Let the bird of loudest lay
  On the sole Arabian tree,
  Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.

But thou shrieking harbinger,
  Foul precurrer of the fiend,
  Augur of the fever’s end,
To this troop come thou not near.

From this session interdict
  Every fowl of tyrant wing
  Save the eagle, feather’d king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.

Let the priest in surplice white
  That defunctive music can,
  Be the death-divining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.

And thou, treble-dated crow,
  That thy sable gender mak’st
  With the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,
‘Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.

Here the anthem doth commence:—
  Love and constancy is dead;
  Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.

So they loved, as love in twain
  Had the essence but in one;
  Two distincts, division none;
Number there in love was slain.

Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
  Distance, and no space was seen
  ‘Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.

So between them love did shine,
  That the turtle saw his right
  Flaming in the phoenix’ sight;
Either was the other’s mine.

Property was thus appall’d,
  That the self was not the same;
  Single nature’s double name
Neither two nor one was call’d.

Reason, in itself confounded,
  Saw division grow together;
  To themselves yet either neither;
Simple were so well compounded,

That it cried, ‘How true a twain
  Seemeth this concordant one!
  Love hath reason, reason none
If what parts can so remain.’

Whereupon it made this threne
  To the phoenix and the dove,
  Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.

          THRENOS

Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Here enclosed in cinders lie.

Death is now the phoenix’ nest;
And the turtle’s loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,

Leaving no posterity:
’Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.

Truth may seem, but cannot be;
Beauty brag, but ’tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.

To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.

A pin drop silence
An unusual serene calmness
A solemn way to start a day
in an empty classroom

Even the softest moan...
the loudest roar
Sighed...
counting my own breathing
as I was fidgeting to and fro
in an empty classroom...

123 my heart was beating slow
456 my heart was moving faster
789 my heart was thunderous!
blood boiled up to the head...
from cheerful to moody
from pretty to ugly
smiles... yawns.. smirks... temper!
the veins fighting in the face...
dark red with anger burst!

A sudden... gentle knock on the door..
broke the golden silence
a sweet angel walked in
with head held down
"GOOD MORNING TEACHER"
Applause... Applause... Applause...
Thank you to the sweetest soul..
An empty classroom came to live...

Wee Angus McSporran, the world's most accurate marksman, is deployed  to Afghanistan and Iraq as a ****** in the Royal Scots Guards. In spite of his diminutive stature (4ft 8in), we see him skilfully shooting men, women and children by the score, convinced they are terrorists and a threat to our freedoms in the West. He becomes emotionally involved with the gigantic ginger-haired Pipe Sergeant-Major **** McKnob, the loudest piper in the British Army and a famous poofter. We see Angus and **** in some of the most explicit ******* love scenes ever shown in a mainstream movie (tastefully filmed in soft focus and sponsored by KY-Jelly).

When **** is blown to smithereens by a roadside bomb planted by American freelancers in order to implicate the Taliban, Wee Angus goes into deep depression and becomes obsessed with his skill as a ******, often shooting "allied" soldiers in so-called "blue on blue" friendly fire. After each shooting we see the image of the ghostly dead Sergeant-Major appear as in a dream, his kilt a-swirl and his pipes wailing a tragic dirge in scenes reminiscent of Braveheart.

When Wee Angus triumphantly notches up his 500th **** (including over 75 US military personnel and several important Afghan politicians), the British government decide it is time to withdraw him from active service. In order to gain patriotic press coverage in the run-up to a General Election in Britain, it is agreed that Wee Angus shall be awarded the Victoria Cross by HM the Queen.

