The bank account overdrawn,
the west coast -- naked, easy --
passenger seat and head resting on cold glass,
seeing the pines turn to ash to evergreen to redwoods to sand.

I bit her ear and asked for her name,
in Before George's sanctuary,
blush, blushing -- finger to lips hushing,
drinking cognac and speaking in flaming coal
I saw the clouds behind the night sky,
I saw Jesus teach himself to fly,
and I hallelujah'd and amen'd and carried
her to the shore, Samantha, she said,
bulging mind,
anorexic action,
I bit her ear and asked her room number,
in the ocean's frontline,
hush, hushing -- backs of hands and blushing,
drinking cognac and speaking in simmering oil
I saw the night behind the clouded sky,
I saw a fly transfigure into Jesus,
and I hallelujah'd and amen'd and frayed
the remnants of grassroot and buttercup,
drunk high tide,
sober dry iced,

The bank account cleared its throat,
"Room 210 and I'd like a ***** and coke."

we went to philly and it rained. i spent most of the time running through puddles and taking blurry pictures, of trees, of the sky, of beautiful big buildings that seemed so strange to my coldgreyconcrete eye. it was weird. i liked it.

i think flowers are *******, you see we went to philly and i saw flowers, which was strange to me-cities dont have flowers, you see. we have night markets and the smell of that weird boiled egg tea and peoplepeoplepeople and definitely not flowers (except in the new year because of course there are flowers in the flower market and also sometimes up alleyways there'll be a scarybutnice old lady selling them, maybe with her grandson there too). but regardless of what cities should have and what cities should not have, there were flowers. and they were bright and many and i stared at them long and hard and accusing and inquisitive. they didnt stare back. and so, i repeat, flowers are *******.

so yeah we went to philly but i feel kindofbad because we didnt really go to philly we more went to one-no two, three? (if the parking garage counts)-streets because we were there for this one restaurant but i saw this one place with a bunch of flags and some buildings and took a photo with a random landmark so it counts right? (i think thats all cities can be for some people, walk down nathan road visit a night market shop at pacific place maybe go up to the peak and youve seen all of hong kong right? its rather easy to quantify a city if you put it that way i suppose) but no, as a fellow city dweller i know more than most that a city exists in the cracks between pavements and small market stalls and the lightness in your chest when you become a regular at starbucks and people go out of their way to help you even if theyre busy, that a city exists when you can walk on the bustling pavements like theyre your own hardwood floors and look at an office tower and go-oh samantha works here and thats what a city really is.

and that's pretty much it. we went to philly.

As a form of fourth grade torture
Christina would manifest lies to
test my gullibility and prove her sick wit.
When insomnia started to plague me
she devised a theory and quoted an obscure  
scientific journal to flavorfully boost fake facts.

Imagine a jar of paint.
Imagine it spill on your head
and flow through the skull, veins, and organs
spreading down the body in slow
single-file motion.
The practicing therapist demands:
Begin with...

                                                                             Green
                                                            Light cast by the green sun
                                                has tap water turning into slime. Slime
                                           that plunges through pipes on its way from
                                                      lakes now made of lime jello.
                                                                               Sun.

                                               Trees and flowers start to grow naturally,
                                    experimenting with the flavors of the warm green rays.
                                               A base of hunter green, a splash of forest,
                                with a hint of mint and freshly squeezed honeydew rain --  
                                       Lighter and brighter the plants photosynthesize,
                                     breaking down the compound green into atom form
                                                 to find the protons, neutrons, electrons,
                                                                         quarks of it,
                                                      until they reached the end of green.
                                              Is it time to sink into the dark depths of
                                                 muddy green baseness down below
                                                Or time to breach the walls of science,
                                                                enter mythology
                                                                to create a new light
                                                                                and bloom into the Yellow Sun?
-Samantha Woznica '11

