Moth, dancing moth,
dance to the light. Dance to the death.
Break those wings to free the flight,
the sea is far and here is no hearth, not here.

Fly, moth, fly
away from the lilted breeze so to breathe easy.
Your heart is in shock; Moth, go back to
from where you come.

Moth, falling moth,
no crevice in sight, dear moth—where has your illusion
gone? Moth don’t waste time, hurry yourself and
cease the end, in through the spaces and far from time.

Wingless moth, pained.
The light shines only on you. What disturbance (perturbing the soul)
held moth back?

On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Though the faraway look combs through the glances, the heads lowering and longing

On Fridays, I cannot have you.
The icicle street of perturbing yellow parallel lines and molasses traffic that seems to rake the people across pavement into curvatures of avoidance keep me running.

On Fridays, I cannot have you.
I repeat it, a gesturing phrase, recurring, as I watch the transcendent glow, a denouement to a one-sentence story.

On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Could have: (What will save the moment in untickable preservation?)

On Fridays, I cannot have you.

I have come to succumb to a certain cliché, a cache of questions that so often seem to scuff the dance floor of adultolescents. “Who am I?” of course, a major inquiry but more importantly, “Who do I want to be?” and what am I becoming and when I become it, will it become me or will I not even want it…like a portrait of my mother…tattooed to my ***, her dear old face like some wretched rash (truly I’m not that crass). So I am scared of tomorrow and uncertain of now but everything used to be fine, so allow me to go back just a bit, to when I was, say about… FIVE.

I remember reclining on my grandmother’s couch in Hoboken, New Jersey watching star wars, I believe it was episode FIVE. Her apartment smelt of ***** and rice and beans and that reek of regret that rises from the corpses of broken dreams, and I can still see the light from the T.V. screen illuminating every corner of her living room, from the bookshelf, to the door with the welcome mat--an ironic greeter--to the picture of Jesus perched over the heater smiling down on and blessing the liars and cheaters who so often filled that room with soiled consciences and beaters. So there I was, I was FIVE, and I can clearly recall what I wanted to be, who I wanted to be in that moment: A Jedi! Oh it was a long time ago and it was far, far away, but I can still see the look on my grandmother’s face as I raced through space with my light saber broom beating Sith with a stick, protecting the room from Vader’s invaders making storm trooper stew, my weapon—my whisk; my rivals—my roux; the force—the flames, to boil the brew and the voice of my father at forty FIVE years of age telling me to quit messing around. And I said with a wave of my hand, “No, you quit messing around.” He said, “Why don’t you be a Firefighter?” I said, “no!”  “Why not a football player?” I said, “no!” “Jedi’s can’t marry. Jedi’s get lonely.” I said, “I want to be a Jedi and a Jedi only!” But like fire and fog and old Ben Kenobi, ideas like this must eventually fade.

So I grew to, I’d say about ten years old, that’s FIVE plus FIVE moving on to grade FIVE. Picture, if you will, me—the shortest kid on the little league baseball team, with grand aspirations; huge heaps of vivacity, and a strike zone too small for those poor umpires to see and I knew—I KNEW who I wanted to be: A baseball player! And an actor. A writer, crime fighter—the Jack Bower type who’s always in danger—a **** Tracy with *****; a heterosexual power ranger. Oh and an astronaut chef with a part time job as a rapper who talks about ******* and death and riches and **** holding the mic in my right and my junk in my left a protection of the kids in the crowd who might see my ******* brought about due to... back up dancers. Oh, and the president of the United States as well.

Now let’s jump to fifteen, that’s FIVE plus FIVE plus FIVE, I was a freshman in high school and still a freshman in life. But neither of these were important you see, and I rather gave up on the prospect of “me.” I traded my goals for an xbox which came with a discounted dose of apathy. ‘Cause high school is brimming with a bizarre batch of habits. When forced to attend one must endure or adapt it’s those tactless tactics those impractical practices; each pupil’s polluted with perturbing antics. So for much of that year I stayed home ignoring the mornings who tried to tell me I was alive and forgetting the spinning of the earth in its lonely slow dance to the daily tune of nine to FIVE.

