You weren’t worth the
Hundred dollars it cost to
Keep you in my car. 
Princess got poached by the
League of Losers with Pedestrian Ideals.

I’d spit venom in your direction, if 
Poison meant anything to you. But
Akin to most things, so sub-human,
You miss the world moving around your
Ever pulsating veins, and repel these
Toxins with a slip of the tongue.

Around you I could line
Bodies of those you’d loved and left.
Each clasping hands with one another,
Privy to a specific type of pain, only you can
Deal out. And

In the center of the circle you’d
Stare, stunned by your state of
Affairs, and flings. Collectively concerned
For the safety of your
Rotting consciousness.

One by one, I could set these men
On fire, and hand you a place 
Where your head could be danced off.
Drunken and diving heart-first into
The burning lake of a 
Surfable crowd. Since that’s
All we are, serfs.

I hope the fire gets too close to your
Gorgeous face. I hope the
Love you receive is no more likable
Than a few more licks from the flames.
The scars couldn’t sideline you.
No one can stop ****.

Dear Best friend,

You know who you are. You are the beautiful girl in the back of the class, who keeps to herself, but is still strangely likable. You are the girl with the piercing blue eyes and dark, dark sense of humor.

Dear Best Friend,

I know you literally are always willing to listen, whether it is talking about our mutual crush on that guy in our favourite class, or complaining about society, or my parents, or when I just need to talk about the weather to distract myself from the looming fear of everything going wrong.


Dear Best Friend,

I still remember when you first told me about your depression. I had always sort of known, but hearing you say it out loud, I honestly didn’t know what to do, because I don’t want you to end up like me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to turn to sharp inanimate objects, I don’t want your world to be dark, hopeless, I don’t want you to fall because depression is a slippery *****, trust me. I don’t want you to forever be broken. I don’t want you to be scared.

I just don’t want you to end up as ****** up as me.

Dear Best Friend,

I know I’m not perfect, I’m not even close, and I ***** up... A lot. But I will do what ever I can to ALWAYS be there for you. I will always be the dorky, idiotic, annoying sidekick.

Dear Best Friend,

You are beautiful, don’t let anyone, ever tell you otherwise. Especially not some 12 year old boy with a stupid haircut.

You are short, there is no denying that, but so is Billie Joe Armstrong and we still think he is the hottest thing since wood stoves.

You have blue eyes, that I know you think are weird, but they are like oceans only not as dark.

Your hair is almost as straight as the members in half the bands we listen to, but each curl falls in it’s own special place

You are beautiful, stunning, breath-taking, and every other synonym for that word.

Dear Best Friend,

I’m sorry you have to put up with me when I am like this. I know I should just bottle it up, but for whatever reason it always seems like I can’t stop the words from escaping. I’m sorry, I am so so sorry that you have to deal with me.

Dear Best Friend,

I really want to smack you upside the face with a brick sometimes. But I won’t, because I am more scared of you hitting back than I am of doctors (and that’s saying something)

Dear Best Friend,

I promise that I will always be there as long as you need me, whether it’s in the middle of the night or when I am thousands of miles away with timezone barriers between us, just call me. When you are scared, call me. When what you are scared of is yourself, call me. When you need a friend, call me. When you want to gush about your new boyfriend, call me. When you want to just chat, call me.

Dear Best Friend,

At this point I think of you more like a sister that a friend.

So, Dear Sister, I love you so much. Thank you for showing me that even the darkest nights have a sunrise, and that those sunrises are always the most spectacular.

Trev is a young dude and he needs to be liked by all




Trev is having a hard time getting teased by his little bro Markie, who was a real little cool kid, and when I say cool kid, I mean he does all the popular things, and all the rough cool kids loved my his brother Markie a lot, and Trev, is just a regular joe who likes to just go down the shop and have drinks, sitting down talking about fathers who were fairly strict, mind you Trev had all respect for his father, but that doesn't stop him from ratting him off to friends over a nice cold can of coke.
You see Trev had a main best mate named Heath, who was a real friend, well at least Trev thought that as Heath always seemed to listen to him, but Heath wanted really to be a cool kid, while Trev just wanted to talk about the things he watched on the TV, and he said a lot about that new music show named Later with Jools and Trev said that Jools Holland was a real hero for music fans to see their favourite music, and I know that sounds like what cool kids talk about, Trev, who, yes I haven't told you, as autism, and he gets obsessed with music, and every conversation was about music and being cool calm and collected.
Heath, didn't want to upset Trev but really he didn't want to listen to every conversation about music, you see it drove him nuts, and Heath didn't have it in his heart to tell Trev, because it could hurt his feelings, but really Trev could throw a tantrum, and Heath cared too much for that.
So Heath became Trevs only friend and came over to his house every weekend to play with him, but when Trev bought out the toys and started to talk about baby talk, you know he was only 8, but Heath didn't speak like that, and even Trevs younger brother Markie who still was using his mothers pet name as his name at 6, he was more grown up, and Heath often tried to tease Trev with his brother, and yes they teased Trev, and Trev was getting very angry, but he kept on trying to talk to his friend, he said ' who do you want to win today in the first round of the AFL, and Markie said how about we choose the team you aren't going for, and then Trev told Heath to come to the shop to buy a drink, and talk about problems with our families, cause Trev was thinking that just because your family has enough money to support you, it still can be a nightmare trying to grow up in a family like that, and Heath, who was getting sick of Trev winging and whining, just said to him that he liked him, and despite of what he says to his brother, it is just a joke, but of course Heath is a kid, and he was a poor kid, so instead of saying what I just said he said, that is what he meant, he actually said, you know , yo, man, wots, happning, ya fams orye qui comply, which you know Trev thought was complete jibberish, and started to think that Heath didn't care about him and sort of gave him the cold shoulder treatment, and Heath sort of noticed the chemistry trying to actually understand, and said his jibberish, which was yo man wots up,
Yo dude, ya nid ta liten up, and Trev was tired of this language and started to wonder why a friend of his was talking like this, this talking isn't proper talking, it'total jibberish, sure he is nice to me, but he speaks this real spastic jibberish, it drives Trev nuts, but really, he has no friends, at school, but he was honest, in that he couldn't figure out what language he spoke, and his brother Markie who heard him wonder what these words were in his mind on his bed, Markie started to teaee his brother saying, you are so ****** *******, you don't know anything that cool kids know, you stupid old ****, he is being cool, you see, ******, he say, yo, ya doin nuttin rye, ya stipid and yo a fu-en ritarded, spaz and Trev really was hurt, mainly because of the way he said it, because really those words meanr nothing, you see they are just words to suggest that kids can tease people who are disabled, so they can't figure out their goings on.
This kind of teasing was going on for days and days, and Markie was a real cool kid, everyone liked him, yes, like all kids want, Markie was popular and then Trev and Markies father noticed that Trev was starting to feel low, and really he tried it make Trev feel better, and yes Trev was normal enough, but his autism kept him from expressing how he feels about Markie and his friends teasing him, and his father and mother sort of were starting to figure things out and when Markie got home, their parents told Markie to behave himself and stop teasing his brother, and then Markie jumped up and said yo da, u
No tes ma bro, u spikin I tun, and then their dad said, maybe, but he ain't like the other kids, he has autism, and you know he needs to feel like people care about him, and Markie  moved around saying I ain hippin he, and then their dad said, if you don't I will ground you for weeks, and Markie promised to make an effort to be nicer to Trev, and Trev really was excited, so excited, be started treating his brother Markie like Heath, and then he thought he was a cool kid, and yes, Trev wanted to treat Markie like a ******, but unknown to Trev, their dad told Markie to go easy on him, but Trev got hypo over the fact that he was a cool kid, kids even said he was like us, man, but still Trev was still too disabled to know young words, but it didn't worry him, because the time his new cool friends noticed it, they were getting too old to tease people that way, even Markie moved on in the adult way, yes maybe This is the time for Trev to be an adult and not worry about being told he's stupid, because only losers tease like Markie used to, because that is just childish, and everybody lived happy through their lives, even Trev, the end