We see Wee Angus, in full regimental uniform, marching up the Mall to Buckingham Palace to receive his medal, his telescopic-sighted ******'s rifle looming heavily on his childlike shoulder, being cheered on by crowds of thousands of wellwishers. Tragically, when he is crossing the road in front of the Palace, he does not hear a new environmentally friendly eco-diesel double-decker London Transport bus approaching (his hearing has been seriously impaired by the noise of battle) and he is mown down, his scream being amplified to eardrum-splitting levels of horror. The camera lingers lovingly on his crushed body and we see scenes of unimaginable grief in the crowds who have taken Wee Angus to their hearts. His lover, the strapping Pipe Sergeant-Major **** McKnob, appears as an angel and weeps by Wee Angus's squashed corpse.

In the final scene, reminiscent of the closing minutes of Slumdog Millionaire, the massed marching pipe bands of the Assembled Scots, Irish and Welsh Guards appear as if by magic and the entire crowd cast all inhibitions to the wind and indulge in a life-enhancing Highland Dance and Ceili around the Victoria Memorial facing Buckingham Palace. The film ends with a heart-breaking shot of the Queen coming out on the balcony in front of the Palace and having a fatal heart attack with the shock of what she sees before her. Prince Charles is seen gleefully rubbing his hands together in the background: at long last, he is King! *(end titles shown over a shot of him groping Camilla's naked sagging ****)

Sometimes the words I love you swarm like hornets behind my teeth, a phrase so heavy it only has eight letters just like I lost you.
Sometimes in the pause you take before you speak, I wonder if you’re fighting to keep down the same things as I am; trying to swallow a confession that seems less like a secret and more like stating the obvious.
We were funny, we were bad at holding hands, I hated when a car goes over the tracks, you had this way of making silence the loudest sound in the room when it hit the floor.
I made a home out of your hands just like how many beautiful things go without reciprocation.
We seem to have found fault in being whole, somewhere alone the way, we’ve started enjoying breaking things;
Like my ribs when you’re gone and I want to know if you can tell the difference between the absence of my voice and silence.
You are the only thing I’ve ever let go that makes my hands ache.
I’m still trying to piece together what made you lose your faith in me, was it how everything starts with gritting teeth and everything ends with you walking away? I should’ve known, the way you used to hold my back like you were checking it for exit wounds.
It took me 2 car wrecks and 6 shattered mirrors for me to realize that the world has so much more to say when it is silent;
if I didn’t bruise so easily, if I wasn’t looking for a way to be made of a river, if I needed the silence to mean something, then I would ask you to build me out of quiet revenge and goodbyes that stick in your sides like tree branches, I would need you to build me out of reasons to believe instead of reasons to be afraid, I would turn my kneecaps into strawberries in exchange for potter’s hands so I could mild you a bulletproof spirit.
It was silence and your lighter, I was cold, you were drinking; that was our backbone.
You were alone, I was going too fast because sometimes you don’t have to be in the wrong place to be looking for the wrong thing.
I am afraid and you are warm; this is the beginning of a forest fire filled with broken glass shattering in broken homes with broken people inside on a broken piece of land in a city that has too much rain for someone to build an emergency room in.
I spend nights up until my body can’t handle itself any longer,
mornings have come like a hammer to my head-
instead of my face, all I can see in the mirror is an unfamiliar expression,
something like a dead battery.
All I ever wanted was for you to be my fire, I am tired of these old lives and would like to see them burn.

Your pacing pulse beats a drumroll in anticipation of the unknown
Yet your soul remains silent in cries as an unborn
Singing lullabies in cries up to the highest note
Still you stand placid,as the calm of the eye in a storm

Mutely you hope the transition to your dreams
Is eternal separation from the real
You rather find harmony in nyctophilia in the night because,
Daily the sun's illumination reminds you of the light you miss in your life


Your salty pillow know who you are.

BUT you built a home in your mind..now you wore a smile,descended the heavens when you fed your subconscious with eternal light. It all sources of your smile.

Now your pillow is dry.

It’s “then” that I realize,
When my friends leave,
That half of me dies,
Not at the door,
But beyond the locks,
And delirious drives
Home.

