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what is this life?
what is this gelatinous mess?
what has been done
has been done
willingly or reluctantly
   - I know the moments
that have seen me
judder the gearstick the wrong way
that have seen my bones
rattle with a dreadful calcium clatter
my lungs like sandwich bags
flimsy against my heart
which throbs as some malformed peach
when a white chocolate blonde goes by
it reminds me of ice-cream
the chilly fuzz inside my skull
my nerves anesthetised
gone blue gone slow
   - names clamour over one another
until I can’t separate the letters
the worth keeping
the junk mail
a train spewing passengers outside
I am knocked all over as a conker
bruises blossoming into pools of Ribena
where is the asphyxiate button?
that would wipe this page clean right?
   - here is what I offer
passion by the bushel
and while I have not fired Cupid’s bow
or slurred my way through a Taylor song
I can make it work
I can learn to drive
and stop being a moth toward the light
flapping my epileptic wings till they burn
   - I will scrub the soil from my skin
latch onto you and be the best possible me
float within your ripples
swig the air as if it’s lemonade
just taken from the fridge
say I am not who I was before
I am new I am fresh I am sparkling clean
like a toddler as they wobble
to make their first step
Written: July 2015.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. This piece was not planned in advance. I came up with the first two lines and the rest followed later on. The whole poem took about 35 minutes to write. Ribena is a British blackcurrant-flavoured soft drink for those who are unaware.
Feedback welcome as always. Do see my home page on here, where you can find a link to my Facebook writing page, where I sometimes make videos. The piece is not based much on real events.
NOTE: Many of my older poems will be removed from HP in the coming months.
In soot black darkness we lie
between thin, worn out sheets.
A cheap hotel, false names,
cash only, no trace.
Our bodies became a canvas
to sin. We pivoted on an axis of
need, our madness and sadness
lost amongst the tobacco stained walls.
From chin to shin we've tasted,
tainted lust, clung mewling to each other
anchored in this, coal black, soot black,
ebony black night.
Skin to sin we wait for daylight, its
redemption, and chagrin and sadness
to leave. Anxious and unbalanced
we wait for planets to align, so that we
may await the day that this darkness
fades to grey
© JLB
James Tee Dec 2014
sweet nights of betrayal
freedom is at last on our tails
swept to the sea away from the rails
set in the sun on the moon we sail. x2

off and running like birds with no names
taking a ride toward those high frames
looking up toward a desert sky
folks are boarding planes dressed to die

only us and this world we can see
this ocean was made for you and me
our love combined is unity
undress me, sally.

We aint no law we can’t be teached
we gonna drive so far we can’t be reached
and sleep where the shady moon meets the sun
and die in a blue valley as one.

Feel your hand meet the breeze
fly to the edge of all your dreams
The sky is set for you and i
We were born young and we will die.

So fly with me, sally.

Cast aways on diamond light
i fell in love with you at first sight
And left the world where hatred ran
and sailed to a place where nobody can.

Swept by hope in a vanishing moon
We ran with eyes above to catch the balloon
But our backs were caught in the rising sun
And together we died in the blue valley as one.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
"Goodnight, sweet dreams"- I used to say.
Then when I came back home
after staying at grandma's for the holidays with the cousins,
I listed their names as I went to sleep,
good night, sweet dreams accompanied with each.
"Good night-sweet dreams, Nani Ji"
"Good night to everyone whenever your night might come"
"Sweet dreams to everyone whenever your night might come"
Nani Ji is maternal grandma in Hindi.
Aleska Servian Feb 2014
I like to write our names with blood
so life can seem a bit more poetic
i keep your wick hair in my pocket
my friends didn't agree that Hamlet was that dramatic
The sunset makes me feel so sick
but when you hold my hands and i take my pills
i feel like i'm van gogh's daughter
a mortal virus that can't be killed
We're looking for meanings in the most futile things
a honorable God on the corner of his eyes
bring me someone's head on a tray
to prove that our flame's still alive

Would you treat me like a suicidal queen?
i'm a lonely wolf who got used to be alone
my tears in a black and white screen
like a porcelain doll you'd lock me in a glass dome
All i want
is to be loved
all i want
is to be loved

We'll sit on the windows of your expensive car
your dark hair invisible through the night
i bet they thought i kissed the devil
cause i always wanted to be the reason of a fight
Paris burned his legacy for his muse
women expect nothing but true violent love
life enjoys making us unhappy
send your letters through a black dove
A bonfire and a cheap bottle of wine
i'll cover myself with the money that you stole yesterday
i can be deaf, i can be mute, i won't be blind
looking for a gangster Romeo for my birthday

Would you treat me like a suicidal queen?
i'm a lonely wolf who got used to be alone
my tears in a black and white screen
like a porcelain doll you'd lock me in a glass dome
All i want
is to be loved
all i want
is to be loved

And i'll run to you with all the thorns in my feet
i'm feeling pretty loved
the hunger is divine and i'll eat your own meat
feels like i'm being hugged
Jacob Giggey Dec 2014
The voice inside my head,
it tells me things.
With the confusion and anger it brings,
Mocking me it sings,
I shouldn't be here,
You'd be better off if I were dead.
The voice, it shouts at me,
reminding me of the things I've done,
reminding me I'm pathetic and weak,
reminding me my romanticized future,
is nothing I'll achieve,
all I deserve, if I survive,
is a life most bleak.
The voice tells me it's my fault,
I agree and respond,
fueling the mood,
Ah, that's a mighty fine wound,
here, let me add some salt.
Does it hurt?
The words and actions I've created,
do they tug at strings of a heart most jaded?
Do my thoughts circle in your head until they're hated?
Do they twirl and dance
and spit in your face,
do they laugh at you and call you names,
teasing and prodding, playing sensitive games?
Does your voice spin and bounce
around inside your head,
does it whisper quietly,
once I've gone to bed?
Do you hear it too,
does it get to you?
Does it make your skin crawl,
to be trapped in and endless brawl,
of what is right and what is wrong?
Does it sing to you?
An endless torturous song,
that's been around for oh so long,
I want the voice to stop,
I want it to be gone.
I wonder will it ever leave,
and grant me a little bit of peace,
a fraction of freedom from the ice I feel,
I'm afraid the answer is quite real,
I believe that fate will seal the deal.
One day the voice will leave
by my demand,
all its hateful words will turn to sand.
I will tell it to go and be on its way,
and though many times I've tried before,
I know the way to finally slam the door,
when you find me with my face down on the floor,
you will know,
I can't hear the voice anymore.
. . .
No, I'll never **** myself.
Though inner peace is all I truly seek,
I clearly see the havoc I would wreak.
No, I cannot end my life.
Instead I'll draw in a breath,
followed by another,
I'll put my smile back in place,
and tuck away my thoughts for me to keep,
as the voice softly sings me back to sleep.
Israel Rivera Aug 2018
From this well of fire I am forced to drink
Its poison corroding and churning
Is too much to bare I think
But the world never stops turning
Reminding me of our names written in ink
The effigy of our love is burning
Ankita Gupta Nov 2018
I see the floor these stairs lead to, but I can’t tell what’s exactly going on there. I can hear all sorts of voices and noises and I can also hear the silence. Engrossed in deep thoughts, I suddenly feel a push from someone telling me to climb the hell up. Stuck between my curiosity and the frenzy, I start ascending a few steps and then I freeze. I freeze because I saw a glimpse of what’s going on up there. It looked like a charade and everyone looked like they are in a masquerade. It looked chaotic from where I was standing but I was in the queue, I had to keep moving. Gathering up my courage and given no **** choice, I climbed the stairs. For me, this floor gave ‘mess’ a new dimension and ‘disorder’ a new definition.

