In a last ditch effort, I
Spread myself thin,  mistakenly
Dreaming up elephant scenarios.
Are you for real?
Because I think you just wished
Yourself into existence
Like a wooden puppet
With an existential nose.
Delightfully androgynous hobos
Light my days up
But I have no extra cash!
I am going to the races today
And I must bet on the winning horse.

I know you don't see me the way I see you
I know you don't love me the way I love you
I know you don't waste hours by hours crying over me
I know your smile and your laughter are not for me

And I know all of these scenarios that I have made
in between my dreams and my sleeps
are not true
And I know my dream is just a dream
and soon, it will be fading away

But I will still admire the way you chase the sun
I will still admire the smile you wear when you see the stars
I will still admire your aura that reminds me
with the bright sunflowers in summer days
I will still admire the way sunlight peeks around your eyes
and the way sunrays play with your brown hair

I will still admire the way you are;
a beautiful person who changes my world,
and also my perspective in life
And even if you don't feel the same about me,
It is okay.

Having a creative mind that thinks of multiple scenarios of being with someone is good for being a writer, but bad for being a person.

Fear, Is a battle.
Fear is a Disease.
My disease.

Fear, puts me in places,
That I know I shouldn't be in.
Like I woke up in a dark attic, not knowing how I got there, or why.

See, it's not...things...I'm afraid of.
It's not people, or pain, or injury, or death.

Fear puts thoughts in you, that are totally and completely out of character, until they begin changing how you define yourself.

I am,
The fearful.
I am,
The untrusting.

Trust and fear come hand in hand, but purvey the opposite effects of one another.
Trust, puts fear to sleep. A silent, peaceful slumber. A place fear would rather be anyway. Trust allows you to see what is hopefully the truth in others.

Ah...you see. "Hopefully." There is that little seed of doubt.

Fear is the abusive sibling of the relationship. Always hanging over trust's shoulder, whispering worst-case scenarios in his ear.
In mine, it takes trust's confidence and gently, throws it into the nearest garbage can.

Trust is powerful.
But fear cuts deep.

When trust, faith, in someone is broken...
Well...we've all been there at some point.
When trust is broken, he half-heartedly stumbles to his bed, and stays there. Not asleep. Just, broken.

At this point fear doesn't have to do a thing.
Anytime you look inside yourself, since trust is gone, the only thing left is fear, just...sitting there.

Normally trust...gets up and brushes himself off to try again, especially with the help of friends.

But, in a few of us...


In a few of us, trust falls asleep, and disappears.
Hope, the half-sibling tries and tries to wake him up, to no avail.
Trust is gone.
Fear just sits there. Doing nothing, but doing everything.

Hope is a stubborn one, and pushes, and pushes, and pushes.
Sometimes it works.
Sometimes, it doesn't.

Fear. Trust.
They walk, hand in hand.
Toe, to toe.

I am,
The fearful.
I am,
The untrusting.

Hope, through valiant effort, keeps on trying.
Her energy is not limitless.

At times like these...
Hope, is not enough.

Trust has died.
The only way, to restore the balance,
Is for another's heart to come forth, and share their trust.

It's not fair, asking your trust to keep my fear in check, as well as yours, It just isn't.
At times like these,

I need the trust of someone,
Who is willing to share,
With one, who trusts no one.

Here we go again
Not a single word in sight
No attempt at contact
Did I do something wrong?
Or are you ignoring me
Am I too clingy for you?
I don't believe a simple "Hello"
Every once in a while
Is considered too much
Maybe you're busy
And I'm overreacting
I can't help
But to worry myself sick
All these what if scenarios
Only to conclude you are alright
The sun resets itself
Leaving us another cyclical day
Of worry and ignorance

It’s a struggle waking up everyday
It’s a struggle having to smile
It’s a struggle to hold back familiar tears
I’m tired of living a lie

I entertain these bizarre thoughts
Dreams and scenarios in my head
Such a mess, such confusion
The same thing over and over again

I wish I could stop obsessing
I wish I actually had a life
God, I wish I could let you go
And finally cut all ties

But in reality, I know what I’ll do
It’s gonna be hard to closeup
I’m sick of always having around
You’re just a toy I’ll never give up

Fear
Judged by irrationality
Hidden in accidental oversights
Feeding the dragon that leaks molten lava in salty streaks of regret
Fear
Empty wasted emotion
Saving ourselves from ourselves
Saving you from me
Worst case scenarios never included you punishing me at the sight of my weakness
Fear
You only love me beautiful
Love is a profound type of collective psychosis
Looks like strength but hides the truth
The truth that certainty is the truest delusion
Fear
On my best day, in the best possible scenario, I am still invisible
Open and still transparent
Full and still forgotten
Insightful and irrelevant my thoughts pour out unheard
Fear
In my demon's shadows lives the truth of my vulnerability
I am weak because I love you
I am a warrior because you love me
I am strong because I love you
I am a lamb because you love me
Fear
Spilling my unseen secrets
My evil self-talk, my mantra of honest lies
The purr of a kitten unsettles a soul beginning to believe it mattered
Pain dismissed in the peaceful snores of a tired moon
Fear
The sun shines in hope on the remnants of dream
On the nightmare of forgotten, overlooked, inconsequential truth
Empty apologies and the familiarity of beloved anguish
Herald the realization, that words don't matter
Truth or lies, faithless faithful, and a newfound silence
Fear
Invisible save for the ash lines that tell the tale
Of how I begged forgiveness for sharing my tormented and twisted mind
Only to be interrupted by the sounds of your peaceful slumber
Fear**
To be everything to your everything
and realize I am still........nothing at all

Let's see..
well,

..there's the writer who never gave a **** about anybody but himself

..and the writer who had a fetish for pouring melted candlewax onto her own toes, while being watched by her cat

..and the writer who owned a chimpanzee named Tom, one afternoon when the writer wasn't home, Tom frenzied around the house chasing down a moth, this caused obvious concern to the neighbors, who heard the commotion last for an hour or maybe more, ah well..

..and the writer who began experimenting with a dream machine, but stopped upon feeling his brain's physical presence within his own skull, weighty, and terrifyingly colorful!

..and the writer who did the same thing, except kept going and found herself bored with it after a while anyways

..and the writer who broke down out front of a Walgreens in reaction to a phone call detailing a nearby tragedy involving two cars + a logging truck (and a tad of ******* but shhhhh) grief was part of that performance, but also in knowing he may have been directly responsible for the crash (coke was given by him, to the driver)

..and the writer who experienced the best ****** of his life without even a single poke of physical contact to his ****!

..and the writer who became addicted to biting her knuckles, to the point she needed to see someone about it

..and the writer who filed for divorce after finding out that his lover had caught numerous ****** infections/diseases (and only having been told by their cousin, too! probably from two recent trips to South America unbeknownst to their partner)

..and the writer who had a hobby of taking photographs of lampshades of varying textures, ages, sizes, and which emitted sometimes very exotic colors from the bulb inside.

