you* want a second chance with me!?
The first time around you told me no,
but now you want to see if "we" will work out?
I took a chance to see if "we" would work, you said no.
Now the tables have turned and you are revisiting "us"
well here's my answer. No.
Why do you let fear drive you?
You never gave me a chance, and now you'll never have the chance again.
If we were truly meant to be then should've let your guard down and given me the chance.

You said I was different, but you treated me like everyone else.
1 yr. later and I've moved on,
I'm over you, but you're trying to re-kindle the flame I once had.
"we" won't work out even though you want to give me the chance.
You'll give me the chance now,
but I don't want you.
The tables have turned,
you never trusted me enough to give me a decent chance.

Poets issue from the heart
There's nothing to be said
For those who write in words of spite
To leave their truths for dead.
So really....Poetry is simply
A camera for the mind
Where one expresses sentiment
The heart won't leave behind.
And...Release is felt
By he who writes
Of ardour of the soul,
As though the act of penning words
Disgorges passion's goal.
But...The beauty felt
In handing forth
The gemstones of your mind
Attains it's goal when only read
By they who seek to find.
And in fact...The beauty felt
In sitting down
To read old tomes of mine
Delivers pleasure in revisiting
My best snapshots of time.

So friends, Poets
Please feel at ease
For what you seek to do
Is simply make this world a better place
And for that... I THANK YOU.

Marshalg
@the Pukehana Paradise, NZ.
Sunday 10:21am, 24 march 2013

Dear Rabbits & Rabies & Silence & Bones so hollow they can break upon landing & Sleep & Teeth & Being radiation free & Radiation for being clean energy & Dieting & Headphones & Lightning & The Sky & Thirty-Thousand US Dollars, really it’s closer to Twenty-Eight but let’s round up to be Safe & Playing with Blocks as a kid & Starting my car with a screwdriver & Learning from failure & Failing quizzes but passing classes & Teachers who need to chill the **** out (because they’re excited and I don’t get excited so it scares me when people get excited) & my mother and father and brother and unborn sister (she might have been named after Bob Marley like I almost was) & Clever titles & Bad titles for making clever titles seem more clever & Robots for making life easier & Robots for taking over the future & Passing cars & ****** bars & Oil Tycoons ******* straws from MotherEarth, bleeding her dry just in time for winter

You’re all okay—
I have a lot of feelings
That I don’t like feeling all that often
And you’re vital, pivotal to the waking world
But you’re also ruining my life; I’m no good at math
But I’m trying anyways and slowly learning that
Good & Evil are pretty much the same side of the
Same battle if you’re standing far enough away but I
Am not quite that far away yet.
The world is a clock and without every gear in locking place
Time would stop altogether—a redundant thought,
Yet still relevant upon revisiting.

If I am a cloud then you are a storm, a billowing hurricane
With sugar for blood and wire-tapped veins, broken
Like I ought to be except I am afraid
To truly really break like the love of my life
Did when she was seventeen or eighteen—I don’t
Quite remember when it all started but how it pains me
Every day that you (not you, reader, but an old friend)
Did this and do this to yourself still.
No matter where I go and no matter how much
Powder you buy just to look at (it’s comforting—
I want to believe you) You will always be
At the front of my mind & for that,
I owe you.

For the sake of art or the sake of it
I went back to the seaside
With seagulls screaming in my ears
And a cocktail of cold water and sticky sand
Clutching between my toes
And a boulevard filled with joy
Ecstatic children revisiting the magic
Of blue sea and blue skies

And the beaches are full of women
Hoping the tan will convince their men
To rekindle the spark
Of what was once, and how and when
Holidays like these meant everything to them
While ships pass by like silent witnesses
As time slides and slips away
Sometimes it is truly better on holiday

I have no interest in anything
insofar as a warm pitcher of spit.

there is a lineage of a plainspoken truth
that agonies itself, a slow ticking of clockwork.

all the pubs are filled with
the ugly and the beautiful.
so much the naked darlings,
so much the people writing,
and reading poems wrung dry
like unattended cornerstones.

when the flower dwindles,
the petals begin to shed.
I see people slower than drizzle,
tread the long line of existence.

as I write all words washed away by the shore,
all separated and lonely,
deeply departed as a parting hand of a wave,
all people continue their sameness.

inside me, a well-placed margin
divides flesh and bone.
overwrought the soul, untended to
like drops of water from a spigot left open.