Like everyone else, I was also handed over a suitcase that was as big as me, but not as heavy as others. I looked at the annoying, masked person who was registering me as the “new habitant” of the crazy land to get any indication of what am I supposed to do, and he ****** his shoulders as if he did not give a shred of care. It seemed I was on my own to discover this crowded mess of a place where everyone keeps shoving into everyone. It was like an unorganized market, only this time there were no vendors or shops.

My adjusting in this new habitat was not smooth or easy, I was bruised, insulted and called names. The earlier days were not that bad, but after a while things started getting suffocating and I found myself escaping to the already filled balcony to catch my breath more than often. The people who climbed the stairs with me seemed to have gelled in barring a few. A couple of months passed and all I wanted to do was climbed down those steps. But guess what, unlike all conventional staircases, these don’t go down.
I did everything I could to feel at home and I also tried making some friends but nothing seemed to work. It actually made me suffocate even more because all I could see were masks on people’s faces and all I could hear was deception in their voices. In the world where ‘survival of the fittest’ is the mantra, I wonder how long will it be until I choke on my own thoughts and die? How long before this environment takes its toll and push me on the edge? Either I survive or I won’t in this new land called Adulthood.
neisha garcia Aug 2013
He would run out of the bus every single day, as if he was late for something. I wonder what that is.

He smelled so deliciously strong it made me sniff every five seconds, he would always notice, and chuckle. That's an advance right?

Cigarettes and washing powder filled my nosestrings everyday, and I did not complain, I would not mind smelling that every morning before going to work, or every night before going to bed.

I would swim everytime we locked eyes, I was a good swimmer so that was good. The blue of his eyes was not like any other blue. It reminded me of the ocean. It reminded me of going to beach on a sunny sunday with my family. It reminded me of the perfect blue sky I would see every time after stepping out of the bus on summer.

I would not mind seeing those eyes every time I woke up, or everytime I went to bed. I would love it actually.

Sweater weather has grown a lot on me after he started taking the bus this november. His sweaters were dark and gray and sometimes had pretty patterns in white.

I would not mind making him sweaters with my sewing machine every now and then. I would stay up all night if it required me to have it finished for whenever he wanted it.

His hair reminded me of chocolate cake. Reminded me of those sunday nights I would bake chocolate cakes with my grandmother. It wasn't long, but it wasn't short. It was perfect. Just like him.

I wasn't fond of tanned boys, though I would not complain if one talked to me. The boy on the bus was not tanned, I have never seen him tanned. He was very pale. He looked gorgeous like that. I would never imagine him with a tan, it would be different.

His freckles reminded me of many things that I can not list right now. They brought his eyes out. They brought life to him.

He would say the weather was lovely every day, but thing is, it wasn't. It was freezing cold and the skies were very dark. He probably liked it that way, so I would just agree and smile.

He was reading The Great Gatsby the other day on the bus. I have read that book two times already. He was probably re-reading it. He seemed like the type of guy who had a big library filled with books he has never read. His fingers passed the pages with such gentleness it made me wonder if he brushed his hands that way over me.

I can still remember tuesday night, where he had me screaming god's names in vain. When he drowned me in alcohol and then had his way with me in bed.

I still gave the image of his hands gripping my thighs, of his eyes looking deep straight in mine, of the short grunts he used to make every now and then, the way his breath was really limited, the way he pulled at my hair and the way he bit my earlobes.

I can't get out of my mind the way he threw his head back when we both came harder that smashing your head on a concrete wall, the way his hair dangled on his face, the way his lips parted and his tongue sneaked out like a criminal after robbing a bank.

His moans were like angels singing me a lullaby to sleep, I would record that and play it every night before going to bed.

I can remember everything, but he acts like nothing ever happened. My mind clouds with the thought of his hands gripping my thighs and his full pink lips ******* on my collarbones. They are very disturbing thoughts.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?" he would ask every monday, in that perfect new york accent,  two weeks after what happened.

"Staying home." I would say with determination, showing him that he could not have his way with me again.

In all reality, I would not mind having his hands all over my body one, two, three more times, I would not mind a bit.

His house smelled like cigarettes, it was very messy from what I remember. I remember waking up and not seeing him next to me in bed. Wrapping the sheets over my naked body and walking over to his naked shadow in the dark, sitting on his desk, writing very fast on a notebook. He closed it very quick when he saw me, I never even got a glimpse of what he wrote, I hope I get to see it someday.

I am still trying to remember his name, I know he told me, but I can't seem to remember. I do know I screamed it over the soft music he played while we were having fun that tuesday night in his apartmennt, but it's hard for me to get it right, I was half drunk.

I think it started with an A. If it's Angel, it fits him, because he sure as hell is one.
{i just felt like writing this idk}
Signs point in different directions
Art>
<Science
History^
Oddities¿

Art:
Every memory of every sunrise
Every beautiful melody
Here.
And so many images of her.
Some sweet
Some candid
Some sad.
How can we revel in the joyful
Without knowing it's opposite?
Every delicate poem
Every lyric yelled
Every painting
Every sculpture
And in all of them,
Her.

Science:
Models of molecules
Diagrams of data
Sketches
(Where are the equations?)
Math is forbidden in this museum.
Lectures
Theories
All gathering dust.

History:
Names.
The greatest of men and women
Julius Caesar
Constantine
Marc Anthony
Cleopatra
Rosa Parks
Elinor Roosevelt
Patton
Churchill
Kennedy
MLK

Maps and charts
Famous cities of old
Sparta
Alexandria
The halls of Montezuma
Constantinople
Babylon

Oddities:
Phantom Kangaroos
Homemade Bazooka
"That made the news?"
And Bubblegum the Baluga

The Raven Empress
Flaming mattress
Sharks with lasers
Pandas with Tasers
What the heck just happened?
LastSun Sep 2024
I pity those who’ve never seen her smile—
For that brief eclipse makes time bow in silence.

I pity those who’ve not glimpsed her eyes,
For within them, a thousand journeys whisper their names.

But when her eyes close—
Even stars forget how to shine.

I pity those who’ve never watched her dance—
For in her steps, one might lose their own story,
Caught in a rhythm that belongs to no one.

I pity those who’ve never felt her ire—
For her anger carves new constellations into the sky,
A flame too holy to extinguish.

I pity those who’ve not held her hand,
For in her touch, she cradles both heaven and earth—
And still, she wonders what it means to be grounded.

And those who’ve never known her love?
Even angels weep at what they cannot claim.

She walks among mortals, unaware
That even angels must one day go home.

But if she’s lost, who am I
To pretend I’ll ever find her
Jack D Serna Apr 2016
"Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you."