Sent from my iPhone

Each sorrow is the child of a happiness
you thought would never end;
Every happiness is a sadness
I may not survive—
a brilliant October day
lying back in dock hammock suspended
quoting bits of Rilke and starlight anthems
the shadows cast by buildings and frogs
ink drawings made on August nights
by our beautiful chain-smoking artistette
admiring a giant spider friend who’d
spun her majestic web and vanished
while we were swimming
backdrop of bay and boys and cherries
creaky boardwalks under bare feet
and stickiest pine and sand darkness
photos over wing clouds below
creepy call to prayer from ancient Mosque
at twilight punctuating strange dreams
perfect reconciliation on hotel balcony
McDonald’s after soaring from Black Sea
to Bosporus Straight, edge of Asia
visible on the horizon and all of life
a nightmare from which I can’t get woke
terrorized by ***** donor bonesaws
homophobic maternal afternoon rejection
peace that passeth no understanding
when you’re a ******* genius or just
a few points lower sorry never enough
compassion leaking through pores
drawn out by steam more darkness
Eucalyptus perfumed
another flaccid experience on a stranger’s
bed recalling Hippocrates on the drive
away after more bad ***
shots of sauces and grilled roasted
poached lentils bespoke chickens finery
malodorous wafts limestone smoothed
by centuries of acidity oily tourist touches
but they’re in Mexico Australia India
we’re back at home twins calling
each day an error of time rounded off
the incorrigible quark refusing
to cooperate with Einstein choosing its
own entangled path and lighting fools
what beautiful skyline
what amazing celebrity capture
what nostalgic group assemblage
what **** cute puppy who’s no more pup
what swanky tailored look
what smiles what smiles what seriousness
the soft and supple features curves lines
practiced looks and wayward hairs
a simple flourishing according to the lens
so much that skin conceals and eyes
beer garden sidewalk orations
wedding after party for April fools
we were who dance grabbing rings
swinging wildly discussing the vulgarities
of gastronomy and digestion
tumbling into diners midnight offices
brick lined streets magical talks
demonstrations and ideas unbounded
carving pumpkins into likable politicians
we think are statesmen and wailing
when she loses winning a trophy case
buckling under weight of moral victory
the thought of skyscrapers lit
shining under heaven unsubtle insinuation
we’re better than all this nonsense
and stronger having raised this glass
and steel by our own hands, our parents
rather now maybe that’s confusion
erecting higher stairwells to escape
encroaching seas and bums below
all memory all happy every laugh
each rumination on the hours
kisses cocktails cuddles laughter
that perfect vest completed outfit
those thrift store jeans that shirt
that secondhand one speed bike
those lunches with the priest
those brunches with the students
those happy hours with the coworkers
those dinners with the beard
all interchangeable parts in show
theater of recollection one subway car
one taxi ride one bus to NY or DC
one flight to Seattle or Vegas
or some Floridian seascape, mansion
each cog or bit like paper currency
imbued with no value but buying
the totality of lived experience
from which to draw upon in sad elsewhere
—but they cut deep, well meaning though
whenever was now isn’t and can is blind
to what day will ever be when I can say
in truth now sadness isn’t.

I’ve discovered the secret to life!
But, it may not be the most likable knowledge,
And, it definitely does not fall under “small-talk-poetry,”
Yet, it is known that everything-worth-knowing was once considered hideous.

What am I?
I’m human,
like you.

Like you,
I’m human,
What are we?

We are cells,
Cells made up of molecules,
Molecules made up of atoms,
Atoms made up of protons and neutrons and electrons.

Electrons…
The lightest charged particles,
Electrons…
Who weigh 1836 times less than a proton,
Electrons
Found a way to rebel.
Electrons
Repel the nucleic core.
Electrons
Push boundaries.
Electrons
Create space.

An atom is mostly empty space.

All of me is composed of atoms,
All of you is composed of atoms,
We are mostly empty space.

We are just reflections
Of this Universe
Staring back at each other.

