Silence was overwhelming
The tension was in the air
As if we were in a warzone
And no one wanted to be the first to give up
But for us, neither of us wanted to give up
Promises that we will never leave

The way you broke that silence
You shattered the glass everywhere
And what left your mouth were not words
But a warm breeze on a cold night
That melted the ice cubes
Residing in my heart

You taught me love is not a mistake
And how love feels when you kiss my hand
The way your voice sounds
When you tell me I’m a gift sent from above
And that we are meant to be
With words that belong to a poem
Now found their way to me

When you touched me,
I felt like a flower that blossomed
Emerged between the cracks
And everything that has fell apart in me
Somehow fell back together
As if your hands were made out of glue
And my body is a puzzle piece
Nobody told me that being in love with you
Is better than all novels

I want you to send me your voice in a postcard
So I can hang it next to the flower you once gave me
I want to breathe you, I want to feel you
Because distance is overrated, beauty is overrated
But love, love is above all ratings

Everyone can see you in my eyes,
Soaked in my skin
As clear as a tattoo
Everyone can see how I am a woman in love
A woman inked with love
Inked with you

I always want to tell you
How you smell like home
Like something that got lost along the way
And I’m mostly not good
With love poems
But with you, somehow.
I always have something to say.

Pants are overrated.
Our ancestors didn't wear clothes,
While today we cover up
Everything that we can.

Pants are overrated.
Shielding us
From what we know exist.
Covering everything.

Pants are overrated.
But, if someone didn't wear them
There would be an uproar.
I wonder why?

Hello weary star farer,

You have come a long way,
bumping through every asterism,
wondering if you would one day be
part of an art in the starry night sky.

I am but an old star with a dying heart,
plummeting to knave abyss.
As hope crashes down with me,
I come across you, oh weary star farer.

You took me to dance on the moons of Jupiter.
We sang our lungs out through the milky way.
Suddenly, all the other stars faded,
and giving up was overrated.

Your tired soul ignited mine,
giving birth to love so divine.
Rest now, oh weary star farer.
We are now home in each other's radiance.

In the burning right hand of the bald city,
denizens frame calories and count instagram blessings
while beacons of hope refund inspiration in USADA *** cups.

Abyssinian maids wail over yesterday lovers
who wore Ginsberg’s skirt with less  pizzazz
and watched bedbugs **** blood off knee caps
wondering, what if Jesus Christ drove a Nissan?

As bullets of paragraphs fall Vietnamese pesticides on my head,
The dusts off my breath sing homilies
With letters of broken leather whiskey,
For even in the most dishonest jest,
clandestine toothbrushes are overrated
and every first false lie is the only truth.

it just feels like everyone is seeking for something,
their happiness,
their salvation,
their refugee,

you never truly know,
but it always strikes me,
what if happiness doesn't exist?

what if it's just a term,
a word we like to convince ourselves to have hope,
because without hope we can't possibly survive,

happiness is ******* overrated and
i'm sick and tired of trying to find ways to reach it.

what if all of those positive energies are nonsense and just empty vibes that we temporary try to fill ourselves with to get rid of all the bitterness when we're all rotten inside,

i've been
reading poetry
ee cummings and--
sylvia plath
pretty pools of words filled with color

--and ducks

charles bukowski is a
***** old man
lots of ***** old
words
and images
but real dirt, not pretend
real's so hard to find
these days

they talk about love like it's
broken--painful--deadly--
always wonderfully beautiful
(like the beautiful snake whose
poison's killing you)

that's not
love

because it's falling asleep with warm breath on the back of your neck and your bed a little too small
because it's laughing so hard that you almost snort macaroni and cheese out your nose
because it's doing laundry and pausing just to notice how your clothes smell like her
because it's waiting alone, imagining how big you'll smile when she comes back - it's always bigger than you think.
because it's knowing that the pain's not part of love, it's part of being human

they don't know
nearly as much as they
think--
they do

i love--
baseball in the park when it's not too hot
(I play shortstop)
chocolate ice cream cones in the hot sun
(dripping down my hand)
flying kites in autumn winds
(the falling leaves make the difference)
sledding through the snow
(and crashing into snowbanks)

i love--
coca-cola
(in the glass bottles)
root beer
(with vanilla ice cream)
7-up
(it's better than sprite)
mountain dew
(caffeine!)

i love--
you
(and the soapy smell after you shower)
you
(making me laugh more)
you
(how much you care about people)
you
(and you let me, too)

that's my proof they
don't know
(what
they're talking about
that is)
so--
i think poetry
is overrated

Overrated ******* cheap bitter whine out of mouths of overworked undereducated individuals searching for achievement
Family nosing into business of other family they don't even speak to but need to know who's better off or worse off so most keep in touch for fake reasons
Friends claiming to be friends even though Bobby slept with Joe's sister Kim when Kim had a baby by Bobby's cousin Jim who's sister beat the *** of that ***** Karley for sharing a photo they were in
In a relationship today because you love to watch the haters hate but make 27 statuses about how ****** ain't **** and how you're 3 months late
Hypocritical comments followed by one hundred twenty seven likes
attached to a photo of a kid that died thirteen years ago twice
but to send a prayer or save a life all you have to do is click
LIKE.

I hardly remember the world before
I wonder what the world will be after

Facebook[.]

Admiration is the cousin of envy,
as I learned long ago in Austria.
I knew a girl from a village in the Tirol.
I don’t remember her face,
Except for the placid smile
on her berry red lips.
She was not beautiful, but pretty
in a Mägdlein sort of way,
"smelling of crushed daisies and sweat".
But her long, butter-yellow hair,
seemed to have fallen from the sun.
She wore a black, Dirndl vest
that hugged her torso, a white blouse,
and a long. striped, pink skirt.
Even her legs were beautiful,
With tiny, blonde hairs that glistened.
I wished I could be like her:
Simple-seeming, unaware, unquestioning.
I watched her stand on a rocky ledge,
On a little mound like a pedestal
That overlooked an green-blue alpine valley.
She was a poem or an imagined girl
From a fairy tale or an ad for Priumula.
She was  a goddess escaped
from the the netherworld
of dairy barns and milking cows.
I thought that she might never return
there from her lofty peak at the world..
But another girl stood beside her.
A spartan sort with round glasses
And a face like a Pug dog.
She seemed to stand guard,
In a sexless, violent way,
Threatening those who might approach.
I fantasized about pushing her off the cliff,
Just to rid us of her presence.
The altitude was spinning my thoughts,
Wondering what would happen
To this Hummel Fräulein someday.
Would she follow the other youth to Vienna,
Smoke and drink espresso in a café,
Or come back to her alpine home
And milk goats while her children played?
The next day, as if still drugged,
I strolled across the bridge to Germany
And the river path to Freilassing.
There I bought a new, blue blouse
With a heart shaped neck
And brown, corduroy slacks.
It was the best I could do then
And Dirndls were not cheap.
So I spent the summer
As an ersatz Austrian,
No longer an American with jeans.
My freedom was almost euphoric,
Including dodging classes
About Bertolt Brecht, Kurt Weill,
Die Dreigroschenoper,
Those overrated poseurs!
(Except for Mack the Knife.)
I even attended Mass at various cathedrals,
just to hear Mozart or Schubert dance
up in the arches with cherubs,
or in front of ancient, colored glass
in the gloom of medieval stone.
I accepted that The Tyrolean Girl
And her antique, sunlit style
Were as inaccessible as
Gentian and columbine, mist-shrouded
on high peaks wrapped in clouds.
I once ran to see some up close
And nearly passed out.
But knowing that, I felt their charm
Had descended from the heights
To entice us in the valleys,
With pink striped cloth, gold hair
And amethyst flowers.
They flee past us like time,
Swift as the rivers in Spring.

