1.
I'm sorry for your Pain
Surely it has made your scared
And surely not all of it is fair
But know it's only in your mind
And it makes you one of our kind
I'm sorry for your Pain

I'm sorry for your Allergies
or any other problems
Disease is unjust as this life
And those that aren't undone
Can take life as quick as it comes
Or faster, it some cases
I only hope that my disease
That unto yours, erases
I'm sorry for your Allergies

I'm sorry for your Inequality
If I had one and you had two
I'd walk right up and say thank you
If you had two and I had one
It would not be, I would just run
But, Oh! I lament that it is so
For I have all, and I do know
People in our world fight to live
People in our world fail to live
Simple differences account for some
Tell me how you have come undone
Into a world in which our fear
Makes people want to not be here
I love you more, but that's not now
I cannot express, infinitely how
I'm sorry for your Inequality

I'm sorry for the Night
If ever it is dark outside
And you feel under pressure
Believe that darkness is alright
Believe that there is love in the absence of the light
You cannot see, but I love it
Darkness is who I am
Darkness is why we have some light
Darkness is what I am
And you are light, well, it is so
Always in my own eyes
Without darkness, if only light
There would be no surprise
I'm sorry for the Night

I'm sorry for your Misconceptions
Gradual pain lacking detection
Though you can't feel it, it isn't right
Behold what keeps me up at night
Money, fear, and imitation
All electronic stimulation
It's all vanity for let me say
It shouldn't really be that way
Arrows point you along the lines
To blind you from what you can find
I won't change you, you're independent
I'm sorry for your Misconception

I'm sorry for your Orders
I'm sorry since they make
You do for others, but listen now
It's surely a mistake
Collaboration makes us whole
Orders tear us apart
Doing for them will make your life
Begin to fail to start
Only do for others if they would do for you!
And if you do for others, do it also for you
For those who blindly follow feel so found, but are so lost
And acting for others all your life has an infinite cost
I'm sorry for your Orders

I'm sorry for your Violence
It's not right for us to fight
To use anger to express spite
People who hit surely don't know
What you would say, though it is so
I've heard you say it's not deserved
I've seen you ignore what you've heard
When you are hurt is my worst fear
I hope in your heart, I am near
For this message will take you through
And make a free person of you
I'm sorry for your Violence

I'm sorry for your Ego
Now, I'm glad you have some pride
We are all the same and you will know
This, if you look inside
There's no reason to feel as though
You're above or below
We are all made of dust of stars
And if you look, it shows
However, if you stand above
And you do so not out of love
I suspect that you may not see
That I am you, and you are me
I hope we come together so
We can all love and hear,
If we compromise our egos,
We shall be free of fear
I'm sorry for your Ego

I'm sorry for your Sadness
Though it does have a function
It may halt you from progressing
At an emotion junction
Oh, how I feel! How I struggle
To see you being sad
But I move on, for I do know
This sadness should be had
Sadness can never be deserved!
And at times, it's not right
But as sadness is like the dark,
Our love can be the light
So when you fall remember this,
From the bottom of the cup
As love fills up your spirit now
The water goes right up!
In this moment, please have no fear
Please fight to carry on
The sadness will be what saves you
Unless you're already gone
I'm sorry for your Sadness

Though I want you to have no pain,
Sorry, it isn't right
You now have oh, so much to gain
For let me shed some light:

2.
I'm not sorry for your Understanding
For since you clearly see
You understand our culture, here,
and you understand me
Oh, how I fight! Oh, how I seek!
I live to understand
Understanding does bring
And as it enhances my mind
It does a greater thing
It gives me my most sacred power
Which is to empathize with you
It makes it so I know what's false
And what I love, that is what's true
Understanding is all I need
To make this life complete
I look at you and understand
What it's like to walk in your feet
And what a majestic time it is!
To see someone and know
That all I've done and all they've done
Have led us here, to where we go
To meet and see each other's love
And burn each other's fear
When you help me understand you
Is truly only when I hear
I'm not sorry for your Understanding

