If there were
shortcuts, I’d
take them
I’d put them all
in my pockets
and always carry
a spare
in my bag
(and one in
the glove box, just
to be safe)

I might even
hand them out to
strangers  who look
like they
might need one
or give them to
friends
I’d hide them so
people could find them
and rejoice

but there are no
shortcuts, and
my pockets are
always empty
just like the
road ahead

and that’s really
too bad
because
my pockets
are quite big

Every atom is lenient towards the human being
streaming up from the deep root they spur
laying down the perfect descending of the stars.

They can take on the stellar in their deep club
that shows up opening the windows up in the sky
and down on to the earth cast their eyes!

The slim fit sharp atom knows all the shortcuts
constantly vibrating not a single star can catch nor will it ever
thin out – it has the extraordinary stroke of luck.
But the eyes are on the humans not over the amber. 
Dreaming to be physically absorbed within the human being
to be in the human’s divine proportion ever transcendental
a far cry from the sun and the moon but with it both gel together! 

Once they came so close almost touched the dream
they rose to the occasion, squaring the circle,
laser scanning through, as above so below, so humble.
Submitted them without waxing lyrical took the brush off
the colour bowl of the day then blindfolding the moon
in the night reached out to the paragon of the phi mania,
flawlessly made to measure, numerically perfect Fathima!

Presented themselves before her as pure blank
whereon she can jot like her chalkboard
or do as she please like she could show up
taking it as her shadow in silhouette, she exactly did that.
Touched down on the earth, in the veil
and revealed her as above so below.
The ocean moved stirred the water but none saw the sunshine
behind the full moon in bloom that steals the starry night.

Day in day out Fathima did all in a veil she lived and gone.
Keeping the atom on its toe ever honing tracing the footprint
in its own shadow as once a human being without a mark
crept in it lived in pi magic and leaped out!

poet, or philosopher, it doesn't really matter which is which, or whether the two are indistinguishable, notable in the former scenario, when someone has an eclectic bounty of interest is simply not love-scorned or love-nostalgic, love-idealistic, does it really matter? i was once called a philosopher: a teenage girl said in third person (as if she was a puppet and some-thing was moving her tongue): 'talk to this philosopher'... not in that sarcastic way that philosopher is an misnomer or an abused term of: self-gratifying grandeour, it was quiet genuine, but: imagine my shock... i had an ambition in life, it was to perform a service to thinking: without doing as much as hammering a nail into a plank of wood, that's the ambition of any thinking man: to borderline on telekinesis or telepathy... that was Hegel's modus operandi, his categorical imperative... after all: ego is a metaphysical tool, while thought is its metaphysical canvas... the mere suggestion that a copernican inversion can happen in physics "contra" metaphysics... it's already apparent, any word can behave like a hand touching the sacred object / subject of transfiguration and become something else, even a misnomer can find itself given solace to the user... for now i've forged a belief in the ultimate: away from the absolute in relation to omni in unum - one first has to learn to think, before having to learn to feel... mind you, i don't like the current nietzschean inversion of the cartesian equation: (ego) sum ergo (ego) cogito... esp. among the youtube political commentators, too many examples to give: i'm a classical liberal, i'm a progressive, i'm a liberterian... i don't really like seeing: i am, precede i think... i don't even like the origin-argument of this inversion: i exist for the sole purpose of thinking... after all: i think prior to being, since i can also daydream and not be what my thinking suspects as a possible truth-outcome... that's the nature of the freedom of thought: i don't have to be what i think, i can find thinking to be a pleasure, when the senses do not offer me any pleasure derivative, e.g. eating can sometimes be boring, chewing, chewing, *******... i eat because i need to live: i don't live to eat... i really have under-appreciated Hegel, i should really visit my grandparents for two months and read the phenomenology of the spirit: i'm trying to replicate the saying attributed to him (verbatim), but i doubt that i will, i don't have the patience to sift through all the quotes, but it goes along the lines of: beware oh wordly man, to not be a pawn in a thinking man's game... hence my suggestion of philosophy entering into the realms of telekinesis and telepathy: you get to see things play out and people express the origin story, of your own memetic generation of the original idea... how are poets finally alligned to philosophers? good thing that i studied chemistry at edinburgh university: we return to atoms, words are no longer enough, sure, they are, contrary to the statement...  (why did i under-appreciate Hegel? ah... had my head stuck up heidegger's and kant's *****...

