Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Justine Snyder Oct 2010
In walks a little man, with a crooked smile and mismatched eyes.
His voice is filled with glee and giddy, almost like a child.
“What a pretty little flower! I think I shall take it and make it mine.”
Our gaze falls on the pretty little flower whose hair is as white as snow and as black as coal.
Her gaze is as cold as the weather outside and her voice is nearly the same.
“Be careful, wicked man, for this flower has thorns.”
The focus is back on the man with the crooked smile and mismatched eyes.
His smile falters and his gaze is hateful and insane.
“Oh but my pretty little flower, I have dealt with many thorns in my time.
You are not the first and you will probably not be the last.”

The pretty little flower does not wilt nor does she back down.
She speaks with no emotion as she folds her hands across her lap.
“Wicked, silly man. You do not know what kind of flower you wish to pluck.
This flower has a touch of DEATH within it's petals.”

The man with the crooked smile and mismatched eyes freezes in place.
The smile on his face disappears and a child like anger flows into his eyes.
Words escape his mind as he steps forward and reaches to caress the flower's hair.
The pretty little flower did not say a word but looked up into the mismatched eyes of the man with the crooked smile.
Her hair was as smooth as the silk that made her black cloak.
The man with the crooked smile and mismatched eyes felt a fever pass over his skin.
“I think that I will now have a taste of my pretty little flower.”
He licked his lips as his eyes flickered.
Again the pretty little flower said not a word.
He brought his lips to hers and kissed her with such passion.
The man with the crooked smile and the mismatched eyes then fell to the ground.
The pretty little flower then smiled as she then stood and walked over his still body.
“Silly, wicked man. You should not try to kiss death.”
She then put her pitch black hood over her head and grabbed her scythe.
With a laugh that could melt bones she dissipated into the night.
© J.Snyder 2010
Meghan O'Neill Apr 2014
How do you think
Those mismatched socks feel
When you pull them
From the dryer.
Do they know that they will
Never see their match again
That they will always be
Half of an equation.
Do they know that
They have lost their purpose
Never to be regained.
When you pull that single sock
From the dryer
Does it understand
That it will never be complete again.
Sometimes
I feel
Like the mismatched socks.
But then I remember
That I am melodramatic
They are just socks
And someday
I will find my other sock
I will find you.
Bus Poet Stop Jun 2018
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
ryn Dec 2014
It was those blue eyes, sparkling with words
I dreamt about reading but believed it impossible
Too beautiful to be seen with nuclear nerds
In my breakable beaker, you'd never be soluble.

A mismatched juxtaposition, atom for atom.
Even if I permutate, molecule by molecule.
We could never have struck stable equilibrium,
I could never escape the premise of ridicule.

Spent too much time postulating the unknown
Spent far too long balancing tricky equations
Head dug too deep to realise a factor that had grown
An external variable that had encroached with similar intentions.


My hand slipped from the scale when your finger touched my own
I forgot the words "controlled reaction", momentarily
Seeing goosebumps on your skin, and other bumps now shown
I gently pushed your wayward hair behind your ear, daringly

A moment frozen in the range of sub-zeroes
Dare I forgo the mandatory steps and arrive at a conclusion?
If I do I'd garner the title, "the nerdiest of all heroes!"
My "spidey-sense" failed me this time, and awarded me with a "fist-meet-face" reaction!

Happened in a blur, nanoseconds that sang in mock.
What was it that left me in a twirl?
Propped myself up to see the wrath of a crimson-faced ****.
All fists, no brains who yelled, "Hands off my girl!"


All this hilarious yet passionately painful hullabaloo
Let me drop the beaker of sodium in the zinc basin
Forgetting not to get it wet, the moment, clearly now unglued
When suddenly, "BOOM" it sounded like a pending cremation

Jocks, and nerds, and screaming cheerleaders
Hit the ground like a lunchtime scene from downtown Baghdad
And Blondie whispers in my ear, like a gypsy mind reader
"Maybe we should cool it, for I am in love with another lad"

Her words hit home and burned like The Lindenburg on fire
Amidst the fracas, cracked voice stammered to mask my bruised latent ego
"Nothing improper... Just an attempt to save your locks from the Bunsen burner
Science is my only love, just so you know"

Thanked God for my eyes and the need for correction lenses
Those thick convexes made it easy to not reveal
Steadied my frames and packed in hasty pretences
Accusing eyes followed as I exited the room with tears concealed...


Pieter Meyer
**ryn
You may have read this before as it is a repost of my collaboration with the witty and incredible Pieter Meyer. He seemed to have gone missing, along with the poem. So here it is... Hope you enjoy it
Ayad Gharbawi Jan 2010
PASSION PLAY

Ayad Gharbawi




Location: Desert Shore, Bitterly Cold Night, next to strong waves from the ocean.
Characters: Man ((M) and his Lover, a Woman (W).

----------------------------------------


W: “Search as I forever do, in manifold ways unknown, I seek but to love thee, and the meagre goodness from Life, with steely ardour - my armour faithful.”
M: “Alone I may be, and still, yes I love thee; these days heavy are and beset I am by burdensome trivialities, but I remain trusting, though my corner so narrow remain.”
W: “My Love! Your speech I hear aloud and thine lips I live within and yet, my Love, all Solitude I am. Man! I am unaided! In this journey of sinful thorns, my love, in this unforgiving journey, this blurred odyssey, I stand alone”.
M: “This trial you speak of, but I do know of it well; so, listen then: within the strength of trusted togetherness we can plough on, though everlasting harm shall do its spiteful tricks, warm to our united truth shall we remain.”
W: (Surprised) “O! My love! This thought I cannot hear! My life, my destiny, is but mine. And all have their own solitary roads of jagged rocks to embrace, like it we or not. We heartbreaking earthly sad beasts, either fiercely clutch at integrity, or we do let it go to perish away.”
M: (Confused) “My Love! I do hear, I do hear. But when Times decide on burdening us, what then can we achieve? To face Reality within the frail arms of solitude is to ignore, to refuse the severe threats of repulsive grins.”
(Silence)
M: (Passionately) “O! My sweet! Only in us, can we envelope, through joined, clasped warmth can we be as one united! The screams that so truly are meant to slice us off, only we, our Unity, can destroy. For mine eyes can only find sleep in your ears, and it is so - for otherwise nothing and no one can be.”
W: (Angry) “My Passion too is bubbling for thine bewildered ears. Am I not your soul? Do we not suffer as one? Do we not reflect as one? Am I not your lover true? Is not our warmth not weighty to our fickle bones?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “But, Lover, this much ought I to formally declare unto thee: For our eyes, and all eyes, envision unequally at one another. Till eternity, in its casual, indifferent flicker, snatches at us all wretched mortals, the gazes from lords to paupers remain veritably mismatched. O my passion! My woeful heart! These words I thunder forth defines love unfeigned, and what mine eyes do pour out unto thine ears is authenticity true.
(Silence)
W: (Passionately) “What joined mem’ries you choose to caress may possess thee, but your exactness for what love is to you, doth not dwell in mine mind. What tears, what weepings you do, fall stormily upon thine own soul’s wildernesses. You choose to be chained by changing visions and indefinite sentiments of light weight – though so poignant at the moment they veritably are?”
M: (Inquiring) “My love! I cherish thee; where hast thou been in thine mind, for now ye talk of that truth you relate to in your heart. Your pronouncements, what depths I do feel! Can it perchance be that my passion has strayed our winds far from me?”
W: “No, my love! Why is anger, I feel, lush on thine tongue?”
M: (Surprised and Frightened) “Anger! I am too distant from that affliction! But yes, I feel my words make only for unstable murmurs in my breath.”
W: (Quietly) “Then, do tell me, lover, who do your murmurs betray - myself or yourself then?”
M: (Quietly) “Perhaps so, perhaps so. But my anxiety wilfully demands of me to eradicate your vision.”
W: (Firmly) “You answer naught from my undemanding question. Or, are mine meanings too violent for you? What aches thee?”
M: (Passionately) “My sweet! In so many moments, I created mysterious planets for thee! Bizarre worlds of contrasts and opposites and musical words of antiquity and sensual ravines. My love! I, my soul, my life, my inner deepest breath, tempted as I am by Fates’ inscrutable cruelties to ashamedly yield, I have yet always expressed to mine eyes’ heart, though they be in bleak darkness, to faithfully fight without pause all shades of vice and still yet - with loving integrity; I have stood with arms of righteousness and love for thee up and never down! Yes, sincere good and venal ill remain joined in life for all to feel, but you knew it was not for me to disentangle them. And so, I pronounce unto thee, still, and yet ever and ever more, my love for thee, though still beholding a thousand mountains before me, I remain sturdy for thee; I remain undisturbed by burly laws, and by exotic dictums, I stand fierce and unhurt, save in your absence.”
W: (With Sadness) “My beloved, your vivid voice stabs the falsehoods for thee, and I say unto thee, unto thee your excessive and unreasonable chains, and for myself my unreasonable and extreme chains remain.”
M: (Shocked) “But I burden thee with no steely chains, nor verbal fetters! For naught I produce for thee save grace, passion and freedom to love for us both to be in Unity Sacred! Dost thou embrace my visions as ‘shackles’, then ‘tis better we agree to class that which we are as but madness! Hear me, for my tears now must truly change their colours!”
W: (Determined) “Your feverish hands clutch only upon mine erratic wings!”
M: (Anger) “Never! Never! For I clutch only to destroy all malevolence; as for thee, Lady of the purest, untouched, guarded, secluded Ponds, I seek to unshackle for you the scattered, scared shadows that yearn for thine sovereignty. And what is this ‘sovereignty’ but our Sacred Union? What curse deemest you I impose? Do you equal my purest passions with atrocities? Murmur unto mine ears, your clearest love for me.”
W: “Ah! You enquire of me my ‘sincerity’ for thee? What demands!”
(Silence)
M: “I see naught but heaving forests of love betwixt us, and yet, you discover my words being ‘demanding’?”
W: (Drily) “Perchance, your visions are indistinct and ever more blurred, through these years cannot be ignored.”
M: (Begging) “My love! All mine life, though it be lengthy, I fought most venal tyranny, and for this moment, you question my righteousness?”
W: (Indignantly) “I have been plunged into seas hostile and I have plunged in a thousand miles of inert minds troubled beyond conceivable comprehension and I have yet to have my Right for my own greedy, ravenous flesh to be vigorously and forcefully embraced by sensuality and serenity. Yes, I do love thee, and yet in our union, as in all unions, I have been adorned with naught, save snickering, gossiping scenes of festive *****, games, chatter and farewells, themselves festooned within silly and sincerely stupid smiles and frowns, and shallow tears and never ending ludicrous chatter unworthy of monkeys conversing. I have met programmed rows of pats, respect and all other so-called decent intents and gestures, but, where, lover that you are of mine, where does my personal heart, throb and manically vibrate, save in your heavenly imaginations?”
(Silence)
W: (Quietly but Determinedly) “My love! I truly thee love and with passions, I tell you, of proportions of precise exactitudes; in your eyes I have witnessed symphonies of exquisiteness; and, I of thee ask: where dwelleth your own love for myself in thine body?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “Do you recognise the changing structures that form this, that I name ‘My Love’? In my solitude eternal, I do evermore and always do pause, and be pensive, and be thinking of questions, such as ‘where’, ‘why’, ‘when’ ‘how’, and ‘which’ should be my path; I am forever and ever more searching, seeking the heavens of every corner, and the irritable tempests, within my changing self as they themselves do try to seek me, and we forever, through inconceivable murkiness, do try to assemble the everlasting entirety of these disorganized puzzles into some measure of comprehensible cohesion that ‘I’ am. That is how the ‘I’ you love is forever changing and thereby formulating itself, and within all these meandering passions, and endless errors, where am I to feel thee? Where? And where do you seek me? In which land? In which forest? You trivialise my beingness as you focus upon my lands as being that which so effortless to find, and yet, you are much too distant from an understanding of my conflicting, emerging civilisations.”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) If the utterance ‘Never’ is pathetic for thee, then allow me to introduce you to my latest heart: for it screams out that single, protracted utterance! Never! My love, these winds of raging wraths, both within and outside by flesh, must and can only be annihilated by mine own sincerities – were I not to play against my own self. My uncontrolled desires and, yes, thirsty manic passions can only be tempered and thoroughly satiated to the utter brim, by mine own loving, sources of pleasure, my own uncontrollable ecstasies. As for the rest of ****** pleasures, my own erroneous words, speeches and utterances can only be severed and sliced by my tranquillity.”
M: (Resigned) “I hear thine words. Do not abandon me. Do not destroy our civilisation of justice.”
W: “What we share, the bonds, are enjoyment. Listen though to mine lips: enjoyment is what - when it is to be compared with convulsive ecstatic quivers of satisfaction?”
M: (Puzzled) “And what of all our journeys to attain that unity? For all that, is it to be of mere insignificance? And if that be your truth, for what then did we toil and labour for unity of minds and bodies?”
W: (Laughing) “Did you understand from Life itself, that here it was, grandly to proclaim its furtive faces unto thine own awaiting face?! “
M: (Baffled) “It was so far too plain and vastly clear unto me these sceneries we faced before our loving bodies.”
W: “Yes, and I too, did see them with thee. Our four eyes, did see unity for that flicker of time. How true you speak! But, time clocked on, I saw you as you stood there, moving nowhere, unawares that it was your duty to squash onwards whatever vile breaths faced us.”
M: (Desperate) “And did I not? Did I abandon thee in these crushing paths?”
W: (Accusing) “No, you did not. Never, once did you abandon me. I ask of thee; for what sense do we feel a need for a continuation of these gruelling marches? For unity? For love? Or, is love unity? Was that and is this our reason for us to carry on with these shackles?”
M: “For assuredly, yes, and more yes, I tell thee! Toil and gruelling dawns, and unbearable evenings and the whitest of nights are all for the sacred attainment of that heavenly summit of joy I name as blessed ‘Love’.”
W: (Assured) “And, Sire, what if my nerves, blood and ****** hunger tell thee in truth that we, all of us, need no longer, and need never in truth, to undertake these paths, for we find naught that nourishes us at the blessed summit of your definition of what ‘Love’ is?”
M: (Confused & Sad) “So, I falter here and now upon understanding your speech; do I reason from thee that our loving days in unity are frivolously bygone now?”
W: (Calmly & Gracefully) “Do the wandering birds, and do the blind bats, and do the reckless storms, and do the blindly, raging waves and do the supremely arrogant oceans eternally march on in but one direction only with the savage passage of time within their particular lives? You did pronounce that you built planets for our unity; well then, did you not view how planets endlessly revolve along the same path?”
(Pause)
W: (Calmly & with Dignity) “For, Sire, I am not as a Planet - could you not feel that throughout our journeys? You endlessly query and question ‘who’ it is that ‘I’ am? Well, I speak this much on myself; I am as the birds, and the bats, and the storms and the waves and the oceans.”  
M: (Angry) “Woman! I can only then tell of thee that you are naught but feuding clutter and violent disarray!”
W: (Unconcerned) “Those are your words. Not mine. Speak for what you wish, Sire.”
M: (Angry) “And I stand here, before thee, in anger – nay, more, more! In fury!”
W: (Laughing) “For what? For the deeds that created but sticky, and grimy grains of sand for the undoubted pleasure our eyes?”
M: “And so you label our truths, our love so much! Fair indeed, you speak, Woman of Justice.”
W: (Arrogantly) “Man! Express your delights for your own delights. And, alas, there the circle and reality ends – and it ends only for you. That is one morsel of truth for you to ponder. What we ‘created’ and what we ‘loved’ was never and never, ever be the same for you as it is for me. Are you a sincere believer that your personal vision is the same sight all other seeing creatures envision?”
M: (Angry) “Woman, you enrage me! Your arrogance is drenching thine rags.”
W: (Sarcastic) “Tis the Man with no reason who allows his breath and words to be a veritable cesspool of fuming stenches!”
M: “But I, that I am, no longer can define your contours?”
W: (Pointedly) “Precisely, Man, precisely. Perhaps, now you have come closer to the vulnerable shores of reality!”
M: (Confused) “Do you express that you are ever varying and so for that reason there is not a one unified you?”
W: (Calmly) “For we are all ‘varying’, to borrow your word – if you do so allow me, Sire. There was never ‘unity’ of soul, nor mind, nor self, nor of any one personality. This, I desire, that you may understand.”
M: (Aghast) “Then if that be your truth and then, are we naught but multitudes of ever changing confusions, Lady of the Desert?”
W: (Calmly) “Yes and no! For those who are muscular and full of fertile vigour in their flesh, and in their intellects, and those that are severely and strictly scholastic, then they do need and they can succeed in time, in their never ending struggle to bring together the mutually antagonistic factions of that which constitutes our beingness. And, as for the dense brained soulless beings, then, it is equally veritably true that, a descent into madness can be rapidly produced, since from their erratic constituents, they cannot attract together these antagonistic and mutually-hating emotions in some vision of cohesion, and thus mayhem can be fashioned.”
(Silence)
M: (Calmly) “So, pray do tell me, where does Love and Justice and Truth and Morality stand in your universe?”
W: (Serenely) “That has been mine desire to hear the words being produced from your lips, Man!”
(Pause)
W: “So, now perhaps, your sight may be getting clearer, for your question is certainly apt. Foremost, we pathetic mortals, we the be are forever slimy specks of sand that  crumbles, must necessarily seek to survive and flourish within whatever forest, desert, meadow we find ourselves cast upon.”
M: (Startled) “At what cost, Woman? At the expense of Morality?”
W: (Rapidly) “Yes and no.”
M: (Shocked) “Horrendous! How can you spout out such filth?”
W: (Quietly) “Restrain your stupidities, and give more room to your intelligence, Sire.”
(Silence)
W: (Gracefully) “In times of trouble, what can Man do when he be forced to embrace evil, even though he finds the act of the embrace loathsome, but he does what he does for the truth of his vital existence to continue. Only when he need never embrace vile, and then allows himself to commit the act, then he is for certainty to incur the everlasting wrath of God. Evil is thus never one truth to be utterly rejected, perchance you may now see. ”
M: (Calm but Tired) “I follow your words and their ideas therein.”
W: (Gracefully) “When you talk to me on Man and everlasting, conflicting changes within that self-same creature, I tell you with all the earnestness that I possess, of what God has scattered and endowed upon me; for this beast, we all call in unity Man, this creature has far too many a numberless number of mutually self-contradicting, distrusting, loving, hating, inspiring and a never ending number of feelings and emotions that are in constant flow and change – as in any rapid river descending unto its eventual destination, which in its case, is the sea, while in our case, it is Death itself for sure.”
M: (Despair) “And how can this beast ‘love’ anyone within this welter of confusion?”
W: (Rapidly) “He cannot!”
M: (Rapidly, Begging) “But Man and Woman do love with bristling passions! Do you deny that, Woman?!”
W: (Calmly, eyes downwards looking) “Yes, and no. Since the beast has needs, based on his vastly intricate constituents, to ‘love’ his fellow beast, he imagines and believes
ryn Mar 2015
I don't seek your permission...
To write about the what, why and how.
It could be a haiku or come in the shape of a cow.