I'm not sorry for your Sorrow
Even if regret can harm
Regret can consume your entire life
Or compromise your charm
Yet here, know this! You open up
When you apologize
And if you knew what it really was
It would be a surprise
Your sorrow is so humble
Your sorrow shapes your life
So long as sorrow teaches you
And please, without a knife
The function is for you to learn
To correct a bad fate
And now, all you need to do
Is not repeat mistakes
And please be free! For beyond that
Sorrow is but a waste
Take what the sorrow teaches you
And then, before it's too late,
Forget the pain, and do move on
It can be hard, I know
But once you love with what you've learned
The efforts of your sorrow show
I'm not sorry for your Sorrow

3.
Laterally and downward
Crazily like a pup
This is only what you expect
But it is only up

Like a madman scribbling
Or a child bored in class
Pain drags us along for a crazy ride
As if we have no mass

But listen here! Because I love
I can tell you why
Your pain just makes you beautiful!
Your pain just makes me cry

All of my new found perceptions
Enhance my life tenfold
But what you hear is born of pain!
I'm so warmed by the cold

And judge me not, but understand
I love the pained, the hurt
I love them more for their presence
Is such a wonderful work

I will plainly continue and say that your pain makes you beautiful. When I speak to my brothers and sisters who are mentally challenged, homosexual, or any other type of minority, I feel so loved and lucky to be in their presence because I know they had to fight harder to get to a point that they could look into my eyes and smile through their adversity. Pain has brought me gratitude!! Because since my pain made me isolated, so much as an acknowledgement makes me feel so loved. Pain has brought me perception!! Because I see the same gratefulness in others and it makes me understand that we all love those who share our pain. And along those lines, most importantly, pain brings us together. You should embrace your pain and wear in on your shoulder since you fought through it, you earned it, and by sharing it with others, we find what we truly have in common. Every person who shares their pain let's the struggling brothers and sisters know they are not alone! Pain is darkness, but by letting people know their pain is not abstract, we shed light unto their pain and we all love each other better and more productively.

I lost control, but just know this
Beauty is only pain
And from sharing the pain you have
Such love you have to gain!

dystopia, where are your welcome bells?
utopia—must have missed the exit.
oh *****, I’ll gladly breathe your scent
if you’ll calm this paranoid cursive.

drag me from this bush
and introduce me to a forest
to claim my own.

skipped the chalk
of enlightenment,
and landed on a crack
and sprained my ankle.

head beating like a popcorn machine,
membrane popping in the sun,
sweat pours through ****** doors,
drenches my senses in gasoline
while a mosquito strikes the match.

pupils flawed by nails clawed,
bloodied sockets gouged
to forget to remember
and to remember to forget,

to stop thinking about life
after it’s all over,
and when that will be,
just let it be,
you and me?
relieved free?
maybe …

… and maybe flesh will sizzle to the bone,
maybe I’ll scream and moan,
and pound my fists into my skull.

hamburger raw,
soon to unthaw
in the flames
driving sanity
insane.

posture with the shakes,
productively stressed and
destructively depressed,
I just want to shed my clothes
and drain my lungs into the moon,
like a wolf without reason,
without a single concern
except for me and the moon;

the moon and I.

I glanced fancily upward, taking quick notice at the 5 bladed ceiling fan that had always resembled the most crooked demeanor. Dust had been caking on her old worn blades for decades, building towers of particles of all sorts on the oak finish wood she was given at the factory she was produced in. Without the slightest mince of doubt, I would confirm China to plead the fifth. Shaking, this fan has never shook it had not been used since last summer. I heard ear splitting low toned roars as if boulders were forming an army only to be dropped from high jacks in the clouds. As I figure, these trains that run through this nearly vacant ghost town were shifting from one track, to one of the other six sets. Young, lying amongst my spring filled bed, the roars should have terrified most kids, but for me that signified life in a lifeless, sub-cultured society. Those roars had put me soundly to sleep.

