There was once a family of slugs
That lived in a cabbage patch town
They went out everynite to eat
Found a cabbage and began to munch down

All through the night they could reduce
A cabbage to a stalk in the ground
All night they would munch and munch
But you would never hear then , nary a sound

But Mrs. H was becoming fed up
Her patch was the proudest around
With malace , blood red , she schemed
She vowed to eliminate all those clowns

She purchased the best poison they had
She tried every trick she had read
But the slugs just kept on coming
Every night, long after it was bed

Then a local wino for he said
Out of the garden he could take
These inconsiderate gluttonous
Stylommatophora Pulmonates

So he began by opening a beer
Placing some into a sphere
Putting them by each cabbage head , he said
"This will make those slugs disappear"

But by morning the cabbage was gone
Worse yet so was the beer and
If you looked even more closely tiny signs saying , "Next time make it import you here !"

twelve

         If i could write a letter to my twelve your old self, i would mention the pain your about to face, with self loathing and mental health is far worse then the years before. I would mention how when you wake up wipe the sleep from your eyes and read this letter and find two people you loved gone from your life forever. When you leave your plastic car framed bed you will find an empty room in the basement. The first loss is not death but abandenment leaves no answer to the sting a heart can feel when your older sister meant to guide you has ran away.  She has left, and to what you shall soon find out, left you to your death. The second loss has less thought to the idea of why? but still i did cry. It was my great grandmothers time. Her slow pace death lead to suffering till one week to the day after i turned twelve.  Emotional asking questions why, three days later i tightened my silk tie putting on a suit and ending the night seeing the casket of one of you. To think of you as dead eased my head for a while but still have to replace my frown with a fake smile. After all i lost a sister, when i needed someone to talk you were never there. Instead i just found myself cutting and dyeing my hair.  This is the year you feel your fathers strong hand as you tremble below it. This is the year you tremble in fear this is the first year you want to die

Thirteen

      To my thirteen year old self, im sorry life doesnt get better. im sorry that this is year your parents admit they don't care.  Im sorry this is the year you hear the three words no one wants or deserves to know their pain. Even though the words "I hate you" Were uttered in vain. Im sorry no one was there to hold you in there arms, im sorry of how when looked in the mirror every morniing after you showered  telling yourself its a new day and the pain is past. Im so sorry of how you found out how long the pain really lasts. Look at what you have achieved though, this is the year you win first in all categories invited to Kick Canada to again win. You achieve a bronze as a group, silver in your weopons, and gold in kickboxing. With you feeling weighed down your still weightless, with your amazing place and the smile on your face to look in the croud hearing the aplause. Somethings missing though your parents no where to be seen. Im sorry they wernt there to say good job im sorry your dads hand still strikes strong. This is the year you say enough though, you say no and strike back your foe. He stands stunned for a minute and walks away, the bruises faded away from the surface, but inside i still see them.  It is the night of my birthday i fall asleep praying tomorow will bring a better year.

Fourteen

     Im sorry this is not the year it gets better, your father never lays another hand to your dismay doesnt matter for his and your mothers word fly freely. This is the year they make you cry, only to insult you further "your nothing, your trash" there tounges did lash me. Til  i crashed under hate to my untimly fate, your mother is sick and you walk into the room as she slashes the blade across her wrist, you watch her bleed amd scream for help but she pretends u dont exsist she  spends the next year and eight monthes in psycitric care. Left in a house with nothing fair in the air my invitation ti nationals came and past i did not go in fear of leaving my mother would effect her more vast, past her yelling at ke eberyday i walked in the light blue room with the curtains always closed filled with gloom . While my mother on her last heartstrings looked for strength from her groom . Only to be filled with hate she saw me as a reminder he exsists and how he doesnt visit but i did. I walked the long path every **** day to see my mothers face still i wasnt good enough but that is just my luck. It is my last night of this age. The house is empty amd quite but still remains okay just praying thiis new year brings joy to the now broken boy.

