To know just where your're going

You must know where you've been

You must respect the history

The things others have seen

It's true in all things relative

Be it music, sports or life

If you don't know where you came from

You're just dancing on a knife

Gherig, Ruth and Robinson

May, and Mantle, Seaver too

Respect their contributions

And don't just say Ruth who?

Respect where things have come from

And the players of the past

Because you learn and make things better

It's what makes the **** game last

Jimmy Foxx, Bob Gibson, Kaline

Nestor Chylak and The Goose

They made baseball special

They gave the game a little juice

Orr, Richard and Gretzky

Gordie Howe and Howie Morenz

You have to know about them

You need the beginning to your ends

Bob Baun and Bill Barilko

Connie Smythe and yeah...the Chief

You have to know their history

They're what it is to be a Leaf

The game has changed immensely

Things can not go back in time

But to me...the old alumni

Made the game I know as mine

Respect the ones before you

The ones who laid the groundwork down

The ones who made it special

The non-pretenders to the crown

Elvis, Buddy, Harrison

Played the songs inside their heart

Lennon, Wilson and the rest

They all played a real big part

Every single generation

should learn from the one before

For if they don't know where they've come from

Then what has it all been for?

Nicklaus, Palmer, Bobby Jones

Sarazen and Hogan too

They pushed the gameright to it's limits

Now the pressure's upon you

The new breed are the teachers now

They're the ones to lead the way

When twenty or so years from now

You'll hear somebody say

"Respect who came before you

The ones who made us so **** proud

LIke  Nash and , Perry and  Taylor Hall

They played the game so loud

Pudge, Jeter, and Verlander

they brought it up a notch

They were there to stretch the limits

Not to just sit by and watch

Rory, Justin Rose and Mahan

Bubba, Dustin and the rest

They are the players of the future

They all respected the games best

So, to know where you are going

You must know where you have been

Respect, past through the future

And all that's happened in between.

you haven't exercised in a week
you haven't exercised and you've been eating a lot - ice cream and candy and not entirely healthy things
you haven't exercised and you've been eating a lot and you've developed a slight pudge around your tummy where previously you wanted rock hard abs because you wanted to be strong
but you're finding that strong isn't what you've made it to be
maybe strong is more than slim bodies and powerful arms...maybe
and the strangest part of this journey of self-discovery is that, as your stomach starts to make itself a delicate padding and as you roll over in bed instead of going for a run, you are curiously the most happy you've been in weeks
and you love your body and it makes sense and you are *happy

John Green made me sad in the best possible way...

So thanks

Augustus,who taught me to love people no matter what.

Hazel,for showing me we are all beautiful.

Alaska,for saying its okay to be a bit mischievous.

Pudge,for proving that you don't have to have millions of friends to feel loved.

The Coronel, for teaching me to believe in myself,no matter where I had come from.

Colin,for my eureka moment.

Both Will Graysons,for showing me is okay to not know exactly who you are.

And every character in Paper Towns,who just made me really happy.

But lastly and most importantly I'd like to thank John Green,because you made my life a better place with your books, and for that I'm forever greatful

Chocolate rabbits from hell

My feet hurt from stepping
On chocolate eggs
And I have to look at my mom
As she watches me
Push the basket of chocolate aside
as i sit down for breakfast

and I have to ignore
the two brats
beside me
gorging themselves
on
little
round
pieces of
fat.

I remember last year
Jelly beans, crème eggs,
All that **** that I now
refuse to cram in my mouth;
Im not adding to
the reserves of pudge on my
hips/thighs/arms/stomache
inside and outside
everyday i
bloat

mirrors
****

I can hear sloshing in their stomaches
As they stand
Hockey practice, hockey practice
They’re carried off by chauffers,
My parents

For the rest of the day
Ill be alone

Last year that would have meant
A choco-fest, and I miss it a bit
As the hunger that no one will notice
begins to set in

When you hold me
I forget to be insecure
About my size
About my numbers
About my body
I forget to worry
About my lumpy thighs
About my jiggly tummy
About my pudgy arms
You stroke each limb
And kiss every inch
As if none of it matters
As if you don't care
That I'm fat
You aren't afraid to touch
My cellulite
My bumps
My pudge
The things
Nobody else wanted
Nobody else would touch
Nobody else saw as desirable
You touch them
You hold them
You kiss them
You make love to them
You flat out love them
Because for some reason
You don't care

we think we’re made of numbers. percentages on tests,
pounds on a scale,
likes on a photo,
price tags on clothes.
but we’re not.
we are made of love and happiness and they way we laugh.
we’re made of good memories and late nights and past-curfews.
we have more substance than numbers.
you’re not what you look like.
you’re the music you listen to,
the shows you watch,
the art you make,
the flowers in your hair,
your favorite blanket.
you’re not the pimple on your nose
or the pudge on your stomach.
You’re not your thighs or your teeth.
you’re the color of your hair,
you’re your favorite band,
you’re the mismatch socks you wear
You’re what you love, you’re not what you look like or the body you are in.