I don't need your approval...
When I don't sound the least bit poetic...
In my mismatched metaphors or ill-rhymed acrostic.

I'm not asking for your blessing...
When I pen down and put up what I think...
Be it in cloying cliches or in tear drenched ink.

I don't crave for your understanding...
When my 10 word poems weren't filtered through your poetic lens,
Or if my contributions in collaborations lack in sense.

I don't hope for your likes...
If my content does not tickle your fancy,
Or if my words just rubs you silly.

I mean no disrespect...
But don't be too quick to click on the 'comment' button.
Private messaging has been put there for a reason.

I don't mean to cramp your style...*
You're entitled to your own opinions of course...
But if you've got nothing good to say, please save it and shove it up yours.
.
This is a peaceful community, almost sacred to many. All bearing a heart (hale or ailing) are welcome to spill their ink... Regardless of writing experience or poetic prowess.

Bear in mind that people write for various reasons. Some are really good at it, some are just barely starting. Some ask for feedback, some just want an outlet.

So... Be nice. Use the private messaging feature if you really need to offload your thoughts on another's text offering.

Respect and be respected.
.
Dena Nov 2012
We are mismatched
like the socks that come out of the dryer
One gray with red spots
The other blue with pink.

I feel that we must, somehow,
go together because
after all we are both socks.

Maybe it’s just some static cling
but somehow I have gotten myself
******* in you,
and you are ******* in me.

Wool socks are very bad at letting go.
They are hard to take off the foot,
and placed in the washer,
and then be found again,
and put through the dryer,
then found again.

Somehow we where put together.
It’s as if the house wife knotted us
on purpose because deep down
she really misses being a kid,
and wearing
mismatched socks.
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Sometimes you say
I have oceans in my eyes.
Not once have I thought
That so.

My eyes are thin
And grey;
They are no "silver lining".

The green that lines them
Is not seaweed,
But the mold of a past
Mess.

You have told me my eyes
Are reflective.
But they simply harbor the
Colors of lonely skies
And mismatched loves.

You have described beauty
And freedom
Within my irises.


But I can't see them
Unless there's a layer
Of glass between.

I don't see the oceans.
Ayad Gharbawi Jan 2010
PASSION PLAY

Ayad Gharbawi




Location: Desert Shore, Bitterly Cold Night, next to strong waves from the ocean.
Characters: Man ((M) and his Lover, a Woman (W).