I did outgrow that depressing stage. And now, here I am pushing twenty. That’s FIVE plus FIVE plus FIVE plus…it’s hard to believe but believe it I must. But these fingers that wipe away tears when I cry and fight, call for peace, encourage, deride, make decisions, rock hard, and swat away flies, shake hands, ask questions, and give high FIVES are so ******* familiar. So you see, I have put a great deal of thought into this and I think what I want to be is… FIVE.

Don’t you remember? When wherever you lived was the tip of the world, every rock you found was a glimmering pearl, and every face pointed at you grinned with jealous geniality. When Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, Jesus Christ, and easy money all had proper places in reality. When bunk beds were marvels standing miles from the floor and the little things were the greatest things on earth, and “stupid” was a swear word, each trip was an adventure, and every pocket was a candy cluttered purse. Grass was green not “getting too long to maintain” and skies were blue not “looking like they might bring rain” There was no need to feign a demeanor, there were no chains. You were unbound. And pain was a temporary hiatus from satisfaction…not the other way around. Everyone loved you, whether they loved you or not. No one judged you for your blindingly ignorant smile. You were pancakes and balloons and Saturday morning cartoons and guilt-free, care-free love—you were a child.

I don’t want to go back to that time in my life. I have no desire to swap my mind for comfortable bliss. What I want is to close my eyes for just FIVE seconds and when I open them again, the world will be new.

I always wanted to be that random style of writer
Writing about things which have no connection
In reality but they are connective only by the ingenuity
Of his genuflection; the circumvention of his
Circuitous routing, his plaintive perturbing petulance
Which insists on stacking things of different orders
Flying birds together of different species
If I could write something of the ticking of clocks
Not as though the ticking were of premeditated duration
Embedded in metal tracks around perimeters
Of prevaricated die-cast hours; but as though the ticking
Were only a random fixture of a theoretical day
In which random clocks ticking played a minor role
During the still life of which a poet happened along
And copied it all down dutifully, not caring if
Ticking clocks were related to pitchers of Forsythia
Or falling off of cliffs into the Aegean;
The only task of the poet to capture it all
And let the reader sort it out later
In the random tracks of his circuitous brain:
Whether the pitcher was full of sea
Or the sea was stealing into the pitcher
One blue, serendipitous drop at a time
And where no clocks were keeping time.

I've fallen down the rabbit hole again,
into a world of my own full of pain.
I am not Alice and this is not wonderland,
so please don't be fooled or misunderstand.


Everything is a blur and my head is spinning;
I fear that this is just the beginning.
This creature's whispers are disturbing,
declaring revelations that are most perturbing.


People say that I am as mad as the hatter,
and their cruel whispers really do matter,
because if I really am as insane as they say,
I feel I should be locked away.

Love*:
laying bricks in a line
or a least a lie with N
monotony. Standing in line, at the end,
until the begin

*NEXT!

...ing.
Pretending, that was doing something.
Like a verb, perturbing, unsettling.
Cold air is causing nerve ending
stand

NEXT!

...up. Back of the neck rub
Trapped like a spider in a covered tub.
Seems wide till the world opens wide and there's a snub
from the passing yacht club as it crashes into the hub.
Now aren't you glad you got grub instead of a ticket

NEXT!

...stub? Chop and bop.
Hop on the bed, called Dr. Suess' pop.
Lets swap places. Straighten the tie, I am a flop
fop. Harvesting their crop of heads. Onomatopoeia plop

*NEXT

The rule of the self is exalted above
any adherence to any thing/feeling.
Their notions of doubt ruling over existence and
is in the supreme station of reason and power.
It sheds the former existence of yesterday
inasmuch as we are always recreated.
The philosopher's stone which
can conceive of no other thought
except the originality of the self.

It drinks the seven seas as if a drop and
asks, "Is there yet any more?"
No authority save the intimate friend
can find its way here.
Every stranger is betrayed and
its chariot becomes outworn for the rider.

And when they look at themselves
they behold their powerlessness in
the face of every nation, which
simply makes them embark on
the conquest of their own heart.

Every listener is as a bullet to their
enemy.
Every truth is as a fallen warrior
for their Cause.
No wind is sufficient to curtail their
sense of direction.
Every human acknowledged is as a piece
of sand supporting their path.

