"roughest" poems
Your seething tides churn in my mind
As my shaky hands subside
And though love can be caustic,
You are sweet-tempered.
Your voice could calm even the roughest storms.
I wish I had enough time in the day to tell you of how many times you've kept my heart beating
Or of all of the times you've interrupted the steady streams of woe escaping my bloodshot eyes
All without even trying.
I wish I could thank you for holding my hand while I puked up roses, and drying my eyes when I choked on the thorns.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
So breaks the sun earth's rugged chains,
Wherein rude winter bound her veins;
So grows both stream and source of price,
That lately fettered were with ice.
So naked trees get crisped heads,
And colored coats the roughest meads,
And all get vigor, youth, and spright,
That are but looked on by his light.
5.4k
There’s a smile on my face today
And it’s all because of you
You’ve shown me love these past years
You’ve helped me make it through
I’ve had some rough days here
And been depressed very much
But when I come over and see you
My depression disappears with your touch
You provide me with hugs
And sometimes kisses too
You take my mind away from reality
And all the stressful things I have to do
You always can make me smile
Even in the roughest days
I’ve never been sad around you
You just seem to have your ways
You’re an angle sent from heaven
Up there from far above
Counting me as part of your family
And showing me all your love
I’m thankful for our time together
And our wonderful friendship too
If ever you need anything in life
I hope you know what to do
Just simply pick up your phone
And dial my number fast
When it rings I’ll pick up
And I’ll be there in a blast
I’ll show up for fun
Or support if needed too
Your family has brought the best to my life
Seriously it’s the least I could do.
I love you all so much
With all of my heart
And just wish life
Would not pull us apart
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
It’s been said to cause success,
Yet its’ face is boldly grim.
Some even say it makes or breaks you,
Kills your soul, or fills the brim.
It’s been deemed the roughest test,
Where preparation meets implausible.
Whenever passion makes a breakthrough
Sounds of hell’s end become audible.
It’s received reviews of stress,
Of endless torture tearing through.
Leaving good men self-departed,
For they had no will to make it through.
It’s been seen in years of the past,
The trials of Job denote it well.
As Satan crushed his joys,
Job consummated to prevail.
It’s been said, “show no regret!”
When you look deep into your mind,
For this test is truly an artist
Creating a man, from pure divine.
So why let discouragement corrupt
Your trip through the abyss?
For it’s been said to cause success,
And that’s one hell of a gift.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 1:03 PM UTC
Every morning is an outcome of a dark night,
Keeping this hope up, I'm still standing in the fight.
I feel complete when you are start and end of my day,
Without you around, I'm simply fading away.
When people raise their finger on me,
To you, I desire to flee.
When I'm judged, misunderstood, accused,
In your light, I want to be fused.
I accept that I am not a good person,
So what? I'll be given scars in black, red and crimson?
I am suppressed the every single time,
Is it always my crime?
How for them it can always be so fine?
Can't they see me, feel me, ever whine?
I just want to be happy, feel the breeze with a smile,
I want you to hold my hand, in this meanwhile.
My disability to express what is inside,
In my life, is bringing the disastrous tide.
Today I feel, the solution is to end this,
Maybe peace comes, when heaven gives me a kiss.
I am into this turmoil,
Where are you? Come wrap me in your foil.
Take me into a different world,
Then all the sadness in trash will be hurled.
When one feels alone in crowd,
Because of the pain, one wants to shout out loud.
When moonlight becomes the brightest thing,
Somebody else of your life becomes the king.
Maybe it is the most beautiful scene,
But how can you expect love from the mean?
Is it right to always in the flow yourself to blame?
I swear, Life! is the roughest game.
My mistake, I am not able to determine,
Perhaps this is what is making them win.
My tender age, my shaken phase,
Makes them think I am an easy chase.
Nothing is capturing my mind,
Now is when I want you to come and (me) find.
Only you can lift me from this situation,
I want you. For this I've no explanation.
You're that invisible power, the magic,
The only one that can take away all that is tragic.
Nobody knows who you are, including this heart,
But I so wish to be on your priority chart.