Fifteen

     This is not the year it gets better neither, but this os the year your mother is released. It took a week for the smiles to wear away. Then i saw once again the skin tare from her flesh. Soon hate took over the tone under her breath and malace mixed with spite is the only thing left of my mother i once knew. This is the year you once again face death, you and your mother are in a car driving counting breaths singing along to eminem, reciting robert frost. when suddenly a car passes us and my mother is crossed the mid age lady on her phone swirving around, not paying atention to anyone or anything i still see her frown. She ran a stop sighn without a thought hit by a garbage truck in front of our eyes now i know the cost of when her cellphone conversation stopped. This was the first time i watched someone die. Still shocked  my mother had to call the abulence as i and the garbage man saw the damage in case she still did breath. In the end blood filled the scene as me amd the garbage man covered the front window with a sheet to protect what is left of this womens dignity. This is the year you fond a little blue pill that not only eases your pain if snorted aslo goves you a thrill. This is the first year that you almost sucsessfully kil.l... yourself going to sleep for this living hell praying next year could be better aswell.

Sixteen

     This year is a self medicated blur, this is the year you forgot who you were. T3s replaced with perks and shots only to be soon replaced with oxys in your black box crushed and lined one at a time up your nose the powder glides. The first night you try an 80 you overdose nearly comitoce as you spew a frothy white  fluid from your mouth but my freinds saved me to this day i dnt know how called said i passed out and cant drive home so my parents could never figure out how i lay on the tiled floor back from death after this a pill is never again accepted that is your debt 2 days to your birthday that cursid day your sober but that was just babby steps and i promise little soilder babby steps you would not regret.

Seventeen

      This is the year you stopped praying for help thinking you did this to yourself i promise it wasnt you. How could it be your still just in youth. This is the year you watch your father fall. You find the trail of debt 100 thousand dollars owed mine aswell of been a million for we can barely live so how would you like us to pay it back i finfd him stealing money from my backpack. This is the year you find out your dad is the same worth of a rat and you dont have to take his crap. This is the year he snaps and instead you help him back up. He was in achoma five days as you stayed never slept jus sat beside his hospital bed praying this did not mean death. Death came in a different way with your cousin brit stabbed to death by her husband on febuary fith.. this is the year you wished you diddnt exsist.

Eighteen

     This is the year.... you found the courage to see you will always be...good and thats enough for me.

O wind, o air of present day wisdom. O insightful brethren of the gardens of reality. O ominous depth which no one has crossed in a day.
O head and eye, symbols of understanding and vision.
O hole, o void, on the floor of my being: consuming every normal thought I can muster.
O reflection of a reflection, distracting me from my first attraction.
Now I'm lost in this crystal cave of imagination, which breaths in the Spirit of the present day.
Was not this what I was seeking: to enter the boat rowing on this sea,
To look further in this void of my soul, which swallows every normal way and intention.
Rhymes here mock the true story.
Every creature of normalcy is swallowed by this nothing.
Only building a stronger ship and stronger rowing arms gets me further.

The Hood of the Worlds is worn by my guide
Sick with illness of body, this is the only way to cross the waves.
For nature is now forgotten, only winds of destiny remain.
Here comes the winds of despair blowing next to this ship without sail.
The writer's body fails mid-row.
Will the normalcy give it's cure to the seeker of the philosopher's stone, and cause this ship to sink?
The weird is precious here, but a day of normalcy before has shut weird's way as well.
I breathe into my gut the winds of sorrow, now the poison of malace wafta over the waters.
What will I stumble upon on this journey?
What could be in store for this adventurer?
Even the normalcy of the elements try to cure my disease of unrest.
Why not sail a ship by the winds of tomorrow?
With that last word, normal has bound my heart, now my limb.
I place my hand more firmly on the oars, but now wonder if I even need to row to find what I'm looking for.