I find you deep within the cherished ruins
among a thousand or so neglected orphans
to adopt a much needed voice; sing to me!
I am digging where truth remains to my surprise; a time capsule, a seed, hidden in the seaves
crowded at a large party; everyone is talking at once!
My dear guest is travelling in and out, around and around nowhere to be found.
Slow down and tune in to that magnificent songbird, you are alluding my grasp once more for pleasant company always does best on its own.
May I take a step and follow tune? I hear a rainforest of life buzzing and cawing my attention.
All my senses--all my senses--before, I was senseless. I walk the leaves of grass feeling their blades as their very voice tickles my skin.
I breathe a deep concoction of several layers flora, several layers fauna.
Allow me this moment to flip the refined, manufactured lumber waste byproduct, stamped with ink, for a glimpse of the map to the Americas.
Show me; identify me their Latin and common names of the truth that remains.
I find you in an excavation site, as I am paid to do so, for any resemblance reasonably worth saving; so I find your seed locked in nature's safe locker of petrified amber, maintaining a pristine vitality.
May the scientists support the art or choke it out like a ****; or should one ask whether fruit is more tasteful, wholesome and bearing in the presence of a few weeds?
To find your essence of essentials extracted with full integrity so I may travel the Americas to see which climate bears most fruitful from seed;
But I am astonished that just as much North is welcomed as much South, and as far West of Hawaii or Alaska is as much resilient as far East of Maine.
It matters not where I go next but that I do go, and that there is a next stop in which I find myself waiting for you.
Graff1980 Aug 2015
The little girls are gone
Small town neighbors
Who I used to see
Stranded in flights
Of fantasy
Become mists
And twist away
Into vagaries
Vapors
Tammy
Susan
The girl
Across the road
And the names
Fade
As the days
Slip away
Childhood friends
Disappear
As childhood ends
Hewasminemoon Jul 2014
It was almost February and winter still hadn’t hit. I was beginning to
think that it wouldn’t arrive, and that spring was here. One evening as I was walking down the streets of the city I looked up to see a single snowflake falling down to meet my face. It was tiny and looked lonely, but a few moments later, it was followed by several more snowflakes. Sooner than later, the ground was covered in a white sheet of snow. and I was stuffing my hands in my coat pockets and pulling my hood on to brace myself against the bone-chilling wind. I made my way into a small coffee shop that was still open and was greeted by a short stocky man in his mid thirties with a dark, curly mustache and sleeves of faded tattoos.
“Hello” he said, his voice sounding deep and smooth. I pulled out my headphones that were burning in my ears, pressed pause on my phone and shoved them carelessly in my messenger bag.
“Hello”, I replied back with a slight smile, pulling my hands out of my
pockets and making my way to the counter.
The shop was small, but it had a staircase leading upstairs with more room for seating. The man who stood behind the counter continued to unpack small plastic covered packages, putting them away in cupboards and freezers. I pulled out my wallet from my bag and plopped it on the counter, feebly attempting to pull out my card with my hands shaking violently from the cold.
“What a night”, the man said, his eyes still focused on his duties.
“Hmm.” I said, nodding. “Can I get a 12oz mocha, please?” The man looked up from his package, and giggled coyly.
“Sure you can, sweetheart." He put the package that he was holding down below him, and began making the drink I had just ordered. My credit card held tightly in my hand, still shaking. There was awkward silence between us and I got the feeling the man understood I didn’t feel like talking. He finished my order, filling a small, white ceramic mug, and pushed it across the counter towards me.
“Anything else?”
I shook my head, implying no and handed him the cold card. He swiped it and handed it back to me, along with a receipt and a pen to sign. I signed the receipt, grabbed my coffee and headed up the stairs to my right. Upstairs, there was a large room with a dining room looking table and several chairs, and to the left, and a small hole in the wall with several cushions. I smiled at the welcoming spot, and took a seat. Pulling a small table up next to me, I set my coffee down, and rested my bag on the floor below me. The upstairs was completely empty. In fact; the entire shop was empty besides the man working downstairs. I took a deep breath in and let my head rest on some of the cushions behind me. Closing my eyes, I let out my breath and felt the warmth and the vast history of the shop run envelop me. I grabbed at the cup beside me and sipped at my coffee. It was still too hot to drink comfortably, so I set it down. Out of my bag, I pulled out my phone with the headphones still attached and scrunched into a tight tangled ball.
Untangling them, I placed each bud in my ear, and pressed play, continuing the song I had stopped when I had entered the coffee shop. I felt my eyelids grow heavy and I sunk deeper and deeper into the pillows around me, the smell of old books seeping into my skin. Finally, I closed my eyes, and after a few moments, was sound asleep.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a man’s face, unfamiliar but comforting.
“Excuse me…” he said, with a wide grin.
I jumped with embarrassment; ripping my headphones out of my ears, although they were no longer playing anything. How long had I been asleep? And who was this young man? An employee of the shop? A customer?
“Sorry!” I yelped.
The man chuckled as I swung my feet around to the floor and pulled out my phone to check the time. Realizing it was dead, I scanned the room for a clock and with no success I asked the stranger “What time is it?”
He rolled up his sleep, and checked what to be a rather expensive watch. The man was dressed nicely, but nothing too formal. A clean pair of black jeans, a plaid shirt and a sweater over it. His hair, a dark brown looked thick and slightly curled. He ran his fingers through it as he responded. “It’s quarter past.”
“Past what?”
He blinked at me. “Eight…” he paused at my confused look. “A.M”
I gasped at the time. It was just past nine at night when I had dozed off.
Why did the short stalky man not wake me? Did he forget I was upstairs?
Maybe he assumed I had left, and just missed me doing so.
“I…I…” I stumbled upon my words. I wasn’t quite sure what to say, still
unsure who this man was.
“My boss told me you’d be up here.” He lifted my cup of cold coffee and
handed it to me. “I can get you a warm cup if you’d like. We don’t open for another half hour.”
I nodded, and with the cup in hand, the man turned and headed down the stairs. I gathered my things, smoothed out my shirt, tossed my hair to one side and followed the man down the stairs.
“My names Elliot” he shouted from behind the counter and the noises of the coffee machine.
“Ellie.” I shouted back.
A door swung open and in Elliot’s hand was a new cup of coffee.
“That’s a coincidence.”
I smiled nervously and took the cup from the man.
“Sit.” he said, nodded to a table.
I followed his instructions and set my cup down and pulled out a chair.
He stared at me for a moment as I stared at my coffee. After a long moment of silence, I started.
“I am so sorr-”
He stopped me and reached out, resting his hand on top of mine.
“It’s alright Ellie…really.”
I had a few questions but didn’t know where to start. So I let the silence
continue.
“My boss figured you needed a place to stay.”
I wasn’t homeless. Did I look homeless?
“Do you...have somewhere to go…?”
I nodded. “I’m not homeless…” I proclaimed. I couldn’t help but stare at
his hands. There was something different about them from the rest of the
man.
“I figured. You’re too well dressed to be homeless.” He smiled, and his
hands moved up and through his hair again.
“So, if you’re not homeless then what’s your story?”
My story? I didn’t have a story. I was a young single girl. Lonely. Living
on her own in the city. On her way home when a snow storm hit. I just stopped into the coffee shop to get warm, not to spend the night like some refugee.
“My story?”
“Yeah, your story.” he continued to grin at me.
I paused to think of an answer.
“I was just on my way home. Stopped in for a cup of coffee. Guess I didn’t
drink enough of it.”
He laughed at the comment, showing a set of pearly white teeth.
“Maybe it wasn’t a very good cup of coffee.” He glanced at the cup in front of me. I lifted it and took a sip.
“This cup’s better.” We both laughed softly, then found each other staring
for long while at one another.
“I’ll make sure not to tell my boss you said that.”
I took another sip. “I should probably go…” I said, standing up.
“Go where?”
“Home.”
He shook his head chuckling slightly. “Hang out. I’ll open late.”
“I don’t want to be more of an inconvenience than I already have been.”
Elliot reached out and took my hand in his, squeezing it softly.
“Ellie.”
My eyes grew wide, and I felt my heart beat quickly within my chest.
“Let’s not play games with one another. Stay.”
I pulled my hand away, and bit my lip.
“I can’t. I’m sorry Elliot.” I grabbed my bag from under the table, and thew
it across my shoulder. “Thank you…” I said, thinking of his hands but
staring at the blue in his eyes. I turned around, and pushed the door open.