What goes in me, one fails to understand right now,
I want answers to what, when and how.
What is keeping me so down?
When will they stop wearing my life's crown?
How cannot seeing all of this, I now frown?
I want to end this in any way,
In between emotions, I no longer can sway.
For myself, I want to breathe once,
God helps all and not just nuns.
Shower your blessing on me too,
You're not God, so to reach you, there's no cue.
Just lift me once, high enough, so they can see,
That I am happier when set free!
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 3:13 AM UTC
The day shook itself, sniffed the air and sprinkled sunlight on my face
I woke,washed,said grace and breakfasted on hand caught trout, which had rested in my summer house down by the lake.
I took a moment to spread my eyes and fell upon this freshly fried and salted feast I had made from scratch,as indeed I had made the thatch which kept the house cool in the middle of the noon.
Very soon, my roving mind opened up to find a trial to test and undertake,would I bake some bread for the later evening meal?
In my zeal I did not see the winter creeping up on me,before I passed two more full noons the moon had shed its happy mood and food was in a short supply.
I used to cry at this awesomeness that left me in an awful mess,
but I learnt to do and mend and tend what needed tending to and now the summer's through,my larders full of food enough to see me through the roughest stuff,that the season which is about,will throw at me.
I see an end,a beginning too,the stories we are told run through the central core,
we want ,then we must do much more
we need, and what is needing for? but to fill our fears with sand and stand alone with bellies full of stone,solid,stolid
in the thick of things that seasons change to bring we fend off everything that hurts the soul,
and in the maypole time when spring is feeling kind of fine and the larders bare,
Mother nature's there to fill it up again.
A bit more planning a bit less pain
less to lose and more to gain
the same each year as it has been
for ever.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
Life is all about sorting through endless puzzle pieces
Keeping the ones you find fit
And simply tossing the ones that don't belong
But sometimes it's not always that easy
We get confused and overwhelmed when too many pieces are being thrown at us at once
We might accidentally toss a good piece away not knowing so
Or when a piece doesn't fit
Sometimes we turn and angle it in just about every way possible
Until we finally discover that it just does not go there
And the previous pieces we had in place sometimes shift and become distorted with time
Which makes them change and no longer fit in the places they originally belonged
So life consists of a constant fluctuation between gain and loss
It's just the way it goes
If you can search deep enough and find those rare puzzle pieces that are permanent
Constant figures that don't change
Those are what can help you build the rest of your puzzle
But if you're constantly gaining and losing without any foundation
No permanent pieces
You might as well be running around in circles
But then again
There's not much else to do until you find that foundation you're looking for
Some people run in circles all their lives
Others are lucky and build complete masterpieces of their puzzles
But don't give up looking
Those pieces are out there
It's exhausting and you have to be determined
It's easy to lose yourself when you become so tired that you can't tell the good pieces from the bad
You might start building off the bad
Thinking that you're getting somewhere
And then one day you wake up and all those pieces are gone
And you're left with nothing
And have to start all over from scratch
That's when it gets to it's roughest point
But you have to keep building
Trial and error
You have to learn along the way
Get to know yourself
I know that sounds clichè
But it's true
A lot of people don't know who they are or what they want
If you're one of those people
Play around with a combination of pieces
Fit them together and see what you like
The worst thing you can do is lie to yourself
You'll never get anywhere that way
Lying means you're choosing all the wrong puzzles
Take what you like
Put it together
Be aggressive
Be you
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
On the paint chipped pavement we went over the rules:
NO cherry bombs, NO bobbling,
NO lower-ballers, spin-tops,
chalk walkers, twenty fingers,
and especially NO skyscrapers.
So for a few minutes we played as raw as apple skin knees,
it was the roughest, toughest, hard-nosed game
of four square any fourth grader has ever seen.
But it was all over when someone crossed the line.
There was fussing, cussing, and an accusation of the mustnt’s.
Eyebrows adjacent, we argued and clawed like kilkenny cats,
we were breaking rules, we crossed the chalk.
