Cracking my thumb with headphones on, I can just picture the eye of diagonal lady flitting in my direction curiously and gone, that's all. Kid with Red-Wing hat and Beats by Dr. Dre sits across from me *** there's nowhere left to sit, poor kid. Doesn't know me. Manifests that social anxiety for age-the-sames-or-similars. He's texting, avoids eye contact, not that I'm looking, nope nu uh not that I'm looking. Lady with flashing visi-light walks on bus as half-hedge is lit half-hedge is dark silhouette, bus lights. It's dark and rainy. Windows pretty fogged and bogged in dirt and smog and oh my God I feel the song it's verses on it's verses long it's words so vertical!
Redwing looks a little nerved, blanked, searching for saliva salvation in his Beats by Dr. Dre
texts again, I looked uh huh I looked I did this time I looked.

Bus bumps corner cruuuisin', aren't we a speedy bunch?
Cracked my thumb again old man diagonal looks I'm sorry. I'm sorry too. Girl with blonde streaks could be years old could be decades, probably a decade .7, getting off bus behind former diagonal lady, she'll forget my thumb you'll see. Miss her. No sir. Redwing sees me see him turns to look to stop request, uh he didn't look he didn't he's gone, sitting in seat ahead now, Redwing hat cooped in Beats by Dr. Dre, red Van shoes poking out till friend apparitions seat next to him, hi! Redwing takes off Redwing hat and chats apparition, turns hat back wards, forwards, nerved I bet, nerved I can tell don't pretend oh you're fine!

Stops coming so bye I'll talk to you later

special thanks to my parents for making all this possible.

Devised by Cosmic Boss
Sourced by parents
Aided by obstetrician
Nursed by pediatrician
Nurtured by nutritionist
Counseled by sexologist
Treated by orthopedist
Stressed by physiotherapist
Directed by dietician
Nudged by nephrologist
Nerved by neurologist    
Contained by cardiologist
Consoled by psychologist
Interspersed by dentist,
Sighted by ophthalmist
Conditioned by physiology
Terminated by mortuary
The inexorable Lifeline Express
Of hospitalized hospitality

Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.


Think how it wakes the seeds, -
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved, - still warm, - too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?