----------------------------------------



W: “Search as I forever do, in manifold ways unknown, I seek but to love thee, and the meagre goodness from Life, with steely ardour - my armour faithful.”
M: “Alone I may be, and still, yes I love thee; these days heavy are and beset I am by burdensome trivialities, but I remain trusting, though my corner so narrow remain.”
W: “My Love! Your speech I hear aloud and thine lips I live within and yet, my Love, all Solitude I am. Man! I am unaided! In this journey of sinful thorns, my love, in this unforgiving journey, this blurred odyssey, I stand alone”.
M: “This trial you speak of, but I do know of it well; so, listen then: within the strength of trusted togetherness we can plough on, though everlasting harm shall do its spiteful tricks, warm to our united truth shall we remain.”
W: (Surprised) “O! My love! This thought I cannot hear! My life, my destiny, is but mine. And all have their own solitary roads of jagged rocks to embrace, like it we or not. We heartbreaking earthly sad beasts, either fiercely clutch at integrity, or we do let it go to perish away.”
M: (Confused) “My Love! I do hear, I do hear. But when Times decide on burdening us, what then can we achieve? To face Reality within the frail arms of solitude is to ignore, to refuse the severe threats of repulsive grins.”
(Silence)
M: (Passionately) “O! My sweet! Only in us, can we envelope, through joined, clasped warmth can we be as one united! The screams that so truly are meant to slice us off, only we, our Unity, can destroy. For mine eyes can only find sleep in your ears, and it is so - for otherwise nothing and no one can be.”
W: (Angry) “My Passion too is bubbling for thine bewildered ears. Am I not your soul? Do we not suffer as one? Do we not reflect as one? Am I not your lover true? Is not our warmth not weighty to our fickle bones?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “But, Lover, this much ought I to formally declare unto thee: For our eyes, and all eyes, envision unequally at one another. Till eternity, in its casual, indifferent flicker, snatches at us all wretched mortals, the gazes from lords to paupers remain veritably mismatched. O my passion! My woeful heart! These words I thunder forth defines love unfeigned, and what mine eyes do pour out unto thine ears is authenticity true.
(Silence)
W: (Passionately) “What joined mem’ries you choose to caress may possess thee, but your exactness for what love is to you, doth not dwell in mine mind. What tears, what weepings you do, fall stormily upon thine own soul’s wildernesses. You choose to be chained by changing visions and indefinite sentiments of light weight – though so poignant at the moment they veritably are?”
M: (Inquiring) “My love! I cherish thee; where hast thou been in thine mind, for now ye talk of that truth you relate to in your heart. Your pronouncements, what depths I do feel! Can it perchance be that my passion has strayed our winds far from me?”
W: “No, my love! Why is anger, I feel, lush on thine tongue?”
M: (Surprised and Frightened) “Anger! I am too distant from that affliction! But yes, I feel my words make only for unstable murmurs in my breath.”
W: (Quietly) “Then, do tell me, lover, who do your murmurs betray - myself or yourself then?”
M: (Quietly) “Perhaps so, perhaps so. But my anxiety wilfully demands of me to eradicate your vision.”
W: (Firmly) “You answer naught from my undemanding question. Or, are mine meanings too violent for you? What aches thee?”
M: (Passionately) “My sweet! In so many moments, I created mysterious planets for thee! Bizarre worlds of contrasts and opposites and musical words of antiquity and sensual ravines. My love! I, my soul, my life, my inner deepest breath, tempted as I am by Fates’ inscrutable cruelties to ashamedly yield, I have yet always expressed to mine eyes’ heart, though they be in bleak darkness, to faithfully fight without pause all shades of vice and still yet - with loving integrity; I have stood with arms of righteousness and love for thee up and never down! Yes, sincere good and venal ill remain joined in life for all to feel, but you knew it was not for me to disentangle them. And so, I pronounce unto thee, still, and yet ever and ever more, my love for thee, though still beholding a thousand mountains before me, I remain sturdy for thee; I remain undisturbed by burly laws, and by exotic dictums, I stand fierce and unhurt, save in your absence.”
W: (With Sadness) “My beloved, your vivid voice stabs the falsehoods for thee, and I say unto thee, unto thee your excessive and unreasonable chains, and for myself my unreasonable and extreme chains remain.”
M: (Shocked) “But I burden thee with no steely chains, nor verbal fetters! For naught I produce for thee save grace, passion and freedom to love for us both to be in Unity Sacred! Dost thou embrace my visions as ‘shackles’, then ‘tis better we agree to class that which we are as but madness! Hear me, for my tears now must truly change their colours!”
W: (Determined) “Your feverish hands clutch only upon mine erratic wings!”
M: (Anger) “Never! Never! For I clutch only to destroy all malevolence; as for thee, Lady of the purest, untouched, guarded, secluded Ponds, I seek to unshackle for you the scattered, scared shadows that yearn for thine sovereignty. And what is this ‘sovereignty’ but our Sacred Union? What curse deemest you I impose? Do you equal my purest passions with atrocities? Murmur unto mine ears, your clearest love for me.”
W: “Ah! You enquire of me my ‘sincerity’ for thee? What demands!”
(Silence)
M: “I see naught but heaving forests of love betwixt us, and yet, you discover my words being ‘demanding’?”
W: (Drily) “Perchance, your visions are indistinct and ever more blurred, through these years cannot be ignored.”
M: (Begging) “My love! All mine life, though it be lengthy, I fought most venal tyranny, and for this moment, you question my righteousness?”
W: (Indignantly) “I have been plunged into seas hostile and I have plunged in a thousand miles of inert minds troubled beyond conceivable comprehension and I have yet to have my Right for my own greedy, ravenous flesh to be vigorously and forcefully embraced by sensuality and serenity. Yes, I do love thee, and yet in our union, as in all unions, I have been adorned with naught, save snickering, gossiping scenes of festive *****, games, chatter and farewells, themselves festooned within silly and sincerely stupid smiles and frowns, and shallow tears and never ending ludicrous chatter unworthy of monkeys conversing. I have met programmed rows of pats, respect and all other so-called decent intents and gestures, but, where, lover that you are of mine, where does my personal heart, throb and manically vibrate, save in your heavenly imaginations?”
(Silence)
W: (Quietly but Determinedly) “My love! I truly thee love and with passions, I tell you, of proportions of precise exactitudes; in your eyes I have witnessed symphonies of exquisiteness; and, I of thee ask: where dwelleth your own love for myself in thine body?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “Do you recognise the changing structures that form this, that I name ‘My Love’? In my solitude eternal, I do evermore and always do pause, and be pensive, and be thinking of questions, such as ‘where’, ‘why’, ‘when’ ‘how’, and ‘which’ should be my path; I am forever and ever more searching, seeking the heavens of every corner, and the irritable tempests, within my changing self as they themselves do try to seek me, and we forever, through inconceivable murkiness, do try to assemble the everlasting entirety of these disorganized puzzles into some measure of comprehensible cohesion that ‘I’ am. That is how the ‘I’ you love is forever changing and thereby formulating itself, and within all these meandering passions, and endless errors, where am I to feel thee? Where? And where do you seek me? In which land? In which forest? You trivialise my beingness as you focus upon my lands as being that which so effortless to find, and yet, you are much too distant from an understanding of my conflicting, emerging civilisations.”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) If the utterance ‘Never’ is pathetic for thee, then allow me to introduce you to my latest heart: for it screams out that single, protracted utterance! Never! My love, these winds of raging wraths, both within and outside by flesh, must and can only be annihilated by mine own sincerities – were I not to play against my own self. My uncontrolled desires and, yes, thirsty manic passions can only be tempered and thoroughly satiated to the utter brim, by mine own loving, sources of pleasure, my own uncontrollable ecstasies. As for the rest of ****** pleasures, my own erroneous words, speeches and utterances can only be severed and sliced by my tranquillity.”
M: (Resigned) “I hear thine words. Do not abandon me. Do not destroy our civilisation of justice.”
W: “What we share, the bonds, are enjoyment. Listen though to mine lips: enjoyment is what - when it is to be compared with convulsive ecstatic quivers of satisfaction?”
M: (Puzzled) “And what of all our journeys to attain that unity? For all that, is it to be of mere insignificance? And if that be your truth, for what then did we toil and labour for unity of minds and bodies?”
W: (Laughing) “Did you understand from Life itself, that here it was, grandly to proclaim its furtive faces unto thine own awaiting face?! “
M: (Baffled) “It was so far too plain and vastly clear unto me these sceneries we faced before our loving bodies.”
W: “Yes, and I too, did see them with thee. Our four eyes, did see unity for that flicker of time. How true you speak! But, time clocked on, I saw you as you stood there, moving nowhere, unawares that it was your duty to squash onwards whatever vile breaths faced us.”
M: (Desperate) “And did I not? Did I abandon thee in these crushing paths?”
W: (Accusing) “No, you did not. Never, once did you abandon me. I ask of thee; for what sense do we feel a need for a continuation of these gruelling marches? For unity? For love? Or, is love unity? Was that and is this our reason for us to carry on with these shackles?”
M: “For assuredly, yes, and more yes, I tell thee! Toil and gruelling dawns, and unbearable evenings and the whitest of nights are all for the sacred attainment of that heavenly summit of joy I name as blessed ‘Love’.”
W: (Assured) “And, Sire, what if my nerves, blood and ****** hunger tell thee in truth that we, all of us, need no longer, and need never in truth, to undertake these paths, for we find naught that nourishes us at the blessed summit of your definition of what ‘Love’ is?”
M: (Confused & Sad) “So, I falter here and now upon understanding your speech; do I reason from thee that our loving days in unity are frivolously bygone now?”
W: (Calmly & Gracefully) “Do the wandering birds, and do the blind bats, and do the reckless storms, and do the blindly, raging waves and do the supremely arrogant oceans eternally march on in but one direction only with the savage passage of time within their particular lives? You did pronounce that you built planets for our unity; well then, did you not view how planets endlessly revolve along the same path?”
(Pause)
W: (Calmly & with Dignity) “For, Sire, I am not as a Planet - could you not feel that throughout our journeys? You endlessly query and question ‘who’ it is that ‘I’ am? Well, I speak this much on myself; I am as the birds, and the bats, and the storms and the waves and the oceans.”  
M: (Angry) “Woman! I can only then tell of thee that you are naught but feuding clutter and violent disarray!”
W: (Unconcerned) “Those are your words. Not mine. Speak for what you wish, Sire.”
M: (Angry) “And I stand here, before thee, in anger – nay, more, more! In fury!”
W: (Laughing) “For what? For the deeds that created but sticky, and grimy grains of sand for the undoubted pleasure our eyes?”
M: “And so you label our truths, our love so much! Fair indeed, you speak, Woman of Justice.”
W: (Arrogantly) “Man! Express your delights for your own delights. And, alas, there the circle and reality ends – and it ends only for you. That is one morsel of truth for you to ponder. What we ‘created’ and what we ‘loved’ was never and never, ever be the same for you as it is for me. Are you a sincere believer that your personal vision is the same sight all other seeing creatures envision?”
M: (Angry) “Woman, you enrage me! Your arrogance is drenching thine rags.”
W: (Sarcastic) “Tis the Man with no reason who allows his breath and words to be a veritable cesspool of fuming stenches!”
M: “But I, that I am, no longer can define your contours?”
W: (Pointedly) “Precisely, Man, precisely. Perhaps, now you have come closer to the vulnerable shores of reality!”
M: (Confused) “Do you express that you are ever varying and so for that reason there is not a one unified you?”
W: (Calmly) “For we are all ‘varying’, to borrow your word – if you do so allow me, Sire. There was never ‘unity’ of soul, nor mind, nor self, nor of any one personality. This, I desire, that you may understand.”
M: (Aghast) “Then if that be your truth and then, are we naught but multitudes of ever changing confusions, Lady of the Desert?”
W: (Calmly) “Yes and no! For those who are muscular and full of fertile vigour in their flesh, and in their intellects, and those that are severely and strictly scholastic, then they do need and they can succeed in time, in their never ending struggle to bring together the mutually antagonistic factions of that which constitutes our beingness. And, as for the dense brained soulless beings, then, it is equally veritably true that, a descent into madness can be rapidly produced, since from their erratic constituents, they cannot attract together these antagonistic and mutually-hating emotions in some vision of cohesion, and thus mayhem can be fashioned.”
(Silence)
M: (Calmly) “So, pray do tell me, where does Love and Justice and Truth and Morality stand in your universe?”
W: (Serenely) “That has been mine desire to hear the words being produced from your lips, Man!”
(Pause)
W: “So, now perhaps, your sight may be getting clearer, for your question is certainly apt. Foremost, we pathetic mortals, we the be are forever slimy specks of sand that  crumbles, must necessarily seek to survive and flourish within whatever forest, desert, meadow we find ourselves cast upon.”
M: (Startled) “At what cost, Woman? At the expense of Morality?”
W: (Rapidly) “Yes and no.”
M: (Shocked) “Horrendous! How can you spout out such filth?”
W: (Quietly) “Restrain your stupidities, and give more room to your intelligence, Sire.”
(Silence)
W: (Gracefully) “In times of trouble, what can Man do when he be forced to embrace evil, even though he finds the act of the embrace loathsome, but he does what he does for the truth of his vital existence to continue. Only when he need never embrace vile, and then allows himself to commit the act, then he is for certainty to incur the everlasting wrath of God. Evil is thus never one truth to be utterly rejected, perchance you may now see. ”
M: (Calm but Tired) “I follow your words and their ideas therein.”
W: (Gracefully) “When you talk to me on Man and everlasting, conflicting changes within that self-same creature, I tell you with all the earnestness that I possess, of what God has scattered and endowed upon me; for this beast, we all call in unity Man, this creature has far too many a numberless number of mutually self-contradicting, distrusting, loving, hating, inspiring and a never ending number of feelings and emotions that are in constant flow and change – as in any rapid river descending unto its eventual destination, which in its case, is the sea, while in our case, it is Death itself for sure.”
M: (Despair) “And how can this beast ‘love’ anyone within this welter of confusion?”
W: (Rapidly) “He cannot!”
M: (Rapidly, Begging) “But Man and Woman do love with bristling passions! Do you deny that, Woman?!”
W: (Calmly, eyes downwards looking) “Yes, and no. Since the beast has needs, based on his vastly intricate constituents, to ‘love’ his fellow beast, he imagines and believes
ryn Oct 2014
Paints of dark twilight hues,
Slathered across in blunt strokes.
Blend with deft hands,
Cajole gently with jabs and pokes.

Backdrop begging for a few others.
Longing to hold in infinite embrace.
Friends of earth and midnight sky.
Worthy of a doe-eyed lovers' gaze.

Cascading moonbeam...
Drenching all in silvery white.
Restless twinkling stars...
Singing their mismatched might.

Silhouetted landscape as horizon,
Darkened oils of plateaued ridges.
Finest brush could only manage,
To close the gap, I build bridges.