sound of silence like the reproach of fires.
my mother loathes me for my heavy drinking.
my godfathers attenuate the smoke furling
above my brows back to its fetal nature.
somewhere, somebody is making a killing
in front of the billion-blooded.

misshapen. lungs struck harshly by a barrage
of quiet. i can barely keep my soul together
past the horrible billboards of EDSA.
the lampposts, the sun that looks like a lazy eye
magnifying everything that hurt.
I thrive with faces whose existences have nothing
to add me – damage further
I keep working up the old moon’s wane.

we will all fall to the ground,
we will all have our skin scraped out
of the body
and we will hear the paring of the flesh
sifting away from the bone
and it will hurt
like old haunts revisiting us

not because we are out of choices
not out of weakness;
the simple truth that teaches us
to be kind does not have its same potency.
there is an epidemic of death
crawling past hills crunched to the death
by the unrests of horses.

pain sends its
tired battalion of people
lining up across the turnstiles.
the ****** utter
the flimsiest of moans.
the soldiers beat their
wives to the ground with nothing
but bare-knuckled discomfitures.
I fear that soon enough,
what keeps the walls together may soon
touch the end
while I assault the windows

with photographs of slow mornings
reduced to slower evenings.
such falseness teems where
truth should have prevailed.

someone’s time is up
and death strays in the room
proud of its stench championing the perfumes
of boys and girls in the flesh -

we’re all next,
first one to go
finds the impasse all the same.

you liked to live life in the fast lane
speed straight down highways, no slowing down
no brakes, no time to hesitate
no time for limitation on your desire to obtain your preoccupations

you liked to focus on the present for a short while
until the now signalled its change to the slow lane and began driving the speed limit and you could no longer race it
from then, it was pretending to care while searching for the next body type
no two were exactly alike, you always had a hunger for a new rev in the engine
sooner rather than later, the present became a distant memory that you left stranded on the side of the highway and you took the driver's seat in a new model that you should've taken passenger's in

you did always enjoy revisiting your antiques though
they were the ones you knew were too attached to forget you
until one day, your most prized possession refused to turn on its headlights and refused to run for you
and thus began the inhalation of your premium body type collection

off to the races speed demon, good luck finding another car to race

Sometimes we went before we had been,
seen pictures of Kings when there was a Queen and rose up tall prior to our fall,wished deep in the well and fell,ran like the clappers that clanged in the bell that told us school's over and then ran pell mell into the daylight that sought out the nights shade.
Mind games we played and in my mind they stayed.
And now
it all seems so strange as if everything's just out of earshot or range and nothing remains of the spry lads we were,
just memories,
they're what we keep when we curl up in foetal and sleep like the babes that we are.

To find, to keep the one you love
Is not an easy feat, you see.
Tis difficult to locate one
Particularly suited to thee

For though thy love be pure and true
And supposed to last you all your days
Time often shapes a different plan
Forcing lovers to part in ways

Like leaves tossed in the winter wind
So will your heart pieces fly
Revisiting the bitter, barren past
Each touch, each kiss, each sigh

Until the wind doth settle down
And the frost rebuilds what was destroyed
Until thine heart is whole again
Ice filling in each crack and void

So frozen in this time is place
You’ll find your hardened self to be
You’ll miss the coming spring
And ignore each heart stretched out to thee

To find, to keep the one you love
Is not as easy feat, you see.
Tis difficult to give a broken gift
To one who means so much to thee.

white roses
dyed in loss
roses of white
for bygones
thorned white
of the absence
doomed memories
like rose petals

the kids in the graveyard
revisiting the childhood
of their friend
in their attained manhood

one's death is but a narrative in others' life

this?
far too unsuitable to be part of a story
leaching out blind whiteness from all pieces
no more thriving to call upon words

enough.

Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.—Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
’Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit’s cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.

                                        These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and ’mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind
With tranquil restoration:—feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man’s life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened:—that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,—
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.

                                                    If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft—
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart—
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro’ the woods,
      How often has my spirit turned to thee!

  And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o’er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all.—I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, not any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue.—And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.

                                         Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; ’tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary ******* of daily life,
Shall e’er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance—
If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence—wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love—oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

I’m a Barbie girl
in a Barbie world.
Life’s fantastic! I
feel like plastic,
aiming for an 18-inch waist
because I can afford to throw my internal organs away.
I feel like plastic,
a neck so slender I have to choose
between eating and breathing;
there’s not enough space for two tubes.
I feel like plastic,
a 38-inch bust and
3-times the average amount of forehead.
I feel like plastic,
a size nine shoe squeezed to a three,
spending three to nine avoiding meal time
because my weight-loss book says,
“Don’t eat.”