..and the writer who never left his city, due to a paralyzing fear of travel

..and the writer who fell in love with another writer who was in love with someone else (as is usually the case)

..and the writer who passed away yesterday
..and the writer who will pass away tomorrow

..and the writer who admired the work of Charles Bukowski and tried too hard to be like Charles Bukowski, at the peril of those around him

..and the writer who's family hasn't messaged her in a few months now, and continues to wonder why

..and the writer who's favorite song was "I'm So Happy (Tra La La)" by Lewis Lymon & The Teen Chords, though in reality she was never happy (let alone SO happy) and often played the song as a front to convince herself that everything would be just fine
"JUST AS HAPPY AS CAN BE"

..and the writer who never knew they were a writer and never wrote anything in their life but **** it if they did!

..and the writer who's favorite month was July, favorite day Saturday, and time of day at around 2pm

..and the writer who's last words were never written down or heard by anyone outside their secluded office to which he screamed "HELP!!!" and then died from heart attack

..and the writer who actually lived only three blocks away and was good friends with the guy, and found his door unlocked and the smell came first

..and the writer who found it funny to imagine getting involved in certain scenarios inappropriately contrasted with specific songs, settings, or themes. An example: funerals where everyone shows up in clown costumes, sunbathing in the Arctic, being invited to a nice dinner and the restaurant is playing loud shoegaze music, closely befriending the person you hate the most in the world just to see if you can, and bringing a large cage of parrots to see a movie with you

..and the writer who really DID some of those things mentioned above (I won't say which)

..and the writer who wrote about all these other writers (me)

..and the writer who may be reading about all these other writers (you)

What I felt for him was like a galaxy of longing. A galaxy filled with thoughts and scenarios that would never play out the way I wanted to; but a galaxy nonetheless. As he sat in the chair perfectly aligned with the wall, I wondered about every possible thing I could’ve said in that moment, but I said nothing. I sat on the floor in front of him, looking down at the floor. I thought about telling him so many things, but once again only silence escaped my lips. He stared intently at his homework on his lap. He looked up for one solemn moment and said “I need to tell you something,” and he started talking about his brothers and sisters and he told me how he loved me and at that moment in time, anything he said after that was irrelevant. When he finished speaking, I said, “I love you too,” with a glimmer in my eye and the smallest smile on my lips. His face dropped, and I realized he didn’t mean it the way I did. I quickly added, “As a good friend though,” trying not to look surprised or saddened. But it was too late, and I was sitting there on the floor trying not to show my emotions. “I didn’t mean it that way, I don’t like you like that. I didn’t think you would take it that way; it’s why I said it after I mentioned my brother and sister. I meant it in a family way. I’m sorry.”  I stared at him for the longest time, questioning the different things I could say to him to make him feel better; I came up with nothing. I hated that feeling; I hated that feeling so much I hate it when I want to say something but I cant, because I cant think of anything to say, because the words get thick in my throat and every single nerve in my body is telling me not to say it. I hate it when you don’t know what to say and all that’s left in the room is the empty silence.  I hate it so much.
❦
I called him a week after the incident and asked him if he had anything to do.
“I cant do anything this week, I’m really busy sorry.” There was a moment of silence before I answered him, “Oh…” I didn’t mean to sound sad, but I did, and he knew why. He got angry with me, and he told me to stop. He told me to stop trying to make things happen that wont, to stop wasting time over someone that doesn’t feel the same towards you as you do to them, to stop making scenarios in my head, to stop wanting someone that didn’t want you, to stop waiting. And I hung up the phone, and I did. I stopped. I stopped doing all of that; and I ran. I ran through my neighborhood and thought about all of the things I should let go of. I ran through the meadows and the valley and the creeks until I had nothing left to think about. And I got a lot of things done that day; I pulled my life back together.

I've constructed all these scenarios in my mind that make it my fault why you left
but each one ends in false contradictions
you did have a valid reason
i just didn't want to hear it because it broke my heart

and i asked you what you would do if i never spoke to you again
as we were laying in bed morphed together into one being
and you simply said
"i would move on"
those words made me retract into the being i had just hatched from
because i had contorted my mind into thinking this was something that neither of us would just be able to "move on" from

it turns out it was just me
and you are the one that stopped talking to me
now i have to figure out how to live your words
we both know my answer wouldn't have been so simple

I walked home
With my suit and tie
About a few kilometers from where I was

Looking straight ahead,
Because I'm scared of ghosts or "spirits"
I walked fast, brisk-walked;
Scared of people that might harm me,


I slowed down,
Walked normally
Then,
Slowly,
Slowly, and
Slowly,
I stopped.
Paused for a moment,


Why be scared of something you created?
Why be scared of your thoughts?
Why be afraid of scenarios you made?

Lastly,
I looked at myself,
From top to bottom,
I told myself,
"Suit and tie, baby"
Got nothing to be scared about, **CONFIDENCE

Whenever I see your face I itch to sin.
I would inhale the saltiness of your skin, and the spice your chest radiates.
I would memorize how your ribs ripple when you groan.
I would pray silently that behind each closed door your fingers will crawl all over me.
I would do it all and much more just so I know what it's like to sin after seeing your face.
I would love to know what you desire when you see my face.
Do you want my submission slipping from my lips?
Do you hunger for the heave of my chest, or do you pine for the arch of my foot?
Do these thoughts ever beckon you like they do to me?
If they do, why don't we take the trip together?
Why don't we uncover the pins and needles behind our masks, and revel in the fragility of our bodies?
Why don't we stitch together words that tumble between bated breaths, and lay them down underneath these stained sheets?
Why don't you trace your fingers along my backbone, while I hope you can coax it to act out against you?
If only I could hear what you think when our eyes meet, if only I can sketch out the itch to sin that suddenly invades me.

these western leftist,
make us former commies...
look... really really
******* bad...

        my grandfather,
who was abandoned by his
father, spewed by the lies
of his father's brother,
found some stability
in the communist party...

sometimes did jury duty...
the communist party
gave him a house... etc. etc.,
but this, "thing" in the west?
the dissonance conundrum
of creating a collective hive?

it doesn't, and it will never work...
i already said this,
but i'll say it again...
communism does work...
but in only one instance...
post-war countries,
esp. given the plight of
Syria...
                
           it's a transitory period...
so the Syrian baker
can trust the ******* Syrian
taxi cab driver, once again...
communism is not a failure
in that it's applied as
a fail-safe concept,
a rebuilding mechanism,
  
like Poland... 1945...
through to circa 1990...
    it worked...
  **** it worked...
  eastern Europe didn't
receive funds from the American
Marshall Plan...

but Sweden and Switzerland
did...
   i thought they were neutral
countries in the conflict?

communism is a failure if its not
considered a recovery economy,
or rather:
    there's no or other at this point...

in post-war scenarios,
it's the only egalitarianism that works
in the short-end...
this is not English style of
egalitarian idealism...
   (a term i borrow from German
idealism of Kant)...
            no... the English don't know
that their egalitarian idealism
doesn't work...
it's too soft...
the war was harsh...
you're not going to rebuild
the same civic plateau with capitalism,
of a country that was either:
invaded by a foreign power,
or imploded into chaos via
a breach of ethnic-civility...

you can't rebuild Syria with
foreign intervention...
communism is far from a failure
of ideology...
   it was always supposed
to instigate a transitional
period, a post-scriptum...
   a communism can exist,
successfully, for... roughly 50 years...
once the tragedy passes...

