We smuggled ourselves
on endless ribbons,
circumnavigating
towns full of iguanas.

Licking summer skies,
we displayed
kaleidoscope-eyes,
wore blue ribbons
in our hair.

Nothing compared
to the chivalry of the times,
naievity ruled us
like bosses, yet we
slayed with such splendor.

No prisoners taken,
just scars given,
along with tales,
stories from the borders,
our lives lived on the fringes,
hanging on endlessly
to lost dreams.

oh, lost childhood
innocent, sweet, and vain
i traded away my maidenhood
for a life of listless pain.

although reckless naievity
assuredly slipped away
so did the warm festivity
of existing without shame.

no longer can bedside fables
enchant a wonderous mind.
for i have traded my maidenhood
and left all past behind.

On the day before the UK is finally left to go **** itself

I watch a politely forced interview in my British front room

David Cameron is looking like he's just come after dropping a bomb of Molly

The only kind of bomb he'll ever be allowed drop again what

And I start almost to feel bad for him

The way I've felt bad about all the other poor ******* who get a whoosh too quickly

And start rambling all sensitive and vulnerable and so ****** sincere

But then I remember I shouldn't feel sorry for him at all

Because when you **** it and it's your idea you're supposed to stay home and try not talk to anyone you know

Not talk to the BBC about how you're still surprised you ****** it

But you respect those you took advantage of your naievity and schoolboy ambition

His eyes are like what you see staring one-eyed into a half empty bottle of stout, lads

Wrecked

The EU have been like the kindest hotel managers

Who are trying to allow some deviant family who've wrecked their best rooms

Away to to the police with some last shred of human dignity

Because they know they are killing their children

There's a song that mentions a man standing waiting for a train
On a particularly English rainy summer day
By a minor band with good players
That would get my mother excited
If it was played on the golden oldies radio slot

It would even get my mother excited when she heard
Even it was arguably "depressing"
Because it reminded her of being young and disillusioned
And it sounded cutting edge and new
It was the sound of the future then
In the nationalist wasteland of early 1981
And the double tracked vocals sang "We Fade to Grey"

I write this, not wandering into the cinder zone of Hiroshima
But just sitting half-prostrate on the sofa of my tastefully European inspired British front room
Not as a warning to the world, but as a half-arsed lament for a world out of warnings.

The enormity of pain
of having to leave behind everything that I have ever known
its been time, but the grief aches in my bones.
I miss my old life desperately
even though it was filled with swords of pain and abuse
I miss my" family" my "friends."
my naievity about this hateful ideology
it was easier to live in some ways.
But also much more hellish
now I am a lot more at peace and so much healthier
and so very very lonely.
i have no real friends and no one in my life
the lonlieness i feel it, eating me alive as well as my depression.
They are my closest friends.
And here i am at 28 and all i do is grieve
grieve for everything!
and i couldn't even put pen to paper for months,
i feel like a sore thumb
in a society that is morally depraved psychopathic and psychotic.
In a world that is uncaring for people like me
That lacks a Basic Understanding
of the chronically ill chronically mentally in pain.
Yet still here i am trying
finally receiving help that i have needed,
prayed for and searched for
for years.
So why do i feel worse ?
probably for finally feeling the enormity of everything.
That is hitting me all at once.
The enormity of pain
Of leaving religion ideologies
Families,
an old country that i still long for
But i know that i can't go back to.
Of community
Of old age traditions.
But here i am lovingly and hatingly picking myself up,
painting writing reading learning
healing
learning to piece together my own religious meaning,
my own way of performing it.

I still feel so lost and so in pain
but here are my feelings out on paper,
struggling screaming for so long to be seen in so so many ways.
In a world that is psychopathic and i feel that it in itself
has lost all meaning to its madness,
and truth is stranger than fiction
and it is what most avoid and don't like hearing.
So i feel often at times
That i must hide myself out in the open,
un -belonging
holding the keys,
the bearer of witnessing
Horrors
Processing all that i have lived through, in this land
and the other land of the forefathers.
writing about my stories of grief © Jan 26, Ari