We took sides and worst of all,
the one crucial act that we regret,
we slammed the ball down.
It towered overhead like window washers
and landed on the school’s roof.
We stopped arguing. Nobody won that day.
© Matthew Harlovic
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
Turns out the King of the Projects
couldn’t even tie his shoes.
Couldn’t draw or make love.
Hell could barely even read
and definitely didn’t know how to sing the blues.
Turns out the King got his crown
after two and half games of basketball
on the weedy court at sundown
the day before his tenth birthday.
Turns out the King was the roughest,
toughest, scabbiest fourth grader
in the whole **** grade, raised
from good Somalian stock and
willing to sucker punch kids
darker than he.
Turns out the 4 ft 5 King of the Projects
stood mighty tall over the
class pet ferret, ephemeral
creature of habit,
watched the
rodent with eyes peeled as if the two
shared the same beating
heart boombox.
As it turns out,
every day at noon we had music
but the drums were always
taken by the King who
pounded a steady beat to the
shake shake shake of
the music teacher's 'script
of benzos, eyes still glued
to the ferret, seeking a ritualized dance.
Turns out the class pet escaped last week.
Turns out the King stopped coming too.
Shame really. As the teacher, I felt I had
to have something to say to him.
Turns out I was just as scared as he.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
***Clear your hazel gaze; you are completely submerged in an underwater paradise, suspended in the motions of the current. No, you're not drowning, I've given you enough endearment & sustenance for you to breathe on your own- even in the abyss of my oceanic heart.
Of course, you always knew you could dear.
So smile & sail along the swaying tides of teal, graze my shipwrecks with your gentle hands & kiss along my roughest of reefs. Find a mermaid with an elfish face, maroon hair & red lips to taste. Feel no limitations of world above the surface, staying in this place with you forever would be oh-so perfect. The albatross of our concrete lives, lived out in cities made of glass and steel, would never be found in a place such as this- we are forbidden to sustain ourselves through more of such unhappiness.
For down here, we simply float on.
We can get high in the waves, and sing all of your songs. For the water lifts all the worries we may have, in times when we are not strong.
You dove into me, simply chipping away at the stoical walls I've fashioned over time. The fortress comparable Alcatraz, I built to keep my demons in and every single soul out. But you, the flighty sea spirit (believe me we are birds of a feather), made your way to my castle among the waves; soaring over all misconceptions & doubts.***
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
Glimpse of hope
Through those washed eyes,
As I envisage us surfing
The roughest of tides,
A million waves crash,
Heavily into my chest,
Because I'm afraid
I'll drown in a sea
Of emotion because
You're the ocean,
And I'm just a stone.
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 7:58 PM UTC
she paints ugly things in pretty colors
she runs with the devil and whispers with the saints
she is a good girl in bad times
she's a angel in disguise
you can find her riding shotgun
in the roughest part of town
you can find in her the softest heart
she is a flower blooming in a field of thorns
she is a woman to be reckoned with
and a force of nature to be feared
but she will always be kind and gentle
she paints ugly things pretty colors
and gives them happy homes
she really is an angel in disguise
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
and that of the hurricane.
Tumult whispered white,
both Aeolian and corporeal,
strummed on strings of solemnity;
the ugly undertaker of buried roses
labeled as wary victims of feel-good graverobbers.
All bled emotions are this.
The Louvre's flashbulbed flecks;
the notes woven within coke lines of symphony;
fingerpainted twig-men crafted by bright-eyed smilers;
this juxtaposed disgrace.
All Beau Sancy in the roughest granite jewelry box
with graffiti scribbled laughing like urban Sanskrit .
"I am become death" dripped in blood through the keyhole
so it now mimics a cherry popped in microwaves
unlocking discomfort, yes,
and crimsoning the cocoon of the diamond.
Peep, Tom, at the glittering Godiva within
and watch her grow in the sacrifice of poetry,
for only in the presence of forsaking and death
and anguish and discomfort
and pain
can she grow to break the eggshell walls.