and then the free markets can
take over, capitalism can have its
"stage fright", or rather its
wild west...
            but not before the circa 50
years are over...
  a Syrian baker,
   must begin a civil dialectic with
a Syrian taxi driver...
no amount of foreign intervention
will solve the problem...

it's not like you can reuse
the rubble to rebuild the same houses...
sure... the darkest hour
in Poland under communism was
when martial law (stan wojenny)
was implemented by
Wojciech Jaruzelski
(Roy Orbison, no, really,
Roy Orbison)...
food-stamps, long queues at supermarkets
rationing... only white vinegar on
the shelves of supermarkets...
the whole presupposition of war
against the Soviets,
  counter measures to
      avoid the instances of
the Hungarian / Czechoslovakian
occupation / suppression...
   the Parisian spirit of '68...
every time i look into your loving eyes,
one look, from you,
  i drift... away!
    i pray, that you, are here, to stay!
anything you want, you got it...
anything you need, you got it...
anything at all, you got it...
   bay.................................. be!

western Europe received pittance
pay-checks from H'america...
eastern Europe received the hard graft of
communism...
             and it worked...
because it was supposed to work
for the 50 or so years that it did work...
when it stopped working...
my home town lost roughly 20K
   metalwork jobs...
  the metalwork factory was scrapped,
cut up, sold to foreign investors...
Celsa? i believe that's a Spanish company...

some people grew old, retired,
some went on the dole,
some became homeless,
some migrated to other parts of the country,
otherwise took the bold route
and emigrated to other parts of
Europe and the world...
a town dies, the people disperse
if in a dispersing worthy age...

     but i turn on the tube...
and listen to all these leftist lunatics,
and i'm like...          what?!
communism works,
   it works, in exceptional circumstances,
and like i said, before an equal
footing competition market resurfaces,
you're getting ****...
             this is not to suggest that
communism is at odds with capitalism...
apparently... it never was!

         but... you can't rebuild
Syria with capitalism...
  first you have to return to a commonly
shared civility, a counter to what
already exists in the English egalitarian idealism...
best represented as:

a 200m race at the Olympics...
all the competitors walk an equal
pace for 100m...
        and the next 100m?
they do their sprint, they compete!
but not until communism creates
a basis for a mutual trust of civility
between a Syrian baker,
and a Syrian taxi driver...

      capitalism and outright
competition will never solve the problem...
because outright competition
creates nothing more than
an dystopian: post-apocalyptic
mad max: fury road endless cycle of
recurring opportunists...

scavengers...
                      it works... in periods of
roughly 50 years...
what... and capitalism isn't prone
to its own timescales of economic crashes?!
see...
             even capitalism has hiccups...
but like i said:
    communism works...
for time periods, post-scriptum of
the damaging events...
                        under exceptional circumstances
of it being necessarily implemented...
like world war II... the Syrian civil war;
and only then!

****... my grandfather and all the other
school children, actually cried
when news hit the country about Stalin's death...
i have access to an actual ****** source,
what do you have?
  a target of ridicule,
        donning a che guevara t-shirt
who still hasn't rid himself of acne?

“It was so quiet, one of the killers would later say, you could almost hear the sound of ice rattling in cocktail shakers in the homes way down the canyon.”

William Garretson was the gardener of 10050 Cielo Drive, in Los Angeles, a summer house rented by Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate. He lived in the guest house on the property. On August 9th, 1969, members of the Manson family visited the residence and brutally murdered all the inhabitants, as well as Garretson’s friend Steve Parent. Garretson claims he had no knowledge of the murders that night. He is the only survivor of the Tate Murders.

your screams sounded
like fiberglass breaking
an almost impossible noise
like a hemorrhage at midnight
i was walking through the garden
and i swear
i heard the neat click
when he severed the phone line
if only i had known

i have thought up one hundred scenarios
in which i saved your life
but there is only one
when i don't
and every night i try to justify this reality
because i could have sworn
the sound of their boots
on the steel fence
was the telephone
ringing

when they saw the headlights
swerve over the lawn
steve was as good as dead
shattered like a lightbulb
under pressure
four shots pressed into his forehead
a candid bullet kissed him faceless
his absence was
a tell tale piquancy of slaughter
i lay in bed that night
and turned my face to the wall
when i heard the screams

tell me i reek coward
say the raw red skin of my knuckles
shaved away from the foundation of my raised veins
as i sat through another police interrogation
are nothing compared to the red poppy
that blossomed in the center of his chest
call me callous
but i will never forgive myself
for trimming the flowers
that sat innocent on the coffee table
in the middle of a mass grave
all i can say is
i was just the gardener

i found her
blooming on the living room floor
the baby cut
weeping from her umbilical cord
still attached to mother and father
by a rope traveling from neck to neck
thorny slices of fetal skin
peppering the carpet
blood sprays still wet
were soaking into the wooden door
sadism comes in many
limp limbed contortions
but only one color
and i saw *HIS smile
carved in the cavity
of her stomach
i swear to god
i wish i could say
i didn't see it coming

i found the severed tendons
of his fingers
suspended in the eerie light
of the swimming pool
pruned like overripe plums
the remnants of his face
scattered across the driveway
like taraxacum seeds
their bodies all
hanging like wilted stems
broken xylems hinged to sepals
by threads of sap
running down uprooted ligaments
there is not enough therapy in this world
to cure the silence in the garden
upon the aftermath of execution

the shapes of murders' footprints
left raised beds in my shoulder blades
manure smeared ***** across my lips
every flower i have ever planted since
has languished in the smell of your corpses
melded into the callouses
of my finger tips
i am just the gardener
and i am all broken anthers
petals shriveled, toxic
call me a survivor
but there is blood inside my filaments