Osas, there's a certain darkness in me. I can't explain it, but I don't curse the darkness, because it's where we found each other. After I found you, I stopped searching for rainbows in the far reaches of the sky, you were my sunshine. You cast away my troubles and wrestled my demons. You were the missing piece that finally made me feel whole. That’s funny, because you always said that being whole is overrated, it's the holes that make us beautiful. You always made me feel beautiful. Even though the beautiful moments we once had are slowly fading, turning from vivid to grey. I can still feel your palm, gentle on my blushing cheek, stroking my hair backwards, tucking every curly strand behind my ears. The same ears you'd whisper a bouquet of wonderful words into. We were sweet together once.

You see, I wasn’t always a hot-tempered ****** like you’d often call me. I hated that word, “******”. No! I am not a ******, I am not hot-tempered, I am not viscous lava, I am not fire. I am the phoenix that rose out of the flames you lit. The same fire you came running into, but while trying to save me, you forgot to save yourself.

You were the erupting volcano. You were vicious and violent. You were a deadly collection of everything vile. You were hot and cold, you were yes and no. Did you even love me at all? I guess I will never truly know.

Ok, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry I wrote that last paragraph. I know you loved me dearly. I'm only scraping for a reason to hate you; to cleanse my conscience. I feel so stupid right now. I can't stop crying. I can't stop thinking about that night. The error of my deed still haunts me. The least I can do is to keep writing you back to life, writing back into my arms.

I got 12 years; I'll be out of here just in time for menopause. I never cared much about having unruly, noisy, silly little babies running riot, leaving a trail of ****, puke and toy cars lying around. But I cared about you. I still care about you deeply Osas.

We were of the same form, you and I. Passionately understanding each other's darkness. You understood me perfectly. Better than all the others before you. You knew how fragile my heart and mind was, yet you broke both. Why? I was crazy in love with you, you took away the love and left me plain crazy.

I hate the drugs they give me here, it numbs my mind and takes away the pain, but why will I want that to go away, when the pain is all I have left of us? I feel so hollow inside, I’m an emotionless wreck now. I have lost myself! Maybe if I dig deeper, I'd discover an avalanche of emotions still buried inside me. Sandwiched between my ice-cold heart and the poisonous blood coursing through my veins. The same veins I want to expose to the spirits in the wind, and as my warm blood pours on this cold concrete like leaves on a forest floor, I’d finally be at peace. I hope to find peace in death, for death is not a dark abyss, but a ladder to light - an ascension to another realm. And in that realm I hope to find you, my darling, to explain to you why I did it. Why I pushed you off the balcony.

I’m sorry, but I couldn't look you in the face anymore. You disgusted me! I saw you with her in the breakroom at the office party. Yes! I saw you on your knees with your face in between her thighs! Even though you claimed she seduced you, I still saw you! I can't get that horrid image out of my head. It was in that moment I knew I couldn't live another day hearing you tell me another lie.

I got a blade today, from a lady in the shower, after I let her touch me in all the right places, still it felt so wrong. You have no idea how hard it is to find even the simplest sharp object in here. Random body cavity searches, routine cell shakedowns, constant reminders that I have and I am nothing. At least she was gentle when she slid her fingers inside me. Aunty Julianna was never gentle whenever she touched me in the bathroom stall at church camp.

I’ve truly lost myself, Osas. Nothing, and no one, can make me whole again. I’m covered in holes now and I don’t feel beautiful anymore. I feel bitter, sad and shattered. Even mirrors no longer lie to me. I see myself for what I am now - a monster.

"I have to do this, this is the only way." I calmly reassure myself, while clutching the rusty blade and pressing its jagged edge against my deathly pale skin.

"Calm down Adesuwa, you’re having an episode again." A voice echoed from the corner of my dark cell. Your voice. But still I didn’t believe.

"Is that you Osas?" I whispered. "Have you come to forgive me or have you come for retribution?"

"Here's your dinner." said the prison guard, before spotting the blade and sounding the alarm. I was on my belly before I could say a word, my arm bent behind me, my fingers pried open... my ladder gone.

Another day. I guess I’ll die another day.

i still think the oceans are insulators of tectonic plate movements, constant and endless vibrations represented by waves, these vibrations, when translated on dry land, movements of crumbling buildings, rigidity as testimony to the insulating fluidity of water; it's like those nuclear power plants, you use water to cool things down, or as in the case of oceans and tectonic plates, insulate volatility... well, radioactivity in the opposite scenario of nuclear power plants... oh look, a rhyming couplet - now that's how you understand things, if not reveal them, find complimentary rhymes on a grander scale than the casual technique in poetry, so over-used and overrated.*

i guess so, monsters bedded, big and small,
an old granny without a family member
to accompany her, harrowed by
charity groups who ask for money
more for the bureaucracy of its workers than
aiding actual victims - someone has to
look pretty, writing solemn letters and
filing in the spreadsheets -
by the way, how's that advent of the grand
timings working, find the hyphen,
the comma, the colon and semi-colon on the clock?
well, there ain't a full stop on there, i'm sure,
hard to decide on encoding time of a 100m
sprint, or a formula 1 thousandth of a second.
so this angel of euthanasia comes along,
a cruel case they say, while years later
a man suffering motor neurone disease
pleads for a change of law, according to switzerland,
he wants it bad, real real bad, he's no longer
even stoic about death, the disease didn't
rob him of expressing tears, and he's pleading
for it, a death sequence, he too knows
a drop in an ocean has no ripple effect,
humanity is the ocean, waves and waves of it,
always dynamic, never still like a lake or mirror,
either the ocean, or the river;
so this angel of euthanasia is there, kills
about 100 grannies, and guess what,
he hangs himself in prison, so that his widow
can receive his pension salary of £100,000,
odd, isn't it? i mean, why would a supposed
"serial killer" wait in prison, hang himself
just after he was eligible for a general practitioner's
pension, just so his wife could have it?
all those old grannies probably lived
on the state pension of one hundred
and twenty quid, not one hundred thousand, i'm sure.
well the guy suffering from motor neuron disease,
oh crap, i wish i could remember that philosopher's
name, parmenides? zeno? can't remember,
yeah, forced himself to suffocate,
without water and without a pillow; yep,
just sat there and held his breath.