There is no end to their perturbing of the skies.
The poem is unfinished as the scribe of
their tale is astounded by the
regeneration of their march.

On a bed in fair mid-May,
Away from school, work, and play,
Lie a young boy devoid of joy,
Trying to break away.

It wrestled, fought, and struggled,
But fatal aims redoubled,
His iron will held them stock-still,
Neither could break away.

Motions were slow and fleeting,
Instinct and Will competing,
To end two pains in different veins,
Crumble and break away.

Strangling a blind reflection,
White-knuckling throats mid-section,
With fratricide, a part had died,
What's left to break away.

Downtown a young man stood tall,
Behind eyes, perturbing pall,
Lie a young boy devoid of joy,
Trying to break away.

earlyish
in the mourning
the moon
begins to rise
to the
dirtiest
consorting
in the room
between the thighs
forbidden fruit
from a filthy city
that ruins lives
so the troupe
snipped ribbons
ripped ties
flew the coupe
and found suit
elsewhere

Hell

thought it was provoking

when they
caught em
smoking loosies &
tagging in
elementary school
bathrooms &
peeping ****** movies for free
mercy me, a perturbing
flea ridden circus
ballyhoo at
high noon
just
look between
the alleyways
like pearly gates
adjacent to
& facing toward
the gallow stage
saved for traitors

& may I say

these are unhallowed days

triple x files.
furious grady stiles
walked the
daily eighty miles
to the liquor store for
his quick pick or maybe just
a curious
eye sore for bored out tricks
on the nearest corner &
the queerest gory ***** flicks for
a nickel a dime a quarter
&please;

- mind the camera -

hammer
sickle
sanskrit
star
prison bar
stripe

flock stickered on
the flickering light
mock bicker then its
quiet on the farm tonight
⁢ doesn't seem right  
the sicker sheep seek
sleepless nights
in the street
took Darwinian flight &
a diving leap
to diamond minds
thicker fleece &
meaner teeth
drinking on cheap forties
sneakin up on sweet
***** mother glory

lordy.

Sitting high atop ****** Mountain
I’m feeling my phylogeny overwhelm rationality
perturbing stirrings
both primitive and powerful
considered improper at the moment

Surrounded by beauty natural and athletic
of heights, valleys, children, and women
I’m keenly aware that
unnecessary stresses
grow into other messes

Hours melt to days
and I wonder where, how and with whom you are
time slips away
forgotten feelings
dry permanently on the hot summer pavement

Ontogeny . . . phylogeny . . . freedom and fear
who am I within my existence?
to relieve my mind of overthinking
I must
overcome the fear of underthinking

And what say you
amid the quiet chaos of our souls
beyond putting one foot in front of
the other
as we fall apart our separate ways?

     26.vii.10
     (****** Creek, CO)