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

It was Valentine’s Day (or as I like to call it “Singles Awareness Day” ) and my friend had dragged me out to this terrible bar in the suburbs  titled “Distraction” My friend, who was newly single and “ready to mingle” laughed when she saw the big blue sign with the name.
“That’s an ironic name” she said, snickering.
I nodded my head and groaned as we headed inside. She was right. What was this bar distracting me from? If anything, it was drawing more attention to the things I was supposed to be distracted from by just existing with such a name. My friend walked up to the bar, leaned against a stool and ordered something sweet. She asked me if I wanted anything, but I shook my head no. After a few minutes of small talking with her, and watching her sip at her watered down drink, I noticed a young man walking towards us. The bar was dimly lit, and I couldn’t quite make him out but I sighed and turned towards the bartender.
“*** and coke” I hollered out to the man. “Pour heavy!”
I stayed facing the shelves of drinks, the different bottles organized by color and type. Whiskey, Tequila, *****. Suddenly, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder and with a deep inhale, I turned; expecting some man with sleeked back hair and a bad tan to be facing me.
Instead, it was Elliot. Staring at me, standing inches from my face. I took a step back into a bar stool, and fell into a seat.
“Ellie” he said, smiling.
I couldn’t help but smile for a moment too, but then I quickly wiped it away as the bartender slid my drink to the right of me. Before I could do anything, Elliot placed a few dollars on the counter.
“You don’t have to -“
“It’s fine”  He continued to smile widely.
I looked around the room for my friend, she was across the room playing darts with some broad shouldered man. I took my glass, placed the straw on the counter and gulped down about half of it in one drink.  
“Happy Valentines Day” he said, almost sarcastically following the statement with a slight laugh.
I felt myself smiling again and took another gulp. The bartender definitely poured heavy. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, and I clenched my teeth. I could tell Elliot was trying hard not to laugh.
“Would you like to dan-“
I bursted out laughing.
“Dance? Oh god, please. Don’t do this Elliot.”
He stared at me widely for a moment. “What are you so afraid of Ellie?”
I scoffed, and shook my head, taking another drink I responded
“I’m not afraid of anything”
He blinked at me, then ran through his fingers through his hair and breathed out loudly.
“Is it me?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer this, or what he was really even asking. I stumbled on my words, stuttering. I finished my drink, and set the glass down on the counter.
“Another?” he asked.
“No...” I paused. “Thank you”
He stared at me for a moment, his brows furrowed. He reached out to touch me, and I pulled away.
“Ellie...Let me-“
I interrupted him and shouted out “space!”
He looked puzzled, then chuckled.
“What?”
“I’m afraid of space”
“Space....? Please elaborate.”
“Like the sky, and the planets and the stars and ****”
He laughed softly. “And ****...”
“Think about it. We have no idea what’s out there. We have no idea what’s coming for us. We are so small, comparatively.”
“So you believe in aliens?”
“I believe in possibility”
“Anything could happen.”
“Exactly! Right now, as we speak, the sun could explode.”
“Or, aliens could invade!”
“You’re really stuck on the alien thing.”
“It’s a possibility”
We both sat in silence for a moment, his eyes felt heavy on me. I stood up from my stool, our bodies were almost touching.
“I’ve got to go see if my friends OK.” I said, glancing over at her. She was still playing darts with the broad shoulder man. He had his arms wrapped around her, ‘showing’ her how to hold the dart now.
“She looks like she’s doing ok to me” Elliot said with a snicker.
I didn’t argue.
“What’s your last name?” he asked.
I shook my head violently. “Look, Elliot. You seem-“ I stopped and thought of how I wanted to finish my sentence, but before I could, Elliot grabbed my hand and held it tightly.
“Ellie. I’m just a man. I’m not some comet coming down or some alien race a million light years away. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
I took a few shallow breaths, my heart was pounding. I tried pulling away, but Elliot just pulled himself closer to me.
“You said you believe in possibility. You can’t deny the possibility of you and me.”
“I...”
He reached up, and tucked a hair that was falling down my face behind my ear then stepped back, letting go of my hand.
“I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“I want to help you conquer your fear”
“Oh?”
He grabbed my hand again and pulled me towards the door, I looked over to my friend, but didn’t fight him.
“She’ll be okay.” he said, still tugging me.
I followed him out the door and down the street. We stopped and hailed a cab, as one pulled up, he opened the door for me.
“Get in.”
“I don’t even know you. You could be taking me to some wear house to **** and ****** me!”
“Ellie. Don’t be so dramatic. Get in”
“Where are we going?”
“To the moon.”
“And back again?”
“We’ll see. Maybe once you get there, you’ll never want to leave.”
“It’s a possibility”
I stepped inside the cab, and so did he.