Tears cut canals in Time's beard
because he consigned the memory of the shattered horrendousness
to oblivion
instead of honoring their homage
and paying respect by dropping tulips and gunships
into their graves at noon's meridian.
Opal eyed reader,
you do not understand.
My eggshells conceal themselves
within individual hells
of purple prose,
more of a lavender in my eyes.
But beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:47 PM UTC
In this place full of preferences
I be the despicable one
To who wants someone like me
I can't find
I don't know many who would date
This kind of black guy
Or so the excuses go on
But I myself shun the gavel
For I repel the attraction of the darker brown
It's frowned upon
But past experiences give me a shivering nostalgia
So be in and out the gruesome
Actually
It's actually nasty
I lost hope in people
When I found out I was ugly
Because I have gap teeth
And god don't like ugly
Words I didn't understand
Sent me in a negative spiral
to place where i hated people's faces
And every other man
In many places
Of many spaces
To the old proverb
Don't judge a book by its cover
But I see so many random faces
To read the proverbial book
What my eyes seek some say
Condescending it may
Be seen right betwixt
A rock and a hard place
Still running in place
To make haste and waste the meaning of what it is to taste
Now I see we live in side the belly of a beast
And the roughest of diamonds deposit gold into the tree where only the tall can reach,but tell the short not to touch
And two birds in the bush is worth viewing than the one you can touch
Through the plot and good intentions scheming
Am I a decent human being
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
I get these headaches that start right behind the middle of my eyebrow, swoops down into my nose and then swings up and pings off my forehead.
They call them “sinus headaches.”
The word sinus in italian means canals. And when I think of that, I can’t help but think of little gondolas with Italian men singing to me as I look at the stars. It doesn’t make the headache go away but it really makes me wish I were in Italy.
It’s funny how when things get rough, we instantly gravitate towards escaping to foreign lands. A headache certainly isn’t the roughest it could be, that’s for sure.
But escape…that’s a double-edged sword. Escape isn’t what it promises. While the idea of sipping pina coladas poolside, or meditating in a forest far away may seem like perfect, what does that really resolve? It means that whatever made you leave is still waiting for a resolution. Even worse, it probably grew in size. Bills become bills plus interest and late fees. Arguments turn from “how dare you say that?” to “how dare you leave after saying that?” When you leave, you leave behind a mess with the assumption that others will take care of you, but instead, frustrations rise and you break ties.
Whenever I get sick or nauseous, I immediately start thinking of my own personal Nirvana. I visualize the image of myself in this beautiful place relaxing and breathing in that maple tree air and hearing the river waves around me.
That’s nice, right? And that’s ok. I think we’re all allowed our mental escapes once in awhile.
But actual physical escapes? Those hurt others. And no amount of river wave will fix that.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
Like a soldier standing strong in my composure
Your gimp with a crippled posture
Im a killer with compassion
Compare me to a flower full of venom
Beautiful till i take hold
and paralyze your emotions
Break down what you are
To over power you as a person
Step out of line
Ill smash you to pieces
Talk **** out your ***
But i can read faces
Dont try to overcome me
Just embrace the opportunity
To be in my presence as requested
and respect my punctuality
Because its just proper etiquette
Eat what i feed you
Just remember my warnings
Try to become me and fail
Its just in my genes
To be toughest, roughest, and hardest
Make my friends list
Your covered, no matter the situation
Even in a war of wrong reason
Ill fight for my brothers
Who can prove their allegances
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
today I realized that I'm perfect with who I'am
atlast in my life I know who I'am
What things im good at and what I need to work on
IM NOT PERFECT
infact im fragile and weak
I'm scared of knowing so much about myself
It's the truth
I KNOW who I can become
either good or bad
I know what the future holds
for my good decisions or my bad
If only today myself could talk to the young boy who struggled so long
trying to be someone he was not.