I will want to kiss you
a lot
I hope you still have time for that

dear lover,

i miss you. even though i’ve never met you, i can still feel your energy from a thousand miles away.

a face that can make men go to war for you. your smile makes time move slow, everything in the world makes sense. i find comfort in your love and warmth in your presence.

lover. i fell in love with your words, everything you uttered was. beauty personified in words. that deep energetic vibe from your soul makes me want to dance in your. elegance.

i fell in love with your mind, and i fell deep within your subconscious. a trance i was in. you’re my intellectual crush. you had me on my knees, you had me intellectually lovin’ you.

i had a dream we were both dancing to Eros’ beautiful rhythm. nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart, baby don’t think im out to hurt you. not my intention.

i fell in love with you and i never knew. falling in love with you was never my plan. but i guess it was God’s plan. we’ll never know.

even though we’ve never met. i can still remember the sound of your heartbeat, your voice so sweet like the heavens. and your movement so graceful. graceful. you’re like a Raven – innocent, beautiful, sweet.

my heart just skipped a beat.

beautiful soul. speak to me. i saw the beauty of life through you, beautiful soul. and even though we’ve never met, lover. i miss you.

you got a lotta soul, lady. that’s beautiful.

all i wanna do is admire your beauty from a distance because im afraid if i touch you. my flesh will be tempted to do all that is regarded. earthly.

i’ll prolly luh you fo’eva. let me escape through you in thought. beautiful lover. beautiful soul.

“touch me with your mind. hands are overrated & ‘soul’ is overused.”

the closest stranger i’ve never met. i became more with you. your lips i will kiss, your hips i will hold, and your love i will embrace. you have my heart. you have the key to my heart.

and the more i think of you, i miss you. even though we’ve never met, beautiful lover.

our hearts are interlocked in deep conversation. thoughts & feelings in graceful motion, love never known.

i saw us dancing under the moonlight. you wore a silk white dress with Queen Elizabeth’s crown upon your head. and me, just a man wearing a white suit with a purple rose in his chest pocket.
imagine.

and we danced in the cosmos, the stars were watching us — the sun and the moon were playing music only heard in the heavens.

dear lover. beautiful lover. beautiful soul. i love you. i miss you. even though we’ve never met.

Dearest reader,


My name is Margot Dylan and I am no longer a ******.

I stared at Dianne staring at Frieda Bentley, as she dragged on a Camel Blue and as I dragged my pen across my notepad. I sketched her figure as she walked closer to Frieda, dropping her cigarette on the ground. Frieda smiled at Dianne, as she stepped and twisted her shoe on the smoldering carcass.

And they looked at each other. Not like how normal people look at each other. And Dianne smiled. A smile that was not like any smile Dylan ever gave me.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, with ******* slipping to my collarbone. The ******* tapping belonged to a girl. The girl's name was Thora, a brunette that smelled like bubblegum and 'don't go'. Thora had something in common with Dianne: They both recently came out as gay. Unlike me, both family reactions were fairly positive. In fact, so positive that-What are you drawing?

"Margot?"

I paused, looked at Thora, and looked back at Dianne or Dylan Dunham. "That girl," I pointed in their general direction, as Dianne kissed Frieda on the forehead. Thora followed my finger in time for the kiss on the lips, "the ironic one."

Thora Nelson, daughter of Cameron Nelson and the deceased Geraldine Nelson, looked at my chin and asked, "Who is she?"

Thora's cotton-candy-blues met my puddles of mud, as I looked away, putting my notepad in my backpack. Before I zipped, I grabbed the lime green marker sleeping next to my pack of index cards. My teeth squeezed the leaf colored cap off, as I pulled out the fetus, smelling the aroma of non-toxic afterbirth.

I asked if she wanted a tattoo and she shrugged, "Oh no, you mean I get to choose whether you touch me or not?"

Lightly pressing the fiber tip to her arm, I glanced up at her and shrugged a bony shoulder, "Her name is Dylan Dunham. Well, it's actually Dianne. It's complicated. I used to call her Dylan. She used to call me Margot."

"But your name still is Margot," Thora informed as her eyes followed the acid-green ink trail.

"Some people change, some people don't," I said, with the cap held between my teeth.

I painted her arm in lime hope, by the soda machines. My eyes focused on her pores that I imagined swallowed dirt and bacteria from the side of my palm. I could feel Thora disarm me with her eyes, after I had disarmed her with my words. Her heartbeat echoed inside my grasp.

"I didn't know I was dating Leonardo DaVinci," the words flowing from her mouth.

"I am gay and Italian, so it's not like I was doing a terrific job of hiding it from you," I muttered as I finished and held her pale forearm and bracelet cuffed hand a foot from her face, "Look: it's us underneath a tree."

Turning and wrinkling her nose, she adjusted, moving her head back and forth. " Oh wow. Wow, wow, wow. Meta. So meta. So abstract. Brilliant in its simplicity, deconstructing the concept of natural complexity-"

"Shut up-"

"The tree looks like an umbrella. And we look like we have canes-"

"Those are our fishing poles. In that world, we are fishermen. Fisherwomen. Fishergals-"

"And my **** is too big and your ***** are too small and our smiles aren't big enough-well, at least mine isn't, I can't speak on your behalf," she finished.

Grabbing her arm, I looked at my masterpiece, looked at her, looked at it again, and looked at her again as her smile grew with every glance. "Well, I can see how it'd be up to debate, and you're right: very, very meta. But you do have a big ****, and I'm not one to sacrifice accuracy. Speaking of accuracy: as I look at this green ****, I realized I hit the mark by dating you. Honestly, your **** may have its own zip code..And...I'd like to be in its area? Please stop me."

Her chin touched her knee, as she doubled over, laughing. I played with her hair, wrapping her bangs around my fingers. As my hands were enveloped by her dark hair, I found a scar on her crown. I imagined Thora's milky-white fingers scrubbing through shampooed locks, trembling across the zig and zag of removed glass.

I imagined Thora Nelson, of Cameron Nelson and the deceased Geraldine Nelson, hearing sirens instead of water hitting the tiles. Her slumping to the floor, as lather and water runs down her face, each tear a memory of being dragged out of a steel ribcage, onto broken glass jungle pavement. It was too easy yet too difficult to imagine her staring at the steaming showerhead. It was too easy yet too difficult to imagine her reaching towards a metallic carcass growing in flames.

Her hand grabbed my leg and I saw her for what might have been the first time.

"Hey you. Listen. Are you listening?"

I nodded.

"I'm in love with you, Margot Dylan. Like, really in love. To the point to where I feel like I'm in a Jennifer Aniston rom-com. It's disgusting."

I didn't know what happened between my exploration of her hair and her pale face studying mine, but, before I knew it, my blood shook and barbed wire nerves orbited around pieces of my body.

The ricochet of a soda can smacking the mouth of the machine sounded. Time was either too fast or too slow, as I looked at Thora's cheap mascara eyes and chapped, soft pink lips. She was the type of girl that could make someone happy not to believe in god.

"And I love you. To the point to where I'd refuse Hogwarts because of not being able see you during the school year."

"How sweet, I know how badly you wanted to get into Ravenclaw," she smiled.

"Sacrifices must be made in the name of love, you know. And it ***** because you're not even my type," I admitted.

"Oh, how tragic. And what is your type, if I may ask?"

"You may, thank you. And the falling in love type," I'm an idiot.

"Could you be anymore cheesy?"

"Mozzarella."

She stopped and looked at me, "Hey, but really, I'm in love with you. It's real."

"I love you, too."

Her eyes were speckled,"You really love me, Margot Dylan? Because I'll believe you."

