorta immature
and more often than not
finds it really hard to stand up for himself.
It seems to me
like a lot of his life
he's been treated like a second choice
and started to believe that's what he is.
Not when he's with her.
When you're with Sophia,
don't ever think she doesn't care about you.
Because you're the boy
who saw her heart
as well as her beauty
and loved her for all of it
and couldn't go very long
without her in your life,
because even when you tried to ignore it,
you couldn't deny
that the connection you two had
was too strong to force apart.
So even though we've had our fights,
and even though my opinion doesn't matter at all in this,
I wanted you to know
that I absolutely support the two of you.
Because I've seen the way you look at her,
and it's the exact same way I look at him.
And when someone looks at somebody else
the way you look at her,
there is nothing in the world
that should keep them from each other
if what they want
is to be together.

Here I stand upon this stop,
It's my ritual every day,
With all the other zombies,
Tired and looking grey,

The thought of public transport,
Irritates my brain,
As the bus arrives at my stop,
Packed like a commuter train,

The usual faces look away, 
Thinking please don't sit with me,
I park my **** upon their bags,
I pretend I didn't see,

The huffing and the puffing,
People late for work,
The woman sitting next to me,
Thinking...he's an effing ****,

Trying not to look at her,
Or the hairy man in front,
I look at the condensation,
As her elbow gives a shunt,

Getting up from my seat,
Needs balance and an awkward grin,
The bus brakes late upon this stop,
As she heels me in the shin,

My eyes welling up,
As I let out a massive ****,
The poor old lady gags,
Pulling up her winters scarf,

Embarrassed by my actions,
I pressed the button quick,
The odour travelled up my nose,
I think that i'll be sick

Fighting past the commuters,
Trying to get some air,
I knew it was too late....
Throwing up on some ladies hair,

So now I drive to work,
Past the Bus Stop that she waits,
We are married with two children,
Some people call it fate,

Sometimes I just don't know who you were or what holes of my memory should I fill you in.
It irritates my skin and scratches my throat.
How much did I love you for you to be this absent, to be ghost-like, almost flesh and bones that never were.
Yes, I'm grieving inside, but I love you even if I can't remember you.



- LynnAA

The way she drinks, it irritates
The way she eats, It irritates
The way she yawns, It irritates
Even when
she’s on the phone, it irritates
Like a coiled spring
when sprung it f** vibrates

How can I move on?
Jus how when I fell hard for this boy
This boy that irritates me
This boy I think about all the time
This boy that infuriates my mind
Engulfs my heart
Captures my soul
This power he holds
And he doesn't even know
This love I feel
Can it be real?
It can't be
Because it hasn't been that long
When I meet you and I melted
Your smile lured me in
Your humor stole me away
Your love I so crave
I wait and wait
Patiently
Silently
I wait
Everyday
Wondering am I not enough
Maybe I'm not
Because I thought I was
I thought I gave u my love
My good stuff
I tried to make u feel like a man
My man
But you was jus playing
Right play me was the game
But how can I believe that
When I feel something with you
And I know you feel it too
I know you feel when we make love
Feeling high as the heavens above
Or maybe I'm obsessing over you ***
But no no it can't be that
Bc I crave you in ways
I haven't craved another man
I crave your mind
The very essence of you
I crave your soul
Baby I jus crave you
Every flaw I hate
That drives me insane
I crave your happiness
I pray you succeed
I crave your love
I crave bearing your seed
I don't know its crazy all this love for you I have
But everyone says I'm crazy
Or Lusting
Because you give me things I never had
But honestly the ***
**** it's good
It's life changing
My emotional high
My feeling of desire
And ******* you for days
And oh baby the ways.
The very ways I wanna *******
You can't begin to imagine
So maybe it's lust
Bc I jus want u
Bc no one knows how to make me feel good but you
But I know it's not the ***
Bc the *** is great
But **** baby it's you
I can't explain it
But it's you
Everything about you belongs to me
And i don't know why and how but it does
I want you for myself
And it makes me hate me
Because you make me weak
A **** fool
A fool for you
So every night I pray for strength
The strength to not crave this boy anymore
The strength to move on
The strength to not let his smile
Break me down
His dimpled smile that caught my heart
So I'll jus play this part
Boy breaks good girls heart
It doesn't restart
Bc she can't move on
But when she does
Boy falls apart
**** another broke heart

bubbling, boiling, the ****** acid sizzles
my insides like water hissing as it turns to steam
helpless against the fury of a forest fire
it chars my throat,
tears springing to my eyes