Thus the Trojans in the city, scared like fawns, wiped the sweat
from off them and drank to quench their thirst, leaning against the
goodly battlements, while the Achaeans with their shields laid upon
their shoulders drew close up to the walls. But stern fate bade Hector
stay where he was before Ilius and the Scaean gates. Then Phoebus
Apollo spoke to the son of Peleus saying, “Why, son of Peleus, do you,
who are but man, give chase to me who am immortal? Have you not yet
found out that it is a god whom you pursue so furiously? You did not
harass the Trojans whom you had routed, and now they are within
their walls, while you have been decoyed hither away from them. Me you
cannot ****, for death can take no hold upon me.”
  Achilles was greatly angered and said, “You have baulked me,
Far-Darter, most malicious of all gods, and have drawn me away from
the wall, where many another man would have bitten the dust ere he got
within Ilius; you have robbed me of great glory and have saved the
Trojans at no risk to yourself, for you have nothing to fear, but I
would indeed have my revenge if it were in my power to do so.”
  On this, with fell intent he made towards the city, and as the
winning horse in a chariot race strains every nerve when he is
flying over the plain, even so fast and furiously did the limbs of
Achilles bear him onwards. King Priam was first to note him as he
scoured the plain, all radiant as the star which men call Orion’s
Hound, and whose beams blaze forth in time of harvest more brilliantly
than those of any other that shines by night; brightest of them all
though he be, he yet bodes ill for mortals, for he brings fire and
fever in his train—even so did Achilles’ armour gleam on his breast
as he sped onwards. Priam raised a cry and beat his head with his
hands as he lifted them up and shouted out to his dear son,
imploring him to return; but Hector still stayed before the gates, for
his heart was set upon doing battle with Achilles. The old man reached
out his arms towards him and bade him for pity’s sake come within
the walls. “Hector,” he cried, “my son, stay not to face this man
alone and unsupported, or you will meet death at the hands of the
son of Peleus, for he is mightier than you. Monster that he is;
would indeed that the gods loved him no better than I do, for so, dogs
and vultures would soon devour him as he lay stretched on earth, and a
load of grief would be lifted from my heart, for many a brave son
has he reft from me, either by killing them or selling them away in
the islands that are beyond the sea: even now I miss two sons from
among the Trojans who have thronged within the city, Lycaon and
Polydorus, whom Laothoe peeress among women bore me. Should they be
still alive and in the hands of the Achaeans, we will ransom them with
gold and bronze, of which we have store, for the old man Altes endowed
his daughter richly; but if they are already dead and in the house
of Hades, sorrow will it be to us two who were their parents; albeit
the grief of others will be more short-lived unless you too perish
at the hands of Achilles. Come, then, my son, within the city, to be
the guardian of Trojan men and Trojan women, or you will both lose
your own life and afford a mighty triumph to the son of Peleus. Have
pity also on your unhappy father while life yet remains to him—on me,
whom the son of Saturn will destroy by a terrible doom on the
threshold of old age, after I have seen my sons slain and my daughters
haled away as captives, my bridal chambers pillaged, little children
dashed to earth amid the rage of battle, and my sons’ wives dragged
away by the cruel hands of the Achaeans; in the end fierce hounds will
tear me in pieces at my own gates after some one has beaten the life
out of my body with sword or spear-hounds that I myself reared and fed
at my own table to guard my gates, but who will yet lap my blood and
then lie all distraught at my doors. When a young man falls by the
sword in battle, he may lie where he is and there is nothing unseemly;
let what will be seen, all is honourable in death, but when an old man
is slain there is nothing in this world more pitiable than that dogs
should defile his grey hair and beard and all that men hide for
shame.”
  The old man tore his grey hair as he spoke, but he moved not the
heart of Hector. His mother hard by wept and moaned aloud as she bared
her ***** and pointed to the breast which had suckled him. “Hector,”
she cried, weeping bitterly the while, “Hector, my son, spurn not this
breast, but have pity upon me too: if I have ever given you comfort
from my own *****, think on it now, dear son, and come within the wall
to protect us from this man; stand not without to meet him. Should the
wretch **** you, neither I nor your richly dowered wife shall ever
weep, dear offshoot of myself, over the bed on which you lie, for dogs
will devour you at the ships of the Achaeans.”
  Thus did the two with many tears implore their son, but they moved
not the heart of Hector, and he stood his ground awaiting huge
Achilles as he drew nearer towards him. As serpent in its den upon the
mountains, full fed with deadly poisons, waits for the approach of
man—he is filled with fury and his eyes glare terribly as he goes
writhing round his den—even so Hector leaned his shield against a
tower that jutted out from the wall and stood where he was, undaunted.
  “Alas,” said he to himself in the heaviness of his heart, “if I go
within the gates, Polydamas will be the first to heap reproach upon
me, for it was he that urged me to lead the Trojans back to the city
on that awful night when Achilles again came forth against us. I would
not listen, but it would have been indeed better if I had done so. Now
that my folly has destroyed the host, I dare not look Trojan men and
Trojan women in the face, lest a worse man should say, ‘Hector has
ruined us by his self-confidence.’ Surely it would be better for me to
return after having fought Achilles and slain him, or to die
gloriously here before the city. What, again, if were to lay down my
shield and helmet, lean my spear against the wall and go straight up
to noble Achilles? What if I were to promise to give up Helen, who was
the fountainhead of all this war, and all the treasure that Alexandrus
brought with him in his ships to Troy, aye, and to let the Achaeans
divide the half of everything that the city contains among themselves?
I might make the Trojans, by the mouths of their princes, take a
solemn oath that they would hide nothing, but would divide into two
shares all that is within the city—but why argue with myself in
this way? Were I to go up to him he would show me no kind of mercy; he
would **** me then and there as easily as though I were a woman,
when I had off my armour. There is no parleying with him from some
rock or oak tree as young men and maidens prattle with one another.
Better fight him at once, and learn to which of us Jove will vouchsafe
victory.”
  Thus did he stand and ponder, but Achilles came up to him as it were
Mars himself, plumed lord of battle. From his right shoulder he
brandished his terrible spear of Pelian ash, and the bronze gleamed
around him like flashing fire or the rays of the rising sun. Fear fell
upon Hector as he beheld him, and he dared not stay longer where he
was but fled in dismay from before the gates, while Achilles darted
after him at his utmost speed. As a mountain falcon, swiftest of all
birds, swoops down upon some cowering dove—the dove flies before
him but the falcon with a shrill scream follows close after,
resolved to have her—even so did Achilles make straight for Hector
with all his might, while Hector fled under the Trojan wall as fast as
his limbs could take him.
  On they flew along the waggon-road that ran hard by under the
wall, past the lookout station, and past the weather-beaten wild
fig-tree, till they came to two fair springs which feed the river
Scamander. One of these two springs is warm, and steam rises from it
as smoke from a burning fire, but the other even in summer is as