Many people have phobias in this life,
what for others seems innocuous fills them full of strife,
some can keep firmly on their lid
when they see an arachnid,
they are calm and serene
but then cower when they see forked lightning beams.
Some can stroke a snake
but when thinking of flying begin to shake,
or can skip through massive open spaces with joyful vigour
but when slightly confined begin to quiver.
Me?  I found great white sharks most perturbing
even a picture of one was completely disturbing,
their visage draining the light from the air,
I saw a totally cold demented stare,
terror lurked in every photographic depiction,
like reading a letter calling me to conscription,
I felt briny constriction,
I'd shiver at an image of a wake they’d left in the sea,
that’s made by a thing that has the death glare of Ted Bundy,
making ominous mist,
this big fish is as crazy as Albert Fish.
Smelling blood from far away, never needing to sleep,
these great white traits gave me the creeps;
barely leaving a silhouette in the sun,
but with the ferocity of Attila The ***,
marauding silently to selected prey
even the water gets out of the way.
The seal was just chilling, thinking of going home,
he’d had enough of a daily roam,
about to paddle back in leisurely slow
but then it appeared from below...
a serrated chasm charnel pit,
Atlantis nuclear bombs would look like it,
fanged latch on, a phantasmagoria spectacular;
it bites for keeps this oceanic Dracula.
The aqua fills with gushing red,
it submerges, fully fed.
Anything to do with them would send me to terror filled gorge,
The Reef, or Sharky and George,
I’d scream on instant at the thought of a fin
that dorsal jut carrying sin.
But then one day when I was cowering in the kitchen after one had surprised me on page 15 of The Metro News,
I thought “Si, you gotta banish these deep sea blues.
You can’t keep dropping your pizza at the merely the sight
of a dreadful gaping awful great white.
It’s not a good state of head to engage with fear,
especially with something that’s not even here.”.
So a couple of days later when I was pretty ******
I was like “right, let’s have it you massive fish!”.
I picked up the newspaper and looked right at one,
initially my startle went to a million from none,
but I held my nerve and slowly the burst of scare began to ebb,
I gingerly untangled myself from this great white web.
Don’t get me wrong like getting over anything it took a bit of time,
I could be whistling through Town feeling fine,
and then see an advert for Mega Shark V Crocosaurus and feel a hint of chill in my spine,
but as the minutes turned into months I could handle impromptu shark,
a pic of one wouldn’t disrupt the larks,
or cast a brief pall on a sunny day in the park.
Now I can watch Blue Planet without apprehension,
in fact when David says “great white” it gets my attention,
in an inquisitive sense of “let’s see what these guys have got to give,
we’ve wasted years but now let’s live!”.
I love the malleability of the mind and it’s super anoint,
it can dimmish with ease what seemed like fixed point,
ingrained weighty states can be waved through;
foggy mire to brilliant blue.
What can appear to be etched for rest of the days
can just be a shackled phase,
a bricked up room growing doors.
Ahh, it’s Saturday, I think I'll watch Jaws.

writing a poem about how you really feel
is perplexing, perturbing
when you do not know
whether you feel a thing at all

numbness or coldness
dramatics or monotone
i am one of two extremes
neither allowing them to see
the space in between
that holds the truest emotions i am incapable of expressing
the truest emotions i am incapable of exerting
i am incapable of knowing

have you ever felt
lost
in a deadly abyss of
thought?

it's emotionally
exhaustive
and socially
caustic
to be caught
thinking
thoughts
instead of
singing
songs.

with those
disturbing thoughts
come a lot of
perturbing feelings

and if you've ever
been unable
to explain or
detain
one of those feelings
just know that
you are not
alone.

not all of us can
assign a name
to an emotion
however benign
not all of us are so
well acquainted
with our own minds
that we can picture
the face in our brains
staring us down

but i'm daring you
the next time you
cannot justify
cannot simplify
or expedite
a feeling down
to a name
just don't
even
try.

place your finger
over that emotion
the way you would barre
your guitar strings
heart strings on
the second fret

gently
gently
run your other
hand down over
the sound hole
located somewhere
between your
stomach and
sorely neglected
central nervous system
and then pull
it back up
to play the
melody of your
most knotted
spinal chord
not too fast
not too loud

or if you find
it easier to see
the white notes laid out
unroll the shiny top
over your backbone
and press down
softly
softly
bending your fingers up
and down each
key of vertebrate
in an ascending or
descending scale
the length of which
depends upon
how tall you are.

slowly
slowly
forget
about
names
faces
sleepless nights
or how your insecurity
is still on par with
you at fourteen
when you first tried
to exploit it into music
but now you've found it best
just to tuck it behind your ears.

and learn
the cadence of
that feeling
explore each
note and tone
and play with
how it fits into
a song
surrounded by
other sounds.

you may never
play it again
you may play it
every day
for the rest of
your life

but all that is
irrelevant
in light of this
moment
a few seconds of
stilted peace and quiet.

listen to your
feelings
until your fingers
bleed
out the suppressed
emotions
society expects you
to ignore

play them like
you were in
an orchestra
and this was the
moment
of your solo

but don't
name
anything
unless you're
calling it cadd9
gsus4
em
or a7

and never
find yourself
or your
heart strings
afraid
of f#m
or even the darkest of
spinal chords
for i know that
everyone has cried
alone in the
dead of night
over the sound of
b flat.