With your eyes so grand and a rose in your hand
On board a mystery ship that I do not understand
When I see the moon rise above the land
I can see your eyes again.
Last night in a dream I met a roman queen
With a mask of gold and blue.
And I could not help but wonder and even kinda ponder
If the roman queen was you.
I never really showed when they laid you to rest
In the stone of early May.
Far passed a dozen trees in mud bending knees
To the gods wishing you would stay.
I once saw an angel with the glow of a lamp
She was lighting up a loansom hall.
And I saw her for awhile running with a smile
Past red lockers in the time of fall.
Today I saw a shield covering a field
Like a dead poets badge of grace.
Upon the ridge I saw this light
Turn radiance from night
And the glow was Samantha's face.
I had heard of her tomb one sad afternoon
It was a cast iron work of art.
Then I heard them close the lid and I ran away and hid
With hot swords drove through my heart.
I see you floating through the heavens passed the stars and the moon with you're hand on a green balloon.
With my eyes up to the sky I can not help but cry
The princess had left too soon.
I saw the crossing guard weeping very hard
Of the pain that was in the ground.
And then I saw him sleeping through the flood that was reaping with sweet spirits and their speaking sound.
I sat down and saw a wolf making his call
To the loved one he could not find.
Oh, beast I hear your sound Tiberius lost the crown
And your trumpet sounds just like mine.
Out of all of these ghosts my brain waves and hopes
For the drifting we all shall do.
And on the other side we look forward for a ride
On a stagecoach that will lead us to you.
When the rain goes away making blue skies from grey
You'll paint colors in the sky.
And we will ****** the color blue and a purple paintbrush too and make life from things that die.
I just hope that you know wherever you may go
That I'll always think of a girl.
There will be flowers all year long and a man who writes a song of a young lady who lit up the world.

I pulled myself through the lecherous carpet,
used the torn, stuffing-spilled, arm of the couch
to hoist myself to the door.

I opened it, only to find Wayne.
"Why didn't you answer your phone, *******?"

I rubbed my red eyes,
cleared my throat, stutter-stepped
with my speech, finally finding my
footing, I asked,
"What are you talking about, man?"

"I called you last night, like 6-or-7 times."

"I had a time of it."

"Yeah, I can see that by the aura of class you are emitting."

"Oh, *******. Why are you so dressed up?"

"That's why I called, you ******* hermit.
Samantha's mom died, on...uh, Wednesday, I think. The funeral is in an hour."

"Gloria's buddy, Sam?"

"Yeah, man."

"****. Okay, well let me at least change clothes, spray on some cologne."

I went to my closet, all the clothes were half-*****,
engaging in an **** on the floor, all the hangers watching, naked,
lonely.

Dug through the mess,
until I uncovered a tie, a white shirt, and some pin-striped pants.
I draped myself in the clothes,
grabbed a pair of sunglasses,
parted my hair,
took a stick of deodorant to my pits, three sprays of cologne,
out the door.

"Where is the funeral?"

"It's off of Sherman Boulevard, not far from Beanie's Coffee."

I got in his passenger seat.
He was listening to Nick Drake's first cut,
which somehow seemed to fit the mood I was in.
"Do you mind if I smoke?"
He didn't.
I had made sure to grab my pack of cigarettes
before we left.
Last night's mistakes were still blaring their siren
in my echo chamber of a head,
so anything with a chemical
function to dull the noise,
was a welcome friend.

The funeral was outside,
behind some strangely styled funeral parlor,
circa 1978.
When we made the corner,
the first people we saw were Gloria's parents.
Her dad, stoic, distant like always,
her mom, crying her eyes out, body already
shaking, and all the sentiment was still to be spewed.

They cast stones from afar with their eyes,
I nodded,
shifted my focus onto anything my gaze could find.
Which ended up being Gloria,
such has always been my luck.
She was in a long black skirt,
and a light jacket.
The wind lifted her black hair
in a sweeping, yet uniform movement.
Her lips were painted a deep maroon.
I sat down a couple rows behind,
stared at the back of her head,
while some puppet in a tie
talked about how Sam's mom
is kicking it in heaven.

I heard very little,
I was pretty hungry,
so I leaned over to Wayne,
"Are there any places around here to eat?"

He just stared at me like I was an absolute idiot.
**** him.
People started to walk toward the casket one row at a time.
It was one of those funerals.
Open caskets have always ****** me off.
It's horribly disrespectful to put the recently deceased
on display so everyone can stare with fascination,
as if it's some sideshow attraction at a carnival.

That thought aside,
I looked at Sam's mom as I walked by,
and you know how people always
say **** like, "Aw, well they did a good job,
it looks just like her," they did a rather ****-poor
job with this one.

Her face was a series of unusual lumps,
scattered like the foothills of northern Arkansas.
Her mascara was everywhere,
her cheeks rosier than Santa's *** cheeks,
and the whole spectacle spiraled me into an awful mood.

As everyone was standing around waiting for the processional,
I asked Wayne, "Where is Sam?"