Come the other half –
The side
That revels in the quiet;
It slowly bites my tongue,
After sleep,
When I slip outta bed,
Crazed from dreams,
And even further by work;
Let me reside, the floor.

There’s no respite, no hour,
I’m annoyed even by
My stubble,
And the duty to
Shave –
Name me “lazy?”
Or labeled the animal?

I open the shades –
The forecast calls for rain.
I close the shades –
It’d ‘ever be night.

And after I’ve chased them out,
Something still and falls.
It’s not water, but rather,
Silent apologies that drip
And drizzle
From the sky and
Corners of my mouth.

They’re the “wants” left unheard,
In the form of unanswered
Voicemails, texts,
Email intentionally marked “spam,”
And pebbles echoed window,
Attempts “disguised” behind
Melody and
Resonant retribution.

I’ve always known how to
Push,
And now,
More importantly,
When to pull back.
If only I could
Drag
Myself from bed,
As this feeling’s “today,”
And it may not be there
Tomorrow.

I have loved you in the coldest of snowstorms that winter has to offer,
Felt your warmth through the curve of your lips,
The music of soft fingertips. My body is your piano,
We write a different genre of music when we love.
There are warm rays of sunshine cast over our flesh
And the snow glistens with the light you shine in.
I’ve never felt safer, wrapped in the protection of your arms
During the loudest thunderstorm in the middle of spring;
When the skies are dark and grey, lightning shooting like swords
Against earth’s ceiling.
I’ve held your naked body against my own,
Drawing over the cliffs of your hip bones, the valley of your
Belly button and the mountain range of ribs,
The cage that protects your heart from the heat of the
Summer temperatures that I hold within me, your warm
Anatomy heating my body like the core of earth:
From the inside out.
I’ve ran my fingers through the sweet sweat resting over
Your back, like droplets of dew on a leaf in the early morning
Humidity of summer after a night of making love.
We watch the leaves change color ad stroll softly
To the ground in autumn.
The temperatures begin to drop and the branches are naked
And bare, like my skin in summer while we sleep.

I’ve loved you like the snow that grips the bark.
I am cold, but winter has always been your favorite.

Because even the loudest lyrics
Cannot drown out the pain

What might the heights of the minds eyes see while the spirit is in motion of the purest emotion of intent and expression of love?


Is it such a state where false has awards and evening gowns picked out for the awards show?

Is it so fake that one might find it difficult to understand real from false?

Or might the fact that when a human being can truly  walk the line of life with grace and demanding ******* while gently caressing the absolutely overwhelming truth that love has ravaged the soul ,

Ravaged this soul,

*****, held, ravaged, run through, righted and scorned in the deepest of waters a soul has yet to express to the world for two thousand years, and all while  the captive ....... Soul,         is critiqued on the devastation wrot in such completeness that is is even to this day savoured as a prized  fetish even unto the sad would self.

Dare I ask simple a question of wondering curious eyes of windowed souls to cast a view into the dew of the greatness of being of truth and grace while respecting the very heart from which such torture pours from?

dare a truth be asked that such a human being be of a dignity in company with the child timid in him self torn, dashed , bruised, named and bolder than the soul that resides in you?

Dare a tasked truth be ever revealed of contemptuous  acts of ***** souls and privacy of ones tiny castles in the  oh so damaged and bitter sands. Of the wombs of mind that we all venture to frontier the very limit of the souls endurance, prestige while being undignified by the raw violence of the act of continued ****, or is a dared truth to harsh a fact for timidness of my self to have swallowed whole as the soul of mine self and mine eyes and mine teeth from which the vengeance did pour a pounding to seek, all to be driving back by the broken and horrorably disfigured child of me that many find more womanly.   For this Ugly Boy of me, this sad sot silly and ***** smaller to the vastness of the fridgidness of ******* through lies and manipulations while taking in the raw ******* of the common God's child , virus this not what we all are the now newly in question not so rarely ***** and sold like ****** in a new church for the dastardly and bastarded ******* that we have come to call complacency of decency?  