Irked by the stale life I am in
A bland dish seeking ample spice
The intersection of our roads was exhilarating
A new-born daredevil shall not think twice

Perilous was the color of your eyes
The way your gaze froze me in place
Flames previously nonexistent began to rise
And desires now asked to feel my embrace

Dangerous was the shade of your plump lips
When you speak, the way they curve
Electric bolts pierced through my fingertips
Then infiltrated my every vein, every nerve

Treacherous was the sound of your voice
The way curses became a pleasing melody
A single syllable balked all perturbing noise
Enticing me into your wicked sorcery

Lethal was how you skillfully kiss
The way it sets ablaze the surface it meets
My formation of thoughts have gone amiss
The settling insanity is now who greets

Murderous was your hand's every touch
The way your fingers danced on my skin
Dull-looking blades were deemed to do not much
But yours were sharp enough to slice my soul within

Pestilent was how you wrapped yourself around my body
The way your frame is fitted to mine
Tremendous waves devour me completely
And I drown, though not in brine

Deadly was how you wanted to play
The way you wanted to love me
From my ever-so-monotonous life, I have gone astray
My life is the price; I'll pay it fully

I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite,
thankfully not in a medical way
I don't have to pop pills everyday
to keep an essence of danger under control
and to stop my head doing backward flips and forward rolls
to curtail bad thoughts and contain OCD
wake up and think "what's happening to me?"
but sometimes i'm full of mazy bomb blasts
and crazy contrasts…
Now I love animals and their brilliant ways
they brighten the world and add happy to my days,
I could be walking to work in that new spring sun
and spy a cat on a wall and think “ohh, how fun”,
I’ll bound over with a skip and say “hey you, how’s it going,
although it’s bright today your purr has really got things glowing!”
Or in a Saturday beer garden when I’m kicking back with relax
a dog strolls in his owner and my attention is instantly rapt,
I’ll exclaim “ohh, is your pooch friendly, please may I give him a pet?”
If the guy answers in the affirmative I’ll proclaim “hey big doggy I’m so glad we’ve met,
you’re a lovely doggy aren’t you, look at your slobbering face
and the way you wag your tail I think it’s pretty ace!”.
Or I may be having a saunter round the park taking in some stupendous views
and see a stretch of water and decide to have a peruse,
as I get closer I think “oh I can’t believe my luck
look at that raft of lots of lovely ducks!”.
So I nip to the shop round the corner and buy a loaf of bread
and think “ohh you top paddling guys you’re gonna get real fed!”!
So I chuck plentiful crumbs in the water making sure they all get their fill
of some luscious Warburtons down their chomping bill.
I do love other creatures though not just the ones who go meow, woof and quack,
even the tiny ones who fur and feathers they lack;
I could watch a ladybird for ten minutes and be allured by it’s spots
and then be wary around those minuscule red mites that look like little dots,
ensuring that I always check before I sit on a summer wall
so my plonking down doesn’t squash them all.
Or if I’m walking home down a dark passage way on a rainy night
i’ll get my phone out and use it’s shiny light
to see if there are any snails that have come out from under a bush
so I can daintily skip around them and avoid that awful shell crush.
As for spiders and moths in the house I never **** them I always put them out
And then do a Usain Bolt stance in the living room with a “I love you insects” pout.
However one Thursday when I was off work on a day in lieu
and thought “ahh I’ll venture out as the sky is blue,
I can have a wander with some music and then go see Mum and Dad
but before I do all that there is a shower to be had.”
I stroll into the bathroom anticipating a lovely clean
but am greeted by a sight that is less than serene,
walking on the ceramics are about 14 microscopic flies,
I had to squint to view them, they were almost invisible to the naked eye.
I mused “hmm, how am I gonna solve this they are too flimsy to catch and put outside,
and what receptacle could I place them in to take on freedom’s ride?”
As I’m deciding what to do I see more of them coming out of a hole in the tile
and I say “look guys me you’re beginning to rile”,
then I glance some Dettol wipes lying next to my tooth brush
and in a instance obliterate the flies with a sweeping rush,
I chuck the death tissue in the bin and feel a swell of guilt,
“I thought of more understanding stuff I was surely built,
I got rid of them without compunction because they were disrupting my aqua blast
I hope this killing streak doesn’t last.”
Post shower I’m feeling better and believe my murderous bent has gone away far
pop my ear phones in, crank up the volume and saunter round to see Ma and Pa,
but it won’t just be Mum and Dad I’ll be pleased to see when my feet land on their welcome mat,
it will also be lovely Poppet the cat!
I like Poppet loads, she’s my whiskered friend
all my love to her I always send,
her wild meowing tones are one of my favourite sounds
it’s awesomely brill to have her around,
sometimes when I’m drunk her name slips off my tongue,
that’s how I know we defiantly belong,
I can be gleefully inebriated at a festival
and I’ll just say “Poppet!” and feel more happy full,
Pops Popsicle Poppet, I adore your tabby chest,
ahh Poppet, you’re simply the best!
I get to my parent’s house, call her and she comes running with that bounding feline whizz,
and I exclaim with joy, “ahh, there she is!”,
I give her lots of petting and start to feel all catty rich
but then I notice she seems to have a itch,
I say to my Mum, “is Poppet okay, she looks like she’s having too much of a scratch?”
she replies,  “yeah but I think she has fleas that are more than beginning to hatch”,
she continues, “I’ve got some flea treatment though so those little vamps we can quickly dismiss”,
I reply, “nar, it’s okay Mum, I’ll handle this.”
I say to the fleas, “come here guys” and take them and Poppet to one side,
and remark “look today I’ve already committed insecticide
and I really don’t want to do it again but you’re putting Poppet the cat in duress
and she seems distracted rather than purring in my soft strokey caress,
and I don’t want to deliver a ****** bomb of flea killing pollution,
it’s much better to find an amicable solution,
so if you could just jump off her now and end your inhibiting lease
I promise I won’t hover you up I’ll just let you go in peace.”
I give them a few minutes to mull it over but then see Poppet frantically biting her thigh,
“now that is ****** it, no more Mr Nice Guy!
right you little Dracula *****, you’re about to find out what really *****,
it’s being on the receiving end of my “you’re perturbing Poppet” wrath,
you’re about to take a real long Frontline bath!”
Without remorse I dowse them up and that is that,
“bye bye you tiny ******* Vlad The Impaler *****!”  
See I love all the animals, I really have to say,
just don’t cross me on a Thursday,
oh, and I eat meat way more than a bit,
i’m a schizophrenic hypocrite.