I leaned in, softly placed my hands on her cheeks, breathing the word, "Yes." I alternated between staring at her mouth and her eyes, as her lids began to drop.  My lips started to dab hers and soon grab, as if soft hooks grew out of and connected our flesh. I found the corner of her mouth, the summit of her cheek, and each crease in her lips. Nine or ninety seconds past before I stopped, pulled away, and looked into her eyes. "Hogwarts is overrated anyway," I lied. She laughed.

Her face was red, as she looked down while covering her face, "Don't look at me, I'm a dork. I'm being a loser. I'm infected."

"It's okay. You can be my infected dork and we can be losers together," my voice was a rasp.

"It really isn't. You see, my face always becomes extraordinarily red after I kiss or am kissed by someone, especially by someone beautiful. And it doesn't help that I've never been kissed by someone I love. And I've never kissed a girl before and I'm really glad you were the first, so there. Gah," her hands fenced her face,"I'm just going to hide behind these hands, don't mind me."

I was in love, "For how long?"

"Probably forever, I don't know. Or until the next installment of American Horror Story, I haven't made up my mind yet."

We heard Ms. Calloway scold Dianne about smoking on school grounds. I looked at Thora and the bell rang. Her hands slowly dropped, as everyone started to move in blurs. Bodies gaining more and more distance. Inches became miles. Feet grew into light-years, and, before I knew it, Thora kissed my cheek and said, "I hope I see you later, okay?"

My hand had something in it. My fingers unfurled and revealed high school origami. My name was on it, with a heart or a ****-I'm the artist in the relationship. I began pulling on *****, the tips of my fingers breaking the paper safe. So delicate must have been her mysterious movements.

I opened it.




A pebble flew from my hand and blipped off her bedroom window. Funny thing about bedroom windows, they look the same at 12:03 am. Or maybe they look a little different when the person you love is behind the glass, as you do an eighties-film-esque pebble throw. Before my next pebble hit the pane, her bedroom light came on.

Navy blue curtains disappeared to the sides as Thora came to the window and rubbed her eyes. A second later, she was gone as I imagined her sneaking past her father's bedroom, quietly down the stairs, and through the foyer. As I imagined this, I could hear the front door being unlocked and creaking open. I walked towards the porch and a yellow glow escaped with a silhouette living in it.

Thora's left hand is burnt, but I don't mind and I don't think I ever will. She held my hand as we walked through the threshold. At first I was nervous when I saw her father in the living room, but I instantly realized that he was passed out, as my eyes found empty beer cans sleeping beside him and around him.

"It's not like this every night," she whispered, "he just has trouble with certain months."

Thora tucks her toes when standing in place. When we were walking up stairs, I knew she would be embarrassed if I looked at her toes, so I kept my eyes on the second floor. I don't understand why she feels this way, though. She has very nice feet, and that's coming from someone who thinks feet are gross.

We walked past punched in doors adjacent to perfect picture frames. Her mother was a beautiful woman.

As we approached Thora's sticker-clad door, she turned to me and whispered, "You're about to enter the only place in the world I feel safe. So, please don't break my heart in it and please use a coaster."

My thumb kissed her smooth burn, as I took my first steps into her bedroom. The light-switch flicked and her room illuminated. There were movie posters hugging the walls, pinned to a bulletin board were pictures of lost people and found memories. She looked at me and whispered, "I don't know how to keep people."

We stood before the side of her bed and I looked at her smile, "You sure you want to do this?" Thora nodded and I reached towards her thighs to lift the bottom of her shirt. Lifting it over her head, I looked at her porcelain figure clad in black *******. I tossed the grey shirt onto her bed.

My eyes swam from her belly button to her *******. My fingers approached and stopped until she said it was okay. Tracing her curves, scars, and stretch marks, she pet my fingers. Thora glanced at my hands on her ******* and then at me, cooing, "I'm sorry."

My hands slid to her sides, "Sorry for what?"

She shrugged, "I don't know," her eyes spilling, "Sorry for this," she motioned at her torso as she stared at her bulletin board and then at me before looking away again, "I want to be perfect. I want to be perfect for you."

"Oh no, no, no," I asked for her hand and then placed it over my left breast, "Can't you feel how beautiful you are?"




Her arm was under my ******* and her hand was on my rib, occasionally running her fingertips across the bumps. She slept with her leg wrapped around mine, staying as close as she could to me. I looked at her, in her slumber, and left a faint, burgundy stain on her forehead. I reached towards our shins and pulled the black cover over our fused bodies.

I feel like I have been in a coma for seventeen years and I've just woken up. If I could, I'd stretch this moment over centuries and use it to smother wars. This relationship probably won't last past my senior year, but that's okay. It truly is.

In this moment, Thora Nelson is the love of my life, and, in ways I don't understand yet, that is the most beautiful thing in the world.



May the sun set in our eyes forever,


Margot Dylan

And one day she just quit.
She had taken it for so long that she had nothing left to give and was so bitter she couldn’t function.
She gave in and gave up trying.
She stood up and walked out the door.
She’s going to do what she needs to do.
She’s going to be strong and carry on.
And when she looks at that baby girl, she’ll know she was right in the end.  
Her little girl needs love that she can’t give with a dying heart, and fading soul.
Her innocent eyes shine bright with the reflection of hope and better days.
She will walk down her own road, and do it her way.
She will ignore the whispers and weary glances because he’s the one who ruined all chances.  
Without a hint of bitterness she says, “Love is overrated”

She’ll be ****** is she’ll fall again.
She’ll go cliché and wear her cold heart on her sleeve.  
All the love she needs is there in her child’s face, glowing with unconditional forgiveness and innocence.

My mom likes to feed the ducks and storks that frequent our lake.
We often refer to her as the "Bird Lady."
They congregate in our backyard, waiting to be fed.
She throws them cereal and dried up old bread.
She's given most of them names.
Whenever one becomes a mother,
she keeps track of the ducklings.
Most of them don't make it.
They fall prey to hawks and cranes.
I can always count on her for an unwarranted update.
"Juliet lost another baby today."
"I don't care."
If they lose them all,
she likes to call them Bad Mothers,
which I find ironic.

This morning, I saw three pelicans in our lake.
I guess there's a first time for everything.
They were white with black-tipped wings.
They were feeding with a sort of unexpected grace.
They'd dunk their heads then come back up with something in their long orange beaks.
The bottom of which would shake. All loose and leathery.
After they had their fill, they flew off in unison.
One after the other,
like one, two, three.
And afterwards I thought,
"**** swans."