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


Once we were in the cab, the rush of excitement I was feeling in the bar and in the street had faded. Elliot handed the man his phone, which had an address written on it. The cabbie put the address into his GPS and started the meter as he drove on.
“So are we taking the cab to the moon? Or are we just taking the cab to NASA and then a spaceship to the moon?” I said sarcastically, my voice breaking from nervousness. Elliot put his hand on my leg, and sat back into his seat without saying anything.
“Who’s paying for the cab Elliot?”
He continued to be silent. I turned at stared out the window, I noticed the cab was taking us out of the city and I began to get a little worried.
“Can you please tell me where we’re going?” I asked quickly. I looked back at Elliot, he was sweating.
“Elliot? Is everything OK?” His eyes were shut and his breathing was heavy.
“I’m afraid of things in motion.” he muttered softly.
“Isn’t everything in motion?” he opened his eyes, raised his brows and then smiled at me.
“I mean, the world is always turning and we’re walking, or breathing. So we’re moving, no matter what-“
“Can you be quiet please?”
I looked back out the window again for what felt like a long while. Finally, the cab stopped in front a large abandoned dome like building in a town I had never been in. Elliot was quick to exit the cab, and circle the car to open my door. I stepped out, Elliot paid the driver and the cab drove away.
“So you ARE going to **** and ****** me?”
Elliot looked at me, and took my hand.
“I’m sorry about in the car. What mean by things in motion is like, cars and trains and planes and...” he paused, “and ****...”
We both laughed.
“I knew what you meant. I’m sorry if I was being difficult.”
He gave me a look and I nodded at him. He took me by the hand and led me closer to the building. We reached a door that had been boarded up.
“This doesn’t look like the moon...Or NASA...”
“Ellie. Do you trust me?”
“I...I don’t really even know you so-“
Elliot pried back at the board, slipping into the building through a small space and pulled me inside with him. The room we stepped into was a circle, and in the center; a large telescope.
“Does that even work?”
He squeezed my hand, then let go. Approaching the telescope, he stepped up a small set of stairs to a control panel. He pushed a few buttons and a few moments later, I heard a whirring and a low rattle followed by a deep sound. I felt a slight vibration and suddenly the roof was opening above me, exposing the night sky. On this night, the stars were bright, and the moon was full.
“Come here” Elliot called out from near the telescope.
I started to shake only slightly at the sight of the sky above me, I felt frozen and tense, as if I couldn’t move. Elliot made his way down the stairs and towards me.
“It’s okay Ellie.” he said, reaching for my hand and guiding me towards the telescope. We stepped up the stairs, and he stood next to me, still holding my hand as he adjusted a few things, looking in the telescope, then at me, then back through the telescope. He turned towards me, nudging me.
“Go ahead.”
I looked at the giant metal telescope, and shook my head.
“I really appreciate what you’re trying to do here but-“
He put his hand on my lower back, and pushed me towards the telescope.
“Just look.”
I put my face close to the telescope, an
James Alai Feb 2016
tonight we ride!
we shall band together and raise our swords!
to hell with 'em! they don't stand a dust mote of a chance!
follow me!

show no fear! we are men!
this day is ours!
on the morrow we will return home rich with glory
and our names will be sung in songs!

swines! beasts in men's clothes!
feel the kiss of cold steel!
savages! all of you!
dine with the devil in the land of hell!
we take no prisoners! We yield only to death!

tonight we ride!
Y Rada Jun 2017
To the niqab girl whom I met in Cagaya De Oro City
You were in front of me as we waited in line for hours
We smiled first politely and then we began to talk,
We Shared different insights in almost everything:
Your face veiling practice in Islam fascinated me
My headcovering as Christian piqued your curiosity
Conversations turned to fashion, extremism, and Filipinos,
You saw my face and I saw your beautiful eyes
Yet we never asked each other's names or Facebook accounts,
We were different yet somehow we mirrored each other;
Different religions yet linked by passion to serve God
Different ethnicity and language yet tied by nationality.

It's been weeks since the Marawi siege and I think of you
Hoping that every niqab girl I see in Iligan is you
We were strangers that rainy afternoon of June 2016
Yet I grieve for your loss - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Words are not enough to comfort you sister of the stars but
May your Allah guide and protect you in these times
May my Jesus cover you with His precious Holy blood,
To the niqab girl whom I met in Cagayan De Oro City
Perhaps we'll never see each other again in the future but
Thank you for letting me see the beauty of cultural diversity
And that coexistence is possible if we have open minds
And living in harmony is attainable if we open our hearts.
1. May 23, 2017 the island of Mindanao is under Martial Law due to the siege of Maute  in Marawi City.

2. I never knew her name but I called her "niqab girl" every time I think of her. Despite the chaos in her hometown, I really hope she's alright...
if you cant see something inside of you that's worth fighting fore
then get a better mirror.
Because something inside of you wouldn't let you go
No you held on threw all the names and the hits that society labeled you with
You held fast to your life because who were they to tell you that you don't matter
Who are they to say those things to you
When you have no mom to go home to, no dad to pick you up
When what you turn to at only fifteen is liquor ad drugs
who are they to tell you to get over it
Sticks and stones brake bones don't tell me it hurts worse than a broken heart
don't tell me that when I go to sleep at night I might not wake up
Because if I wont wake up with a smile on my face what's the point
when I have to ask myself before I even open up my eyes is simply what will I get called today
What's the point
My definition of beauty is Mom
Because she is raising three kids, and she knows how it feels
No I cant hide that from her no matter how well I hide from kids at school, no matter how still I try to be.
No my mother see's.
When asked if I want to die, I stay silent
Because silence s the only thing that wont bake a heart
Now...
as other are going to sleep
we stay up, because when they close their eyes for a moment we dot have to run
Ask me again why I wont die
why don't I just back down?
Because My definition of Beauty is Mom
Because to many of us have been cast out like a knickknack on a shelf
because I wont lose my memory..no
I will not go silently
Mike Hauser Mar 2014
They were down to less than a hundred
When they met on the battle front
That's when they beat their weapons back into plowshares
As each of them headed home

What it was that made the difference
Is they finally took the time
To really see the enemy
And themselves in each others eyes

All the peoples in the villages
Cheered their hero's back
Who brought with them sweet freedom
And in town center hung its flag

On the pole they wrote down the names
Of those who never would return
And all made a vow that day
That their lesson had been learned
carissa May 2017
I use a fake name one to which If you see me you´d never find me.
Its almost like a game of hide and seek, where you never search,
I have used this name on every online profile and book I have made,
almost wishing you would figure me out and know along It was me,
I spent days dwelling on what seems to be a fake person all the way through,
But I still hold on to something close named you.
his smile isnt much to them but to me its my everything
Amitav Radiance Apr 2014
There are many books adorning my library
Every stack placed painstakingly
All your names feature in my catalogue
I know you by names and can recall every rendezvous
Each one of you have given me a new perspective
Sitting at the corner of my library, I have seen the world
Everyone of you have opened up to me
So that I could decipher the true meaning behind every words
Every picture registered in the canvas of my mind
I turned every page like an eager child
All of you have been my true companion
No matter the seasons and the year
I always looked at my collection with pride
Every one of you donning an interesting cover
From cover to cover, the pages sleeping in silence
Waiting for me to uncover with love, the way of the world
Every one of you had a different creator, who sacrificed you
It is such a sacrificial ritual for a writer, to reach out to readers like me
It pains them not, but is proud to depart with their possession
Filling you with all the tales and explanations of various themes
Through the centuries, books are a playing a vital role
It’s an art how you read them; read between the lines to decipher the true meaning
Now, I stand proudly in front of the shelves, which showcases my wealth
All of you are not part of a collection, but my friends forever…
Nat Lipstadt May 2013
Hello Poetry


Yearned.
Ached.
For so long, for a community,
That values the ineffable wonder
Of a wordsmith's creations, intended to
Repair himself and the world with bullets of
Verses.

And here you are.

Like/Dislike, matters not,
So long as we value each others work,
And the the heart echoes within
What the eyes read and the mouth whispers.

The array and disparity of your names,
A delight,
Each name a poem
In its own right.

So I resubmit a question for your consideration,
The answer is now known,
The answer is all of us.
May 2013
---------------------------------------------------------


­Who's Who In Poetry  



T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers, tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.

Each a troop,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.

All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to rabbled boors,
imagination suppressors!

World:

cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.

Poets!

Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.

With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with **** empathy!

For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.