Straight Talking *** written with love in mind!

Averted a tragic waste of sorrow,
As clash of titans,
Wielding pens in penance,
Wasting gifts,
As spread thin over crumbling cobbles,
Words are wonderful,
Treasure and joy,
So let's not fight,
Let pen kiss paper ,
With super might!
Sometimes disturbing,
Often perturbing,
Created in individual style,
In mind at time,
Just like mine,
All from creation,
Individual minds,
Know what's said,
Great minds think alike while idiot's never differ !
Two great pens must play on!
By ladylivvi1

-- Grinding Gears --
-- Flowing Fountains --
-- Beating Hearts --
-- Deafening Silence --
Ride the wave
As it dips and swells
Each undulation
Sparking spinal charges
Sending signals to
Sensational receptors
and
Flooded with
Information and Energy
they Overflow

Eroding away at
Burms of solidarity
Decimating illusions of
Stagnancy
Perturbing the ache for
Fake consistency

And Walls wilt away
Like petals of a Rose
they expose
the Universal Core
turning in
Changeless self-envelopment

Perturbing looks lock

Seconds could be years I wish

But are nanoseconds.

Waves,
they wash
they wash away the tide I'm in
perturbing past abandonment
cleansing out the forgotten winds.
My sins,
cradled deep,
are nestled safe in restless sleep.
Eyelids peeled wide,
white flags torn down,
in hopes
of a sudden
effort to drown out hazy sound.
They've crawled on under
the bridges
bridges you've torn asunder.
Glancing from left to right
might lose the sight,
of offerings gifted within mid-flight
to escape the reign,
of cold misguided precipitants
the forays of hazed and dazed miscreants
with glossy eyes,
ever assuming gazes
of awful, mixed reused phrases
calling my name.

