Don't worry it's not what you think
Another tale of woe
Of Tiny Tim and all the rest
And the ending we all know
Scrooge and ghosts and la de da
They do it in one night
But, that was Charles Dickens way
It's time we got it right
Nobody works the way they did
The poorhouses done and dusted
If Scrooge was here and lived today
You know he would be busted

So, I'll bring you up to date on this
And Scrooge can come on too
It's been a couple hundred years
Let's make this carol new

Scrooge had let Bob Cratchit go
Due to labour laws and stuff
He didn't have a union
But old Scrooge had heard enough
Every year the same old thing
And every year he cries
It's only for one day each year
At least till his kid dies
So, Scrooge was sitting home alone
Checking files on his screen
Debtors owing money and
Re runs of Mister Bean
Scrooge kept his accounts on line
So he could work on them at home
He got more done here anyway
He felt more comfortable  alone
While surfing through his evict notes
A pop up screen appeared
It said "I am The Marley Virus"
And Sir Scooge, I should be feared
Scrooge cursed the interruption
He thought the virus was a joke
But, when he tried to clear the screen
A face appeared and spoke
Right there before his rheumy eyes
His partner showed his face
Ebeneezer hit delete
But Marley held his place
I'm not a ghost like olden days
I'm a virus now you see
I've moved into the future
And Scrooge you must hear me
You will not get a visit
From three ghost like stories old
We've gone hi tech, it's apps you'll get
And your story will be told
Three icons will be on your screen
Once I have told my tale
You'll click on each of them in turn
And you'll ignore all your mail
Each application will come forth
And will take you back in time
Remember Scrooge, the end result
Could be the same as mine
But, Jacob, I'll delete them
I'll run a scan and then reboot
The reason for your being here
Will then be surely moot
Marley let a piercing howl
And he left Scrooge with his screen
The were just three icons there
Where his desktop once had been
Scrooge clicked one, it opened up
It was Christmas past for sure
A video of Scrooges life
Was playing now, and more
The background everchanging
Showing Scrooge in younger days
When greed and avarice were not
The ruler of his ways
Remember now, we're modernized
No ghosts, so all went well
Scrooge remembered all the good times
As far as I can tell
The video ran on and on
It showed Scooge when he was nice
He thought you know when all is done
I might just watch this twice
The screen went black, the music stopped
And two icons took their place
He clicked on icon number two
And he opened up it's case
Donation links appeared at first
To charities galore
But Scrooge just passed on over them
In fact he showed them to the door
He saw the files of eviction notes
And of receivables and charts
He knew that he would lose one day
And the next, would need to start
To work on all this quickly
Year end would be here soon
He'd evict all of the deadbeats
And then they'd sing a different tune
He saw pictures of Bob Cratchit
Of his family and his brood
Of their meager Christmas Dinner
And the apparent lack of food
He saw how they were happy
How just together meant so much
And beside their electric fire
He saw a tiny crutch
He watched the clip and saw the pics
And in the end it warmed his heart
But there was still another icon
And this app must play it's part
You know where this is going
So, I would drag out the tale
But, in the end all his possessions
Went on line for a huge sale
He clicked upon the icon
And all his files reappeared
And then ...right before him
Each account slowly disappeared
Written off, deleted gone
No money did they owe
The ledger had been vanquished
No balance did it show
This took almost two hours
Each entry in the wind
All accounts forgotten
All eviction notes were binned
Scrooge, we know was changed then
We heard he was a better man
But, in truth he only changed one thing
A new virus protection plan
Remember, it's the future
And corporate greed is still around
And no accounts will be forgotten
Till Scrooge is six feet in the ground
I know you know the story
You want him nicer in the end
But, if that's the way you want it
Go watch the movie once again!!!

it's understandable, they confused by complex bilingualism as schizophrenia; oh sorry, it's not actually a scary word, before people start to theorise the mono-lingual pre-maturity of a condition that affects older people, they should seriously begin to listen to what a person is saying; there are tales of surgeons leaving surgical equipment in bodies during surgery... well... at least the physicality of such blunders is more pronounced than leaving regression variations of negated ease (disease) in man... (uncouple that compound and you'll find the subtler alternative)... when psychiatrists make mistakes it's not a heart surgeon making a mistake, the mistakes psychiatrists make are far more profound, given the nature of the mistake being seemingly trivial in comparison... yet these mistakes make our mental life worse by disrupting the narrative, psychiatry, being a science, primarily disrupts the (cognitive) narrative; it's hard enough to find yourself in your mind, let alone a worthy narrative that you encompass... it's hard to reemerge with a good enough narrative when you're branded like an ox, a ******* during the height of Christianity, or registering a car for road tax... it's ****** hard.

so they (i've lost the paranoia additive of this pronoun
a long time ago) thought my bilingualism
was worthy the label of schizophrenia...
well... d'uh, isn't bilingualism a split-mind scenario
in itself?
                    bilingualism is more complex than you think,
it reaches to the depths of each language,
it's not a multilingual acquisition, a polymath hooray!
it's bone deep,
                        bone deep, it goes as far into identity
as all conceivable points of psychological architecture;
which is why my bilingualism was so well
established that i became a bit difficult to society:
my upbringing was to match the difficulty -
i was never supposed to utter a single intellectual
disparity, given my stature i was supposed to be
a manual labourer - a position i'd have gladly undertaken
but (see my earlier entries), but...
                                i never really felt a need for
an animosity toward the English -
                                           i loved everything about England
(or at least London) -
                                                 i left my native country
early enough to sponge-up the new culture,
                   but of course when our family was applying
for citizenship we were the obscure minority,
                 after the floodgates opened and the less
creme of the crop entered these shores,
       i was forced into a spiral reinvention, i was no
longer was the British termed "exotic"...
exotica, hmm, funny how i imagine things exotic as
things in sunny places, slaves in the Caribbean,
the platitudes of certain African Savannahs...
something Voltaire might find befitting to write about
like he did in Candide - there's this neurotic passage in there...
                the passage to India... a book i'll
never read: why? can't be bothered, the t.v. series *Indian Summers
does it for me;
                                  plus i do like cooking curry,
so there's the f                        u                            to take-away
curry...           i have an arsenal of spices and i bomb Kashmir
with whiffs of the stuff...
                                    that part of my is what the intended cultural
assimilation was intended for: the rest? n'ah ah.
                               what spurred me to write this poem?
Heidegger's concept of someone moving and integrating
into a different culture: to be honest, the country i was born
in was uniquely pressed to turn its habitants into nomads -
      it was a town primarily based on the steel industry -
now it's a town of pensioners - the steel industry fell to ruin
and people had either the choice of: elsewhere in Poland,
or abroad.
                                    still, things were much nicer
   when the barrier was up... selfishly said? i agree, but then
i had enough air to breathe as a sole artefact of the ethnicity,
and a good enough reputation as a person needing to
persistently learn... had i been a crook? well, now i find
my ethnic background elsewhere, in a near mythical place
in Scandinavia - not that i want to, but i don't actually
have an atypical (a typical) physiognomy of a Slav -
so that's a plus...
                                     but what really spurred me on
was what Heidegger describes as the threshold and indeed
the essence of integration: to learn the language,
to use the language, nothing but language in terms of
being considered a certain noun - in this case, British;
so this is a German perspective from the 20th century...
the British perspective in the 21st century?
                         kinda like **** Germany...
language? forget it... you can speak with a ****** accent
and even ******* grammar... what's at work here
is ethnic cleansing, on a spiritual side of things -
language can rot in hell for the English, what they want
new citizens is to: a. eat fish 'n' chips
                                  b. talk ***** when *******
                         c. lick the **** of Americans
          d. have a sense of moral superiority because of
                    that poncy accent that's becoming a dodo
       e1. forget their mother tongue
         e2. only speak English in private
                            f. respect the Muslim attire but
        to never respect fellow European's concerned
                           about many other things
      g. amongst other things...
so it's not enough to learn the ******* language, that i have to
become a ******* serf? oh wait, i have some spare change
in my pocket (puts hand in a trouser pocket and takes out):
the *******!
                                  or how you find yourself
in an imploded British Empire, go beyond London and you
enter something less resembling a global community
and more a national socialist set of self-evident dicta
wrecking havoc to your senses.
                              and all this from a humble background?
well: freaks and mutations sometimes happen...
                    being born near to the date of Chernobyl doesn't
really help to counter the argument:
           yes, even in Poland, the effects were felt,
my great-grandmother remembers streaks of radiated trees
and un-radiated trees in the park -
        the radiated trees were born... a strange kind of rainbow...
and yes, i do take the **** out of **** Germany
while talking about it and Jewish mysticism -
                                Malachi the arch-heretic (who introduced
a polytheistic concept that does not fit in with monotheism:
reincarnation) -
                            oh look:      something came out of this
conviction that told me to duly apologise to the concept
of the two late monotheistic religions:
                             on your own, can't be bothered -
Christianity was always going to be more image orientated
(after all, the crucifixion is a good enough image)
   and Islam was always going to be more word orientated
(something to shout about, actually, to just shout it) -
the Judaism i found?
                              not being circumcised and what not,
not adhering to the religion as such?
  the lord of the rings and harry potter...
simple... how?
                               please make oaths, swear, use profane
language... maybe that will make your actions less profane
and this isn't 19th century Victorian society event where
people talk polite but play ***** according to the escapades
of Dorian Gray...
                              i'm still adamant that auto-censorship
of a name (the name, i.e. ha-shem) does wonders for your
vocabulary - oath, **** **** ****, words are actually:
                or conjunctions, and this means you can use them
to destroy the barricades of fluidity -
                                 do we really need to say certain names?
Islam says the name all the ****** time,
        Christianity doesn't even know the name of the father:
Jules?                      Jason?                Jeremiah?
                                           can't be Yves...
                   and did 1st century fishermen write?
wasn't that a rebellion against the literate Pharisees etc.?
             so it's pretty much like the harry potter / lord of the rings
rule: Sauron
                       designates the tetragrammaton
   and the necromancer designates ha-shem...
                                                or...
         Voldemort designates (as above)
              and tom-riddle                   blah blah...
oh i have actually washed my hands clean of two most
populous religions in the world -
                            i can't believe that so many people can be
right about something,
                                    would i desire to argue to this
to the grave? not really, i prefer to look at it as a chance fancy,
my real concerns are based upon the question:
   why would bilingualism, ever, be treated as a case
of schizophrenia?
                                           perhaps the language is too
difficult to follow, perhaps i'm reciting a poem by
                           half caste by john agard -
but this **** isn't skin deep, i can't blow the sax in a liberating
transcendence of slavery, or do that other form of
rebellion -
                    &nb

They don't come around too often,
maybe once about every thousand years,
but still,
they've been here forever,
& there's more of them around
than you think.

