The Rules of Online Dating Poem
(8/5/2014)

Rules start the moment we decide to do online dating.
You can't choose Christian Mingle, because things get too spicy there.
You can't choose JDate, because they all want to sign pre-nup's.
You can't choose Plenty of Fish, because who wants to date a fish?
... I mean, I'm pretty sure that's illegal in most countries.
Grindr is great, but we're talking about the rules of online dating... Dating.

Now, OkCupid is where it's at.
Okay see here, you need a username.
Something quirky.  How about 'Quirky?'
Oh, that's taken, so add numbers!
The website suggested 'Quirky 69' ... okay, maybe no numbers.
Quirky_Cat, because everything on the internet is better with cats.

Let's move on to selecting several profile pictures.
Dust off your digital archives, and find one from that time you tanned.
Ever take a funny photo eating food?  Perfect, feed it to your fans.
Is it Halloween?  Because I'm thinking Headless Torsoooo!!!
Annnnd for good measure, let me take a selfie.

The hardest part is answering the match-making questions.
My soul is searching for its soul mate, and there can only be one.
It's like the heart hunger games.  
Who can shoot their compliments with the precision of a bow and arrow,
right through the wall of cats I've accumulated from being single so long?
The first one to make me feel so alive I want to die,
but not before devouring a pint of ice cream, wins!!

SO ANSWER THESE CRUCIAL QUESTIONS:
1, Is astrological sign important to you in a match?
YOU BETTER NOT BE A GEMINI
2. Are you a cat person or a dog person?
I DON'T DATE CAT-DOG HYBRID PEOPLE, JUST BE A PERSON PLZ
3. If you turn a left-handed glove inside out, it fits?
MY ****
4. Would you be willing to meet someone from OkCupid in person?
IF YOU ANSWER NO, *** ARE YOU DOING HERE
That concludes today's question answering.  
Stay tuned for rules on writing the self-summary.

Rule #1 - Bang your head on the keyboard for 12 minutes.
This is a mandatory, required start to every OkCupid profile.
Rule #2 - Use a lot of cliches
Don't worry if you don't know any, just copy some from someone else.
Rule #3 - Say you are bad at writing self-summaries in your self-summary
That's a good one.
Rule #4 - Say what you are good at... which duh, is your writing skills.
I mean you have a liberal arts degree after all.
Rule #5 - Tell them you are a real person, not fake.
Some folks need to hear this to get over the imaginary people they dated.

Rules require structure, and structure is built by bullet point lists.
So first bullet point, favorite books:
- Quickly go find the titles of everything you had to read in high school.
Second bullet point, favorite movies, and variety is key here:  
- Include musicals, rom coms, at least one low-budget indie film,
    a foreign film or two, and throw in a few Disney flicks for good measure.
Third bullet point is what will make or break you, music:
- For gay men this will mean you're only allowed to pick female divas, so...
To the tune of 'Kokomo' by The Beach Boys.
There's Britney and Whitney, ooh I wanna take ya,
to Rhianna, Madonna, ooh and then there's Robyn.
But Queen Bey, J. Monae, Miley, and Christina,
Katy Perry, and Coldplay, because they count anyway.
Cher, and Cher, and Cher, and Cher, and Cher.

Alright alright.  We've had our fun, but now it gets serious.
The profile is going to ask us to advertise ourselves like products.
Of course we are going to comply.
5 foot 6.  145 pounds.  Brown hair, Hazel eyes.
Bi-lingual and knows how to use a tongue.
Annual income?  More like outgo, as in out goes my money.
Do I use drugs?  Only if they're free.
Do I diet?  As in drink diet soda, as opposed to regular?
Slightly hungover on Sundays.
Can send more pictures of cats I wish were my pets, upon request.

Alright, start stalking people for endless hours,
sending messages sporadically.
Good news!  We're ready to do online dating.

But...  what if I don't really know what I want?
Maybe online dating isn't for me.

Diamonds do not shine bright
like Rhianna claims
Instead they glow red
with the blood of the victims
sacrificed
for wedding rings
Because what's a life compared to big
expensive rocks, right?

‘I would if I could but I can’t,’ he said,
‘Though I know it would be sublime,
I’m spoken for, and it does my head
To think that you could be mine.
I made a vow, and I don’t know how
I could break it, and feel right,
But though I’m true, I’m thinking of you
As I do, each sleepless night.’

He shook his head and he walked away
As she clutched the verandah rail,
She turned her face away when the trace
Of her tears had left a trail.
‘I don’t know what the attraction is,’
She said, as she wiped her eyes,
‘But it must be true what I say to you,
Anything else is lies!’

