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Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
.you can't persuade me... yes, i realiße that my language is riddled with overt-pronoun usage... dunn'oh... something in the air, i guess... yes... that's the german ß - an interchange of S and Z... which is not an Š... more piquant... akin to the distinction of an Ś... but not really... no... you can't tell me that you can read Braille... and play the guitar... no ******* chance in hell... less stiff little fingers (a decent band)... and more: numbed tip fingers... mid-of-the-road type of guys... blind lemon jefferson... you think... that... after playing so much guitar... he would be able to read the solipsistic / idiosyncratic invention of louis (b)? **** no! and not that blind lemon jefferson worked the ******* cotton-field either... but... fingers... numbing... playing the guitar... so... these's cucks managed to create a slave trade with these... hunk Zulu / n.b.a. warriors? alternative universe! alternative universe! no... you can't read braille while allowing yourself to play the guitar... so these feeble ancestors of not mine... managed to... enslave these... afro hulks?! the **** happened there? where some of the Europeans like me? oh, right, strapped to the Baltic... and non-existent for around 200 years... identify?! identify?! i was born 5 hours from Auschwitz! just because i learned English, doesn't imply i'm playing identity politics... but i guess, in England... only a Somali might... no chance in hell you'll play the guitar like blind lemon jefferson... and have the tender finger-tips of a louis braille... better start to learn to juggle oranges.

what would be the antithesis of
a... sodomite?
   someone from the city of *****?
a... gomorrahite?
****... that could work,
given we had people known
as the hittites...

CLICKBAITNEWSFLASH
CLICKBAITNEWSFLASH
CLICKBAITNEW­SFLASH
CLICKBAITNEWSFLASH
CLICKBAITNEWSFLASH

the new: small ***** emoji...
so...
           why is there a small
***** emoji...
with a dark complexion?

what?
           last time i heard...
and i did hear it from a *******
during... something
that resembled *******
but more Picasso figuring
out cubism...
      she told me...
           with not satisfying
impromptu...
   'all the black guys have
big *****'...
   yeah... i paid the 110 quid
per hour...
   but didn't say anything,
figuring,
stick to the proverb...
marshall...
  cicha woda brzegi rwie...
so i was basically looking
at either...
   the mariana trench
of a **** or...
           so like an amputee...
can i get, some sort
of girth expansion
or a length extension...
or should i just put on
a strap-on *****
to mechanically **** my way
out of a de profundis
                      like Jonah?
oyster yap-yap...
       i don't think my
"tool"... has anything to do
with...
   what i'm looking at...
something, something
from the kama sutra...
how... a rabbit man should
not **** an elephant woman...
nice metaphors
for... size... & depth...
so i turned on something
to relax from listening
to too much classical music
and having a wet-*****
over it in conversation
over lunch, und tea...
gets me all the time...
da pacem domine... templar...
sure... not my favorite
choir lullaby to hush myself
with... but as far as i know...
the hospitaller knights weren't
too keen on... curing
the ails of the heart through
song...
            
but the miniscule emoji...
like... the modern hieroglyphs writers
are attempting to
signal... having evolved
to speak... cratylian?
  (sign language)

they are!
   they are!
        look, they're communicating
with the orthodoxy
that makes dyslexia: stigma...

but... i have never heard
a ******* tell me that
all white men have... adequate...
******* examples...
but i have heard that all
black men have... the adequacy...
and a tall tongue,
a labyrinth and a serpent's
equal length of it...
to waggle through
conversation, till they reach... 60!

envy...
only if you're watching ****...
i even sometimes forget...
are those the *******...
or the ***?
  you know... the "grand canyon"
of fixation?
dunno... for me ****
is mildly, or at best...
one step away from
the Reinnasance nudes...
      depends...
i suppose if i was blind...
i'd be into the sounds of the grand O...
but static works best work me...
i guess: i like to imagine
what would be... working from
an instilled frame...

moses' worth of **** on
mt. sinai...
or jonah's de profundis
worth of **** in
a belly of a whale...
your pick...
       again... language is
not a ******* scimitar...
it's a...
                       yeah... that thing...
fun emoji, that one...
      cuck...
if you haven't been with
a *******...
what the hell is all this...
this...
                     in in between
she's telling you about
a friend of hers who was
slaughtered while
working Barcelona...
  and then she tells you
you're nice... because you
just feel like kissing...
   and it's like:
  me? me hitting the dating
scene in anglo-saxon culture?
psst... can i have that whiskey
and beer and solitary
confinement
with a claustrophobia's worth
of thought that, does require
someone... shuffling and dropping
snippets of my output into
the local square?

   i only felt compatible with one
woman in my life...
   if i were a bull
and she was a cow...
and i had overlords who needed
us to do nothing
but perpetually breed?
sure... it could have worked...

gomorrahite...
          that other emoji...
the blood drop...
i heard, somewhere, somehow,
only after the fact...
     i nagged her for ***
for well over 2 weeks...
she was on her period...
       i heard that *** during
a woman's period alleviates
cramps...
or... how does this even fit
into...
   warm water, in the bath,
****** on...
                chirping *******
sparrows...
   a few days later
   7 hours non-stop...
   the Trojans had landed...
so yeah...
             little **** big mouth...
or... miniscule omni,
        big **** makes a mouth
the depth of... what?
          it's not like...
there's only one depth of
****... is there?
   contra... new meme...
like the o.k. sign...
         but all fingers holded...
with the index set
     on the thumb...
  expression? how deep?
    
but the modern hieroglyphs
are evolving into cratylian...
    yet i still don't know how i'm
to read emoji...
via sign-language...
   and have a light-bulb moment
of the subsequent: ah!

    maybe...
   being made literate
i am to unmake my literacy
and learn to emoji...
   i know that there are
interpreters of these... "things"...
like: i'm giving the explanation...
but then...
   have no sparring partner
to use it with...

     so i figured...
              better before i go blind...
then at least i can write some
⠃⠗⠁⠊ ⠇⠇⠑...

so yeah...
how's that chopping off the diacritical
hydra coming along...
with regards to the pointlessness
that's hovering over
                    i (ι)      and j (ȷ) -
well... at least the caron over
an s (š) indicates something...
   i.e.:                         šarp...
      sharp!...
                       the **** are either of
those dots supposed to represent...
some... syllable, breath,
intra-word
   "pause"... ' - apostrophe scalpel
                  incission for the tongue?
like... t'ango...
where you use the apostrophe
attached to the t'
    to almost swallow your tongue
before you burst out with -ango
   as if (to double of the metaphor)
            you did a geyser with your
mouth upon hearing a joke
    with, just prior, having a sip of
a fizzy drink?

modern hieroglyphs imitating
cratylian (sign language):
                  and all these letters in between...
good to know that
whatever literacy was left,
became entombed in:
to code...

                                which...
starts to resemble...
                something akin to...
the language police take on
remembering to recite dyslexia
               of f@%&!