I’m a Barbie girl,
in a Barbie world.
Life’s fantastic, but I’m
not plastic.
Bile tastes all too organic,
its taste chasing after me
if I exceed my daily nutritional limit of
2,000 calories.
I’m skinny enough that people think I’m healthy.
I’m not skinny enough for people to think I’m unhealthy.
Anorexia is as familiar as the back of my hand,
poised like a gun to the back of my throat,
waiting and ready to blow.
I’m a sixteen-year-old suicide case,
product of the war of production,
wearing battle wounds in the form of uniform lines
across the tops of my thighs.
I’ve been rewriting this poem since its conception.
I feel like the rough draft: concision is key.
(Be smaller.)
I’m trying rewriting,
trying to leave out things that aren’t
important enough, like:
four of my ribs
and my esophagus
and my stomach
and my small intestine.
I’m testing the limits of realism.
But here’s the thing:
I’m a real girl
in a real world.
Life’s not always fantastic,
but I am not plastic.

I am not plastic.

I refuse to be plastic,
aiming for generic weight range
based on content, not scale number.
I refuse to be plastic,
eating and breathing
like both are vital aspects to living.
I refuse to be plastic,
an actual hip-to-bust ratio
for not a thirty-year-old but a teenager.
I refuse to be plastic,
shoe size nine in size nine shoes,
trying to start enjoying mealtimes
because my “weight-loss book”
has been chucked down the chute.
I’m a living girl
in a terrifying world,
trying to remind myself that “Life in Plastic!”
is not fantastic.

When true desires are unleashed
I wander through the darkness
Revisiting memories
Running to the door
Where your voice lingered
You are too innocent to be real
I am such a monster to you
Late night conversations
Ending myself, shutting down
From you, from the world
I'm foolish
Lonely and miserable
Still in a cocoon
Never emerging
Waiting to ignite from a spark
The former me departed
Living in the shadows
Trying to find himself
Wanting to attach
But scared of losing
Losing his sanity
All that he holds dear
The freedom of being alone
Wasn't a bold move
The thought of you
Burning an eternal flame

You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The

I made a promise to you and I broke it.
Sitting here in the halls where I first saw you
Drives it home, God, how I know it.

Reflecting back on some of those moments,
Still so raw, they still make me flinch,
Time and again bringing blood to the surface
Despite how many times I've gone back to revisit.

It's so bitter and it's so sweet,
This intensity of emotion encapsulated in those days.

Passions so fresh in a world so new,
Forging paths in lands all but unknown,
Feeling more alive than either of us could have guessed at.

Now I live with more regret than I ever thought I could ever know,
Stealing breaths of life,
Revisiting those moments I felt most alive.

I am an endless cycle of why
Searching for sincerity, and in it
An everlasting truth indifferent
To the seasonal nocturnes of the
Mind ajar occupies the space as a
Reprise.

I am open to your revisiting.
Are you open to my staying?