He’s not like the others,
he’s not even a wholly likable child.

I mean, he has the cute face
high squeaky voice
chipmunk cheeks.

It’s his personality,
his attitude,
it’s the fact that he’s only 7 years old
and already hates the majority of what he’s seen of this wide world.

It’s the fact that he manipulates everyone’s words
until he’s made the collage that meets his ideal visage.

He’s more than a handful.
He’s even more than a whole village’s armful.

And though I know a part of its’ the diagnosis
it’s hard to keep that in mind
all the time.

(It’s hard to forgive an unlikable child)

Even harder as he swings insults your way,

as you have to take off running after him for the nth time this week.

It’s hard keeping a straight face,
keeping the unflappable demeanor
through every offense.

It’s hard not to scream,
curse,
cry,
  to remain the calm island in the face of the raging tempest.

But you have to.
(Even though he’s not the most likable child)

He is still a child.

And you’re loving compassion is stronger than his self destruction.

On that day which caused my voice to disappear,
All those around me rejoiced and had a feast, celebrating this moment
The words I say brought people tremor, fear or just pure hatred,
Everyone hated them the moment I moved my lips to convey along side them in hope to find someone who could become even a friend.
I was of course wrong all along, deserted for the reason that they found what I said in some sense weird or obscure, maybe irrational,
Was it my means or my purpose that scared them away ?
My looks or my style of conveying to appear more likable to them ?
In the end it didn't even matter for a second, as their false smiles carried the message of their fake friendship and intentions.
Maybe now that I won't have to converse with sound any further, those words of mine might reach someones heart and touch it instead,
But that is simply a distant dream, because everyone hates the words I say, perhaps it is meaningless to seek meaning in my useless self,
All I can do now is to heave in sobs,
Left behind, I can no longer even cry,

~ Umi

All the once upon a time stories that end in happily ever after have the flawless handsome Prince charming who meets the sweetest princess or young maiden who becomes a princess after they marry (typically approximately 12 to 18 hours or so after they meet usually because the sweet young lady was rescued by the Prince because she was singing randomly and dancing around with woodland animals who do her laundry and she fell off of a tower or was attacked by some lady who literally has no job but spends her entire life just being evil for the sake of being evil and yet never starves to death despite the fact that her evil plots never actually allow her to aquire money or food of any sort.)
The girl is always polite
Everyone loves her
She usually has a waistline tinier than a flowerstem
And she sees the good in everyone
She is also gorgeous 100% of the time
Well I am NOT that girl
I can't alwaye be polite and perfect
I can't even be pretty
There are more people that hate me than there are people who can even tolerate me
I'm not the likable easy going type
I don't have a three inch waist (mainly because that is completely insane)
I can't find a way to like every person
I'm the jealous ugly stepsister Anastasia in Cinderella
I'm the wicked witch in the wizard of Oz
I'm the wolf in the three little pigs
I'm the hag in snow white and the seven dwarves
I'm not the princess in the story
But fortunately, I don't need to be because life is not a fairytale
And you don't need to be prince charming
Hell, you don't even need to be anything like the lists I make about what my dream guy should be like
Because really, since when do I know what I actually want?
I certainly am always wrong about what I need
So here's the deal
You love me for me, be loyal, care about me because of my soul first and my looks having nothing to do with it, you give me eternity,
And I promise you the same.
I don't need you to catch me when I fall off a tower
That doesn't really happen much
I need you to catch the little pieces of me when I fall apart because the emotions were all too much
I don't need a happily ever after
And you don't need to be prince charming
Because I am not a princess

Repost if you are not a princess either
Please comment I love to read interpretations of my work and really any other thoughts you may have! :)

SO you decided to read my rant.
So why am I writing a rant?
Because I'm an angsty teenager, but my life is good so I'll write a semi-anonymous poem and maybe if someone reads it I'll think I matter or that I'm not that alone.
The funny thing is, I rarely read the poetry of others, but I expect others to read mine.
I have an entire book that few will read and yet I expect to get somewhere in life.
But I have food and good grades and loving friends and a girlfriend, so my life is good.
My life is good, but good leaves no room for the future.
I am afraid that I can't go on like this and one day it will all crash down on me.  
I don't want to be a drama queen, but I don't want to hole myself up.
I feel these extremes and try to even them out.
I don't want to be like my mother.
My mother is in my ear complaining about all that I do and though I'm afraid that those I love will leave me, I'm afraid she never will.
She's moving with me to the state in which the college that she so optimistically says will accept me is situated.
I'm afraid I'll never have a healthy relationship or know how to function.
I'm afraid of having no family, but I don't know how a good family works.
She is so much of me I don't know which of our feelings I feel.
I don't know what of me is real.
I try to stay down to earth but she sends me reeling and yet brings me down to where I belong.
I'm an all or nothing girl, but that's a bad habit I learned from my mother who screams for milk at mild spice and cries hysterically over people she claims to hate.
I try to be my own person, but as an only child, my companion has always been my own mind which means I became too much of the world around me, and thus not enough of an original person.
I feel that even the one thing I've always been praised for (my writing, and thus my mind,) has only been praised to fill the awkward silences after an unimportant person tries too hard.
I debated about not writing this because I was afraid that I write too often and that it amounts to too little.  
I always use that adjective about myself: "too."  I've said before though that in my case it should be said as "tew" as in "too much of that which is ew" and then I think of all that I am not, but rather, "nawt" (not enough of that which makes people say "aw")
I'm an all or nothing girl but I try to live in the middle grounds.  
I like something or I don't but I don't obsess.
I know where I want to be in life and will fight tooth and nail to get there, but I fear I may end my life if I am unable.
The funny thing is I don't seek fame, or riches, I just want something that wouldn't be so **** out of reach if I wasn't who I am.
I just want to get my phd in veterinary medicine and marry a wonderful girl and live without too many bills piling up.
But I still have trouble spelling veterinary even though I'm almost a straight A student but almost straight A isn't good enough to pay for my education.
Because I'm too white, not quite poor enough, not quite skilled enough, not noticeable enough.  
I'm just close enough to the norm that people expect I fit in somewhere so they leave me all behind, leaving me with nowhere to fit in.
They all think someone else will help me until no one does.
So I search for the people whom I can make feel special and I throw myself at them praying to feel like I belong, but it never quite feels real.
I want to crack into people and find whats real about them, show them all of my all too real flaws, but inside their shells are likable things, and I am like tamarind: too sweet, in need of salt and spice, and strange to harvest for flesh.  I could be useful, but there's always something not quite right.
I know everything I do is not quite right and sooner or later someone will pull the plug.  
And leave me.
And I'll be left alone, writing or reading or crying or sleeping.
I wanted to record my voice saying this, but I knew that people would be even less likely to notice my words then.  
I'm not the person whose writing wins awards, I'm not the plucky student whose hard work earns scholarships.
I fall between the cracks because I'm too good to deserve pity and not good enough to deserve praise.
I tried to draw to spare you all from this stupid rant but though I liked the shape of a few lines, they meant nothing.
Maybe that's my problem, that I seek meaning in everything.
That I can't make anything of meaning.
I don't know why anyone bothers with me.
I feel like they're lying to me.
I'm nobody.
I'm an all or nothing girl, but I'm either too much or not enough and that means I'm in between.
I am the or in either or, in yes or no, in succeed or fail.  
I would be happy with that if it meant that I could just get the few things I want in life, but even that is too much to ask for someone who's not eloquent enough, not charismatic enough, not good enough to get there.
I know this feeling won't stay, because I'll bounce back to the opposite extreme of loving life.
I'm an all or nothing girl and even though I know in a lot of ways I have it all, right now, I'm feeling nothing.
And I'm afraid these feelings won't leave me.