"Dude, they got in a car wreck. Sam's still in the hospital.
She ain't doing too hot. How did you not know that?
They even said it during the service."

"I was really hungry, man."

He woke well before dawn
Pulling his husky body from the warm comforts of his bed
Today is the day, hard decisions need to be made
He settles in, whisky on the rocks, and his trusted amigo, Henry the  Hummingbird
The list is long, so he checks it twice
There was Jinxxed for Life,  Mina Steele and Richard Barnes.
Lexi Smith and can't forget Wolfspirit with his beautiful lyric
S Creeker and the enchanted soul of Ember Eravescent
News blaring from the radio temporarily distracting him from the task at hand
Just Melz and Wordvango
Whatever happened to the Samantha's, Joseph's and the Vicki's.
Blue eyes dancing reflecting "R" crinkling at the humour of Hank Helman
They've all been naughty for sure
Nice, that would be such a bore
Cheers to the world of poetry and all its glory

I don't want to go to school
I don't want to do my work
I want to do things with my life
I want to travel to New York

Let's sing up and down the streets
send good vibes to everyone we meet
Make our life an adventure

There are better things to do,
then just sit around in school
Learning thing's we'll never need
to get through the life
just you and me

© 2013 Samantha Girouard-Holt

Under the big old tree
I sit there quietly
Reading new book I found
Diving into world I thought I belong

Once, I was Hannah Baker
Sharing my secret story
This is my truth about you
What is your truth about me?

I envy Ponnyboy
He had lots of friends
And one true friend
A reason to stay gold in the end

And I know the feeling of Samantha McAllister
Looking for a place where you belong
A place where your voices are heard
I found my Poet's Corner

Then I dreamed just liked Lara Jean
That someday, I will find true love
Someone will help me conquer my fear
Someone who will give me life

But I guess I am Finch
Love will never save me
I keep on breathing
But I know will be drown

But just like Rufus and Mateo
Tho I know how I'm going to end
I don't want to meet it
I'm still afraid to die

It's December, the cold weather is here.
I see ice blocks outside, and snow in the near.
It's Christmas time, Then New Years prime
2015 is a start of something fresh, brand new year.

Your dreams, are your reality.
You gotta believe in much more
  practicality and swag
new shoes and hand bags
Party tonight
Classy and bright

Let's throw a New Year's Party
Kiss some random cutie next to you
Midnight fever, mega ******
Jello Shots throughout the clock
To stay awake for New Year's Day
It starts today.

© 2014 Samantha Girouard-Holt

August 4th, 1992
That night
My heart began beating
To the rhythm of
Two words
Samantha Shea
My baby girl
She was 9 pound 6 ounces
Of pure love and joy

Her mother’s eyes
My ears
But her smile
Was all her own
She seemed almost wise
Just staring blankly back
At me
Like she knew me
Better than I knew myself
I have never loved anyone
So much

I tried to give her all I could
Make her feel like a real princess
Make her feel safe
And loved
She grew up with things
Her mother and I
Only dreamed of as children
But she was never selfish
Never unkind

I never knew
How much she hated herself
Until I noticed that her arms
Made her look like war veteran
And her eyes
Like those of a ghost
A lost soul wandering around
Lost and Suffering

Could it be that hard
To be a teenage girl
Could it be that hard
To have everything
Handed to you
Everyone love you

That night I saw her as
Nothing but selfish and unkind
I mean how could she do this to us
To herself
I looked her in the eyes and asked
Why
With a single tear running down her face
Resembling a winter’s first snowflake
Or a desert’s first raindrop
She let out the words
“I wasn’t meant for this world”
No you were meant for me
You are my world

I wanted to wipe her tears
And heal her scars
Her years of fear and self-loathing
Was no match for my love
My compassion
My understanding

I spent the next two weeks
Helpless, lost, and confused
By the time we had found her
The bath water was as cold as my heart
The floor stained with drops of
Complete sadness
No note
I cried until I was
Red in my face and
Blue in my heart

A parent should never
Have to bury their child
So we had her cremated
We figured that
She spent 16 years
Stuck in her own box
She shouldn’t have to be
Buried in one

I’ve never loved anyone
So much

In haste...
Behind
Our footprints
Were the scattered emptiness
Of the memories
Of them
On the shores

She left the three parties of us
Me, Samantha
And our traveler friend

They were play things for sunset fares,
She said.