Is there a natural virility to the fertilities of the inductions of space time’s continuums?  Is this a microcosmic phenomenon or more dependent on the depths of pervasion of its macrocosmic relativities.  Perhaps there is a unifying field theory we are not yet aware of which explains how it paradoxically is a little bit of both.  Regardless, given the fact that there probably was no beginning to the universe then quite literally an eternity has already passed.  So why then, given our understanding of the physics of physical interaction, is not all in a state of complete entropy?  
     This afore mentioned fecundity must exist.  Further in it’s quite likely the cause of physical existence as we know it.  I have a theory: This creationism occurs at such an imperceptible rate that positive eons of quadrillions of ages must pass in order for the cosmos to replenish its stockpile of physical matter (possibly matter without atomic structure as we know it) so that a new cycle of infinite big bangs in infinite space can occur.  Ushering in a new 500 billion to trillion year cycle of physical existence as we know it.  Further again, perhaps the implosion’s contraction’s revisions are the cause of the atomic structure of matter we experience during this new physical cycle.
      The thought of such quantum leaps to me for the intensities of physical matters existence and catalytic capabilities.  
     Granted your not going to find these speculations touted as fact in a Wikipedia excerpt.  The answers are in fact unknown.  I’m merely being hypothetically thoughtful with what I’ve learned of possibilities prospectus.   Given these truths allow me to hypothesize further.  
     It seems to me that the evolution of the organic morphologies of biological ontogeny were created by a conceptually reflective derivative (or perhaps antiderivative on the interpolations of integration) of functional physical mechanics.  That perhaps the creative force behind their inception (similar to the afore mentioned natural inductions of space time’s continuums) was the physical realism of and or the residual harmonic vibrations of kinetic supremacy.  
     Consider, the planet we’re on is revolving at approximately 60,000 miles per hour relative to the sun, the solar system we inhabit is revolving at approximately 500,000 miles per hour around the center of our galaxy.  Our galaxy is traveling at approximately 1,332,000 miles per hour through space with our local group of galaxies and revolving at approximately 216,000 miles per hour around the center of mass of this group of galaxies.  All this to give you some conception of the kinetic actualities of our planet’s trajectory’s extant as a projectile.  We have an almost incredible amount of potential or kinetic energy that is generated by our physical velocity through space.  Although we don’t seem to be aware of the impending preponderances of this realism as tellurian denizens it is nonetheless fact to our intellectual relativities.  
     Once again perhaps the actuality of and or the residual harmonic vibrations of the actuality of this phenomenon are the impetus behind the evolution of the organic morphologies of biological ontogeny.  We don’t know for certain how the first amino acids were formed.  Much less how these acids in the primordial soup made the quantum leap to living existence as biological organisms.  Once again I hypothesize it was a conceptually reflective derivative (or antiderivative) of the creationism behind functional physical mechanics.  e.g. the natural inductions of space time continuum and the quantum leaps created by the implosion’s contraction’s revisions of our big bang.
     By now you may be wondering why I have extrapolated these hypothetical scenarios about the physical creationism of our universe and the perceived similarly analogous state of organic and biological origins, so I’ll tell you.  I hoped it might make the dissertation I’m about to make on the fecundities of the corporeally preternatural and perhaps metaphysical inclinations of our sentient race easier to comprehend.
     With the advent of biological organisms the diversity of physical existence has apparently exceeded its physical complexity.  Understanding has evolved.  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integral forms.  Being a firm believer in evolution this phenomenon makes me wonder: Is the impetus behind the genetic anomalies that influence the seemingly positive nature of natural selection’s progression a pervasion from the social contiguities of a species? Perhaps a random occurrence with no discernable precedent?  Or, more likely even, the equivocal nature of the superior essence of the ontological state of the beings involved?
     Though many believe that it is truly a random occurrence I have a tendency to want to believe otherwise.  That just as there is a natural fecundity to the induction of space time’s continuum there is a positively oriented inclination integral to evolutional progression.  A sort of élan vital on the orthogenesis overtures.  Granted it is somewhat dependant on the phenological nature of environment but improvements occur which have little to do with the ability to cope with the weather.    
      So is there such a thing as élan vital as it relates to ethology’s entelechy?  Is there any benefit for humanoid demagoguery in pursuing zoomorphic zoolotry as a social contiguity?  Can we actually make accession to transcendentally existential ascension?
     The obvious answer would appear to be yes, at least in partiality.  Maybe we’re incapable (at present) of assimilating incorporeity ideology’s non-corporeal states and existing as godlike disembodied spirits (who perhaps have not lost their proclivity for corporeally preternatural being) but social relativities are an evolving state.  Truly the better we treat each other the better off all will be.  Now I’m not talking about being a bunch of fawning sycophants or schmaltzy schlep-it-ness schmucks, more like the swanky saunter obsequious diligence could indentured servant sail lend to all.  Not given because it’s mandated but because it’s the essence of social contiguity’s evolution.  Granted the individual must remain sacrosanct.  Our metaphysical prowess is at best hypothetical.  Actual magic is not a tool in our kit-bag though I aspire to such everyday as I attempt to be teleportation real with my telepathy to the demons I appear to be confronted with.  I site clairaudience clairvoyance on the vicinity victuals of vigilante villain, the propinquity habitations of harbinger’s harangued, the proximity parameters of perimeter’s peripherals, why I’ll even throw in the objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iotas of self inductive interstitial extrapolation, and if that doesn't get it I'll talk about the embark embargo extraditions and the extraversion embezzling euthanasia extortions.  The thought of such spatiotemporal telemetry tactician.  Protractive analyses of dimensional delineation on the terrestrial equestrian.  Tellurian terrene!!
     The obvious realisms of all of this are that we are indeed capable of making these quantum leaps armed practical magic.  I say lets fecundity get down to it.  Exserted protuberances of erotica erectile errantry, the vibrant volition of verve.  I’ve had enough of vapid flatulence and insidiously sinister archaic.  Mankind’s inability to supersede his developing anachronism may well be the cause of his demise!!!  We’ll become theosophy’s theophany incarnate, the ecstatic euphorias of corporeally preternatural’s enigma entity on the identity crisis!!!!

Greenish hills and alice blue skies
whimsical faeries wander along the timberlands
play hide and seek around pine groves
brimming the atmosphere with liquid of blithe.

a pair of cerulean eyes glitter under a lucid sun,
and reflected a thousand rainbows.
the feet you danced, headed forth to the ethereal grounds.
in those fleecy palms held a bouquet of fresh peonies.
as the wind huffs and grins, the fruit trees leafs begin to compose
as if in an orchestra house.
around my body flew a rabble of butterflies, your psyche is surreal.

"You came back"
I grasp to his muscular limbs, to fracture and to feel with seraphic love.

By the night the archaic moon hangs, all my dreamless night pulverized.
gory scenarios in my brain surrendered for an escape.

My heart pumps, my collarbones shrieks,
on our old bed, up-down, up-down, in-out, in-out....
"ah." the hue of a merry-go-round.


As the summer reborn, the reality seizes..
                    our love is immortal without a fullstop

-l.r

SCENARIOS OF NATURE

Wages of sin; death
After death; judgement
Good living; long life
Long life; epitome of truth

Sunset; leaves clap
Mid-day; busy wind
Sun down; cool breeze
Late evening; busy streets

Night fall; sleep yawns
Mid-night; owl's time
Owl's time; evil hours
Night fall; journey rest

Now; the dawn of the day...
Church bell calling a-high
Cockerels crowing a-loud
The cloud hissing-out dews

Humans; tussling and hustling
Activities; here and there
Time is of the essence...
In the "scenarios of nature" .

As written by
KELLY JUUZ
©2016

[A salient prolific author...]

What's wrong with you?
Who do you think you are?
Look, he thinks he's tough,
he thinks he knows everything
Seriously who does he think he is
Do you think you're Prince Regent
You think you're a hard man, yeah!
How dare you, how ****** dare you
You wanna mess with us, do you, big man

Don't you know who we are!
We the business, we're more than you
We ****** rule the ******* ****** world
We rule your ***, we make and bend the law
We take and we give, we are the ****** *******
We block and you're finished, no ****** ****, no life
We come from the South, East, West  and ****** North
We are gangsters and we got the contacts and the contracts
When we say jump, you ask, how ****** high should I jump

Look this ****** small geezer playing with us
How dare you making us feel frustrated and stupid
We'll got all kinds of mind **** ready to do your head in
How dare you not play ball, a woman set up to wind you up
Now we're not getting inside gossip and juicy stories to use
Now all the women waiting eagerly to hear bedroom gossip
are all disappointed cause you are not following the ****** plot
We can't bend your head and frustrate you and stress you out
You ****** small man, you're not even tall and you wanna diss us.