I step aboard another bigger ship of a fellow seeker true.
He has sails that already blow,...with tomorrow?!
What have I done?
My poor boat was best, stricken by death.
But he reassured me: "I have food and supplies until sunrise".
But tomorrow is too normal still.
It's sun and Ray's, the billowing clouds, all make for me to sink back into the hole, the void.
Maggets fester, worms intrude, in the dark water.
Yet even these creatures' nature to decompose my body, is too normal for the void.
Being me, being man, being human, too normal too.
I'm only a spec, a mark, a dot, and once I manifested I get merged.
So I'll remain partially hidden in everything.

Is that what this is about?
That what I see is partially hidden for a point?
For a point to not sweep itself away?
Yes, the kingdom of heaven"in your midst" or "within" is just a way to keep the light just right for my own edification and entertainment.
Too normal this purpose is, for me to cross this void.
No, the point still hidden, that wondrous spec, is hidden due to weakness of me, it's observer.
Or else hidden and manifest would be one.
Look what I've found, I've come to "He".
A normal thing I do all the time, I know.
So this reason is too normal to bring a shade of new to this void, so peaceful it is.
"He" knows too much to seek out anything.
"It is you I seek" He says with utmost adoration of me, His subject.

If you seek me, and I seek to build a ship that can bridge the dark and the light, is your Ark, so strong, just another ship to poke a hole in?
"Why I don't know" was His reply.
I guess I'll climb aboard, and be His guest.
What do I seek?
A gem like no other, a tale fabricated that even I would be amazed at.
"I know what you seek" He says as He steers His Ark in it's direction.
"A million stars?" He asks.
"Even that is a common normal thing".
"A ship to cross them?" He wonders.
What is there our there that is more amazing than transcendence?
"Hmm, I wonder," He gives a smile of admiration.
"That's what I've said too" He agreesthe tale is told to a degree.

Caves make great closets for prayer

Be anxious for nothing but for everything in prayer

When the wicked malace of men dare not openly assail , then they will resort to secretĺy ensnare

Know the value of not lapsing into silence , that is the way to despair

There's a beast in my breast
A creature in my chest
I say a prayer to soothe her to sleep
But the monster never rests
Her goal to keep me awake
With every regret and every mistake
Most hearts have ventricles
Mine has tentacles and claws
Scraping and scratching at all of my flaws
The cause is insurmountable
accountable for malace
A chalice of pain
In a world of suffering
It always will reign
But theres an angel in my head
She challenges the beast instead
Of letting me fight this battle
That rattles my ribcage
She is reserved and refrains
From the eternal rage
She helps me decide
That there's no need to hide
She takes my side
And whispers lullabies
That help me take it instride
No matter how I've tried
To calm their qualm
They quarrel incessantly
But this upheaval
Of good and evil
Is my destiny

I WAS FORBIDDEN TO SEE HIS FACE OR HIS PHYSIQUE
BUT HE ALWAYS LET ME KNOW THAT HE WAS THERE.
HE GAVE ME THE FINER THINGS AND TREATED ME FAIR,
AND I KNOW THAT HE LOVED ME I DARE SAY, OF THAT
HE NEVER SWAYED.

SINCE THE DAY I HAVE BEEN TAKEN AWAY
FROM MY FATHER AND SISTERS, I HAVE LIVED WITH
THIS MAN AS MY HUSBAND, NEVER TO SEE HIS FACE
BUT ONLY TO FEEL HIS TOUCH.
ALWAYS LEFT TO WONDER IF HE WAS A MAN WITH BEAUTIFUL
FEATURES OR A HIDEOUS DEFECT OF AN UNFORSEEN CREATURE.

HIS LOVE WAS GENUINE FOR HE NEVER FAILS TO TELL ME, NEVER FAILS TO SHOW ME AND TO THAT I HOLD TRUE HIS LOVE FOR ME, IT WAS NEVER BLUE. FOR ONE DAY AFTER NEARLY A YEAR OF HIS PLEASANT LOVE HE ALLOWED MY BELOVED SISTERS TO COME AND PAY ME A VISIT AND I WAS NEVER MORE THE HAPPIER FOR I HAD NOT SEEM THEM SINCE I HAVE BEEN TAKEN.
BUT OTHER REASONS HAD THEY FOR THEIR VISIT, OH I WAS SO MISTAKEN.

