He waits in the park for a date.
A bus full of los Angeles Models and photographers
talk through walkie talkies.
He walks around spying through his peripheral.
pretending he's James Bond trying to scope them out.
He wonders if he seems suspicious, or if he's going undetected.

A Beautiful girl passes briskly by, looking curiously around.
She long dark bangs, fall colored scarf, flirty skirt.
She sits on a nearby bench.
He no longer thinking of his date.

"oh my god."
"wait, no."
"what if she showed up right when you started flirting?"
"be respectful."

A vibration in his palm.
"I'm Here"
he looks around
the only woman to fit the profile is perched on the bench.
"no way."
He walks over to the girl.
"you walked right past me, beautiful."
on his face is a smolder
the gas mask used to hide all sorts of jumbled feelings in the past.
Today. it's hiding a tiny jumping boy. feeling like he just won the gorgeous girl lottery.
This is his Date.

They go to Dobra Tea,
She takes a sip.
"It tastes like peaches" she says.
"Peaches come, in a can." The boy starts.
"they were put their by a man" she adds.
they screamingly harmonize a bit too loudly for a tea shop
"In a factory downtown"
they shush each other.
giggles erupt out of them as they collapse into the tiny pillows.
they get quiet.

the girl explains she puts her "bad pictures" on tinder
so people are surprised to realize she's beautiful in person.
stricken by her brilliance.
He applauds the flawless strategy.
as it clearly worked on him.

They go on a few more dates.

First She takes him to a graveyard.
They talk about their Jiminy Cricket's
Shared demons, so familiar some
creep from behind gravestones.
push leaves from their path as they stroll along.

Then He bring her to lighthouse.
A thick cold fog.
they switch between belting 90's pop hits
and laying peacefully up at the sky holding hands.
Music.
sound of bleeding hearts rubbing against each other.
bow and violin.
how soon they flint and steel.
spark too hot, too real, too soon.

later, in bed.
His heart leaks something.
He wonders if he looks suspicious, or if he's going undetected.
when she pushes "did you just say you love me?
Tired, and teary eyed, He says:
"Peaches."
It was their safe word.

As she starts in, Clearly not satisfied,
"C'mon, I know I hear-" she interrupts herself.
"oh... you said peaches."

See, he could have said yes,
It would have been more honest.
but this was only their third morning waking up together.
even though his heart wanted to say it again.
his Jiminy Cricket doesn't care if he loves her.
it knows he can't take care of her.
Jiminy knows that when he goes home tomorrow, she's a poem.

So He says peaches.

The trumpet is gradually blowing.
It's neither awake nor asleep.
And the drum beat hit a bit.
And the whispering voice that you hear
Later, the bold roar of a wolf rises.
Far in the distance, a speechless child
Waving her hand to catch the green
Imagine this kind of dreaming.
Happening in the sense of reality
Moving toward the girl horrendously
But my tongue was quaking like a snake.
I don't know what to say to help.
Because of the hideousness of her face,
It was a call from the darkness.
My name is loudly mentioned periodically.

Safana...
Safana...
Saaaffffaaannnnaa!
Take me away.
Take me away.
Take me away.

Dark smoke diffuses from an unknown space.
It covers almost everywhere in space.
I started coughing.
I think I will go to the grave. That is.
I am absolutely tethered to the rope and,
I'm being dragged somewhere like a hole.
 
I screamingly shouted 
Again and again,
And then, quite suddenly,

And then,
silence suddenly,
My eyes slowly begin to open
I am beneath a concrete canopy.
It's a stone chamber like a crypt.
Far from it, it's a ropeless,
a suspended bed draped in a red blanket

I am dragged heavily towards the bed's edge.
Suddenly, I am suspended between up and down.
And the man, with a horror face, woke from the bed
approaching my side, invoking Cyphe incantations.
He circled the ground with red blood.
His gaze was fixed on the roof. He is
Incanting with an unperceiveable word.

"wede demi yimit’u
  wede demi yimit’u
  wede demi yimit’u"

"demuni yimitu ina
gurorowoni yarik’u."

"o፣ widi yesī’oli āganiniti፣

weyi widi yesī’oli seyit’anati

weyi widi yekirīpiti seyit’ani"

He took his head and looked 
deeply into my sight, then a knife.
appeared in his hand. 
He approached where I am suspended.
All of a sudden, he came and stabbed the knife in the area of my chest.
I screamingly shouted again
and again and I woke up when
I realized it was my cat 
sitting on my chest.

Grim drops slowly through the window
His front door's broken, the lock is gone
On the way home from school he saw an omen
It told him tonight would be long.

Grim shouts his mother get your lazy **** over here
And Grim shouts his father get in here and bring me a beer.

Grim drops his schoolbag and walks to the kitchen
And plonks down a beer on the table for father to drink
With his TV show watching the Simpsons
As mother lies hazily under the influence
Grim leaks slowly up the staircase
Into his room with the chain on the door

He pours himself into bed, lies on his back
He looks at the clock and he's sure
Eleven eleven, it's one one one one
It's the omen his demons have told him about

Wish on a star they said, and if that doesn't work
Wait til the clock pulls you out of all doubt.