He walked back into his hotel room
And held his head in his hands,
And as he did the temptation grew
For a taste of contraband.
She’d met him there as she always did
For she serviced all the rooms,
His monthly trip, and her heart would flip
As the day of his coming loomed.

And he would think of her sparkling eyes
The set of her moist, pink lips,
Her flaxen hair and her pointed stare
And the sway of her ****** hips.
Her image was burnt upon his brain
Though he still loved his woman too,
It left him sore and confused, he thought,
What was a man to do?

He fell at last in a deep, deep sleep
And Rhianna entered his room,
She saw him peacefully lying there
Quite unaware in the gloom,
She lay down quiet beside him, just
To see how it felt to lie
Next to the one that her love was on,
He woke, his hand on her thigh.

The silken feel of Rhianna’s thigh
Had put him into a trance,
He thought that a dream had come to life
Til he opened his eyes, by chance,
Her lips were hovering over his brow
Her flaxen hair in his face,
Her strange perfume permeated the room,
He rolled off the bed in haste.

‘I would if I could but I can’t,’ he said,
‘I need you to understand,
If I were free, with just you and me
But I’m not, and this wasn’t planned.’
He left, drove home in the early dawn
To arrive unexpectedly,
And saw the light in the bedroom on,
His woman had company.

She wept as the man had gathered his clothes,
And made poste haste for the door,
While he just stood as if turned to wood,
His feet fast glued to the floor,
‘Well, you’re always off on your travels, John,
You must consider my plight!’
‘That may be so,’ as he turned to go,
‘But I know where I’ll sleep tonight!’

David Lewis Paget

My day begins before the sun comes up
It usually ends after the sun has gone down
Theres times when the sun rises again
My day still going
Over worked and under payed and no time off
8 days aweek was a great Beetles song
It's not so great living it
Why do I work all these hours and all these days
I don't know how to do anything else
To old to start over to many bills to pay
I feel like Rhianna all she does is Work,Work,Work,Work,Work
Tired I stay, the days all seem the same
Are there actually 7 different days of the week
Mine all seem like they never end
One day i'll get a break
The day I break

It is 5:17
I don't have to get out of bed.
I start work at 8:00
But I suddenly need tea
And some time to myself
On the couch
Listening to some crap
On Film 4 about burning my carbs
To look like Rhianna
I boil some more tea.
I remember
Su Lee was sick for an hour
Brian took over
At 20:45
I left the Ward at 22:16
Su Lee was sick.
There was **** and **** all over her socks
and afterwards
When she looked up and smiled
and her mum hugged me
in the kitchen
God moved in mysterious wards..
Time for a second cup of coffee
and it's still dark. It snowed
3 inches
Schools are closed.
Su Lee is sitting in her chair
Some of the swelling has gone down,
God moves in Mysterious wards.
I am tired
my arm has gone to sleep it's 6:30
I did not really sleep
I take longer in the shower than I need to.
I won't eat breakfast.
He will not be awake
I want to be there when he wakes up
He came out of intensive care at 03:22
We were there his eye was so swollen
The Ward sister gave me a hug.
She's glad that Su Lee is sitting up
God moves
In mysterious wards
The nurse is Wonder Woman
She must need
inhuman self control
I ask him if he wants some breakfast
He says yes
God moves in Mysterious wards
Gary is crying in the kitchen
He is 6'2" and ex RN
He has met me twice
He hugs me like I'm his best friend
I offer him toast
He can't eat
I drop a spoon and grunt
Bending down to pick it up
It makes him laugh
God moves in mysterious wards.
A parcel comes from a woman I have not seen in 30 years
Tea and Kendal Mint cake and Love
Kindness that makes us all swell up
Like it isn't a ward full
Of Tiny babies with no eyes or future or
indeterminate control.
It's better than a lottery win
Yorkshire Tea.
God moves in Mysterious wards.

If you think this isn't reality
Then *******
Accept the fact that misery
Is misery, and if that won't do
Then know that I know why
But I won't tell you.

Disturbia is my life
**** Rhianna for
Envisioning a sick truth,
Then not exposing the demon
That lied to you.

The truth, it is far fetched.

How come in a world so connected we feel so isolated and disconnected?
I can view maps of China in barley five seconds but we feel uncomfortable trying to learn a lesson.
So lets seek answers and ask the question,
I ask again, how come in a world full of connection you can feel so isolated, depressed and without protection?

Is it our computers and TV screens?
The filters on instagram making everything clean?
Or is it our materialism causing death to our kindness, hopes, and dreams?