cold as hail or snow, or the ice that forms on water. Here, hard by
the springs, are the goodly washing-troughs of stone, where in the
time of peace before the coming of the Achaeans the wives and fair
daughters of the Trojans used to wash their clothes. Past these did
they fly, the one in front and the other giving ha. behind him: good
was the man that fled, but better far was he that followed after,
and swiftly indeed did they run, for the prize was no mere beast for
sacrifice or bullock’s hide, as it might be for a common foot-race,
but they ran for the life of Hector. As horses in a chariot race speed
round the turning-posts when they are running for some great prize-
a tripod or woman—at the games in honour of some dead hero, so did
these two run full speed three times round the city of Priam. All
the gods watched them, and the sire of gods and men was the first to
speak.
  “Alas,” said he, “my eyes behold a man who is dear to me being
pursued round the walls of Troy; my heart is full of pity for
Hector, who has burned the thigh-bones of many a heifer in my
honour, at one while on the of many-valleyed Ida, and again on the
citadel of Troy; and now I see noble Achilles in full pursuit of him
round the city of Priam. What say you? Consider among yourselves and
decide whether we shall now save him or let him fall, valiant though
he be, before Achilles, son of Peleus.”
  Then Minerva said, “Father, wielder of the lightning, lord of
cloud and storm, what mean you? Would you pluck this mortal whose doom
has long been decreed out of the jaws of death? Do as you will, but we
others shall not be of a mind with you.”
  And Jove answered, “My child, Trito-born, take heart. I did not
speak in full earnest, and I will let you have your way. Do without
let or hindrance as you are minded.”
  Thus did he urge Minerva who was already eager, and down she
darted from the topmost summits of Olympus.
  Achilles was still in full pursuit of Hector, as a hound chasing a
fawn which he has started from its covert on the mountains, and
hunts through glade and thicket. The fawn may try to elude him by
crouching under cover of a bush, but he will scent her out and
follow her up until he gets her—even so there was no escape for
Hector from the fleet son of Peleus. Whenever he made a set to get
near the Dardanian gates and under the walls, that his people might
help him by showering down weapons from above, Achilles would gain
on him and head him back towards the plain, keeping himself always
on the city side. As a man in a dream who fails to lay hands upon
another whom he is pursuing—the one cannot escape nor the other
overtake—even so neither could Achilles come up with Hector, nor
Hector break away from Achilles; nevertheless he might even yet have
escaped death had not the time come when Apollo, who thus far had
sustained his strength and nerved his running, was now no longer to
stay by him. Achilles made signs to the Achaean host, and shook his
head to show that no man was to aim a dart at Hector, lest another
might win the glory of having hit him and he might himself come in
second. Then, at last, as they were nearing the fountains for the
fourth time, the father of all balanced his golden scales and placed a
doom in each of them, one for Achilles and the other for Hector. As he
held the scales by the middle, the doom of Hector fell down deep
into the house of Hades—and then Phoebus Apollo left him. Thereon
Minerva went close up to the son of Peleus and said, “Noble
Achilles, favoured of heaven, we two shall surely take back to the
ships a triumph for the Achaeans by slaying Hector, for all his lust
of battle. Do what Apollo may as he lies grovelling before his father,
aegis-bearing Jove, Hector cannot escape us longer. Stay here and take
breath, while I go up to him and persuade him to make a stand and
fight you.”
  Thus spoke Minerva. Achilles obeyed her gladly, and stood still,
leaning on his bronze-pointed ashen spear, while Minerva left him
and went after Hector in the form and with the voice of Deiphobus. She
came close up to him and said, “Dear brother, I see you are hard
pressed by Achilles who is chasing you at full speed round the city of
Priam, let us await his onset and stand on our defence.”
  And Hector answered, “Deiphobus, you have always been dearest to
me of all my brothers, children of Hecuba and Priam, but henceforth
I shall rate you yet more highly, inasmuch as you have ventured
outside the wall for my sake when all the others remain inside.”
  Then Minerva said, “Dear brother, my father and mother went down
on their knees and implored me, as did all my comrades, to remain
inside, so great a fear has fallen upon them all; but I was in an
agony of grief when I beheld you; now, therefore, let us two make a
stand and fight, and let there be no keeping our spears in reserve,
that we may learn whether Achilles shall **** us and bear off our
spoils to the ships, or whether he shall fall before you.”
  Thus did Minerva inveigle him by her cunning, and when the two
were now close to one another great Hector was first to speak. “I
will-no longer fly you, son of Peleus,” said he, “as I have been doing
hitherto. Three times have I fled round the mighty city of Priam,
without daring to withstand you, but now, let me either slay or be
slain, for I am in the mind to face you. Let us, then, give pledges to
one another by our gods, who are the fittest witnesses and guardians
of all covenants; let it be agreed between us that if Jove
vouchsafes me the longer stay and I take your life, I am not to
treat your dead body in any unseemly fashion, but when I have stripped
you of your armour, I am to give up your body to the Achaeans. And
do you likewise.”
  Achilles glared at him and answered, “Fool, prate not to me about
covenants. There can be no covenants between men and lions, wolves and
lambs can never be of one mind, but hate each other out and out an
through. Therefore there can be no understanding between you and me,
nor may there be any covenants between us, till one or other shall
fall and glut grim Mars with his life’s blood. Put forth all your
strength; you have need now to prove yourself indeed a bold soldier
and man of war. You have no more chance, and Pallas Minerva will
forthwith vanquish you by my spear: you shall now pay me in full for
the grief you have caused me on account of my comrades whom you have
killed in battle.”
  He poised his spear as he spoke and hurled it. Hector saw it
coming and avoided it; he watched it and crouched down so that it flew
over his head and stuck in the ground beyond; Minerva then snatched it
up and gave it back to Achilles without Hector’s seeing her; Hector
thereon said to the son of Peleus, “You have missed your aim,
Achilles, peer of the gods, and Jove has not yet revealed to you the
hour of my doom, though you made sure that he had done so. You were
a false-tongued liar when you deemed that I should forget my valour
and quail before you. You shall not drive spear into the back of a
runaway—drive it, should heaven so grant you power, drive it into
me as I make straight towards you; and now for your own part avoid
my spear if you can—would that you might receive the whole of it into
your body; if you were once dead the Trojans would find the war an
easier matter, for it is you who have harmed them most.”
  He poised his spear as he spoke and hurled it. His aim was true
for he hit the middle of Achilles’ shield, but the spear rebounded
from it, and did not pierce it. Hector was angry when he saw that
the weapon had sped from his hand in vain, and stood there in dismay
for he had no second spear. With a loud cry he called Diphobus and
asked him for one, but there was no man; then he saw the truth and
said to himself, “Alas! the gods have lured me on to my destruction. I
deemed that the hero Deiphobus was by my side, but he is within the
wall, and Minerva has inveigled me; death is now indeed exceedingly
near at hand and there is no way out of it—for so Jove and his son
Apollo the far-darter have willed it, though heretofore th

