Let love be the  blowing wind,

Let love be the crying rain,
Screaming crow,

Eyes to eyes, lips to lips,
Skin to skin,
Life dreams Life, and Love dreams Love,

God dreams God,

Only flowers siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing,

Leeet looove beee the  blooowing wiiind,
Leeet looove beee the cryyyying raaain,
Leeet looove beee the screeeaming crooowww,


While the sun is shining bright,
Shining only for the night,

Leeet looove beee the  blooowing wiiind,
Leeet looove beee the cryyyying raaain,
Leeet looove beee the screeeaming crooowww,

I like your eyes.
Your eyes are so blue.
God, I just love your eyes.
Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?
Nope. Never.
You’re a great kisser.
Where did you learn to kiss like that?
From other guys?
You know, you're smart.
You might be smarter than me.
Is that my cue to leave?
You want to hang out?
What do you want to do?
You eat meat, right?
Ok — good.
Would you dump me if I didn’t?
I like your shirt — it’s open in the back.
Really? I wasn’t aware.
I looove your ***. It’s just like mmmm (cups imaginary ***)
Yea. I know.
(After ***) Wow. I feel great.
Cool. Thanks.
(After ***) You finished right?
Nope.
You are so young.
*Hmm, what happens when I get old?

When the thunder collapses like my grandfather's love,
there's no one that can hate me more than I do now.
As the lights begins to stain and drain my eyes,
there's no one that can hate me more than I do now.
Skeletons fell with the sea shells in the air.
I hope I'm falling asleep.
To no longer be here
is to be fair to everyone.

Art gallery in my head,
where the paintings hang above
polaroids and used condoms.
Where it's okay that I'm there:
the picture of a *******.
Where it's okay to love me.
Where it's okay to be me.
Where it's okay to know me.
Where it's okay to be me.
Where it's okay to get close to me.
Where it's okay to be me.
Where it's okay to believe in me.
Where it's okay to be me.
Where it's okay to be me.

In 2003 I was molested.
I want it to be okay to be me.
I detached myself from lullabies
and sorry eyes, only to realize:
I could have been dead in March,
right before the summer glows
and everyone would know
It wasn't okay to be me.

Why did you have to do it
My flesh tastes tainted,
and my eyes are painted
with the disgust of distrust
and the disgust of your lust
that corroded my body
and ate my blood
Am I any good
I want to be good.
I want to be pure.
I want to be more
than what I am.
****
There's acid in my veins
There's ******* acid in my veins
My body ******* shakes
Even when in love, I shake
When I'm safe, I shake
Am I ever safe

God isn't real, and neither am I
I am about as real as the dream I can't even buy
My talent is irrelevant, my past dictates my decisions
My love is the only redeeming quality,
and even that lacks precision.
I want to be perfect. I'm sorry that I apologize for anxiety;
it's not so much that I'm asking for forgiveness,
I just want to hear that there's no need to be sorry,
because it's okay to be me.

Oh. Hey, my eyes are watering; isn't this cool?
We're all having fun. Yippee.

The sun bursts rays, and there are twenty-three different ways
to stay alive inside when I'd rather hide from the sun's naivety
Searching for warmth on the walls with blistered palms,
as I lay in bed, naked. Removed of clothes and hope.
Blood in my mouth, new starters with broken shoelaces on the floor
Dreaming of different places. I said: dreaming of different places.
Cryptic words. In other worlds. In fire, I learned to drown.

A-B-C-D-E-F-G
Reentering the room, drunk.
H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P
Hide behind the bloodied bunk.
Q-R-S-
T-U-V-
W-X-
Y and Z
Now I've learned my lack of harmony,
next time won't you spare me, please.

Roses fall from the ceiling. There's no way I'm feeling.
Detach yourself from this room, this nation, this planet.
"You're too fragile to talk to, Josh." Thank you.
Don't allow yourself to ever be hurt again.
Regain your focus after I count down from ten.

Ten.
Reasons to stay alive.
Nine.
I want to live, I don't want to survive.
Eight.
There's nothing about me that anyone should hate.
Seven.
There's no god, but right now, I can make my own heaven.
Six.
I detached myself from lullabies and sorry eyes only to realize I love you.
Five.
"You're still there, right?" Dial tone silence, followed by fist to wall violence.
Four.
And to know you, is to know everything.
Three.
Adaptation without reclamation I find you in my translation
as hurt yet elation.
Two.
I want to make love in love. I want to die and donate a part of myself;
my backbone, lack thereof.
One.
When I fall asleep my eyes meet yours.