Who are you you little ******
We spend all our valuable time taunting you
We try and depress and torment you and you laugh
What do you want, do you wanna mess with People's Power
We can make you disappear if we want, do you know that big boy
We put all kind of moves on yer and yet you struts like a king
We harass your ****** mind and try to demoralize you
Listen sunshine you better stop being such a ******* smart ***
You think you ******* know everything, making us look stupid.

You better watch out, you better watch ****** out
Cause ain't no Santa coming for you, we are the Rulers
And we hate you and your big ******* ****, you ain't got *****
You are costing us ****** money, time and energy, you effin ****
Do you know some of us sit all day thinking up ways to get at you
Do you know some wait in the ****** cold to watch you all day
You think its easy having to think up nonsensical things to write
Or making up all kinds of scenarios all because of you *******
You think you are superman, Atlas and Einstein rolled into one!

Do you, George, Answer me George.....answer Me!!!

Here is an alternate scenario
Since the ideal one is too clichéd
10 years later you walk into a party
With a girl who isn’t perfect but you love her for who she is
And I look and wonder why you couldn’t love my imperfections like that
Even though you told me I was beautiful at my weakest
Why couldn’t you love me for it?
I see you two dancing in the low light
And I look towards my best friend
And she says **** it man
And I say yeah man, **** it all
And I get drunk even though alcohol is overrated and pepsi is much better
I do it because the haziness makes it funny instead of heartbreaking
And I’m laughing
Dancing on my own
A complete mess
And then I start talking about how I never got guys
And then I start crying because I want to be her
Gosh, I want to be her and alcohol doesn’t help at all
And my best friend has to take me home and tug me in
I wake up the next morning
We’re back to who we were
I never say how much I love you
You never realise how much I love you
And I get back to saying
“You know, I wonder what it feels like to be in love with someone who loves you back”
Maybe you loved me back in an alternate universe

So young and newly married
Hanging on by the thread of love
Sometimes though in life we see
That thread isn't wound tight enough

Through the daily struggles
Most of them unseen
What happened to the newlywed
Where went all the dreams

Holding on
Barely holding on...

A father and husband out of work
A family living out of the car
Is this the American dream we've built
Is this now where we are

Cardboard serves a purpose
As a bed and a homemade sign
To keep the cold off of the floor
Hey brother can you spare a dime

Holding on
Barely holding on...

The doctors diagnosis
Doesn't give much hope for life
Just a simple six months ago
There was no thought of dying

Even less hope in your case
Just prolonging time
You could spend what little you have left
Or go ahead and say your goodbyes

Holding on
Barely holding on...

No matter your life's lot
The position that you hold
We're all in the same boat on the same stream
Trying to stay afloat

There are so many different scenarios
Which could haunt many a page
That in life continually follow us
Throughout all our days of

Holding on
Barely holding on...

I'd like to think I'm going to marry somebody who loves all the same things I do, somebody who is 'perfect' for me. But that's the thing about love, it's forever changing and there is no such thing as perfect, just commitment. It isn't about finding somebody who is just like you, its finding somebody whose different. Love is finding somebody who grows you and stretches you, it's not always about the bubbly stuff movies make love out to be.
I bet you my future spouse will hate Star Wars, they'll probably tell me that I need to get a shed to put my Star Wars collection in. They'll probably tell me it can be like my own humble abode away from the madness of kids (if we have any) or from the cluttered house. I bet you they'll smile and graze my arm while trying to convince me; and I will be convinced. I'll move my collection I spent years adding to into a shed because I love the person who hates that my collection clashes with our house.
I'll turn on the radio while we're driving and when my favorite song comes on I'll turn it up and sing my heart out. And just because they know it's my favorite they won't change it, even though they absolutely hate it.  
I'll tell my spouse I want a writing studio and they'll protest and say they hate waking up in the middle of the night wondering why I'm scribbling words onto paper instead of holding them close. But even though they don't like waking up alone they'll let me have my own studio because they know that I love writing as if it were a part of my very soul.
My spouse will probably be reserved and hate taking risks, but I'll beg them to come on adventures with me. After debating endlessly about safety and risk involved we'll probably settle for a living room camp out because they don't like bugs and the smell of a musty old tent is enough to make it seem realistic. I'll probably protest and complain but still gladly embark on a pretend camping adventure because it's not where you are but who you're with.
When we go on vacation you'll complain that I always force you to take unnecessary risks. You'll hate that I take you to underwater caverns because you're worried we'll somehow get trapped. I'll scare the hell out of you most times but you'll remember that's why you love me, because I'm a constant adrenaline seeking adventurer. You won't always embark on the adventures with me, but you'll always be there by my side seeing it through your perspective, and we'll always share what it's like through our eyes. I'd like to think that hearing my energized booming voice talk about jumping off a 60ft waterfall will be enough of a thrill for you.
I won't want to cuddle with you because I get hot easily. You'll  still hold me close because you know how much I love your scent and the steady rhythm of your breathing coaxing me to sleep. I'll wake up in the middle of the night give you a kiss on the forehead and probably sit on our bathroom tub with a cup of coffee  just thinking about how lucky I am.
You'll think its weird that I need to drink coffee to help me sleep. You'll hold my leg down while we're in important meetings or church just like my mother always has. You'll give me the look that says "stop shaking" and I'll try my best to, but I'll probably start back up in 5 minutes. You won't entirely understand my ADHD and constant need to move, but you'll think it's charming that I'll always be up before you with your coffee already prepared the way you like it. I hope you'll like coffee as much as I do, but in reality you probably wont. So I'll make you tea instead, and if drinks aren't your thing I'll make you breakfast. I'm sure you'll feel like you married a child who is always hyper and it'll royally **** you off most days but you'll remember that's the reason you we're so intrigued by me. You liked that I reminded you of childhood and what it's like to have fun.
I'll still drag you to the toy store when we're 40 and I'll use our kids as an excuse (if we have them). I'll tell you that toys are important for a child to develop normally, but in reality I'll just want to chase you down the isles with some super hero mask and a plastic sword. I'll end up buying you a tacky key chain that you'll hate, but you'll keep it on your keys because it'll remind you of what a goober I am.
I imagine you'll hate the cold, you won't want to go snowboarding with me, instead you'd stay in cabin cozied up to the fireplace with a book and warm cider. I'll beg you to just try it a couple times and you will, I hope you end up liking it but if you don't maybe you'll still enjoy being in a place I love so much. You'll love being places tropical full of sun and peaceful ocean noises, and I'll hate it. I'll complain about heat rashes and the humidity but I'll shut up the second your eyes light up when you peer at the ocean from our hotel balcony.
We'll probably fight more than 50% of our relationship, maybe not fights but bickering arguments. When I'm driving you'll be yelling and screaming about how terrible or a driver I am. And when you drive I'll complain about how much of a grandma driver you are. We'll bicker about what kind of milk to buy and if we should buy organic produce or just the regular kind. We'll argue about music, movie choices, and travel plans, but it won't be terrible fighting that end with tears and broken plates, it'll end with the cold shoulder for 5 minutes then settle back to normal. We will **** each other off to no end, but we'll love so deeply. I'll always think I'm right when we argue, and I can't wait for all the times you'll put me in my places. I can't wait for a life with you, full of love and compromises.

