In time you’ll recover and absolve
push those scorned impressions aside
hammer down the jaded edges
and sing
that delightful commoners song
the one you sang so well
in what seems a lifetime ago

You really had it you know
that fiery disposition and nimble cunning
those butter chords and derelict style
we could see it -- we could all see it
it was all it took to turn the evening tide
(and rile that buck fever)
heads bashing
tongues lambasting
middle fingers high
and raising Cain on those may fly statesmen

There were no rules
when it came to your survival
no textbook rally or common bond
no structured songbird or bravado stage
you either made it, or laid it
“life by the *****” Mr. Poppy would say
a kaleidoscope of dreams
with rich colored imagery
hardened artisan seams
in a carefully woven motif

But something got lost in the needle point
something sinister and distorted took hold
the quirks and street genius
that were your lifeline
gave way to grunts
and squeals
and chilling night crawlers
the colors faded quickly
to a cold confining grey

There was no grace in the new world
no retribution or switch back
no salvation or accorded finale
only edged platforms of blackened steel
that kept you cased
in a silent vanquished cell
shivering cold with fear
night without day
all in the shadow of death

But time heals all
and the polish sneakers
and open sores are long gone
(though the roman nose and shallow cleft remain)
indeed the falconer beat the widow maker
this go around
and I’m hopeful it won’t happen again
and if it does you’ll see me
standing hand on heart
with that old verse in hand:

he ain’t tainted
or silly,
and most certainly
not forgotten…
he ain’t loony
or fixed,
or a product of his self-doing…
he’s just a straight shootin’ guy,
who had the most of it
figured out

You don’t need to try so hard.
You can wear the clothes you want.
Do whatever you please,
Express yourself the way you know how.
You can wear those heels
Just because you love them.
Your true friends will accept you
And all your little quirks.
It’s time to let it go,
Let go of all your fears of judgement.
Stop caring what people think of you,
It’s none of your business anyways.
You are who are for a reason.
You’re crazy, eclectic,
A miss independent and a little rebellious.
You like to defy the norms of society
So why aren’t you doing it?
Let go of all those rules and make your own.
You’ve always stood for the outcasts,
Paving your own path,
Cutting the trees blocking your way.
Why care now about fitting in
When you’re a shining gem?
You were born to lead, to conquer.
This is your destiny, you’ve always worn
Your individuality just like a badge.
Don’t become submissive,
Stop looking for approval,
You won’t find it anywhere
But inside of yourself.
It’s the self-acceptance that comes first,
There’s no better friend than you.
Go on, look in the mirror.
Remember, you better like who you are,
That is the person you’ll be stuck with
For the rest of your life.
Enjoy all the strangeness,
All the weird parts of your personality.
There’s no refunds, no exchanges.
You are who you are and that
Is perfection; no matter what anyone says.
Accept who you are now,
Accept all the growth to come.
You can accomplish even your
Wildest dreams, those shooting stars.
It’s time to just be,
Time to stop leaning on societies
Ideals and march on out
With head held up high.
Self acceptance is all you need.

By Nabs
Dear, My Past Self
I've always wanted to say a lot of things to you.
A lot of things that I would like you to change.
A lot of things I wished that you haven't done
(Like chanting hate to your self before you went to sleep).

But that is not the reason I am sending this letter.

We both know how the past cannot be changed, the same way we both know that girls will be girls and boys will be boys (which to say not at all, after all we are a firm believer that time travel and The Doctor exist).

I know that you are going through a lot of forked roads, right now.
Gnawing your lips and making it bleed, from worrying whether to choose right or left?
Afraid, not to take the wrong road but to take the road that you want, the third road that you've always thought off but haven't gathered enough courage to step to.
It's okay to be afraid of where will you get stranded in life. Being afraid doesn't make you weak.

But at the end we have to move forwards even if it will literally kills you to leave the breathtaking view behind.

At this point in your life, You will realize that the handful of people that you surround your self with are more of an aquantaince than friends. And you will lose some of the friends you have because of the directions you each choose to go. You will feel lonely and miserable.

A deceptive man called depression will lull you with the promise of kindred spirits and ask you to let him be your companion. You will accept this offer, not fully knowing the Concequences because Depression, in your neighborhood, is something that goes unacknowledged.

You will regret the decision of taking his hands
(He's a good friend of mine now, I know how to deal with his quirks and how to cope with him living in my home. He still ask me to join him in drowning, but I learned how to say no)

    There will also be a lot of people telling you that you are a freak. They will consider that being true to yourself is a sin and you will try to repent by torturing your self with soul leeching mask that will leave you identity in tattered remains (You will spent years trying to piece it back, taking new pieces and discarding old ones).

They will also paint names on your back, whispers lies and making a game on how much they can stab you in one day. (You always come home bleeding, but you covered it with 1000 watt smile and perfume to mask that fact that the wounds are rotting)

Do not try revenge, it will leave you with a guilt so heavy that the act it self would only taste like ashes and sour your heart. (I know how horrible that is, and I know you'll still do it because this letter isn't about changing the past)

Remember that you have an untapped core of titanium in your backbone.

I know you will spend some sleepless night thinking of ways to not wake up in the morning, how to keep dreaming, and letting the ghost take you away. I know how close you are to the temptation and how you almost bitten that forbidden fruit because you wonder if it taste like peace. I also know that you will deny yourself.