Intermission:

Do you like hurt? Do you like pain? Is a happy poem not your game?
Well, read a poem by Josh Haines and never look at him the same again.
And don't look at yourself the same, because it's okay to be you!
For the price of absolutely nothing, you can look at his words!
Wait, and that's not all! Validate the 'beauty' of his words by
touching that heart and making it red!
Make it as red as the bloodied bunk that stained his back and heels!
Only for the price of absolutely ******* nothing!
Hurry, though! You only have until the end of ******* forever, so act fast!
The number is
1-800-I'M AVOIDING A LAWSUIT LIKE I DO THE PEOPLE IN MY LIFE

2nd.

Hey, do you like your parents?
Yes!
Trick question. Do you looove your parents?
Yes!!
Do you like seeing your grandmother in a wheelchair?
Yes!
Do you like being hurt by the people that you care about the most?
Yes!!
Then grab some popcorn and cola!

End of Intermission.


Trying like you're crying at the end of the film that documents your life
To divide a knife into your skin like it's a sin to feel this way
I just couldn't take it, bones in the corner of the room.
Inside a skeleton's eyes, flowers bloom.
Chicka-yay-no way. You swear? You say:
Ti-ta-time is on my side, but that's not how it feels inside.
An internal measure of the pressure of the world
and it's bound to run out like the sand in my hands
at the precious beach that would **** me if I stepped
into the blue, for me and you.

Let me turn back time to when I first met you.
Don't be afraid.

I remember everything. To never forget, is to realize every lie,
smile at every face, and to remember every goodbye.

I hurt my hands, I need to talk to you on the phone.

My insomnia lives off the thought, that I hurt you.
The room is blurry, and I'm sorry for being cold.
I am warm. I have the sun inside.
I guess I'm just afraid of burning you with it.

The drums pound into rhyme,
Diamond casualties
Rewind, wound, rewound
To scratch the surface
until there's nothing but sound.

They are Immortal.
They are dead inside.
They are pale.
They often sparkle
but naturally don't.
They bite necks.
They are nocturnal.
They are out for blood.
They enthrall people effortlessly.
Their loved ones are often dead
or being mourned
while secretlly alive.
They act like the cool kids.
Or the awkward emo clicks,
but are treated like this exclusive club.
They don't show up in mirrors
because this IS their reflection.
They don't let the real them see the sun.
I am reflecting.
On.

Why.

Why have I only dated vampires?
I'm loosing lots of blood.
But
What am I gaining?
Besides y'know...
their blood diseases.
And lots of exciting! moments
That belong in movies
that would get
or already have gotten
way to popular.
And be better as books.

Some of them can throw me across a room.
Some of them love to count.
some of them seem to only show up around halloween and looove chocolate

Don't get me wrong.
I still love all these terrifyingly
Seductive temptresses.
I have a type.

But I don't know if it's A
Or B
Or O negative?

I'm an optimism ******
Oh, Positive?
I'm not afraid of needles
But they're afraid of me.

I tend to be a universal donor.
Which makes matching blood hard
Blood that works with my body is rare.

This is not to say anyone
could use my blood
Universal donor or not.
I am infected
with a blood disease
It could be vampirism
Or well, whatever causes one to seek
Vampires.

I Can't confirm anything about wooden stakes
Or decapitation or garlic.
But i can assure you setting them on fire doesn't work.

No matter how hot or fiery I make them
Their anger never kills them
It just makes them stronger.
But it does repel them quite nicely.

They don't like me.
They don't matter.
Talk is out now.
It's just chatter.
I really see it,
Much fatter.
Funny because usually I only see the best.

I,
Feel,
Like a ghoOost
on her toast...

Baby let me be her breakfast, you are you now we are we.


OooooOoooooOooo...
Herrrr, became youuuu,
And LoOove, became usssss.
I don't talk now, to strangers.
I give you all of my lust.

I'll see you at lunchtime, when I walk, to work.
Then we'll have our indulgetimes,
And want to take off our shirts.
Oh well,
Sweetest hell,
I have tasted yet...
Is my LadyBird of the register
We did everything
When we met.

Now when I, say hell, I mean to say as of yet.
This hell's got most heavens,
But I'll sure never forget...
The way you looked, with your hair down...
We'll get our heaven, you can bet.

When designer and model Mari Giudicelli stepped foot inside the Rio Market in Astoria, Queens, she was like a kid in a candy store. “I looove it!” she exclaimed at the sight of a jar of goiabada—a guava paste you can eat with cheese. Her eye catches something else on the shelf: “These are delicious! Everybody had these bite-size cake desserts made with condensed milk and chocolate powder (called brigadeiros) at their birthday parties when we were little. They’re a staple, like hot dogs are here in the U.S.”