Those onion dome cupolas,
Sheer Slavic sublimity,
Instructing us:
Perhaps Peter the Near Great--
Rather than picking a pack of pickled peppers--
Decides to provide us a solid reminder
Of just what Greatness implies.
The near great never so
Great as Greatness requires.
According to a foremost authority
On pre-Mongol Russian architecture:
“Whip me up some beet soup, Bubala.”
Mike Myers, of course,
Doing “Coffee Talk with Linda Richmond!”
Yeah, a bowl of borscht and a plate of pirozhki.
Feed the stereotype: Ivan, Boris & Natasha,
All obviously Down’s-Syndrome-Feeble-Minded,
Pre-Mongolian Idiotic, as we once said.
Our weltanschauung—
Our World View--
As Good Neighbors Reinhard or Wolfgang,
See the business of global politics.
www.wikipedia.com “The framework of ideas and beliefs forming a global description through which an individual, group or culture watches and interprets the world and interacts with it.”
Thank you, Huns--
Wayne Newton singing:
“Danke schön.”
You always,
Always Hungry Huns.
Danke schön, you Campbell Soup
Man-handler-Hungry Huns,
Fueled on Goethe & Nietzsche,
Zoroaster & ***-ner
Germany:  A Nation of Militarists & Conquistadors,
Just when the Cold War could have been over so quickly,
So prudently averted by asking one simple question:
When have the Russians ever been the
Aggressive party in any conflict?
Be they simple border disputes,
Or true malice aforethought.
Some Napoleonic,
Or Hitlerian.
It was a simple case of HUAC histrionics.
No, decidedly not.
The Near-Great Peter’s was--
If anything--
An Open Door Policy,
A diplomatic Welcome Mat,
A soft squeeze of one’s ball sac,
Pleasant & promising,
“Mi casa es su casa,
Try the Chicken Kiev.”
No Iron Curtain,
If I might, coin a phrase.
But a strong shot of Oswald Spengler,
Pessimistic & carnelian,
Jogs us to Stalin & Khrushchev,
Brezhnev & Putin--
Putin--Vladimir, of that surname--
Perhaps the scariest
Bond villain, yet.
Putin makes a historical first:
Invasion of Crimea.
Invasion of Ukraine.
Maybe those Cold Warrior masterminds,
Actually did us a favor.
(Come out of the closet, J. Edgar.
A retrospective tribute is in the making?
Tom Hanks playing a likable you?)
Tom Clancy & Company
Whipping us up like smoothies,
To fight the good fight,
Noses to the capitalist grindstone,
Building for Divine-Right Nabobs.
New shrines & tombs,
New Coliseums
& Amphitheaters.
New terrible fears of Ivan.

1.
it is so easy to become
someone you aren't
in a room full of people who
will hang on to your every word
bate their breath and then laugh
at the right moments
it is so easy to pretend
for a few minutes that you
are charming, witty, and likable

2.
your skylight is full of sun
even when it's dark out
your skylight, it glows
and the constellations are as far away
as you sleeping next to me
i lie, petrified of touching you
should you pull away

3.
why couldn't i be this charismatic
with the people you know?
it seems, at your house
i never start a conversation

4.
even simply liking you
is touch and go
do or die
i don't know
time may lie
still, the clock would stop
ticking and i
would sit alone in space tonight

5.
sometimes without meaning to
i block out sound
my ears simply filter out
the voice or sound
i do not want to hear
so i'm beginning to wonder
if i skimped on the details

6.
do you find this
a suitable noose
to **** me by
-to myself
who never stops pining
after something to bring her grace

*******
Arsonist
Regrettable
Stupid
Horrible
Arrogant
Loser
Lia­r

Manly
All-knowing
Right
****
Handy
Awesome
Likable
Level-heade­d

"Loads of guys talk to Rhi"
On a day such statements and possible insinuations don't **** me off
they actually entertain me.