I'd tell that boy to not follow the crowd that he thought was so cool
That to listen to your mother
to stay away from the drugs
even if the other kids called him a loser for not playing along
The really unique kids are the ones who dont follow the normal teenage rebellion
the real rebels are the ones who study hard
hang out alone
and even wish they could go out and get hammered drunk and puke everywhere
or sleep with a random girl not for love but just for ***
But they dont
I want to tell my rebel self to be a true rebel like those kids
the kids who later on in life
will have money to go out and enjoy the things I enjoyed as a rebel teenager
to be able to hang out with there grown up friends and to fun doing grown up things.
Instead I'm a 24 year old sandwhich artist
the teachers always said keep partying you'll look back and regret these days
I told them they'll regret saying that when I make it big
years of writing
years of sitting up late with a bottle of ***** and a lit cigarette
like my life a long ash forms off the cherry as it burns waiting for the whieght of itself to break off.
I KNOW who I'am
I'm a voice for this plugged in generation
I'm the sticky **** on the bottom of your shoe
I'm the viper in a room full of gardner snakes
I'm the demon with a halo
a hybrid of a soul
hell hound instincts
but a butterflys swagger
soft but hard
sweet but sour
I'm the reason for a middle
im the reason why things stay balanced
for not for people like me
the Balanced
the Beaten
the hardened and the Understanding
the Counter Attack
the person who has seen the roughest parts in life
has been down to pennys to his name
Im here to tell you dont give up
because even during the rain the sun can shine
those days amaze me
when its pouring but sunny
Does it make since no
but do we watch in amazement when it happens
yes
That my friends is me
thats who I'am
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
A woman receives a blossom
of the one meant for her but once.
But I, like heroine of ages past
have not one love but two.
Just as a mother loves both her children
but in differences and personality
so do my loves vary so
like the flower and the ****
The **** feisty and strong in nature
blooms from the cracks in broken roads
unwilling to die or burn from the Sun's heat
beautiful to no other eyes but mine.
It grows in the roughest of spots
and yet your appeal blinds me
the hardy soul who touches mine own
yet a flower be you still.
Daffodils, daisies, beautiful and stout
The other a flower of delicateness
thin little petals unfurling in a ***
nature at its most gentle
to be easily torn and ripped to shreds.
Beauty is obvious in truest form
much love is needed to keep you well
the water of the heart dribbling from the brook
to make you flourish.
Can I not keep you both to me
to keep your loves in my vase on the window
to display all those perfections to the earth
and to keep you both in my arms?
No, it will never be so simple, will it?
So I must choose to survive
I know not to choose rashly
but, conflicted of mind, I stare deeply into the garden...
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
We don’t smoke Marijuana
We don’t take our trips of LSD
We like to just live right here
Where the air’s fresh and life is free
We don’t make lovin’ to make a party
We don’t need to get with to get some fun
We just prefer to hold each other’s hands
And go fishing in the sun
We don’t go round bare-chested
We don’t wear skimpy clothes
Roman sandals are a nada
Leather boots are still à la mode
We don’t need to go out getting drunk
Here even Squares can have a ball
Going to the shops is still an event
White lightning’s still the biggest thrill of all
Down here football’s the roughest sport
Long, shaggy hair definitely won’t be seen
A large patch of open land is our campus
And Kids down here respect the village dean
So please forgive me if I don’t understand
Forgive me if I feel a little out of place
I’m just proud to be an Oakie from
Down there we slow the pace.