In fact, you've probably
rubbed elbows with at least one
at one time or another.
And maybe, you've heard one
flutter by invisible.
So perhaps sojourner,
you should stop & contemplate,
be nicer to strangers,
because life's way too short
to play mean ***** games
with people you don't know.

So apropro,
her nickname suited her.

She was sweeter than wildflower honey,
finer than gosssmer,
nicer than a cool summer breeze
& made men fall to their knees.

And though he didn't look like one,
he certainly acted like one,
whenever she came sround.

Children are nicer than adults
Animals are nicer than children
You say that thinking that way
I have to claim
That the closest to my heart is
Protozoan paramecium

So what

Paramecium is closer to my heart
Than you, you *******

a.s.

When you,re hiding in a closet,
thinking no one really knows,
and you do the things expected,
lifestyle, hair, hell even clothes,
what,s the point in being someone,
even you can,t recognise,
when the real you is much nicer,
never mind the sad disguise,
shake the cobwebs off and show yourself,
i promise, you,ll feel better,
and the ones who,d diss you,
matter not, tell them "write a letter",
you,re unique, a one off, all your own,
don,t let them tell you different,
you may inspire some other closet dwellers,
how excellent !

(c)eileenmcgreevy@ymail.com2018    (re-edited)

It scares the **** out of me
Knowing that one day you'll be a teenager
Talking back to mom,
blasting music in your room,
Lying about grades,
stressing over college.


But promise me,
promise me you'll try to be nice to mommy.
At least nicer than I was.
She really means the best.


Promise,
that you'll be a good student,
don't leave things to the last minute.
Trust me I learned it the hard way.

Please baby,
be a good person.

Playing with me is like, playing with ur life
Cut you down slice by slice, no knife
Make you a sacrifice, then slap you back to life
It’s a full on scrap when I rap,
You wasn’t ready for that,
I went straight to hell, after I made contact,
Battled in pitch black, now they won’t let me back,
how many MC you know, is rugged as that,
I’ve been to the unknown, and left an impact
I kept my pride, it’s all mine, fully intact,
I’m on my shrine, come from behind, ain’t no going back
If ur verses really nicer than mine, that’s fine – now rap.
My scripts, so wicked, they flip manuscripts with one rip,
I’ll tear you in half, my warpath is your bloodbath
You’re a joke so I just laugh, at this simple task
Terrorizing ur ***, the terror rising in your eyes
You shouldn't have ventured down this path
I’m wearing a jason mask, sipping a flask
Anyone else jump in, Freddy slicing his ***
My writing is brash,
If your a titan than clash,
If not, your just trash,
So I, Hulk smash,
Then wipe ur blood off my mask, and relax
And get back to stretching cash like yoga class.
cause I could care a lot less, about flows that's so monotonous
It just shows you’re a hot mess, Your raps blow so much you success
You are too slow, to keep up with my progress
my style been buck wild since I was a child it sounds like you are much less.

I am a guy.
Just a guy.
Not an "ummm...technically."
or "biologically female."
Not: "used to be a girl",
"Thinks she's a guy",
"Doesn't dress like a boy",
"What she got between her legs?",
"Wears makeup",
"Doesn't pass"-

Gender norms literally **** people.

Every "I'm sorry" is just a peeling paint job
over an intercity wall,
no one really wants to look at,
or fix,
or admit to.

This is not a problem I brought on myself.
My gender is not a problem,
You are the problem.

I'm not running from what's inside me anymore,
I know what's inside me,
I've made peace with what's inside me
It's the same old, same old,
with a new set of words
you ******* can't wrap your tongues around.

I don't care if you slipped up,
Fix it.
I don't care if you didn't know I was a boy,
Fix it.
I don't care about your cis guilt, cis excuses, or cis ignorance
Fix it.

Because you don't know the age limit
not to be Emily anymore.
The hundreds of dollars it costs.
Every: "Hello Ladies",
every "Sorry Miss",
every "What can I do for you Ma'm",
every "You'll always be my niece-"
"My daughter",
"My girlfriend".

The cis questions,
cis answers,
cis stares,
cis disinterest in my ******* feelings.

I am not going to hold your hand
and politely explain to you that
I
AM
NOT
MY
GENITALS.
That's your job cis people.
Fix it.

Every misgendering is peeking through the veil
of how people really perceive you.
It's all just a game they play along
with in your presence.
Going along with a trance they think
you've put yourself in.

They don't really see you,
When all it takes is
changing a single word
in one ******* sentence.
That would be no inconvenience to them,
But makes or breaks the world to you.
Covering it up with a strained smile,
Lying that it's fine.

Is it even a question that over 70%
of trans people **** themselves,
as opposed to 1% of the general population.
It makes so much ******* sense to me.

Because trans means knowing
I will never be properly gendered by a stranger,
Unless I get a **** I don't ******* want.
Being trans is waking up everyday
with the guarantee you can not
use the bathrooms in public.

Can't be called a guy
Hearing: "Emmett? That's a weird girl's name."
Having people ignore you
When you're on the verge of tears
begging them not to see
your soft curves and small chest and skirt
as one big sign that says 'SHE'.

Then being told:
"It's not their fault,
people just don't know."
"You have to be more understanding,
more patient -
be nicer about it."

How 'bout applying that to yourself?
Don't tell me I have to be kinder
about being denied my identity everyday.
Don't tell me to shut up about a system
so ingrained in my brain
I still misgender myself.

It's gaslighting,
A society denying reality
And telling us we are the confused ones.
The crazy ones.
For veering outside these neat little boxes
ahem, cages
of made up rules
they've tried to lock us into.

The consequences are absolutely deadly.
Is it any question
That people bleed themselves dry
Get drunk, get high
just to escape it all?

Then get thrown into a 'health care system'
for attempted suicide,
get misgendered by the nurses and doctors
who ignore why they're there in the first place.
Then denied hormones for their
'mental instability'.

We are thrown into a world of glass ceilings
and imaginary borders
with all too real consequences.

Make no mistake,
We are not dangers to ourselves.
You absolutely put us here.

Blame it on whatever generation or
individual you want,
but we are all participating in cisnormativity
if you are not constantly unlearning.

If you equate genitals with gender,
Ask what the baby's going to be -
As if it ******* matters -
Don't think to ask pronouns and get it wrong,
See every character, every face on TV
that doesn't look like ours,
have everything catered
to the way you turned out to be,

That's privilege is our danger.
The gaps in judgement
and consideration for our situations
is where we live
and our destined to fall.

Because when someone hits you with a car
It doesn't matter of they didn't see  you,
didn't mean to,
have never done it before,
are the nicest person in the world -
They ****** up.
And it still hurts.

Sure, if they meant to
it would be worse,
But I'm through with this rhetoric
about intent.

Don't think this is too drastic a comparison,
Gender norms literally kills people.
Every mark of 'self-harm' on our arms
Is a scar society put there.
Every trans suicide is a ******.

The question isn't why
we are killing ourselves.
It's how the ****
are we still alive.

I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, I should leave, I'm not good, why do you like me, she'd parrot again and again, coming and going and coming and going and I will love this love forever and I don't want to lose you and soul mates and we're going to be okay and we're safe to each other and sorry, sorry, sorry and you should abandon me and coming and going and stop calling yourself honest, and are you sure you have bpd, and coming and going and one day there are no more sorrys and coming and going and I can't take this and coming and eventually

going.

"Here are some snippets and poetry I wrote" my ex says in an email some days after I've drunkenly reinitiated contact with them after a year of nothing and the "snippets" go back and back and back, 2015, 2014, 2013, and we both confess to having read each other's blog and they will end up refollowing me on every blog they have which is all well and good but I am still scared and wondering why I seem to always go where I don't belong, why I am always trying to open some Pandora's box and they have said they never get over anyone, they have called me their muse and I want to tell them that I am not their muse, I am only myself, my best friend tells me to be distant with them after I tell her about the drama with them that I managed to handle and I had started writing a poem to them but now I think I'll just close the unsaved document, I only sent them one poem but I don't want to send any more, it would only encourage them, maybe encourage me and that's all I ever do - encourage people who end up scaring and hurting me, but hey at least I get content from all of it.