I listen to Gogol Bordello
through surround sound
speakers in my living room
Fold laundry in my sports bra
Brew coffee all day long
I cry a lot
I write a lot
I paint a lot
My laugh is piercing
My eyes are glossy
My best friends are drug addicts
I prefer wine
And snow storms
And Netflix
I have a pierced eyebrow
I have a pierced nose
I've got tattoos on my arms,
Flowers growing up my right ankle
And 18 years of regret overflowing my skull
I don't care for your muscles
Or the ice in your ear lobes
I kiss hello
And I kiss goodbye
I like the smell of gasoline
I like the smell of ****
I run my fingers through his hair when he cries
He doesn't mind
If you sit in my seat,
I'll be sitting in your lap
I don't care who you are
I'll hug you from behind if you look sad
I'll feed you whiskey to cure your headache
I mop the floors, excessively when I'm anxious
I paint my nails just to peel it all away
I don't sleep
And I don't really eat
I smile without really meaning it
Throw out "I love you"s like water
Clean my sheets daily but forget to shower
I hate myself for smoking
But I've never really tried to stop
I over think everything you say
You can see my mind racing
from a mile away
And then my friends say,
"Not again.
I'm not takin your **** today"
But they do anyway
School makes me nauseous
Always has
Work makes me happy
Always has
I don't care for money
But I like to move
And I like to talk
And I need to feel accomplished
I sing out loud even when I don't know the words
I like to be home alone
But, I'll text you over and over and over again
Until you come keep me company
Just to know that you care
I need constant reassurance
Because I've spent most of my life hating myself
And I'm perpetually afraid
of revisiting that feeling
I hate the beach
I hate to drive
I'm nostalgic all the time
I think of life like a ticking time bomb
Counting down the days til I die
I'm wired
You can see it in my eyes
I'm worried
You can hear it in my voice
Always worried
Worried about someone
But I'm the one who's falling apart
Right at the seams
I invite people into my bed too easily
Invite people into my heart even easier
I don't get annoyed
And I don't get angry
I have love pouring out of my veins
There are certain songs I can't listen to
Without chocking on my own tears
There are certain faces I can't look into
Without chocking on my own tears
I'm obsessive
Compulsive
Impulsive
I'm an over-sharer
I'm an over-carer
You said I've got it all figured out
I'm just good at hiding my fear
I sweep it under my tongue
I don't know much
But I know that I'm gonna be okay
Wish I could say the same for you
Oh what I'd do
To say the same for you

You talk as I attempt to listen.

The thick air between you and --
I divide my attention so badly;
Breathing lost voluntary importance.
Your voice is a song I haven't heard.

My pupils gaze on your rain drenched hair
Following every trickling bead's river.
My reflexes see to be more magnetic
Catching every vigorous downward drop.

Lost in the soaked contours of your collar;
Transcending to a moment as new strangers,
Revisiting my premonition of you above me,
Our bodies, together, can change worlds.

Within a matter of seconds,
We have traveled for days.

I remember to breathe and listen.

I saw you a year before
In a resized, high-resolution image
Looking my way, though we were
Separated by a thin computer screen

I didn't know your name, however
And I decided to give up
The image of a beautiful individual
Faded from my memory as time flew

It took quite a while before
I saw you in person for the first time
Laughing, walking, talking
*You were so real

The spinning torrent has brought me here
She struggled to get my attention
Bent on disclosing her abashed query of if she exists or not
By asking for my point of view

I could not answer, there was salt water filling my lungs and my body was so thrashed from the choppy sea

Eyes widened and steady, a look of anticipation covered her face
Floundering to piece together and answer with a flower in her hair
I tenderly reply with a hesitant assurance that she did indeed exist

Knowing somehow that I have been in an awful typhoon and was tossed in the enormity of the spontaneous waves

She told me to dance in the unbridled ecstasy of my survival
She knew why I crossed the sea
My lover of yesterday’s past abandoned me on a sandy shore
And left a note stabbing at my manhood, prompting me to fight for her if my love was true

So I built a boat and vigorously shipped out  
Darkeyed, mad and my heart tinted so no one could see my pain, only my determination

Roaming the ocean in an attempt to preserve my notions of love and faith

The guilt in my tender flaming heart gushed out
I’d done wrong and now I had to come face to face with me unavoidable comeuppance
Embodied in the sea
Devouring my consciousness and pumping my mind with bleak unclarified riddles, insufferable seminal propositions  

Revisiting vignettes so vivid as if they were in high definition Technicolor right before my eyes

The attraction, the pursuit that followed
Then the incomprehensible weaving of the souls

Suddenly the details of it all flooded into my brain
The fights
The lies
The unmitigated greed and narcissism caused by a chemical imbalance and a troubled past

So many reasons pointing me in the direction of which I came but I refused to yield and trudged on
As I rode the waves I became delirious, on a spree of self-induced affliction
Relocating my focused mind to a realm of contradicting confusion, being strangled by spontaneous bursts of uncertainty and rejection  
Until my boat started to sink
And all my fears and demons escaped
I didn't care if I died
I had no reason to live anymore, I wasn't afraid to meet the angel of death for an untimely yet causal powwow
The waves, monstrous and substantial
Hurling me back and forth
My hopes
My determination
My wall crumbled
The mythology of love had no merit to me any longer
The water was taking a toll on my organs until I ultimately blacked out

I remember being scraped against the bedrock of a lagoon
Coughing up blood, but realizing I was alive
Yet I felt dead ion the inside