Time went by as it's wont to do
It passed by without a trace
But, as the years transpired
He could not forget her face
He met her in the park one night
An offer from her lips
She could make his whole night special
She would use her woman's hips
She burned a mark onto his heart
A face he'd not forget
But, he sent her on her way again
Like others that he'd met
A ticket back to Georgia
To the home from where she came
He declined all of her offers
He didn't even know her name
Since then he'd had more offers
Fed more girls and brought them home
Many left before redemption
They would rather fight alone
But, she...somehow remembered
Not for her actions left undone
But, for the fact she took his offer
Left before they saw the sun
He never knew how long she'd
Been residing in the night
Never knew just what her reason
For leaving home and taking flight
To him she was a question
Left unanswered to this day
Did she use the one bus ticket ?
Did she venture on her way ?
He took her to the station
Left her waiting by herself
Never saw her board the Greyhound
No luggage for the shelf
He'd been back to the town park
Hadn't seen her since that night
Not that he'd been looking
For he knew he'd set her right
But, without proof of her leaving
The question gnawed at his insides
Did she take the chance he gave her?
Did she board the bus and ride ?
He was often at the diner
Eating meals with those he picked
Those he felt would take his offer
would try to heal the wounds he nicked
He'd get them all to open up
A mental knife slice to their brains
Make them see that they were worthy
Try to release them from their pain
Some would go and some would not
Still, he would venture back
To the park so full of vices
Where so many were off track
One day while he was waiting
For his dinner to be served
He saw across the table
A face that left him quite un-nerved
He swore he'd seen the girl child
The one whose name he did not know
She was in the diner with another
Inside, protected from the snow
He caught a glance, and that was all
He looked again, she was not there
He looked around the diner
Where she went he knew not where
He really wasn't certain,
If it was her he saw that night
But, it raised that certain question
Or was it just a trick of light
Did she go home back to Georgia?
Or was she still there in the park?
Was she at home with her parents?
Or was she hooking after dark?
I guess he'll never know the answer
Nor, will we without much fuss
Is she still waiting for redemption?
Did she get upon the bus ?.....