Nearing completion, this stint on canvas.
Nuances of dawn for what I've begun,
Usher the arrival of a brand new day.
All I need now is a few drops of sun.
Inspired by you...
Oh God you're so beautiful and I'm just a mismatched pile of bones how could nature ever decide to let you kiss me
Thinking of You Dec 2015
And I know we won't be forever and we might not even be for long. And maybe you're not the one but your one. And maybe we don't match but neither do my socks or the plates in the kitchen. And maybe the end will be messy but so is my car and life. So why shouldn't we just enjoy it along the way?
Do you realize how lucky you are?
You two have your problems
But you fit together
Like what one is lacking is made up by the other
Some force their love like mismatched puzzle pieces
But you are lucky
You fit
mismatched furniture
a few dishes in the cupboards
a couple random blankets and lamps
a pan and a mug or two in the sink
a broken clock above the fake fireplace
a fake jackalope head on the fireplace

a couple college kids' apartment
my brother and his roommate
it isn't much but it feels like home
Manda Lise Jan 2015
She always wore mismatched socks because,
Well why not wear them?
The excitement in her eyes constantly could never really fade,
Until it did fade and it’s gone now.
Where did she go, where did she leave to?
The girl who lived in a pumpkin, with unthinkable *****,
Who laughed the loudest at every joke,
Even if it wasn't that funny, but wanted to make the person telling it feel good.
Where is she now, what has become of her?
She walks around uncertain about the way her life goes,
When she is perfectly capable of figuring out the puzzle.
She would drink out of goblets to be apart from the norm,
And because they looked "cool" in her hands.
She would skip around to get to her destination,
Just for the fact that walking was overrated.
Her persona is fading away, the quintessential girl everyone knew is still there,
But inside she is falling into a slump.
How can she be reunited with her old self, when all that is in front of her,
Is beginning to change?
Everything is starting to become clear, but it will hurt others,
How can she accept the change is for the better,
When she's been so accustomed to what has become of her life?
Written October 2010
Alison Apr 2014
There are some people who drape themselves across others
like rugs,
who beg for physical affection
like a dog waiting to have its belly scratched,
who hook pinkies and elbows and knees
with their best friend from childhood while huddled under blankets
in the middle of the night.
                  I am not one of these people.
I sit on the arms of couches,
feet turned away from the pile of mismatched body parts
that occupies the cushions.
                  I am not used to being touched gently.
But something about you
makes me crave contact.
     Hand to hand
             Hip to hip
                     It doesn’t matter.
All my life I have been balancing on the edge of
fear and desire
in a world without all of my senses,
and I think
      one touch from you
              a brush, a spark
                       would send me falling.
No, not falling.
Flying.
somethingsomethingsomething get naked. (working title)
Unity Drain Feb 2014
Pained like windows,
Widows hang on walls.
Eight-legged nightmares,
Trying not to fall.

Knitting webs,
Made of lies,
Trying to be clever,
Trying to hide.

A tangled mess
Of silken strings
Homes filled with knickknacks
And mismatched things

Always rebuilding
What was new yesterday
Relentless pest,
Find a new place to stay.
Luke sat in the dead center of the couch eating a bowl of cereal while Spongebob’s loud, obnoxious voice played loudly over the T.V. His abandoned Thomas the Train play set pieces lay scattered on the floor and I was rushing around the house trying to find all the ***** laundry from the past week.

“Luke, where did you put your black t-shirt?”

He sat unmoving, his eyes glued to Spongebob. He reminded me of one of those green zombies from his favorite ******-Doo movie that I’d seen too many times.

“Luke.” I said, and he looked at me. “Where did you put your black shirt?”

“What black shirt, daddy?” he asked in his small, seemingly innocent voice.

“The ‘army’ one that Mommy got you when she came home last time,” I explained. “If you want me to wash it, I have to know where it is.”

He looked around the living room, “I don’t know, Daddy.”

Letting out a sigh, I went walking about the house, grabbing mismatched socks, and other clothes that he’d thrown while getting ready for bed the last few nights. Tossing the clothes in the hamper sitting on the table, waiting to be taken downstairs to the washer, I went to look down the hallway.

The black t-shirt in question was one of Luke’s absolute favorites. He tended to throw a sort of tantrum when he wanted to wear it and couldn’t find it. At the moment it seemed to be hiding. Looking around the cluttered house, I noticed something balled up in a corner of the hallway. Thrown against the wall, laying on the floor, was the missing t-shirt. I bent over and picked it up. The doorbell rang.

“Daddy!” Luke yelled from the other room, “the door.”

“Don’t answer it,” I said, coming back into the living room, still carrying the black keepsake. “I found your shirt by the way.”

His face lit up with a smile that seemed to say he’d known all along where it had been. I smiled and opened the door. My face quickly fell when I saw the two officers standing in their dress blue uniforms, presenting a soldierly appearance outside on the front step. I dropped Luke’s shirt.

“May we come in Mr. Reynolds?” one asked.

I swallowed hard, and shook my head.

“Luke, can you go play in your room for a little bit?”

I watched him scoot off the couch, taking a couple trains from his play set and head down the hallway. The stoic look set across the soldier’s faces said everything that needed to be said. It only took ten minutes of awkward mumbling and they left, closing the door behind them. I sat on the couch and buried my head in my hands. Luke came into the living room.

“Daddy?” Luke asked. “Is Mommy coming home?”

I wiped some tears from my eyes, took him in my arms and hugged him tight.

“It’s okay, Daddy. Mommy’s a hero. Right?” he asked.

“Right.”
Lee Banks Aug 2014
She writes like the grim reaper
About pain, loss and tortured souls
Yet she has the sweetest smile
That could make a broken man whole

She writes about the lonely girl
Who cries for her broken heart
She says she's never been in love
For her, lying seems like an art

She has a quirky sense of humour
Her laugh is a sweet melody
She write about being lost and alone
Shes always surrounded by family

She writes about the child that cries
While his parents fight downstairs
She's lives such a happy life
With no sign of pain and despair

Sometimes when she speaks to me,
She seems so young and naive
Her poems carry such soul and depth
That they came from her is hard to believe

How can she understand my darkness
If she's never felt pain or desolation?
Why do her words ring true to me
When I know it's just her imagination?  

Her sad rhymes always make me cry
I just can't figure her out
Is there some sorrow that she hides deep?
Or does she just twist her words around?
PrttyBrd Nov 2014
It turned cold quickly
Almost skipping Autumn
Reluctant to wear a jacket
Or a hat, or gloves
Too distant for my arms
To keep him warm against my chest
He said he never wore a scarf
But if he did, he would go Dr. Who style
I had to laugh as i looked up the reference
Fifteen feet of mismatched stripes
Maybe not the stripes, he said
I happened upon a huge skein of yarn
It felt like a warm blanket in the oddest,
Most interesting colors
Manly, neutral, and perfect for Fall
So i crocheted a scarf and pictured him warm
The pattern in those colors was a mess
I chuckled at why they would make such an ugly pattern
I crocheted every stitch with love
Through arthritic hands that felt no pain
I crocheted a scarf, stopping only when it dragged the floor when i put it on
Two feet short, but ridiculously long
I bordered it in shades of green to match
Not realizing it was variegated into Brown's and maroons along the way
But it matched the odd mix of colors
And finally made it almost pretty to me
I covered myself in perfume
And put it around my neck
As I turned I caught a glimpse in the mirror
It wasn't a horrible amalgamation of hideous colors
It was camouflage, with a matching border
I laughed so hard, and felt so bad
My hillbilly in camouflage
Wearing a scarf way too long
Maybe he would hate it
Maybe he won't wear it
I knew better
So, I packed up his bag of gifts
And sent it to the frozen mountains
He never wore a scarf
He opened it and put it on
It smells like You, he said in blssful remembrances
It's definitely camouflage, he laughed
It's perfect baby, I'll wear it whenever it's cold
And in the picture he sent
I saw its beauty
It wasn't in the patterns of crisscrossing colors
It wasn't in the accidental way
The border perfectly complimented the body
It wasn't in the fact that he would be able
To wrap himself up in me to stay warm
It was in that picture
It was the joy that filled his smile
It was in his eyes that danced in love
It was in the fact that he believes
Because i made it, it's perfect
Yes, i accidentally crocheted a thirteen foot camouflage scarf
And he loves that I can keep him warm.
11414
MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY: A Dreadful Tale about a Dead Anglo Mother, A Dreadful, Avenging Syrian Aunt, A Stolen Baby Sister, and a Hateful, Unfaithful, Defaulting Father.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
With people, people who hardly know
Your vices, your intrigue, your lies, and so,
You’ve ruined lives, and now I will show

How demonizing you are, with just your thinking
About your “slemly” self,  just linking [Nice in Arabic]
That self to your own, and not us--no one else
You belong in no company, your old-time thinking.
Adopting my sister, without any inkling
Of what it takes to challenge the motherless
And seeing we ended up, also, being fatherless.

Travesties galore made this woman happy
You won hearts, but you seemed quite daffy.      
Childhood, telling us we’d never be as good
As your Syrian daughters - such a strange brood!
This kind of “teaching” by a Syrian mom was kinda lewd.

She verily and surely became our ISIS
She thought who could ever, ever be like us
She raved for hours so very against us
To that red-headed family so she could easily best us!
Humiliating us at every stop
We really, really got a lot
From her, the decadent Queen of ISIS
No, she’d never, ever be like us!

Twenty years to a guileless young person
Is a forever herstory an eternity…
A lesson, an identity…
Carried on secretly, destroying our Syrian identity.
She stole that connection, filling it with confusion
She with cruel humor would **** our loving illusion
Stopped it in its growth,
Forever unseating that family oath.
To care - without any rejection.
It was She that was The Great Defection.

Mary, Mary how does your hatred grow
Picked on those who had no Syrian power
But you didn’t see yourself becoming lower
To the ends of the earth, heartless black flower.

In her mind she’d be our Mother
But as this poet, I did not know it
Things would be better if we like sheep
Worshipped Mary, into the deep
Quite similar to the rest of her Keep
Then mayhap we’d enjoy their fully undeserved sleep.

Taught my dear baby sister like her to hate
Would I had the power to shut up her pate
Her mouth was evil to the core
I never, never could stand more.
Her hatred entered me, made me sore.

Screaming at us to keep us out
Stupid Daddy joined her in this falling out
She, successful -as any lout.
By God I thot I must be evil
Their strange behavior was not legal.
Would that she’d accept me, that dangerous eagle.
I lost my sense of self and ‘came very sad
Would that I could be like she so glad.
‘Tis fifty years now, and I can’t stop crying.
No one ever heard this “mother” sighing.

Hell, Mary, full of Face
Recognizing only your Syrian race
Did anyone else matter? Just your primitive face?
Everyone one was hurt, except you and your nace
There’ll be no one, ever, that could take your place.
Laughing to destroy our wanted Arab destiny
Which you did, and did, successfully, with your fantasy.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
Like plants, you lined us up all in a row
One good, two bad - you did the choosing
And what did you leave?
Only us, who did the losing.
You didn’t water those two plants.
Treated us two as if we were ants.
Watered sissa so she would grow
Your dreaded deeds no one would know
Judgement is left only to God.
But you and Dad should’ve returned to your sod.
Your behavior to the motherless seems very odd.
My sister and I two tossed peas in a pod.

Deserting us suddenly knowing only this hateful group
There’s nothing to which she wouldn’t stoop
Her sick obsession to hurt the powerless
Speaks of a very worst yes, cruel foulness.

We lived at a convent school very protected
Visiting weekends this aspiring ****,
Two sisters know she made a very strong mark
She was not our blood, we couldn’t take part
Of this constant coldness on her part.

And another Aunt with two daughters, good
They were always with us, always stood
The opposite of this wicked would-be aunt
This family, Americanized and very sane
Never did play the ancient Ottoman game
These Aunts were our world - our windowpane.

Two aunts - endowing us with a Syrian heritage,
One, the bad one, with too much leverage
The good one to teach a cheerful Syrian beverage      
With balance, love, and the length of days
Not like the other, the one who dismays.

We represented that bad woman’s target
What it came from. Could it be her precious Margaret?
No, not at all her peaceful daughter
But the other, gladly joined in on the slaughter
Making serious and even much more, fodder.

We had no tools to breach this hate
I guess that it would have to be our fate.
To live our lives just disenchanted.
Our hearts broke, as if forever lancets.
With Syrians there’d be no more dances

Taking my sweet sis turning her against us
She did truly give strong heed to finally fence us.
What ever could we find for our defenses?

Dad, real Dad, inebriated dad,
Fell in with them: became this negative father
Sought their pity--likening me as a foreign daughter
He was in love with them, weakly turning
But in turn, the two of us, spurning
Back to his Syrian fold back, not farther
Unwittingly, unrepentedly, uncaringly, joining the laughter
Discarding his American daughters to a mental slaughter.

At his picnic - family there - he called us foreigners
Foreigners we were, surely, when with them
They couldn’t ever believe in us,
Dad influenced them, peeved at us.
Made us feel like little fools.
No, we never had the tools
To fight this ignorance - Change these mules?

Punishing, punishing us as wedded women
Accused of all that they gossiped about
What did they say? And this truant dad a lout
Speaking of us in downing tones
I’d feel far better had they broken my bones.

Closing his relationships to his
Two lesser liked non-Arab sisters
Would there would be a better mister
He considered us two a mere sinful blister.

We ran away from this horrible drunk
He hated his daughters and he stunk
And then we suffered the worst of any they would dunk
Uncomfortable at their Arab-speaking home
We stopped visiting long before their moan
We were “no good”  said our Syrian family
Would that we knew that we’d be anti-Family.

They had something to hate and did they do it
We had no idea we were just a joke
Their words, their disgust, far more than a poke.
Their anti-American provincial views
Made little sense - such perverted mews
All we loved, we would really lose.
There was never any right to choose.