Grim waits for nightfall
He doesn't have dinner
He's been getting thinner
But no one has seen.

He seeps from the bedroom
Down stairs and through hallways
He knows he is going where he hasn't been.

Grim please don't do it his friends would all say
(If he had any friends but he doesn't)

You know teachers despair of him
Teenagers laugh at him
Old ladies scared of him

GO ****** GO

Grim sets his face to determined
He runs down the path to the cliff
He launches himself from the edge and he flies

For a wonderful moment
A heartrending moment
A glorious screamingly awesomest moment

And then...

Then all is Grim.

It is a Thursday
And for the first time she knows right where her heart is,
The exact spot it is in her chest as she feels each heavy thump it makes
Her brother collapses right in front of her
One minute he is talking, the next he is not  
Precipitously
Her heart literally starts pushing its way outta her chest as she makes her way to him
He had just asked her about an episode of the Graham Norton show
No way is she prepared for the next thing she sees,
He descends to the ground in a "tripping over a stone" fashion,
Hitting his big head on the armrest cushioning his way down to the cold tiled floor
He is getting up........*** he is not!!!
He is still, as still as a log and not the sleeping beauty kind
Her Mum,
By her side in split seconds calling his name, pulling him up in a sitting position,
At the same time screamingly beckoning her dad
Her Dad,
with every bit of calmness he could conjure
Joins his wife to pull him up from the ground,
Asking that water be poured on him
She,
Charging from the bathroom like a firefighter with a bucket,
Baths him with water,
He is coming to!!  
Answering the calls of his name as his mum leaves it on REPEAT mode,
Seconds had passed and he had missed it,
Seconds which would have gone by unnoticed like a fly on a wall,
Now will be a memory they will never forget.

©Belema S. Ekine

With scratches on her arm
Knife mark on neck that harm
She got tired and went to the farm
Where she used to reduce her souls warm

She gave  time to a second thought
That enough of this pain, it's overwrought,
How much she has to tackle , not snot
She will heal the scratches,  she got

Nature started raining in farm heavenly
She understood,  god is with her, supportively
With million of pain she smiled , screamingly
Her time will also come,  hopefully

She covered her body scratches,  
Went out of the farm patches,
The moon gave it's shine batches
She slept on the stool having latches

The sun smiled gloomingly on her
She waked with desire with no blurr
She went into the farm and lastly infer
She want happiness and peace, err..

Her scratches reminded her the foes
This time she ain't cried but laughter goes
Her pain reminded her the wrong does
This spot she didn't regret but learned lows

The girl Started her life again
And demanded only gains
Scratches has Heal
The girl got Wheel

"I swear it's not to late"

a daily morning prayer,
given up to no one in particular,
spake with varying levels of
conviction and derision,
confidence, disbelief and indecision

this old standard,
in no hymn book found,
but mine own,
where. hostage-kept,
in some left brain corner stored,
from a well trod path place retrieved

curse-swears
this companion-in-arms
but not my friend no more,
mockingly full-on, these crackling, plastered,
cackling four white walls,
have long since
ceased the enumeration count of
this particular daily devotion's repetition

best left unsaid, they warn,
in case you weary tire of its utterance,
noting that even anti-hope
can also reverse spring eternal,
some things best bitterer~sweet remembered
by absence

and yet these words,
from some fissure crack peek, leak, then
gushingly screamingly escape,
"I swear it's not too late,"

**** these glorious sunny mornings,
demanding my acknowledging presence,
by accepting only this particular, solitary brief tribute,
as my daily surrender to the sun's yellowed blue
amniotic fluids freshness

so I sip my alone-coffee,
listening to the morning news,
that will be forgotten by noon,
but my brain thumps, the body thrums,
in the everywhere I seek to hide,
this cursed blessed almost forsaken but not yet forsook
un cri pour d'amour,
taunts me, haunts me, just say it,

"I swear it's not too late,"

IV
i face myself as i look into the mirror of ice,
produced by your cold breath freezing my tears.

i can't breathe myself, but at least frozen water
is easier to walk on than blood boiling with passion.

you tell me, that i can't keep balancing on
the shaky concrete you provide me -

that i will drown taking my next step
and you won't keep me over water.

I was never yours to save.




V
i turn my back at you,
though i can't make myself walk.

I'm stuck.




X
i look into his eyes,
and i see everything you weren't.

i don't know if i think he's better
but he's at least better for me,

than the memory of who you used to be.

I try. I do. I really do.





XII
he kisses me,
and you're nothing but a distant voice,

screamingly telling me to watch out,
so i won't drown in another guy's lies.

(but the voice is shaky,
because it knows, it has no right.)

i ignore you.
I try, I really do.