My dark brown, small gritty eyes received a bit of that ceiling in them on the average August day of trains and mirages down the road. Determined to productively put this tired body of mine to good use I begin to scramble around the house for handy-man looking objects. Hammers, wrenches, nails, these things are hard to come by with two females under one roof alone. A ******* child I am, but ever long have accepted that. Luck had struck my view as I finally found myself in the parasitic garage infested with cobwebs, and every insect relevant to Kingdom Animalia. Running with all of these essentials may not have been the smartest decision, but hesitantly, in abrupt nature, I stopped. The roaring had been a continuous cycle of low blows against the hot sona air. It seemed like pendulums gaining momentum the closer it rose. I thought so keenly at the fact that a single human pair of ear drums should not rightfully pick up such low, non chromatic scale frequencies without crouching helplessly in fetal position.

Running to the front gate, mounted and bound by wires and steel, setting foot on the end of the premises of my humble abode, I felt utter desperation for everyone around me. The neighbors, sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, all our town’s elders that had been scornfully slothful over the years, were shifting about frantically. Leaping in panic-like modes into there vehicles. Into other neighbors vehicles. My mother, that had been off working four towns west, away from the commotion, makes the predicament that I will do just the same. But I boycott her judgment…as always.

The day had come. Finally, a vacant ghost town of my very own for merely minutes seemed like the longest, most eventful lifetime I had fulfilled. How badly the urge set upon my mind to grab wooden spoons and the biggest stew *** in the pantry I could possibly find. Just to gain and take name of my own sound while the calm was at its most content. For that piece in time, I would cherish every second. To warn no living thing, just me and the atmosphere, that I am here. I am the only one here. I am every characterized town in one. I am the law, I am the doctor, I am the city inspector. I blink as I erase my silhouette from this illusion. The roars are now visible. I can see how white and violent there pitches are. I see every color in the nearing explosions because the whitened bomb bends and blends them all together, and holds them firm. They begin to paint the sky gracefully on its pale blue canvas on the mid-august summer day.

I grab my essentials of handy-man objects that I almost lost feel of. Slowly returning to the home I know best, I intended on removing that dust covered fan and I did. Without ever knowing any father figure I would give him that fan, the only token of my existence he would submerge over. I own up to the simplicity and humorous thought of doing everything without him.

Reminiscing back to when I was young, lying amongst my spring filled bed, just as I am now. I thought, the roars should have terrified me like the town, but for me that signified life in a lifeless, sub-cultured society. The roars had put me soundly to sleep.

I didn’t hand it over
I neglected to sign a consent
I never said you could                                 yet you did anyway

a cavity within my chest
anatomical rather than cliché
the mask told me it’s a ventricle                then I stuttered okay

hollowed inside thick walls
it gathers substance productively
like a strawberry picker                              but the berries are smashed

Father Time
(Poem by Serenus)

Father, Oh Father
When will it stop?
You standing beside me
Tapping your watch

The key to life is lost
Leaving my mind locked
My time is almost up
So I’m avoiding the clock

Precious little time
So many things to do
Failure after failure
I wish I could start anew

Counting what I’ve accomplished
Productively throughout  the years
Calendar pages empty
Filled with all my fears

Scared of leaving my comfort-zone
…And trying something new
I’m not going to last
-Stuck in the past
And all that I’ve been through

Excuse after excuse
That’s what time really hates
Those hesitant to life
And are prone to procrastinate

Father, Oh Father
You got me on the run
Restlessness is your brother
And Impatience is your son

Who am I… really?
That’s who I need to find
So all I’m asking for
Is just a little time

A few extra moments
And I promise- I’ll be done
But begging is useless
Because Time waits for no one…

i know, it's not exactly mesmerising
such bounties with such curdling
crudeness, but that's how it is,
with eyes vectoring into the above,
cobalt, the highest pinnacle of the depths,
a shade like any other,
and then seeking the horizon, the dilution
of the formidable shade into Arctic...
a near white, but not exactly white,
not exactly worth metaphor that's a kindred
of white & black as lack & lack...
just the see-through colour for the allowance
of possessing eyes, not near melted mirrors
of mercury, but by day,
the highest peak blue in hue of cobalt,
and when walking from the mountain's peak,
the eyes spot the Arctic and Adriatic mist hues
outlining a bordering of all things elemantal...
the transparency of the whole dynamo
on being grounded from all elevations,
before dipping into the seas' shrubbery...
for indeed the sky makes use of the close-up, apparent
green shades of the sea, or the Thames grey
without an earl on a royal gondola worthy a parade,
nearer then the grander colour scheme,
but up from space, indeed, all is blue and all is green,
and all is sandy suntanned bronze
and seemingly serene; lest we forgot the dollops
of skeletal, floating in cloud - those scouts of Antarctica;
but from the elemental blue of the sky
receding into the seas of mirrors via arctic into white
if not seemingly see-through, there too i spot
the antidote of white nearing the pristine state of
claiming being see-through, a crow's
bleak colour of being shrouded
in celebratory mourning: the pupil of my eye, black,
and all the world around me, the flattened earth
of my iris, for no astronaut i am to imagine it otherwise,
from a perspective of such heights reached by
fellow man, if i am to be so humbly grounded,
i'll imagine it counter-productively as thus.