That Family didn’t speak, avoided us
At sissa's Syrian wedding. It was all mined
That scene returns to me all of them lined  
Winding its way into my unbidden mind,
They were so, so truly unkind
We always would be to them the “Other”
Yes, us, us, us, without a mother!

We lost three mothers, our real one gone
Also our good step-mother quickly on
Add Mary to that three, glad she is gone
Perhaps Dad guilty of the first two deaths
I shan’t continue - you’d lose your breaths.
  
But Hail that Lady, she would change our world
Sending us suddenly into a whirl.
How to change the young with screaming?
She’d not change but destroy our dreaming
Waking horribly from our Syrian dream
We just didn’t fit their shady crème de la crème.

Everyone was fooled by this greedy witch
She and her daughters I’d deem as *****
What was in them, caused their making?
Taking away, taking, taking, taking.
Good cousins now, have seen an awakening
My work of writing revealed Mary’s faking.

Hail Mary full of Face
Only using her charms to erace
The sisters she wished not to embrace
With threads of lies an unrevealing face
Syrians’ acceptance of her goldarn place  
No one ever will she replace  
In every way she used her mace
A clever poison to keep her place
Successfully, she’d snidely hid her dreams
Wearing a mask to hide her themes.

She’d always hated us through and through
We didn’t know it till she did what she’d do
Her masque did work, from dusk to dawn.
Hatred of us was what she would spawn
She would definitely **** our spirits
Would that I could reveal all her lyrics.

Our Syrian sissa’s wedding put us in place
That even there we could have little space.
No other family events could we be included.
Engagements, baptisms, we would be excluded
Their intentions now were completely nuded.   deluded!

You stole our little baby entering the world
Through our Mom’s Death
You stole my Dad’s affection
He also her straw man, worshiping Mary‘s fiction
Her stand could only be that of affliction.

Hail Mary full of Face
Face that faced nothing exçept winning the Ace
Did no one ever tell you - you were a case?
Using your screams to stuff our mind
And even more shrieking to clog our mind
No other Syrian family could be so unkind.

Always filling us with her delicious food
Only to turn against us, trussing our good mood.
I’d like to regurgitate all that poisonous food
Anything about her became totally lewd.
She bragged of her daughters - were they really that good?
When we were children, told us we’d never be like them
We never wanted to be like those hurting us.
Took our Dad’s affection, he also deserting us
We never but finally saw that they were into hurting us.

She has attacked us screaming, screaming on end
Never an explanation, never to end
She took money, stole sister too, not a lend.
With this cruel treatment, we were not able to fend.
I’ve never heard such venom in any human voice
It seared through both my ears, such an odious noise
Those first twenty years were so very splendid
But later with her actions - all was ended
With her allotted time this is how she would spend it.

Sister, affections stolen, obeying by fear
Couldn’t counter - with a mere
Stand up to this fraud of a Mother Dear.

Our baby sis had became her clay
She would remake her through many a day.
She owes us much, this lying thief
No family tree would know, not even a leaf
She stole and changed our beautiful blood
Returned nothing except a bad bad flood
Of making our names into family mud.

She then gave out inimical messages
The taunting that came from her mealy mouth
From Damascus, that lousy mouse.
Couldn’t discuss, but only scream
What ever, ever, did she mean?
This Family into which father bought.
Their apathetic “reasoning” I was never taught.

Her daughters conscripted to the Mary core
Following her words, her iron ore
Inflated us with much heavy criticism
To fill our sissa with a lack of witticism

Lying, lying she always, always hated us
For twenty years, she consistently slated us
For slaughter, just like little lambs
Motherless, she took our little lamb
She won, didn’t she, in her sham?
Mary & dad really fated us with their sick flim flam!

She’d tackle anyone, anything in her path
And she did, with her oh so dreadful wrath.
What powered this extremely devilish mind?
She had never, ever, been really kind.

Our sodden father turned to her
She was Goddess, he deemed Something
While we were nothing, nothing, NOTHING!
It didn’t happen till twenty years after
From kindliness to hypocrisy
One would not believe.
Our real selves never to retrieve.

A sweet child, sissa, full of love
Knew they were cold and she let us know
After those years, sadly though
Turned into another hateful *****
Forced to be like them, else be ditched.

Dad, dad, the precious Syrian lad
Embraced the family gatherings that they had
Youngest of the Ikmuks - he was mad
Allowed them the desecration of our pad
They could say anything--made it their fad.

He wouldn’t speak to them of their travesty
Worshipped them, and ever drastically
Wanted to be Them, lest he be
On the Outs from the Family Tree
Ousted, married out of the Tribe
Hardly now, when this happened, few are alive.
He refused to tell them we both should be here.
He would never, ever, play it fair.
“Dad, if you go, I’ll never be the same.”
He would never, never take the blame.
Of his paltry stabs at being a human
Go stuff him in a jar with more rotten cumin.

Never defended us, never, never
Always took their part like a mismatched lever.
Usually a Dad with a daughter would stay beside her
But then, he gave Mary a far wider rider.

Gatherings went on, by the family Mare.
All our lives had been spent with them before
But Iron Lady with Iron Ore
Came through later and before.
She would win, so well connected to her vile kin
Change, girl, change, you’re just an Anglo fem.
Don’t, please, don’t pay much attention to them.
Sudden hate - my thoughts now were dashed.
I changed - they took all I had and then they smashed.

They brought us into their sickly Ottoman lives
But all of them acted as if we had the hives
They, centuries‘ habit, it was the mid-1950’s why so bold?
They were too much, too much very, to behold
We were stricken, treated as in days of old
We would never be part of their unhealthy mold  [Mould?]

Regular at Church. What kind of God could she worship?
You know who should have been told? The Syrian Bishop!
The She-Devil not even relishing the Church script
Eternally, she would always, rip, rip, and then grip!
Instead looked to those after Church who would serve her!
She did just this with a total fervor.
No Communion, no worship, but her only feats
To seek and add to gossip in the streets
Afterward. When-Where everyone meets.

Se enjoyed the Devil of Power over those she knew
Verily, she should have been thrown in the loo.
Few new. Only the rejected two.

Mary, Mary full of Mace
You never did achieve much grace
Wish you could have finally
Fallen on your ignorant Face
There’s really not going to be any space
To explain your bad translation of a very good race.
The Syrian families I always know very well
Would never have made this kind of hell.

The Syrian race is good, except for this “mother”
I speak from my place as the dreaded ”Other”
You are and were a terrible, mother
You’re a crude example of this Middle Eastern  race.
Very few of them did see through your face.

In that family I barely gleaned this toxicity
But, never, ever, did I witness much felicity.
They llaughed and laughed about any Other
Played well their acts as if they cared
They knew Syrian-like we would not fare
We, Dad, all sisters three - fell for her snare.

What think you, God, of these poor children
How il-ly this Family thoroughly tilled them
Two non-Arab daughters’ given bad repute
Their shocking beliefs really made us mute
All that came from her demented mind
All that encountered Mary’s “kind”
She destroyed our conception of self
This hypocrisy would make one melt.

She infiltrated us, her daughters, and my Sissa
That we were not as good as she - but she lost her mister
Had Uncle [our blood] lived, this would never have occurred.
But Auntie [not our blood] surely had demurred.
Her hooked-nose criticizing, and simple daughters,
Psychologically--against us-- they joined in on these slaughters.
Kindness for two decades to rent, later they spent
Hell on the motherless, but hiding that intent
Taught her daughters: “Don’t be involved with them”
We really do know some of what she did, or said,
This is the kind of meal that she constantly fed
Her masque nearly hiding her evil bent.
Too bad she wasn’t forced back into her Syrian tent.

Mary, Mary quite contrary, How does your world work?
You won, you won, you ignorant, piece of work
You demanded respect from all of us, treacherous,
She got it, didn’t know it, then she brought down the two of us

Sneaky, low-life, hypocrite witch
We always thought we had a niche
But lost kids like us did never snitch
We wouldn’t, didn’t open up about that *****.

We had a twenty-year comfort zone with her
Deserted at last by her flying fur
Stolen, deserted at last by Dad--that foul mister
Stolen, deserted, lastly by our pretty baby sister.

This left us changed by this She-Devil
Would that there’d be a way to counter her evil
We couldn’t - she was always far too strong
An ISIS for us - this would last too long.

After these years, I could not grow
Was I a real woman? -  I didn’t know!
Being a mother couldn’t show
That this Family created a list of woe.

When Sissa had babies & a mom to help
We did this alone - all this we felt.
Her faulted hatred never did melt.
I didn’t know how to take a stance
Nor could I find out how to advance.
We had to oppose Aunt Mary’s dance.

That Sissa could not bo
This poem represents many years of my life. It is all true.
Carol Rae Bradford, M.Ed., Author, "Mayflower Arab: A Memoir"
Thank you for accepting my poetry. April 16, 2015
Mellow Ds Feb 2011
The monkey on my back is just a cigarette under the crack
Where your fingertips can not, anymore, the nicotine pursue...
A stain in my Egyptians, the painful intermissions
And nevertheless a violent ingestion, the cavalry consumed.
Dogs don't eat dogs unless they're the runts of the group,
And when they come out crooked, the casualties ensue.
Ribs on my shoulders, eyes in my aorta
And just as I guessed, from out of my chest, a ghost not unlike you.

Ive been here 666 years and the irony is insane
The only voices Ive had in my head were dripping off the brain
A zombie could knock down a wall or take 3 in the chest
But a dog with the head of a worm is quicker than the rest.
Uninvited your spine comes crashing into my field of view
Negatives of your face fading into non-photo blue
The tree canopy becomes a face that looks a bit like yours
But when it blinks my heart sinks, and you walk out the door.

Signals running every which way! Scream me, baby! Do it!
Lose my caller I.D. witch ***** slow
Drag
Drug
Love.

Eat it all under a vacuum heart and say the words!
Gooba gabba gooba gabba! We accept you, one of us!
Shoreline, waistline, eyeliner, center divider
Crash into the sea and settle underneath!
The bubbles quit rising! A man is inside!
He looks like your and my hatechild!

You wanted art!! Ill give you art!
As soon as my head stops circling around.

One of us!
(c) Ryan Bowdish 2010-2011
Umang K Jan 2015
Honey-coloured skin
Covering
Over-used bones and
Abused muscles
That have seen the inside
Of blisters
And bruises, hidden beneath
Mismatched, jarring wool
And tight, black
Material that only just
Manages to contain her.
Jessie Sep 2013
Uncertainty bubbles within me
Confusion haunts even my deepest thought
Rejection lingers in my heart and soul
And sadness makes my vision distraught.

Sleep no longer comes easy
Dreams are vivid and whatnot
Questions await their partners in crime
While I try to recall a single moment we fought.

Glances slowly shrink away to peeks
Fingertips curl into anxious knots
A head nod or some symbolizes hello
As we realize that mutualism cannot be bought.

Make up your mind, oh, anytime now
For my heart beats, I don’t know much longer how.
Janet Li Jun 2015
your hands are cold
and they don't fit in mine
our fingers struggle to make the fit

your face jumps from sweet relaxation
to indignant self defense
and psychoanalysis

you always struggle to say the right thing
but usually
you are dumb

you're slowly opening up to me
letting me in because I'd never hurt you
unlike how you've treated me

let's hold mismatched hands
trade bits of our hearts with each other
relax and be free with me
Sunny Snow Jan 2013
PART 1→ Fate Put Us Together For A Reason…

Once upon a time on a blue and green planet there lived, humans; a rebellious species, prone to both war and peace. Among these humans lived two very special people. Their names were Marco and Gina, and little did they know, that they’d become heroes of earth, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves a little.

Let’s begin with our heroine Gina; she went to the same high school as Marco, though she did not share the same social status. Gina was what you’d call an art nerd. She spent the majority of her days at Hill-Town High in the art room. She could paint, draw, sculpt, mold, fire, and shape anything into existence. She had what you’d call, a gift, for art itself. Gina also spent most of her days alone. She had just moved to Hill-Town from out of state; thus not knowing anyone, she lacked a social life. That and it really didn’t help the fact that she was one of the most timid young ladies known to man. She had a whisper of a voice, and bright blue eyes that often leaked tears down her pale soft face. She wore her long black hair down to cover up her gorgeous face, mainly due to being insecure about her looks. She often wore band t-shirts and jeggings or ripped jeans. The first person Gina met at Hill-Town High was our hero Marco.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry” Gina gasped accidently running right into Marco, the star quarterback for Hill-Town High. “Don’t sweat it ***, really it’s no problem, here let me help you pick up your books” Marco caringly replied. Still Gina insisted she could clean up this mess herself, trying very hard to avoid the blood pumping towards her cheekbones. Why was he so kind to me she asked herself? He could have simply brushed her off like light snowfall, but he didn’t. This puzzled Gina for at least a week; it mainly confused her because no one had ever offered to help her, especially a hansom young lad such as Marco Johnson, star quarterback. He kept waving to her in the halls, and grinned at her as if he was trying to avoid blushing as well just like the moment they met.