She stands as pale as Parian statues stand;
    Like Cleopatra when she turned at bay,
    And felt her strength above the Roman sway,
And felt the aspic writhing in her hand.
Her face is steadfast toward the shadowy land,
    For dim beyond it looms the light of day;
    Her feet are steadfast; all the arduous way
That foot-track hath not wavered on the sand.
She stands there like a beacon thro' the night,
    A pale clear beacon where the storm-drift is;
She stands alone, a wonder deathly white;
She stands there patient, nerved with inner might,
    Indomitable in her feebleness,
Her face and will athirst against the light.

Genau, enow, enough

after the confusion,

we all could make a sound, okeh,
yeah
and we still

knew a shaken head or hand or fist
had meaning beyond words and noise

my words, their noise, barbarians all, but my
loved ones, still,
my nana Even , none could say a meaningful word

Ah, papa Eber, eber he be waving sayin'

Shhhhlome. wow. a word, I was

re connected re tied re ligamented re tendoned
re nerved re *****
re bled
re breathed
inspire me, expire me, think me immaterial, no mattah

nomattatall we stick together, gone bealright

begrudge me not a bit o'livit ity, a st-utter here'n'there

words, in wars, we always win. We are war's
raison d'etre, as they say, its
rational grounds for existence, its
excuse for being.
words are the instigators, provocateurs

no wordless insult results in war,
words are needed,
otherwise

fugitabowdit, how long? Seven times? 490 times?

no,

once, each time, no more.
enoughs the evil enoughs enow.

the weapons of our warfare, how can I say,
watch

we see salient leapers trampling the vintage, seeping
from the heel wound in the beguiler's head.
That's results.

Angels sing and dance, they never tremble in the night,
the hope we never lost,
we just forgot, they remember as if it were the same,
yes, today, forever
they whisper,
go on,
there's more to living than meets the eye.

enough has always had a plural, ask Sam Johnson.

A gloom night looms, inside her sweet dark tresses,
No one thing survives the trippy nerved crevices,
No one knows what shadowed secrets, she suppresses.

Spring winds that blow
As over leagues of myrtle-blooms and may;
Bevies of spring clouds trooping slow,
Like matrons heavy bosomed and aglow
With the mild and placid pride of increase!  Nay,
What makes this insolent and comely stream
Of appetence, this freshet of desire
(Milk from the wild ******* of the wilful Day!),
Down Piccadilly dance and murmur and gleam
In genial wave on wave and gyre on gyre?
Why does that nymph unparalleled splash and churn
The wealth of her enchanted urn
Till, over-billowing all between
Her cheerful margents, grey and living green,
It floats and wanders, glittering and fleeing,
An estuary of the joy of being?
Why should the lovely leafage of the Park
Touch to an ecstasy the act of seeing?
- Sure, sure my paramour, my Bride of Brides,
Lingering and flushed, mysteriously abides
In some dim, eye-proof angle of odorous dark,
Some smiling nook of green-and-golden shade,
In the divine conviction robed and crowned
The globe fulfils his immemorial round
But as the marrying-place of all things made!

There is no man, this deifying day,
But feels the primal blessing in his blood.
There is no woman but disdains--
The sacred impulse of the May
Brightening like *** made sunshine through her veins--
To vail the ensigns of her womanhood.
None but, rejoicing, flaunts them as she goes,
Bounteous in looks of her delicious best,
On her inviolable quest:
These with their hopes, with their sweet secrets those,
But all desirable and frankly fair,
As each were keeping some most prosperous tryst,
And in the knowledge went imparadised!
For look! a magical influence everywhere,
Look how the liberal and transfiguring air
Washes this inn of memorable meetings,
This centre of ravishments and gracious greetings,
Till, through its jocund loveliness of length
A tidal-race of lust from shore to shore,
A brimming reach of beauty met with strength,
It shines and sounds like some miraculous dream,
Some vision multitudinous and agleam,
Of happiness as it shall be evermore!