> shift a little bit to the right
           < shift a little bit to the left...

yeah, that labyrinth's worth
of ego...
                         or egg'oh...
     depends on how much modern
graffiti you want...
stolen from a brick wall of
  #tag...
                          i suppose...
    enough of e.e.cummings will do...
to push you over
the edge...
     and forget to even use
that ingeious israeli invention,
the u.z.i.,
                      tongue in the bucket,
and all those itchy tips
of fingers, readied to do
the devil's bidding...
       while the holy... the holy...
sing! sing! sing!
           grind lips
against a pig's snout...
      and stand stark naked...
uninhibited...
                         or at least...
that's how i see language,
                      or what is truly
my own... my use of it.
Bryan J Powers Nov 2010
I remember it like it was only yesterday. But one could only understand the love of the first smile with the back story that comes with which can only be described as the most beautiful site that my eyes ever saw and will ever see again. Picture if you will a man, a soldier, another broken heart of a fool too naïve to realize what life was all about. Ready to give in to what was presumed to be the standard for the rest of time. And just when the decision was beginning to form to end it all a risk was taken that would change everything. An invitation from a friend to go to party with some new people and get out of the funk and smoke that seemed to have eroded any care. The party was obviously for those close friends and I was the outsider.  Plenty of drinks to go around and I could have pounded them away. Erased the night in a cloud of stupor. But realizing I had a long drive back to the base I decided for a few beers alone. As the party was beginning to die down and it was obvious that it wasn’t going to start up till I left I poured out my beer and grabbed my keys. And then she said something to me. First words she had said all night that I remembered. She asked me had I been the one who had made a comment on MySpace that earlier in the week on my friend’s page. I replied with a yes. She told me she had read it and thought it was really good what I wrote. She explained to me that recently her husband had left her and that he had been a soldier too. I didn’t know why at the time but I felt I could have talked forever and never even worried about the party, the drive home, the lateness of the hour. Nothing mattered as long as we talked.  She had the most beautiful eyes and just her relaxed state of dress and mannerism spoke volumes about the type of person she was and the troubles that weighed her shoulders. It was a quick and innocent conversation when I look back at it now. Maybe five minutes. But before I left we exchanged phone numbers so that maybe we could become friends. I wasn’t gone on the road five minutes when the first text rolled in and she stated we should hang out some time. Six days later I would be taking her to the movies.  I remember that night and will remember it to the day I die. I drove to her house and she waited on the front porch to wave me in. Something about the house alone was welcoming. Warm to approach even as a visitor. I was introduced to the family. Mom and dad, the two brothers and the sister who I had failed to realize at the party was there as well. Call it love drunk. It doesn’t matter. I realized soon after the part that this girl was something special. After some short introductions she came down from her room and walked down the stairs. We hoped in my truck and headed back into town to the movies. On the drive there as we were chatting the conversation steered right where I had thought it would. She looked over at me and asked me flat out what it was about her that I had found so interesting to take her to the movies only a week after meeting her. When she asked she had this smile on her face that spoke volumes. It showed pain and apprehension. Almost as if she was scared of my answer. I could tell that the recent events of her husband leaving her had broken her heart. Even today months afterwards I still cant seem to understand why any man would leave her. I could die the most horrible painful death known to the pages of history and still die a happy man to even talk with such a lovable person. As I looked into those eyes and that pained smile, I realized. I realized that without a doubt this day would lead to many happy days, many sad days, but days that nonetheless I would suffer through and come out better for no matter what the ending result was. And my answer meant everything to this belief. I looked back at the road to which I realized I had begun to drift from as I had been lost in that smile. I answered as surely as I would now when anyone asks me why I did everything I did. I told her it was her smile. I had seen in the night at the party and using words like intrigue are weak in comparison to what my heart screamed out as heaven and happiness generated in her smile. When I replied something happened that I would never have expected. The smile was gone. It was replaced what by an even more magical smile without pain, and completely innocent. It was this small event in life to some that would change me forever. The man I am today will never be the same as the man I would have been had I not met this person and not had the chance to see a smile sent from the heavens. I remember the movie we watched. We saw the horror movie, “Haunting in Connecticut”. I can honestly say I don’t remember any of it. My mind was far from any movie.  I could only think to where I had been in life a week ago and where I was now. Content is the only word I can find to describe it. After the movie I thought I would be driving here home but it wasn’t it be. We were near the turnoff when she asked me if I would like to go to a party at a friend’s DJ spot. I said sure. Time meant nothing and any excuse to be with her longer was good for me. We drove to another country where I passed the fire hall where the party was. So I decided to do a turn around on a bridge on the edge of town. Well I over compensated and slapped the bridge with my taillight. To this day I still maintain that the bridge was in fact at fault and had jumped out and hit my truck. I should have been mad about wrecking my new truck on some foolish bridge. It didn’t matter to me though. We looked at the truck when we got out and it had sounded far worse than it looked. I wasn’t worried. To summarize we stayed at the party for a few hours. She danced with her friends some and we listened to some music. All together it was a good party, down to earth really. I stayed back in the corner still not understanding the question that still nagged me since the night at the party where I met here. After the party I drove her home and we talked for a few before I left and headed back to base. So far I had a broken taillight and a new friend. The question that had nagged me and still does at times was what was it about me that such a beautiful and great girl even bothered talking to me. Today is what it is. A lot has changed and some things never will. One thing that will remain forever in my mind whether I am back in the states, here in Iraq, or in the future in Afghanistan. That smile burned not into my memory but into my heart and soul. I have never loved a woman more. And never will again. God can only do me justice in life by making sure that she lives a happy life for all time. No matter what that first smile will guide me through any darkness.
Terry Collett Apr 2013
Saturday afternoon
cycling up a 1in 6 hill
then along the road
toward the farmhouse

you dismounted
and laid your bike
against the fence
and waited

to get your breath back
the farmhouse door opened
and Mrs Putt came out
and said

Jim and Pete are out I’m afraid
her daughter Monica
appeared by her side
they’ve gone out

with their older brother
Monica said
ok
you said

tell them I called
sure I will
Mrs Putt said
I can go on a bike ride

with you if you like
Monica said
Benedict won’t want to have you
to drag along with him

Mrs Putt said
Monica pulled a face
and pouted her lips
I don’t mind

you said
better than riding alone
well if you don’t mind
Mrs Putt said

mind you behave
yourself young lady
she said
and went indoors

and closed the door
just get my bike
Monica said
and went back behind

the farmhouse
you looked around
the farmhouse
and the surrounding fields

and trees and waited
after a few moments
she was back
riding her bike toward you

where we going?
she asked
lets go see the peacocks
along Sedge lane

you said
and so you got on your bike
and off you both rode
she beside you

in her summery dress
and sandals with her
brown hair tied
in bunches

you in jeans
and open neck
white shirt
the sun bright

and hot above you
the birds flying
and calling
the clouds puffy

and white
I’ve always wanted to go
bike riding with you
Monica said

but the boys don’t let me
but I am now
you nodded and smiled
wondering Jim and Pete

would say if they knew
she’d got to go
bike riding with you
she chatted on about Elvis

and the film in town
and how she’d like to go
but no one would take her
and how her brothers

teased her
and her mother
nagged her
after a while

you came to the peacocks
in a wire cage
by a large house
just off the lane

aren’t they beautiful?
she said
peering through the wire
her fingers holding on to

the cage
standing beside you
yes they are
you said

but of course
the **** bird
has the beauty
the hen

is just dull
and ordinary
odd that
she said

wonder why?
don’t know
you said
I’m not dull

and ordinary am I?
she asked
looking at you
sideways on

no
you said
you have
your own beauty

do I?
yes you do
and she blushed
and looked away

and the peacock
called out
and moved off
opening its colourfulness

and Monica did a twirl
making the patterns
move
on her twirling dress.
Up very early on this particular morning
couldn't sleep not unusual.
Trillions of thoughts racing in his brain
leaving his lovely wife in bed!
knowing to well the problems he'd created
met another himself he hated.

Nine months Jamie had been having an affair
his wife asking why he was late.
On numerous days his mistress wanting him
easy to say it just happened!
How could he let his fling get out of hand
he knew it was underhand.

Couldn't rest his conscience nagged him
no children with his spouse.
Practically one less worry for him to resolve
now his mistress was pregnant!
The usual cliche he still loved his wife
aware this situation was rife!

This didn't help sort out the mess he was in
what was the solution?
None of the answers were fundamentally good
but could not escape the truth.
It would break her heart to if he were to leave
who he never wanted to deceive!

With a deep breath he prepared for honesty
it had been a long time coming.
Prided himself in being an upstanding man
not noticing how low he'd sunk.
Seven thirty approached he heard Emma stir
he had to go and tell her!