When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
tastes his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
and becomes one who was,
yet is,
because of you,
in poetry.
---------------
Postscript (1/25/17)

Even more true today, than four years ago.
Thank You.
a revised, minor modestly different, version was published in Feb 2016 as
Orphans and Poets, Peddlers & Members https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1564122/orphans-and-poets-peddlers-members/


and then finally another different variant, more personal was published in
Aug 2016 as
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1734088/the-harpooner-of-the-unexamined-life


the harpooner of the unexamined life

"Be the harpooner of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody, comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders into crinkly eye-lined smilers."

writ many years past, just another dusted off phrasing,
composed from life's lecture notes, collected by eyes tired
from the hazing,
eyes wearied by the addict-strong,
incessant observational needing,
of celebrating the loopy,
they who make this planet
capable of laughing at itself,
a helping habit for mutual survival...

should you spot a man ungainly wrought,
weighted down by a harpoon cross
cursed  'pon his Cain-marked back,
you need not move to the other side,
'tis only a make-believe poet,
with his recording device,
seizing your rhapsodies to rhyme,
his collected artifacts, your crinkly smiles,
his meat, his metier, his chosen career,
a comfort caresser of your illusions into
a shapely sculpture of words for you to keep,
a token of your now examined worth,
a celebration for the keeping...
___________-

special thanks to those who rediscovered these poems recently and brought them back to me for refreshing cherishing these old word friends.
B Jun 2014
I was wired the wrong way
As a toddler my friends swallowed household chemicals
and their parents called poison control
but I swallowed lighter fluid when no one was looking
and ever since, I've been waiting for someone to strike a match on me
or I’ll strike one on them
My lover just smiles at me when the neighbors house burns down
I melt for him just like all their favorite possessions
I waved at them every day from my driveway
They thought I was saying "hello"
but I was warning them to check their smoke detectors
Never liked the color of their blinds anyway, I did them a favor
My heart is a cushion-cut diamond
I can't think of anything worse than being regular
Rather be the end of the world and maybe I will be

The night I told him I loved him and puked blood all over
his car door but he said he loved me too
sorry again
I'm not-so-living proof
men loves flames, boys love cheap sparklers
I carved our names into a wet bench in the forest
at 11:00PM and I got tangled in the tennis court net after
He loves untying knots in my heart anyway
I have a gun because other people use their heart as a weapon
Not all of us have that privilege
His parents raised a good one, I almost feel bad when it's
"Love me" this and "hold me" that
but he knows I’d give him the sun if he wanted it
He talks, I walk
katie Jun 2015
Father and son.
Both verbs when you abbreviate their names.
Share a last name of course.
Even a first letter.
One, the current homophobic governor of Mississippi.
The other, a happy interior designer of Austin.

I wish in my Mississippi public school I could teach,
That Shakespeare ain't got nothing on this kind of irony.
Rocky G Mar 2014
Heartless
Cold
Distant
Emotionless


These are just a handful of names used to desribe me

Heartless
Because I'm slow to compassion
I find compassion as something to be cherished
Rather than just given out to anyone

Cold
Because no one talks down to me
Snarky replies and a sharp tongue protect you
Hurt or get hurt

Distant
Because getting too close is dangerous
There's a line not to be crossed between two people
If crossed, your pain is all your fault

Emotionless
For being an introvert
I feel like you
But not as strongly
But it's there
I just don't want you to see
Because that's too up close and personal
And because of that
You say I'll never love, never be loved
And then you wonder why I don't believe in love
You obviously don't show it
But you like to think you do

I'm not like you, and that's not okay
I don't why, but it isn't
Get used to it
I don't care
Rocky Groves © Copyrighted 2014
Charlie Miles Mar 2011
When I was eighteen I worked for a company called GLENCOM. You probably haven't heard of them, you're not supposed to.
They're the invisible middleman.
What happens is, when a company wants to set up a call centre but doesn't have the space or the manpower to do it themselves, they call Glencom.
Glencom then puts together a team of people in Swindon,
teaches them the bare minimum about the product they need to sell and sticks them around a table with headphones on,
completely cut off from the people around them being force-fed phone numbers for eight straight hours a day.

They do this for dozens of companies. And there are dozens of companies just like it.
Producing nothing, just doing other peoples ***** work.
The jobs they don't want to do themselves.
Like Telemarketing. Cold-Calling.
You know when you've just got into the bath,
or you're sitting down to dinner and the phone rings and you think
'I don't want to answer that but it might be important'
and when you answer it it's someone you've never met desperately trying to sell you something you don't want?
And no matter what you say they don't seem to listen, or care,
they just keep reading standard procedure from a script until you can't take it any more and you just hang up?
Chances are, that person is a Glencom specialist telephone agent.

I loved that job, I really did.
You probably think I'm crazy for it, it's the kind of job that middle class kids do for a little extra cash while they're at university,
until they get sick of the soul-crushing routine of getting yelled at and hung up on, yelled at and hung up on and they stop showing up after six weeks.
Year after year, cold-calling is rated in the top ten things people hate about the modern world.
I was part of the problem.
And I loved it.

You see, when you get one of these phone calls, you don't realise that it's a real person on the other end of the phone.
Of course, you do know that it must be a person, that's common sense.
It's just not in your nature to think of that disembodied voice as having a face and a mind
and a favourite food .
and a family
and a history
and a home that they go to every night at seven thirty.
They're a spirit.
One-dimensional.
So you don't treat them like a real person,
and that's OK, really it is, we're used to it.
As far as you're concerned, whoever you're talking to is just a faceless corporation,
so you yell, and you swear,
way more than you would if you were face to face with someone, say, at your bank or in a shop.
Every little thing that has ****** you off that day gets unloaded onto that person because,
for those five minutes,
with your bath getting cold,
or your dinner getting overcooked and blackened,
they are everything that's wrong with society.

So by the time you finally slam the receiver down, and return to whatever it was you were doing,
you're face red, out of breath, can't remember the last time you were that angry
they've ruined your evening.
You swear you're going to complain,
but you know that if you do that you'll just get caught up in their red tape and rhetoric all over again.
There's nothing to do but let it go.
So you do, and with it, something strange happens.
All that anger and tension that you've been carrying around all day just leaves your body slowly.

The traffic that morning;
your workload at the office;
that cold you just cant shake;
the barista who got your coffee order wrong, but your were running late so didn't have time to complain and get a new one;

All those little things that you can't control,
it doesn't seem worth worrying about them now.
You think of how angry you were at that little voice coming out of the telephone speaker and you feel sort of proud,
like it makes up for bending over and taking **** from your Boss all those years.
from your bank all those years
from the gas and electric companies
and your phone company and internet service provider all those years
from your politicians all those years
all that doesn't sting so much any more.

Because you just stuck it to the man.
You stood up to the big corporations and you got the upper hand.
You start to see the funny side,
you'll tell everyone at work about this.

That's the thing about telemarketers: They're one of those little annoyances that people love so much,
like the weather or queue-jumpers.
Something we all hate, but can all relate to,
a lynch-pin of small-talk,
that inoffensive comedian you like so much was talking about it on tv the other night.