What do people think of me?
What do they really see?
Used to be a source of teenage paranoia
Now I'm more intrigued

It's 6 am,
After party at Mag's house!
Everyone's sleepy
Sun's coming up
Smokers coming in and out from the balcony
Sliding doors
Dawn chorus
Sat in the darkest corner
On a wicker chair
Tryin to go unseen
Feelin I look a state
Makeup has started to fade
No longer hiding me
No one in this room
Would know though
About that insecurity
Had me Avoidin mirrors
When out since the age of 15
That's a long time to not be
able to face yourself

But now this young guys facing me
I've sparked an interest you see
Half cut Johny who I shared the car journey
Back with has been spreading the word
That I do carpentry
And he's intrigued
So he's crouched down beside me
Eyes wide open,
Probing me, testing my knowledge
Rollin off his story of going off the rails
And joining the army
But how carpentry gives him some peace
I smile, I listen, I speak
Shake his hand
As he introduces himself as Steve
Asks if he's steppin on anyone's toes
Cause he believes the Dj
That's followed us back
For the after party
Is my boyfriend
Cause we were talkin
And he was stood next to me
I laugh at how fast
Assumptions are made
In the dark
It's kinda funny
He feels awkward now
Says it's nice to meet me
Leaves
Sigh of relief

Why do loads of guys talk to Rhi?
The banter most probably

Hear Dj taking the Micky
(Turns out to be his name ironically)
As he walks back in
Tryin to set up his sound system
Steve says get some Scart leads
We're cracking up
I say something off the cuff, witty
He Spuds me
I'm a "bro" after all right

What do you do?
I dance
But you was stood behind me all night!
Ha! No, just for a bit,
I was watching what you was doin
He starts telling me about beats per minute
I ask him bout the Djing
How I'm interested in doin it
We Banter about how he'd teach me
How I'd be his prodigy
I think he means it

Says we got him in trouble with the club
For changing up his set
Cause we were goin in
We were feelin it
Asks me to guess where he's from
I say You look mixed race
But I bet your Cypriot
Says he's Half Turk, half Greek
That's why things didn't work out
between Mummy and Daddy
Chuckles softly

He's a Barber during the week
Cut Rita Oras hair the other day
Shows me the tweet
He's likable, pretty sweet
Says he's glad I'm there
Cause he doesn't know anyone here
And he'd have no one to talk to
A shy dj
Looks like Drake
Kind of a giveaway
His Nose is running
I say
what have you been sniffing
Grinning teeth
Smiles and shakes his head
How can you say that
To Someone you've just met?!
You're cheeky!
Asks if I smoke or do drugs
When I reply no
He jokingly asks to marry me
I say where's the ring?
He gets out his keys
Puts it on my finger we laugh
Who knew getting a wife
would be that easy?
Calm down sunshine!
my games more stealthy

But I reiterate
"loads of guys talk to Rhi"

What do they mean?
I'm a guys girl
Always have always will be
If this night has confirmed anything
It's that
Certain females just don't warm to me
Give them a compliment
They're ******* me
Make a joke
They're ******* me
Dance by one
Accidentally knock her phone
Out her hand she sits down immediately
Face of thunder
I Say sorry,
Skulk off awkwardly
Beat myself up about it momentarily
Then get annoyed and think **** it
Head back to where I'm meant to be
Just the dance floor and me
Where I get smiles and laughs and looks
I can't quite decipher
"White gyal skanker!"
Mutter out apologies as I stand on
Some guys toes
Tells me no worries I'm a dancer

Hell I'm a flirt too!
I speak to guys cause
it's what I know how to do
It's easy conversation
It's fun
But I know that when this nights over
it's all said and done
No need to mention
I have no true intention
Of speaking to or seeing these people again
Maybe I should
Maybe that's how I'll make connections
But for now I'm tired but it's a good tired
I feel at peace
There's something wonderfully dreamy
About the after party
People slowly waking up from the make believe of the night
As they're fighting off sleep
DJ Micky making his way out the door
Shoutin back
Make sure you message me!

I won't

For now It's time to head home
I take my leave
As I exit
Wave bye to Steve

Thinkin Why is it guys talk to me?

For the same reasons anyone would really
I listen
I guess maybe I put them at ease

Whenever I must add new people to my life,
I feel that it is my duty to be my most likable version,
And because of that, I wear makeup, straighten my hair,
And lose myself in aesthetic immersion.

I feel better when I feel pretty,
And that breaks my heart.
I never thought my happiness,
Was such a simple and vain art.

Am I just a ***** up?
No.
I was made for more.

You're a long way off kid.
Not a single thing about you is ******* up.
Well, nothing but your self image.
That's way out of whack.

You're a good kid.
Creative.
Smart.
Likable.
Where'd you get the idea that you're a ***** up?
Not from me. That's for sure.

So stop listening to the little man on your left shoulder.
He's got nothing good for you.

Now.
Focus.

We are young!
We are strong!
Lungs to the heavens
as our hearts sing along!
We run as thousands
but we stand as one!
Souls in the heavens
with eyes on the gun, fun!
Pound our feet in the ground,
rumblin' rhythmic footsteps
move mountains with its sound!
Our words heat the air
as the ice cracks loud!
Their shiver is shared;
Let them stare, we don't care
Melt into the crowd,
and we still stand out!
Individual
Indivisible
Indescribable
Indefensible
Yet still feasible to stay reasonable
No treason is seasonal
No wall is that pliable
Withstand hate with strength undeniable
Vicious, and still likable
Quick to bite; to heal a wound
Get hurt, get chewed
Get back up, Get out soon
And we stand up in rythum
And get back in tune
Singing a song, to sing along
Where we all belong,
Where none is wrong
Mass hysteria with a flex of a muscle
Show them all just how strong
Long in the tooth
or still young
You too can have youth
melt in the crowd, stand your ground
or get swallowed up by the swiftness of our sound

Boys, Boys, Boys,
Likable, lovable,or lonely,
Some are completely despicable,
You got those hard ***** who are too strong for love, or who will just lead ya on, making you think thoughts you shouldn't about them and
Making you want them more then you should,
Or you got those babies, the ones who refuse to actually grow some *****,
The ones who ask you to forgive them of their weaknesses,
Their shortcomings and their downfalls,
Like seriously?
I'm a girl, not a leaning post who you can depend upon,
Ok, maybe if I knew you more,
But still like, really?
The ones who refuse to make a move, like even afraid to touch you,
What? Do I have cooties or something,
Hold my hand, or hold me,
Come on!
Then you got those ones who don't even know how to communicate,
Or say something worth hearing,  
Please I've heard it all,
How cute and adorable I am,
The Goddess, a queen, labeling me to be one who I'm not,
I'm a human being, one of you!
Last time I checked I was a mortal, not some model of perfection,
But to be put on such a pedestal is simply too much.
So come on guys, get a grip and learn how to stand up for yourselves,
Don't pretend I'm something more then I'm not,
It aint going to work,
I want you as a friend, then a lover, but the crushes are constantly crushing my hopes and dreams of finding that one prince charming

“You’re beautiful,” he says,
his voice a gin-soaked amalgamation of every
listlessly aging boss,
lonely husband in the shoe department,
loveless 3a.m.-hard-cocked stranger.