And a figure came to me overhead
It was the girl with a flower in her hair who asked me if she existed
Her black hair shined in the sun as she pushed it back behind her ears
Her brown eyes full of wonder and honesty
Red lips teaming with sweet sounds behind them
I felt calm
I felt anxious
Anxious for I wasn’t expecting to see or come in contact with anyone

I didn’t need to do anything
But admit she was real

She knew who I was, what I had done and what happened to me

She ****** the girl who strung me along to cross the world
She told me to forget and move on and to learn from it and cultivate myself

This oracle, so benevolent
So graceful, I could not believe she was real
She wasn't a mild hallucination
She was as tangible as I

She taught me that

To look inside myself
To live for myself
“Come let’s cut ourselves open to see what we look like on the inside”

a statistic
RIP
don't know how;
i go from mourning to night,
(a quick little flight)
but i come back down

mutually taken
give away before - what - the poison reached,
was it even wanted?

revisiting the place it started;
the smell of the stale air of that room, still holds dear

open 24 hours
like i was for you,
both time and heart.

where did you go?
you were just here
where you even here,
sad ghost i loved?
did i?

the answer will not be found
nor should it ever be.

but i still fell your calming hand on my back,
lofting.

still haunting, like the beginning;
however, a new way.

less alive,
truly ghosting.

Do they
Do they really see
The despair
Of
A broken heart
The torment
The empty hours
The doubt
Yes
The self doubt
The trudge
Of revisiting
For
No reason
Do
They really see it
No
They do not
For sorrow
Is only
Deep
Inside
Never
To been seen
By those eyes
.

I
Fight hard -
And I fail.
He crawls beneath me,
Yet he doesn't look detestable.

He
Is mine.
Others claim him,
Only for a season.
Yet, he always returns to reason.

That
Means nothing
Until I decide
To return to him
What has always been his.

Only
When I
See him again
Will I truly know
Why I have been created.

Edging to your side
Night falls and I am whirling
Again this feeling

Maybe I’ll forget
One careful twirl at a time
Undo this aching.

Revisiting you
Explaining to my senses
Dancing, I alone.

I’ve grown envious of everyone,
Anyone who’s died in cruel and unusual ways.
At the hands of monsters.
Or at the hands of themselves.
I strangle myself,
Trying to do so much, as pray for the strength,
To take myself out that same way.
So I stay praying.

I’ve seen someone,
That someone is me.
In hell.
becoming a much darker version of myself.
There are moments of revisiting each and every mistake
I ever made.
Moments of perfect clarity.
I hate myself.
Then and now.
Please God, make it go away.
Or make it me, make it me who disappears.
I love You as hard as I can.
And I hate myself for it.
Every second of every day.
Do you love me?
My deepest regrets aren’t mistakes I made.
Or chances I took.
They are every breath I’ve taken post-birth.

I wonder how many notebooks I would have to fill,
If thoughts of you would exceed the life of my pen.
Probably, but then again I might get trapped in
all the things we never said.
I might get caught inside my head,
revisiting all the things that made me feel
like I was silly to think you would want me,
A brokenness that haunts me,
I'll set down my God forsaken pen
And stop writing.
I will remember how every conversation lead
with hard question
is accused of my want of a fight..
I have been fighting
All the hard parts alone.
I wonder how many note books I could fill
About feeling on my own.
I wonder how many notebooks I could fill
with all the parts of you, you never let me know.

Anything can happen and Anything does
There isn’t a fond memory
where something opposite hasn’t been,
even if that something isn’t yours
The temperate wind that hugs your neck,
meets the dry hands that have already squeezed it
Noticing the altered colors around you,
as you meander through a dimly lit park after dark
reminds you that this isn’t yours
And because it isn’t yours,
there’s going to be someone who wants to take it
Beauty is ubiquitous and so are people,
that doesn’t mean the two ever collide
The eyes want to see the danger
The eyes want to see the one who will take this away
because it belongs to everyone
and we only want it when someone else sees it
That’s how we know it looks good; is good
But, Anything can happen and Anything does
The parental inflicted wound above your right eye
meets the tender care of a hand
that has potential to show you something different
The sullen lace that surrounds the face
of that person who eats alone,
can meet the smile of someone who cared to look
Living,
is revisiting a mirror that doesn’t show you the same image twice We don’t go back to a mirror to see the same thing,
if that were true, why would we need it
We look to see what’s changed
How life disrupted our once groomed hair and tattered our clothes
And life does that!
Nothing is as permanent as the day you  were born