(Because that's the lesson that was taught to us since the beginning )

Society may tell you, to **** all the things that are different in you. The things that make you see a shade differently, the things that make your angle on the world askew, the thing that you were (and still is) proud of. You will ask why, and they will reply because you are not perfect.

Do not listen to them because a few months from now you'll learn that their reasons are poison and you had been fed spoiled milk all along.
(You'll get some stomach ache that will feel like butterfly wings, you will mistake it for infatuation. It's not. You'll learn that infatuations taste like sugar and the coffee that you'll grow to like)

At this point, You will also painstakingly build a shrine, made of ivory and desperation, for the one you mistaken as a saint (she's not but she's still one of the best things that happen to you). A shrine for a saint that you tried to be, a saint that was hailed from loneliness and envy.  

The shrine will be the invisible wall that you will simultaneously try to tear apart while build it everyday. You will always be the one who ask for forgiveness because you were a faithful believer who believe that you are a despicable sinner.

(You are as much as a sinner as she is a saint.)

The day that you look her in the eyes and burn the shrine, the wall will crumble and fall like the Berlin Wall. Both of you will become human ( Also you will find that she is easily bribed with pizza and you will find that you are different than her and that's ok).

You will also learn the taste of despair from the way the mother dove cannot understand that your screams are the way you say that you are breaking and you just want to quit breathing. Instead mother dove will translate it into screams of rebellion, and you were always the obedient daughter first, than you are a teenage girl.

(You will learn how to jab your scream into paper, and turn them into poems. You will truly make some bad ones at first. Don't worry I'll help you along the way)

One day, between where you are now and where I am now, the world will give you a present of awareness to the danger of smiling to strangers. You will cry in the hotel bathroom and try to scrub your skin until it bleeds, trying to feel clean but only managed to ***** the tub. The world and mother dove will tell you that its your fault and you were asking for it (You're not).

You will lose the ability to smile uncaringly.
(This is one of the things I wish we would have keep)

You will slowly watch the colors that you know fade from the world, leaving it a mottled grey. The same state that you are feeling now. You will paint lies and invent new colors to just make you believe that there is something worth living for. You will hate your self more and more for your new painting skills.

Don't hate your self, You are a survivor and you are still fighting (I know you wouldn't listen to this, that you would keep hating your self until you met some people who will be kind to you and help you hold up your forts from the monster inside your skin. Like I said this isn't that kind of letter).

I know that the day you smashed all your anger and hurt into the table that you sleep on, was the day where you first tried to draw red lines with sharp markers on yourself. It will be messy but you were addicted and soon all you can paint was release and the occasional victorian girl

(You will not draw boys because you despise the way that you cannot draw wide board shoulders, like the one you hate on your self but admire on your brothers because those shoulders look like they could carry the world unlike yours).

You will lock your emotions tight, and learn how to hide from the world (It wouldn't last long, you have the universe inside you that is screaming to be shared to people. You haven't learned how to say no yet, unlike me)

You will learn that you are also an idiot, that karma exist and it bites you in the *** as a payback for all those tyranny. You will laugh your self until you're sobbing and fallen asleep. The next day you will bring a book to educate yourself to your school.

You will be turned into a mess of paint, anger, bitterness, and dramatic flair. The only one that will be left without blemish will be the mask (not the face beneath). The woodcutters will saw your legs of from you, and you will be left without the means to stand on the ground

But you still will crawl your miserable 90 kilogram mass of body to the next crossroad, and the next, and the next, and the next, like the stubborn mule you (we) are.

And you will came out of the personal purgatory, that the world gave you, with a brand new legs, soul liberally littered with scars, and a tuft wings on your back (Albeit still very tiny. It's okay, It's still growing).

You will learn to walk again with your new legs, the one that isn't smooth like baby skin but full with callouses from all the road walking.

You will learn that being full of flaws is ok, that not being beautiful is fine.

You will also learn that you are allergic to cats (You will deny this fact when you find out until you almost passed out because you couldn't breathe. But we will still cuddle with them because cats are the best)

You will meet new people, wonderful new people. The ones that you care so very much and the one that cares for you back. The ones that's just wonky like you. (You will love this guy and girl that I am close with, they're very kind and sappy like you are)

You will get to fall in love, like in the romance manga that you secretly love, and you will broke your own heart (I wanted to say for you to savor it more, but like I said this isn't that kind of letter).

You will be ok with it, and you'll gain the skills of cutting people from your life

You will learn that the world isn't kind to your gender, and you'll ask for equality ( the same way you're asking for a new set of paint, which is to say with a lot of care and thinking). You will learn that the world will always be a ******* but there will always be change.

(The world needs its balance)
You will learn that patience isn't really your virtue. But you will learn to grit your teeth and wait.

You will learn to love your self. Even at some point the hate still managed to rear its ugly head. You will learn to be proud of your self and yet still be kind.

And you will continue to write your own story, you will make mistakes and learn from them, you will make unexpected plot twist and pull your favorite cliche. You will learn that not all people like your story and that it's okay.

That is so very okay.

This letter isn't about telling you to change yourself.

It's my way of saying thank you.