I'm not an obvious kind of pretty
I don't have natural blonde hair
Or bright blue eyes
No perky little *****
No gap between my thighs
I don't look like anyone else
I bleach my own hair
Use drug store eyeshadow
Wear dresses from the clearance rack
That show the red bumps after shaving my legs

I have lumps and bumps
Cellulite and pudge
Blackheads and bacne
A recipe for nothing special at all
Just someone average
Who has a bright twinkle
In her **** brown eyes
And curvy hips
That sway in the sun

You have to look close
To see all my beauty
I'm not a model
Or a ******* bunny
Just someone on the sidelines
Watching the models and bunnies
While they get the attention
And I get brushed by
It's not obvious that I'm beautiful
Until you look into my eyes
Until you see my semi-white smile
Then you notice the little moles
The silver scars
The way my body curves
In a voluptuous way
And you see
Just how perfect I am

too small her upper lip
kink of hair too much frizz
not quite hourglass shape
pudge of tummy give or take
thighs too big to make you breath
more cellulite she doesnt need
too much hair, hair everywhere
uneven portions she only stares
the mirror you might want to break
she understands that its okay
these things you could obsess
she merely looks at them with bliss

its okay to not be perfect
its okay

she is not here for you

Something different
Something sudden
I was caught by surprise
By those, oh so stunning eyes
I said hi
You said hello.
My little kitty
Vowing to forever stand by me
As friend, maybe more
Kitty, thank you for caring about me
Maybe you can help me see
For the second first time
Help me pick up the pieces of my mind
As you so vowed to do
Because you know the hurt
And you could desert
But, I'm just guarded and scared
My heart is just tired
And it's me you want to admire
It's just such a crazy notion
That some of your beauty and style
Might notice little old me
With the pudge and the baggage
But, here you are patiently waiting
And helping me pick up the pieces of my life
Maybe one day I could call you my wife
One meeting could make a lifetime
Some things I can't help but take as a sign
But, only time will let us see
I was just so surprised
When you said hello
And I said hi.

I'm not an obvious kind of pretty
I don't have natural blonde hair
Or bright blue eyes
No perky little *****
No gap between my thighs
I don't look like anyone else
I bleach my own hair
Use drug store eyeshadow
And **** shopping in Topshop

I have lumps and bumps
Cellulite and pudge
Blackheads and bacne
And prodigious pours
A recipe for nothing special at all!
Just someone average
Who has a bright twinkle
In her fog grey eyes
And curvy hips and ****
That sway in the sun

You have to look close
To see all my beauty
I'm not a runway model
Or a ******* bunny
Just someone on the sidelines
Watching the runway models and bunnies
While they get the attention
And I get brushed by
It's not obvious that I'm beautiful
Until you look into my eyes
Until you see my semi-white smile
Then you notice the little moles
The red and silver scars
The way my body curves
In a voluptuous ans peachy way
And then you see
Just how ******* perfect I am

Reckless and unsure,
She sits with her Marlboro Lights;
Smoke cloaks her face
and she takes her drags faster than Gordon's race.

"I smoke to die," she says,
And he looks on in perpetual infatuation,
Looking and longing,
twisted fantasizing of the girl he'll never really have.
And he feels her, her warmth,
Though layers upon layers all block her touch.

It isn't enough that his eyes fill with lust at the mention of her name.
Alaska Young, and the fire in his chest flames and flames;
And suddenly she's gone,
Straight and fast, right out of the labyrinth,
One drunken night gone awry.
And poor old Pudge with no last words to get him by.

the whiff of a prize pig on a

dank, misty morning--corn stuck

in your teeth.

let us make a shroud of that mist

as your intent, minus mystery.

the pudge of situatedness superseding

promises.

squeals of self-love slobbering on

squeals of self-hatred, the later

should be your siphoning state.

dis-gus-ting...

I wish I was beautiful.
I wish I had pale, milky skin.
I wish I had hair that reached down to my waist - and was pitch black.
I wish I had dimples, like so many beautiful girls do.
I wish I had eyes that matched a bright, summer's sky.
A lovely bust, flat stomach, and curves in all the right places are what I dream of.
I wish the beauty on the inside reflected on the outside.
But it doesn't.
Instead of alabaster skin, it is brown and spotted with black marks.
Instead of long, luxurious hair, it is typical, shoulder-length - and unmanagable.
There are no dimples.
But there are dull, brown eyes.
There is no lovely bust
But there is a pudge on my abdomen.
There are no curves
And the beauty on the inside does not reflect on the outside.
But how I wish it did...