But this time you get a chance to stri ke back.
It's not like getting a parking ticket,
or stubbing your toe,
you get to yell at this inconvenience, tell it exactly how you feel without any fear of repercussions.

Without you realising it, that telemarketer has just done you a valuable service.
You've just saved yourself an hour in front of a punch-bag,
or a session with your therapist or *****.
Without knowing it you are in a better mood than you've been all week,
so you don't smack your kids when they spill paint on the carpet.
And you don't yell at your wife when she forgot to pay the electric bill.
You float on a cloud of air until bed time, and probably make love to your partner for the first time in weeks.
You sleep a healthy eight hours and wake up to breakfast  and coffee and drive to work feeling like you did when you first started there,
when you could still see a bright future ahead of you.
All thanks to that soulless,
faceless,
nameless
disembodied voice on the other end of the phone.
All thanks to me.

I worked out that in any given day,
I got yelled at or told to ******* or otherwise unnecessarily lashed out at maybe thirty out of every hundred calls.
That was thirty families who were going to have a nice dinner,
without the usual arguments for once.
Maybe a few times a week I could prevent an abusive husband from having that one whiskey too many and bashing his wife from room to room.
If you believe in a butterfly flapping it's wings in Tokyo, and all that,
then maybe I, without ever leaving my desk, could stop a ****** from happening, perhaps once a year.
I was making a difference and all I had to do was let my computer dial a random phone number and to introduce myself as
'whoever calling from wherever to let you know about a valuable promotion...'

When I realised all this I decided I would work harder to up my productivity.
A hundred and fifty calls a day,
two hundred.

And I had to provoke more anger.
Subtly of course, I would try to be more obnoxious and inept.
I got peoples names wrong;
I talked over people.
Soon I was getting fifty hang-ups a day.
So I, like a good employee, constantly tried to better myself.
I sniggered at peoples names;
I requested needlessly extensive and intrusive personal information;
asked to speak to 'the man of the house'.
I was getting balled out with every other call.
Seventy, eighty, ninety times a day.
Every time I was called a nuisance I gave myself a pat on the back.
Every time someone said they wanted to speak with my supervisor, I just said they weren't in and then rewarded myself with a cookie at break time.
I got more competitive with myself.
I considered it a personal gift when I got someone with an Indian name,
or a speech impediment.
Gay couples were a Godsend.
I corrected peoples grammar;
I cursed;
I slurred;
I made thinly veiled ****** references.

I was thorn in the side of everyone just trying to enjoy a quiet Sunday afternoon.
I was the itch that no-one could reach.
I invited venom, longed for hatred.
Because if it was aimed at me, it may as well have been aimed at the moon.
I was a necessary evil.
I was the common enemy of the whole country.  
I can't say how many relationships I must have saved,
how many lives I touched.
Suicides prevented? You never know.
I was making the world a better place, one botched customer service attempt at a time.
I was saving people without them even knowing my name.
The anonymous benefactor,
the masked hero.
I was Zorro, I was Batman.
And I loved it.
I thrived on it.
I had found something I was good at.
I could have stayed there, soaking up insults, absorbing peoples troubles, lightening their burdens, forever.

Until three months ago when my manager saw my sales reports.
He, of course, didn't understand why we were really there.
He thought it was about money, about generating figures for whatever company we were hired by that month.
He threw buzz-words and management speak at me.
Improving Revenue.
Optimising Productivity.
Promoting Synergy.
Utilising Opportunity.
Sentence fragments that wouldn't make sense if he meant them.
Nonsensical ramblings littered with capital letters.
By Glencom's standards, rather than my own, I was the worst specialist telephone agent that he had ever seen.
I didn't bother trying to explain.
He wouldn't have understood,
I wanted something real.
Glencom could have been the first call centre to truly,
what's the phrase he would have used? Attain it's Potential.
We could have been pioneers in the business world, providing a service that the public really needs.
But there was no point, he had listened to recordings of my calls and had no choice but to fire me on the spot.

That job was the only thing I had loved for a long, long time. T
he only thing that gave me purpose,
my reason for getting out of bed,
for putting on trousers and shoes.
It was all I had and I lost it,
blacklisted by the employment agency that placed me there.
For a while I tried calling people at random from the phone book but it didn't work out.
You have no idea how much it costs to make a hundred phone calls a day on a pay as you go mobile.
Ten pence a minute
times by sixty minutes an hour
times by eight hours a day  
minus a half hour for lunch equals more than jobseeker's allowance is willing to provide.
I switched to contract but these days everyone has phone number recognition,
so everyone can see that you're calling from a personal phone rather than a business one.

Eventually I started getting phone calls from the phone company explaining that I'd be cut off
and fined if I was using a personal phone for random telemarketing without a license.

The operator was clear, polite and ultimately very helpful.

******' Amateur.
Oh , to have you tell me you love me,
I just feel so complete...
The ways you have always expressed
your love for me, just amazes me...
Even when I wasn't quite sure
of how I was yet, feeling for you,
you hung onto your growing love for me...
And now look where that has taken us...
We're wanting to be together, for always...
Oh, the love and friendship, we will always share...
I'm falling, so deeply, in love with you!!!
I desperately want to meet you, fall into your arms,
feel your lips upon mine, be wrapped in your arms,
for always, and never let me go....
I want to be by your side...
I have dreams, wants, desires, needs, and hopes
of our life together, too…
I want to look into your eyes, and know I'm with My Soulmate~
I want us to feel as if we can express
our new-growing love, for one another, openly...
I want to breeze over the land with you
in a hot-air balloon one day, just for two...
draw our names in sand....
climb a tree...
take a walk with you in the rain...
kiss you in the full sunshine...
make love to you outside- during a thunderstorm...
walk through a forest with you...
run through a field of daisy's...
stroll through a rose garden,
stopping to smell each and every rose...
hold your hand as we grow old together...
and all this with you by my side!!!
My arms ache to hold you;
your chest against my , full body to body, toe to toe....
I already feel so close to you,
but I want you to physically hold me in your arms,
feel your ****** hair tickle my cheek,
run my hand through the back of your hair
and pull you even yet closer to me,
as we devour each and every kiss we experience…
I believe, too, that I've never
truly had one in my heart... As I do now with you!!!
I can't remember ever feeling this
complete of a bond with someone...
I'm glad I have been able to make you smile,
bring you happiness, warm your heart with my love,
create a stir within your tummy of desire...
I want to see how much our love blooms,
and blossoms, throughout the rest of our lives together...
And grows into such a deep bonding love,
that we'll never part...
I'm so filled with happiness knowing how much you love me,
want me, need me, care for me...
You truly are the love of my life...
My Prince Charming, My Knight in Shining Armor,
The One who has captured my heart,
My Prince who will take me off to our castle
where we'll live for always,
just as in the fairy tales, but with us,
Baby, this is real life dreams of mine...
I wait for the day, I can become your wife...

2008

COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
227

Teach Him—When He makes the names—
Such an one—to say—
On his babbling—Berry—lips—
As should sound—to me—
Were my Ear—as near his nest—
As my thought—today—
As should sound—
“Forbid us not”—
Some like “Emily.”
Eric Angels Jun 2019
I am fallen, cast out and freezing

Surrounded by dark space and black holes neither I nor light can escape

Trauma, depression...regrets my new normal.