Because darling, ****** well done (pun intended)
                                    Love, Your Future Self

P.S :
(This isn't the end, how about we meet up for tea later?)

I want to be your abacus baby,Oh you can count on me.
I wont say that i love you, or i heart you, I less than 3 you.
Your molecules must be moving fast,girl. Cause your really hot.
Are you igneous sedimentary or metamorphic? All i know is baby you rock.
And if god existed I'd thank him for you, but I'm rational and read a lot of Sam Harris.
Your beautiful like the font garamad,but i want to see you sandarac, take your pants off.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,
And i observe your quirks oscillating, and I'm formulating, a g-string theory..
Like an archeologist,I'm gonna try and compute your age. cause i really want to date you.
You make me feel like a male giraffe. I want to nudge your **** and make you urinate,and mate you.
Scientific fact,thats what they do.
The value of my love for you cannot be expressed exactly. More rational then Pi.
Hey "****" is a legitimate word in scrabble, just FYI
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
You can **** me into your super massive black hole, the center of your galaxy. Im talkin ******.
I may not be the strongest or the prettiest, but my knowledge of grammar shines.
I know how to use the words  further and farther..correctly. Every fricken time.
Example:farther indicates physical distance
and further a depth or degree
example: the moon is getting farther from the earth
about 4 centimeters annually. Fun factoid,take it home with ya.
You just keep getting further into my heart.
You just keep getting farther into my heart.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,and if the situation is ambiguous, further and farther can be used interchangeably. Just a fun factoid.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
Baby i less than 3 you.
So please take off your pants.

His deep blue eyes, that shine so bright
Makes my dark, turn into light
His nerdy quirks and hipster ways
Makes me laugh and love him more with each and everyday

He holds me close and keeps me warm
He tells me that he has never felt this way before
We'll make fires and watch the stars at night
Talking about the universe, and everything to life

He is my best friend, my lover, and soulmate.
Without him I'd be lost
You see it seems he stole my heart,
But one day I'll get him back
Maybe taking his last name.

What is it with this fatal attraction
For my soul that’s what it is
I have tried hard to ignore it
And not always give in

Erase you from my heart and mind
To be free from you at last
But every time you’re near
I simply have no chance

What is it about you
Keeps me wanting more
Your eyes mesmerize me
And pull me into your world

Your body makes my pulse race
I undress you with my eyes
I wish it were just physical
I’d have walked away by now

I love the way your mind works
Even if I don’t always understand
You make me think about things
That I never have before

The way you make me smile
And the way you make me laugh
Is just another of your facets
That keeps me coming back

I love the way you accept me
Like it’s ok to be myself
I let my guard down around you
And I take off my many masks

You seem to understand me
Even with all my many quirks
You even seem to tolerate me
When I’m acting like a *****

There’s so much more about you
That I just can’t find the words
To tell all the reasons
That you're driving me  berserk

That’s why I keep staring at you
With such passion in my eyes
You're my fatal attraction
And that I can’t deny.

1.  It always happens completely unexpectedly.

It could be a year from now, perhaps another 5 years, maybe tomorrow. It could be the person you've been liking for the longest time, it could be your bestfriend that you didn't think you'd fall for, it could be the guy you met for three days during your sister's graduation day. Nothing's ever really certain. You just don't know when it'll happen. And with whom.


2.  It's good to know what you want. But never set expectations.

I've come to realise that what's most important is that you share the same or similar end-goals with the person. Having different outlooks on life isn't necessarily a bad thing, as long as the things you wish to achieve in life are, or should at least be aligned to one another - whether it's family, career or personal life goals. It's also good to know what you want in a person in terms of his/her core values. BUT, having a list of what your dream person should physically and mentally turn out to be? Nope, throw that out.  


3.  Self-love before anything else.

It's about acknowledging your flaws. Knowing and understanding your little quirks. Enjoying time by yourself and taking pleasure in your own presence. Looking in the mirror and feeling beautiful/badass. Ultimately, it's about accepting yourself exactly the way you are. Loving yourself first and foremost, above all else. And eventually having enough confidence to know that however and whoever you are, the other person will come to love every single little detail about you.

.....but what if they don't?

Simple. Get outta there. You don't deserve it.
You've got too much self-respect for that.


4.  Take all the time you need.

In an era of technological advancements and glorified instant gratification, it's easy to fall into the abyss of wanting more and more and wanting it NOW. Everywhere you look, everyone around you seems to be falling in love and having the time of their lives. Pfft, it isn't that hard is it? People find their soulmates all the time. It's just a mere click of an app. Swipe right, there you have it.

Now... here comes the hard-hitting truth. Falling in love is a literal piece of cake. Staying in love, now that's the hardest part. This is where patience and taking the time to know a person is crucial. It's very important to know the person as a friend first before anything else. Also, the friendship should make you feel comfortable enough to know that no matter how much time you take and need, it only proves that it'll further flourish into something even more meaningful as time progresses.

It's like cheese. It's only better with time.


5.  It should set you free.

I used to think love is somewhat this concoction of paradoxes -  it should be happiness and despair, goodness and pain, all jumbled up into one. You're supposed to love someone so much till it hurts. You're supposed to miss him till your head spins and your heart literally aches. It's supposed to make you feel like the worst.... but completely in love.