Just yesterday
They were happy to be here
The young flowers now scattered about
This beach shore
Too young to be plucked
Happy to grow up into one party of laughter!

That's how we remember they were here
That's how to plant graveside flowers
For the dead
They were play things for sunset fares

They were not soldiers
They were unprotected women
They were not warriors
They were unfed afraid Biafran children  

That's how to plant graveside flowers
That's how we have kept them forever
In our hearts
That's how we actualize Biafra.

BACKGROUND.

I was working at an international airport as a aircraft cleaner, this ment we went on to the planes to clean them before they went on there next flight.

I was the supervisor of a team of 6 that night, so it was my job to go to the aircraft and talk with the number one, (the number one is the head hostess), she told us when we could board the aircraft.

At the door I could see a young girl and a lady, sitting in the front row, I asked the number one if we could board, she told me they are waiting for a wheel chair for the young girl.

The wheel chair did not turn up until after this story.

This is what happened next.

I will pick the story up after my question to the number one.


THE SHORT STORY, OF A TRUE EVENT IN MY LIFE.

I am standing on the aircraft by the young girl and the number one, when I heard the girl say.

MOM! can I see the controls of the plane.

I am not sure if the number one heard this, so I related to her.
She told me she would ask the captain, and left to do so.

I was alone with the girl and the lady, so I spoke to the lady.

Hi i said, where have you come from?

The lady answered, we have been to disney land.

Wow or something like that I said, that must have been fun, the young girl spoke up.

it was, I saw lot of things, Micky Mouse.

I asked the girl her name.

Samantha she said.


At that the number one came back.

And told us, as soon as the wheel chair is here, the captain say you can look at the flight deck.

The young girl said, can I not go now?


I needed to get my cleaning team on the aircraft!

So I said to the number one.
I will carry her to the flight deck if that is ok.

It was agreed.

So I picked up young Samantha, and carried her forward to the flight deck. number one and Lady behind me.

The number one past me, to ask the captain, if this was ok, and it was.

As we entered the captain said, hi my name is John. the young girl said hi my is Samantha, welcome sammy, said the captain.

The co pilot stood up, to give Samantha his seat.

The captain and Sammy talk about the instruments.

The captain still had his head phones around his neck, What are those?

Sammy asked.

That is my contact with the flight controllers he said, can I have a go?  Sammy said.

The captain put on his head phone and asked the control tower, and she did have a go.

Then the wheel chair turned up, and the captain was told by the number one.

You must go now Sammy, thank you John she said, I picked her up from the co-pilots seat,  thanked the captain, and the co-pilot on the way out, also the number one, and took the girl down the plane, Sammy then asked me.

What is your name?

Paul I said, she then said this to me.

Thank you Paul I will remember that the rest of my life, at this the lady burst into tears, I placed Sammy in the wheel chair and walked with them to the exit.

I asked the lady, why do you cry, she told me that Sammy was dyeing of cancer and he flight was for a cure and a trip to disneyland, but the cure, did not work, and Sammy might be dead within the year.

I cried for about an hour!

Facing the dedication plaque of The East Coast Memorial in Battery Park,
sat a navy spiral bound with a worn post-it note upon the cover.
Head slightly tilted, I scoff at the carelessness of some kids.

Intending to toss the book into a bin we keep at the office
filled mostly with hoodies and socks –
don’t ask me how you lose just one, ’cause I don’t know—
I look down upon the cover in my left hand
and notice this phrase, written in a young girl’s script,
“Please take me home, share your journey, then pass me on;”
and I am struck by the naivety of these words.

Flipping the cover open, my eyes are then met with,
“April 24, 2001
My name is Samantha, and I live in Moneta, Virginia. I’m twelve
years old and enjoy science…”

What am I supposed to do with this: a child’s attempt at unifying the world?
Turning the page, the date was now September 10 of the same year,
and the story is of James, a homeschooled old boy from Richmond,
flying up to Colorado to visit with his dad. Tossing


it on a terminal chair near a flight bound for LAX it was found
by a twenty-something named Megan, meeting her twin who had just finished
his second tour in Kuwait. The new mother briefly skimmed
the pages while waiting for her brother, then penned a piece
about who she dreamed her daughter would become:
a surgeon, particularly that of the heart.

Becoming intrigued by this woman, I sat down on the nearest bench
and continued their tale. Seeing John’s flight arrive,
the diary was placed into her pack to be carried home,
before she rushed to greet her closest friend.