  integration? great!
but i'll meet you halfway...
    i'll eat your fish & chips,
your englush breakfast,
  i won't sing your anthem: god save the queen,
****** anthem, too short,
but i will whistle through:
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
like i might through la marseillaise...
i'll meet you halfway...
i'm not a former colony member,
commonwealth,
   i'm not some ****- paying bribes
to the british powers
to join in on a world cup of cricket...
this is what happens when immigration
turns sour...
they either lesrn the host tongue,
or they don't learn it...
or they can't distinguish the two:
speak polonaise at home,
speak the hosts' sprechen outside of it...

   if the ******* aren't suspect:
by not being bilingual...
the arab beatles... jihadi john...
          ringo star h'ahmed...
  george ali...
                paul mecca rashid...
oh i'll settle for integration...
but don't you ******* think i'll give
up my mother tongue
for "c.c.t.v." close-ups back home,
home being my private lodge...
like ******* will...
  i'll speak your tongue in public...
but i'm not ******* former commonwealth
****- riddled with a need to play
cricket, "forget" my tongue in order
to compensate for olives
              and sun-burnt bananas!

a former colony ****-**** is about
to dictate the rules for fellow
europeans, on the tram-ride from
Birmingham to Nottingham?
seriously?
        but of course the englishman
will favor the former colony pet bush-monkey
from sri lanka...
since the brit can't really dictate
to a fellow european his superiority
complex... which he can...
with a petted copper skinned
toy-ting...
who brought 'im a korma curry!
nice one, ol' laddy...
        right on the plonker...
                 i'm not finished!
                        i'm just getting started!

gehirnablassen:

perfectly respected immigration,
given that so many english girls just love
the attention their **** minders,
sexually abused,
not really making it as nurses
or... ahem... karaoke superstars
worth the while of britain's got talent
or voice of britain,
or...whatever the ****** show was
that gave birth to one direction...

so a.... brain-drain? good immigration?
the best!

i can sit awhile by myself and count...
1. the sparrows,
2. the swallow,
3. the starlings,
   4. the crows,
5. the magpies,
6. the pigeons,
7. the woodland pigeons
(fatter, with dog collars),
8. kestrels
  (one is enough to begin
the count)...
9. the blackbirds....
10. seagulls... seagulls?! 25 miles from
romford to southend! seagulls?!
this far in-land?! fair enough...
11. a robin...
                   12. goldfinch...
i just sit and watch these birds
in my garden, i sometimes spot
a darting frog in the garden,
i'm more english than the english...
i actually enjoy owning a garden...
the "english" surrounding me
exemplify a bbq. as a luxury parade...
what's so luxury about marinating
some meat, and then grilling it?!
please! enlightend me!

    gehirnablassen...
                   brain-drain immigration,
the type asiatic tiger-mums brag about
at child olympics...
   for the required rubric stature...
******* mothers, basically...

1. χaron χaos - cha-cha-cha       khaos
2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
     graphemes: sz phi theta
      compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)
3. music choice...
       brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
    virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
   german 19th century fascination
with islam...
     θought and φilosophy...
   greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...
5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...