"I miss you" ze tells me, ze sends me hearts and initiates contact and likes every stupid thing I ever post on Facebook, and when we're around each other everything is fine, and my best friend tells me ze would date me if I let hir but I can't do it, I can't casually date, not a white person and not now, not after all I've dealt with, I think I just want to be alone forever now, and ze is so nice to me but I just can't reciprocate when we are not in the same room, and I don't believe hir is really autistic or bpd and I never know why, and ze is the best of all of hir anarqueer friends but there is something so off about all of them and they are good entertainment from afar but these are the kinds of people I would have been so jealous of when I was still at smith and always hurting from my perpetual anonymity among the hipsters I realized I would never be a part of, and I have accepted that I will always be invisible among white hipsterqueers but sometimes it still hurts, "community" is ******* and I don't believe it could ever exist for me, but that doesn't mean that I don't sometimes want it desperately.

"Let's go to Tuesgays," my best friend announced last night, and I roused myself up because I knew she wanted to go and wouldn't go without me, she told me as much when we were walking in the dark trying to find the club, and I gathered up all the bits of naivety and hope and the maybe it will be okay amidst all the fear and fatigue and I assembled the bits into a shoddy structure that blew away an hour later and I'm sure I ruined the night but she didn't tell me, and she bought me pizza but the pizza was too much and I don't want to perform at an open mic and I don't want to spend money and I don't want to drink but I do anyway and I don't know why I do all these things I don't like doing, building all these unstable structures that just fall down in the end, and I don't know what's wrong, it's not her fault, I just wish I were dead.

"So fill me in on these last five years. How's life?" I didn't respond to the old high school friend who I wasn't even particularly close with them and once I thought it would be cool to reconnect with friends in high school but every time they ever try to contact me now all I think is "go away, go away, go away," and it's more intense with men, he texts me this morning, days after I delete the text, says, "You were the first person that ever wrote on my wall on facebook, remember? I never forgot that," as if that's supposed to make me feel something, what I want to say is "hi I'm gay and crazy and not the person who wrote on your wall in 2007 and I don't know what the point is in contacting me," but I will hold my tongue because I can't say these things, I will continue to not reply, just like I don't reply to the old men I meet who send me emails or add me on Facebook because maybe I am their only friend and it's not their fault, it's mine for talking, mine for trusting, for giving away my email and poetry so willingly, always forgetting that slightly sick feeling I get afterwords, that's what being uncomfortable is, that feeling that something is wrong, wrong, wrong, and you're stuck and it's too late to go back but something is wrong and you can't put your finger on what is wrong, what is wrong, what is wrong with you, why can't you be nicer to the people around you, why are you writing this at all, stop feeling this anxious, stop feeling bad for no reason, stop feeling

uncomfortable.

Oh my dear friend molly,
How I love you so.
Always there for me,
Oh sweet molly
A your voice is a drug.
Makes me feel comfortable
Like my sweet friend maryjane
All you need is to spark her up
Shes on fire
Makes you feel worth living
I always hang out with maryjane with friends
Even alone
My mom likes her
My family doesn't
My mom hates molly
For a reason unknow
Maybe because she almost killed me
Molly killed my cousin
I miss her but molly is nicer
Makes you happy right?
My cousin never did
I met maryjane when i was 13
Best day of my life
Happy
The happiest i had been in months
At a party is where i met her
Maryjane is my bestfriend
She introduced me to molly
I blame her sometimes for that
But then i hang with molly and i love her
Molly is fake though
Always nice when shes with you
After she makes you feels bad
Like you need her all the time
As if you cant live without her
Oh sweet maryjane never does this to me
She knows ill always come back to her
But molly has a price too
Makes you happy but then harms you
Please leave molly i cant continue to live with you
Maryjane my savior is the one i look up to

There's a tiny park a short walk from here
where no one ever goes.
Though it's always abandoned,
I like to walk there when it snows
               'cuz it seems like
                     a relative.

Don't complain to me, my friend
if your face is feeling raw;
It gets cold here in Montana,
and December nights get long.
               and they have not
                   failed me yet.

So salt your frigid frown
and lay down bets on warmer times
in five more months, the thaw will come
and we just might quit rolling snake eyes.
Icy air is not your enemy
and neither are this small city
                                              or I.

The same park, it has a baseball field,
leaf-covered, looking old
the dugout's still in good repair,
but the basepaths overgrown
               remind me of,
           A New Year's alone

Remember one warm night when we thought
we were in the mood
to walk to the convenience store
for some box wine and some food?
               we played cards,
             locked in my room...

Now we're crying California tears
from laughing all night long.
And you don't really hate Montana,
you're just doing Winter wrong.

So lay your anger down
and hedge your bets 'til nicer days
don't stay inside, 'cuz you don't have to.
Graft my smile over your grimace,
this dull white-out's not the end for us
and neither is the bitter cold
                                                   outside.

Humans Are More Barbaric Than Any Animal,
Ever Could Be,
We Lie,
We Cheat,
We Harass,
We Play Little Mind Games,
We ****,
Practically Every Form Of Intelligent Life,
Including Our Own,
Nothing Is Ever Good Enough,
Nothing Is Ever Clean Enough,
Nobody Is Ever Talented Enough,
Nobody Is Acknowledged,
For Their Gifts,
Only Brought Down By Others Saying We Aren't,
Good Enough,
I Envy Animals Because,
Animals Are Straight To Eachother,
If They Dont Like One Another,
They Fight,
They Bite Eachother's Throats Out,
They Tell The Other To Leave,
And Never Come Back,
And They Listen,
But In Human Society,
You Have To Be Nice,
And People Put On That Fake Smile,
Tell You How Beautiful You Are,
Turn Around,
And Talk About What A Mess You Are,
You Have To Share With Them,
Invite Them Into Your Homes,
Pretend You Think They're The Most Amazing,
Person In The World,
Sometimes You Have To Be Nicer To The People,
You Despise,
Then The People You Love,
I'm Not Saying I Wish To ****** Anyone,
I'm Just Venting,
Because I Am Sick And Tired,
Of People Lying To Me,
Just Shut Your Mouth Already,
If You Don't Like Me Tell Me!
I Couldnt Care Less,
About Your Opinion,
Human Society,
Is A Mess,
Human Society,
Has Many Jewels,
But They Are Dusted Over,
From The Dirt Of The Morons,
Human Society,
Has No Natural Selection,
To Pluck Out The Idiots,
If You Ask Me,
I'm Tired Of These People Dimming My Sparkle,
And I'm Sure,
Many Of You,
Feel The Same Exact Way

these demons they haunting me,
they ******* won't stop bugging me,
they screaming in my ear, 'do it now'.
won't leave me alone, won't leave me alone,
why won't everyone just leave me the **** alone?

****, what am I saying? Am I ******* stupid?
I don't wanna be alone, this loneliness drives me mad,
but I push them away, pushing people away,
cause why? Cause I'm angry, cause I'm mad?
What the **** does it matter, why do I care?
Why am I this way, so weird and insecure?
When I look in that mirror, and I see that
face looking back at me, I just want to *******
grab it and slit its ******* throat.
Why am I so ugly? I don't ******* know.

these demons they haunting me,
they keep on stalking me, day and night,
they keep on leading me astray, oh,
won't I ever find my way back to where I was.
They won't let me alone, can't you feel my plight?
why do they do these things to me, why won't
they just leave me alone?

Demons, are they real, the **** should I know?
they may just be something sick like my head,
something dark and twisted brought to life,
by these worries and these fears that I made up my mind.
whether they be real or just ******* fake,
I know they make me wanna curl up and die.

these demons they haunting me,
in my dreams, they stopping me,
won't let me be, won't leave me alone,
won't let me be the person I know I can be,
won't let me be free to be what I know I can be.

And when I set my mind to racing,
I can feel my arteries thumping, and my heart pacing.
I'm gonna need a ******* pacemaker, at this rate,
cause all these fears and these worries going to build,
and one of these days, I'm gonna ******* blow,
all over everything and everyone, and y'all
be left to pick up the pieces of my broken soul.

these demons they haunting me,
I can hear those ******* laughing now,
at me and my self-conscious bull-****,
knowing that all this is just another ego-stroke
as I feel sorry for myself and wait to be comforted
by those people that want to call me their friends,
but really, I just seem them as means to ends.

Call me corrupt, or just call me a ****,
but I know that machiavellian ****,
my means are always justified by my ends,
know that I'm always right, even when I know
that I'm wrong, I keep on fighting like it's a war,
and I'm the ******* 5-star general,
that earth-rattling, world shaker who
the universe rightly revolves around
I ain't no Prince, I'm the ******* King!

these demons they haunting me,
they egging me on, telling me I'm right,
even when I'm wronger than wrong.
I know it's wrong, but it feels so good,
and I can't find it in me to argue
when the promise of righteousness feels so good.

And so I keep on playing the game,
arguing and fighting over petty ****,
desperate to prove my point like it matters,
feeling that high when I prove someone wrong,
it fills me, it thrills me, it's like a spine-chiller.
It's a ******* drug and you, the dealer,
but the way I'm feeling, like a high-wheeler.
I won't complain or say things should be different.

these demons they haunting me,
I can hear their ***** singing along,
I can hear their voices ringing real soft,
it sounds so sweet, but I got this feeling
deep down that maybe it ain't as good
as it sounds and there's something deeper lurking.

All it takes is one word alone, and I'm
shattered like broken glass, like I just got
put out on my fat ***. Cause I know I'm
fat and ******* ugly, you don't got to remind me,
mirror, I'd rather hide the truth.
And just like that the circle is running again,
like it's done time and time again.
A cycle of loathing, then a cycle of loving,
then a cycle of loathing, a cycle of loving.

these demons they haunting me,
not even caring that I'm onto them,
and those games they play, they just
keep on grinning, keep on sinning,
these jackals, they wanna bleed me dry,
they wanna consume, wanna swallow my soul,
like an anaconda, they wanna swallow me whole
why won't they just leave me alone,
so I can find some kind of inner peace?