Sisyphus, my brother.  This rock you push is a great weight to bear. It is too much and too little.

What is this Rock?


Sisyphus, my brother.  Who can speak to you of toil? Who can claim your lack of will to be your restraint? That same rock to be pushed and rolled for time immortal is all that you have known. The rock is all your focus, all your desire. It is the world to you, in one indifferent globe. You have no thought of food, nor drink, nor rest, or other pleasures of this life. You know only your task and your object. The hill is of no consequence. The days spin past without you taking notice. Time is of no consequence.
What is this Rock?

Sisyphus, my brother.  Who can speak to you of futility? Who can claim your time is productively spent? You, who roll to the top of that grim mountain the same heavy stone; only for it to roll from its’ perch to the stopping spot from whence you hauled it. With each day and each night you strain to force your task onward. Each drop of your sweat becomes a testament to your duty. Each drop a second. Each second soon forgotten. No matter what you could endure, the charge of yours remains the same. Your stone must rise. Your stone must fall.

What is this Rock?

Sisyphus, my brother.  Who can speak to you of Fulfillment? Who can claim you are a man whose soul is empty? You, who look each day upon that same destiny without hesitation and without grief. Never have you turned from that same monotonous fate to other horizons; but have remained bound to it. Other men seek escapes and new journeys. They seek new faces and new glories. They want for gold and flesh and praise. You, who have none, do not grieve for them. You have the stone. And the stone must be lifted. The stone must be pursued. The stone gives life meaning. The stone gives life purpose. The stone banishes all doubt, all fear. The stone alone has worth. The stone alone has truth.

What is this Rock?

Sisyphus, my brother.  The Rock is Love.

The sea is the beginning of a poem. It’s color is baby-blue.

It is and certain points has a dark shade tint to it.

The forest behind
  is green, forest-green and at not light not at all light:

Baby blue: I accept happiness and color

Is not: It’s not, it is not three O clock in the afternoon evening afternoon maybe like light and day but or eleven PM shady night I am smart that is not shade. I also think love exists outside of you with so many people to meet. Instances are where for keeping you warm and safe is what I am asking for, but I will and I did thinking of blueberries before you seem to have the problem it makes me smile that the color purple you are not only very pretty, cool, good, Okay, I love you not like but Okay I love you

Hey Mr. Comma you must mean too that are you mean too much to ignore I am soo satisfied with my amounts and experiences because they’re enough

People: Me, too, baby, someday, me, too, baby. Probably no lawsuits.

Between as well, the lighted shade of green-light is not, maybe pink, blue as well our the is the day is incredible and there is the a for the ceiling.

The top: Bottom towards the top is the top of one and so among many more are money pays for this, “Woah, wait, I’m actually at  I’m at Harvard Business School? What’s equity again?” Right, today other times I’m at the University of Sydney where I actually have to do stuff because it’s not Harvard University and what I mean is you should go to Harvard University and I won’t go to Harvard University I only keep saying and writing and actually I already ‘right, today other times’

Podcast: Apply hope you continuously tree where your words continuously are continuously sometimes safe to be to me to me to me

The words were to meet and that happened years like more than eight years ago but parts to me sometimes of the portion of the a pretty, pretty portrait.

I will complete before you also because you are working on next sentences completing next sentences and finishing your third next sentences book is only a small portion or part of the whole the the whole completed product, you pretty product, productively

Please be careful and safe, queen of the definitions that you came up with and answered. I want to be careful.