Any, how foolish, yes my dear friend , you are indeed a wiser worrier  wafareing wondering wizard of vast skills and frightful  ways and means to tame the beast of such hateful things , so costic as to reach deep into them and quiver their tiny tethers and frail feathers all a mockingly  to the tones and notes left after we vacated the dead crypts of self deprivation and hate as we all found the truth of the emotion as it poured through us when realizing this damaged, torn and frightened child , a man holding the depth of winter killing fields at bay, a man kindly swaying the stars to play a tune so as to grace all who broke his heart a stay of pain for each and every attempted and timidly bold and brazen sway and slanted ****** love or raw truth and powerful motions from which we all find the fancy to ****** the  tool as the goofiest  **** **** as hell fool we all choose to allowed the absolute grace and magesty to ******* Rule our Hearts for even just a fraction of a moment in this prayer of endless time, yet hold with the dared scary and walking naked and alone into the lions den while the wolfs and beasts all gathered their finest clothes, weapons and gold, silver, trinkites and shiny of the shiniest of the things they boldly and brashly slash all with as to command the fear to reside in the human spirit.

As this silly little hill Billy with a **** nice *** *****, were wolf feet and all called out to the proudest and loudest of the tiny little spouts and softly said " what is all you foolish fuss about?"
"Have you lost you most precious toys, only to find victim the Dickson of my sorry and sad state of dieing from the oath and lashing of what you helped  rip from what can only be many peoples and communities and even many families?"

Dare a truth to truth this dare my dearest cud of a bear for a true beast of welcome verosity I be all the while giggling and prancing all about like a happy *** skipping fairy, and of this I most truly rather be for don't you know? , did no one tell you the news?  The horror is scaring but the truth is so amazing, turns out scar gardens are the softest things God has ever created, scar gardens are the hardest element that break far stronger , bold creatures of far fasters tested , cleeted, bust a mother up than most man has ever know to exist.
Scar gardens are the very  spouts from which the truth and grace of the living love of God pours fourth into this majestic ******, animal ,spiritual ,sacred, holy and magnificent place , a place that the very bashing of the flowers that dance you delight even in the pity, plight, laughter , and slight  has done nothing but cast us all from it loving embrace, yet, dear cub of a Billy bad *** nub of a cubbed couger in the final leaps to catch this timid and playful prey of me that you so think you will devour you see,  we, the ones whom truly felt and opened and dare that **** scary *** chance to dance with this devil in the pale moon light have found that they no longer must live in fright, that this very garden is theirs and none to own but to flourish and grow, thrive if you must, but lest get nasty for a real minute, animal to animal ,it ma thrive , sure but it will **** , love ,fight, rise , Smit , right the wrongs that have tortured us far to ******* long and in that moment of exstacy the human race may just finally realize ***, love, caring, kindness and truth of self are the face of God starting through your eyes experiencing all f his loving songs creations and getting ******* goose bumps and he'll yes this Billy Jack goofy *** bad  kat all **** knuckled with bad habits and a lust for loving full ******* spectrum and a lesbian trapped in this fugly *** mans body all crazy *** triple run *** marks the spot moon shine devil of mine were wolf feet and all does truth and whole love the Real Girl and is ,,,,, and most mother ******* who are real and real down with the truth that God is love and loves even your silly but as God loves mine silly *** and the rest of this star studded cast of human **** ups simply attempting to pass and go the **** home at the end of the school bell.