Praise God for giving
Through this His messenger among the days
His word the life He gave is thrice-worth living!
For Pan, the bountiful, imperious Pan--
Not dead, not dead, as impotent dreamers feigned,
But the gay genius of a million Mays
Renewing his beneficent endeavour!--
Still reigns and triumphs, as he hath triumphed and reigned
Since in the dim blue dawn of time
The universal ebb-and-flow began,
To sound his ancient music, and prevails,
By the persuasion of his mighty rhyme,
Here in this radiant and immortal street
Lavishly and omnipotently as ever
In the open hills, the undissembling dales,
The laughing-places of the juvenile earth.
For lo! the wills of man and woman meet,
Meet and are moved, each unto each endeared,
As once in Eden's prodigal bowers befell,
To share his shameless, elemental mirth
In one great act of faith:  while deep and strong,
Incomparably nerved and cheered,
The enormous heart of London joys to beat
To the measures of his rough, majestic song;
The lewd, perennial, overmastering spell
That keeps the rolling universe ensphered,
And life, and all for which life lives to long,
Wanton and wondrous and for ever well.

It’s come to this
Metaphorically speaking
I need it
I need the playground to become a calm emerald sea
And the Monarchs to become sailboats idling their time away
I need them to light upon my finger
To be carried away into the delight of my daughters eyes
To trust us
We want to be entertained
We want a memory to exist
But they fly away as we approach
Yet one stayed
So close
We touched
Raw nerved
And then
It sailed away
We were so disappointed
We wanted them to know us
To know we understood them
So we could join them
And dance among the flowers
With a past that was shed
And become sailboats
Floating
On calm green sea
Just my daughter and me

The bird at my window reaps my sorrows
I lay static in a sea of blankets
This cycle wracks through my body
Un-nerved, unwilling, exhausted.

yeah, the serious ones
have babies, and finalise
being single by becoming
hubby or hub hub hub
hubby dub da'h satisfied
cupcakes (bake 'em
while they're monkey do dah dough)...
and the ones
never originating for a replica
had their poems treated
by a pop orchestra as unplayable,
because of the profit margins...
and the necessity of power
being kept for a country
a fraction of the tenths' of monaco,
because, after all... not everyone
nerved to tie a bow-tie for the occasion.

My heart is raw with hurt
You don't know what you've done
Deep within me, something died
The day you stopped listening
And I became an encumbrance
Instead of a lifeline

I will endure, I have no choice
But I shall not be the same
You touched something
Deep within I thought was dead
But was waiting for you
And now, now?
What am I to do

My silly, funny, beautiful girl
You have stolen my grief
You have clarified my pain
To a needle point
Which I feel, nerved inside

But we take our chances
And I chose you
So I only have myself to blame
And I curse in despair
For having loved for loves' sake
As all fools do, including I.

Is there a time to be grateful for life, when
so many long to be free of this cage; could
it be only when selfishness knows no boundary,
or when each season arrives, cleansing the
past of its hold on our dreams

Is it when I wish to be what I cannot see;
nothing more than honest cry; as a baby
would only know, without remorse or
foresight

Is it when I can only be what is real that
I wish to be, the unseen senses in silent
purpose and longing without pretense

Is it when I wish to be only in turbulent
flow; in horror and shame, because of
what I know to be true of this life

Is it when I wish to be in a constant state
of inspiration; walking with nature;
without conversation excepting my eyes

Is it when I wish to be sad without laughter
or lightness, raw nerved; expressed in
pained fullness

Is it when I wish to be of you, to mingle your
pain with my own; to see your heart and
it’s ugly stain of life; cracked and imperfect

Is it when I wish to be, alone in my walk; to
know what I am; dove or rock; kindness or
unfeeling;

Is it when I wish to be what cannot be touched
by another's hand; a living soul, a pure spirit
and nothing more, living in my own land
without fences or title

Is it when I wish to be involved, not entertained;
original in thought, unexplained; piercing your
skin not for a night but even after I am gone

Is it when I wish to be myself but open, full
of energy, honest in pure emotion; an actor yet
real; a poet yet grounded; an artist who believes
in despair as much as in hope

Is there a time to be grateful for life, when I
can thank God no matter how I long for love;
no matter that the life of my father is over; no
matter that the world does not care for my
questions or my pain; tell me is there a time?