Hmm, what am I thinking about that is more like fantasy maybe an E topic wait that’s a power chord for a song you will enjoy, okay it is also a song and sure a subject or a topic but certainly a subject, you too should see.

I see that wasn’t too hard.

Hi Joan Mitchell, I like very much your art.

The act of painting: 1 color canvas added on the canvas and not to the canvas there is a difference

2 colors canvas added on the canvas,

3 colors canvas added on the canvas,

4 colors canvas added on the canvas,

Where’s the finished and presented product? I bet I can show that TO someone and that wouldn’t go well ON the person I am showing the finished and presented product to inside at their place and location that should be effortfully coordinated and agreed upon and decided. What’s your favorite verb?

And: lastly guy, fifth color canvas to the canvas. You’re gonna be beautiful tomorrow too.

Here comes the counseling the the. How do I get through?

Woah, maybe where what no more like I, too, am happy, gorgeous.

I, too, can afford a life and my life, I agree it’s color being used here and there there is here and it is a difference among cities and she also did it on her own like that color was chosen in a pair and not alone.

Social anxiety ***** and does feeling like you have depression. I don’t want depression. I don’t want social anxiety.

Boy: Way unique I am I am I am enough for you enough too and you will need more than you and I both can think ahead or plan

And: You should go first, no please, the view is great anyways.

And so are you. Please do not forget about you or your brother who would like to afford more than he needs, maybe five times more than he needs, and will think better of it. What’s permanent?

My head: that bag isn’t large and it also is not big. Nor should the bag be a no so you are a no, not like it used to be like I used to be here and there and there and here and here and here but like that and was supposed to happen and you didn’t be therefore wrong wrong therefore too. I’m in my office and I might have took a good day once at home for you too.

The best thing to do is better safe and be better safe.

That: You are a safe mother and you will continue with your family as well.

You: no more gazing near inky Monet gazette mail into vacuum today and felt badly needed a friend of course more friends but never the most friends

Oh: And so I called him and not her mother as I or because I looked at the trees while I spoke to him because I am not the only one that looks into the trees that are not really there for example, not present, there are no trees present. The forest, behind her terrace also is my terrace because that is something we, she and I, agreed on together like the signed apartment contract that is stored someplace safe and locatable is going well we both received well-being and good formal humor maybe some bad manners and some sort of stuff like I said to you like I said to you that I hope you a good day as well or too I clean the house the for you so you don’t have to clean it yourself.

Yourself: once no more than twice you are perfect and I hope you paint and have a good time at least while you paint.

I’m like that I’m so sorry, I can provide, I can support, I can offer you just never told me when, what or how yet I still did not turn out bad and you too did turn out bad. Wait you’re not bad, pretty pretty pretty pretty. I love you hope sometimes. Other times I am a single sales associate that does not and that think he or she does not earn enough money and does not want to shop from the store they (he/she) works at. It’s okay, it’s time to go to bed. I will get better. I hope it gets better. Before I go, is there anything else I could do? Apple is having a Black Friday sale and I bet the phone looks pretty and comes with a adjustable phone case.

and who's to stop me?
management
have managed
their time productively.
                                       shudder to think
                                       they'd begrudge a
                                       subordinate the time
                                       to blast their feelings
                                       off the clock.
leaning over window panes
that lack
balconies to catch
their workers.
                                     my 1-1s have started and ended
                                     with a heart in my mouth
                                     making it harder for the words
                                     'i quit' to get out.

can i just pivot off of can i just piggyback can we just swivel can i put a pin in you and sew up the wounded look that face carries to the coffee machine every lunch Oskar take some sick leave or just leave at this point we haven't identified your fit and our culture of inclusion excludes delays in action i just don't understand how personal problems seep into the workplace what its been five months which is half the time you were with him can't it
just be let go?
just let me go
you're being let go
i want to let go.
                                                    ~ HR will be in touch. ~

Love's burning desire**

Life passes by much too quickly. More often than not, we lack an appreciation for the true value of time. Almost like in the blink of an eye another day has past. Then, another week. Then, another month. Then, another year. When we finally come to our senses reality starts to settle in. We are now left with that ever recurring question of, where has the time gone? Ergo, why not come to this appreciation for life while we are still young. At a time, perhaps, when we still have most of our basic faculties intact and an ability to use them more beneficially and productively while "age" is still somewhat on our side.