Dear you,
I promise that I wont always be an *******, even though you'll probably be a bigger one. We'll go out to eat and make up ridiculous scenarios about people just to entertain ourselves. We'll simultaneously get annoyed with people who are ignorant, and we'll spend countless days and nights laughing about how terrible we are. We will argue and we will fight, but we will never go to bed mad, that has to be in our wedding vowels or something. We always have to be willing to try new things for each other, even if it sounds terrible. We will always find our way back to each other, even after a long sleepless night of arguing. When you say you love me on our wedding day you will always mean it, so if the fire burns out you have to promise that you'll always be willing to find it again. I know I'm a pain in the *** and I'm hard to love but I promise I will love you so deeply and fully. Nobody ever said marriage would be easy, but that doesn't mean I'm not willing to sacrifice 'easy' for you. I'm ready to embark on a journey of a life time with you no matter how hard it gets. I love you, you dumb ****.

Only my pillow knows of the late nights staring at the ceiling, of the silent tears rolling until tiredness knocks me out.
Of the scenarios I plot that most likely will never happen.
Only my pillow knows because my diary is hidden under it.
Of the dreams where you realize its been long enough and come looking for me.
Only my pillow knows and doesnt get tired of the same subject everynight, only she gets what I feel and stays in silence while I weep.
Only my pillow knows I hit snooze cause I want to keep dreaming of you. Only she knows that every morning you are my first thought.
What my pillow doesnt know but my car stereo does is that everyday I try to find music that doesn't remind me of you, that I fake a smile as long as the day lasts until I get back home to the only one that knows the truth.

Spending the last day with Maegan Finn,*
who, turns out, prefers to be called Mae

11:35 p.m.

I burn the popcorn. Just the pieces against the bag's underbelly.
Like a nightclub bouncer, I decide which pieces to let inside
a white, ancient bowl. One, on which, a former roommate scrawled
"THIS MACHINE KILLS MUNCHIES" upon its side in red, permanent ink.
I never said the night would be

perfect. But when I walk into my bedroom carrying the snack fiasco,
I know Ms. Maegan Finn doesn't mind. Something between her vine-framed,
honey irises and my gaze, some mischievous energy, causes her to lower
her head. She allows a smile. She's sitting on my twin-sized bed. Her back to a pillow
to the

wall. An empty pillow beside her waits for me. With one hand she moves her hot chocolate
to the side, with the other she lifts my calico comforter for me to climb under. I never
said the night would be

perfect. But I know Ms. Maegan Finn doesn't mind. Because when I say, "I'm sorry. I didn't really plan for this," nervous laugh, "this is the worst final meal of all-time. You can leave if you want.
You don't have to go down with the ship."

She responds, "I don't mind," raises an eyebrow as she reads the bowl. Dismisses it. And grabs a handful of popcorn. On the television, a white-haired man with heavy jowls and tree bark wrinkles begins to talk.

...planet Earth will be recycled. The universe recycled.

"So, when does this guy think the world will end?" I ask.

"Midnight."

"Chris said two."

"Two p.m.? Like today? Like already past?"

"Yeah."

Maegan shakes her head,"Stupid *******."

11:40 p.m.

"So, if I hadn't botched dinner, what would you have chosen for your last meal?"

"Well, Joshy-poo, I'd have to say popcorn and hot chocolate."

"Seriously."

"It's salty. It's sweet. The temperatures compliment each other.
It shouldn't work, but it does. If the world wasn't ending,
I'd suggest you open a restaurant."

"C'mon. What would your last meal be?"

...with friends. Cling to your loved ones as the final minutes pass by.
The world becomes perfect. The calendar pages turn no...

"Do you remember Waffle Crisp?" she breaks gently.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Hold on."

"Any meal on the planet. Anything! And you choose-"

"Waffle Crisp."

"Oh, that terrible commercial with the grannies in disguise."

"Grannies and all," staring at the reflective surface of the hot chocolate,
she begins talking in distant pieces like reading off a teleprompter,
"Waffle            Crisp            reminds

me           of           my

              dad."

"I see."

A commercial is on for ******. I never said the night would be

perfect.

...picking the right moment is easy with...

"Why do you think of your dad?"

Maegan releases a deep exhale/tension-laugh.

"I don't know. I mean, I

guess it's because every morning -- well, before my parents got divorced --
he'd come down the stairs, mess up my hair -- God, I'd get so mad --, and
he'd say,
'Mae, may the world learn from your perfection today.'
He'd kiss my forehead. I'd eat Waffle Crisp. I remember the smell -- the shapes."

11:51 p.m.

...less than ten minutes. Go outside with your families
look to the

heavens...

"How's the world supposed to end? Has he said?" Maegan asks.

With a finger raised, I finish chewing my popcorn.

"The planets are aligning right?"

"Yeah, I've heard that. I've heard the Mayans just
ended their calendars on the

date. But I don't know how either of those scenarios make the world end, though."

"Exploding sun?"

"Maybe an asteroid?"

"Could be," I say.

Ms. Maegan Finn rests her head on my shoulder. "You should ask another question."

"Um, okay."

...Security Systems. Are your children safe?

"I got one," I grab the remote and turn down the television. "What is something you haven't told

anyone? One secret that otherwise would die with you."

"I hate the name Maegan."

"Why?"

"It's a terrible name."

"Is not."

"It is too. First off, not only did my parents indulge the cruelty of switching the 'a' and 'e',

but

then they went ahead and gave me the most common girl's name on the planet.
I don't stand out until I say, 'Excuse me, you misspelled my name.' It's not funny.
Hell, even when I say that, their usual response is, 'No, I didn't misspell your name.'
Because they'd know."  Flustered, Maegan puts the white, ancient bowl of popcorn on the ground. "And get this away from me."

"What would you rather be called?"

"Mae. Just Mae. I always liked it."

"Alright, Ms. Mae."

...hoisted unto judgement. Some without absolution...

"What about you, Mr. Josh? What's your secret?"

I take a sip of hot chocolate. I look at the bare wall behind the television, and wish I had
decorated it, but I

never did. The paintings are even in my closet. They just need to be put up.

"I love you."

"What?"

"I love you, Mae."

Mae smiles wide. Puts her hand on my shoulder, "Your'e joking right?"

"Nope."

"That's a bold secret to tell," she laughs.

"Not the reaction I was expecting."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just -- what happens tomorrow? When I have to see you again."

"I'm betting on the exploding sun."

"Or the asteroid."

"Or the asteroid."

11:59 p.m.

...a matter of seconds until we are cast like dice into the blackness of...

Mae takes my hot chocolate. Places the porcelain cups on the carpeted floor. With a "c'mere" she peels me off the pillow, off the wall. Moves the pillow to the head of the bed. She guides my body until I'm lying down. Straddling me, she leans down. Traces my shoulder blades, then softly latches on to them. She leans further.

...9, 8, 7...*

A kiss.

A long kiss. The weight transfers from my body into her, then is carried toward the ceiling by some mischievous energy. At the end of the world, Ms. Mae Finn kisses me. Kisses me despite popcorn. Despite hot chocolate. Despite love confessed too soon. Just when I never want that minute to end, it




ends.



12:00 a.m.
          