With a burning guilt consuming his whole being
he made his way for judgement day!

The Foureyed Poet.
Jamie knew one day he would have to be honest with himself and his wife Emma! this was that day! The Foureyed Poet.
Dorothy A Mar 2017
It’s a horrible feeling when you belong to nobody, and nobody belongs to you. When you don’t matter to a single soul—there is no worse feeling in the world. That feeling nagged Clem throughout much of his life. He used to walk around, wounded and broken inside. Though what he felt inside may never have shown on his tough armor that he wore in public, Clem often felt his life pretty much meant nothing. So how did he ever get to where he was today? How did he get to be so blessed? It amazed him.

Born in 1917, Clem Manning never thought he’d ever make it to one hundred years old, yet here he was. Today was his special day, though he didn’t want any fuss over it all. But he was living with his daughter, Violet, for the past few years, and she wouldn’t have it any other way but to put together a celebration to remember. With a houseful of people, some inside, some in the backyard, and some on the front porch, Clem could say that he no longer felt that he belonged to nobody and nobody belonged to him. It was a beautiful Arizona day, and the distant mountains were ablaze in a fiery purple.  It was a day made for birthdays.  

Seeing one make it to one hundred was rare and amazing sight to witness. To make it this long meant you beat the odds.  Most of all, it was amazing to good, old Clem, himself. His parents died young, long before he could remember them. If others in his family lived longer, he never would have known. The only kin he knew of was his aunt and her husband. They may have taken him in, but he certainly never felt wanted. Both of them slapped him around, punished him by locking him in closets, and prevented him from eating meals when he was bad. They also neglected his needs of decent clothing and a good bed. He had a beat up mattress on the floor or nothing but the hard floor, itself, when he was being punished.  Thankfully, somehow someone intervened, and he ended up in a boy’s home. That place wasn’t a whole lot better when it came to dodging a hard hand, but he was kept clean and with a full belly.

Clem ran away when he was fifteen from that place, and that was in the throes of the Depression. From there on, he fended for himself. His days of experiencing hunger from living at his aunt’s house helped him to be street smart. The petty thievery he learned to master—just to manage to stay alive—continued on beyond childhood.  Like many men, down on their luck and traveling the country, he rode the rails illegally. Just how did Clem survive to be so old, anyway? In his hobo days, he’s been shot at, chased by police, and bitten by dogs. He also almost drowned once in a rapid river, and had a bout with double pneumonia that made him downright delusional and on Death’s door.  

But when the second world war came about, life became easier for Clem. He found his sweetheart, Bess, married her and settled down out west. He wanted to fight in the war, but a hernia disqualified him from joining. His life was surely spared then, for many of his friends were drafted in the army, went overseas, but never made it back alive.    

It sure has been one heck of a life. Resting in his easy chair, he was thankful he still had his wits about him—had a sound noggin—and that he could see and hear still alright—with the help of coke bottle glasses and a hearing aid. Everything that surrounded him was a grand sight to look at, knowing that he helped to create all this hustle and bustle of people in his presence, those here simply to honor him.

He and Bess had three of their own children, Hank, Violet and Daisy, and they also adopted two more, Ted and Sam. It was during those days in the home for boys that Clem saw some of the luckier ones go to good families, selected by potential parents that could give them the secure homes they desperately wanted.  Clem was never picked but picked over. Because he never got that chance, he swore he’d help out those just like him, ones who felt unwanted or ignored, ones that belonged to nobody and nobody belonged to them. He did just that very thing and strove to become the best dad he could possibly be. This was a learning experience for him, and his mistakes were his teachers. Nobody showed him how to be a father, but Bess was his rock and his ally. How he longed to be with her, again.

Clem outlived all of his friends. He lost his sweet Bess fourteen years ago, and buried one of his children—his beloved firstborn child, and it wasn't easy to bury Hank. It should have been the other way around.. There were now thirteen grandchildren, and he never did remember how many great grandchildren that there were, but they were all here now. It was a miracle to have everyone under one roof, as there was family scattered all across the country. He smiled to himself as he thought about how everyone took the time out of their busy lives just for one, old geezer.  

“You better matter to someone right now”, Clem once told a good friend, “Cuz one day you’ll be long gone, and you’ll be lucky if anyone knows your name. It doesn’t matter if you are loved by one hundred people—or one person. That’s how I see it, anyways”.  

With his wife’s relations, and his children and their families, Clem knew the family tree had plenty of branches on it. His life did matter in this world. One of his grandchildren, Amber, mapped a tree out, and she made it all seem so spectacular, and put together like a royal family’s would be. Sketched around the details was a tree done in colored pencil—vivid greens and browns that were eye catching to even a old man with weak eyes—and today it was on display for everyone to inspect and talk about.  

Clem knew very well that his days were waning, that soon he’d just be a memory in the minds of his children and his grandchildren—probably not his great grandchildren who would barely remember him, if at all. Someday, he’d just be a name in the family records of that famous family tree. Like he said to his friend, his name would barely matter to anyone some day. He was simply Clem Manning, a guy who got a break in life and dodged disaster. Maybe only the good did die young, or perhaps he was just too stubborn to die.

But this wasn’t a day for having a sourpuss or for dwelling on the hard things. This was a day to remember for everyone, more than just a birthday for a lucky, old guy that beat the odds. Clem couldn’t eat much of the food made for his birthday feast—too rich or not appealing to his declining appetite—but he promised to have a nice sized slice of cake. It was red velvet with cream cheese frosting, his favorite.

Happy Birthday to you…happy birthday to you…happy birthday, dear Cle-em

Da-ad

Grand-pa

Happy Birthday to you!

There was lots of applause, cell phones out and cameras snapping for picture taking, as Clem tried to blow out the three candles—1-0-0. Thankfully, he had a bit of help from the little ones up close, for Clem wanted to still show nothing was going to beat him, especially three, little, measly candles. But those weren’t just measly candles. They represented so much of who he was.

He still couldn’t believe he made it to see this day. How on earth did he pull it off, anyway?
You told me so young that pills make you better, I'm thirty nine and still not better
From seizure medicines, to Zoloft, to sleeping pills, and downers my head is unwinding

I became an introvert, paranoid. That girl is smiling, want to go home where it
is quiet. Sent to a program to cope with interpersonal relationships

The only thing is the medicines make me gain weight
Sleep is the only thing that I do right


Check ups are always fun, are you taking your medicines? The right answer is always yes.
How are your moods? I have none Yes I'm taken my pills add this and increase this.

At home always nagged for forgetting my pills so I do as I'm told.
Have some Lithium it likes to eat the liver, have some Zoloft, Effexor and more.

Another day, Did you take your  pills? Yes I did in fact I swallowed them all
I filled my cup, made a hysteria soup. Did you take your pills?
You told me so young that pills make you better, I'm thirty nine and still not better
From seizure medicines, to Zoloft, to sleeping pills, and downers my head is unwinding

I became an introvert, paranoid. That girl is smiling, want to go home where it
is quiet. Sent to a program to cope with interpersonal relationships

The only thing is the medicines make me gain weight
Sleep is the only thing that I do right


Check ups are always fun, are you taking your medicines? The right answer is always yes.
How are your moods? I have none Yes I'm taken my pills add this and increase this.

At home always nagged for forgetting my pills so I do as I'm told.
Have some Lithium it likes to eat the liver, have some Zoloft, Effexor and more.