Below is a poem I wrote in an attempt to get this point across in a more creative way. Here we can see the development of that passing time. Here we see the changes time necessarily impacts on us. The message is clear, don't let human frailties and shortcomings from stopping you from enjoying, accomplishing, living, experiencing, etc. Don't let things like fear, laziness, depression, unhappiness, or anything similar restrict you from appreciating everything that life has to offer and for you to experience. So mush exists in this our beautiful world. So much awaits us to experience and to grow. Why squander away that precious time that so often steals away everything we have from right under our noses. The real tragedy is when we finally see how precious time is. We see why it is thus so precious. It CANNOT be replaced. Appreciate Life! Enjoy Life! Don't even stop to turn around.


The sun will shine, and the clouds will rain
these winds will blow, and love will yet feign
the eye will see, and the heart will crave
the body will sin, and sin will enslave

The baby will crawl, and the boy will walk
the man will run, and love will soon talk
love's burning desire, but a fleeting fire
age overcomes, desires quickly retire

The old man now stooped over
memories have but faded away
that life once full of living, alas
sitting in solitude, nothing but decay

So in youth, don't ever miss the chance
never stop dreaming, a time for romance
the days are shadows, years will soon disappear
don't miss these opportunities when you're young
just because of this word called fear

up all night,
working on last minute touches,
for the exam of life.

alone again between four walls
neglecting the world beyond
to pass,
the seconds productively
with no time
for happiness because,

Hard work and direction
Blood, sweat and tears
that's what leads to the future.
the Successful years.
the years of your career,
working life to the full,
selling your soul
for those that exploit you.

take your needs and your rights,
repackaging your life,
as an object
of desire to be earned
to make you a success,
when truly
it only makes you human.

oh you don't realise
we are more
than our productivity,
our money, our prosperity.
it is not what they told you.
it is not the peak
rising from a mountain
of failure.

it is beautiful
shining bright
in us all.
in the flap of a birds wing,
the love of your kin.
in the kiss of your mother
and the touch of a lover.

it's in your hopes and,
your dreams
to break free
of your chains.

it's in the flow of your pen
in your words and your way
it's in your hands now
and it's so much more than today.

Hold your own hand Sarah
Because no one is going to hold it for you
No one is going to hold it for you
No one is going to hold it for you
No one is going to be there for you when you need it the most
No
Sometimes
You're going to be alone
So hold your own hand Sarah
When no one else will at least you will have yourself
Your strength
Rivals that of 1000 bulls
And When your hands come together
You can harness that
The strength your mother
Infused into your bones
Interlocking
fingers twisted together in a lonely vigil
their only company the half painted fingernails that adorn them
Fingernails
That can only ever scratch the surface of the potential you possess
You
Have potential
An unknown future laid out in front of you
Scaring you away from possible opportunities
Hold your own hand Sarah
Stop
Second guessing your abilities
You
Look at yourself in the mirror
And see
A beautiful person
Hidden
By a mask of pretty features
You
Are chaos.
A
Fire burning
With
Invisible flames
Only you can see.
Your
Beauty is visible
But only to yourself
Others
Don't see the real you.
While
You see flames dancing
They
See a brick wall with no doors
No windows
No way in
Your
Mind a forbidden garden
Except
No one even knows it exists
See
How can anyone want in on something
When they don't even know it exists
Do you even know I exist?
Hold your own hand Sarah
Hold my hand Sarah
Your consciousness
Witnessing all your poor decisions
More divisions, all created by you
Distancing yourself from those you love most
And blaming it on them
Blaming it on time
Even though you never seem to know how to spend yours productively
Hold my hand Sarah
Maybe if you
Grabbed hold of yourself
Grabbed hold of your mind
Territory that's mine
Then you'd figure a thing or two out about how to
Straighten yourself out.
Hold my hand Sarah
I promise I'll never let you down if you would just
Hold my hand Sarah
Because we both know
I have never let you down
And we both know
That together
We can be stronger
Than ever before.