I try to cry, but these tears, as quickly as they drip, dry.

I hate being nostalgic, for the nostalgia causing memories are like the dirt suspended in the air I breathe... sickening, and only serve to trigger my asthma.

You were the reason I used to feel alive,
The one thing that motivated me to breath in and to breath out

I still remember how we used to sit outside, or at times lay on the green fields, soul naked staring at the star lit sky.

   How time used to have no meaning,
I mean, we would stay up all night, with hopes of seeing a shooting star, only to wish for another shooting star, when we saw one, so that we never run out of wishes.

How you'd point at the constellations, and how you never stopped naming them: Orion, Aquila, Scutum, Ophiuchus, Serpens, Lupus...saying out their names with the same passion you used to say my name, to say I LOVE YOU.

     Our love burnt with such remarkable desire, a fervent only depicted in soaps.

  Her lips were beautiful,
Her words sweet, soft spoken and warm.
Her eyes shy,
Her dimples deep
And her skin dark and smooth like the water pebbles.

We fell in love fast
We lived carefree, with no regards to rules or consequences, for we were young and "ride or die" our brag.

But we also fell apart fast.
We, who were each others angel dust, were left at the mercies of strong unseen forces...like desert sand in the awakening of a sandstorm.

Maybe it was because of the words left untold, the apologies that went unspoken...the sweet pride that turned too bitter to swallow... maybe, it was all of the above.
However invisible, their impacts very tangible.

It's funny, how we who were inseparable, now eye each other like strangers.

Our paths appear cursed, with no hope of ever crossing,
And just like the polar bears and penguins,
We see the world from opposite ends.

You used to fill my world with colours: bright and attractive.
But when you stepped out, darkness hurriedly stepped in, and engulfed everything I held sacred.

My life remains without light, however faint, like the heart of a night on a new moon.

I should accept defeat, turn the other cheek for a second slap but,
I have come to understand that even the dull colours are bright to a blind painter.

So I will love you,
When you are far or near,
When you are a foe or the one who's dear,
For we may fight, fall and rise with the tide,
Bend or sometimes, even break,
But I will never give up on you.
You are my silver lining...
And I believe just like the phoenix, ashes are our birthplace.

So no matter how much you hide, I will always seek you like the morning does the sun
And no matter how far you are, I will always be waiting for you, patiently, like the wolf does the full moon
       I will never give up on you,
For I still believe our love, will once again be seen, like the sun at noon.
Truth.
Gonz and Roses Oct 2011
Sweet rejection a simple pinch and slap in the face.
Drunken splendor  and a ***** floor.
Some woman I dont care to know why do I always
find myself in this ****** up place.

Puff Puff Pass.
Wild Turkey loud music im such a happy sleeze
with not a hint of class.
Lean of over the bar my dear you fill my thought's and i your glass.


I walked when I was ten.
Runaway in New Orleans dont belive I could do that one again
Two packs a day and a shakey hand.
Midnight drives strippers in arm bar's
with floor's of sand.

Im not ment for long but sugar im here now.
Drinkin till I die fields of my past been burried
long ago under plow.

Dance in happiness die without regret.
My friends names tattoo my thoughts.
Richard ,Rach,Baths,Lily,Paula how can I ever forget.

******* up perfection is I.
A perfect losser who could care less.
How could you ever shed a tear when I die?

Rearview babydoll backseat queen.
Stay crazy in this cold place.
Skeeter do you still dream in your beauty so tormented
and obscene.

Where all perfect for are flaws.
Barstool will be forever empty.
Im tried but always eager to fall down for a
half naked body or a fellow lunatics cause.

Gonzo do ya know how they see ya outside thoose glasses
so dark.
The partys jester  spirt of a eternal teen.
Empty cans hold court by the lake of lovers lane
where still they park.

Richard a bottle  and friendship forever i'll share.
Insane is a buddy but never worry.
Cause even a falldown drunk does care.

So sad is the fading light bitter the moment.
But perfect isthe ****** up song though.
Kids dont let em break ya you stay crazy.

And I'll forever be Gonzo.
They live as a clan in the stone fortress
Barricading themselves from diversity in humanity,
They accumulate all manner of weaponry for strong reasonlessness,
They primitively accumulate arrows, Swords, simis or pangas,
Machetes, clubs, trunctheons and poisonous harpoons,
In full tribal and ethnic neurosis of amok level hatred,
Their behavioral fibres finely tuned towards killing massively
All those of different clan, blood, names and tribal earlobe tattoos
On their misfortunate happenstance of crossing the land
Of collective paranoia; where all but strangely doubts a visitor,
From inside their tribal cocoon they hate without knowledge
They detest all those of alien confession, they hate and doubt,
In stupid fear they believe that sons of foreign land are jeopardy,
We must **** them ere they step on our ethnic comfort.

Your paranoia makes you blind to natural truth
Barely open in the diversity of fauna and flora
On both land and oceans, air and below the earth,
For the bird extant are all but varied; eagles and kites,
Wild beasts are only a myriad of differences,
The trees in your mother’s woodlot are not homogenous,
Life in the seas and oceans is strange variation,
The variation which makes life worth its worthiness,
Rise above the folly in your collective paranoia
Pedestalled  on the neurotic fear of human diversity.
I must have missed the memo
Lost the note or dropped a call
I don't remember when you said it
I don't remember it at all

You said it was important
I knew that this was true
I just could not quite remember
The bride to be was you

I knew I had to be there
I vaguely knew we booked a room
But, if I didn't know the first part
Then I sure wasn't the groom

I must have missed the memo
Lost the note or dropped a call
I don't remember when you said it
I don't remember it at all

I knew we'd seen the doctor
Can't remember just what for
I didn't know you'd had the baby
Until you both came through the door

I was sure I would remember
The second time the baby came
I even went to down to the doctor
but, could not quite get your name

I must have missed the memo
Lost the note or dropped a call
I don't remember when you said it
I don't remember it at all

Two kids, and I had missed them
Que Sera, what will be will be
But, I sure do not remember
When you popped out number three

As time went by so quickly
I missed birthdays and some games
But, I always knew the children
Had completely different names

I must have missed the memo
Lost the note or dropped a call
I don't remember when you said it
I don't remember it at all

They've grown, the house is empty
There is only you and me
I remember when it bustled
With two kids...oh, sorry ...three

I came home the house was empty
Just the tv and a chair
I knew something must be missing
I didn't know what wasn't there

I know you'll tell me things tomorrow
Things I should have done today
But, I just can't help but wonder
why is all our stuff away?
Just Melz Jan 2015
Too many times
I've been pushed aside
     On the back burner
My whole **** life
         But I wanna be the fire
   That lights your soul
I want a raging, blazing
         Inferno
      Sparking flames
Making changes
        In the chemistry
   A little oxygen
       So I can breathe
A lot of hydrogen
     So you can believe
We're floating on air
        Particles you can't see
      Like love
It's a mystery
            A theory
   Of who's meant to be
And who's left suffering
         That's destiny
     I'm creating
Breaking
     Changing the flames
   Into ashes
And graves
      With no names
Just broken hearts
          On tombstones
     And no chance
*To restart

— The End —