But as time passes and age matures me, I start to realise that it should be in fact, the complete opposite. Well, yeah, maybe it should make you feel like all those generic lovey-dovey things like in rom-coms. It should make you happy and grin like an idiot. It's gonna turn you into a big ball of cheesy fluff sometimes.

But what it should really feel is easy and breezy, like a pretty summer's day. No one has to feel like you're giving too much and receiving too little when there's mutual understanding and love for each other. It shouldn't feel burdensome when both of you respect your boundaries and spaces. There should too, be times spent apart. You are, after all, two completely different individuals merged together. Your union should make you strong but light on the feet; attached but not chained to one another. You are each the savoury and the sweetness of a PB&J sandwich; both constituting different parts of a whole.

Your lips on mine
The touch of your hands
I want the feel of you skin

Our mouths moving in time
No space between us
Exploring

Wanting in your mind
Knowing you are mine

Your lips on my neck
Rough
Insistent
Making me want more

All I want is you
No one else
Nothing else
I want you to merge with me
I want us to become one

But alas I'm afraid
I sense you are too
One day will be the day
We wont turn away
We won't hide from our love

More than kissing
More than feeling
Actually taking what is mine
Knowing there is no one else

You have my heart and no one else
I could never love anyone else
The way I do you

You are my world
My light
Everything

Nothing compares to you
With your sometimes tan skin
Your gorgeous blue eyes

With all your quirks
You are amazing
No one is better than you

It's hard to find the right words
The right words to describe you

Amazing
Sweet
Loving

You're all I need
You're all I want
You and your mouth
Your touch
Your warmth
your love
All your quirks
All your love

There will be no sunrise, without a sunset
There would be no life, if there was no death
To live is to love
And to love is to live
What would be life if there was no love to give?

I gave up on love,
And my world… it was blue.
But then of course
I stumbled upon you
You saw something in me
And took me to be
You’re player 2

I find this hard to believe
Even harder to say
But from your nerdy quirks
To flirty looks
I find myself falling deeper in love with you
Each and every day

You’re the guy for me
That’s really all I had to say,
But I hope that you’re having
A great Valentine’s Day

<3 Me

This isn't a love that can be
Put on speaker phone.
We're far too silly for that.
Easily saying the first thing that
Comes to mind.
One moment to the next,
Stunned slience.
Phone etiquette thrown out the window.
This isn't a love that can be sat down.
Kept between an ear and a shoulder.
The amount of time it takes for someone to leave the room.
Conducted in civil manner.
Attempting not to shout,
Completely losing train of thought.
Not sure of validation,
Our voices raise a bit.
By now you should know we shouldn't have to limit ourselves like that.
Denying a freedom that connects us to whom we truly are.
Our quirks, general weirdness.
The crazy looks from those around.
The laughs that get funnier each moment that passes.
By now you should know that we are the complete definition of crazy.
Often appearing in person,
Before one of us can hang up.
Laughing hysterically,
Continuing the conversation
At any given time or place.
This definately isn't a love that
Can be placed on speaker phone
If we have to applogize for what we say.
Afraid to be who we really are.
Isolated from who we truly are

Utter the word "long distance" and the first thing that comes to mind afterwards is relationship. After relationship, comes a lover 3,000 miles away that's dedicated to falling asleep on Skype and has Snapchat constantly open to remind you about how their day is going. Time differences. Distance. It all becomes blurred together when it's 4 in the morning here, but 6 in the morning there, and they're asleep but you're not. Welcome to your long distance relationship.

But when it's 4 in the morning here and it's 12 in the afternoon there and there's more than just miles in between us but oceans, you never forget to wish me a happy birthday and if your boss is nice to you that day and adds the extra dollar to your paycheck, there might even be a gift or two for me being sent first class (because who would ever dare fly coach these days?). You'd swim the ocean for me, if I asked. You'd push the countries together. To (platonically) love another person, as the saying goes, is to see the face of God and you are an angel.

There will be days where we don't talk. The days turn into months, and the months turn into years. The longest, I think, was the hardest of year mine--coincidence? But even when the hours begin to add up and it seems like the ocean is getting bigger and bigger, you never cease to tell me that I'm one of the most beautiful people you've ever met (and **** the skinny girls who tell me otherwise). I would have turned the world upside down just to bring us closer together, if I could.

We're too young to not go out and live life with the people who are here, but who's to say that the people who aren't physically here aren't real? I can reach out and touch the girl next to me, but her warmth won't mean as much as when I go home and sign into Skype and your voice is already bouncing through my computer's speakers ready to tell me about your day. We cry together. We dream together. We always said we'd grow old together.

They say you can't really know someone when you've never met them, but I've met you in more ways than I can count. I've met the way you sleep at night (thanks to Skype and time differences), because you snore when you're too tired. I've met the way your eyes light up when you talk about your job, your hobbies, the things you like. From my 13" screen, I've met your siblings, the posters on your walls, the room you sleep in. We depend on technology to meet each other so don't let anyone tell you that technology is ruining lives. It's been saving mine.