Instead I just keep on rolling on that
hill like I was Sisyphus, and my ego's
the boulder, and every time I push it up,
I know it's gonna come down even stronger
It's like I gotta just deal with the fact
that when I'm happy, the sadness'll
strike about 10 times harder than it ought to,
like it was giving me a special '*******'.

these demons they haunting me,
I think they ******* hate me, but
who can really blame them? I hate
me too, and the ******* I can be,
the ******* I can be, the ***** I can be
when I let my jealousy get the best of me,
treating my friends like they out to get me,
Sometimes when I think back on how I act,
I just want to kick my own *** just to teach
me a lesson.

I try to be good, and decent, and think good,
and think decent, but I can't find it in me
to feel that heart beat-beating for me,
I just look in the mirror and I hate what I see,
I hate what's there, and knowing I'm stuck where I am.
Why I gotta be me? Why can't I be you, or someone
new or someone better? Or just a person who I know
is better than me? Smarter than me, nicer than me?
Kinder than me, prettier than me?
Why I gotta be stuck in this ugly *** ******* shell?

these demons they haunting me,
they taunting me like *******,
I don't know if it's in my head,
my mind playing those tricks on me,
or if they're really there to steal my soul,
but I know they keep tripping me either way,
I think I hate them more than I hate me,
and that's something to be said since I despise me.
They test me, they trick me, they want to end me,
and all I want is for them to get off my throne.
My throne of **** and wallowed pride, that's all mine,
for better or worse, I still want to claim it as mine.
Everyone keeps on testing me lately, human contact,
and I just want to be left the **** alone.
Can't everyone just leave me the **** alone?

Demons, who the hell am I kidding?
Satan himself knows I'm full of ****,
I'm just using them as an excuse to justify,
the kind of guy I am deep down, and to victimize
myself so I can throw out a line for sympathy,
and get that ego-stroke needed to get back in line,
and start that same wicked cycle back again,
hell, that's what all this is, just another me whining,
and complaining before I get high on me again,
at least that's what I say to myself to feel like I win

It started with Guitar.
It ended with Snarky comment.

Guitar hit Song.
Song hit Smile.
Smile hit Happiness in a time of sadness.
Happiness hit Laughter and Laughter couldn't help but tip too fast.

Laughter hit Feelings.
Feelings hit Observation.
Observation hit Friendship, but more like Crush.
Crush hit Heart.
Heart hit Words.
Words shook a bit, but hit Send anyway.
Send hit Waiting, but Waiting brought Maybe.
But Maybe wasn't stacked right.
Maybe never fell.
But the other ones did.

The ones that didn't spell your name, but his.
Love hit Replenish.
Replenish hit Happiness.
Happiness hit Life with my true love.

Your name just lingered there, Maybe still standing.

But then Maybe toppled.
Maybe hit Conversation.
Conversation hit Doubt.
Doubt hit Curiosity.
Curiosity hit Coincidence and Coincidence was just too big to miss.

But that was the last part. Coincidence.
Because his name was prettier, nicer, and actually said yes.

But Coincidence just kept begging. Coincidence decided to get there anyway.
Coincidence pushed Alcohol and Alcohol tapped Texting on the shoulder.
Texting plummeted into Conversation.
Conversation hit Argument.
Argument hit Apology, but instead of Apology hitting Acceptance, it hit Snarky comment.
And that hit Resentment and a bit of Anger too.

Started with Guitar.
Ended with Snarky comment.

A Domino Effect into Catastrophe that I think about everyday.

"Order, Order !
We will have ORDER !!!
Order in the court !
or, the doors to this court
will be closed to cohorts !"

" Order "... is the call
within... our courts of law

Well here's...
Big Virges'... view...
of how these laws
will... Surely... be used...
and what... these laws...
will finally... Do... !!!

You see...

" Order's "...
being... " Summoned "...
in the... " Lords "...
and in... " The Commons "...

and... " The Cure "... to...
Current Problems ...
is seen as ... " Martial Law "... !!!

Police will now ... ENFORCE ...
without ... " Probable "... cause ... !!!

" Stops "... and ...
" Searches "...

upPED on ... Corners ...

What's their purpose ... ?
... " Public Order "...

But .....
Cameras on streets ... ?

CCTV ...... !?!

Isn't that meant to ...
" Keep The Peace "... ?!?

" OKAY, they're there
to make movies !
So, what's the deal ?
Can you paint the scene ? "

"Sir, move along please
your act's been seen,
our decision, you'll receive,
once you've been screened,
at the end of the week,
with your, Charge Sheet !
When it comes, answer truthfully,
because any deceit, may well
result in penalties, with no release,
especially if, we have to cheat
by using, yes, our editing team !"

You see ...
That's the ... " Trick "... !!!

So ... take these words ... " IN "...
and ... Read them ... CLOSELY ...
cos' these words ... Run DEEP ... !!!

Our lives ... BELIEVE ME ... !!!
are now on ... " Floppys' " ...
... Micro-Chips ...

and Drives named ... (C:)

So ...
What is humanity's ... destiny ... ???

Technology ....
Patrolling ... our streets ...

Armies ... of police ... !!!

Freedoms. .................................................... obsolete .... !!!!
for those ... wanting ... Peace ...

Sounds like a movie ...
I've seen of ... Armies' ... ???

" OH NO ... it's T3 !!! "

" ORDER is "... The Key ...

Restriction of ... Rights ...
to simply be ... FREE ... ?!?

NOT TO TAKE ...
Violence ... from our streets ... !!!!!

I'm YES ... A Supporter
of ... " Public Order "...

Let partying tribes ...
INDULGE in ... " Good Vibes "...

But .....
What kind of party ... ?
sees people ... Pull Knives ... !?!
or call for ... " Gunfights "... ?!?!?!?

But let's ...
NOT TELL ... " Lies "... !!!

Crime is ... on the rISE ... !!!

Crimes of ... ALL TYPES ... !!!
from ... Corporate Crimes ...
to young ... " Homicides "... !!!!

But .....
Ask yourself ... " WHY "... ?

Is it because ... ?
The young are now ..................................... Lost ....... ?!?

or ....
Could it be ... THIS ... ???

Highlighting ... Young Fights ...
as if .... EVERY NIGHT ...
Another kid ... DIES ... !!!

May simply ... "FIT IN"...
with Agendas ... Contrived ...
to simply ... Keep Minds ...
AFRAID ... and ... " DENIED "...
of living ... their lives ...
just like the ... " Rich Guys "...

" Directors "... who Earn ... ?
from ... " Fraudulent "... work ...

How many of them ?
will face ... " Stop and Search "... ?!?

Those in ... Governments ...
and ... " Corporate "... Hybrids ...
whose parties are ... "PRIVATE"... !!!!

with much ... " Nicer Climates "...

ENJOYING ... themselves... !!!
because of ... " Their Wealth "...
with women who ... " Sell "...
Their bodies like ... " SHELL "... !!!!
have done with ... " Oil Wells "... !!!!!

" Take Time ".....................................
Think it ... through..................................

But ....
Here's some more clues ....
as to why ... I Now Choose ...
to ... " Today "... take this view ...

Youth have died ... " Early "...
For YEARS ... on streets ...

But back then ... WEREN'T Worthy... ?!?
of ... PRIMETIME TV ...

But Now ... THEY ARE ... !?!

Terrorists .... are at Large ... !!!
is now the ... BENCHMARK ...

That's what's being ... " Used "...
to fill .... TV News ....

and ... " Sadly "... ABUSE ...
our LOST ..... WaYwArd ... youth ... !!!

Will .... " Eton "...
and ... " Harrow "...
REALLY SEE ... " Stop and Search "... ?!?!?

It seems ...
kind of ... " shallow :"...
to think ... They'll ... " Concur "...

Do ... " The Rich ...
have a ... THIRST ... ?
to walk with ... What HURTS ... !?!

Guns and Knives .....
amongst the ... " Rich Types "... ???

Why would they ... do that ... !?!
in ... " Daddy's New Pad "... !!!!!!

I guess what i'm saying ...
is ... " Stop and Search "... BLATANT ... !!!!!

is MOSTLY ... for blacks ... !!!!!!

"Well, blacks do the killing !
Which is shown now, to millions !
Everyday, all over the place !
So, answer that Virge !"

is what ...
" They "... will say ... !!!

Those who feed ... LIES ...
into minds and ... " Numb Brains "...

Those who ... DON'T THINK ...
BEYOND Links ... in the ... " Chain ".... !!!

The ... " New Order "... Preys ...
on ... Ignorant Strays ... !!!...

NOT those ... on streets ... !!!
but those who ... Compete ...
for a piece of ... " Their Cake "...

that has a ... FOUL TASTE ... !!!!!!

"ORDER ORDER !!!
We will have ORDER !!!"

" Must have ORDER ?
Man, just hold your corner ! "

Who exactly are ... " They "... ???
to treat people like ... " Game "... !?!

What makes you think ... ?
that they can train ...
the brain of a ... " Pig "...
to actually ... THINK...
and NOT behave ...
like some ... " Supremacist "... !!!
who's just ... Too **** ... QUICK ...
to suspect a kid ...
because of his ... Colour ... !!! ? !!!

" RACIST Mother F..... !!!!! "

"Order ... ORDER ...
You're out of order !!!"