Yes I’m just an Oakie from Muskogee
Yes I’m proud to be an Oakie from Muskogee
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 8:06 AM UTC
For you I'd climb the highest mountain
I'd sail the roughest sea
But when the sun sets in the west
I'm not sure you'd do the same for me
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
It’s been a while
I forget how beginnings go
I’m so eager to start running that I forget to tie my shoe laces
Maybe that’s why I’ve never won a race
I couldn’t remember how to start and I didn’t bother taking the time to learn again
So once I skipped right to the middle, throwing in all the ingredients, trying to bake something without even bothering to look at the measurements
Too much contact, not enough connection
The ending came too quick
And i was left with a mess i’m still trying to clean up
I’ve found myself facing never ending beginnings
Where you’re left hanging onto anything because it’s just about to happen, like the tempt of a sneeze
But all you get is teary eyes and wasted tissues
I’m a collector of stories
And I’ve only ever found pieces and rough drafts
I’m not sure how beginnings go, or how the threads would unravel into a book
Because all i have is my patch work quilt of Once Up A Times and Middle Chapters
Maybe You’ve had a beginning, middle, and end before
But by the time you’ve reached the end and found yourself facing another beginning
You might forget how they go too
Maybe it’s been a while
So let’s paint a picture
There doesn’t have to be any rules or guidlines
We’ll paint ourselves a sunrise
A perfect beginning
Because as it comes up, even the Sun isn’t sure of what it’s about to face
And we can paint ourselves a river
With whirlpools and rocky edges
Stretching far and long
Because our middle will have power to split mountain ranges and the strength to make it through the roughest terrains
Let’s curl up under blankets with flashlights
Cause the world is a dark place and I’d much rather stay here and make forts out of sheets, where the only demons we’ll find are shadows cast from out flashlights
I’ll whisper you lullabies, just promise to keep holding me tight
Babe with you here, my universe doesn’t need to be anything bigger than this mattress
I’m a collector of stories
But i’m not quite sure how to write one
So let’s stay here and not think about endings
I’m not sure how they go
And i’m hoping i won’t have to know for a while
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 8:41 PM UTC
Love me. Praise me. Fear losing me.
Tell me, if not else, that I am all you see.
Crave me. Want me, forever and always.
Make me feel important in all your able ways.
Seek me in your sleepless hours of night
or moments of bliss or tormentous plight.
Journey the roughest or smoothest of roads
Share with me, always, all of my loads.
For sometimes, I'll be right, and seldom be wrong
But still I want to be your heart's only song.
Despite subtle danger, you must be beside
Me; stay with me, my love, wherever I hide.
Remind me so often, how much me you love
As though I'm a blessing from heaven above
*For you are my blessing from heaven above.
I'll remind you, so often, how much you I love.
I'll stay with you, my love, wherever you hide.
Despite subtle danger, I must be beside,
You, who I want, you are my heart's only song.
Though sometimes you'll be right, or seldom be wrong.
I'll share with you, always, all of your loads;
Journey the roughest and smoothest of roads.
In moments of bliss and tormentous plight,
I seek you even in my hours of night.
You are so important, I show you this way.
I crave you. I want you, forever and always.
I tell you, if not else, you are all I see.
I love you. I praise you. I so fear losing you.*
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
Down from the icy Sawtooth crags
and through the winter-laden landscape,
the wind eventually dips to the canyon
and creek we loved so well as children.
Continuing on, it threads through the
hollows above the creek, sculpted even
today by stooped cottonwood trees.
Twisting above granite outcroppings
and lava boulders, the wind courses
through the giant arteries of this canyon,
passing among quaking aspen, river willow,
and gnarled cottonwood, shorn rudely
by now of every dryly-veined leaf.
At ancient volcanic escarpments the
wind bears south, scraping hard along
canyon walls. Upward it moves, out of
the canyon, slowing and sallying about
the hillocks, the gullies, the poplars
until it finally comes to stir ever more
gently, warmer even, my dear brother,
around your gray marbled headstone.
Primeval of days, this very same wind
blows for eternity upon eternity, polishing
and purifying even the roughest of
the earth's elements and impediments.
This said, at this hill's crest where you rest,
there is no need of further refinement. Feel
how the northern wind quiets for you,
as if it knows over whose stone it passes.
--
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC
He hates sunrise
because the lovely pale glow of each ray
is a beautiful dagger pointed straight at his heart
the tip an inch away
from drawing the life out of him
you are the life in him
and he hates you so.
He hates anchors
because they don’t let
even the biggest ships glide along the waters as they please
and you don’t let him glide along as he pleases
you are his anchor
and he hates you so.
He hates the wind
because without it
he would have no direction
no strength to move on
you are
and you aren’t his wind
and he hates you so.
I have watched him
sail the hardest seas
cut through the roughest waters
brave the wildest winds
but you…
he doesn’t know how to deal
with the pain of missing you.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 3:09 AM UTC