So, my friend, thank you for the long nights of telling each other our life stories, learning secrets, learning quirks that no one else has ever noticed (because no one else seemed to care). Thank you for taking my side in almost every situation and for keeping me company as I sleep. Thank you for the birthday serenades over Skype, picking up the phone when I'm drunk and crying, and for growing old with me. For all of the movie nights that we spent on Skype yelling "okay, press play in 3, 2, 1!" and for all of the advice about people you'll never meet, cheers to you, to us, the time, and distance apart.

I'd like to thank eveybody for their time,
as we conduct this interview in rhyme.
If you have a disability such as mine,
Everybody wants to pry into your mind.
So in this piece im going to address,
all the questions im asked, i intend to put that to rest.
But i can't do this alone, i require some help
Bluestar , thank you so much for providing assistance
Yes thanks, ladies and gentleman, here we go,
What we have here is a fine young specimen,
A young age male with a disability no one knows,
And what is it, you ask?
Why, I don't mind if I do begin to explain him
Epilepsy, that's what it is,
It's what he's got inside
And before you start to ask, no it's not a mental disorder
Do you want to hear the facts or think the fiction, you have to decide
Shall i dispense with the facts?
Hmm with the mighty sword of knowledge ignorance i shall attack!
Epilepsy is a neurological disorder,
It causes me to be prone to seizures.
Not the kind that causes the removal of property,
But occasionally my brain will fry, and my body go crazy,
Like a vampire exposed to holy ether
But don't worry, he's not going to die,
If you're with him when it happens you cannot run and hide
He'll need you to support him, to make sure he's okay
Make sure things are out of his reach and do not force him to obey
In conclusion dear friends, im just like you,
I may have neruological quirks, but im still Neroamee Alucard,
Not some show at the zoo,
So if you know somebody, with any form of fault or disability,
Dont patronize or be overbearing,
Just make allowances for their need

She served milk toast on Sunday
She served milk toast on Monday
Milk toast is what you might guess
Milk on toast with sugar and cinnamon
That is all
She served milk toast on Tuesday
That is all
Four of the five complained
She served milk toast on Wednesday
All but one cried, “We hate milk toast!”
She served milk toast on Thursday with tears in her eyes
The littlest one saw his mother’s streaming salty fluid
He said, “Momma, I love milk toast.”
The streams turned into raging rivers
Amongst all the wetness came odd quirks of laughter
Momma mustered everything she could
Next thing out was, ”I’m taking that job Dean”
What could Dad say while he sopped up his milk toast?
That is when Momma went to work for the phone company
They never ate milk toast again

I realize

that I don't want to memorize
someone else's favorite color

I'm done with remembering her name
or her favorite artist...