You ,Go easy on yourself for a while
Take a deep breath and come out of your self imposed exile,

Don't hesitate to uncover the curtain
Meet the sight of butterflies dancing in your garden,

Erase the boundaries that have been drawn on your canvas
Start afresh
Paint with a free flowing brush,

Remember once in a life time 'You' happen
Don't let 'Your Life' get trapped in,

Discover yourself uncover yourself
Even if someone disapproves of your 'Real self',

Choose to bend only till the time you don't break
Hold your head high and turn away before your heart aches,

Please walk away from what is perturbing
Away from the chaos and people who are disturbing,

While you walk away don't hold the grudges so fiercely
Don't let the negativity damage you severely,

Coz you aren't bitter
You are an ocean of nectar,

This is your poetry fit in your own words
Be your own Muse , Rhyme your own prose!!!!

Adali offered Father’s stranger more wine.
We all knew he’d accept.
On our way to the woods though,
Someone stepped upon my dress.
“Oh Yseult,”
Conradine cried.
“Stop imagining things”
They didn’t think I was right.
The trees were beautiful every time
We walked the paths by the midnight moon.
The first was silver,
The second gold,
But we all loved diamonds the most.
Again I could feel someone following:
The trees never made a sound.
“Oh Yseult,”
Ediline hushed.
“You really are too old for these games.”
They didn’t think I was right.
I tugged on Galiana’s left glove-
We’d always been close-
Thinking she’d believe me this once.
But the boys in the boats were too tempting for us.
I told Oskar there was something wrong,
The boat was too heavy for him to row.
“Oh Yseult,”
Irmuska gasped.
“You didn’t even eat today!”
They didn’t think I was right.
Within minutes we arrived
At our sanctuary, our dancing hall.
We laced up our shoes
But I watched the boat groan and rock.
“Oh Yseult,”
Katchen teased.
“That’s just the tide pulling it in.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Hours passed as I danced
With my Oskar.
However, the sinking feeling
We’d been caught lingered.
“Oh Yseult,”
Magnild snorted.
“Your delusioning is quite perturbing.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Oskar took me away
To the side of the room.
He knew my shoes had worn straight through.
I watched out the corner of my eye
A golden chalice float away.
“Oh Yseult,”
Otylia reprimanded.
“Your childish ways are far too much!”
They didn’t think I was right.
The brothers rowed me
And my sisters back home.
Kissing us each goodnight,
They returned to their boats
Thinking we’d see them tomorrow.
I heard a creaking sound behind us.
Once again I tried to warn them.
“Oh Yseult,”
Rille rolled her beautiful eyes.
“Please stop being stupid for once.”
They didn’t think I was right.
We returned to our bedroom
Without further commotion.
When we arrived though
Our secret door would not close.
“Oh Yseult,”
Tieran chided.
“I know you’re youngest, but you can’t be that weak.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Father’s stranger was right in his bed
Snoring loud as inhumanly possible.
I knew it couldn’t be real
So I tried to reason with my sister’s again.
“Oh Yseult,”
Viheke yawned.
“Go to sleep now, you’re far too tired.”
They didn’t think I was right.
When the morning arrived
Father threw open our door.
The anger and happiness
Flowed from him moronically.
In his left hand were branches
Silver, gold, and diamond.
In his right
Was Oskar’s chalice.
Behind him was Father’s stranger
Smug and pleased.
He requested Adali’s hand in marriage,
Just as Father promised.
“Oh Yseult,”
My eleven sisters cried in unison.
“We should have listened!”
They didn’t think I was right.