What happened to writing, reading, and talking?
Now its DM's, snap chats and secretly gawking.
Kids are gaming and don't get vaccines, more focussed with what's on TMZ, Facebook and memes.

Even with music there are no records, only singles.
In love you don't fall any more, you just mingle.
They would rather have a one night memory and let it pass instead of taking every moment into and album and showing what can last.
No one feeling at home we constantly wander, while many parents don't truly know their own sons and daughters.

What is the point of gaining followers if you don't have a real life?
We are in control of the buck of the knife, but we only cut away the things of emotion in life?
*** can be on the front page but don't talk of depression.
Celebrities are more respected than politicians yet we want their lessons?
We use to idolize Churchill, Mackenzie and Kennedy.
Now its Rhianna, Beyonce, and Yeezy?
Are you kidding me?

How come in a world of connections we have a lack of protection?
In a world of detection we break down and divide into sections?
We all speak of being good and holy but did we actually try or just pretend to learn the lesson?
How come we can talk and meet people all day without leaving our home, but at the end of the day a lot of us still feel alone?

Did you ever lick the chocolate off a Wagon Wheel to see the biscuit underneath?
did you ever brush your teeth with Coca Cola or **** on candy floss to see when it would melt?

If you never felt the magic of the moment that you're in and you never stuck a pin into a balloon so that you could hear it pop,
if you never stopped to think that thinking was a good idea or closed your eyes when danger rolled up just to say, 'that I don't see you'.

Where have you been all the days of your days?
there's a grey in the hue and its colour is you
no rainbow's will come if you don't dance in the sun
if you don't splash in the rain or draw silly faces or snap your own braces or chase all the dreams then it all seems a bit biscuit without any coating.


I lick the stripes off a humbug one by one and when they are gone I start on another one
I eat my cornflakes one flake at a time, mime to Rhianna, pretend I'm playing the piano when I'm picking my toes
but I have never thought there's a goldfield stuck up my nose, never dug there,
not that I care if you do, it's just another hue and we're all different shades of the same blades of grass.

Don't let the magic pass you by.

The day after you called and told me you wanted to stop seeing me, I sat alone in a Barnes & Noble. I was exhausted from the night before spent lying, screeching on the floor. I sat alone there trying to convince myself that if I could just do my work, I’d stop thinking about you. I used to like thinking about you. It used to make me smile. Now, I think of how it all was just a lie and now I sit alone at Barnes & Noble wondering just how stupid I am. I am sitting for awhile, fighting the sleep that begs to consume my eyes. I sit and I notice the people: a woman tutoring on the other side of the pole, a young black woman viciously eating a spinach croissant while flipping through three different books all at once, and finally a man sitting to my left, with a single coffee cup and a book in hand. This man has been glancing my way for the past 20 minutes. I am trying to stay awake and I am trying not think. I do not want to think about what this man is thinking of me. I do not want to think because then I will think of you. Soon he leaves and I feel a breath of fresh air wash over me. I am sitting alone and I am no longer being watched. Five minutes goes by and that man sits down at the chair opposite my table. I look up and he begins.

“I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Jake.”

“My name is Rhianna, nice to meet you.”

“Again, I’m sorry to bother you but I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner.”

Look, I’ve never known how to handle these situations. What do you say to someone you don’t even know who wants to take you out? How does someone you just met want to take you out more than the person you have spent so much of your time on?

“What..how… how are you?”

“Me? I’m good.”

“How old are you?”

“24..”

Ouch. Wait, that’s how old my, uh, not ex-boyfriend is. Hold your ******* tongue, dude.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 18.” He ***** in air hard.

“Do you go to UNCW?”

“Yes.”

“What are you studying?”
The conversation continues, and he puts his number in my phone: Jake. Not even a last name. Dinner? Yeah, we’ll see. He gets up to go.

“Again, I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Yeah, no worries. Thank you.”

He leaves. Here I am, in a Barnes & Noble. Tears dripping down my face as this man walks away. It’s not his fault. So why am I sad? Was it the way he made me feel? The way he said my name? The way it wasn’t you? I wanted to call you. I wanted you to tell me you were gonna beat his *** if he came back. I wanted you to make me laugh. I wanted you to make me feel better. I wanted you to walk around the bookshelf and scoop me up like you did the night on the beach.

I’m sitting in Barnes and Noble, getting hit on by random strangers. Their interest mocking me, reminding me of your absence.

I guess they’ll have to do.