I can no longer take
remembering her quirks

Or her slight wrinkle
around her eyes every time she smiles

to whisper her name
beneath my breath as I sleep

to listen to her heart beat
and pace my breathing to hers

to walk the same path with her
while I burn each step in my mind

this I realize

i swear, the biggest anti-ageist
comeback missing
from the script of we **** the old way
lies with the scriptwriter's
phobia of o.c.d.,
                 i'm guessing he experienced
it personally,
              i wish he experienced dementia
clearer of his granddad
   succumbing: o.c.d. in old age?
it's not big deal... it's no big deal...
             enough botox and soon all that glamour
and paying your respects soon fades,
fattens up and chokes on the artistic
rubric: you need rich artists to
satire rich people... stop nagging
at Katy... be, *******, thankful,
you little cat-whiskers for a ******
moustache kitty-fiddler...
           ever **** at a girl taking a selfie?
let's say it's a blank canvas, and
you're working on it...
        how can this girl can become a
crown or the abhorred fling with
missing Welsh fetishes of excess
           ****** dangle-bits?
                       i have few entry points
i like i consider...
                 before she shaves the *****,
but did you know my godmother
           is a doctor and she doesn't shave
her legs?
                     i joked at that,
i joked for the simplicity:
              why do i have to don mine
and the theory of Darwinism is never
complete? because of aesthetics,
there's a natural instinct, a natural bound
contraband that IS NEVER, EVER TINGED WITH
CHRISTIANITY... **** Radio Maria and
Priest Rydzyk too along with
                John Paul the Tarmac Kissing Saint...
popes like pop-stars: the world's a stage:
better look the prettiest...
             thank Katy... she got cool and rich
enough to covert any criticism of wealthy kids
of Las Vegas...
                          if she wasn't here i'd be dead:
i don't love her like a girl might love
the next best: never-left high school bestseller
for young girls...
                                     my black horse is
quirky and still working on working smug
rather than donning a thong at a cat-walk...
                 but my point?
the comeback the gangsters should have served up
those ****** lips?
                                rapper movie
fakes never taught you how to shoot...
                the gun goes linear: shoot, vertical...
not cool-sly horizontal...
                         you're shooting with a blind spot...
rich girls' songs for poor girls to
cat-fight over who's the better gimmick
of impersonator...
                      but the old Hackney farts still
don't have the quick-snap-comeback...
                  the colts keep referring to E2...
a postcode...
                       the old ladies should have said:
i better move there, seems like a hot-spot
for the postcode lottery!
                           the colts keep referring
to the E2 club....
                             the crew, the gang...
i'm still thinking about these pensioners
nailing them to chairs and drilling through their
bones to the marrow for the Moscow ladies
acting out the faint in the hands  
                       of chevaliers of her retirement plans...
E2? is that a postcode lottery for
                 the losers?
and the "sad" story is? in Poland we all came from
a Communist housing estate...
            only peasants in semi-detached housing...
i guess all these smart-*** young folks
are pretending to be gangsters when all they're
all aspiring to is own a pair of shoes with hay sticking
out of them: and i.t.v. come november...
               well, the casting was smart,
the accents 10 out of 10...
                   but the final point of the accents
in talk?              slow math...
                            is      E2 designated as
the case for a joke about postcode lottery?
                 one thing they're loudmouths...
another that they're also foul-mouths...
                             can't be one and the other...
                  if you're going to be a prop'ah
foul-mouth, better be a slow-mouth
               or a shush-mouth...
                                  and if you're going to
be a loud-mouth, i'd prescribe you Southampton's
away-support choir: oh when the saints...
oh when the saints come marching in...
                                no wonder gang culture
never picked up from loud-mouth birthrights of
the suggested History X...
                               borrowing from History ***:
flash news! there are more things on
my head than just hair to play toothpicks with concerning
self-doubts and the easiest solution:
            a man was crucified...
                               some say we never perfected
democracy as the civilised peoples of the world
as the Jews never perfected plebiscites as the
              "backward" peoples of the desert...
           if race coordination can't be joked about
but getting offended at:
           i'd love the Irish potato diet and the
dates served for breakfast lunch and dinner in Israel...
or in better representation?
the Pig of God... Jesus stinking like a pig
                 before the perfumes of Pilate...
skew: north-by-northwest: a good Hitch reminder:
sheep up toward Scotland...
                           but pigs that north and east...
well: pigs...
                         or how to make words
holy and meaningless when talking about the price
of butter...
                     but that's beside the case for
a quick comeback about the postcode lottery...
           or the grit of Bronson - the film,
esp. the nurse scene...
                       no spoilers... you never know when
it's happening...
                                 the greater the film,
the more monologue orientated...
                                    claustrophilic -
                                                   so you wonder
shoving that **** into the craniums of little boys:
why are they making them do it...
                        and at what point is it legal in
the social realm of guessing at all the rainbow possibilities?
   my theory? most paedophiles had failed
relationships in their teens...
                                  and they never wanted to
experience the complexities of a woman who finally
realised: ****! daddy died! i'm not a princess!
                   it's not a fear of being inadequate,
it's the fear of an inadequate woman...
                  the most adequate woman is a woman
who still resolves to the idealistic world,
rather than the realistic world -
                                   i never understood the
criminal hierarchy...
                                       in the criminal ring it would
appear no moral superiority is akin
   to bullying in school...
                                              choose the easiest
loss of moral judgement and bash it into the head...
    or what Marquis de Sade taught me...
               for most men it's the pink elephant in
the room...
                              or a light-bulb...
****** and theft is still all Robin Hood, the instilled
   heroism: moral ambiguity...
               i don't see how the other crime isn't also
an ambiguity...
                              the *** of man is already displaced
from the *** of woman...
                      why wouldn't age by that ****** ambiguity
not be squared? and doubly unfathomable?
   what made me write this?
               standing at a bus stop...
a girl coming back from school...
                                                 what?
this is a cognitive ping-pong...
                                     what?
                                                   what?!
               i'd dare David the Naturalist come out
from his comfort environment of
                 two monkeys *******, gorillas
with harems and all that easy gesture...
                   man and woman? eyes.
     all the limbs and bones captured by the eyes...
it's not that i don't spend enough time among people
to start imagining these quirks...
                 it's that i spend enough time
                 among people to not start imagining
quirks.

His quirks…
fascinate me.
He…
fascinates me.
I am…
Fascinated.

He draws me in…
with his eyes.
Those same eyes…
alternating blue and green…
that once led me to believe…
he and I…
could be…
One.

I resolve…
to hate him.
If only to save…
myself.
But myself refuses…
to be…
saved.

The only way…
to protect…
myself…
is to avoid…
Him.
His quirks.
His eyes.
His smile.
His laugh.
His jokes.
His lies.
My pain.

And so…
I hide.
Within the safety…
of myself.
And I know…
he will not find me…
here.

For he has never…
bothered…
to look.

And then his eyes…
meet mine.
And my resolve…
breaks down.
And the walls…
come down.
As my guard…
goes down.

And I…
once again…
am drawn in…
by the quirks…
by those eyes…
by those…

fascinating…

Lies.

at some point, you just know that
you have got to let them go

of the first time we connected
all those memories we both established
those quirks, my quirks
and remained are flaws, irredeemable flaws

of the places we visited
and of the places that could have been
they now remain as stolen dreams
and retain in them, nightmares born
to its deserving king

of the ideas and lies that
perpetuated my thoughts
to you and for you
like a love that stalks rather
than one you wish I would have

of you
he who once was the sun to me
whose smile was solace like the moon
and though, most probably, it was all built in lies
it was something, truly moving
but remains in the sky, was nothing

that is why these things have to go
the stains that once belonged
and in their places are impressions, gone
what now remains, if they wish to remain,
are dreams that turned into nightmares
ghosts that I long ignored
love once harbored
and... you

♡♡♡


"TEACHINGS ADVISE AGAINST FORMING ATTACHMENTS."
To avoid it as much as possible;
Nothing or no one is guaranteed to last forever.
One must avoid materialistic ambition and luxurious desires,
Blink and rub away their hungry, dollar sign eyes.
Greed and longing for possessions that are often obtained
To impress people that do not even care about you
For one could never place a numerical value
On the breathtaking

                                              wonde­r

                                              that

                                              is

                                              you.
  