" OUT OF Order ?!?
Are you a Coc' Snorter ?
I'm not a Big Baller,
or Gangsta' shot caller !
I'm just a straight talker
who's CRISP, just like Walkers',
when airing my views, about
Real Issues, that clearly confuse
and are used to abuse, our right to,
yes, choose, when and with whom,
we choose to make moves !

How would you like ?
to have THAT, done to you ?

My name AIN'T, Jack Horner !
Why should I be cornered ?
Searched and questioned
in the name of nonsense ! "

It's all a pretence,
to turn people against,
those they ... Don't Hate ... !!!

but ... each day ...
have to face,

from ... Council Estates ...
within the ... UK ...
to Projects ... They Blame ...
in the ... United States ...

These issues relate ...
and yes ... Correlate ... !!!

So .....
DON'T MAKE ... Mistakes ... !!!
and ... Mis-Read ... " The Game "...

What's happening ... There ...
is coming ... BEWARE ... !!! ...

Just think of it ... " This Way "...
George ... and ... Tony Blair ...........

They told you ... A WAR ...
was coming ... For SURE ... !!!!!

So ...
What'd you think ... NOW ... ?!?

Has ... THE WAR ...
Reached ... " Your Door "... ?!?

Or ...
Do you feel ... " Clowned "... ?

Or ...
Are you ... like me ... ?

A ... " Public "... ENEMY ... !!!

Who'll face men in ... " Gowns "...
because ... when I speak ...
I do so ... FREELY ... !!!! ...

and ... NO ...
WILL NOT ... Stand down ... !!!

" Order "...
is the call ...
as I said ... Before ... !!!

But ....
What is it ... for ... ???

for the ... " Weak "...
and the ... " Poor "...

NOT TO ... Fight anymore ... ?!?

or simply for ... " Borders "...
to keep them from ... " Hoarders "...
and ... " Midnight Marauders "... !!!!!!!

and TRUE LIFE ... Reporters ...
whose views they want ... "cornered"... !?!

because of ...
Their call ... to ... ENFORCE ...

.... " Public Order ".....

Listen Here :

https://soundcloud.com/user-16569179/public-order

She buys herself so many pretty things
like shoes and purses, underwear and rings
A pride in her appearance she does take
but cries when once again alone she wakes

Perhaps is not the way she looks that counts
the frustration of her loneliness starts to mount
In time she'll see her attitudes the key
and a nicer person she will start to be

Cos it don't matter if your pretty,
well dressed or even rich.
When push comes to shove
a ***** is still a *****.

More recently
I have become a better person.

I have been nicer
And more accepting.

And now I notice
More people walking out of my life.

People that I care deeply about.

So what am I left to do?

Guess I just have to say *******.

god ****** she misses you

and god ****** i miss you

and im sorry, god, for swearing but i have run out of ideas on how to make this no good shapeshifting warm handed boy notice me remember when he said i love you

this is not a goodbye you don't deserve one this is not a plea for help see previous poems, twitter, my wrists, etc this is not a romanticization of your destructive ways and i no longer hear birds sing when you torch cities and i can't bring myself to see the love in your inferno so what the hell do i have left to say to you

i once wrote that you left love letters on my tongue and that you made drowning fun but i have come to the conclusion that those are both in fact lies and that the only thing you left on my tongue is the bitter taste of your name and beer and that drowning is ******* terrible and so are you

i remind myself everyday that you must have been a good person somewhere along the way and that there must have been some point where you actually did miss the feeling of my skin and that i was the only one you cared for- but i must also remember the day you filled my vacancy and turned on the lights and i still see you in the smiling pictures hung on the walls like your head in the hall whenever i pass by and i remember the day you moved out and on to nicer things and to this day you have succeeded in making the whole thing feel like an eviction, like it was me that wanted you gone and my peeling wallpaper has since revealed that the only thing holding me together was you

funny how every part of this poem ends with you and funny how every thought these days ends with you

and it's funny how when things ended with you you were the only one laughing

this is not a cry or a plea or an appology

this is a eulogy from me to you and i will not waste any more metaphors or adjectives or nights where i should be fast asleep on your whirlpool eyes and twisted smile

you once said, at 3 am, "you know when you're as close to loving someone as physically possible without actually saying it?" and i replied with "yes" and i love you i love you i love you

i hope flowers grow from your rotting heart and i hope you wake up some life and feel just a hint of remorse as you look into her eyes

i'm not a poet and you're not a nice boy and there was a time when i would devote my life to writing about the way you touched my cheek and you would devote your life to exploring the small of my back

that life has ended and i hope she holds you close enough at night

(my own hands will find comfort in the folds you left unnoticed and i will let myself hear the whispers of flattery upon every surface i touch. i will love myself and i will learn to not love you and i will find someone that i can love without pushing myself aside)

"Your father wants to talk to you"
"He said he'll meet you at the club"
I thought, I haven't done much wrong
And therin lies the rub
Sixteen years old, the time had come
For the old many to do his duty
He was gonna tell me just the things
To help me land some ******
I changed my shirt, got showered quick
And drove off to meet my dad
I always wondered what this'd be like
You know, it made me kind of glad
Most things I knew, I got from friends
And most I guess was wrong
My mum said, "He'll buy dinner"
So, I guessed the talk was long
I'd seen Playboys, Penthouse, Hustler babes
they all set my mind ablaze
I think I saw a **** girl once
Not sure though, there was haze
I parked the car and grabbed my clubs
Met my dad on the first tee
He said "Boy, I'm glad to see you're here"
"I'll be back, I've got to ***"
I said that Mom informed me that
It was time to have the "talk"
He said "I guess we'll take a cart"
"We can't have the chat and walk"
I waited for the first big point
Information that I'd need
You see, the stuff I'd heard till then
Was nothing good or that I'd heed
"Son"....he said and cleared his breath
Here it comes, the talk had started
"Remember to excuse yourself"
"so no one knows you've farted!"
What the hell was that I thought
Maybe he was warming up
He took another sip of beer
But, he would not put down the cup
"Son, this is not easy..."
"There's alot I want to say"
I thought OK here goes
Today will be the day
"Never...never leave de-icer"
"In the car on an icy winter day"
"It won't help you inside the car"
"And you;ll still need triple A"
What? I thought...that's not the talk
This would not help me get laid
"Son, always put some cash aside"
"Every week when you get paid"
"Dad, are you sure this is the talk"
"The one we're supposed to do"
"I thought this was about having ***"
"That's what I had thought...did you?"
"Son, you have to give me time"
"I'm new at this you know"
"I'm sorry Dad, It's just....I thought"
"We'd talk of strippers and of hoes"
"We'll get there son, just give me time"
Then he hit me with a thought
"you can use an old banana peel"
"to clean shoes stained with salt"
salt stains, savings, locked doors, farts
This was not what I expected
But, at least he was here, out with me
And his duty was not neglected
"Dad, I know most of this stuff"
"And I know this is quite tough"
"But, I thought we'd speak of other things
"Like treating women soft or rough"
"****, son....I can't tell you that"
"Your mum would have my nuts"
"I can tell you lots of other things"
"If I did, she'd whip our butts"
"Now, listen close I've more to say"
"It's how to remove a broken light"
"You can use an raw potato"
"Stab it then you turn it right"
"Thanks, dad....but, I'm gonna go"
"As soon as we're done nine"
"I'm gonna go out to the mall"
"You can go and drink some wine"
"I appreciate your candor"
"And Dad, thanks for the advice"
"But, most of this you've said before"
"And now I've heard it twice"
"I'm sorry son, I tried my best"
"But if it's the *** talk that you want"
"I guess I'll have to do it"
"It's just not knowledge that I flaunt"
"Listen close, I'll not say this again"
So, I pulled the golf cart off  to the side
It was finally gonna happen
I hope the talk was worth the ride
He took a breath and stared at me
Then in one almighty rush
Came a word barrage like none I'd heard
It was an awful aural crush
"NEVER DATE TIJUANA HOOKERS
THEY WILL MAKE YOUR THING GO GREEN
THEY DO NOT ALWAYS SHOWER
AND MOST ARE REALLY MEAN
WEAR A ****** WHEN YOU DO IT
ALWAYS CLEAN UP WHEN YOU'RE DONE
NEVER TELL A GIRL YOU LOVE THEM
UNTIL YOU'RE SURE THAT THEY'RE THE ONE
YOU'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND EMOTIONS
I'M 52 AND I DON'T YET
AND IT'S EASIER TO ENTER
WITH FOREPLAY TO GET HER WET
NEVER TELL YOUR GIRLFRIEND
EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANT TO DO
AND ALWAYS  ASK "CAN WE MAKE LOVE?"
AND DON'T SAY "WANNA *****?"
The Old man, sat, exhausted
I just sat there, stunned as well
He got the talk done in one big sentence
It was something that I would not tell
We'd bonded at that moment
Father, Son had reached a stage
Where we both could not return from
We both had turned the page
I hugged him close and shook his hand
I thought, this talk could not be nicer
"Dad" I said...."Please tell me more"
"Where should I store the lock de-icer?"

what if there was no war,
no uncanny screaming of the aghast,
no blasphemy of the past ,
nobody had to breathe their last,
No ******* ten years old,
with a vestbomb as their told,
to wear it
As 'their allah  sees it,
how young and bold they are.
No shedding of the tears,
from the eyes that waits ,
for their father and brothers,
and fears that last ,
No blood that shall gear from their mass.
What if there was no soldier to die ,
only You and I,
Together end this solemn execution of the nicer soul,
and be bold enough to give them hope,
draping them in brightest colors of life
and solicit the world to be in it.
What if...............nevermind
These are hoax with no light,
They probably are somewhere in the dark,
For there they would always bark

Disclaimer:

These are my private opinions.
Feel more than free to disagree.
They've made Life better
For me.