Time passed and neither Gina nor Marco had made a move, though it was getting to the point where they both knew **** good and well, that they liked each other. It was now spring and school was coming to a close, finals where lurking down the hallways and students began to get excited. Soon the last day came…

“Hey, your name’s Gina right?” oh, he’s talking to me Gina panicked inside unsure of what to say back. “Yeah, that’s me” she replied. “Well Ms. Gina I was kind of thinking, I know you like me…” oh ****! He knows, she thought. “and I was wondering if you knew, I like you too?” Marco began to do a little dance of flirtation. “And further more I was wondering if such a lady as yourself, would like to accompany me on this thing called a date lets say this Saturday night?” Marco finished cunningly. Gina froze, was Marco seriously asking her out, or was she being punked or something? “Um, ah, I mean yes, totally, I’d love to.” Gina replied. “Cool I’ll pick you up at let’s say seven tomorrow night then.” And with that Marco disappeared down the crowded hallway. Gina sighed, what the hell am I gonna wear she though, no, no what the hell am I gonna do? Gina had never been on a real actual date before. So her parents would for sure have something to say about a boy of all humans pulling up in their drive way and sweeping up their little girl.

Saturday at 7pm came and Marco marched his way up to Gina’s front door. Unfortunately her father answered. “Who are you” mumbled the tall lanky man who was Mr. Delaware. “I’m Marco, Gina’s date…” Marco replied nervously. “Oh well, step inside son, she should be down in a second, but you know how long girls take to get ready” chuckled Mr. Delaware. Once Marco stepped inside the mismatched old house, the awkward silence between the two began to grow. That is until Gina came running down the stairs…

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaad” she exclaimed, “Where the hell is my…” she paused seeing Marco at the bottom of the stairs…”Hairbrush” she finished. “well I think you look fine as is” said Marco in the sweetest voice possible. “haha, ok well there goes needing to brush up” laughed Gina.

Gina and Marco then said their goodbye to Mr. Delaware, and headed out the door and into Marco’s Old Chevy Silverotto. “So where to?” asked Marco. “How about that one drive-in theater off highway 91?” suggested Gina. “Nice idea ***. I’ve been wanting to go there for ages” replied Marco.

The two departed out of the Delaware’s driveway; it was roughly a half hour drive to get to the drive-in from Gina’s house. Marco put the radio on and they soon found out how big a music buff they both were. They began challenging each other back and forth to “name that tune”. Gina couldn’t stop grinning and neither could Marco, it seemed as if they were meant to be there, together.

Just when all seemed to be going as planned, Marco’s truck began to make a funny sound. He pulled over to check the engine, Gina followed. “I can’t figure out what the problem is, I just got this out of the shop like a week ago” exclaimed Marco, he was a little up in knots about his truck not working, especially while being on a date with a pretty girl.

Then out of nowhere both looked up, hearing a loud rumble headed their way. It was something like a meteor, but it wasn’t from what they could tell. They noticed it landed about a mile west of them. Once it landed and they heard the huge BOOM in the distance, Marco asked Gina if she’d like to go see whatever it was with him. Unsure but wanting to know herself, she said she’d go with.

They set off towards where they saw whatever it was land. Half way there both became a little tired, and without thinking they sat down below an old willow tree, and soon both fell into a deep sleep…

PART 2→ Waking Up In Another World…

“Hey, hey, Gina, wake up.” Marco started to shake Gina. “Hey” Gina said sleepily. “Um, Gina, I don’t think we’re in the same place we fell asleep in” said Marco. “What do you mean? We didn’t go any…” then Gina opened her eyes, noticing Marco was right, they weren’t in the same place. It was almost as if…no…they thought, it couldn’t be, another planet, that was completely not possible. But as legend has it, they were, they had somehow came upon a planet in the Andromeda galaxy, one galaxy over from ours. This planet had been undiscovered by human kind, and its name is Linx. Linx at first, looked as if it was deserted.

The two began to panic, unsure of their surroundings, knowing they couldn’t be on their own planet, and wondering why they had oxygen and how had they gotten to this place? They began to argue and fuss, scared of what could happen or what had already happened. Then they saw a figure, somewhat like their own walking towards them from the distance. They could tell he couldn’t be human, he had greenish-blue tinted skin and long purple hair. As he drew closer, they became more terrified.

“I’ve never seen anything like him” said Gina, “he looks nothing like an alien.” said Marco. Both shocked and somewhat in shock, they stared pale in the face.

“I’m so sorry, I thought, I mean, gosh, I’m awful sorry. You humans must be scared shitless right now.” Said the tall greenish-blue man coming up to them. Both looked at each other, wide eyed and seriously confused. How in the hell did he know their language?

“Look I can read your minds, and I swear I’m not here to probe your brains, or eat you, and I know your language because I’ve studied the human race for quite some time. My name is Zee, and you are on another planet. My spaceship crashed on earth when I was crossing the Milky Way galaxy and so I attempted to beam my way back here and somehow you two got caught in my beam.” Said Zee, he had a tone in his voice of apology and worry. He knew they were scared and very intimidated.

Marco, after hearing Zee’s explanation then proceeded to faint. Gina then stood up “ok so you’re telling me we got transported here by mistake? So does that mean you can get us back?” Gina began to boarder line yell at Zee. She went on for about ten minutes, that is until Zee interrupted her.

“Look, human” he said “I accidently got you here, and getting just me here, takes a ton of energy, energy humans can only dream of, and if you want to get back to your pretty little planet, I’d suggest you ask a little more kindly towards the one who can get you there. My kind would burn you alive if they knew there were humans on this planet, I however am willing to protect you from my own kind. Meaning I could die too. So pipe down and help your friend he seems to have passed out due to shock.”

Gina then humbled herself, finally grasping what Zee had said. She then attended to Marco, who was coming around finally. “So what you’re telling me, is we have a slight chance of going home?” Gina asked Zee. “Unfortunately a very slim chance” said Zee hesitantly…”see the leader of my planet, Linx, has disliked humans for a long time and well, he recently destroyed planet earth.” Zee said. This made both Gina and Marco puzzled for a second. How could it have been destroyed?

“What can we do then?” Asked Marco; “well our leader Zorix also has the power to turn back time, but convincing him to restore earth will be one hell of a battle, first we’ll need to seek you into the castle he lives in, next get you face to face with him, and lastly get him NOT to **** you” replied Zee.

“Well then, seeing as we got a lot of work to do, we better get a move on” Gina insisted. And at that the three brave friends set off towards Zorix’s castle.

PART 3→ What Happens Behind Castle Walls, Stays Behind Castle Walls…

The three hiked a good five miles to get to Zorix’s castle, once they got there, they had to figure out how they were going to manage getting two humans inside without getting caught.

“Well we could dress up like you Zee” suggested Marco. “No, they will see right through it, but nice idea” replied Zee. He was convinced there’d be no way to get them inside without getting caught, that is until Zee had a brilliant idea.

“I could make it look like you are my prisoners, and somehow get you close to Zorix” Zee brightly stated. They all agreed that it was the best idea they had.

At this, Zee lead Gina and Marco inside the castle. It was a dimly lit, cold, wet place. A place where, without a doubt, humans went to die. The whole hallway just screamed death and destruction. Little did Gina and Marco know, Zee had been keeping something from them; He was Zorix’s son.

When they got to the grand room, a room with ginormous ceilings and no windows, just lanterns and chandeliers, the first thing that caught their eyes, was the tall, slim figure that was Zorix. He, like Zee had blueish-green skin but instead of having purple hair like Zee he had bright orange hair, almost as if it was glowing neon.

“Son” said Zorix in a cheerful and loving voice. Son? Gina and Marco looked at each other in confusion, unsure of their future now.

“Hey dad” replied Zee in a much less cheerful tone. “What is this unannounced greeting my son?” Zorix said cunningly.

“I’ve brought these humans, their names are Gina and Marco. I accidently beemed them here by mistake when crossing the Milky Way galaxy. I take full responsibility for them, they have become my friends and I’m here on their behalf.” Zee took a sigh of sorrow, he knew his father would be disgraced.

“So you’re siding with these pesky humans over our supreme race? Is that what I’m hearing” roared Zorix.

Zee hung his head, looking at the marble flooring, and mumbled “Yes father”

“Well maybe you’d like to join them in their fate” said Zorix, as if he was unsure if he was ready to **** his own son, because of what he believed. His voice at first was confident but near the end began to shake.

“Actually I’d like to challenge your army to a duel, if we win, you use your strength to reverse the destroy of their planet, Earth. If we lose…” Zee almost choked on his next words…”Then you can do what you will with us” he finished.

PART 4→ Duel or Die…
This is the beginning of my half *** short story. Its getting longer and longer, but not enough to become a book. So I guess its a long short story. Please comment, and let me know if there's anything I can do to make this better (BTW this is a rough draft) Thankx, Bex
Aaron McDaniel Nov 2012
It was 2 a.m. The moons rays shone brighter than a diamond in it's showcase. The 'thump-thump' of my heartbeat seemed to echo through my body. The forest was quiet that night. Quieter than it should have been. Not even a crickets back and forth harmony. Drops of sweat began to carve their way down my face. One thought repeatedly resonated  in my mind.
'Where is he?'
I started to question if the fallen tree I had taken shelter under, was hiding me well enough in this lightest of darks. I could see the moonlight dance on the keys of my cab, but if I could see it, so could he.
Snap!
I felt my heart stop beating. The sound was so close. A lot closer than I would have liked.
'Should I make a run for it?'
As I gained the courage to flee, I felt a cold leather glove on my shoulder. The glove yanked me towards him. Fear sank deep within me as I tried to shake free. His strength much mightier than mine, there was no fighting him.
He placed a cloth bag over my head with two mismatched holes cut out of them. They were meant for my eyes, but only my left managed to see through it's designated hole.
I saw my assailant.
He was not alone.
There were three others accompanying him.
All three were disguising their faces with white robes from their head to their toes.
It all came to a point at the top.
I noticed another white cloaked person, a lot shorter, hiding behind the leather gloved man.
That's when I felt it.
It snaked around my neck, it's threaded components piercing the cloth bag over my head, and jutting into my skin. It irritated and itched, but they arrested my hands together with a zip tie, so itching was impossible.
I felt one of the men grab me fiercely by the waist, and lift me onto what felt like my own cab.
I confirmed it by the yellow chipped paint out of the bottom left of my vision from when I backed into one of my clients mailboxes.
They said nothing the entire time.
Neither did I.
My tears were telling them everything that I wish I could scream.
One of the men nodded, followed by the approval nod of the leather gloved man.
He slowly raised his leather glove high into the air, confident of himself.
My stomach dropped.
I heard the cabs horn flare, and the tires squeal.
Gravity made an appearance.
I felt the snap of my neck, yet no pain followed.
The flaring horn silenced.
I opened my eyes. My vision was blurred.
The smell of my mothers pancakes, told me exactly where I was.
This was a prompt in my English class. I decided to take it a step further.
Sarah Lennon May 2014
The city takes your soul block by block
While you sit on the curb in mismatched socks
Trying to retain your extremely weak but steadfast streak of being unique
Cities aren't 24-hour Christmas
The trick is to remain ambitious
Hands in your lap
No eye contact
Going tap tap tap on your Citizens app
While discreetly doodling a Sharpie spaceship on the subway seat
Hitting the street
With sick beats in your feet
Cuz thoughts of quotas and quarters won't quell a quintessential quest
To push the city to its limits and try your very best
To keep biting your nails behind elevator doors
Cuz no chewed-up hands are exactly like yours
A balancing act
Trying not to get trapped
Or smothered by facts
But undeniably
I love what's inside of me
My heart keeps me alive
But what I love makes me live
The city takes my soul
But I've got soul to give.
Mark Ball Oct 2014
Fiddly bits and
Mismatched shapes;
Come into my house,
Shut off the drapes.

I'll piece them together
This one and that.
But you don't believe in board games
So it's bound to fall flat.