i can taste the salt on my face
but all i see is red

mirthless laughter echoes
the way black coal smoke billows
from the smoke stacks of my
lungs

the searing heat of hatred
irritates the skin on my wrists
i scratch and scratch and scratch
until the skin is raw
until the skin is broken
until the skin hangs off the bone
i feel nothing but the rage

giving me strength
giving me focus
giving me calm

the lava rises, shrieking,
into my eyes,
pouring from my ears and nostrils,
seethes between my clenched teeth and sealed lips

my breathing
even, deep,
matches the rumble of the cracking earth

and from its core more fire comes
evaporating the tears on my cheeks
the blood on my arms
the rain from the very sky

1.  If the enemy is in range, so are you.

2.  Incoming fire has the right of way.

3.  Don't look conspicuous, it draws fire.

4.  There is always a way.

5.  The easy way is always mined.

6.  Try to look unimportant, they may be low on ammo.

7.  Professionals are predictable, it's the amateurs that are
    dangerous.

8.  The enemy invariably attacks on two occasions:

       a. When you're ready for them.
       b. When you're not ready for them.

9.  Teamwork is essential, it gives them someone else to shoot at.

10. If you can't remember, the claymore is pointed at you.

11. The enemy diversion you have been ignoring will be the main
    attack.

12. A "******* chest wound" is natures way of telling you to slow
    down.

13. If your attack is going well, you have walked into an ambush.

14. Never draw fire, it irritates everyone around you.

15. Anything you do can get you shot, including nothing.

16. Make it tough enough for the enemy to get in and you won't be
    able to get out.

17. Never share a foxhole with anyone braver than yourself.

18. If you are short of everything but the enemy, you are in a
    combat zone.

19. When you have secured an area, don't forget to tell the enemy.

20. Never forget that your weapon is made by the lowest bidder.  

21. Friendly Fire Isn't.

And Mike's Three Corollaries:

1, Keep your head down.

2. Never pick up anything off the ground.

3. Never, ever, trust the locals, especially children.



Compiled by mce

See that girl
She’s a try hard
She likes to play with her hair
She bites her nails off when she tries to talk to people
Such a disgusting and annoying one
She thinks that she’s amazing
But she’s no prima donna
She sings
She dances
She writes
But she *****
She’s not pretty
She’s not tall
She’s not skinny
Not at all.

You see me don’t you?
Your eyes are filled with hatred
I can feel them glaring at me
Trying to **** me with your stares
Trying hard not to tear me up
Pulling my hair to ease up the moment
I bit my nails off to **** the tension
I pretend that I am ok, that I am grand
I sing
I dance
I write
They’re my outlet for everything
Don’t take them away
But, I don’t care anymore
Not at all.

She irritates me
She’s numb
She does not feel how negative we are towards her
Or is she that dumb?
Drama Queen!
Always making a scene!
Attention seeker!
Someone give her a time out!
Enough with her antics already!
You’re just another girl bullying yourself
It’s not our fault
That you hate yourself
That you cut yourself
In fact we don’t give a **** about you
Not at all.

I’ll go away
I’ll vanish
I don’t want your attention
Your attention is focusing on me
The reason why you see everything
The reason why you hate me
You said enough
You said I’m bullying myself
It’s all my fault
I am my destroyer
I am my own demon
I am my ender
I am nothing
Did I care to live another day in this Earth?


Not at all.



-jnldm

My first friend was a big dog
A great big beautiful boxer.
His name was Duke; he loved me
Seemed prepared to stay forever,
Protecting me from any and all
In our house of anger and noise.
Two careless adults lived there
And no other girls or boys.

There was just the three of us;
I, the first child, and damaged,
Whose infancy was one of abuse,
Whose trust had been ravaged.
A child naturally cries sometimes
And irritates a self-centered dad
He can approach and gesture
And convince the dog he is mad.

Beloved friend, center of my world
Was gone from me the very next day.
Until I was an older child I was told
Dad raged then he took Duke away.
Duke didn’t know, nor did dad
That on that sad and scary day
Dad took not only my doggie friend
But he took trust in my dad away.

Duke was only doing his job, but
Dad saw it as a protective stance.
When that dog growled at him
He **** near peed in his pants.
“I won’t have a dog that threatens
Living in my own house with me!”
I know after living decades at home
What was threatened was dad’s authority.