Eat breakfast.
One half hour less of sleep in the
Morning will keep you
Steady and strong until lunch.
It'll be worth it.
Oatmeal packs a good punch.

Don't mention how little
You've slept to anyone.
Unless you operate dangerous
Machinery or rely on being
Rested for the safety of
Yourself or others, no one
Will care.

Map the different nationalities
At your workplace.
Learn these phrases in their
Respective languages:
Hello.
Great work.
Watch out!
Making someone feel welcome at
Work is a gift worth giving.
Bridges build
Friendships. Friendships alone
Make a life worth living.

Spend some money on a
Special water bottle.
It'll inspire you to drink from it.
Drink enough to keep hydrated;
Not so much that your
Breaks interfere with your
Obligations.
Don't challenge your rights,
Or your boss' patience.

Leave the toilet looking a little
Nicer than it was.
Pick up that piece of paper.
Wipe the soap from the sink.
Aim carefully.
Others will follow your example.
Ask for hand disinfectant.
Use it.

If you feel overwhelmed by
Stress, or have personal matters
Occupying your thoughts,
Take a toilet break.
It is one of the best places on Earth to
Clear your head. Take only
The time that
You need.
Even brilliant minds have  
To act to succeed.

Enough on toilets.

Fall in love with a colleague.
Don't ever follow up on it.
Pick a favourite secretary or
Cleaning lady, janitor or
Security guard, etc.
That warm sensation in your chest
When you see them, might just
Make a bad day better.
Theirs too, when you
Smile their way.
Just remember:
Harassment is for the weak and
Insecure; a little attention never
Hurt anyone,
But don't push for more.
Keep it innocent.
Keep it pure.  

Find your least favourite co-
Worker. Make friends.
Start rehearsing that 'old buddy'-
Feeling when you see them.
Say hello. Smile.
You'll be in for a surprise in most
Cases. Trust me, you will find
Golden graces. You'll get to love
Them; you'll look for their faces.

Turn to your seniors.
They are a tremendous resource.
They deserve to be needed.
They deserve your respect.
They know how to repair more
Than we ever will.
They know what it's like
To be younger than them.
They'll have time for your
Questions,
But none to ****.

Quit smoking. Together.
Go for a coffee break.
Go for a fruit break.
Go for a water break.
Together.
Pat each other on the shoulder
With every smoke you don't have.
Take the stairs. You'll feel so well. 
Quit in pairs.
Not in a shell.

Put up humouristic posters,
Tell jokes, make
Friendly fun of each other.
Anything that provokes laughter.
Time will fly. Bonds grow stronger.
You'll look forward to work. You'll
Live happier; longer.

Do more than just enough.
You'll feel so much better about
Your skills. And others about you.
Any job is worth that little extra.
Few are worth doing twice.
Judge your efforts through
Your own eyes.

Be poetry. Don't just write it.
You'll need less ink and paper.
The art will live forever.
You'll be thankful for more.
You'll think higher of yourself.
You'll see the world around you
As the beautiful place it can be.
Be the poet and the poem.

You'll never feel depressed.
You will never be alone.
You'll be the single richest person
That you have ever known.

There has always been excuse made for the behavior my father has displayed.
The mean spirited remarks at family gatherings, feelings hurt and egos bruised.
Everyday routines have turned into the **** of a joke
There is nothing you can do to stop it. He'll always be an *******.

There once was a time when I wanted a relationship with my father.
I used to try to find ways to communicate with him, in the plainest of ways.
I tried for years but . . .
Nothing ever worked, I failed every time.

Spending your childhood afraid of a parent and never feeling loved
It leaves you broken, and feeling unwanted.
There were times when I looked at the father/daughter relationships all around
Jealousy overcame me. I cried at night because my uncles were nicer, my grandfather was nicer.

Little did I realize back then as a child that things would work out.
I had father figures in my life, just not a father - I had many fathers.
My seven uncles would protect me from everyone and everything.
My grandfather would teach me to swim.
I would get a love of the outdoors from them.
I would learn to ride a bike, tie my shoe, mathematics, and self-defense.

My father is still a hateful, passive aggressive man.
Someone that no one truly wants to be around,
I think sometimes that even the TV anchors despise him -
Maybe they can hear him calling them names and yelling at them when they cant pronounce a word correctly.

Time has passed by, I'm in college now.
I'm a part of the International Honors Society.
I've made the Dean's List every semester.
My father has yet to acknowledge my accomplishments.

Somedays it hurts, others I could care less.
When I run into my uncles now, they see me two ways.
The girl they helped raise, and the woman I have become.
My uncles always greet me with a kiss hello and a compliment.
I know they're proud of me, that's what matters.

The man who is a seated statue in front of a big screen TV doesn't care
The men who showed me the world and continue to encourage me do.
I remind myself that I am more like them.
They are the ones who raised me.

It is almost sunset but it is still too hot. She sits next to me and passes over a mason jar of crushed ice and lemonade and I take it gratefully into my hands. Instead of drinking it, I rest it against my forehead and allow the condensation from the glass to drip down the sides of my face with closed eyes. I take more of it with my fingers to drench the back of my neck, but my palms burn more for it. When I sigh because this small jar does not alleviate my apparent and immediate threat of heat stroke, she laughs at me.

She is my best friend. There was a never conscious moment that I made that decision, it just happened. Before she'd joined me on her concrete stoop I'd been turning over the idea of whether or not there was an exact moment that I'd perceived her differently, but could not pinpoint it. I’d been eyeing the patches of dirt and dead grass scattered within her yard, listening to her hum If I Ain't Got You out of tune, mumbling some of the more repetitive words here and there, picking out the sounds of her fetching things as she sets them on the counters of her run down kitchen. I try to guess what she is doing as I am hearing it, but feel unwilling to join her. It is even hotter inside her house since her air-conditioner is broken. We are devastated.

After a moment of silence she narrows her eyes against the sun tells me that she misses him. I nod, but say nothing. Three of us sat here last year and suddenly the heaviness of his absence rests between us. She quickly changes the subject and tells me she wants to start jogging because when school comes back around she’ll be thin, for sure. “I’m going to be so ****, I’m not even joking.” I smile at her determination. She talks about a girl in our year that everyone calls pretty, but I shrug. She asks if I think she is pretty. I can only nod my head. I can’t compliment her properly because I haven’t found the right words to tell her that it’s not about being thin. That is not what makes her perfect. Not to me.

I never liked her lemonade, but I begin to drink it anyway, thankful that some of the ice has melted fast enough to be a bit watered down. I don’t mind. It made it less sugary. The first time she’d given me lemonade, her father had laughed and said, “If you eat the ice, it’s like a dessert,” not knowing that dessert was literally the last thing I ever wanted. I have never been fond of sweets.

She laughs a little and crunches away on her ice and I cringe. She knows I think it’s an awful sound, but I’d grown so accustomed to it after the years of hearing it. For her, it was a typical summer treat. It wasn’t even real lemonade. In her freezer were small cylinders of an odd, condensed yellow mush that they’d dump into a plastic pitcher and then add water to. Remembering this, I no longer feel like drinking it. I hand it to her.

“Don’t want it?” she asks. I shake my head, watching neighbor girls sit under a tree with a small dollhouse as I wait for her to finish both jars. I don’t like the way it leaves the back of my throat feeling dry anyway and I never feel less thirsty after drinking it. She sets the empty jars between us and we talk about where we’ll go this summer, what movies we’ll see —lamenting that there really haven’t been any good ones recently and that maybe it’d be way more fun to see if we could convince her parents to let her join my family at the lake house. She doesn’t want to swim at all but seems excited to lay on the dock and get a bit of color.

She wants to take pictures. She rises from the stoop to return the jars to her kitchen sink and grab her camera and we walk through her neighborhood. I trail behind her consciously as she raises it to her eye, letting my fingers run along her neighbor’s chain-link fences, dreading the moment she finds a way to somehow sneak me into the frames of her photographs. She’s seemed more eager to try and capture me now that I am taller. I have grown so much in just a few months that I’m not sure how to handle my limbs just yet. They are too long and too thin and I am strangely aware of them —but even more aware of where she points her lens.

We find out that there is construction behind her neighborhood and sneak past the half constructed fences, large barricades, and signs (Keep Out, Construction Ahead). It is an odd place for nicer houses, we decide —right next to the ghetto. She laughs at the brick wall and shakes her head. “That’s not going to keep them out.” But it looks intimidating anyway. Maybe that’s the point.

In the middle of the area rests newly planted trees shading a small, wooden gazebo. They overlook a manmade pond, just large enough to swim in. She knows me too well. My first instinct is to jump in so she dares me to. Practicing self-restraint I tell her all I want is the shade and I lean against the railing of the gazebo instead. I watch her snap more photos —of leaves, of ripples, of her feet, the construction. She asks again if I want to join her and shrugs at my reluctance. She dips short legs in the water and casts a teasing glance in my direction. Her pink hair looks silly against her warm face and I smile. She tells me she knows I want to, that I’m a *****. I shake my head. She draws it out mockingly and threatens to take a picture. (I cover my face with my hand.) “Paaaaansssyyyyy.” She laughs and tells me to just get in. “You gunna just take that?” I was a lot less eager to break rules, but no. I wasn’t going to just ‘take that.’