Last month we ate turkeys from pointy beaks to wrinkly **** holes
while our wife crones were fingered like ****** Mao finger bowls

(For my daughters

Nicole and Rhianna)



and your

children
bend to
your river
as your
life flows
through
them
,
from
conception
to birth.

the current
is strong.

their heartbeats
in tune
with yours,

from the
beginning
of time,

each moment
christening
the next.

the mother
lode inside
you fulfill
their destiny's
needs.

a daughter
a son is
born.

a sunrise
and a
sunset
kissed.

to you...




mommy poems/

in the
eyes of
your child
the sigh
of your  
voice,
the earth
under
your feet,

your dreams
dance with
them.

midnight
chariots
race the
sky, and
love is
the river
that carries
you,

over and
over again.

no surrender.

your children
God's blessings
to your
eyes....



mommy poems/

your journey
through the
nexus in
her eyes
amazes,
as she
lies half
asleep
next to you.


and the
nature's
mirror that
you cannot
ever stop
looking at
her through,
tells you
even
with eyes
closed,

that she
will forever
be your
child.

and you realize
the cord
that was
cut at
birth,

really wasn't.

it only
grew
stronger
as the
years
turned by,

a tree
to root
a bird's
first flight,

a mother
you will
always be,

in your
first born
daughter's
eyes.

It's Kung Fu in reverse, the adoration & the adulation that paces me
across sad, fairy-land meadows where I chase fairies of race fantasy
Pry wide your gob, goofy goober, wolfin' waffles in the men's room
ain't never got 1 ****** locked up for gay pimping, we can presume

The other day I read an article about how climate scientists were recording a heat wave in Eastern Antarctica unlike anything we've seen before.  The article mentioned certain regions being 50-90 degrees hotter than usual.
Accross the world, Vladimir Putin initiates a "special military operation" wherein he invades Ukraine, and begins killing innocent civilians. The west is on eggshells as to how they should respond. The tension is thick, and the world is watching.
The Amazon burned for almost 9 months straight in 2020, 72,000 Square miles of Australian bushland was scorched by wildfires in 2020, California has seen record amounts of homes destroyed in its own wildfire seasons the past few years.
Amidst it all Harry styles drops his new hit single "as it was" and destroys spotify records. Will Smith is slapping chris rock for a woman who doesn't love him at the oscars. Betty white died, Bob Saget died, DMX died. Kimye split up. Rhianna gets pregnant.
  All of this is happening around us, the world is quite literally falling apart. And there's an image of humanity that I honestly love in my head. Which is us sitting on the edge of it all, playing our favorite songs, watching the end play out. Its beautiful to think that even as the flames lap at our toes, well probably find something to sing about.

I am okay!
I don't see a psychiatrist, I'm okay.
I don't need a psychologist, I'm okay.

I don't have seasonal affective disorder. I'm just sad, when it's February and I'm freezing and I'm hungry and I can't get out of bed. I'm okay.

I'm not depressed! My mother, sister one, and sister two are, but it's not like the depression is something that's passed on in genes as well as memes! I'm okay.

The selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors that stopped my mother from killing both of us may explain my brain, but I'm okay.

I don't have ******* anger issues! My dad clearing his second-grade classroom, the bend stop sign on the corner of Sewall and Winthrop, and these scars on my knuckles have nothing to do with each other. I'm okay.

I don't have "real" PTSD. I just can't drive down monument street without smelling gunpowder and iron. Seeing red rain. Hearing the echo of my own voice "I didn't sign up for this". I'm okay.

I said I don't have "real" PTSD. It's normal to have nightmares. It's normal to wake up in a cold sweat, to still hear that mother's scream, to feel my chest pounding, retaliation for the compressions I withdrew from her little boy. I am okay.

"You are okay, the first few are rough but you get over it." I am okay, I got over it.

My grades were slipping, I don't need a psychologist, but I went anyway. He said I did have PTSD, but he's a quack and I never went back. I'm okay.

Standing in front of the mirror I see gross, unattractive, overweight, weak. But body image is only a problem for women, and toxic masculinity forces me to say, I'm okay.

I've loved you the longest and the deepest. You've broken me more times than I can count, but the scores still even. Yet the fact that you love that Rhianna song makes me question our choices and you always hear the cracks when I say I'm okay.

I've loved you for what feels like a second, like the second before a car crash, an explosion, a first kiss, a second that feels like an eternity. I want it to last for an eternity. Meanwhile, the implications of my considerations cloud my brain and I barely hear you. Yea, I'm okay.

I don't have anxiety, I know where you both are, who you're both with. I know my friends are busy people too. I shouldn't think you have all moved on, moved up. Except nobody could possibly stand my passive-aggressive *******, chaotic childish antics, or ridiculously terrible writings for long. So I understand, I'm okay.

I'm okay.
I'm okay!
I'm okay. Question mark?