Another day, Did you take your  pills? Yes I did in fact I swallowed them all
I filled my cup, made a hysteria soup. Did you take your pills?
Anais Vionet Jun 2023
I drew stick figures
things were simple

in a pencil world
mistakes were erased
you could start over

but an inchmeal awareness nagged
- the sky isn’t gray, it’s a liquid blue

but crayons were complicated
you couldn’t erase things
mistakes were irrevocable.

and there were 148 colors in the big box
keeping them in rainbow order was work.

growing up is hard
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Inchmeal: gradual, or little by little
Larry B Dec 2010
Now, here's the story of Rip Van Winkle
The true story, not the lie
They always want to hide the truth
I'll just never understand why

You see, Rip Van Winkle was married
To a woman, who always nagged
And that poor dude was bored all the time
Cause his internet always lagged

So, he climbed up in his recliner
And decided to take a little nap
When, out of the blue, the Sleeping Spider
Went and crawled up in his lap

Now, Rip knew about that spider
But still, he just couldn't resist
For if he let that spider bite him
They'd be no "honey do" list

Well, that spider sunk his fangs in
Then jumped back on the floor
It wasn't long, Rip closed his eyes
And man, that guy could snore

Now, a wicked smile even crossed his face
As he leaned back in his chair
For, when he awoke, she'd would be gone
But Rip, just simply didn't care

Well a hundred years just flew by
And his wife was surely dead
But when he finally opened his eyes
She lay beside him in the bed

She awoke while still clutching
"The list" for a hundred years
For the spider had bitten her also
And it brought the man to tears

But this story has a happy ending
Cause dial-up was a thing of the past
They decided to finally get broadband
And his internet was fast at last
SassyJ Mar 2016
The forested breeze blew eastwards. On each swing of the wind, the birds flew and fluttered. Each of their wings swaying to find a harmonious balance. The sweet melody of ethnic hymns from the native village rose above the trees. The sequenced output with equalised acapella became an anthem that ruled the forests.The gravelled path structured it's way between the trees right to the heart of the village.

The village elder sat outside the middle hut. His hut stood out from those encircling it. Humbled in stature but yet symbolically decorated with colourful redness of the roses. The beautiful scented ambience rose to fuel the air within and around. The door of the hut was formatted with sculptured inscriptions that had a covert meaning. A story line about the long historic lineage of leaders. The entrance of the doorway was guarded by two warriors. Each of them had a shield and spear, alert and portraying courage. Their bodies were bare ready to attack the enemy, their groins fully formed and covered with *****. The sight of the hut itself was magnificent...... it's aura radiant with an embodiment of hereditary and hierarchical authority.

As the village chief watched the birds sway and whistle, he sat on his antique stool. In the openness of the nature he appeared puzzled. As he shrugged his symbolic leopard hide on his back.... it swung side to side. Still in situ, but there was something about it's presence that nagged him. He touched it and then speedily moved his hand from it. He then raised his voice. "Amita!"

His voice echoed and roared penetrating all the homesteads. By the time the volume of the echo subsided he called out again "Amita, Amita, Amita!"

Amita came running and knelt at the feet of the Chief. She replied "Yes Chief Hashi. I am here for your service Sir!"

Amita was a 21 year old girl. She was wearing a straw skirt. Her arm was tattooed with a prominent artistic representation of a snake swinging from the tree. The shades of the red snake pictured on the hues of the green tree. This symbolised that she was a servant and lived at the Chief's Quarters. Amita had sacrificed her life as her lineage did to serve the Chief and his household. A dedication of servanthood to the Chief and him alone.

Amita bowed as she knelt, her bare ***** ***** and shadowing the Chief's feet. The chief looked at Amita as if hyptonised by the touch of her *******. He glared at her beauty, the outstanding womanhood she poised. After a long pose of silence the Chief responded, " Amita, can you fix my hide ensuring that it's attachments are secure"

There was a level of vulnerability that the chief showed Amita. He appeared to be humble, a denudation of authority, that very call of submission. There was evidently a reciprocal of roles as Amita raised her eyes from the ground to face the Chief. As their eyes met the Chief hastily paused and froze as if speechless. As he gathered his senses he was firmly able to look at Amita and said, " Can you join me inside my hut please?"

Amita remained kneeling as the Chief stood up from his stool. Chief Hashi steadily walked to the doorway of his hut. Pace after pace, stroll after stroll. As he walked by the doorway the warriors raised their spears to his presence. He was proudly ushered to his exquisite residence. He then  faced the warriors and asked them to leave guard. Chief Hashi requested, "Can you come back after two hours." As the guards walked away the Chief in his freedom danced around, hysterically moving his hands multi-directionally.

Chief Hashi opened the window to his hut. This was adjacent to where Amita was kneeling. In his vulnerability he whispered, "My child Amita, get up and join me inside my hut. The door is open and ajar.... always for you my queen."

Amita stood up from the kneeling position and run her way into Chief Hashi hut.
Inspired by
Mafikizolo ft Uhuru (Khona)..... Come and see that place....I don't know the full meaning of the song but love the vibe of it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhk52GlkhVA
ogdiddynash Jul 2023
the Wonder no longer…
I no longer wonder

the whose, or is it the who’s, the whys, and even
an occasional wherefore art thou, and what’s their real name,
are they alive or passed, from whence they came, or,
the origins of their names, the name of that movie where
what’s his name fell in love with blonde from that tv show,
with the detective and the raincoat who always smoked
a cigar though was never seen with match or tobacco,
these mysteries that nagged, burrs that came mid-sentence,
causing grown people to curse and smack their head, now,
blessedly put to bed in seconds depending on the goodness
of your internet connection…

but now I wonder if the world is better off with instantaneous
information much of which is hooliganism and mis and dis,
made-up-as-you-go-along but now recorded as gospel truth

well recall the happy, romantic nature of falling in love across
the library table, secret smooching in dusty stacks of tomes, or is it tombs, that were never read but contained the secrets of the universe…

but never for too long, for repair and restoration I do take
a triple dose of Prevagen,

when and if,
I remember
Krusty Aranda Sep 2012
Life was never easy for me.
Away from mommy and daddy I grew almost alone,
but then you came to live with us, and everything got worse.

You said mean things to us, specially to me.
You nagged about it all, night and day.
                                                            ­                Did we ever do anything right?
You told me I was worthless,
never loved,
just a burden to all of you.

You laughed about these scars.
                                                          ­             Did I ever tell you it was you who caused them? Wait... I did!
You called me crazy, a ******... mentally deranged.
                                                       ­        Do you understand what depression is? I do now.

During these years my hatred towards you grew and grew.
It got so big I couldn't take it anymore.
I plotted your death many times in my head.
                                             Should I push you down the hill, or should I give you a lethal dose of drugs?
We would all be happy then.

But now you are gone... dead.
No! It wasn't me who killed you. It was nature... a natural death.
I suddenly feel like ****.
         Killing you in my head. Wishing your death just to find myself missing you when you were gone.
I can't bear to think that you died thinking (knowing) I hated you.
I don't hate you anymore.

I guess I grew up. I guess my feelings were wrong.
                                            I miss you.
I wish I could have a few last words with you, but it's too late.
                                             I ****** up.

Now all I can do is be strong (for you).
I know you're in a better place, and I shall be happy for you.
I guess, after all, there's no place for hate in this heart.
Not about me but about a really close friend. May her soul rest in peace.
decompoetry Oct 2010
There was once a time when my wife
would have made a fuss over my nails,
nagged me to scrape the dirt underneath
until I was presentable to guests.

But that was a long time ago,
back when my wife was still in my life,
and not a memory distorting mindwaves.

Now the only guests I am able to endure
are the vultures impersonating Death’s halo;
enhanced in a game of waiting the other out,
determined to last until the other cracks.

The dirt under my fingernails worry me;
ponderings of how long they will remain,
and if I will ever clean them at all,
actions depending solely on
the annoyances of a lost void.

Where are you?
--'In the Wasteland'
jǫrð Jan 2021
You finally said
You wanted me to leave though
I'd already tried to
The History: Nag - To find fault incessantly. In this context, I tried to step away from you, after you called me back, you indicated I'd over stayed my welcome. Are you trying to make me uncomfortable?
**** the weather !
It always seemed when you planned ****.
Things always turned to ****.