HUA,    I do love the Real artist  you speak of, she knows it, and may just know that I know she is not the one laying **** the silly hill Billy with a rather bad *** wi,,,,,,,, um sorry.     Where were we. Oh yes. Um. Only those who care to let go and allow the truest of flows and are true to self and the love that one finds in the being of anothers breath, thoughts , actions , decisions, and mistakes and graces to right ones self after horrors that tear us and embarrass us, these know the truth ,and my dear friend i love you too, but not like the love i expressed to you in hopes you to feel the love i share to her with out pushing it on her, so that what is rightfully hers to reject or except i gave it all away to all even those whom used it to fuel hate in mine own shape , form and name.  And i have done all of this and a dillion years of pouring stars into the hearts of that goofy *** girl by way of dancing crying and **** it dieing through the very core of you,  yes i got you high, horney, got you off, many times , i gave you memories of sparks you know, i gave you worlds of wonder and ways to flurish and grow, i gave you what you , well many of you , did not even deserve for it was truy meant to be for her, but i felt that the most good it could do and the best love i could show her is i can love all of you and even rock hear heart all the very same ways i moved you , and not loose one silly little drop of the tears in her pain, yet sip them and drip them into her so she may choose to live again, as she has done for me.....do you now see? For I C C I said this goofy eyed going man who has done all this in his true and real names,  For I Love You So.


And didn't even eat my wheaties wink , smile I a not mad at ya, just being me, and some times we all have a tax bit of  werewolfand badger **** in us , sorry to offend, smile in the end, we all just might be ,,,,, sort f friends..

I wanted a pen
to write my dreams
to silence my screams
to dwell in imaginations den

I looked at the sky
head in the clouds
asked out loud
a plaintive cry

I forgot my request
got on with life
lived through strife
survived the test

I entered a contest for fun
drew a quick sketch
third prize I fetched
oh my, a sky pen, I won

I took it as a sign
to rekindle my fire
this victory inspired
me to pen a line

I’ve found a lost love
a forgotten joy
a much adored toy
a gift from above

It fulfills a need
feeds the soul
makes me whole
I’ve planted a seed

It grows and grows
can take over
I’ll never recover
from poems I sow

I’m soaring, floating
following my pen
escaping reality again
sweetly, softly, drifting

My wings are stretched
I’m travelling worldwide
nothing can hide
nothing’s too far-fetched

Dilly-dallying my day away
strolling down fantasy lane
with my pen I’m playing
brain and hand gone astray

Am I like Dumbo with his feather?
Can I pen without this pen?
if it broke, what then?
Could I even write a letter?

Firing words from pen
shooting from the hip
no risk of punch in lip
safely hidden in my den

Writing stops many a row
it’s a release
iron’s out many a crease
to it’s power I bow

Freedom is anonymity
let emotions speak
coming out, not for the weak
it brings accountability

My pen has the loudest voice
speaks over my own
doesn’t need a microphone
to listen, I’ve no choice

On day’s pen’s not working
I await listlessly
eyeing it continuously
ideas, hovering, lurking

This pen is now an obsession
an all consuming need
I’m overcome with greed
interrupting can cause agression

My time is no longer my time
it’s now ruled by pen
I’m let of now and then
but frequently called back to rhyme

I’m skimming the stars
for inspiration
battling frustration
wish I could traverse on Mars

On make-believe’s loom I weave
today I want to celebrate
pen and I co-operate
it’s absence I’d grieve

I’m living in cloud cuckoo land
this writing lark is easy
and never makes me queasy
everything, today, is grand

Pen has a quirky way of being
some days very liberal
wouldn’t want to take it literal
problems invisible, I’m not seeing

Today pen writes in language of love
expressing itself from the heart
roses and kindness it imparts
fits me snug, like a glove

Whispering sweet nothings in my ear
making me write all twee
writing cute and pretty
causing my dog to leer

Your like a pringle
once I pop, I can’t stop
you make my feet bop
my senses all a tingle

I’m your willing slave
marvelling in your ways
writing in a blissful daze
your company I crave

Now your just being rude
everything you write is naughty
getting me all prim and haughty
I’ll have to work on your attitude

I need to go to sleep
rest my weary head
your inkwell, your bed
don’t want to hear you, not a peep

She stupefy truth
with her finely crafted lies
that stand head held high
without even
the slightest sign
of embarrassment.
She waters the seeds
with acid, deliberately
even manage to get kudos
for her 'kind intervention'
Her 'collected venom'
in real, is a counterfeit concoction
more deadly than the real,
that attracts unlimited attention
and the loudest rounds of applause,
for it's new shade of blue
when displayed with special effects
for all to view.
In her presence, fairness loses its meaning
foulness like her, usurps it, makes its own,
becomes the reigning queen!
Whatever she does
has a dark beauty,
even the true angel of evil
would greatly envy her.