♡♡♡


"ATTACHMENT TO PEOPLE LEADS TO DISAPPOINTMENT."
One cannot rely on another for happiness;
For people may leave you, abandon you, hurt you.
You cannot ever truly know someone's thoughts and feelings;
Whether their ill intentions and snake eyes are hidden well
Behind pearly whites and cold, empty embraces.  
Those who you would gladly endure hardships for,
Bleed, cry, sweat, fight, suffer for,
Could abandon or betray you whenever they choose;
Thus, ultimately

                                              leaving­

                                              you

            ­                                  truly

                                              empty.


♡♡♡


"Y­OU SHOULD FIND HAPPINESS WITHIN YOURSELF."
For you will always be there for you;
A simple guarantee that is overlooked and forgotten
As one's perspective shifts from minimalism to materialism.
Love the way you capture thoughts and ideas,
   The way you intertwine two differing sides of your brain with ease
   Intelligence, creativity, peculiarity and individuality is exercised
   In the imagination of your bewildering, complex mind.
Love the way your physical body safeguards your untamable spirit,
   The way it coats the essence of your being in a protective shell
   Like the undying tenderness each speck of stardust
   Has for the immensely astonishing galaxy that it composes.
Love the way you are able to feel raw, passionate love
   That ****** and tugs at your delicate heart strings
   And gallops down each vertebrae of your spine
   In a jolt so vigorous that your mind, body, and spirit
   Unite to form an explosive feeling that can only be experienced
   When you watch her jaw drop in awe at the beauty that is

                                              within

                                              a

                                              fiery

          ­                                    sunrise.


♡♡♡


I SUBMERGE IN THE INTRICATE BEAUTY THAT SURROUNDS ME.
I become deeply infatuated, captivated, inspired
At the mesmerizing magnificence that constructs a single being.
It may just simply be my tendency to pay attention to detail
As a perfectionist's mind can appreciate small things
Oftentimes timidly, quietly, and from afar,
But nonetheless immensely deep and passionately
To the point where I cannot find words for such beauty;
The most I can do is curl the corners of my mouth upwards
And allow an exhilarated sigh to

                                              escape

                                              my

                                              parted

         ­                                     lips.


♡♡♡


I WANT TO CONTINUE LOVING, UNDERSTANDING, AND CONNECTING.
Hopes, dreams, fears, thoughts, personalities, quirks, mannerisms;
Every single aspect of a being who I am blessed to exist with
Sparks a curiosity in me that is unmovable and insatiable.
It gently takes my hand and journeys me through an alluring dance
Of exploration, adoration, and understanding
Spinning and swaying to music that reverberated in our unified souls,
Who's tune and melody sparked and crackled
Magma and fire in our core,
Who's beat and rhythm soothed and eased
Streams of water through our veins
Until we

                                              collapsed

                                              in

                                              the

                                              most

                                              beautiful

                                              way.


♡♡♡


I have never felt so free,

So happy,

So alive.

The monotony of adolescence is a laughable oxymoron.
My mom keeps saying to me,
"Caitlin, you're in a state of flux. Just wait."
Little does she know
I'm waiting for anything
to ebb.
Flow.
Twinge.
Any lurch of impulse of life
in this constant static lullaby.

Maybe I'm just itching to slough off my skin of content
and breathe in a fresh new disposition.
Become intoxicated in the maybes,
and the possibly's.
Embracing the oh-wells
and the never-enough-times.
Eschewing the feeling of everything I've missed
by having it near.
Having him here.

Getting trapped in the crinkles of his smile
and the freckles on his shoulders
that navigate me to the spots I feel most comfy.
Losing regard for the world as I become transfixed
in us
and our patterns on his couch.

Tumble into elation.
Quirks transpire the me's and you's
into the us's and we's.

To think... I was so scared to hold his hand.
Not knowing at the time
how great his waffles would taste
after a night of holding him.

Everyone says
"Oh, don't worry! It's just a phase."
Or even worse,
"You'll grow out of it soon."
And so you begin to think
That the quirks and smirks
You see in the mirror
When you've wiped the shower fog clear
Are somehow wrong and undesirable
To the masses of others outside your door
Even if what you see makes you happy.
And so you try to hide
Behind conformity and masks
Of aloofness,
Of apathy,
Of indifference,
Of nonchalance,
Until you yourself begin to believe
You've passed the phase!
You've grown out of it!
You're finally someone whom the world
Can pour its love and adoration on!
And so you wait for that sparkling moment,
When you go from ugly duckling
To ravishing debonair desirable swan,
Yet the days turn into weeks into months,
And finally years have passed away
But nothing happened.
And you find yourself wiping away
The shower fog with a tired hand
Only to see the quirks and smirks
That used to make you happy
Are gone and for what gain to you?
Where are the masses of adoring friends?
Where are the praises of who you've become?
You're all alone like you've always been.