I had been fed the **** up far to long.
No I was more like hand me a gun and get the **** out of my way.
the ride had been the boiling point  the conversations were as mundane as the Oklahoma  
landscape.

It's sad when you see a tree and you want to get out the car and kiss the ground.
I had to distance myself and the nearest bar called me like a ship to shore .
And maybe after a few stiff drinks I could somehow convince myself the trip was worth the burden of putting up  with half the ******  I listened to out here.

The show was going to be hell dealing with some lame *** ******* with there family friendly *******.
Hopefully my set would be over fast.

Get up there talk to the deadlights crowd and get the hell off that stage before my drink needed refilling.

Hey so what's your deal?
The strange looking guy had asked me on the way up.
Just prefer silence to a ******* chatter I guess.

Whatever man.

He didn't seem to enjoy my reply and his leaving me alone for the rest of the trip was a pleasant reward  indeed.
Little early don't you think?

Another had asked as I broke out my flask and mixed the first of my drinks I like to think as
******* tolerance serum.
Well honestly being it's already ten in the morning I'm actually running late.

**** he's going to be wasted by the time we get there how ******* unprofessional.
I had met far to many of these self righteous ****** on many trips across the states and they all were the same.
To busy watching other's to even realize they had no place being in the company
of actual men  they were more like a annoying ex who nagged the **** out of you till you either said  shut the **** up *****!

Or just walked away silent as she rattled on a mental tornado in a self absorbed existence.

I rarely gave people like this my time let alone my thoughts.
For empty minded ******* could look to other halfwits to fill there heads.
me I had a hard enough time believing my own ******* to care about anyone else's.

It was a hour till my set   and as I knocked back a  luke warm beer in a first class *******
I had to think man I really should have chosen a less interesting career path.

But hell there were like almost ten people in dire need of some saving from the clutches
of candy *** humor and Lord help them if a improve group was around.

I staggered from my stool towards the door as the barkeep said.
Hey buddy need me to call you a cab to get home.
Home hell amigo I'm getting ready to clock in to work.

Maybe I could have chosen a more easy path.
But the drinks seem awful watered down driving a school bus.

Besides who would save the bored few from the family friendly
joke tellers of this world.

Till next time.

Stay crazy.
And he said that he knows for a fact:
Girls with freckles are happier.

And I told him I’ve heard
That one before,
But he said that he made it up on the spot,
In the bed we’ve made, our sheets less **** –
Creased and dimpled by our weighing bodies –  

When I nagged on him to tell me what he loves
About me on the inside,
Where we’re taught what counts,
Where you’re not allowed to ask,
Where sometimes it’s just too good not to.

On the inside, he listed:
Lungs, liver, ovaries perhaps –
The parts that everyone has,
The parts that can be left unspoken.
And I told him he’s a smart-***.

But on the outside, he touched my cheeks,
I love your freckles because they prove
You’ve lived
Felt the sun on your skin – it’s sunlight sprinkles, after all
Laughed so hard, as they are uneven and all around
That way maybe, every time, your laugh
Scattered them all.
Leila The Kiwi Nov 2017
Get off my back, ok?
I've got heaps of homework
I've got a practice internal
which looks completely difficult
I've got to pack for a field trip
even though I don't have all the things, but I'll make do
All of which has to be completed in two days.

I've been exhausted,
Haven't been getting enough sleep
I'm not ready for the pressure of school
My mind isn't on that level yet
Woken up this morning,
Nagged to do lots of things
As if this pressure isn't enough already.

It's only 9:50AM,
My day's starting to go down hill,
It's turning to ****.
Can't you see that I'm stressed out?
Can't you see I've got enough on my plate?
Can't you see I'm fighting back tears?
Can't you see I'm trying to motivate myself to do everything else?
Are you trying to bring me to my breaking point?
It sure as hell feels like it!

It makes me want to scream,
Throw things,
Yell and hit,
I want to have a break from all this,
Get away until I calm down
Can everything just be easy?

But I'll square my shoulders and hold my head high,
You won't see me cry.
No one will see me cry.
I'm not going to lose it,
I won't make a mess.
I'll handle it
Do my work,
Prepare everything
And try be positive.
I just need my headphones,
That's all I need
To block everyone out
And get things done.

Please,
Stay off my back?
All I ask for is two days.
Two days
Without extra pressure,
Please?

l.v.s
I found a poem I wrote about two years ago(?) and realized I hadn't posted it on here.
Nirmalee Mar 2013
Since the time I was born,
I was nurtured as a fawn,
My governess looked after me,
As my mother had then been a busy bee..

When I grew a little more,
Like I was around three or four,
I whined and nagged all the way to school,
All wrapped up in muffler and wool.

I romped,I played, I learnt
Through all the years that I grew,
Life whispered new lessons in my ears,
And everyday I grew into someone new.

And now I'm in my adolescence,
Too swayed by emotions, impulsive in nature,
Vulnerable to the torment of words,
Chasing after fame and stature...

Yet this is not what I want to be,
Let my wings develop completely,
One day I'll be soaring up in the sky,
Dear Mamma, that day you'll be proud of me!
Hilda Apr 2013
"I love you Jesus," said Sally Anne.
"Today I'll do everything I can."
All day long she nagged her husband kind
Until he thought he would lose his mind.

"I love you Jesus!" cried Miss Mary.
"Today for others loads I'll carry."
Neighbor Alice called and begged for bread.
Slamming the phone gave a stone instead.

"I love Thee Jesus," said Mrs. Hill
"Today how I long to do Thy will!"
She laughed at the poor and mocked the lame
Then sat and watched a video game.

"I love you Jesus," smiled Mrs. Lee.
"I'll show what a Christian I can be."
Then donning a bright red mini skirt
Spent the afternoon a blatant flirt.

"I love you Jesus," said Sister Fay.
"How I long to read Your Word and pray!"
She toiled and sweated all the long day
That night so weary she scarce could pray.

Five promising His love to proclaim.
Which think ye won the test and the game?



*~Hilda~
© Hilda April, 2013.
hate snow Oct 2013
all day long i get nagged that I ******* up
all day long I get to hear the nag say you ******* up
all night long I get to hear nag say you loser.
all day long it ***** to hear I **** in the morning.
Joe Cole Jun 2014
I love it when my wife goes out for the day

It means I can leave the toilet seat up and not get nagged
Fi Jun 2016
i have loved you in dirt
in bathroom stalls
bathroom stalls
their tainted toilets overflowing
clogged like our throats choking on our sinful words

words? thoughts

thoughts behind iron snags
but in the wake of your mind it nagged
rusted as the levels rise, but tough as my once adamantine heart
brass bound, you left me molten, explosive and fiery
vibrant with passion

for you

in mirrors
mirrors
wide eyes and nose bleeds
to finally feel comfortable enough to BREATHE
each others air
venom in our veins
to know the other even cares
once breathless over you, now blowbacks in the damp
mud-stained jeans, lipstick stained necks
i have loved you in dirt

the greens
the forests
the difference of twelve months
the difference of a year, three months and a day
39,657,600
or 9420 seconds
11 or
6525 miles apart
two year anni-void-sary
‘skin to skin bonding’
but not how you’d think

loving you in dirt-
y, ***** girl
happy two year anniversary
Olivia Kent Jan 2014
Another day in the life of a nobody's wife.
Nobody there to get in my hair.
Not to be nagged by a.n.other.
No-one to tell me what I can do.
My money only my own can be.
Arguing with myself.
A pointless exercise.
Only exercise I get these days.
Is that I power with my pen.
Over the years became rather wise.
And yet again tell myself,
I love that being free.
I tell you too but, is it true?
If million more years fly by.
You know I'll still be me!