So let us start from the beginning,
The corners and the bottoms;
Work inwards.
But do not be surprised
If you are not that missing piece,
But just a part of another's
Puzzle.
Julian Apr 2019
The inaugural bang swiveled with the vacant expressions of a muted feral crowd indignant about ethnic identity and swift in the recourse of tyrannical thugs pandering withered abuse

I solemnly abided in a chirpy itinerant glower against the exclusive system for stranding the disintegration of lyrical integrity for the Potemkin cheers of the culmination of too many jeers

Withered words for the abeyance of silence I incurred with wistful pleas for resurgent clarity beyond   sheepish fears

So I loitered in the evanescence of words..

Watching with alacrity as the strident ignorance of grafted wretchedness writhed its last mustered exsibilation at the sound of windbags bloviating beyond prodigal extravagance without a visible tweeted word

I measured my pause…..as I considered the heft of poignant exposures to a dismal serenade of miscegenated politics and garbled breaths of wheezy mendicants seeking participation in the trophy of smothered compliance

But I marveled simultaneously at the extinction of the shriveled crowds as they sized up the minutiae of wastrels glamorously inviting a frozen recapitulation of sorrows borrowed and wasted on minced platitudes that swindle still the votive confidence of regimented sympathy pretending empathy for soured hearts professedly defiant at their bereaved will

My pulse I clocked at 120 as I wondered where on earth the 140s and 150s have frittered their patience on with such brazen alacrity for the garish snarl of a sojourn into the ineffable effrontery of aureate mutiny against the tyrant of deaf spoon-fed indignation without the luxury of shared ignominy of memorable cadence for frippery in sparse blurbs registered in braille rather than brawn

Then I remembered my vociferous persnickety temperament and the curdled hatred of procrustean swan songs to an etiolating standard of ethical entanglement in aloof issues delivered with a decisive swoon too swift in earnestness to outfox with a quipped rebuff or a calculus of classical spoof

Then I wondered with a problematic but inherent prolixity…..
I too could adorn the adoring moon with a lyrical lampoon geared for a clockwork punchline or a winsome rebarbative tune….OR…. enchant with an incisive acerbic rant about how pasquinades outstay their welcome because of the clambered insistence of happenstance years ago in a blinkered mirror but never rehashed too soon

But where would affection heap its laurels if I dared to swindle the spotlight away from frisky poetasters who proved a renegade inspiration for fluttered triumph in a seaside tragedy only the crestfallen waves of pestilent Idiocracy could steal from my outstretched tenacity in verse and verve

Boom went a fulmination of hatred at my labored words! And then I swerved to avoid potholes of tenuous gainsay…. and other miscreants littering the world with misappropriated labels for laments belabored with publicity for displaced enmity distilled from a cauldron of mismatched ignorance….tethered to the vagrancy of gripe plucked at the ripe time for a twenty-dollar prize give or take a dime

But that dime separating 1990 from 2010 meant more than anything to a life littered with hallowed word crimes…. against the sanctimony of syncopation with cheap bleats too arrogant to be sheepish at the lavish indulgence of the marginalized wines…. brewed in a castle flickering on fiat worth rather than the simplicities of minutes of warbled time

So I currently warp minds with the proctor of a gamble too garish to finesse the quicksand of attrition but jaunty enough to bypass the limitations of a linear self-referential memorial about the circular nature of irony espoused by divorced rhymes

Now I stand ascendant….waiting for the retinues of retinas to absorb the wavy rigmarole of the serpentine pathways carved beneath the buzzwords of race and division and towards soldered unity with a human race beyond racism…. and a class divorced from socioeconomic crass division

Just then I arrived at serenity…. as I realized that the BAR exams that encage so many aspirant hearts are counterfeit in the court of the highest judiciary art that believes that insidious artifice is an embezzled venture of frolicsome guttersnipes wallowing in division can never revive a lifeless heart…. even if quick-witted credentialism rattles the slaves to vapid artforms that any humanism would never deem smart

Ditch the agitprop as a human frailty indentured to endure the curated disease without a cure to make the snollygosters in Washington ever so cocksure with their cockalorum disregard of the palatable consensus to make news real again….Finally for the fraternity of an enlightened human race in a benighted world of trendy fatuousness that infests the planet with the debauchery of glorified urchins jerking the levers with severed brevity to promote infectious foofaraw with cultural indemnity

I leave you with this

What is ornate complexity without the luxury of concerted beatific bliss that the parsecs that flummox your minds throb vehemently with cohesiveness in my internal design are not remiss

And remember the benighted standards of kitsch for the kitchens of penury bewitched don’t stand a chance against the overriding itch to vanquish mountains one after another to cross them off the list
Paul Aguirre Nov 2012
Sitting in the dark wondering
when will I find someone
worth knowing,
worth noting.

You tell me that there are
many,
all around me and beyond,
But you lie or are mistaken
because all I see are mismatched
people to my desires.

I want to learn from this Her,
To kiss her sweet lips,
To render myself senseless
by touching her body,
To lose myself in her eyes.

But it seems that this unfeeling
Thing,
does not let me get close with
anyone,
before I find their flaws
and start pondering
how to break their heart.

It seems that I set my standards too
high,
or they have theirs too
low,
but the fact remains that
I am betrayed:
by dishonesty and cowardice,
by laziness and greed,
by stupidity and facades.

but most of all:
by the immoral,
the obsession with nothing but pleasure
with no depth.

I am a confused and lonely thing,
searching in the dark for a feeling Thing.

what is this Thing I seek?

Well dear reader,
Nothing less than a good Heart.

One to heal me,
in return for being healed,
before this hollowness becomes
a shadow and swallows me whole,
leaving nothing but a crass man,
a cruel and callous thing undeserving of
the veracity of Love.
In Response partly to "I made a wish; I wished I was crazy"
unedited and very stream of consciousness-y of me but I could not escape alas, the beauty of a centered poem I'm afraid. Your free verse was still good and very unbound by rules and traditions.
nothing more than raw feeling I felt in your poem, fellow scribe, not many things inspire me to write lately so kudos...and gracias :)
c quirino Jan 2011
We walk to it in silence, passing over earthen layers of leaf and twig, never once touching dirt en transit.

Then it escapes vertically from a jungle less than ninety years old.

The Beautiful Monolith.

At one point when the jungle was young, it was an integral bridge of some great scheme of railroads but is now a cement Taj Mahal only undiluted, uninhibited youth could create.
 
Where alabaster paint found in post cards and archival footage had once been, several layers of outsider art, scratchings, bible verses and amateur-drawn genitalia are the monolith’s primer, base and top coat.
 
We walk past two crosses next to the river, one for a young man who had jumped into the three foot deep river from the monolith’s former train tracks, another carries no name but is nailed to a neighboring tree.

An unnaturally yellow tulip lies beneath this cross.
 
At the Monolith’s feet are vines with sprouts of two-or-three leaves each pointing arbitrarily in directions they can grow.

“And my, how they grow,” she whispers.
 
My Sunday dress, a former ivory table cloth of mother’s imagination is consumed by the jungle.

It is not tarnished, but given life. An existence it would not have known under mother’s elbows rained upon by her cigarette’s ashes. It is ‘colored-in’ life, like these are some vanilla pages of little nephew's coloring book.

I try to tell him, but he does not understand, and says that I shouldn't talk about things being “colored' because it makes me sound like a racist.

I laugh, plucking leaves from the tree bearing the unnamed cross and rub them across the Flat of my torso, leaving green streaks across the former tablecloth.
 
He whispers into my ear about taking me to the top of the Monolith. I nod and attempt to rest my chin on his shoulder, but he starts swiftly up the hill.

He tells me to “lose the prissy mary-jane’s” on my feet saying it would be easier to climb without them.
 
I do this, and my bare feet touch the leaves and twigs. The feeling is *******, but in real life, I don’t even know this word exists. We climb, resting halfway on an embankment in one of the Monolith’s Roman arches. The second half of the climb is slightly more difficult, but we reach the top.
 
The tracks are gone, replaced by a coating of gravel, rocks and beer bottles. And then I see it, the reason why the Monolith is beautiful. Two states converge on this spot where I stand, my tablecloth dress begins to take flight as I spread my wings. His mismatched eyes look at me with something close to amusement as he takes out a bright yellow acetate stencil.
 
The cupola of Animal Mansion pokes out from the jungle like my ***** right ****** in this former table cloth.  
 
A thin veil of red paint meets my waist. He gasps and his eyes widen, allowing me to see every individual real life pixel of his unmatched eyes, the hazel left, and the kelly-green right.
 
He mutters some kind of apology I cannot understand.
 
I respond by slipping off the tablecloth. They bounce slightly. You know which ones I speak of…
 
His eyes remain wide as he comes closer to me, telling me that I have to put my clothes back on. In his hands is the crumpled , grass stained, table cloth dress.
 
I ask if this is what he wants. He manages to say “yes” but apparently…not under these circumstances…or at least not on the Beautiful Monolith. I drop to my knees, and am able to unbuckle his belt before he pulls me up by my forearms.
 
My tears make it hard to see what is happening now…I feel my arms pushing him back from me, and then the sound of rocks tumbling out of place.

He is over the ledge now, flying through the portion of damaged railing where no fence stands. His mismatched eyes, the left hazel and right kelly-green stare warmly into mine.

In his hands is the crumpled, grass stained, tablecloth dress.
This, is see perfectly.
© Constante Quirino
Julian Dorothea Apr 2012
I’m talking to you
in my head

been cultivating this shyness
since I was three years old

talking to inanimate objects

painted smiles, rubber-skinned
metal frames
turning wheels

the family minivan kept me company
as mountains rose and fell
like held breaths
let go.
playing games with pregnant raindrops
rolling down the glass
obsessed with the shark’s fin triangle
the wipers could not
reach.

I’m obsessing over seeing you.

always trying to be invisible
your eyes beginning to skim past I,

they didn’t used too.

“The voices that once spoke love
but did not mean love.”

the withered rose living
in the trash,
abandoned friends in the attic
forgotten songs
unfinished books

I am the forgotten
I am the abandoned
I am the left behind

cobweb-and-cotton-dust-collector
the silence connoisseur
I wear loneliness like an unwashed favorite shirt

If I die
Will you read this?
Does anyone else think such things
or is Tonio Kroger my only brother?

I am Kafka’s cockroach,
everyone is waiting for me to die
or to change into what you want me to be.

my name will not be in the history books
by the time my children’s children will have children
I am no one.

Everything fades in this world
like whiteboard-marker on acetate lives.

Desolate corners and garbage
tell stories
art is vandalism, vandalism is art.
and people wear diamonds but they are worth nothing.
and babies inherit their father’s eyes.

I am not yours.

You are not mine.
Isn’t ownership objectification?
If a man owns a clock
does the clock own the man?