But I ask you,
Is this really who you want to be?

Where's the girl who recites Chaucer?
And rolls down grassy hills?
Where is she whose snarky comments
Could hours of hilarity fill?
Where's the girl who laid bricks
Side by side with her father?
And imagined up the neighborhood
Olympics with his other two daughters?

So I'll ask you again,
Face in my mirror,
Are you happy?
*Is this who we're going to be?

I saw an old tire hanging from a tree
My mind drifted back to old time memories
Swinging on a tire for hours at a time
I like to drift back to those good old days
When life was free

We used to go down to the river and swing from a vine
Doing tricks that did not work out half of the time
Making a painful splash and everyone had a good laugh
I like to drift back to those good old days
When life was free

Now a days I have to go to work
Pay the bills and deal with life's quirks
Life is still an adventure but without all the thrills
Drift back to those good times I will
When life was free

From time to time I get together with friends
I still run with most of the guys that I did back then
We sit at a campfire and tell the same old stories over and over again
Remembering the good times and wishing we were there again
When life was free

The early summer breeze gusts past my skin
A smile rises on my lips
I gaze at you
The warm, orange sunrise eclipses your face
and tints your rosy cheeks
Oh, how mesmerizing, you are

I gently squeeze your hand,
caressing your skin
A silent oath to cherish you for eternity
Your finger twitches in my grasp,
earning a small flinch from me
My head swings down at you
The amber sky and clouds drift past
in the glaze of your distant eyes
Along with my restored smile,
a faint, reassured sigh emits from my nose
Four years later, your little quirks still bewitch me

Enchant me

Captivate me

Seagull’s squawks echo in the sky as they glide past the terrain
Freezing cyan waves of ocean suddenly wash around our legs,
pulling the tawny sands with it
You’ve always adored the beach
Hence, our presence here today
A surprise outing for the fourth anniversary of knowing you
Four years you’ve graced me with
the astonishing, enchanting entity that is,
You.

Since our initial encounter,
our paths were forevermore entwined,
in the manner in which, you simply can not mention one,
without mentioning the other
My lips slide over my teeth
I stare at your figure between my knees
Your outstretched, limp arms gradually sink in the damp sands
Your dull irises absently watch the golden orb rising in the sky
Your essence bubbles from your mouth
I take my thumb, wiping it away

As my final gift to your ethereal soul,
your red sands will spill from your form
in beautiful tendrils of crimson
And just as the yellow dunes,
destined to eternal the lands

Lovely girl across the world, in my state of mind you dwell
Your feet and legs covered in sand, your hair lettered with shells
Over, under, and inside my heart, your castle wins the prize
Making up in personality what you may lack in size

I've devised a cunning plan, you see, to bring us close together
And I'll enclose all the details in the contents of this letter
Not one more day can go by with me being so far from Grace
And so I'll trek over the land and seas so see the face

Of the heavenly traces on Earth, I'd say that your the best
A mixture of both sand and sea, blood, bone, and quirkiness
Hope this letter finds you in high spirits wherever you are
And that in the night someday we'll upon the very same stars

For the one who loves you has brought up all the sheets he could find
And brought scraps of lumber together will nails that bind
Into a vessel to weather the sea that splits you and I apart
So the two piece puzzle may have a chance to link into one heart

And though I know the shore is your first love overall
I hope you will come to me if I ever dare to call
And I will hold soon enough as I peak on past the day
And know your lover boy loves you forever and always

While Zafar takes his crop to town
Businessmen snort ******
Teens buy bundels to fill their veins
With housewives Oxycontin reins

The Generals demand their Percs
Technocrats love Dilaudid's quirks
While drones fly over Zafar's field
Counting flowers for next year's yield

r  9Jan14

So, this is godhood. This is how it works.
It's dreaming up a world and killing it,
Abandoning the foibles and the quirks
Of crushed-together crumblings and bits,
Then sweeping out the wreckage with a curse
And carving out another fever dream.
It's wandering a mindscape universe
And sifting through the crop to find the cream
So you can save it while you burn the rest,
Just for the room to have another try.
The lovelies you've been cradling close to chest?
In time you'll cast them off to wilt and die
But for a while they're almost what you need.
Go raze the field and plant another seed.

Isn't it funny
how you can see into a person’s life
from just one glance?
watching people
in their own little world
as they go through life’s set goal

Watching someone glance at their watch
immediately knowing
they are late
or seeing a person’s hand tighten against another’s
acknowledging that they are lovers,
completely and totally in love

Maybe witnessing an elderly woman
playing with a complete stranger of a little boy
instantly realizing,
her baby boy never grew up
but died at the age of 2;
she’s remembering him through this little boy

These are the little things in life
I have come to love,
seeing into people’s lives
through their insignificant gestures

People are so perplexing
and I would like to get to know each and every one of them
hear their stories
and be apart of their world
their own story,
their own little novel

A boy told me he loved me the other day.
I looked at him, confused,
and told him not to love me.
Not to waste something so valuable on something so insignificant.
So he simply put his arms around my broken bones and told me instead,
“I adore you.
I adore all your quirks,
I adore all your dreams,
I adore all your scars,
I adore all your faults,
I adore you.”

It is a lighter burden to be adored than loved.