I still have a lonely bed.
No hand to hold.
A heart not cold.
A zany head.
Thank you my friend, I love that equation.
Once again I descend on work.
Comes across several more needy folk.
Feeling sore.
A belly ache or back ache.
Doc and I will put the world to rights.
For now how ever,
What ever the weather.
A trip up the road,where things stay the same.
Where nobodies wife gives nobody pain.
Hurts myself not again, I only give myself no more.
Guess what my friend, I miss it!

By ladylivvi1

© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
I've committed an act so grievously wrong
Worst mistake of my life, I don't belong
Am feeling so morbidly ashamed
My heart and soul are forever maimed
My unrelenting conscience nagged at me
I will never again be truly free

The worst part of all is the hurt she must feel
Pain, indignation, disbelief are all real
I took her love as something due me
Took it for granted so unwisely
I have lost the best part of me
To never return, can clearly see

I'm sorry is such a pitiful phrase
Shame, guilt, self hatred and malaise
I have an ache in my soul for trespassing
I am just heart sick, it's all encompassing

I will never allow MYSELF to forgive
Not sure with theses feeling I can live
I cannot reverse the transgression
In my being I've embedded a lesson

Don't know what possessed me to break our bond
I plead for forgiveness, if she'll respond
I hope our love can withstand and is strong.
To forgive, not forget what she knew all along
Mo Issa Dec 2016
There were four of us
Me, my best friend, Sam, with the long hair
his annoying friend who constantly nagged and
there was his sweet little sister
No, we won't go biking around the neighbourhood
I say to my mum.
We did.  
The streets are empty
I'm off like there's no tomorrow
wanting to be the first
hungry for adventure
never stopping to rest or
even contemplate the ride.
The nag would nag but follow
the sweet little sister would follow me
everywhere, even when I led her
into trouble.
Stray dogs
trespassing onto private land
navigating gutters
climbing small hills
getting mangoes down from the trees

Sam had his own time, stopping,
savouring and watching
Etching everything in his mind.
Content in what he did
listening to the music that he only heard
ignoring the noise that I released
Devyn Dec 2013
i am made of flaws,
stitched together by good intentions;
but it’s hard to stay intact, when you constantly rip at my seams.
you pull and tug, until i become unravelled,
and i'm just a piece of string,
that you shove in your pocket.
and, much like string, i'm useless on my own;
i need to tie myself to someone.
but you and i, tied ourselves together too quickly
and, like my hair that you always nagged me to brush,
we became more knotted, more tangled with time.
but as time went on, we insisted that we were fine,
we could just use our fingers;
but it wasn’t until we stood at the mirror,
staring at our own matted destruction,
that we realized:
no comb could possibly be strong enough
to make us beautiful again.
Jing Xi Lau Dec 2019
The old terrace house,
My childhood home.
Sometimes I still dream of its beige concrete walls,
The cornflower tiles that lined the kitchen floor,
The tall bronze gate,
With its red wrought iron flowers.
Two cars parked by the front door,
One was mom's,
The other was yours.

In that house,
You always sat in the living room,
With the TV playing in the background,
The morning newspaper in hand.
You would buy us our favorite snacks,
While mom nagged about our calorie intake.
You loved taking us to the movies,
While mom always stayed home.

The city center condo,
The one I never dream of.
Its sleek gray walls,
Cold blank windows,
Offering a view of other monotonous condos,
Lights blinking with a sense of urgency,
Like a fatalistic warning.

In this house,
Well...
You were never really here.
Even when you were,
You sat in the living room,
With the TV playing in the background,
Your eyes glued to your pocket-sized screen.

Months later,
I left for a faraway land,
And you left for the warmth of someone else's bed.

When I came home,
You were no longer here.
But your clothes still hung in the closet,
Your deodorant sat by the dresser,
Your belongings untouched,
Collecting dust,
Waiting to be reclaimed.

But you never returned for them,
Instead,
You had them replaced.

New shirts,
Made from Chinese silk and linen,
New musk cologne,
Reeking of toxic masculinity,
And not to mention,
A new wife who cooks and cleans,
And excels in the bedroom.  
A new home,
With clean white walls,
And quiet empty rooms.

So I bought you a housewarming gift,
Something I know you would like,
A coir doormat that says,
"Welcome Home."
archwolf-angel Aug 2016
The alarm clock buzzed beside him as he struggled to reach his hand out to shut the alarm away. He groaned as he rolled over from his side of the bed to the other side of his king-sized bed. The other side of the bed, that used to feel so warm, was now empty and cold. He gave out a deep sigh before sitting up on his bed and proceeded to kiss the picture frame on the side table beside his bed. He admired her beautiful face for a few minutes as he smiled painfully before placing it back where it was before. Ruffling his own hair, he walked towards his cupboard to grab a random shirt and threw it on before quickening his steps to the bedroom beside his. He knocked on the door gently before opening it lightly. Walking towards the snoozing female on the bed, he sat down beside her and shook her petite body.

"Hey... Wake up..." he spoke gently as he switched the side lamp on. Long eyelashes fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes, her brown watery orbs shimmered under the small light. Small groans could be heard as she tried to hide herself under the blanket, making the grown man laugh at her cute antics. "Come on, I need to get to work..." he said as he shook her more.

"Noooooooooo~" a small muffled groan could be heard from under the blanket and he chuckled.

"If you are not going wake up, the tickle monster is going to attack you~" He grabbed the girl who was hiding under the blankets and started to tickle her through the thick cloth and cute giggles could be heard as she slowly revealed her head, sitting up as she came eye to eye with the grown man.

"Good morning, Daddy." she greeted politely.

"Good morning, little princess." he greeted back, smiling as he stroked his little girl's long wavy hair that she grew out ever since the day she was borned. "Come on, let's get washed up." he opened his arms, inviting the little girl into his arms. She did the same and held onto his broad shoulders as he carried her and they both went into the bathroom. He sat her down on their sturdy basin counter top as he started shaving his stubs carefully. The 5 year old independently took her father's toothbrush and squeezed some toothpaste on the brush before passing it to him. He smiled lightly before taking his toothbrush and watched as she prepared her own small pink bunny designed toothbrush. After finishing brushing their teeth, he helped the little girl down from the basin as she ran towards the bathtub.

"Kailee! Remove your clothes before you start the bath." he spoke firmly to the girl as she started running the tap to the fill the bathtub.

SPLASH SPLASH SPLASH!

He squeezed his eyes together so that the water that was splashing around would not get into his eyes. "Will you please stop splashing?" he nagged at the young girl but she merely giggled, finding the scene of her father getting all soaked rather amusing. She continued splashing the soaped water in her father's direction, ignoring the fact that he was literally getting drenched in his clothes as he scrubbed her clean.

After drying her up, he brought her back into her bedroom as he looked through her clothes that were hung in her wardrobe. "Daddy! I want to wear that dress!" she exclaimed, pointing to a sky blue dress, with floral prints on the thin silk layer on top of the bottom half of the dress.

"Again? This is probably the 50th time you wore it this year, my dear." he half-complained as he chuckled behind his words, taking it out from the wardrobe and dressed her up in the dress.

"What~? I like this dress." she responded as she waited for her father to help her zip up the dress before she skipped to the full-length mirror in her room and admired herself.

"I know I know. Go down for breakfast. Your grandparents are probably waiting for you." he said as he went back into his own bedroom and prepared himself for his day at work.

Decked in a simple tight fit black tee shirt and light blue ripped jeans, he started styling his hair, slicking his black hair backwards in a neat style. After he was done accessorising, he jogged down the stairs to join his family for breakfast.

As he sat down with his father and mother for breakfast, he saw that his little girl was already done with her meal and had scattered off to play with the two dogs in the yard. "Good morning Mom, Dad." he greeted before bowing a little and started to munch on his sandwich. "Egg sandwich! Mmm, this is tasty." he spoke with a little hype as he munched on it more.

"Dylan... Why did you let her wear that dress again?" his mother nagged at him, but he merely smiled at her with respect.