Let’s be
money and greed
or
greed and suffering.
one cannot survive
without…

Let’s be
the mismatched pyramids
of wealth and population
form a parallelogram
like bricks on an unstable wall
never falling down.
III Jun 2015
The truth is, I’m not really sure who I am.  She told us to draw ourselves and then to draw our souls; so I drew my face scratched and uneven, just as I’ve always seen it, and frowned at the result both in the mirror and on the paper.  The only soul I’ve ever really known was the one that shone through the strokes of the keys I punched, the scrawling of ink on paper in mismatched arrays of awkward thoughts, disorientated and unorganized, shaded different spews of emotion and rearranged through the lens of ever last viewer’s eye.  Even so, this soul that is composed of words that defined me painted a picture vivid in its contrast, though blurry from both afar and close enough to squint, no details able to be made out.  These words that have wrapped around my soul rubbed raw from the time my skin first flinched at the cool March air cannot be deciphered by their author, though I know somehow that their letters flowing into one another say more than any curve of my face ever could.  These words are black and white, two extremes crafted in the pallet of the Universe’s toolshed, and perhaps that’s exactly what I am.  Black or white.  I’m dark and lost and scrounging for some rusting wall or tree branch to cling to as to ensure the shimmering waves, onyx and charcoal in their nature with the flow of blood in its spine, do not flood into my mouth at a rate in which is too quick to balance myself upon them, or, I’m white, drifting snow from a cloud scraping the vast expanse of brilliant blue gazing as a sky above all the world, pure, innocent, unscathed with the potential for creation in vibrancies yet unknown, or to be ripped to bits, scattered amongst piles of cream and autumn leaves drained of their color beneath months of shivering frost.  And so, perhaps any physical representation of my being would be all wrong, because that’s not what I am.  Myself, my soul, it resides in the murky depths of heights I’ve yet to discover, tethered endlessly and uncertain among the caverns of my inners, pink and mushy, stirred and ******, untouched from the harsh light of a world encased in brevity.
Ann M Johnson Dec 2016
My black hole theory is not profound
I just want what is lost to someday be found
I have a theory there are many series of black holes
somehow linked to the big one
They all have their own gravitational pull
They seem to have an innate hunger for whatever is shiny or new
They seem to **** it all in like of vacuum taking it away from me maybe even from you
There used to be some sort of portal through my couch , to try to stop it I removed the couch from my house
A strange thing happened it is all true, stuff started disappearing from my purse especially anything shiny or new
That can be very problematic if you are at the store and reach in your purse to pay the teller and all your change is gone, no more to be seen
It made me feel like crying, or maybe scream
The logical person that I try to be thought there must be an explanation, so I emptied out the contents of my purse in the store's bathroom,  I carefully checked the purse lining for any holes
I found no holes and none of my change too, I just had picked up a new roll of quarters from the bank and that was gone too.
Henceforth, I was quite perplexed when I pondered upon what happened next. I washed clothes and then dried them and took them out to fold them and put them away just like any day. I just can’t understand why I end up with so many mismatched pairs of socks. Then I had a possible revelation many there is a black hole, or perhaps even a vortex that one of each pair of socks gets ****** through. I still feel a bit blue about my socks missing their perfect mate. I confess I also did not like to lose one of the socks of my favorite pair with a picture of an M&M; along with the saying “Who’s Your Candy”, maybe it seemed too irresistible to resist. If it happened in a science fiction movie maybe some guy would exclaim “Beam me up the M&M; socks”.( I seem to lose one of them each time I dry them). The curious thing is the holes left in the mismatched socks that were left behind.
I  pondered the situation later that day and thought of my little black hole theory , the little black holes somehow linked to The ******* Hole and ******* my stuff in, I know I am no scientist, but if someday The Black Hole lost its gravitational pull, and my stuff and maybe other people's else's stuff to started raining down,  perhaps my theory would take hold in the scientific community and hold some ground, or maybe Inquiring Minds, will want to know of my theory.  That is not what matters most of all to me ,theory or no theory, I just want all my lost stuff to be found.
Jade Jul 2018
There goes Lady Fate,
donned in solar sparks
and her lace corset
whose  overt promiscuity
catches the attention of
one unsuspecting astronaut–
his helm fogs as he exhales,
his breath crude and lascivious.
Even Neptune’s eyes themselves
glitter wetly with passion
as she struts towards Polaris in
her pinprick stilettos.

She adjusts her stance accordingly:

I. Purse lips into a smoulder
(might as well look
pretty while ya get the job done.)

II. Aim for the desired target
(that there’s the bull’s eye.)

III. Wreak havoc
just as any Fate is meant to do.
(But, of course.)

She picks up her staff and fires.

The universe tremors
in an unbridled spiral
of colour and chaos
as the planets
d    a    r    t
about like billiards,                                    
                          colliding/|\with/|\ the/|\ stars

who,  in the midst of the madness,
d i v e r g e and c
r* o* s s
for fear of being vanquished.

A cluster of mismatched constellations
and forsaken cosmic particles
settle into a state of
mutual negligence and destruction.
And, together, they liquefy into
a festering pool of molten silver.

Lady Fate grins–
yes, she has the stars right
where she wants them now–
and, in a final act of defiance,
she strikes against the earth
and watches with satisfaction as
it hurtles towards the silver
and sinks down into the molten
like an eight ball.
(And everyone knows it’s
Game Over
once you’ve sunk the eight ball).

From where she stands–
bent over Polaris
in seductive pretentiousness —
she relishes
in the screams
of some wretched lover–
the first to ever be
betrayed by the stars.
Adria Maria Dec 2015
OCD
Perfect lines and circles and scales,
Preset shapes and purples to blues to greens
Left, then right, then left and right again.
Mismatched pairs and my lungs are closing up.
Kate Lion Jan 2013
(i)

It’s wrong of me, I know
            To wait around for you to say extraordinary things, sweetheart.
                      
But there’s something so enticing about true love
                        Wrapped up in fancy scratch paper
                        With half the lines crossed out
                                                [Those are the best kind of things to say, you know
                                                            ­‘Cause it means I’ll spend hours smashing myself
                                                          ­  Between those lines
                                                           ­ Trying to fill in the blanks
                                                          ­  About who you love,
                                                           ­                         And why.
                                                … I miss knowing those things
                                                          ­                          Just a little.]    
            All tied together with the broken guitar strings
[Where now rest those hummingbird wings?]
You’d tune for me
                        Before anybody knew who you were
                                    And I was the only one who listened.

I miss the you I knew

            The one who told me I was beautiful,
                        All mismatched and clashed,
                        Because we were the brains of this outfit,
                      
And how were we to know that
                                    Dreams and reality
                                                Can’t ever
                                                Be worn together?
                        [At least, that’s what Mother would tell me
                                    When I asked to wear her fancy pearls to bed]

I remember the day before we were expected to grow up
            [The day before the sky turned inside out
            And suddenly
                        We were expected to know why it rained sometimes,
                        Were expected to expect pneumonia if we played in the puddles too long,
                                    Were expected to know black from white
To stay indoors and turn gray overnight.
Yes, the day before all of those expectations rose to meet us,]
We were expected to go to a gaudy dinner party
To boast about ourselves.
And everything we planned to become.
            But I hated heels, and you hated lies
            So I showed up in fuzzy bunny slippers with my hair done up nice, and you-
Well.
            You didn’t go.
                        There’s something about growing up you never took a liking to.

Everyone knew who you were by then.
And I sat alone as they talked about you
                        And all of the wonderful things you were becoming.
                        And I just nodded, picturing the boy I once knew
                                    Yes,
The boy that no one knew
                                    With dreams so big they encompassed the entire sidewalk in chalk
                                    Whenever we sat down to visualize the future
we never really thought would come
                      
                        There was never enough room for me to color mine
                        [So I simply signed my name
                                    All small
                                    In the corner
                                    Of that sidewalk gallery of hearts and hopes]
                        And that’s the way I wanted it
                        Because-
                        Well,­
I didn’t need a dream if I had you.


(ii)

It was too perfect, really.
Well, I was, I suppose.
Perfectly innocent.

I now see how illogical it is
To assume that a heart can simply be cut away from the chest,
And given.

For it is impossible to do so
[Truly]

No,
You got so much more than my heart, my love

From the ends of my eyelashes to my fingertips
All of me was yours

Yes,
From the frantic way my heart beat against my ribcage        
[Like a tiny hummingbird
            Wanting to burst free
To taste you with my entire soul
            Swallow you whole
            Not merely glean a teasing sample with my lips]

To the way it melted through my chest
And slid softly to my fingers
Resting in your palm
Yes,
When you placed your hand in mine
            I was clutching the reality I’d only ever dreamed of
            [My heart and I were a package deal- and you held both]
            Yes, it was the closest I’ve ever been to happiness

Oh, love…
I loved,
With every part of me,
I hope you know.

But I never considered that I did
Not really

Until that moment when you led me in my fuzzy bunny slippers to the chalky sidewalk
And silently erased my name from that corner
            Whispering you were sorry all the while.
            But we were all grown up now.

[That was the day I stood with my arms outstretched
Mouth gaping open
To catch the rain
As the sky turned inside out
Because, well.
I needed new dreams if I didn’t have you]

Tears filled my eyes, then
For I felt my heart fall out of my chest
[Yes, I thought such a thing was impossible
But I’d also
(Naively)
Thought it impossible for you to ever leave]
To rest
Forever
In your hands
[A final parting gift]

What pain filled that void!
            [I would blame it on pneumonia,
                        -For I stood in the puddles forever that day
                        Making mouthfuls of promises to that empty rain-
                        But I think we both know better
                        Than to expect a little sickness to bring pain such as this]
For I was left with nothing
And you
            [You
With a tiny hummingbird you didn’t even know what to do with
                        As it lay
                        Barely breathing
                        Barely beating
                        But doing both for you]
You still had everything

From the tears that dripped from my lashes
To the tips of my fingers that brushed them away

To that empty ribcage
            [With the bones gaping open
            So barren, but for a couple feathers
            That blew about when you whispered
                        (Hanging on to a hollow kind of hope)
But fell to the bottom of my stomach once it was clear
That you were never coming back
With my little hummingbird]
And that flat thump in my chest
[From the pendulum I secured in its stead
                        Marking each moment I spent without a true heartbeat
No frenzy of feathers
No
Just a hollow, rhythmic stupor
That fell over my soul]
That reminded me
I had
Nothing to love anymore.


(iii)

            Who knows how long I stood
                        Letting the draft in through the spaces between my ribcage
                        So raw and gaping
                        My soul an empty ocean
                        Waiting
                        Wai­ting for any kind of tide to pull me in
                                                              ­            fill me up
                                                              ­            bring me out again
            I got so cold, love
            Waiting for the wind to wash up something on the brittle beaches of my bones
          
            It took forever, it seemed
            For me to swallow that mouthful of rain you left me with that day
                        [How I wish I’d known sooner that’s all it would take]
            But when I did
            It washed that pendulum straight out
                        [Oh, and how that mouthful wetted the lips of my helpless spirit
                                    Till it was chugging words I’d never been able to find
                                                And that’s why I write
                                                About you
                                                And our love
                                                That is long lost somewhere
Lost in a somewhere only you’ve ever been to]
            Into the hands of someone who thought he’d found my soul.

And how I wish he hadn’t found the counterfeit
For he shined it so pretty and neat-like
            [Oh, that it had been real]
And secured it around his neck
            I never knew I had anything worth showing off
            No
            But he made me feel that I had

Oh, but how it all was very broken
For I was very out of order, see
            Nothing to give him
            Not really
            Nothing but permission for his eyelashes to flicker at me
            For him to brush me with his lips and the tips of his fingers
                        I never backed away soon enough
                        Always left red with regrets
                        Horrific actions I’ll never forget
            [Oh, Always
                        Always
                        The­ swing of the pendulum in the back of my mind
                        Whispering we were on borrowed time
                        Because none of me was really mine
                                                But did I listen?]

He’d tell me I was lovely all the day.

So how picturesque to think of me
Standing on his porch one day
            In my fuzzy bunny slippers
            With mother’s pearls around my neck
            Expecting him to tell me once again.
But that’s when it ended
            Just like I’d wanted
            ‘Cause he claimed I was deranged for double-dipping
            Dragging dreams into the daytime
And I smiled
            ‘Cause I knew that he was wrong.
                        [Yep, you always loved my plaid pajama pants
All mud stained from puddle jumping
From the days we expected nothing but rain for us to catch]


(iv)

How horribly addictive true love is!
            Do you not agree?

For I think we both should like to be gone from each other
Forever, if we could both stand to be away that long

But as long as I live
            I shall never find someone so perfect as you
            And your eyes are the tide that draws me in time after time
            So why should I cast you out, my love?
            Tell me to go away, the way you’ve never said.
            Give me a reason to leave.
For I can’t find one at all,
Except that I love you too much to be logical
                                                     to own up to reality

--It is a sad thought
            To think you might’ve plucked the feathers from my hummingbird
            And threaded them through those broken guitar strings you tuned for me
            To make a wind chime for your porch
                        [You’re the only one who ever listened to me, anyway]
For,
            Did I not see those fancy colors hanging by your door yesterday,
            The same shade as my eyes?
I do not wish to make assumptions,
            Stop me if I’m wrong.

For,
I already know it was so wrong of me
            To think it should’ve gone differently yesterday
                        When I laced up a corset to fill that gap in my chest
                                    Donned a dress with my mother’s fancy pearls
                                    Slipped heels onto my feet
                                    And fixed my hair nice and pretty for you
Oh, love
            How quickly I found you’ve forgotten

Because when you saw me standing there on your doorstep
            All perfect
            And real
            And neat
You handed me a piece of paper
And asked about my aspirations

I could do nothing but glance at the sidewalk, surprised,
Finding nothing but gray pavement.
            For you, my love,
            Are living your dreams now
            No need to chalk them up and wish.

But my hopes haven’t changed, love
I’ve yet to live the only dream I ever wanted

And how I wished to dazzle you by saying extraordinary things
            All wrapped up in this fancy piece of scratch paper
            With half the lines crossed out
            But I don’t think you appreciate it like you used to

And how I wished to tell you that my dream could be found in the chalk dust
Still stuck to the bottoms of my fuzzy bunny slippers
I used to wear
With my mother’s fancy pearls
Until yesterday

When I tried to match everything up evenly
            And we stood on your porch
            With no one to hear us but the wind chime
                        [The feathers holding it together
                                    Just hanging on your every breath
                                                And swaying to a hollow sort of hope]
As you whispered.

You told me I was beautiful.

            And I went home and cried.

— The End —