**
I forgot you years ago.
That's what I'd like to think, at least.

Poem 1403**

As the poets have mournfully sung
Death takes the innocent young,
The rolling in money,
The screamingly funny,
And those who are very well hung.

There was a time, when you
walked with your
heart on hand, shinning.
Nothing could impart
you, but then as a poison,
Civilization toppled your
walls  screamingly and bore
its burden upon your arms
and spirit.

Bounded, they spat on you,
shackled you with their insults.
They called you Beast,
but in your own way,
you were anything, but
slaven.

You are conflagration, but
Civilization consumes you,
mutiny creeps in the cells
of your veins, you hope to
strangle it and charm
the world as yours.

You are expected
to be a saint, but you are
anything but saintly.
You are a raw torrent of velocity
-you await to burn dry the world
of its own criminal flood, the
very one that binds you.

They deny you, to be any
part of god, but god's machinery
is nothing but cosmic, ******, profane
blasphemy, hunger, goliath, mutiny,
unbroken.

Horror and torment around every corner,
Love & compassion in the shadows,
Empathy a screamingly silent partner,
Begging for release.
Crocodile tears against a gathering of flowers,
Teddy in a football shirt, imploring why?
Was a decision made?
Or were fifty-seven lives caught in the same tornado?
They can be seen now, scattered all over the blood soaked street.
Stunned at the act, emptied by the loss.
Of another one, gone before life had really begun.

I am having problems, punctuated!
by punctuation...
What beguiles me most- you ?
Is that in my (mind) is an idea
so screamingly!!! fantastic that
I should be !¡YELLING!¡
but unless the world can C me—-
and they DON'T—-
then it is up to the limits
of punctuation...
(Insert "Punctuation for Dummies")
and the abbr skill
of 1 feeble and weary writer
to pick from the limits
of her keyboard;
stifling the ~~flow~~ of thought
along the way;
to finally impart such an originally
insignificant thought.
Period.

I did the ***, drugs, and rock and roll thing
But it didn't actually, teach me anything
Back then, there was no internet to investigate
No books in libraries, about my kind of state
So i adopted, the then hippie style fashion
To avoid any kind, of trans bashing
It allowed me, to grow my hair long
So i was more in tune, with my kind of song
With an afghan coat, and cheesecloth shirt
Petula oil, hippy beads, but never a skirt
At the age of fifteen, i left my home
After fourteen schools, i was destined to roam
So off i ventured, into the big wide world
Waiting to see, how my life would be unfurled
After much wandering, and travelling around
Aged 27, i momentarily landed, on a different ground
I got married, then within a year, divorced
My life was still veering, way of course
Yet within five years, to subdue my fears
I met my second wife, together for 23 years
Yet still i had a secret, which i kept at bay
That i knew i was a woman, in almost every way
I knew things were ending, and life felt weird
When my wife, got me to cut my hair, and to grow a beard
I understood why, she just wanted to man me up
As i supped in the misery, like a dying buttercup
Me, and my daughter, then moved down here
Much stress was happening, i couldn't allay my fears
After two years, my daughter to her mother went back
Then returned two years later, in time for my heart attack
During those four years in total, much had occurred
Finding my mother dead, made redundant, it became absurd
I'd already seen my GP, to talk about my gender
And had gone to London several times, to put in my tender
But because of my heart, my GRS was put on hold
And thought back then, it was unlikely i'd achieve my goal
Yet 22 months, and two heart surgeries later
I was as ready, as a toothless alligator
On the 30th May 2019, i had my gender reassignment surgery
I cannot lie, it was painful, screamingly at first, no purgery
I told friends, it was done in Wimbledon, as i had some doubt
That i'd return as a Womble, or a tennis player with gout?
But all had gone as expected, and i recovered well
My butterfly wings had grown, as i flew out of my secret hell
Never imagining, that just three years on
Telling people a brief history of my life, what could possibly go wrong?
I have many friends, that are lgbtq+, without debate
But many of my friends are also straight
All my change, was thanks to the NHS
I had told them my truths, without any redress
So my message to anyone, whatever their age
Don't rush into this, do it stage by stage
Whatever you do, be you bold, or shy
You will gain you wings and be a beautiful butterfly
Find a good GP, that is helpful, and kind
That doesn't treat you, like you're out of your mind
That the whole process, from beginning to end
Is worth it, as you become your own best friend

by Jemia

Must Rest

Laugh to the Finish
Of Mysteries:
Let them diminish, -
Lyingly please! -

Screamingly *****,
Sinkingly gurgle, –
Kingdom is dawning,
Silent is Crawl!..

Slowing down
Stopped in the Run:
You’re like a Clown –
Clown from the Clan.

Of mighty Kinship,
Rule Avalon:
Over the Banshees,
Over the Strong!..

Be One of fortune,
Be One of grasp:
Clowns to torture,
Powder on Masks.

Where – prepare! -
Rumble of Steps:
Growling Fanfare –
Crown must rest!..