Dear Poet:

Your poetry
throbs
amuses
delights
irritates
stimulates
sometimes incites

Mystifies
startles
unnerves
and excites

Perfectly lofty
exquisitely right
dynamic
thrilling
burning bright
brilliant
heartwarming
whimsy in flight

Provocative
magical
forever true
magnificent
moving
engaging too

So now I'll close my letter
with a plea:

Keep writing.
Take care.

Sincerely,

Me

The silence of lake
In the midnight play
Intrigues

The cool breeze
During evening walks
Whispers sweet nothings

Sweat drops
Gleaning on the forehead
Irritates during scorching noon

The Sunshine at dawn
Fills the room with light
Wakes you up for the day's work

Life goes on

The bones of love howl such parodies

That cannot speak more seldom of Paradise

Black sand irritates the Pearl...

Faith maligns the Believer

As God invents Pain,

Shrill phantoms

Over Love's

remains.

I once knew a man, he was married to a poet.
He would complain she never remembered to visit her mother.
She never remembered his allergies or his favorite color.
She never remembered to pay the phone bill or to wash her clothes.
She never remembered to take her medicine or take a shower.
She never remembered to take the trash out or to go grocery shopping.

But he got sentimental and told me what she always remembered.

"She always remembered," he said, " what we did in our first date.
She remembers my favorite cologne and what type of detergent irritates my skin.
She remembers when I tell her I love her.
She never forgets to tell it back.
She never forgets to love everyone she meets, greets everyone with a smile and enthusiastic wave.
I guess she can't remember little things like my favorite color or what time she has to go to work.
But she always remembers the important things
And I guess that's all I could really ask for."

I couldn't smile today, of all days.
I felt so mad,  angry,  at the routine of everyone.
Hating someone then pretending to love them irritates me.
Christmas is supposed to be joyous, a time of smiles and joy with memories.
Getting mad when you don't get the gift you wanted?  Grow up.  
I watched someone I love not be able to stand up to hug his family at Christmas!
Angry because someone took your ***** Santa gift and you had to pick another one?  
Grow up.  
I had to pick up my hearts pieces--for falling in love with a drug addict--and now that I have chosen someone else, I am having to learn how to love all over again.
Unwrapping presents is a subculture beneath the societal continuation of "Christmas"
We don't know the true meaning,
All we know is there are gifts involved.
What if you truly sat back and watched everyone else open their presents?
Watch their faces and reactions to something you made instead of something you bought

I surprised him on Christmas Eve.
I made him think I had to work all evening,
Only I pulled in his driveway, called his parents to let them know I made it, and then I asked him to Skype with me via text.
He obliged, and as the camera turned on I saw his eyes twinkle,
You look beautiful
So do you
What are you doing?
Sitting in my car, you?
In a sun room,  waiting for family
Well, could you do me a favor?
Yea,  sure,  what? *
(stepping out of my car)
Could you turn behind you and look out the sun room glass and add one more person that can wait with you?

He rolls his chair around, where I am standing in his backyard facing the sun room,  all dressed up for him.
His eyes water,  and he starts heading out the door towards me
Kat,  I thought you had to work
I had you fooled,  didn't I?
I wanted to surprise you for Christmas
You did Kat

He wraps me in a deep hug,  
Kisses my cheek,
And softly whispers in my ear,
Best. Present. Ever.*
That makes two of us.

Life to me is never about what you get from others but what you give to others.

Everything,
blown out of proportion.
Is not being able to print something a reason for you to cry?
Does it allow you to shout at your mother?
You rude *****.
She does everything for you and you can't be appreciative.
She may irritate you to no end.
She irritates me too.
But, there is never a valid reason for you to shout at your mother.
Your mother.
The only person who'll love you unconditionally.
So, shut your mouth.
Have some respect and stop crying for every single thing.
*God!

In my own skin,
I fit like a glove.
In my own skin,
I look as I always have.
In my own skin,
I look in the mirror
And see someone unfamiliar.

I slip into my skin,
And it irritates my entire being.
I slip into my skin,
And I feel like I’m sinking.
I slip into my skin,
And for so long I wriggle
In order to lessen the struggle.

I move in my skin,
And the material chafes all over.
I move in my skin,
And the resistance grows stronger.
I move in my skin,
And it doesn’t seem changed at all
To those who don’t look and never see me fall.

In my own skin,
I fit like a glove.
In my own skin,
I look as I always have.
In my own skin,
I’m screaming for my life,
and no one’s here to listen.