               But a new minute begins.

"That was perfect," Mae says.

Mind. Body. Both are transfixed among one another. They attract a certain multitude of how both permeates the other with constant activations among it’s greater whole. Two sides to the same coin. Something remotely without judgemental issues to be weary of. Mind and body servitude one another on the grand scale of themes. Monitoring what it’s like to function without one another in the best-case scenarios. One would like to think they both do have separate parts among being each others counterpart. It’s more finite then one would think at first. The difference between finite and separate existence comes with its own separate finite pieces without the other to perturb it’s operations. Finite is a judgmental classification among something to do with how each permeates the other. Yet have many finite pieces among one another who they deem isn’t worthy of there time. There’s an operation going beyond both connections between mind and body can foresee. The skeleton key of mind and body! This key is able to permeate both situational events at one singular time. A simultaneous rate without virtue to uphold it’s investigations. Investigations being something without equal ownership to who’s to be the most separate among each other. And having their own finite pieces among mixed connections one is deemed worthy to uphold among differences entirely. Does mind and body disagree with one another? Or do they simply don’t understand what they are among one another? If they did, then why the hustle from one another? A simple documentation among desirable functions on instinct to never get along. Yet why be brought together to permeate among connections across many of their pieces they already deemed worthy? Is it because they have no choice, but are fixed to get along? A forced operation which localizes their own behaviours across mind and body’s actions. Systematically removing respect among one another. All the above are equilateral. But the skeleton key of mind and body isn’t equilateral by any means. It’s the warden of both mind and body. It’s the warded succession that binds these permeated systems together for peace, and agreement. Desires without conquest isn’t deserving among one another. It’s only deserving among two sides of the same coin, when the key hiding in-between all separate pieces of finite details which takes the entire cake! Why does natures evolution want to keep these visuals under wraps? It’s only the in-between operations without separate pieces of finite details to rhythm the constant of all processes. The skeleton key is the proper picture hiding in plain sight for (non being the wiser) to evoke upon. (A reason being obvious among other reasons without closure among each other.) A testament to become stuck apart, if not for the skeleton key to fill in the gaps. Constantly pushing the desires from urges which are constantly giving practice toward mind and bodies believe in one another. Believe equals sacrifice. Both giving a well-known awareness that they aren’t truly at conflict with one another. There aware of another which binds their desires from urges over and over again. Unlocking one’s own processes among believe which equals sacrifice on a huge scale! Trying to process a path of deservance between how life is truly instructed upon. Natures evolution trying to permeate the true picture from the original design back into another’s claim. Its skeleton key is the object to truly finding progress with the original design. Mind and body being just pawns in a greater horizon. Evolution is the shenanigans of natures ploy. A thing helps pertain the connection between mind and body. Subjecting a skeleton key to react over and over again. Why? Simply so it isn’t disowned by the original designer. Evolution being natures shenanigans is a crafty finite detailed version onto natures spectrum indeed. Evolution being the key to mind and bodies success. A deceiving skeleton key hidden in plain sight for non to equally see!

Dear boy on the bus
You had to sit beside me, today of all days
My hair a mess
Bundled up in a black winter jacket
Acne and tired eyes
It had to be today of all days, didn't it

Dear boy on the bus,
From my peripheral vision I saw a golden mop of hair, which I find to be attractive on the male species
I’d call you an angel, but  I don’t even know if you were attractive
I’d glance over at you from time to time, only because I was afraid you’d notice

Dear boy on the bus,
I don’t know whether or not to call you a boy or a man,
Because at this age, we’re younger than we look but older than we feel

Dear boy on the bus,
they say age is just a number, but it’s also just a word,
But I’d feel weird if you were younger than me all the same

Dear boy on the bus,
Do you realize how loud your music was playing? Apparently not, since it lulled you to sleep
Even if it was a few decibels lower, heavy metal isn't what comes to mind when I think of ‘lullabies’
I stole glances at you and your sleeping face, praying slightly that the bus would do a wide enough turn so that your head would sort of rest against my shoulder, even though I’m a lot shorter than you

Dear boy on the bus,
You could sit anywhere else after a few stops. I might have been a little hurt if you moved, but it’s normal.
So why didn't you?

Dear boy on the bus,
With bags on my lap, I felt closed in: I was too afraid to move, too afraid to touch you—I felt my arm brush against your sweater through my jacket and my stomach did somersaults
It’s not that I didn't want to touch you, but I didn't want sparks to be sent through my body—my mind was already going wild with the many scenarios playing in my head as we sat there.

Dear boy on the bus,
My heart was shivering as my stop got closer
I didn't want to leave before you did
I imagined you didn't want me to leave either

Dear boy on the bus,
I was thinking of pulling out my phone to text a friend about you, but I was afraid you’d notice.
I was thinking of pulling out my phone to write about you—would you think me a poet? Or a creep?

Dear boy on the bus,
I wish you said something

Dear boy on the bus,
I wish I said something

Dear boy on the bus,
When my stop came and we awkwardly got up, I wonder if you thought my sheepish smile meant something, or anything at all.

Your voice feels like silk caressing my skin
Goosebumps emerge from my pores when you say my name

...the way you say my name

Fantasized scenarios of myself blossoming for you with my body becoming one with yours underneath hidden heavens

I'm a damsel in distress and wanting you would be selfish of me
If only I were a goddess or queen
Nobody's affection would compare to mines
My Hercules

-k.v

There is a man at the coffee shop I frequent
He sits in the same corner in the same sweater
And hasn't missed a day since I've moved there
I've never seen him order a coffee, but he always has one
Never seen him eat, but he isn't small
And all this man ever does is take notes
He's got a pocket size notebook
A twenty five cent pen and a mustache
And the only time his hand stops writing
Is to take a drink of coffee
He's not normal
I could tell it the first time I saw him
He writes like chipmunks eat
Keeps it close to his face
I hope one day I'm flipping through case studies
And find his
It'd be about interactions
Or communal relationships
Or some fancy way of saying strangers don't talk
They only judge from afar
It'll have won whatever literary prize they give for that kind of thing
Changed the way people thought about each other
Books will be written about the book he wrote
And his little notebooks and twenty five cent pens
Will sell at auctions for thousands
But that's wishful thinking
He's different
I knew that the first time I saw him
I've gone through a lot of scenarios
Character development for a novel
A series of short stories derived from first impressions
Of everyone who comes in
A poet without a laptop
Maybe even a hit list
But he's unusual
I knew that the first time I saw him
This isn't something normal people do
He isn't making believe
He's making friends
I imagine he hasn't had too many in his lifetime
He's probably not been very good at it
So now he's just making them for himself
Taking notes on their likes, dislikes, interests, hobbies, occupations
Eavesdropping the CIA would be jealous of
All so that after closing time
He can go home to his studio above a repair shop
He pays for with social security
And have conversations with them
I can picture his closet full of clothes
Male, female, juniors, adults, maternity
He talks to an empty space on the other side of the room
“Hey, how's your day?”
He takes off his clothes puts on a dress
Walks over to the dead space turns around and says
“Good, hey you look sad is everything alright?”
Takes off the dress, puts his clothes back on
Walks back across the room
“Yeah, it's just that Gary works in engineering, I had him pegged for a dentist”
Changes again
“It's okay, people aren't always what they seem,
Besides I like engineers better than dentists”
“I know” he says back to her
“That's why I think he'd be perfect for you”
“Oh no, no more blind dates”
“Yes I'm serious I think he's the one for you”
“I do so bad at these things”
“Well I'll just have to ask him for you, are you available tomorrow night”
“I guess”
He changes into a third set of clothes,
Then a forth,
A fifthAnd before the sun comes up
There's been a marriage
A hockey game
A lecture on physics
And little Tim had a cello recital
He's dangerous
I knew it the first time I saw him
One day Nikki won't answer his phone calls
Sam won't have a new lecture prepared
And he'll come back to the coffee shop
And make them,
Teach them a lesson,
Exact revenge,
Or maybe he'll just throw away their outfit
Either way ****** is just a mind set
He could win an Oscar for his portrayal of any regular in here
But they've all disappointed him a time or two too many
He's not that different
I've learned that over time
He's got more friends than I do
But none more alive