i imagine my grave to be in my backyard
under the old oak tree
no marker or stone
just soil sprinkled over me

close to the house full of memories
where my children were birthed
anniversaries, birthdays, family dinners
my favorite place on earth

i want the birds to build their nests
and their young to sing their songs
above me, they shall rejoice
remind of when I was once young

please grow daisies on my grave
the yellow ones are the best
they'll bloom & spread
and provide tiny creatures with a place to rest

don't worry about visiting me
i'll be as happy as can be
just knowing you're living your life
with purpose, happiness, productively

when, however, you miss me so
come sit at the bark of the tree
tell me about your worries & joys
let it all out to me

i'll listen & my response will come
with the waves of the breeze
you'll find rest in that heart of yours
and we shall both be at peace

eventually spring shall come & flowers shall bloom
then turn into autumn then summer
i'll silently watch the beauty of each
& watch the warm breeze turn into winter

when winter comes and the trees are bare
i'll enjoy the warmth deep down
i'll picture my loved ones near the fireplace
and my face will brighten with a smile, not a frown

i ask for nothing to remember me by
no need to even leave a trace
just know that under the soil of the old oak tree
*there's a smile on my face

I live my life in troughs and peaks
I write 2 papers and shoot off 6 emails in a freshly cleaned room
I let the dishes sit for a week and can’t get up til after noon

My period used to be like this before I started the pill
Sporadic and long (or short) and inconvenient and gut-wrenchingly guilty

I think about my 3 papers due next week and how I want to sketch up my traumas
Instead I open a new document and type this
I procrastinate productively sometimes I guess
This is a trough

A corpse stumbling through the rain asks,
"What is the purpose of this meaningless life?"
though unfortunately words are not heard,
the scream of his mind echoing in his thoughts.

Blackened blood smearing on frigid cold skin,
pondering what it was like to be human,
to be living productively in the present,
rather than a blurry state of nothing but living;
If you could call it that at all.

Shuffling across cracked pavement,
hopelessly looking for a feeling,
something not yet known, or remembered;
An internal struggle only seen as a groan,
unable to give much more detail,
a foggy expression within his faded eyes.

Weeds overflow into weathered buildings,
much like numbness has crawled across nerves,
signifying that nothing will get better,
nothing will get worse,
nothing is the best option;
Nothing is good.

Driven by nothing more than a need to go on,
to survive, thrive with what is to be had,
feeding off of the emotions of others,
trying to comprehend it all,
though as soon as a glimpse of it comes close enough to touch;
It vanishes,
like a flickering end scene of a movie once enjoyed.

I want the opportunity
To leave this hellhole
Leave this place and discover
My real home
To sometimes laze around productively
To meet someone I can truly fall in love with
And not just settle for

I want a chance
To pick and choose where my life goes
To show the world
What I can [and will] do
And live each moment only pleasing myself
And those worthy of pleasure

I want the freedom
To ***** up on my own
And not feel bad about it
For just once
To take responsibility
And pay with punishment or reward
For my actions
To gain courage and character

But we don’t always receive what we want. Only what we deserve.

Time changes everything.
It changes who i am and who you are;
It leads us to moments of unity and moments of division;
It leads us to moments of enmity and moments of friendship;
time mends and time heals wounds;
time introduces new things
and it takes the old ones away;
time is good when used productively;
time is a broad field on which so much can be done;
it is a tiny palm on which very few words could be written;
time is everlasting but it ends here.

I used to dream that I could be
A life lived out in vintage dresses and
Tea at four, fragile porcelain with
The clicking of typewriter keys

I used to dream that I could be
Net gloves and veils, heels always
High and elegant on the 48 bus
And lipstick lined on perfectly

I used to dream that I could be
Running the world – or femme fatale
Cutting words, seduction and vice
Cigarettes and whisky at three

I used to dream that I could be
Hitchcock’s heroine washed and set
Neat home and neater profession
Always carrying on productively

Yet now I see I will always be
Pyjamas till one, or all week
With day old hair – eyes smudged
Hungover and reeking of coffee

Yet now I see I will always be
Temperamental with my
Flighty pen and paper scribbles
Reading, writing disinterestedly

Yet now I see I will always be
Painfully average and mundane
Second-best, never measuring
Up to those surrounding me

Yet now I see I will always be
Warm wine – a microwave queen
A disastrous whirlwind unsatisfied
And dreaming suicidally.