I have no enigmatic inspiration
To provide any rhyme or combination
To accurately convey my opinionated inclination.

My thoughts are merely another fed up indignation
Towards all the people with egos far too high in inflation
To really understand what it is to have a substantial imagination.

silent moments sing the loudest
and I hear her calling,
" come back to the womb for awhile my dearest, and drink deep of my fare. All your striving leave behind and come suckle at my breast."

When the light has fallen away
And our facades
of rush
momentarily glide
on the breakable ice
in a haven of realisation
Your darkness unveils
the beautiful layers
of the night's
loudest silences
As you hear what the day steals away

Loudest are the silent mouths
that do not protest with Voices
but in their nothingness
their lack of agreement
their eyes like gates taking in your lies
but guarded so you may not reach their hearts

Once I read this quote
about how quiet people
have the loudest minds.

Now,
and only now
do I know what was meant by this.

I sit there while you talk.
Just sit and listen.
A little nod, a silent sound
of consent.
That's all you'll see from me.

Because I'm not a talker.
I'm the one who listens.
Attentively. Tireless.
An open ear
for everyone's problems
musings, thoughts.

And I don't complain
or give advice
I don't argue
or deny

I will just sit there
subtly smiling,
gathering my thoughts
inside my mind

And you are grateful
for that someone
who listens and cares
without judging

But ask me once
on my view, my experience
I will start slowly,
trying to hold back
on all the things unsaid.
tiptoeing around
so as not to drown you

And finally it will overthrow
my discipline
and words, letters, stories
start flowing out my mouth
passing the barriers that
have so long retained them.

And I'm afraid it might easily
crush you
because there's so much within me
that wants to be said
and so very few people ever taken the time
to listen.

Fruits and enzymes nestle there
Toppled with a layer of blueberry syrup
Maybe some Jalapeño covered jams
1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4
It's like a never ending twirl
Ironed out white silk
A broken veil upon my head
I'm the invisible one.

When I speak and think on the life
I was born into
I see it whistle among the bark
Where insects with fairytale like wings surrender.

I stroke your face when I see you
Because I don't know how long I'll get to
And the arrogant side of me
Thinks I wanna be special and nourish you
In all the ways the ones before didn't.

Tokyo gleams from far away
With strobe lights sliding to and from
Neon ecstatic hibernating in a bright place
Harajuku girls echo from the window sill
Of every building I enter and exit
We enter and exit.

It's true
That I just need a little bit of cherishing
Words of affirmation from you
Just everyday
It's true
That I need solid communication
It's true
That in the tango we dance
Side by side
I share, a well of flies surrounding my honey ***
Your honeycomb
I'm oozing flavors of sensuality
But I buzz the loudest for you.

It's almost really frustrating
Because I've got the snouts and mouthes
Of men around me
But yet I still reach the hardest for you.

I know you must see
That I buzz among them
When I need to feel freedom.

My words, watch them now
No ugliness meant
But somewhere in the light
I visualize and green and blue
Hitting your face the morning you held me
And said so closely to my eyes
"Next time, and then next time after that"
Tumbling in and out, I could have sat up
Straight into the sunlight
You came in like a hurricane
And I've always identified with hurricanes.

Something about home
Maybe it's in the way that every little interaction
With the past
Or my brothers and I bickering
Because there is an acute loss in our hearts
We have to leap over
Like the peacocks and chickens
We watched move and glide all around us
Today.