"It's alright Mom, you know that's her favourite dress." he said nonchalantly before realising that his parents were already looking at one another with worried looks. "It's alright, it really is." he assured them with a cool smile as he heard his phone ring and his secretary's name showed on the phone. "Alright, we need to go. Come on, Kailee!"

At the sound of her father's voice, Kailee kissed the retriever puppies goodbye before running towards Dylan, who was waiting for her with his hand outstretched for her hand. Small fingers gripped around his masculine hand as he tugged her along towards the posh looking van that was waiting for them upfront. The two of them board the van and the well-mannered Kailee greeted the adult man inside.

"Good morning Uncle Fred!" she grinned brightly at the male whom was older than her own father.

"Good morning Kailee, wearing your favourite dress again?" he commented casually but Dylan knew that he eyed him for a bit there.

"Yes! I love this dress!" Kailee exclaimed, smiling brightly as her eyes turned into crescents, just like how her father's would. The three of them went on their way to the company. Upon arriving, they made their way up towards the studios and the elevator stops on the 4th floor. Before the elevator door opened, Dylan knelt down on one knee if front of Kailee and gently brushed his thumb against her chubby cheeks and stroked her hair.

"I've got to go. Behave, okay?" he smiled at her but she pouted.

"Can't you stay with me today?" she mumbled and Dylan felt his heart clenched a little. He had always felt sorry that he could not spend his time with Kailee, but this career was all that was supporting him and his family.

"Sorry baby." he lightly kissed her on her forehead and smiled at her again, "I love you." he murmured to her.

"I love you too." she replied with a small smile as she waved to her father goodbye. Dylan waved a little before walking out of the elevator, leaving Fred and Kailee in the elevator alone as they proceeded to the fifth floor, where Kailee's private tutor was waiting for her.



"Dylan."

"Dylan."

"Mister Dylan Caleb!"

Finally snapping out of his daze, Dylan raised his head as he looked Travis in the eyes. "Yes?" he realised that he have not been paying attention to the song that Travis was playing for him and he watched as  his partner sighed in front of him. "I'm sorry." he apologised to Travis but his blonde friend merely sighed deeper.

"Let's go for a break." Travis suggested and they both stood up, leaving the studio as they started to take a stroll around the building. They finally came to the room where Kailee was receiving her private tutoring. Through the full glass doors, he leaned against a pillar that was out of sight from Kailee. Staring at her backview, he smiled lightly. His heart warmed up, feeling grateful for her existence.

"Are you alright?" Travis placed a hand on Dylan's shoulder and his eyes started to tear up.

"What have I ever done to deserve this?" he murmured, loud enough for Travis to hear and Travis' face turned solemn as he patted Dylan on the shoulder.



Chapter 3

*He stared in the mirror as he fixed his tie nicely. The black tie went nicely with his black shirt and coat. He turned to take a look at his bedroom, which still held the things that belonged to her. Controlling his emotions, he stepped out of his bedroom and saw his 2 years old daughter held in her grandmother's arms, decked in a formal black dress.

"Must we really bring her?" Dylan murmured to his parents, his head lowered and his hands pocketed. He bit his lips as he kept his hopes high, hoping that he did not have to bring his daughter along.

"She is, after all, her mother, Dylan..." His father replied him and he nodded his lightly. He outstretched his arms to welcome his daughter into his embrace as the innocent toddler giggled and held onto her father, his face struggling to smile for the little girl.

"Let's go..." Dylan said calmly as the entire family left the house.

Arriving at their destination, most of the people were already there although it was pretty early. He left his daughter in the care of his parents as he proceeded to greet his guests politely before moving to the main hall, where his wife was.

He slowly approached the white grand coffin which his wife laid in and he hesitated before looking into the glass panel, where he could see the face of his beautiful wife, all dolled up. She looked so beautiful, and he smiled as tears started to fall down his face. Reaching out his hand, he gently caressed the glass panel as his tears started hitting it in droplets.

"Sky..." he murmured her name softly, his body shivering as he admired her face. Her eyes were closed and the small smile on her face made it seem like she was in peace. "What am I to do...? What am I to do without you...?" he mumbled under his breath as he slowly stroked the glass panel. "Ah... Sorry... I'll be okay...You will watch over Kailee and I... Right?" he mumbled some more. He slowly placed his lips against the glass panel and kissed it, his body still shaking uncontrollably. He heard people walking into the room, but he ignored it, placing his full attention on his wife.

"Dylan..." A deep voice spoke as a hand was placed on Dylan's shoulder. "Be strong..." he said. He turned slightly to see TOP standing beside him before turning back to Haneul as he slowly calmed down. Back and forth, people came up to Jiyong to comfort him and send him their condolences. It was a small funeral as Jiyong was a celebrity and he wished to be able to protect his family's privacy by not blowing it up too big. The only guests there were his close friends and family as well as Haneul's. Finally coming eye to eye with Haneul's parents, Jiyong bowed deeply at his in-laws, solemnly portraying his apologies and guilt towards them.

"Sorry that I didn't take good care of Haneul like I've promised to. I'm deeply sorry, Father and Mother." he said in great sorrow.

"Look up, Jiyong-ah." Haneul's father said in a deep, calm voice as her mother teared beside him. "It's not your fault. It's just Haneul's fate that she couldn't live longer. But she is a fool herself, ending her own life like this."

BASH!

Out of nowhere, Haneul's younger brother, Hanbyun, came out and gave Jiyong a punch in the face, sending him crashing to the ground. Jiyong's friends wanted to help him up, but he shook his hand before turning to look Hanbyun in the eye. Instead of anger, he saw sadness in Hanbyun's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Hanbyun-ah." he apologised, not knowing what to say to the depressed young adult. With no reply, Hanbyun stomped out of the funeral hall.

"Sorry Ji-"

"It's okay Father and Mother. Everyone is definitely not in a good mood because of this. Hanbyun is no exception." he lowered his head, feeling shameful to face his in-laws after what happened to their daughter.

"Let's go send Haneul off nicely." Jiyong's father commented to everyone as Seungri, Daesung, TOP, Youngbae, Mithra and Seungyoon were ready to lift the coffin. He nodded as he turned to see his daughter in his mother's arms.

"Umma. Let me hold Hanyoung." Jiyong said as he reached out his hand towards his daughter and held on to her. Sending Haneul off into the fire, he bid his last farewell to his one true love.



Chapter 4

He held his daughter's hand as they slowly walk along the rows of tombs. Once they had arrived at the tomb of the person they were here to visit, Jiyong passed the bouquet of light blue and red roses to Hanyoung. The 5 year old held the bouquet in her arms and made a small prayer as she laid the bouquet on her mother's tomb. Taking out his hankerchief from his pocket, he knelt down in front of the tomb and started wiping her photo and the words that were engraved on the tomb.

"Haneul-ah... Hanyoung and I have come to visit you." he said steadily and softly.

"Umma..." Hanyoung called out to her mother as her small hands reached out to stroke the photo of her late mother. Jiyong held on to his daughter as he forced out a smile.

"Hanyoungie is 5 years old already..." he paused, "Which means you have been gone for 3 years now..." he said, his lips quivering as he tried his best to keep his emotions under control. There was so much he wanted to say to Haneul, but he kept them in his heart as he made a silent prayer. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her, how much he wanted her here with him and Hanyoung, how everything felt so incomplete without her.

"Appa, don't cry..." he heard a small voice comfort him as her warm hands reach out to wipe away his tears. "Hanyoung knows that Appa misses Umma... I miss Umma too..." she murmured to her father as her face to change. Jiyong reached out to hug his daughter tightly, feeling her warmth as his heart continued to tear apart at the thought of his wife. He started to hear little sniffles coming from beside him and he gulped in guilt.