Just because I can doesn't mean I should.

2. Honey will get me farther than sass.

3. My worth isn't in how many boys have told me I'm beautiful.

4. He won't change.

5. Friends shouldn't treat you like ****.

6. I'll probably always have a little pudge.

7. It takes me an hour to get ready.

eyes rolling back
images playing in my head
i had a dream last night

***** blonde hair
the color of your eyes have been forgotten
slight pudge of belly, i used to rub that
you got a lot of food babies.

Instead pale, skinny, eyes sunken in
sick and ghastly, suffering from disease
visiting you was a decision i made with ease
5 years from when we had last seen

your mom and you danced
and you then danced with me, holding me tight
you had never once looked at me with eyes so bright
the feeling burned into my retinas

the point is my r.e.m induced dream
showed me to let go

Till next time
"no, hope you have a good life"

Bless you dear Baby, the Immaculate
Whose Aid feel your Love with his hands redeem
In Hour's Promotion confound the Speculate
Reveal your locked Chamber-of-Hearts un-seen
So it is, Young One, feed his Compassion
And shred that Deadly Tabloid we all know
That, of ****** Faith, his Good Lad mention
The Living Savio which always must Glow
Whatever which Pin, must never un-dress
Because of these Prayers your Smile embed
He'll gladly absorb; Spare Additives less
Only until her Pudge was merrily fed.
Once back in Mum's arms, all Stains erased since
And all he's about: The Best Living Prince.

I can write you into poetry,
breathe your name in my sleep.
But my words are hollow,
and my eyelids are so heavy.
See,
I didn't want to write another poem
about you
or love at all,
for that matter.
But its so hard
to not feel like
a character in a *******
John Green novel
when you talk about her
And I can't help thinking
I can love you so much better.
I don't think she notices
your eyes when you laugh,
or your one crooked tooth,
or that that's not even your natural hair color,
and I don't think she notices
when you're upset
or if she does
she doesn't care
And it pains me to think that
you love so fully
and completely,
like Pudge,
but I am not your Alaska.
And I can't help thinking
you deserve someone
who will love you like Hazel Grace,
who will see constellations in your face
and won't laugh when you cry.
But now matter how many cliches
I write down
or if I'm sleeping beauty,
I can't help feeling
that somewhere along the line
I got stage fright and couldn't play
Augustus right,
like I'm the only character
who forgot the words,
and that's stupid because
I'm supposed to be a main character,
but somehow I got mixed up
with the background.
So I don't know if this is my fault
for mistaking myself
for someone more important,
or if I'd even make a difference
if I was

We were young and foolish, she the younger –
I the more foolish
hair falling softly from the table she would lie on
using keys to the dark-room during lunch hour
so we could “finish the yearbook”
excited by thoughts of getting caught during those encounters

The red light accentuated the perkiness of her *******, taught
filled with passion and energy.
I would lick my way past her belly button and could taste the chlorine from her recent swim practice.
her pool-noodle legs arched up, inviting me to stare at her
newly formed mound, still growing into her thighs
it was delightful.

She was beautiful.

Years on I’d come to spend more time with the woman from
cash register four – Thursdays noon till 8.
we were uncommitted to commitment thus,  
neither of us took too much, too seriously

She wore her hair shorter on a-countta’ it got so ****** hot
in that store,
        she would sometimes dehydrate – her neck glistening.
from the store and the hot flashes.

Her ******* would sway from side to side as she lay there waiting for me to undress
the evenings were rather unceremonious –
though quite memorable.  We never lacked energy.
Quite memorable.

Once golf-ball sized ******* had begun to sink into her abundant pillowy chest.
I would take forever it seemed ******* like a child
        until they obeyed the demand for attention.

Rounding her hips, I could taste the day-long sweat
smothered under that poly-nylon store smock
Later, she would toss her leg over mine, allowing me more than a glimpse
of her “womanhood” she called it.
all matted and twisted from the long afternoon
her greying ***** beginning to show her age
along the rest of her body.

She was beautiful.

The -older woman- referred to me as “well rounded” – the lady four years my senior
summer afternoons we’d spend quietly just sitting on the bed
Sometimes, with nothing to say
Most of her hair had left her head by now from the months of chemo

Gentle massage to her shoulders and upper arms somehow quelled her headaches
from time to time she would welcome me
“be gentle” she would whisper
I would

Kissing the nape of her neck to make way for her remaining breast
She’d had the other removed months ago.

I could taste the dusty sun-screen from her gardening
just above the tops of her hips
kissing my way down the pudge folds of her belly to her thigh
then what remained of her once neatly trimmed mound
now silver/grey/white
muddled and untidy if at all.

She was so beautiful.