Four years later, while cleaning out boxes for a New Year’s resolution,
the journal was thought of and Megan left in the Kroger basket
while she gathered the ingredients to make her great-grandmother’s vegetable soup.
On his way to pick up medication for his father,
a history professor saw it next. Adding a short account
regarding his focus on minorities and women in American History,
Dr. Clark handed the spiral to his niece, who was heading towards Manhattan
to visit her grandfather.

After a five hour flight, an orange duffle bag was placed upon a hardwood floor.
Tales of life left on the living room table, Amy settled in for the night.
A veteran of World War II, Walter is eighty-seven years old
and takes his life moment-by-moment
because that was the only way to survive
with bombs exploding and friends falling dead on either side.

Though he rarely spoke of his time in Germany,
as he sat before a carved eagle,
like he had every morning since its dedication in 1963,
he thought about the men who served under him.
And in this notebook, he wrote their names: every man in his unit,
who did not come home.
Entrusting their stories to another, he finished his walk.

Staring down at this last entry, my mind forgot how to think.
I was overwhelmed that this diary of a twelve year old girl
had somehow managed to become a memorial to those killed in action.

Silent moments passed, and with bound letters still in hand,
I thought about my niece, who lives in Virginia,
about fifteen minutes from this girl called Samantha. I wondered
if they had ever met and if that child had the slightest imaginings
about what passing on her tale would become.

And yet, what was I supposed to write?
How could I follow the somber courage left behind by this man?
And then, as if lighting had flashed above my head, my body jolted
with realization that my tale was theirs.

"If you look closer, you can see my scar. It's a tiny little indention on my right cheek. It's the most flawed thing about me," I told him.*

I was with my best friend, Samantha Jayne. It was her birthday party, and everyone was invited. You could call it a lot of things, but we just said it the best best birthday party ever.
We left school, and a limo pulled up. I swear every girl almost fainted. I tried to make my way next to Sam, but I knew this was her one chance to talk to the popular girls. So, I sat down in the back next to the school loser, Miranda.

The whole limo ride was awful, and I was hoping Sam would pay more attention to me as the night went on. We arrived at Sam's soon, and everyone stepped out of the limo. She was still next to the girls that wanted nothing to do with me.
As the night went on: we danced, sang, and ate.. a lot. Here's where the scar plays its part.

We were all dancing. Almost 40 girls were crammed into one small shed. I was having the time of my life. That was until the lights wen out. I t was all right. We had the strobe lights.
I went to go sit down, and a huge girl bumped right into me. I tried to move out of her way, but she just wouldn't quit dancing. I remember her turning around, and I saw a flash of metal on her teeth. She dove straight for my face with hers, and her braces came clawing through my cheek. Blood instantly began pouring down my face.

*He looked at me, concerned, and said, "Faith, you're beautiful. One tiny scar won't make any difference to me. We could say my baseball hit you. We could say you tried to kiss me, and you fell."
I laughed, and I ran my hands through his brown, curly hair.
"Hey, I love you forever, ok?" I said.
"Forever. It'll always be you and me, girl. Just you and me."

I knew her better than any of you
And maybe her less
I know not when she died
Or how she went
But it seems she just faded away
Slowly and peacefully
Perhaps she isn't fully dead
And she'll make special cameos
But are the dead ever really gone?
She was someone I thought I could call friend
She wasn't
She was mean and cold
She couldn't stand herself
She was hateful and hot headed
And was incapable of love
Because she had little--
If any--
Self-respect
Her heart was broken long before
I thought to save her
She always went for the abusive ones
No matter where she went
Because she thought that was love
She was sarcastic and blunt
To the point of defensive
Because she was scared
Even I could hardly love her
But I did
I say she wasn't a friend
But that's a half-lie
She was definitely the
Back-stabbing kind
She was the girl you didn't want
To be with
And my image is stained
Because of that
I was closer to her than anyone of you
Yet I was also the furthest away
She somehow managed to receive genuine love
But now she is a ghost
Cleaning out the hole in her throat
In my bathroom sink
She can linger for a while
I don't mind
Eventually I'll tell her to disappear
To pack her bags and leave
So,
Miss Samantha Marie Moore
From the kingdom of
Self-Loathe and Negativity,
Rest in Peace
Because you've ******* me over enough
And I am done
Bathing in your aura

2.1.