With the Olympic Games in their second week, the Rio-born beauty was on a quest to find little pieces of home in sprawling New York. Guidicelli has lived here for six years, leaving her hometown in Brazil to attend Parsons School of Design and later FIT in hopes of becoming a fashion designer. Now she has her own shoe label that is on the up-and-up, comprised of incredibly chic, Brazilian-made loafers, slides, and mules in leather and exotic skins. And while her business and modeling gigs presently have her travel schedule at an all-time high, she relishes the moments she can go home to the Botanical Gardens neighborhood where she grew up to see family and friends about once a year.

Currently, Giudicelli is living and working in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and missing that trip back to her grandmother’s house for moqueca (fish stew) and beach visits highlighted by acai bowls and sugarcane juice drinks. “When I was in Rio, I used to go to the beach on my lunch break,” she explains. “It’s much chiller there; I had time to really hang out during the day, but when I moved to New York, I quickly realized that I needed to get moving or I’d get left behind.” One day recently, though, Giudicelli did slow down to enjoy a day in New York inspired by Rio. She visited the market in Astoria, and said hello to a good friend, also Brazilian, who started a sweet shop on Porter Avenue in Brooklyn called My Sweet Brigadeiro. Guidicelli hung out at Beco restaurant, dining on traditional post-beach snacks like chicken croquettes and grilled sausage with onions, and had a beer. To end her Rio tour of NYC, she stopped by Miss Favela in Williamsburg to have feijoada, of which she says, “Whenever I crave it, I go to Miss Favela to get it.”

While sipping a caipirinha at the bar at Miss Favela she noticed the Olympics on the TV. She’s proud of her country for hosting the games this year. “I have some friends back home who are stubborn about Rio hosting and they think it’s bad for the country, but overall, a lot of the locals are enjoying it and partying in celebration,” she explains. “It’s not putting Rio on the map, because Rio already was on the map, but overall, I think it’s a positive thing. I think it’s really awesome.” For Giudicelli, home is where the heart—and really great food—is.

Above, Giudicelli finds a taste of Rio in the streets of New York.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/****-formal-dresses

Boy, do I looove you
And God only knows I can’t be the only one
But if I spit those words into your Happy Meal,
I think you might actually start to cry
(He’s not loving it, in fact,
he never could, for it isn’t in his nature to love

Or at least to love me)

Puny, frail things catch your attention left and right
Like the bright colored toys wrapped in plastic
You rip each one of them open and play your games
Of make believe and pretend
Until the first time it falls off the table,
Or into the mud
And you couldn’t give less of a ****
The toy will shed a tear, and you will say it’s being a *****

But I know your double cheeseburger soul
Craves more than what you physically desire
But the guilt of eating unhealthy food
Has never stopped you before

I should do my HW.
But you still haven't responded,
What if you do while I'm gone and I can't reply?
Then you'll think you aren't important enough to respond to.
I guess I can hold off on it for a little longer.
Looove meeeeeee.
Gawd I'm stupid for liking you.
But the way you laugh,
The way you talk,
The way you simply live.
(Dying whale noises)
God you're perfect in the most imperfect way.

3/29/2017

steaming july days,
screaming at me that I certainly did not know
what I got myself into

i couldve slashed my throat and
bled onto the connn-creete
and it wouldve boiled

no, you dont understand
no, you dont understand
no you dont understand

you understand? no, dont
you dont understand, no
dont you understand? no?

no...you'll never understand.
twisting our car-seat conversation
back and forth like a rivet

you were right
i didnt understand and i never did, an ingenue
you see back then

i was young for my old age
and old for my young age
who are you now

youve grown your hair out
and youre as woman as me?
a better photographer, too

but youre odd and always will be
i didnt know the indications of looove
i was what i was:

just a
little
girl.

the lady keeps
blowing in
the curtain.
shes dancing for me
and she gathers no moss.
the lady is lost in the curtain.
shes waiting for me to come find her.
i found her
i bound her
to let in the light.
but i shut my eyes
because thats where she hides;
in the corner of my eye
where the light becomes shy.
in the corner of my eye
lives a mistress.
she blows wind
through her dress
she blows kisses.
when she gets undressed
her bodies a list, its:
aaalllllll the tiiiime youve wasted.
aaallll the useleeessss looove.
aaallll the loooove
you couldve had.
aaaall the tamperiiing
with evideence,
that tells you
to hoard
all those feelings you cant afford.
its so simple to know
that less is more.
the moment i passed it
i sat at a casket
thinking:
When one of us dies,
which one of us cries?
if you cant expand
then cut off your hands
theyre better served
by someone else.
you want a life
with a house and a wife,
and youll have to build
your house in hell.
a white wicked fence
a fire that never relents
a bathtub full of seashells.

How can moving on be so hard? Even when you weren’t really together with him? His words were sweet, his eyes were dreamy and I just looove everything about him. He never promised me anything but why did my heart put on such hopes since the beginning?