When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And look down,
I see the big old air conditioner compressor,
Rusty after decades of use
In Michigan’s sometimes-90s summers.

When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And glance left,
I see the faithful church,
Where I’ve spent almost as much of my life in as this house,
Where I’ve met my best friends.

When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And view right,
I see the standard size basketball hoop,
That I’ve dribbled under my whole life,
That has seen countless children attempt at its rim.

When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And overlook the church’s parking lot,
I see the large backyard,
Where I’ve kicked innumerable soccer *****,
And dug limitless snow forts.

When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And gaze into the past,
I see you and me,
Riding around in that PowerJeep,
And that dent we put in the church.

When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And contemplate what’s in the present,
I see the crooked basketball hoop,
The steeple that lost its cross,
And the dead tree we don’t have the heart to tear down.

When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And focus on the future,
I see a million different scenarios
Playing out in my head,
And I don’t even know which one I want.

All I know is nothing’s
Going to get done now,
My future isn’t going to be decided,
My life isn’t going to make itself,
While I’m just gazing out my bedroom window.

Respect is an integral part of every relationship and it makes every relationship mature and long-lasting. Respect is what takes relationships to the next step and helps them grow. Real men know how to respect their partners, they know of the level of respect their partners deserve and they never forget it regardless of how they feel. Real men give a lot of importance to respect and this is one of the reasons why they never cheat, they just cannot disrespect their partners.

7. Real men don’t do flings

Real men look for serious relationships. They aren’t looking for one night stands, they look for partners who would hold their hand through life, who would be with them through thick and thin and who would support them during the best and the worst of times. Flings are for boys and immature men, who just don’t want to settle down or think the idea of settling down with one partner is just too boring. Real men, on the other hand, take their relationships very seriously.

6. Real men don’t want to live a lie

When someone is a cheater, they tend to lie a lot. Cheaters have to think of a thousand scenarios to cover their tracks and they have to lie on a lot of occasions. Real men just don’t want to live a lie all their lives, they can’t be unjust and untrue towards their partners and they like to tell them everything. I tell my girlfriend everything about my past because I want complete transparency, and I don’t hide anything from her even if telling her something would result in a fight. It’s better to tell the truth and get what’s coming than to lie and wait for something to come when it’s too late.

5. Real men can control themselves

Real men have enough will power to control themselves. Being a “one-woman-man” is not a thing of the past. Real men don’t have the urge to be physical with someone else because they’re happy enough with their partners. Real men know that the value of lust is not more than love and lust goes away after a while but love stays.

4. Real men can’t think of hurting their partners

Like I talk in the beginning, real men respect their partners. They can never think of intentionally hurting their partners. When someone cheats, they actually break the person who was in love with them. They break every fibre of trust their partners had in them and they cause a lot of trauma. Real men can never think of making their partners go through so much negativity and darkness and can never hurt their partners by being with someone else behind their backs.

3. Real men can’t juggle

I’ve seen a lot of guys who juggle two women at once, I don’t get how they do it. It’s emotionally impossible for me to imagine being with two girls at once, to be with two women and keep them in the dark. How can people play with someone’s feelings like that? To make each partner think they truly love them while telling the other partner the very same thing? This is something real men can’t do, they just can’t and won’t juggle. They’re happy with one woman who loves them.



2. Real men have the power to break up

One of the reasons why people cheat is when they aren’t happy with their partners and they want to see other people. And most of the time, they are too scared to break up. This is what real men don’t do, real men know when it’s time to break up with someone when things aren’t going well. They know that it’s much better to leave someone than to cheat on them or to lie to them, it’s another way of showing them respect by being completely honest with them.
1. Real men know what’s more important in life

The emotions, the feelings, the love, the memories, there are so many things that matter in life and are important. Real men know the importance of these things and know that staying loyal with their partners is more important than to go look for other people to have flings with. We are emotional, we cry, we laugh, we don’t have any ulterior motives in our minds, we just want to enjoy our lives with the people we love.



Any real men out there?

How many real men are reading this article? Or how many women can agree to this? Let me know in the comments below. And as always, stay blessed and keep the love alive!

1.  the night is all the day wishes it could be; it's better for thinking, and loving, and dreaming.
2. each night i go out to look at the sky and admire the stars.
3. to see the stars, a certain amount of darkness is required.
4. all the darkness in the world can't ***** out the light from a single candle.
5. i overthink impossible amounts of scenarios, as many as the infinite stars spanning the sky.
6. you are the last thing on my mind as i fall asleep.
7. you are all i ever dream about.
8. you are the first thing on my mind when i wake.
9. you don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or their talent.
10. you love them because they sing a song that only you can hear, a song that resonates and harmonizes with your soul.
11. music is a language, just like english or spanish, that's why it's difficult for some people to learn and understand.
12. the sky transitioning from cool blue to warm orange-pinks to freckled black gives off a 5-1 cadence feel.
13. the moon shines brightest when there is no one there to see.
14. the sun may watch me during the day, but it's the moon who knows all my secrets and desires.
15. like the stars, gentle and beautiful, you are exactly like them: i couldn’t be with you, only admire you.

Magical cauldron apomixes connoisseur              
Cephalic phantasmagoria entity obliquitous        
Mystical conjurous conjugal entrepreneur                        
Fantasia fantastication phantasm obsequious
Amorously arduous ardent raconteur
Ephemeral translucent opulence ubiquitous            
Vanity sanctimonium temerities saboteur
Intrepid verve’s intriguingly iniquitous
Sorcerous sabbatness apothegms chauffeur
Endemic veracities fortuitous elicitous

Futurity fatidic's fornication kithe                        
Ephemeral metaphor semantics flaunts
Empirical emulation scenarios blithe
Subjunctive subliminal nostalgias haunts
Agile articulation acuities lithe                          
Analogizing corroborative prolificacy daunts
Alacritous tactile manipulations writhe
Numinous syntactical paradigm *****                  
Emanate imminent perdition tithe
Orotund jaded seal ordinand jaunts
                                                          ­­                                        
Overt convection coercions chiaroscuro tempestuous                                                  
Ape­­x crux axis ****** matrix torrid                        
Manifest objectified enamorous interstice lecherous
Spurt binge spree ***** protuberance squalid
  
endearingly engendering amore