*© Tara India.

Intense heat. That’s when I work. That’s when I can start feeling the emotions flow through my veins. My head must be productively heated for my brain to function. My pupils have to be dilated. My body active and energetic. My mood fierce. My thoughts sharp. My senses alert. I have to have my heat to function. Without heat I will rot and wither away.

House by the beach, life is cotton dry. Once every

two weeks, a tall light through the window. Loneliness

has kind eyes, or fiery. High waves, some people are

having fun. A hidden inability to create life, and

substitutes, in the rush. House by the beach, my life story


in short. Endless motion, on and on, parting me from

what's real. I leave my footprint behind, in a chase of

the windstorm. Wealth in a tiny grain of sand, from ancient

Israel, a riddle. He tells you how to change, technically

and productively. House by the beach, castle of dreams


I see in a nightmare. Greyhound express, from wide

expanses, dust unearthly spacewalk. Where does it hurt,

questionbox. *** is a ***** word, from 9 to six. Was

it love? The ocean is not blending in, nor the blue sky.

House by the sea, your only happy memories.

... if you're breathing...
you're working... productively !

Thy birth on January 13th – cervical contractions would not abate
the pesky master (papa), strove to synchronize his seminal bait
thence, forty-two weeks after ma parents did pro create
Imminent lviii plus years ago to date
this present baby boomer doth indubitably and inherently equate
Nineteen hundred and fifty nine
   bequeathed birthed mine kempf ill fate
neurological manifestation sans obsessive compulsive did grate
behavioral motif and analogous to frontispiece per the story I hate
of my life and hard times, when all of a sudden out the blue irate

the onset of emotional nadir,
   where ballistic ordnance bombed away
fancy free, innocent, naïve boyhood
   decrying, detonating, and describing me own Pigs Bay
Allied, linkedin, and synced Luftwaffe
   and Panzer division invasion that clay
like materiel within southern cerebral hemi
   sphere inroads usurped no delay
riding roughshod via synapse straits sporting
   scoring sorties using every
axe n newer on dread did Swiss hide dill naught
   to decimate with Sherman determination tuff flay
leaving not one iota (oft times) referenced as gray
matter unaffected quite aware
   of rebellious confederated voices yelling “HOORAY”

Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication incorporating connection between anterior cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges) greater activity upon basal ganglia, which synoptic description does nothing to alter the predisposition to ingress of uncontrollable imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical fixation particularly during onset of puberty, when an emotional kamikaze nose dive at the nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow of me former self nowhere tubby found on account of deadly symbiotic relationship asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milkmaids, or rather pressing said resources sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous, and horrendous self destructive antics, where ballistic charges drugged eminent domain former nerve cell size occupants, thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility with pride fullness and prejudice on par with dousing one with an ****** that completely upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly, and managing productively versus expending precious time and energy self absorbed into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions, manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality got embedded within the neurological interstices, which even as of this moment hound me akin to wild beasts circling ever closer to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.

(When) It's a bad day you deserve, yet you've lost a medal (then)

Its time to prove your mettle
move forward, be not brittle
with friction minimized to a little
let those critics giggle
don't let your determination jiggle
just keep moving
(when) the time of redemption has come
your feet may feel numb
your conscience might call you dumb
but jump
you might feel the bump
don't lose the grip
life's your craziest trip
feel the hip-hop around you
the amazing people that surround you
the music you listen
the flute you play
It is the shaping of your clay
Use productively, the night and the day
At the time of redemption
don't go gentle on your prey
be brave, don't be a slave
Its the creation of a great world you crave
not it's grave

And yeah, this issue is grave
it needs some immediate action
if you take all the suitable steps
still, be ready for any reaction
be your centre of attraction

There is no world without you,
no, you without the world,
The world is within you.