“Why don’t you smile?”

I widened my eyes
in an attempt to appear likable,
yet felt my mouth
straightening,
my upper lip sealing
the bottom like
a Tupperware lid.

I willed them to curl
upwards, unassumingly;
I wanted to smile the way
women seem to smile
while masking
ill-fitting intentions.

My mouth remained
firmly rooted,
obstinate railroad tracks running
the shortest distance
between the two plotted points of
left cheek and right cheek.

Behind these pretty lips lay
two rows of crooked teeth,
a cigarette-stained skyline
against the starless horizon of
tongue and epithelial tissue, ugly
and wholly my own.

To smile
would be a betrayal
of my own trust,
and if any man
were worth that
it certainly wasn’t
this one.

This is the song of a Dreamer.
You would be hard-pressed to find
A more likable person.
He is one of a kind.

He moved to California;
From south of the border he came--
A four-year-old with his family.
Futuro, we'll say, was his name.

Futuro's father and mother
Worked very hard to provide
A good life for their children--
Something that they'd been denied.

Schooling was very important.
Futuro strove to excel.
He wanted his parents to see him
And his three siblings do well.

His college graduation
Made his parents so proud.
The smiles on their faces were something--
The biggest smiles in the crowd.

Futuro landed employment.
Later things went awry
When a cop pulled him over
And gave him a DUI.

That's when the nightmare started
Futuro was able to see
What it was like to be treated
Like a detainee.

Belongings were confiscated.
His hands and feet were chained,
As if he were a convict
Who had to be restrained.

They gave him no information
And moved him from place to place.
Each detention center
Was an utter disgrace.

Conditions were atrocious.
The rooms were damp and cold.
The food was barely edible
After you scraped off the mold.

Thanks to our heartless leaders.
Thanks to the CCA.°
We have detention centers
Where people are treated this way.

Such centers often become
A two- or three-year address
For many detainees caught in
A bureaucratic mess.

These for-profit prisons,
Based on what we know,
Are an assault on our freedom.
Let's face it: they've got to go.

When we civilized people
Treat human beings like this--
Worse than we treat an animal--
There is something amiss.

Futuro, well, he was lucky.
He was released on bail.
Now his fate is in limbo.
At least he's no longer in jail.

Must he hide in the shadows?
Must he be on the run?
What will it take for Futuro
To walk in the light of the sun?

Give Futuro your blessings.
Give the hopeful your praise.
May our eyes be opened.
May we see brighter days.

(2-24-17) By Bob B

°Corrections Corporation of America

I do not need a cigarette in my hand
A flat stomach
An eyebrow piercing
An infinite knowledge of Socrates.

I do not need
A quick-witted tongue
To be easy to please, short in stature, soft spoken, impatient.

I do not need
A fondness of antiques
The latest car
26 pairs of shoes
Diamond earrings,
To be passive,
To be alluring and enticing and likable, noticeable, noteworthy, appealing or interesting.

I need my heart. If my heart does not allure or compel you to see if I really do have 26 pairs or shoes or if I really am a smoker, if I am passive and soft spoken, if I am tall or short, then I am not compelling enough. My heart should be what catches your attention and what makes you stay.

My heart overrides all else when looking at my worth; my 26 pairs of shoes will not comfort you, but my heart will. Therefore, look at someones heart. That is where you will truly find someone rather in who they are than what they are.

“It’s going to storm tonight.”

“Yeah.”

He honestly was just going to drop her off tonight, he said. She masked her disappointment with a long exhale of cigarette smoke as she flicked the cigarette ash out the window. She inhaled again. The car ride, although only ten miles and some, to her house, seemed longer than usual. She had nothing certain to look forward to. He was nothing certain. But sometimes she looked forward to him. Him, both strangely attractive and unattractive. Him, both perceptive, thought-evoking yet ignorant and uneducated. She hated how he stereotyped. She hated how he didn’t seem to care for her.

But didn’t he? She thought he might. He would rub her feet at work. They would joke together at work and mutually smile and laugh. His teeth weren’t straight or incredibly white, but she loved his smile. The way he kissed her when they had *** seemed to be passionate. It was the summer. It was July 5th. She would be leaving for college in August, and that weekend would go to her college and see the room she’d be renting in the fall. She would meet her roommates—a family from Delaware who had a house with extra rooms, which non-smoking females could rent—that weekend. She talked about how excited she was to be leaving. He never really made any comments about the matter. She stopped talking about it.

“You probably broke that guy’s heart.”

He was referring to the guy she met at Dash-In while pumping gas, the guy she spontaneously gave her number to. She wondered what made him say such a thing; he didn’t appear jealous. She struggled to understand how he felt. He never shared anything. Since they started sleeping together, she’d already told him five times that she liked him. She wrote him a poem. He smiled, but never acknowledged her efforts. She liked him but didn’t love him. She knew she never would—they had nothing in common. He was merely a summer dalliance, one of many she’d had in her life, and he wouldn’t be her last. She didn’t crave him, but she craved romance. She craved answers. She struggled with the here and now. She knew her feelings would dissipate once she went away, but she knew herself well enough to know that being around him, for another month and a half, would bother her.