There ain’t a
chance
My Baby can
dance
But he’s always
looking handsome
in his black t-shirts
of 90s grunge
bands

This is a
Dead mans
land
Taking hits
I can see the
lipstick on the
back of your
hand

Snow White
flesh
My hearts
frost bitten
Noir Princess
It’s been a few
total solar
eclipse since
I’ve been
a rich mans
Mistress

Maybe God is
lonely Baby
Maybe God is
tired Baby
God is lining up
the shots
knocking on
my window
He wants me
to be his lucky
little lady

He likes a
bad *****
who can admit
she’s a little bit
egotistic

My Mother keeps
askin
“Samantha
  have the voices
  come back again”

Well ya Mom but
this time it’s moving
in a different
direction

Were singing in
harmony
Dancing in
ashes
Holding each others
with cold grip
hands

Pale sunrises
And misfortunate
lost souls are
digging for gold
Beware of the
mauvais martyrs
who sacrifice
wilted marigolds

The fugitives invaded me in the
sixties series somewhere on
TV,
one armed bandits
one eyed half wits
we watched it all
Janssen
Thinnes and
that lot on the bins
for
a touch of class.

Alf Garnett
he could be a gas
and Irma down the Street
with her
coronation chicken feet.

Taken over
one channel at a time
sublime?


Well it was all in Black and White,
so we could tell the day from night, but
not real life you understand
just pictures on a screen
now repeated
though I have seen them all before
I watch again
I so adore

**** York

Samantha,
wiggling her nose

Bouquets of barbed wire
tied to a rose.

Top cat smarter than Kojak
and the Flintstones in their
dream homes down in Bedrock.

Knock me up some dreams to dream
and I'll scream ******
Norman Bates
Hitchcock laughed at
those blind dates.

Niven
Cribbens
Poppins

moons and balloons and railway children
who'll then tell me where it went then?
Standing for the Anthem,
auntie Beeb and then some
chips and curry sauce of course
it's how we rolled in
Lancashire

A Fast Moving Train

I was walking along on Avenue D
my mind was on some things left behind
I did not notice you walking my way
when I saw you I nearly lost my mind

a tall good looking **** blonde
with legs that went all the way to the ground
I tried to say hello to you
but my mouth wasn't connected I found

I was hit by a fast moving train
my heart left my body to float in the sky
if only I could have said what was in my brain
now I'm standing here, now I'm left standing here

I turned around and watched you walk away
you glanced back over your shoulder
you gave me a wink and a smile
I was thinking boy I wish I could hold her

I started running just as fast as I can
to catch up and ask you your name
I wanted to know if I could take you out
just call me Samantha, my heart was aflame

I was hit by a fast moving train
my heart left my body to float in the sky
if only I could have said what was in my brain
now I'm in heaven, now I'm in heaven

Gomer LePoet...

I just want to cry tonight
but Winter's almost done
and it will be alright
I'm just so sick and tired
and I ain't trying to fight.

But I'm broken
and it's so hard when I've fallen
and hit the ground so many times
I'm trying baby but I don't think
we'll make it tonight

I'm sad but I've finally learned
to run way out of sight
I'm just really way too damaged
and my wings can't fly
© 2014 Samantha Girouard-Holt

Another day playing chicken
in my head on the tracks
laid out strategically rich
through fog .. woods and city.
I follow nothing but the tracks
today, a few times hitching pretty,
sitting in an open car to smoke
and watch the land and water flash by,
now sunny, then rainy ..
I stay south in the summer climes.
A fight with a Wabash Cannonball
wore me out enough to make me smile,
hands on hips, I ran a mile to get hit
but the train lost again.
Having fun in my head, wanting
to be dead tired, and I am.

Let me sail in your seven seas with my ship,
Because I want to find the meaning of Samantha
**** being healthy, give me your illness!
cause I wanna find the meaning of Samantha
What is your purpose in my life?
Are you meant to be my lover?
O'sweet Samantha!
The sky is so blue because of you, Samantha
And if you serve your purpose of loving me
I will but not only love you too
O'sweet Samantha your beauty sets our souls on fire
I HAVE BEEN BROKEN FOR SO LONG, but there is nothing you can't repair Sweet Samantha
Design me into your prince charming
I bet you never saw this coming!
WHO SAID CINDERELLA LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER?!
WELL, THEY FORGOT TO SAY IT WAS ME AND MY SWEET SAMANTHA  
Together! Forever!