had always stood out from the others. He was the answer key that I had compared all others to. All of them fell short. For five years I was reluctant to give myself to him and I am unsure as to why except for the fact that every time the thought was considered, I pictured myself myself walking into an inferno. My entire being engulfed in flames; all of my nerved exposed. All so exposed...
Those before him were that compared to a virus. Running swiftly through my veins; my body burning in a constant fever. My own love was destroying me.
But falling in love with       was like rediscovering a sense that I had not known was disabled. I was able to see clearly for the first time in years. He wiped away the sleep from my eyes. The world was beautiful again. I never knew a touch could be so gentle, so loving. It had been so long since I've been held. I never knew words could sound so beautiful until when they glided off his lips.
Together we discovered the ability to slow time. Kissing his lips, I felt each second, each pulse pushing throughout his veins. The faceless boys before him were solely on possession. They consumed me entirely. There was no 'me'; I simply did not exist. I was not living.
      was nirvana. He freed me from pain and worry. He introduced me to pure beauty. I did not know that I was able to feel happiness anymore. He stayed*, and dug it out of me as if he had always known it was there. When I look in the mirror, I actually see my reflection. My smile. It's been so long...

Fearlessly and willingly, I walked into the flames. And in all of his beauty, he set me afire, raising me from the ashes of my shadows, freeing me. Able to stand on my own. I am finally alive.

When I was sixteen years old, I went to my ex's place for lunch.
He called me & asked if I wanted to hangout & I did.
He took me to his room & then he started kissing me...and touching me...and next thing I know, he's on top of me, his pants are down and my skirt hiked up, and he's driving himself between my legs.
I knew what was happening. I felt the pain inside me as he kept pushing & pushing & I told him it hurt but he didn't stop.
He only did so when a message from his friends came telling him they're coming over.
As fast as he can, he pulled his pants up & told me to get dressed.
My body was numb and my nerved were a wreck I couldn't move. His friends came & saw me and with knowing grins they nodded to him as though he had just won a bet in a computer game.
I left. Alone & still dissociated from what happened until I saw the blood coming out of me when I showered that night.
My mindset changed then.
I thought, I wanted this.
I thought, I wasn't forced.
I thought, I gave my consent.
We didn't really talk about it but I gave my consent.
Of course it wasn't like he asked & I said yes, I just thought that we were going to makeout, simple as that so that means I gave my consent, doesn't it?
Even when all the time, my mind was screaming as I was being *******.
I can't tell anyone the way I felt so horrible, so defiled, so low, and not expect a blow from them saying, "That's what you wanted."
Even though I didn't.

It's like my father always told me,
"Do not play games with boys. You will always lose. Always."
As if romance and love are games and only boys can win and by win, it means they can walk away with a fist high in the air and a flag stating that they broke a girl's heart, she fell in love and that's the worst thing that could happen for her, better for him--but the best thing that could ever really happen is that she slept with him.
She gave him that love she doesn't give to just anyone and what does he do in return?
He appreciates it.
He appreciates it by announcing it to his world, to his friends, that he had conquered another territory and he must be hailed and she, the loser, the giver, she must be shamed.

It was the warning of a man who didn't flinch when he had an affair with other women.
He told me those words, an expert of those games he played even while he's married.
Thus when his daughter fell into the hands of a player, she did not think twice when she put the blame on herself because she has fallen prey to the very predator her father warned her about.
It was her fault.
It was her fault.
It was my fault.
That and every single trial and error I made in trying to find love & acceptance.
It was my fault when it was a mistake that I had loved so fully & still he left because I was too much, too passionate, and he was too loved.
So love was a game, it was nothing but a game and whoever gave and stayed was the loser while the winner walks away with a broken heart in his hands.
It was all my fault.
It was her fault.
And he was just taking what was there on the table, taking advantage.
That's what they do.
That's how they are.
And it's your fault, as a woman, as a girl, as a female, to not protect yourself from that nature of man.
Freedom is hierarchical when it comes to ***, men are the predators, women are the prey.
It's always been that way.

THAT ‘TO THE LIGHTHOUSE’ MOMENT
( for Colleen and Rexanne )

I enter the room.
The door groans.

The ghosts
caught as they are

all stare.

Some sitting…one reclines.
They pay me no mind.

I throw open shutters
the silence shatters.

Held in sudden
shafts of sunlight.

Dust motes dancing
upon the air.

I un-nerved
just to be there.

Old room
heavy with time.