So I jump in, glad to be cool. The momentary weightlessness frees me for just a small space of time. I feel it cling to my skin when I surface, but my clothes make me feel twice as heavy. I want all of my thoughts to feel the way your body does underwater. Light. Careless. Far away.

Suddenly, behind us, someone is shouting at us in an indistinguishable accent. We trade horrified glances, swearing we catch the word cops, and we bolt, leaving a frantic trail of water and wet foot prints to evaporate behind us. We don’t stop running until we get back to her porch, the sun fully set, and we collapse against her concrete stoop out of breath, laughing much harder than we should. “Oh my god,” she repeats over and over again with exasperated giggles and small gasps for air. My heart cannot be tamed, like it's run ahead of me. I’m sure I won’t be able to find it for a while.

“Oh my god...” She tells me she doesn’t want to run anymore and I cast her a confused glance and tell her we’re definitely in the clear, but she shakes her head. “No, I mean all summer. Forget being thin,” she says. Suddenly I feel her in that missing section of my chest. “Who wants to run in this heat?”

Captured in the psych ward part 12



This was a weird day for Ron, you see, he has to make sure that all the patients
Get the right dose of their medication,and he likes to be friendly to the patients
Cause it's hard for him to be harsh and every time a patient came out saying I am
Charlie Chaplin or Jesus has healed me. Well Ron wasn't ready for our next person
Who was Graham Toad, and he lived a great life in Broadmeadows with his cat
Snowball, off the show the Simpsons and he had a lot of fun with snowball, every
Chance he got, he would throw him around making snowball snarl at him and, this looked weird for the neighbours to see and they hated the idea of this cat being out at night
And asked Graham very nicely to bring his cat in at night, but graham was a sucker
For having a cat out having fun all the time when he wanted, said, ******* ya old fogies
And then went inside and unknown to him, the neighbours rang the police to get them
To come over to teach graham about being nice to his neighbours, and when they came
Over graham said, ******* ya ****, I live my own life here, and if you don't like the way I
Live, you can *******, and the police said to graham, the neighbours are complaining
About you, you need to respect their wishes, to keep quiet at night, and graham said
******* pigs, I don't want you **** around here and then the police left and put snowball
Inside and graham and snowball were having a wrestle and the police were worried about the well being of the cat, and just sat down on his porch and he saw a very violent for a
Cat wrestle going on and the police walked in and said, I have to tackle this cat, you see
It's the dingo that killed Azaria chamberlain, I need to **** the spirit, it's spoiling the aura of this place and the police, put his hand on Graham's shoulder and then graham said I have to do this, and tbe police said, it's your little cute cat snowball graham, and the neighbours
Were watching like a pack of peeping toms, and as graham was being pulled to the car
He said to the neighbours, stop staring at me, you stupid stupid old clots, get off my fucken
Property, and get off it right now and then he pushed the police man down, and ran inside his house and locked the door and told everyone that, he will stay in his house forever,you
See, he said, I will be the judge if I am well, or not and there is no way known to man, that
The psych ward will ever get him and keep him in that psych ward, but the police rang the
Psych ward and they sent the doctor Ron cooper and they rang him up from the cafe
Where, Ron was speaking about the interview with Macauley Culkin he saw on YouTube last night and Fran said, what did he have to say and Ron said, nothing much, just speaking about writing a book and all that jazz, and them Dan said, that Macauley Culkin is a real
Troublemaker, but then Ron said, there is ** such thing as a troublemaker and we should
Be nicer, than those ****** adults of the 80s decade and then the phonecall came and
Ron was called out to Graham's house, to try and convince him to go to the psych ward
And he opened the door, but only to yell,,at the policemen to give his cat to him and then
Ron showed up on his doorstep and said, I don't think so, I know you love this cat, I don't
Think you are ever guilty of ever loving this cat, ok, but if you love him, you will let us take him off you, you see graham there is nothing wrong with being taken to the psych ward
You are sick, you need to be monitored on medication, and then Ron grabbed graham by the arm and graham said ******* ya ****, get off me ya stupid baby man, I want you to
*******, right now ok, if I do go with you, I want you to sleep the first night with me, cause
You go to your warm bed at night, thinking you are king ****, and Ron said, I would be breaking rules, if I did that, things could happen, and graham you are handling this like a
Coward, remember what ya dad used to say and graham said, yeah, my dad ain't around no more and I feel a bit insecure, with going to that psych ward and Ron said, ok, then he told
The police, to leave him here, but Ron said, he will take snowball back to his house and
He bought a weeks worth of cat food and a fish and chip meal and went home to rest
And fell asleep in front of the TV, with the cat running up and down the house, and Ron
Had snowball sniffing his nose,which made him sneeze


Sent from my iPad

Something about being 151 miles from home
walking around barefoot all day
in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, California
wearing a vest and some black cotton pants,
drinking good Cabernet and lots of water,
eating homemade pasta salad and chicken sandwiches,
in the early-Autumn Summer-esque temperatures,
the third day of the 2013 Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival,
witnessing Gogol Bordello and The Devil Makes Three,
with my great Friends, and also Roomates, Abdul and his Wife,
and their friend and her 20 month old Son
makes me feel sort of ... *****.

Funny how that works;
Unprotected feet on very Public grounds
Unprotected feet on verily treded grounds;
Going barefoot is nice, though.

(Except the ******* sidewalks, incidentally.
Even the streets are nicer to walk on barefoot. Even pineneedles!
I am disappointed, San Francisco! I thought you were on the side of the hippies!)

If anything was learned from the Sixties,
it's that unprotected anything
in San Francisco
is easily a hazard.
-
Now, that was a ******* amazing day.
Now; to the shower and then directly the **** to bed!
Away!

When I was eleven I joined the cast of the school play
Aladdin
And the genie was played by a girl
Three years older
With straight dark hair, and a nervously witty way with words
And the most captivatingly violent contempt for the world
That masked and mingled with a host of little insecurities,
And the largest jewel tone eyes I'd ever seen.
One was blue and one was green,
And she looked at me.
I think it was when I was peeking out from behind the curtain.
She just looked at me for a second and
I fell in love with her right there.
Six years later was the first day I forgot to think of her,
And I do believe I'll never go a solid month without the ghost of loving her pressing up against my back once or twice,
Quite unexpectedly.
I didn't speak to her for the first four years,
And when I did I became her best friend, sure that that was what I felt for her.
And two years after we met,
She disappeared and I was glad by then,
But loved her no less.
That was the first.

Then during my eighth grade summer,
Just before I started high school,
I walked into my summer camp
To the theatre to audition for the play
And there on the stage there was a girl
With freckles on her shoulders like cinnamon sprinkled.
She always wore a close fitting hat over her short hair
And her eyes were the deep, slate grey of the sky just before a rainstorm cracks through the clouds.
Her fingers looked like porcelain,
And I couldn't stop looking at them
Because I remembered the sculptures in the Museum of Fine Art
That I always wanted to touch as a child- smooth and white and delicate but with the suggestion of strength.
And when she spoke her voice was the lowest, richest one I'd ever heard
And everyone in the room bent toward her as if caught by gravity.
The way she uses words when she talks is the way a concert pianist uses the keys-
You have to stop and stand in awe, sometimes.
She can make you feel things.
I saw her on that stage, and I fell in love with her, right there,
And this time I think I knew it was love and not friendship.
Four, maybe five years later,
I know I'm not over it.
She was the first girl I ever thought about kissing.
That was the second.

Then my sophomore year, I suddenly looked at a good friend of mine
And saw her for what she was instead of passing by.
Chocolate brown eyes full of sweetness and vitality,
Long brown hair that fell in little curls about her face when it escaped its pinnings as she danced,
She was radiant, inside and out,
Full of this innocent joy, an ability to be... happy
That I had never imagined.
Her little beauties snuck up on you,
And then all of a sudden hit you hard and knocked you over.
It was her loveliness as a person that made her truly extraordinary-
She was nicer to me than anyone I'd ever loved.
By then I knew it was love, and I felt ashamed.
I gave her what gifts I could-
Perhaps too many-
To satisfy some need in me to thank her for existing.
And although I finally learned to keep myself from pining for her
I know that to this day I would fall for her again if I saw her.
She was like a balm for the hard cold brutality of everyday life;
Knowing her was like healing from being alive.
She's overseas now,
Lighting up some room somewhere,
And I hope that the people in it feel the warmth of her like the sun, like I did.
That was the third.

Then my junior year, quite unexpectedly,
I found that I loved no one and hurt over no one,
And I began to find a peace in that
Until on Halloween I walked into my friend's party
(My friend who has, since, sadly spoiled from the inside out over the years,
Or maybe he always was rather that way.)
And I saw what sunlight would look like if it were a person.
Dark hair, black eyes like whole galaxies, high cheekbones, full lips
And the softest, most radiant skin I'd ever seen or felt.
I thought I dreamed her that night,
And many, many times since then I've thought the same.
She kissed me and I felt it through every cell of me,
And although I slowly fell in love with her mind in the coming weeks,
I knew I loved her soul when I saw her eyes the moment she first looked at me.
The joy of being hers left such a glow upon my soul
That when she left I was blind, and fell to my knees.
For a long, long time, she was all there was-
First in love and perfection, and I shivered when she touched me,
Then in loss and devastation, and I shook without her near.
I worked harder and longer than I've ever worked for anything in my life this past year
To learn to love her and live through it even though she is gone
Instead of letting go of the memory of her and hence losing her for good.
Worth every second, I maintain.
She was the person who first loved me back-
The only one so far, honestly-
And I know I will be in love with her until the day I die.
That was the fourth.