She took it personally that he wouldn’t return to her house. She took everything personally. She took it personally that he never expressed any emotion towards her. She knew he had it. She knew it wouldn’t last. She didn’t want it to last, in fact, she regarded herself as “out of his league” in every possible aspect. He was twenty-five, managing a pool, still, and he never went to college. She was twenty, entering her fourth year of college and finally moving out of her house, with a double-major, and she taught swim lessons and lifeguarded as a summer job. She was a raging narcissist. She was vain, and she expected everyone she slept with to praise her for her beauty and wit. When they didn’t, she took it personally. Often, with the men she slept with, she received no such praise. She took it personally.

She assumed, because he was giving her a ride home, he would enter the house with her, and like the last time, two days prior, they would have ***. When he dropped her off at her house, she left him five dollars for gas. Several minutes after, when she was inside, he texted her and told her that she didn’t need to leave him money. She never responded to that text.

Instead, she texted her neighbor. Like her, he liked to drink. Like her, he liked casual ***. The attraction and un-attraction was mutual. Unlike her boss, she had no feelings for this neighbor. Unlike her boss, she  didn’t feel rejected by this neighbor. Unlike her boss, this neighbor was nineteen, not twenty-five. She wondered if her attraction to her twenty-five year old boss stemmed from the resemblance of another twenty-five year old, one she once loved. Her boss, like the other twenty-five year old, lacked ambition, lacked expressing emotion, lacked the intellectual compatibility that she searched for in a prospective boyfriend and was once addicted to drugs. She found the parallels. In her own way, she considered it closure.

She questioned if she actually liked her boss or if she felt automatically attracted to him because he resembled someone she once loved. The *** was similar. The after-*** was similar. The kissing wasn’t. She saw her boss almost every day. She contemplated ending the summer affair with her young manager, five years her senior, due to the resemblance of the man, the broken mirror who so sickly twisted shards of himself into her, forever damaging her own reflection. This man, her boss, while likable, could never amount to the man, the compost, her former twenty-five year old had been.

The here and now, and the concept of time, in general, had flooded her head with numbers. Dates: she started sleeping with her boss that Father’s Day; they had *** five times since, and he confessed his feelings for her zero times. She hated herself for always wondering what he thought. She hated herself for not actually being sincere. She sensed this man, her boss, was not generally accustomed to such ingenuous women. She was used to stupid men who felt threatened by ingenuous women. It was an emotion-evoking cycle; she would always plunge herself into situations where deadlines existed inevitably. He was writing material.

She took the *** and transformed her thoughts into stanzas. When she was uncertain about him, she wrote prose. She had a boring summer, and while she tried to read books, her writer’s block ate at her. Desperate for material, she resorted to the easiest—and her favorite—method of provoking thoughts: ***. She sometimes grew attached to the person after ***. She’d let herself fall, just a bit, before ripping herself away, emotionally, from the men she was sleeping with. These men only thought about her only once her behavior towards them grew distant and subtly acrid. She knew they knew. They knew she knew. The writing material fell into her lap as she fell into the laps of her men.

She was a poet, a writing fiend, a ****** up girl who only wanted to be interesting. She liked her boss’s smile. She liked his back, and she never minded scratching it while they worked together. She looked forward to going to going away to the university. There, she knew, she would be surrounded by peers who would be legitimately interested in the same things she was, and maybe then she could find someone she could actually let herself become attached to.

For now, her boss, although she liked him, mildly, was all she needed for her creativity just until the summer ended. Although he kept adding soda ash to her pool of affection, she knew that although liking him had become more basic, the summer would soon be over and the pool would be closed.

A life spent in the comparative
Is a life spent searching
Desiring something more, something better
A thing that will meet society's approval
Everyone's approval.

If you only knew
How perfect, how flawless you seem to me
How I would never criticize you
The way I browbeat myself.
Yet you find every little thing to pick at
But you would say the same thing to me.

So why does it frustrate me?
When you complain about your hair being out of place
Your smile being crooked
Your thighs being too large
Or your nonexistent muffin top to the rest of us
But to you its omnipresent

Because I have all those things.
They are wrong with me
Not you.

Because you, by definition
Are skinnier, prettier and more likable than I am
I strive to be like you,
So maybe I could be happy.
And yet you want to change it.

Because I fear that you see me
The same way I see myself.

I will never measure up to you
But I wish you could meet your own requirements
For better than good enough.

I wish you could see yourself
Through the same lens that the world views you through.

You are either going to love this one or hate it, though I know what I am voting for, see, because they talk about curiosity, but I am curious about you.
I’m curious how you got the moon to pair with your eyes making them so big bright and beautiful.
I’m curious how you know what to say to make me smile, how you know exactly what to say to make my insecurities go away.
Like how can you know me so well, and make my heart swell, and make it so hard to tell you, that I might have a thing for you.
I’m curious on how your smile resembles the face of god, how perfect people are not supposed to exist, but yet here you are.
I’m curious to know how such a person like you could even stand to talk to a person like me.
Yeah, and I want to know how you make my heart flutter, and how every time we talk you always end up making me stutter,
and I am curious to know how you got so good at being so cute. You are always telling me that taking risks is a good thing, and this, this is my risk. I am opening my heart, and pouring my soul onto this page, and I am preparing to sink or swim.
I want to know how my mind is always so confused when I’m with you, and I am curious if there is some way that these emotions are mutual. Because *** right now I got a lot of kids wondering, A. Who’s he talking about * B. this is awkward and strange, or C. this is terrible.*
But for everyone else, please forgive me, but this is necessary. This is the only way I could think of telling her I think I like her. See, I know I’m not really a likable guy, but girl I am telling you, you are able to make me fly. I believe in everything when you’re around. It’s like your laugh is fuel, and your smile is the plane, your feet must be hurting, because you run marathons through my brain. I can’t quite make sense of this feeling, but believe me, I am telling you, you are perfect in every way. It tears me when you give in to your insecurities because there is so much I can tell you to build you up, but I’m scared. Your truth is beautiful. I love you for you, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m just scared because this feeling is fragile, and like glass, it can break quickly. But I need to tell you this, and I know this isn’t much but this is my truth. If I could spill out my heart on this page, I would, but the ink would smear.
I’m curious how your night was, I care about your emotions, I carry your words with understanding. I want to tell you straight up, but my smile might fade, and a lot of people are probably going to through me shade for this, but this is worth the humiliation and teasing, I am willing to do this, put myself down like this for you. I am telling you my genuine feelings for you, standing here feeling like I am back in elementary passing notes asking you to check yes or no. I want you so bad, but I am scared because as I am speaking, you are here listening to me. For all I know you could be examining my flaws, but I hope that you are hearing this, and knowing that this is your poem.
I am curious to know how you are able to inspire me so much to do something as crazy as this. It’s easier to talk about depression or abuse, but this is the cheesy roses are reds violets are blue thing, but wait, I got a good ending for that one, too! It’s like roses are red, violets are blue, but not a flower brighter than my feelings for you. I know this poem is not perfect, but I am trying because you are the definition of perfection. I trust you with this, I trust that you know who you are. This flow of words can be dedicated to you. This is my roundabout way of telling you, I like you.
So I’m curious to know,
*If you could somehow like me too.