"Alright... Appa won't cry anymore... Hanyoung shall not cry too, okay?" Jiyong swallowed his agony to comfort his daughter. Hanyoung parted the hug and turned towards the tomb and placed her hand on the photo again.

"Umma... Why did you leave me and Appa alone? I want you here with Appa and I..." her innocent thoughts rolled out bit by bit and Jiyong watched as Hanyoung conversed with the photo. "But it's okay... Umma is in better place now... Appa said that Umma will take care of Hanyoung and Appa from that place..." she smiled slightly, "Please take care of Appa... He seems really stressed out from work..." she prayed to her mother out loud and Jiyong cringed at her words, his heart shattering with every word that came out of the young girl's mouth. He choked on his tears, controlling himself as hard as he could.

"Umma... I miss you... And I love you, forever..." she stroked the photo gently.

"I'm so sorry, Hanyoungie..." Jiyong caressed his daughter's face as he lowered his head.

"It's okay, Appa. It's not your fault..." Hanyoung tilted her head in confusion as she patted her father's head, making Jiyong smile slightly.


Bringing Hanyoung to a restaurant for lunch, he ordered his usual as well as Haneul's favourites, Carbonara Spaghetti and Beef Sirloin Steak. As he fed Hanyoung, he started to speak softly.

"You know... This is the restaurant where I first met your Umma..." he said and it called Hanyoung's attention. Her ears perked slightly as she looked up at her father, waiting for him to continue his story.


Chapter 5


"What do you mean there are no more seats left? Don't you know who am I? I'm G-Dragon. What happened to my usual table?"

Jiyong ranted at one of the waiters softly in the restaurant. He was there for his lunch that day, but the restaurant was packed.

"Sorry sir. Your table is taken by that lady. We didn't know you would be coming by today..." the waiter replied in a flustered tone, not knowing how to deal with the situation. Jiyong frowned in anger as he turned to look at the woman who had taken his seat. His expression softened as he watched the woman twirled on her spaghetti. She was in a white collared blouse and a mini black skirt, a pair of studious yet classy spectacles on her nose as she was studying her laptop as she ate. He was overwhelmed by her charisma and beauty uncontrollably. Just then, her eyes looked up and he met with the most beautiful pair of brown orbs that he had ever seen in his entire life. With a pose of dignity and sophistication, she smiled at him before calling over the waiter that Jiyong was questioning. Nodding his head at her words, he literally ran up to Jiyong one more time.

"The lady said that if you don't mind, you can share the table with her." he st
Aleeza Nov 2017
they say that there are things that you can never unsee
images forever burned into the folds of your brain
and yet I think that there are even more things that you can’t unhear
those things that you want to drown out with music you didn’t even know you had

like that song you’ve just found
and it is new to you and the words may not be that clear for now
but a part of you understands
a part of you feels the string of notes every single moment that song lasts
a part of you understands somehow

like cars passing by the street outside your house at midnight
they are mere whooshes in your dreamlike state
their lights stay for too little of a time
and you can’t help but wonder
of where they are rushing to or what place they go home to
whooshes on cement carrying stories you will never know

like the little crack of disappointment in a relative’s voice
when they learn that you want to be something other than what they want you to be
and you try to laugh it off
but it’s a sting you never thought you would feel again after all this time
and then suddenly how well you’ve been doing doesn’t seem to matter
every single time you thought your smiles could reach the sky doesn’t seem to matter
because how can achievements in a path they disapprove of be something to be proud of?
how can something you fit better into feel wrong?

like the soft ripping of a paper envelope as it’s opened
and you’ve been tense for months about this one thing
and here it is in black and white and colors you wanted to associate with a new beginning
but instead it is all of what your worrying nagged you about
it is the words of the voice in your head printed out on thin paper
here is where the world feels like it drops
the only sound is of the letter being put back into its envelope
gently willing it to disappear

like the silence of someone after you speak
and you hear everything else like a click of a pen or a shifting of positions
your mind runs over a hundred, a thousand things
maybe they didn’t hear what you said?
maybe they don’t want to talk about it?
maybe they don’t get what you’re saying?
maybe you should start a new conversation?
you understand that silence should not be regarded as something bad
but here you are
choked by the possibility of them thinking you’re annoying
and that voice tells you to shut up
however the silence makes nerves tumble out of your mouth
why can’t you stop?

like the dull tapping of your fingertips on a keyboard
it’s been a while since you’ve allowed yourself this
months of pushing down the emotions that tug at you
and all you want to do is punch the words out of you
but there is nothing in the muddle that used to serve you so well
there is nothing because the thought of doing this pulls you deeper into the abyss
how you loved doing this before the world decided to tell you you do it wrong
you may have said that this was a part of you
and it is now another part you have lost

like the short bursts of shouting that you hear every time you take out your earphones
and you are reminded yet again why you keep them in
you are so tired of the voices, so tired of the fighting
you hear the scrape of the dining room chair you’re in as you push away after a meal
and you know too well that that is the last sound you want to hear outside of the music you blast
sometimes you think about how a lot can be different if only some events did not happen
and it is cruel to think that but you do it all the same
life had been peaceful before
now ruined by something you don’t have control over anymore

like the soft music at a small gathering
and there is laughter and glasses clinking and the shuffle of everyone’s steps
you block out that thought in your head that digs its claws
but as soon as you are driving home and staring at the streetlights
everything hits you at 50 miles an hour
you wonder how long your smile stayed there
you wonder if anybody sees it falter
and you can’t even explain to anyone why this happens
because you don’t know the answer yourself

like the constant questions
about why you want to do this or why you’re like this
asking about what you’ve decided on after years of confusion and debates with yourself
and they are too curious, too questioning of how you came upon those decisions
they try to offer explanations of what they think can be better for you
and it is like they do not trust you to know what is best for yourself
they think that what you want and the way you identify yourself isn’t what should be
and all your life you’ve been told that you can’t be this and you can’t do that
so now what should you be?

like the thud thud of your tears on a pillow
and you don’t even know where it hurts anymore
all you know is that when you hold that plushie you’ve had forever
a thousand pinpricks run along your arms and your chest
breathing will never be easy and here you are
too aware of the sound of choking back your cries
because there are things that the world doesn’t have to know
and one of them is how there are days you fracture
after weeks of not even knowing what it is exactly to feel

like the goodbyes after a few hours of talking in a cramped café
you know you’ll see them again but there is an emptiness as you go home
a part of you acknowledges the fact that they aren’t that far away
another part feels the longing for another hour, another hug
you know of each other’s schedules and how it is not practical to keep meeting up
but you want to cling to something other than your pillows and your wavering sanity
and having them with you has helped in a way that you miss instantly
as you are once again plunged into the reality of it all

it is the clock ticks as you wait for something to end
it is the steadying breath you take as you reel yourself back from the hell of your thoughts
it is the song you now use as a lullaby when your system refuses sleep
it is the drum of rain against windows as you try to find yourself again

there are sounds I will never unhear
and there will be days that I can’t stand to be me
but there will be sounds that pull me back
there are days that I continue to fight the voices
and that is what I should always remember.
Seema Sep 2017
A point of guilt
In my heart sealed
Insanity gets built
No way to be healed

Yes, my life is reckless
Ugly thoughts linger
I feel so hopeless
Cutting off a finger

There is no pain
No cry, not a single tear
Nothing to gain
Ending this life, without fear

It's not a dare
To harm myself more
Life just ain't fair
My mind is at war

Standing on the edge
Just one leap
To face with death
My birth was cheap

Poison darts pierce my skin
Injecting daily addictives
All I've done is sin
No light no directives

End of life in a second
But a small hand begged
To stay till the end
A child of neglect, nagged

My reflection pulled me over
To face my inner child's cry
I looked at myself, closer
Why everything seemed a lie?

More thoughts purged in my head
Death was not my exit yet
When shows of life is led
I shall fight, until my goals are met...


©sim
Just a write.

— The End —