Note: This is a spoken word poem. Read aloud for best affect. Poem will read with a natural flow.*

Remember back when beauty was that little yellow flower?
And nobody picked it because they were afraid that the color would fade
So they just sat
And they stared
Silent
In awe
For hours at a time
The way that today I look at my reflection
But the awe has turned to agony
And I look in my eyes, and recoil
What used to be “Just fine” now causes inner turmoil
Isn’t that sad?
That flower got picked from its window box in the schoolyard
And just like we expected, life for it got hard
The flower scarred
Its pain written out on every single petal
And the petals, they faded
Like now natural beauty has become overrated
As the flower sits in a bouquet of hybrid roses
And those roses have thorns
Thorns that ***** and sting and poke
Like when you say, “Aw, c’mon, it was just a joke”
To that girl you called ugly ‘cause she dyed her hair and got braces
Trying to fit in with all the other faces
Isn’t that what society wants from us today?
To change and rearrange what God gave us
To fill ourselves with plastic because, according to the famous ones
That’s what makes life so fantastic
And Barbie isn’t our role model because she’s smart
Not ‘cause she’s a doctor and a vet and a scientist and probably a professor in art
But because she’s skinny
And if you put her proportions on a real girl
That girl would be in a hospital
Fighting anorexia while she gets another implant
Today it feels like we don’t stand a chance
Because they tell you that if you wanna make an impression
Just forget that yellow flower
And now, with every waking hour
I think about how I could be taller
Or have prettier hair
Maybe if I dyed it black or red or blonde then everyone would care
Maybe none of them would stare
Maybe I could finally live my life
Without everyone waiting to see if I can finally live up to the expectations
Because I can’t
I look in that mirror wondering if I can see what everyone else is wanting
Because once upon a time
I thought I was fine
I thought short hair was spunky
And dark eyes were lovely
It’s like I’ve been living a lie
Like Christmas time when you finally ask Mommy if Santa is fake
And she hesitates
And then she tells you yes
So I stare for hours and hours
I’m just like that flower
Now I’m broken and I’m plain
When did beauty become a game?
What’s ugly is the way kids hate themselves now
‘Cause of what the TV is telling us now
That we all need to learn how
To look like everyone else
Hate to burst your bubble that I can’t look like Paris or Nicki
(Spoiler alert: They’re fake)
Not unless you want me
Destroying myself
Because I refuse to be like everyone else
I just wanna get rid of the shame
That makes me blame myself for not being “pretty enough”
I just wanna be that flower
Whose beauty was natural and everyone watched for hours
Not needing to compare themselves to it
Because they all looked just as beautiful
And they knew it
So maybe some of us who are still sane, we can make a change
Show the next generation that beauty isn’t in what you gain
It’s when you remain the same
And maybe I can look in that mirror
Without any fear
And actually smile
And sit there awhile
And find beauty without a search
Maybe then there wouldn’t be so much hurt
Like when we see that yellow flower
Petals stretched toward the sun
Then we will know our job is done
And we have finally won

Seven years. It has been seven years since that day.

And now here they were in the alfresco of that overrated café, with the man sitting across the lady: he was sipping his black coffee and she, her jasmine tea. The scenario almost seemed impossible in the past, but for someone with her tenacious personality, something ‘impossible’ just meant ‘a little later’ than ‘never at all.’ This moment played by fate was comparable to the persistent rainstorm that forced them to stay together a little longer in the coffee shop than planned.

“I’ve been thinking,” he sighed into his coffee mug, “About leaving this place and heading to the States. Study more on film and acting from the professionals themselves. Get into showbiz of the global standard. Be a real director. What do you think?”

She straightened her posture and settled her cup down on the table, nodding in acquiescence at his idea of endeavors that appeared promising for his future.

“Well… Why not? I say go for it. I support you in that decision.”
He diverted his eyes to hers, trying to read the gaze behind those wide eyes. Though wide and nonchalant they may seem to be, only a few can notice and genuinely understand what swims in those dark depths. Their staring game ended as her voice surfaced once again through the sound of rainfall.

“I support you. If you’re ever wondering why, it’s because I had to make a decision just like that—seven years ago.”

This time it was his eyes that widened, and he placed his mug alongside hers.

“What kind of decision was it? You definitely weren’t aiming to be an actor like me, considering you’re a licensed interior designer, not to mention writer, right now,” he chuckled, leaning back onto his chair.

A soft smile of nostalgia emerged on her lips as she remembered what she wrote on the night of the sixteenth, a day before the significant seventeenth.

April 16, 2017; 11:15 P.M. — I’m satisfied of this unrequited love. I’m happy this is all one-sided. I’m glad everything is ending before it can even truly begin. It would be easier for me to leave him who doesn’t even have the slightest knowledge of my existence, who doesn’t even know my sentiments, who doesn’t even miss me, yet alone think of me. It’s all good; perfect, even. A broken heart is better than two. At least there will be some times when I might let him and his strong hands put my weak heart back together and restore it to me. I’d rather have that than us both losing and scattering the pieces of our mutually shattered hearts. He must never be broken; I need to protect him from being so—I will take myself away from him. I’ve never been any happier to be in a love that’s unknown and unreturned. He will be happy, and I will be too. In the end, his happiness will always be mine.

“I had to leave the places and people I love, to be where I am and who I am today,” she exhaled. “It was tough, but thinking of those moments and people I held onto and appreciated… all of that kept me going.”

“Was it a happy one? I mean, did you find the happiness or ending you were looking for?”

“If I were to be dead honest, yes. More than happy, actually. I’m not just relieved, or satisfied; I’m overwhelmingly grateful. I earned the careers and lifestyle I aimed for. I managed to travel all over the world and see the places and people I’ve wanted to see. My soul roams free, finding home in the many corners of this earth. I’ve finally come home, and this time I know I’m not alone.”

The man was a grown man in a smart-casual attire, but he sure maintained the curious eyes of the child that he furtively kept in himself. Being under his scrutinizing eyes, she reminisced of the same intensity he gave back when they were still twenty-one and on the verge of growing up.

“But what about ‘him’ whom you left behind? Did you come to know him this time, maybe love him too, again?”

She picked up her teacup, providing a little wall between them both, and swallowed the remaining aromatic drops along with the thoughts she wanted to tell him ever since then.

I came to know him—you—but I don’t love him ‘again’. The feelings, which I harbored for you for all these years, never left me even when I left you back then. I know I was told to reach for the moon that I may land among the stars even if I failed to reach it. But I realized I had to reach beyond the moon—the sun, the Milky Way, the entire universe—because I wanted and needed to be worthy of my existence. I wanted and needed to prove myself to myself, to you and to everyone else.

“I did. And I’m happy with how we are right now, even if it seems like we’re back to zero this time round.  Though I’m not sure how my feelings are for him now, if I seek him as a friend or as a potential love interest.”

He seemed doubtful of her response hence did he hesitantly express his last thoughts: “So you’re happy now because you left him previously. But what if he’s the one who leaves this time? Would you still be happy?”

The clouds were emptying now as the pouring rain concluded to a light shower; likewise the people they were surrounded with under the alfresco umbrellas. She knew that she was prepared to answer this question. For the past years, concerned individuals would ask her the very same thing, and for this was she thankful. She herself would recite the words to her reflection every day, much like a prayerful mantra.

He caught a faint twinkle in her eye, a proof of which her answer would be echoing with conviction and it made him realize that those particular words to be said would be one of those things that would remind him of her.

“It won’t matter if he learns how I feel then or now, and yet doesn’t feel the same way. If leaving me would direct him to his happiness, then so be it. Perhaps we aren’t meant to love each other in this lifetime, any other lifetime, or even in parallel worlds, but I still am and would be happy about it. What’s greater than this feeling of being able to love someone so much? Like I said: in the end, his happiness will always be mine.”

Saturn is in
line with
Venus tonight
but, nothing's easy
when you're down.
The clowns walk
around, dressed in
yellow; fast food smiles
and cheeseburger
souls, and nothings
easy when you're down.