I was taking off on a big plane this time last year
I fell in love and almost got killed while I was there
Late in the graffiti, the rain pouring loudly all around me
I've never known such self-possession
I've never known such trust in strangers
And in moments it swung like a pendulum
Right or left
In the rain drenched streets of Vienna
Where I loved myself.

My love for myself has felt drained lately
Sometimes I think I'm such a self-important *****
Standing in glitter and gold
Holding a microphone
There she is: The Little Southern Girl That Could.

It's in the heat of that self loathing
That sometimes I dream up the best worlds.

I have to get ready now baby.
Butter my lips, my thighs
To sit and feign a smile all night
And watch my father
Walk the other way
At the end of the night.

I fear betrayal
Abandonment I've gotten to know well
And I know you lie awake late into the night
Buzzing, buzzing the loudest
I see you and have gotten to where I can sense
How your spirit contemplates
Or rests on it's side
I never want to be demanding, selfish
I text back
But the truth is,
I am.

I am all of those things
Selfless, incredibly generous
And sometimes I just want and need
Words of love
Looks from your eyes
And I think
We are chipping away at all this work
This relationship we have
And I spin away from my own reflection.

The truth is--
I've got the words tattooed to the inside of my arm
And I hope some time
You'll stop and take the time to read it
Without me even noticing.

I think perhaps you know it well
But is in the words I write
That I think and hope
I get to show you a piece of myself
I otherwise may--
Could not.
And that's why I always long for words back
From you
Because I need to see the naked parts
The selfless, incredibly generous
Selfish
Parts of you too.

But lastly,
In this mound of letters I brought you
I wanna say that I'm glad
That for whatever reason
You stand strong
And intrigued
To twirl right with me
Even if my veil is broken.

When my brothers dog died.
In his eyes crumbling,
The loudest silence I've ever heard.

you can tell by the way she swings her hips
and pulls your hair
and licks her lips
and whispers in your ear
that she's easy.

you'll know her by the short skirt
and the tight top
and the high heels,
by the butterfly tattoo on her lower back
and the drink in her hand.

if she carries condoms
or takes birth control,
if she can't say no,
if she takes no convincing,
you'll know.

she's the girl at the party who drinks the most
and laughs the loudest.
she's the one you discarded the first night you met her,
when she gave you
the only part of herself that you deemed worthwhile.

you'll figure her out
from the tar trails of mascara,
the untouched meal,
the word "worthless" carved into her thigh like a brand,
marking her flesh as property
to which you are entitled.

pay close attention to her need for validation.
a **** will have the audacity to seek your approval
just because she's been told all her life
that she is  nothing without your love.
she will measure her worth
in units of attractiveness
and desirability
because that is the only system she's ever been taught.

you'll know she's a **** when they find the defendant
not guilty,
and he arrives at the ten-year reunion in a limo.
you'll know she's a **** when she doesn't arrive
at all.

it's easy to spot a ****
in a society that teaches her that her lips are for kisses
and not battle cries,
that her hands are meant to be cradled in yours
and not ****** into the sky,
that her body is your wonderland
and not her home.

it's hard to miss a **** in a culture that paints women as ****** objects
while condemning any expression of female sexuality,
that glorifies the "good girl" who becomes whole
when the right man comes along
and stakes his claim.
the women you ****** in the lifetime before you met your wife
weren't marriage material;
you need a girl who's saved herself for you because
a girl who lets you **** her
crosses the threshold from ****** to ****
in a bizarre coming of age ritual in which your **** is so ******* important
that its temporary entrance to her body
renders her worthless.
you can tell she's a ****
because for her, there is no right answer.

you can find your **** at rallies
and in body-baring photographs,
alive in the anxious triumph
of finding something in herself that she can love,
of digging through a lifetime of rubble
and reclaiming small shards of forgiveness from the dirt.
her self-identified status
rips away your long-established privilege
of dictating who she can be
and defining her worth;
your resent her new autonomy.

you can march beside her,
or you can step aside.
she has stolen back her power.
she was made for revolution.