It was never about 'getting better'
No, I was way beyond that point
See there's a character, values, strengths, weaknesses, beliefs
That shape who we are, how we act, and how we respond

Getting better would mean I'd have to erase the past somehow
To make myself less broken, more oblivious, and happier
All of which I know to be impossible to reverse

Getting better, it's definition has changed so drastically
That it means not being the person
The person I've become
And I know I might have been more likable, fun, and hopeful
Maybe I seemed like a better person than I am now

But if you think I need to be fixed
If you think I still need to 'get better'
Than you don't have any right to be in my life
Because this is who I am now

There's relevance
everywhere
and nowhere
and I don't care

It's all a hoax
and one big joke
and he's a bloke
don't have to smoke

So bide your time
having heart's a crime
in your youth sublime
Don't pay no mind

It's all indifferent
and not significant
we can all be flippant
and there is no difference

Troubled as you are
Likable star by far
when you raise the bar
You might fly to Mars

So take it all lightly
though it seem unsightly
we're all rightly mighty
when we're keepin' it tidy

In our soiled tighty whities

Acid Tongue Xpress how you must feel.
Allowing words rolled off you to heal.
Don't stop now when you think you are done
let the feeling take you where there is none.
You want to say more than likable but continue to let words get you into trouble.
Say what your mind has been holding
empty the space your anger has been molding.
More words of hurt will refill it
just keep on feeling what you will permit.
Speak, and don't hold back anymore
go on now your acid words have the floor.
Does it feel better when you speak
allowing the reciever to become weak?
So silence can not control this event
when every word said was truely meant.
Now the words have become lost
Our friendship of many years is all it cost.
SDPope

I love you enough...
I truly do.
On a ten-point love scale I'm feeling 2
(which for me is impressive and quite a bit...)
That's the most I can offer.
So
Just deal with it.
I love you.
I love you
up to a point beyond which I am unable to go).
It's tough to express this
and harder to show
my non-darling sweetie.
My non-turtle dove
my heart overflows with conditional love
which is cautiously partial and maybe sincere
-my nearly beloved...
You're my Demi-dear.
I find you are likable.
You strike me as cool....
I'm not touchy/freely with words as a rule.
I will love you a long time
until I move on.
But for now I DO LOVE YOU!
I swear I do (insert name).

Lovable
Likable

Only you

Various ways

Excellence in my eyes day to day.

i can't forget what the dirt tastes like
remember broken shards of glass
in your arm
piercing mine on an exploding playground
like my memories and my anger

thumb in palm and a clenched fist
with bruises and blood trickling
down your face
like you've got a crown of thrones
except it's mine
and i need you to crucify this
peaceful moment
this pathetic life
this abysmal circle
until i figure that everyone is innocent or not
and everyone's on their podium until
they're knocked off by the waves
of determination
and then i remember everything you told me
with your fingernails
'***** off'
a joke
a ******* joke
it's all a joke
with your hands on my skin,
my shoulder against yours
the little movements and the peace
and quiet
and your eyes in my eyes
until i smash it with a hammer
because my time is relative
and it's short
and i've waited so long for nothing
because 'everything amounts to
something' which is
**** because
nothing is nothing
especially broken clocks lying
on driveways
and presents left at your door
and stupid hugs
and my stupid arms that never want to let go
of whatever you thought i was
if i could be you i wouldn't
because i'd scare myself too
unto you
unto everything
all i can think about is my thumb on my palm
and my bloodied fist stuck in some
tangent dream
with my crown of thorns
and my cross
and my playground of **** i'm
spiraling my eye
as i dream at night of having a day dream if you
even exist the weather is
cloudy with a one percent chance there's something likable
deep down inside
i am your god
your peace
your understanding
your everything
your nothing
my god
my god
why have you forsaken me?

“Why do you love me?” she said loathing her soft-squeaky voice while she stared at the reflection that lay before her. Saddening with every inch of fat she noticed that left her feeling husky and plumb in comparative to all the other girls in her class that walked around confidently in their curvy and slender body. She stood there trying to **** back her flabby stomach and stoke her jaws with her thumbs harshly so that the underlying fat would just go away.

She ran her fingers along the dark curls of hers twisting them and despising them. Staring abhorrently at her honey-colored face that wasn’t fair as milk and therefore considered not beautiful. Pimples cracked upon her skin, making her despise every intracity of her body.

Her vision blurred as she would see her reflection, tears streaming down her heated pink cheeks as she stood upon the machine which defined her by a number; just like her grades that would define her mind.

“Why do you love me?” It was the question she would ask every person that would walk into her life and say the three words she was never able to tell herself. She wanted to know the details, when and how for the three words would leave her curious as to why they loved her because she never believed there was something likable about her. She never believed she was noticeable because she was invisible. She wanted to know because she was a soul longing to love herself.