It all so very Poe.

I unveil the ghosts
one…by…one.

****** the dustsheet
so that Ghost No. 1

becomes the armchair
it used to be.

Ghost No. 2
resumes being a chaise lounge.

Ghost Nol.3
why…that’s me!

The mirror laughs.

The furniture
like unmasked memories

give up the ghost.

The living room once
again a living room.

The ghosts are tamed.

“Welcome…welcome!”
I call to the Past.

The Past enters
with a graceful bow.

Both itself and
all this now.

I can only smile.

Can only cry.

In a perfect world right now, I would be happy. But I’m not…surprise
I met a guy I suppose…I don’t remember much of our encounter only that I was speaking too fast. I was too nervous and he was calm
You might wonder huh…why didn’t you have everything under control. I’m not sure.
Is it because he was white? Is it because his whiteness was too cliché to my dark skin?
Is it because the stares nerved me in a way I haven’t experienced before or is it because of the assumptions of what my countrymen would think mattered most to me?
I think it’s because I went on the internet today and my heart broke dear reader…I wanted to understand what I was doing wrong.
It turns out this person and I are too different…different seems like an insult to me right now.  I’m not supposed to feel this way. Different is not a bad thing I suppose?
Okay, I’m mumbling at this point.
We are culturally different he says…we have to step one stone at a time and mind his feelings. he wasn’t raised in an open way in his country. Who will mind my feelings? Wasn’t I raised differently too? I don’t understand. I don’t understand what I did wrong
Our brains are different. I hate this word now…different.
It has such a distance to it. Separation, aloofness.
Dear reader, I went online to read about his people. He checked all the boxes.
I’m sad every time he doesn’t text back after 8 hours…8 hours. In my country, 8 hours is enough for a person to develop feelings of hatred and lack of affection? I’m not sure.
I met a man dear reader but my mind tells me I haven’t. it fights every day with my heart. Leave… read the signs…don’t be patient. He doesn’t like you.
Dear reader this man is very affectionate in person. It baffled me the first time we met. I’m not used to such kind of affection from my people, the tenderness. The small kisses on my face and forehead
Yuck, I sound like a 20-year-old girl who has never experienced such emotion before.
But oh, dear reader you should see us discussing everything under the sun…where did I I go wrong
Why am I sad?
I don’t understand why I feel this way.
Is it because he is different?
Oh, how I hate the word different.
It says I should take initiative, approachable manner with him, take my time with him if I really like him. Why? why all the effort?
Different cultural upbringings
Language barrier. We both speak English dear reader.
I must confess. I am a bit drunk
The author Charles Bukowski used to be drunk half the time he wrote his books Not a role model. But I like him
Why should someone make me question myself so?
Why should someone also make me feel like I get him immensely, I get all his books and politics?
I don’t know what I am writing
I might be overreacting dear reader but what should I do?
Ignoring a being who texts you back at odd hours of the night and morning is difficult for me dear reader. But what should I do???
What should I do if he has the prettiest eyes? okay, I’m lying here. His eyes scare the living hell out of me.
They remind me of a snake. Green eyes and speckled yellow in them.
I’m sorry if he replies to my texts with indifference and I rush to reply to them. He is too interesting for my liking dear reader
What does it even mean when someone calls you cute? So vague. I have never liked the word cute or beautiful.
I am foolish dear reader; did I miss out on an opportunity or something. Did he get tired of me?
They are known for being overly nice. On the surface. But what does it mean when people say they are aloof ish to the extent of being mean? They are used to a close-knit circle of family and friends? They do not like strangers or foreigners?
I’d expected him to be different dear reader. He has traveled and met many different people
Why is he still tied to his country’s understandable archaic upbringings?
I’m so confused.
My heart has betrayed me, dear reader.
And for a man. I am very disappointed. I am disappointed because in a way we made a pact with this body of mine you see.
Men are not to be part of our heartache. Not ever not anymore
But I like him. I like him, dear reader
And I hope he texts me soon. So, I can delete all this foolishness and go back to normal. Go back to the girl who affected and controlled the emotions of men…. not the other way round
Do you think he is aware of how much I bore him so? Or he has foreseen I will fall too soon?
I think it’s the alcohol dear reader. These feelings do not belong to me.
I refuse to accept them and I hope to rid of them as soon as possible
Lovesick. My heart is lovesick
Oh, **** I’m 20 years old again I suppose. I hope I return to 27 soon enough
Goodbye