And then when I had resigned myself to a life
Of loving someone who wouldn't touch me anymore,
I met somebody new.
She has dark hair that catches the light red,
Wild and curly and it dances in the breeze.
She has the bluest eyes I've ever seen, full of laughter and warmth-
Eyes like that are dangerous, they can make a whole room hot or cold
All on their own.
She saw me loving her, and drew my soul from me
With the touch of her fingers on my cheek
And took it with her when she pulled away and walked down the hall
At 3 am
And when she rounded the corner
She'll never know that I sat down and cried
Right there
Because I knew I'd never quite get it back.
I knew she wouldn't be so close ever again.
But I cried with a smile
Because everyone I meet who can make me feel so intensely that I lose control
Is the most important person I've ever met, all over again.
So now there is her
Her and all these ghosts that press cold against my back when I lay down to sleep
See-through arms around my waist,
Making sure that nothing warm quite touches me truly.
And if she fades with them-
For she is already blurring around the edges,
Starting to retreat into the part of my heart that can house the things that
Hurt
-If she fades with them
There will have been another lesson to go with this loss.
I never know what I'm being taught
So brutally
But hopefully someday I will figure it out.
Maybe then somebody will chase the ghosts away and put her arms around me
And I will know security for the first time in my entire life.
She is the fifth.
But heaven knows who will be
The last.

Don't expect more than the last downfall which first and foremost
made your heart skip a beat at what you thought would be most worth it.
Pick yourself up to sky high heights and wait for falls which must come quickly after what you built this all up to be.
And if you're already falling, then forget you were ever up so high, because an ending to a story is what completes and diminishes all that previously occurred and broke hearts.
The clouds with which you fall through are the haze with which you saw through, and blow hard baby doll, they'll float away behind your plane crash tracks, and you wont hurt so deeply.
The sun is far away and reaching it isn't the greatness you're waiting for, wherein the point you realize is that your fall back to earth is much nicer than reaching your idea of heaven.
Because if you've really touched it, nothing compares...
believe it or not you'll live.
Even after a fall from such a great high.
Subconsciously you'll find yourself up there again and don't take it too seriously, because you'll find yourself plummeting once again.
Just watch your step.
Glass of peace of mind breaks easy love.

You're mother hugged me
when I walked in.
Asked how I'd been.
Told me it had been too long.
Picked me dry about
every little detail of my life;
where I was,
how I was doing,
how the northeast was treating me.
--Oh, it's all so splendid!--
She was enamored, your mother,
and I took you before dinner
in the back room
where your brother used to sleep.
--Like riding a bike, one never
truly forgets a woman--
It was magnificent
in all the ways I had remembered
and your father had cooked
the beef tips and broccoli
that he had made for your
birthday dinner all those winters ago
and we made small talk over the
beat of clinked china and good drink.
--They had a nicer bottle
of red for the occasion--
There was an intimacy to it
one that almost betrayed our
hidden skeletons.
It had been years since I'd seen you
I'd been away and traveling,
engaging in school
and intellectual activity
but the reason I left
--to find myself, if you recall
I told your mother--
was still unknown to our hosts.
Your mother hugged me
and the guilt ripped throughout like
a nail through wet wood,
and the look in your eyes
with your hand on your stomach
convinced me that we were both
condemned and that
damnation was the only honest
retribution we could deserve
and somewhere right this moment
there is a child
with her grandparents
making love with cheerios
and wailing her antipathies for the
world to hear
but for us there is
none.
There is only the look you gave me
as your mother hugged me
and the emptiness that filled
and still fills my stomach
much greater and
much longer than
your father's cooking
ever could.

It was hard to write about being depressed
I’ve only told 3 people since it happened
And from that depression
Came the lingering anxiety
And it’s something I can’t get rid of
Like a stomach virus that leaves you weak and unstable for days to come
Except the anxiety I feel
comes and goes
and it rises with stress and uncertainty
I feel like I’m carrying my depression around like a gold medal
Except the medal weighs 100 pounds and drags on the floor and makes a loud screechy sound for the world to know
It feels like the whole world is staring at me sometimes
And I can’t be myself
I have to hide my emotions
To be accepted in a society who’s people think depression is a phase
Those people have never been depressed
And are ignorant to the fact that depression is just a nicer word for wanting to **** yourself

it's been a while since I wrote "a day in the life" or even
those little diatribes about the girls I like
but tonight the keys on my keyboard feel shorter, somehow
more eager to go down
and I'm tired
but it's good to write.

I'll start with monday I guess because that's when today started
I don't know how I keep this up and survive, but
I'm pretty sure I've been sleeping three nights a week for
months now.
it's like... haha... a year after polyphasing I need to make up for lost time.
Monday was Dana's parents ("parental") anniversary, it says in
the pink striped box, on the week view, of my calendar
I don't remember getting up but I started the clock at 10am sharp with
"remove sets and 5 easy steps from current"
no, never mind, I remember it now
(I checked my texts)
Damian invited me to breakfast, Tuneup, I said 8:45
he said he'd be there earlier. I got there at 8:30, before him
and sat in the back room. read the cached news items on my iPad. ate
a breakfast burrito with bacon, smothered, green
because I didn't want him to see me eating, again,
a burrito with the chili inside.
but he sat in the other room with… someone I can't remember
(I heard them, grabbed my coffee and switched seats)
he had kids, though. so we talked about kids. and they talked about kids
I don't really care about describing work any more.

Dana's mad at me, now, definitely– if it's 10am on Monday
It may have started last night… I don't know. She's mad because I work all day
and she has off
not that I know what we'd do to celebrate.
I went to Northern New Mexico College… impressed Sandy... Sandy something.
Impressed Damian by impressing Sandy, and as we drive back from Española
I realize that he's somehow grown into a larger part of my life than I thought would happen
and I'm almost wondering now if
when we leave from here
Dana will be enough to fill it.

It had snowed over the weekend, the mountains above Santa Fe were red with blood and the
valley spread out beneath us was white like… "white people", and it was (I think, should have been)
dark by the time I got home.

Dana had cleaned everything… and she never cleans everything, but she was so mad
and I was mad. hell. I was mad. because I don't want to be this person either
I mean, of course I do
can we ever be anyone, but who we want to be?
but more than this person I wanted to be somebody who suffers, and suffers for something good
and I knew that I could righteously suffer for this trip and for Damian and not have to suffer
for whatever person I might be afraid of becoming.

So when I told her I was going to work all night, she was even more upset and then we were
leaving for her christmas party but I realized that I have no interest in Starbucks or
the people she works with and she had no interest in me right then so I told her I would stay and
I guess at least she only texted me three or four times furiously.

and I… worked. I could tell you how. but I don't care.
and she came home. mad.
but Jones and Katy came over later, it was my idea
and I tried to install my new electronic sensor gadget while they three
sat on the bed and read poetry
(Katy and Jones had broken up earlier that day)

and after they left… at maybe three, Dana was being nicer to me
and I held her some, and we made out, but I
worked
but maybe, this time, it was a little more ok.

I went to breakfast, again
went to Patricia's, felt sad.
Came home, again. drove Dana to work, again.
Checked Ryan's mail box to see if I'd missed our delivery.
spent an hour and a half on Skype with Jeff, Connor listened...
I want to say admiringly

and then we took more adderall and started writing code and things got
a little fadey for a few hours, but I was ok because I am always ok and Connor
is really good at this, really– I mean. Connor is really good. and I want him to be happy.
and to try and tell him this I bought him burgers at five star (in Devargas, where we saw Todd)
and offered to give him my car.
we dropped off Katy's phone at Connor's house and came back here, took more drugs and tried to write but
it's getting over our heads now, and I'm feeling soft and strange
but soon Dana is off work and she seems, even, happy now
as we drive to Ben Sobol's birthday, where I gave him a book
and allowed myself to entertain, for a few minutes, the thought that Ryan might come to Lima. but we had to
come home

because I know I might be tired by now, know I was once before.

and tomorrow there is so much to do.

but sleep wouldn't come and I started writing my thoughts out, about instagram and privacy
and, to Damian, about whether compiling .less was worth it in the long run
and, thinking, who will argue with me like this when santa fe is done?
and then Dana and I had *** and now is the part where I sleep so hard it hurts but I keep thinking and it feels nice instead.
and so it's four am now, and I write.

and write. caught up on time.

still trying to catch my breath, from the ***– I've had a whole pack of cigarettes today, haha, maybe I'm
suffering myself to death
but mostly it doesn't even hurt, I just can't breathe, and my heart races to break free of my chest
(to go where it will be better kept).

so I wrote this because I looked down at my feet on the berber carpet lit by the rope light under our bed and I was afraid
that I might never again know what it was like to look down at something like that,
soft, orange, warm. home.
and with Dana, falling asleep to my left.


we leave for lima two weeks from today.
I told Ryan last night that it's because it's too easy here, because everything's been done
but it's a cruel thing to say… I think… when no one has it easy here, nobody has what they want
in fact it seems like almost everyone, not just here, spends most of life trying to get this
while we see our satisfaction only as an imperative to throw it away.
but.
hey. I guess I said I'd
like to die a poet
and now it's looking that way.

and I guess the reason I keep standing outside, the reason I texted Rachel from Danny's porch is that I've always
left every place with a plan to come back to
all those Rachel's fire escapes.
but I've never yet looked back, and certainly never gone home.
so the question, as I see it now is:
am I always going forward because I've always been running away?
or is it just impossible to go back to where you came?

because I am happy here. and this, for the first time, does not feel like an escape
so I'm scared it will turn out like one anyway.