Rain, softly falls in old deer valley,
All the woodlands swimming underneath
The steaming fog.  What peaceful sound 
I hear, softly rings out of the sparkling 
Woods and meadows, chimes like a thousand 
Sleepy bells announcing the rising sun,
Who sings loudest, after the rains.

Have you ever wanted to scream,
To yell,
To shout,
Until you couldn’t say another word?

Have you ever wanted to speak your mind,
Your opinions,
Your heart,
Although no one would listen?

When you wanted speak,
To utter,
To whisper,
Just to hear reassurance.

Instead you are quite.
Not a whisper,
Not a word,
But they wouldn’t know.

But it’s just your mind,
A thousand words,
A thousand pictures,
A thousand stories.

Or how your home,
Lost it meaning.
Or how your touch,
Lost it’s feeling.

But no one ever tells you,
In the darkest of night,
That when the world is silent,
Only the loudest,
Are the screams of the forgotten.

On Friday night
the citylights shone at its brightest
he'd made me laugh the loudest
where being near turned into nearest
is how I know I am the happiest

The sound of silence
is deafening
the loudest sound
is nothing

the sound of silence
isn't quite
this peaceful sound
more like a riot

Sometimes silence is the loudest noise For when I close my eyes sad things creep inside got me thinking bout my teenage Life Call me what u like an ignorant infidel time to tell the real truth yous speak about me but do you know what you do Living life a lie tears hidden behind your eyes I see straight threw you and what you claim to be only portray you more of a Fake to me Spittin nothing but the Truth Silence is the loudest noise. Like a drop of a dime in an echo room. Silence the deep quietness of reality when words are not heard due to their unorderly formality This life will speed by I remember getting high was who could swing the fastest Good ole days when Tears fell from my cheeks bcuz Best friends told jokes that were just 2 funny. Sometimes silence is the loudest noise

Washing over, it is a surprise
No noticeable trigger, even in retrospect
Nothing, and then BAM
A brick wall built in a moment as you step forwards
Hard to describe, my pen rusty from sitting tucked up in a drawer for so long
First I am me
Then me but not the same
How to define that inbetween?
Inconstant, shifting without warning
Dizzying to experience, shifts my emotions sideways
The one who laughs the loudest needs hope,
The one who is the rock needs stabilising
Or else TIP down as the little stones beneath shift around,
Down the cliff from the plateau
Leaving everyone else to cling to the rockface
How do I tell you that SHE makes me feel sick
When it had no effect yesterday?
It isn't he, nor always she, but neither ze nor they.
I am more than IT but less than she
How to tell you that she isn't me?
She was yesterday, the day before,
Today I am only me, as of 22:34
Tomorrow who knows?
But how to explain.

The battle of clothes.
Yesterday, curves accentuated
Today, too tight chest
Tool loose waist too tight hips
Nothing fits except the tears which spring to my eyes
Ever more easily.
Staining my cheeks, my sleeve sodden
I face the world and smile, laugh the loudest, help the most.
Nobody sees me crumble as i shift again,
Stagger slightly as it moves
Not back to where i once was,
But somewhere different once again.

My strength comes from me, but sometimes I can't help wishing I was  an elder daughter, a big sister, an average teenage girl.

That girl who smiles and laughs as you walk by?
Who you are jealous of?
She needs help more than most
The very word she can be jarring
But SHE smiles.

That clever girl who goes to the Catholic all girls around the corner?
Who you are jealous of?
Stupidity and cowardice to not be herself lie beneath.
Buries herself in schoolwork

That beautiful girl sits at a nearby table?
The one you are jealous of?
Beautiful is a dagger in her heart.
For she is not she nor he
Only somewhere in between
It is you these 'girls' are jealous of