THEY POURED INTO MY SUBCONSCIOUS MIND
THEIR LIES, DECIET AND THEIR MALACE FOR THEY
HAVE BECOME ENVIOUS OF THE SPLENDOR THAT HAD BEFALLEN ME,
OF THE GRANDOISE OF MY CONFORT; THEY THOUGHT ME TO LIVE UNHAPPY
BUT WERE TAKEN ABACK AND SO BELIEVED THAT I WAS NOT FIT FOR SUCH A PALACE. THEY FILLED MY HEAD WITH SUCH OPPOSITES, TWISTED HALF-TRUTHS AND CONVINCED ME THEY DID, FOR I LET THEM GET THE BEST OF ME.

ONE NIGHT AS MY BELOVED SLEPT, INTO HIS ROOM I CREPT AND AT HIS SIDE
I TOOK THE CANDLE AND AS QUICKLY AS I GRABBED THE SCONCE I TOURCHED IT
AND HELD IT AS HIGH ABOVE HIM AS I CAN HANDLE.

LOW AND BEHOLD MY BREATH WAS TAKEN AS I STOOD THERE IN FRONT OF
MY HUSBAN I WAS SO FROZEN!
THERE I STOOD TAKEN ABACK JUST STARING AT HIS GLORIOUS FEATURES.
ALL GOLDEN! LOVELY GOLDEN LOCKS OF HONEY SCENTED HAIR, SMOOTH SILKY
SKIN SO SOFT AND FARE, AND LONG BEAUTIFUL GOLDEN LASHES.

OH, HOW I WAS SO WRONG ABOUT HIM, ABOUT EVERYTHING.  I WAS SO
WRONG TO HAVE DOUBTED HIM, BUT IT WAS TOO LATE.
MY LOVE CAUGHT ME LOOKING DOWN ON HIM AND AS I CAME OUT OF MY
FROZEN STATE WITH A STARTLED REFLEX, I UNINTENTIONALLY BURNED HIM
WITH HOT WAX FROM MY CANDLE AND WITH A SCREAM SO LOVELY HE JUMPED
FROM HIS SERENE SLUMBER OFF THE BED, HE WAS GLARING AT ME,
THE BRIDE HE HAD WED AND HIS FACE TURNED SO SAD FOR ME BECAUSE
IN HIS HEART HE TRULY LOVED ME, BUT ALSO BECAUSE HE KNEW
WHAT MUST BE DONE.

“MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
HAVE I NOT TOLD YOU FROM THE VERY BEGINNING
THAT MY LOVE WAS ALL YOU NEEDED TO TRUST?
INSTEAD YOU BETRAY ME WITH YOUR UNCERTAINTY.
HAVE I NOT TOLD YOU THAT I WAS A MAN OF HONOR,
INTERGRITY, OF HOPE AND OF LOVE?
YET YOU GO AND FORSAKE ME WITH YOUR MORTAL CURIOUSITY
AND FOR THAT I MUST LEAVE YOU, FOR YOU DO NOT DESERVE ME
MY SWEET LOVE.”

I FELL DOWN TO MY KNEES AS I WATCHED WITH TEARS OF SADNESS
ONCE FULL OF JOY FOR HIS GLORY WAS TOO MUCH TO BEHOLD,
THE BEAUTIFUL CREATURE WHO HAD TAKEN ME TO WIFE,
SPREAD HIS MIGHTY WINGS, TOOK HOLD OF HIS BOW AND SATCHEL
FULL OF GOLDEN ARROW TIPS AND IT WAS THEN THAT I HAD REALIZED MY HUSBAND NOT A MAN; OH MY HOW STUPID FOR I KNEW THEN MY HUSBAND, SON OF APHRODITE THE GODDESS OF LOVE, WAS CUPID!