The dancers with poles
and sadness, that Halloween,
fires burning, childhood
perfumed dreams,
kind of sadness fills the
navy blue night.
I can't find the North star,
and the jack-lanterns lie rotting
in the streets of Nebraska
and Kansas, and the candies
all gone, and the kids wait.
And I can't find  
the deep blue shirt I bought
at Goodwill, and Billy Burroughs
is filled with worms and earth,
and Bukowski looks at Satan
and says, "what do you
mean, we're out of whiskey?"

I've never been much for the stars,
and family and Thanksgiving are
painfully overrated,
and nothing's easy when
you're down.

I feel that love is somewhat over rated at times
I hope that it can only get better as i grow older
I feel that it should, but I don't usually count on it

I don't always seem to understand what I do
Even though I've done it many, many times before  
Love always seems to feel somewhat strange

When I fall in love, it can make me feel uncomfortable
When I fall out of love, I feel the same way, why
I just can't quite seem to figure out these feelings

I just hope I can find that one girl, that one fine jewel
Something I never ever want to let go of and to cherish
That one girl that can remove these feeling of uncertainties

I hope that one day my feet can firmly footed in this life
I hope that one day I rise above my feelings of uncertainties
I hope that one day I overcome the feelings of love being overrated

It's hard to wonder,
If you're overrated,
When I'm caught,
Blurred vision to your fever,
Two steps behind

Take what is left of mine
Something buried and something wound
a jarred melody
of a song most dear
and hang it upon a river of self-doubt
to let it float in a pond of that overrated emotion.

          They had always said
                                                         in LOVE
nothing should really matter.

Never told us about the different ones.
                  don't they need it too?

"A working man
that's what you are
a young, dependable
not entirely punctual
working man
and you can do anything
with your working hands
fix a tap, wire a circuit,
build a garden wall
or fell a tree
you can do
whatever you put your hands to
you can be whatever you want to be"

Something breaks

"with working hands
I'll try to fix it but
it takes time to learn
it takes time
to be good at something
for me
everything takes time
I'm not bad they say
just learning
in my frustration I wonder
what if I'm at full capacity
when there's more to come?
what if I'm just incapable?
destined to be an idle man
with rough, callused
soon to be soft
and useless
working hands"*

                    . . .

Well I want tomorrow today
so what good are these
working hands anyway?
I work and work and work away
pay my bills
I'm always late with rent
yes, work is overrated and
my pay doesn't make a dent
can't replace all the time I've spent
working with my hands

Isn't it funny
trading something so precious
for something as trivial as money
my brain works over time
day and night
when I get to work
it's like turning out a light
I think less and do more
it's kind of nice
so I think I'll sit tight
and stay on the tools
reject the office jobs

I can have it all
white finger
back problems
an RSI
bad knees
asbestosis
and arc eye
I can get all of them
so long as I try
work really hard and graft away
working man and all that!
who wants tomorrow today
when you can wear a hard hat?

We're standing outside in a cold, blistered wind,
for a quick pull of smoke and the chemicals within?
A quick rush of joy, euphoric train wreck,
a cure made illegal for a chemist's blank cheque.
Plant matter burning, charring my lungs,
an irritated throat and a cough soon to come.
Pass it to a friend and beg them to be quick
so I can burn my lungs again - let my blood run thick.
Serotonin chained and forced to make me feel good,
yet a non-addictive substance, apt misunderstood.
Less harmful than tobacco, alcohol still worse,
a sadly brainwashed nation where impression's pre-rehearsed.

Generations plagued with loud misguided cries.
They say it makes you stupid, another heartless lie.
We'll strap a gas mask to a monkey, and force it THC.
Forget about the oxygen... I wonder what we'll see?
It seems their brain cells died - it has to be the drug!
Government made a discovery? They ought to be less smug.

But back to my friend, and I in the cold,
forced to be hidden from long outdated scold.
Celebrating beauties in the world that were forgotten,
we're told it's overrated, like fine Egyptian cotton?
I know from experience that this has to be divine:
it could not exist if the sun could not shine.
The wind has stopped blowing, the rain takes it's place,
to feel divine beauty of liquid touching face.
It is something natural, and comes from within,
wow, I'm still standing in a cold blistered wind.

Don't suicide.
Don't die.
Death is way overrated.
You don't rest peacefully
Rolling in the deep,
Or sit on clouds
Admiring the view
Below.
You're dead.
It's not a compromise
From our daily woes;
It's not respite
From our daily blows.
It's death.
And if you think
For one eternal second
You'll hover, ghost-like,
At your memorial,
And hear stories
About how great you are,
Were,
Or see your enemies cry,
Forget it.
You didn't get even
With anybody.
I suspect, if it's possible,
You wouldn't be interested
In us anymore,
Anyway.
You got dead.
Forever and ever.

Being normal is so overrated
Everyone's in pain everyone is jaded
The realm of creativity
Is the place to be
Flowing and feeling the energy
Dispense your sixth sense
Onto humanity
If your third eye is blind
You have to open your mind
To the channels we have inside
That connect with the universe and combine
Our thoughts and our words into something divine
I promise normalcy is a sickness
Do you feel your aura?
If there's a thickness
Then you need to clean it out
Speak with a whisper, there's no need to shout
It clogs your soul
And you need to know
How to let go
Of whats not really you
Deprogram yourself, become brand new
Wipe off what society has done  
Face your problems, don't just run
Step out of the shadows and into the sun
Feel yourself and close your eyes
Feel your energy and become more wise
Free yourself for just a moment of your time
Just sit still, stop trying to climb
This present moment is all that is real
No past, no future, no time, no wheel
When I say everything is an illusion it's not an exaggeration
We create what we want with our imagination
If that's the truth, what reality are you making
Are you being true to yourself or are you just faking
The paranormal is more real than what we see
Not believing institutional lies is the key
Be true to who you are
Show off your love and show off your scars
Your clothes are worthless and so are your cars
The realest you is made of pure light
And it flickers and dims when you're trying to fight
No need to resist
Put down your fist
Open yourself to what's all around
Pull yourself up off the ground
Nothing is against you but your own self
Become the books on the library shelf
Full of perspective, depth, and knowledge
Don't be programmed by a government run college
Think for yourself and don't stop growing
Expand as big as the galaxy and don't stop flowing
You're the micro of the macro, which is the universe
Save the world, but take care of you first
You can't save anything when you're drowning in doubt
Your soul knows something is wrong that's why it's trying to shout
It's telling you that what you're doing needs change
Don't you realize you're feeling a little bit strange?
Take accountability for your co-creation
What you're seeing right now is of your own manifestation
You're not a victim, you're actually in charge
If you don't like how you're feeling then open your arms
Give yourself a hug and stop all the hate
Love is always the answer, it's not a debate
Love yourself, the world, and everything around
528 hertz is the life changing sound
The vibration which is the frequency of love
Feel it, embody it, wear it like a glove
Magic happens when you're totally in tune
Come sit with me beneath the moon
We will make a new intention and set it in motion
Make waves of change in this consciousness ocean
Find love within and stay unique
This society wants to mold you and make you weak
Protest them by knowing your soul
That's the most potent power you'll ever hold

Do you ever wonder why we chase the clock? Why must I "Always arrive early!" "Don't keep them waiting?"
I don't follow the hand of the hour.
I rise and fall to my own mind.
Is that such a disaster, mother?
Time does not exist, so why are you chasing the clock? Time does not exist, so why is you're life a rush?
Slow down, Society. We have nowhere to be. Nowhere, but everywhere.
Stop running here and there.
Stop worrying about the time.
Stop living by the hour.