11 - lonely weird starving loyal obsessive
12 - denial rejected fighting mask all over me
13 - I explode, cannot hold no more. Hell begins.
14 - emo, doubtful, open. Wounds, scars of the soul all over.
15 - a pro, a loser, a loner. About to get lost. Over me, charms and curse.
16 - a wallflower in flowery shirt. Tranxilium pills. Hospital angels, a survivor in the make. Breathing slowly the air of life.
17 - at a fight, Courtney Lovesque. Afraid, angry, in love. Wounds bleeding, destroy my world. I walk, without aim. Sinning deep. Am I aware?
18 - I break down, no one picks up my pieces from the floor, so I have to do it on my own. Fearful, psychotic, fake, unable to breathe. Enigma to myself, cannot touch my flesh.
19 - the nebula grows, my mind drowns, to reach shores. Obsessive, perturbing, odd, dependent, byproduct of what?
20 - I've been polluted for years. This is the consequence: I break, once again. Seas of loneliness and meaninglessness.
21 - the truth spills out, cannot sleep with a corpse for life. I try to reach my core, at once. The word comes: schizotypal (not surprised at all)
22 - Humbert Humbert knocks again, and like a never dead nymphet I greet him. We fall in love again, silently, coyly, mysteriously. Pink haired spinster confused happy healing slowly do not disturb.my mind strangles me, but I am strong!
23 - my head sparkles in pink and so does my heart. My pen shakes. I laugh. Frisky, dubitative, poet, free.
24 - after the travel, I almost heal...

I have understood my mother in the present weather.
Her colourless, toothless, though contended a smile
Naif, fair, with dappled on face,
Age and height middled
Beautiful, my ‘maa’ she was.

In winter, she caught the ability to forget,
Forget her past, her present.... future-
Everything, but not everything, not me.
I was the nectar if bee she was,
I was the light if shadow was she.

My grey haired mother forgot her grey,
       Grey haired days.
I have seen her cry, when the hell freezes over,
Weep, wrinkle or beam.
I saw her mewl once, in asylum.
Her cry aired her yen, for a
             Monosyllabic moniker ‘maa’
I.... I couldn’t verbalize my core-
I couldn’t address her ‘maa'.

My gratification and vanity eclipsed
My inner voice.
My lips couldn’t move
I never called her, never needed to....
Perpetrator, her overflowing a chalice of love-
Always knew what I needed.

That day, my heart pricked,
                  My maw itched,
         But.... my lips ******.
There she lies wrinkled now ,
Fairer than she was
Brighter than she ever could be
Most beautiful I ever saw.

Her obnoxious soapy miasma pacified me now,
Her perturbing din of needle sticks lulls me,
The absence of her ceaseless mag haunts me now.

I never understood her presence in her presence;
             But now absence absence.
Hour remembers her no more
Nor she me in the last days....

I have understood her now....
Or
Have I understood her yet?

Gossiping and Gabbing,
Perturbing and Backstabbing,
Can break a person's heart,
And push people apart.

Assumptions and lies,
Tears and Cries,
Causes so much pain
and drives you insane.

That never happened.
The truth's been blackened.
I didnt do it.
It hurts quite a bit.

You learn not to trust.
Old beliefs in the dust.
Now you are on your own.
Standing tall alone.

In the early morn,
I slip away from a dream,
to wake up teary-eyed and forlorn.
It’s a rocky start to my day:
remembering this life I lead, chock-full of sadness and decay.

The mirror thrusts a perturbing image at me:
A bloated white thing, its eyes adorned with tinted bags.
Day by day, my soul withers away - the hardest thing to see.
If only I could catch it, keep it from leaving,
alas,  the remaining fragments of humanity are fleeting.

In the dimness of the kitchen,
I hear my own heart groan,
its song so desperate that I can’t help but listen
to the songs of my own sadness.

The clock’s hand crawls around its face,
a cruel reminder of time,
Sometimes too fast, too slow, but always a waste.
But, I don’t move, opting to listen to the fridge,
its drone as montonous as this life of mine.  


Looking out the window,
I see a mother playing with her son who screams with glee,
and the trees drown the streets with colours of fall.
This apathy that fills me turns me ugly.
On my tongue, the bitterness of little white pill,
just so I don’t feel anything at all.

Sitting on a folding chair at the top of mound of a small hill
Getting somewhat sinked with the cool breeze rather chill
Staring out at the blue delight of the sea shore
Human habitations appearing in miniature to score
Surrounding hutments, houses, factories and the ancient fort
The minarets of red mosque and high court
All buildings rising to meet the crimson sky
Sky as usual stable with  some clouds here and there to weigh
Sheltering and embracing kites at their free fly
Between the sky and my tired eyes
There is complete wide gap and Perturbing sigh

Are you a Night Sky
protecting me from
bright
perturbing lights
intruding
my system
too early