Just be. Just live.

Rise and fall to the sound of the birds. Rise and fall to the feel of your lovers skin. Set appointments by the sun. Live in one another. Let your mind wake you. Wake to the seaside and get there by the way of your feet. Follow your compass not your watch.

I don't chase the clock. I don't follow the hand of the hour.

My life is mine.

Rose Tyler, Bad Wolf, blonde bombshell.
Through time with the Doctor she did propel.
She loved the Doctor and he loved her too.
If it's my last chance to say it,
Rose Tyler, I--

Jack Harkness, the flirt, the man of men.
He pops up at the Doctor now and again.
They met with a lie,
Now he can't die
Forever here now and then.

Martha Jones, the doctor, the woman that heals.
Her time in the TARDIS caused all kinds of feels.
She pointed a gun to save the Doctor's skin
Yet in the end, her and Mickey did win.
All kinds of fun and all kinds of sass.
Martha Jones, one badass.

Donna Noble, ah, how does one describe thee?
Married a creeper and set the Oods free.
Through the Daleks and Rose, it seemed to end the world
Until the Doctor's DNA and her's accidentally swirled.
Of all the companions, she was a supreme member
Most important woman in the universe,
Too bad she won't remember.

Of all the companions, no one remembers Ms. Astrid Peth.
Her one and only appearance ended in death.
She stowed away on the flying Titanic
With passengers, aliens, and angels that were satanic.
Astrid wanted to travel and see the stars.
Her death seemed to add to the Doctor's scars.
He wasn't able to bring her back in the flesh
For the Doctor was the cause of her final, last breath.

Finally we come to little Amelia Pond.
Waited twelve years for the Doctor's bond.
She sat on her suitcase, face raised to the stars
Thinking of Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars.
He came back when she was supposed to marry Rory
But she still snogged the Doctor, being predatory.
It was Amy and Rory Pond in the ends
Even when the stone angels did descend.
Some mainstream Whovians say Ms. Pond's overrated,
But after all, she was the girl who waited.

Melody Pond, also known as River Song
She was fair, cunning, and strong.
Amy's daughter, but looked years older.
Amy wouldn't believe her no matter what River told her.
River Song, a time lord herself.
But even her story went to the shelf.
She was put in jail for killing a good man.
But even then, with the Doctor she ran.
The Doctor and River, hands fastened tight.
She still didn't want to let go with all of her might.
Dr. Song and the Doctor were on different tracks in time.
Hopefully, she'll be back, witty, fierce, and sublime.

The mystery. All the loose ends come to Clara Oswald.
The latest companion to be installed.
She once was a woman, mind in a machine
But now she's in the flesh, cruising the scene.
Oswin Oswald was a governess and a barmaid
Until she came back, unashamed to be afraid.
Even though she is a mystery to be solved,
Here's to our angst, Ms. Oswin Oswald.

But one day all the companions will be gone
And the Doctor will be alone again.
He will think of all the lives he's withdrawn
Hoping for a lifelong friend.
Though his intelligence, sexiness, and brilliant mind
There are no other like him, he's the last of his kind.
The man who travels around kissing strangers;
The impossible doctor meeting some painters.
Many wonder how long he can cheat the clocks
But until then, he's just a madman with a box.

You are the guy with the unkempt room and a cluttered used car. You have many things in your head, from ideas to plans to the latest book you’ve read. You are a dreamer, and that means that if the girl you date isn’t like you, it’s unlikely to work out.

Don’t date a girl who doesn’t travel. She is the girl who wants to travel in theory, but has never made the time. She is the girl with the medicine cabinet filled with cosmetics, hair products, and perfume, but a passport filled with blank pages. She does her hair in memorized strokes every morning as she has been doing this for years now. She is a creature of habit. She is impressed by wealth, nice cars, and titles, but she knows nothing about the world.

Don’t date a girl who doesn’t travel because she will drive you crazy at how she tries to “tame” you. She will regard your life as chaotic and will not be able to understand your many nuances. She will try to make you feel like you need her. With good intentions, she will cling to you and manipulate your life into becoming like hers. You see, she will look at you and treat you as though you are a lost puppy, and regard herself as the kind-hearted woman that will put you in the right path. She will talk to you about security, and you will wonder at her ignorance.

She won’t go to any of the adventures you planned out, because she thinks they are bereft of value and a waste of time. While you have a plethora of foreign currencies in your wallet, she’ll only desire to go to those “foreign” resorts that accept US Dollar. She will not take chances. Her whole life has been inside her comfort zone. Her childhood revolved around a home-to-school-to-home routine. She might never have been allowed to play outside, or she might never have wanted to. She thinks she is better than you because of her stable, 9 to 5 job, which makes you want to gag because you will never want a life like that.

Don’t date a girl who doesn’t travel. Her world is nothing to envy. Her world where the only people he knows are her co-workers and high school classmates who she drinks with at the clubs on the weekends. In her world, net worth is the metric of success. There is no room for making a difference, changing the world, and working for ideals that are bigger than her. Don’t even try to have a conversation about the environment or social issues, she couldn’t care less. Her adventures are about the argument with the co-worker she hates and the other driver that almost hit her when he failed to give way to her SUV on her commute.

She will want to eat in overrated chain restaurants with you, and will frown at you when you ask to try out that food truck down the street. She will cringe at the thought of eating at food stalls at a busy Southeast Asian market or elote from a street cart in Mexico. She will try to lure you into her world, but you are not even tempted by such a dull and dreary alternative. She is oblivious to how unappealing the bait she offers is.

That girl who doesn’t travel has chosen the unexamined and robotic life. You can only watch in despair as she runs on the rat-wheel of her mental cage. She will never understand that, while her wealth is measured by the number of zero’s in her bank account, your wealth is measured on the places you’ve been to and the people you’ve met and whose lives you’ve touched.

She will never understand why you have so many random keepsakes from your travels, like a small soiled napkin from a Moroccan café or the train tickets that you use as bookmarks. She will never opt for the slower and more scenic route. She will not be content to see the world through a window or television. While you are watching the sunset, she is checking her phone.

When you do travel, she will want to rent a car, when in fact you would rather take public transport and meet people with amazing stories. She will get jealous and insecure when you talk to strangers, even those you meet at the bus. You see, she doesn’t talk to anyone she doesn’t know and frequently ignores those she does.

She will ask you not to travel anymore, to settle down. And you consider it. Then you realize that your passion and dreams will end the moment you give in. You have always wanted to travel around the world, to meet people from all walks of life, and to life live to the fullest. There is still so much to be done! There are so many things to see and experience! You imagine yourself two decades from now and you see yourself happy; passport filled with stamps and a refrigerator filled with magnets from different countries. A woman is there with you in that dream, reminiscing about the adventures y’all had.

Unless the girl you’re dating is like you; a free-spirited, adventurous traveler, you don’t deserve each other. Whether by fear or complacency, she is going nowhere. She can keep that dream of a suburban house and a manicured front yard, not let her weigh you down!

She has dressed Oscar-winning actress Lupita Nyong'o and Uganda's chess Woman Candidate Master Phiona Mutesi for the premiere of 'Queen of Katwe'. She has also designed several Miss Uganda and Miss Tourism contestants among others.

Yet Brenda Niwagaba Maraka, who is undoubtedly among Uganda's top fashion designers, describes herself as "just a simple person who loves work and fashion". She is also quick to recognise people who have inspired her, including renowned fashion designer and artist Stella Atal and Xenson Samson Ssenkaaba

In January 2007, Maraka officially launched 'Brendamaraka' as a fashion label.

"I work to represent Uganda as a tropical country through fashion and also extend Kampala's position as a fashion hub," said Maraka.

For the love of developing and inspiring others through her fashion skills, Maraka grooms two talented and interested students in fashion and design every year.

Come next year January, Maraka is set to showcase at her own fashion show marking ten years in the industry.

It will be the highest point for a woman who from way back, as a young girl, has loved being artistic. It was no surprise that she concentrated on art in school and one of her fondest memories as a student is designing costumes for school plays and beauty pageants.

"That confirmed my goal in life of creating designs through my own fashion label," she says, "I love to create new things."

At 13 years old, after completing primary education, Maraka proceeded to Namasagali College in Kamuli for O-level and these to her were years of fun and building character. She then left to a new environment of only girls at Trinity College Nabbingo for A-level and by the time she left she had forged a career path.

"It was a totally different and harder experience. However, by the time I completed Form six, I knew what I was meant to be a fashion designer courtesy of the school's arrangement on career guidance," says Maraka.

She was offered several opportunities including one on government sponsorship at Makerere University all of which were meant to grow her fashion career but Maraka settled for a fashion design program at the London Academy of Design and dress making where she completed in 2005.

Maraka chose exposure to international fashion trends at the London school at a cost rather than free education in Uganda. She rates it as a priceless decision that has paid off.

In 2014 as part of her internship program, Maraka made a maiden runaway showcase during the Uganda International Fashion Week and since then she has not looked back. She has participated in a number of fashion events both in Uganda and UK.

In comparing London's fashion industry to Uganda, Maraka says London has already established big brands and it is close to impossible for anyone starting out.

"The industry is faster, bigger and people produce too many new collections every year as the market demands," she says.

By contrast, she says, Uganda offers limitless opportunities are limitless or, in her words, "There is room to define who you are".

Maraka was born in Soroti-Teso, Eastern Uganda in 1981. She was raised by a single mother Elizabeth Maraka who worked long at the Soroti Flying School and she says is her great inspiration. She used to make dresses for her and remains her stylist to date. Maraka grew up as an only child because her twin siblings died. It is the reason she is also called Akello, meaning 'follower of twins'.

Liteside

Any three things we don't know about you?

I am an only child of my mother. I really love sports to the extent that I train for kickboxing. I had a dream of representing Uganda for RIO 2016 though it didn't come to pass. When I am confident enough to have my face punched, I will get to the ring.

I love to travel and for this year, I chose to visit every part of Uganda that I had never visited. One of them was Kidepo and it was a breathtaking experience where I realised I had made it. I also visited the pyramids in Cairo.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Doing what you love. If you think you can regret doing it, then it's not worth doing. Even when you fail to achieve at something you loved doing, you gain satisfaction.

What is your greatest fear?

I have a phobia for rodents. I can face anything in life but not them.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

I am not a confrontational person yet sometimes I wish I could be one to give my all. It makes people walk all over me.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?

I just don't like dishonest people. I appreciate honesty.

Which living person do you most admire?

My Mother, Elizabeth Maraka; she taught me to be a strong person, believe in myself and to see good in people. I am privileged to live with her even as an adult.

What is your greatest extravagance?

Everything about improving my fashion and design career.

What is the greatest thing you have ever done?

I still have to do it and I am planning on how to achieve it.

What is your current state of mind?

I am at peace and love my life.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

That whole saying of 'Government should help us' or 'government has not done much' just breaks my heart. How I wish the same people would ask themselves what they have done for government as well. Anyone can start small and grow big.

What does being powerful mean to you?

Being able to make a difference in someone's life or inspire someone. It can also mean being well connected in society.

On what occasion do you lie?

I like to be real.

What do you most dislike about your appearance?

When I was young I was chubby and I didn't like it but I have since found peace in myself.

Which living person do you most despise?

Even when I see the worst in a person, I don't destroy bridges because I might need them tomorrow.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

Having a plan or purpose in life.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Having a purpose in life.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

I like saying 'you know' and 'yeah'.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

I guess it is my Mum but there are so many other people I love.

When and where were you happiest?

There is no one single moment because there are so many things I do that bring happiness to me. Finishing School in 2006 was a happy moment but also each time I remember when I had my first fashion show during my internship in 2004, I am fulfilled.

Which talent would you most like to have?

I love music and may be one day I hope I will drop an album. I used to play a violin and hope that one day I will do it once more.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I am just in love with myself.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

I am still a work in progress; I haven't yet reached there.

If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

As me and fix everything I didn't do from as far as a child.

Where would you most like to live?

Uganda but particularly in Karamoja and Kidepo; the landscape and weather are amazing. It can rain so heavily and dry up so fast.

What is your most treasured possession?

I never got to see my grandfather but I was given a crucifix from his things. It has that sentimental value and makes me relate with him. But even when everything is taken away from me, I can start afresh and build-up.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Suffering from cancer; I visited Mulago Cancer ward and witnessed people suffer in too much pain. Things like broken heart can be amended but not cancer.

What is your favorite occupation?

I always wanted to be a fashion designer.

What do you most value in your friends?

Honesty

Who are your favorite writers?

I am not a fan of any particular person but I love to read inspirational pieces.

Who is your hero of fiction?

I like Superman and how he comes in to rescue at the right time. I wish there were true supermen.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?

I may model myself to Mother Theresa but I can't come even an inch to who she was and what she did.

What is your greatest regret?

I don't regret anything.

How would you like to die?

I want to die of old age on my bed with my grand children all looking and smiling at me.

What is your motto?

Always make sure you are climbing the right hill.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses

a lot of things are overrated
     like coffee
         or pumpkin spice

but one thing that isnt
     is
  being nice

Bright and shiny
Pedestrian views
Glare induces migraines
Simplistic bands of nothingness
Almost too painful to watch
Pushed beyond painted lines
Crossing into...nowhere
Where is the dark and twisted,
The interesting and obscure?
Turn the lights off and feel the way
Touch the cold steel
Delight in the balmy breeze
Experience...everything

It has a lot of hype so I'll just say this
Mysterious is overrated
You say you have other sides to see
But hiding sides just sounds like fear to me
It's the chase that makes you fall in love
But there's no love once I've caught up

Why is it so hard to say the truth?

We say thousand of words a day
But the ones that mean the most tend to be left unsaid
For the fear of hurting others' feelings
I know I am guilty, I am that one

I would hold it in, for years
Before saying what I truly felt
Or meant to say, as to not
Hurt the ones I care about

I want to say it to you
Somehow let what I feel
Just slip out, be acknowledged
Because I don't know how much longer it can be unsaid

The truth is not overrated
Especially when it burdens you
And weighs you down
All because you care too much

But why? Why do I care so much
Probably because I do not wish to disappoint
I simply want to evoke smiles, not frowns
But is a frown worth the truth?

For the truth will set you free