1.

chamaleon tongue,                    shape shifter,
bez akcentu w piśmie - więciej akcentu poza pismem
(trainspotting scottish), welsh, cockney,
east london altogether, pakistani english, etc.
e.g. rather, or raver, i.e. not rayver
(someone who parties at night on ecstasy pill)
but ra'ver, like verging on a new discovery,
it's not even the = ~v but is actually v...
english is a chamaleon tongue, you say 'nostic
when you write gnostic, i say diagnostic,
therefore say gnostic, you say 'nome, i say gnome,
as cf. with diagnostic;
then there's the case of the per se:
you say chamaleon - no kappa there apperent, eh?
but there's chappie, chap, chuckles,
no kappa in a millionth chance
to also say nough'ledge for knowledge,
a bit like that gnome of yours...
as i said before: a language without
a written insertion of stressors / distinctions
will produce a massive array of diacritical
stressors / distinctions outside the written format,
but it will also become as complex as to
allow adults with learning difficulties e.g. dyslexia,
and that horrid internet slang of shortcuts:
i ate my 8 when i was late for my disco date
with the cha cha cha melon.

p.s. if there's a hay patch at the beginning, the nasal flute
will ask larry 'the lynx' saxophone to hark it out with rasp
gritting of phlegm... but if it's somewhere else down
the piccadilly line... it will act like a nudist spy and resonate
less than expected; probably mingling with f, i think.

I’ve already graduated from high school,
But I’m still living in our house.
So I need to get used to commute
From East Fairview to UST.

It’s really different now,
Literally farther from usual.
It may be one ride away,
But with a longer travel time.

So, I have to leave earlier
Than the usual time back then.
If I don’t leave early,
I’ll get stuck at Espana for long.

FX or bus, you name it;
Whether partially or almost full.
Even if it’s very crowded,
I have no choice but to fit in.

So when I know I’ll be late,
I cross my fingers so hard,
Wishing that my ride
Will take an alternative route.

I just hate the fact
That when all else fails,
Even alternative routes
Are totally filled with cars.

In just a few months in college,
I already learned shortcuts to UST.
At least when I know I’m stuck,
I’ll find a way out of it.

In life, however,
There is no shortcut to happiness.
You still have to go a long way,
And withstand the challenges along it.

So we have a choice
And hard work is needed;
At least you know that
You’ve done it with effort.

Well, if a shortcut fails,
That means try another one.
But what can I say?
Manila is a busy road.

So I have to expect and endure
The heavy traffic flow at Espana,
As much as I can do it
In my own busy life.

The Road to redemption
Is a daunting path
It’s an uphill battle
That is slippery and steep
It goes against the current
In the frigid rough rapids
With rays of blistering sun
A jagged wall of obsidian
And a sea of sand
There are no shortcuts
Only cuts, scrapes and bruises
What you did in the past will never be forgotten
But what you are remembered for will have changed.

I
  NEED
               SHORTCUTS
                                        TO
                                               SAY
                                                        I
                                                           ❤️
                                                                 YOU!

You must never **** the spiders,
While, they are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder?
Kidnapped the poets, instead of the poems
Therefore, I asked of you to stop all useless riots
On poetry, read them, embrace them, and
Learn from them: poetry is disciplined
And disciplined is the most misunderstanding word
In the dictionary: but somehow it is said that

riots is the language of the unheard:
we must never embrace racial riots,
or racial profiling: reach out to racial equity
stop allowing the messages of hate to go viral
plants row of trees, in the name of love,
I recently came across, ants yes, I said ants

When army ants need to cross a large gap, they simply build a bridge - with their own bodies. Linking together, the ants can move their living bridge from its original point, allowing them to cross gaps and create shortcuts across rainforests in Central and South America.

I recently saw human fighting each other, I recently read somewhere
Where children were locked away in cages
,
McALLEN, Texas (AP) — inside an old warehouse in South Texas, hundreds of immigrant children wait in a series of cages created by metal fencing. One cage had 20 children inside. Scattered about are bottles of water, bags of chips and large foil sheets intended to serve as blankets.

We must never **** the spiders,
While, there are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder..

concentrate on the symbols... the narrative style is that of being pedantically excited, it's put together haphazardly for a reason... the point being to concentrate on the symbols, most notably in the title, by suggesting that returning to letters, there's an opposite to Copernicus' compass, not regarding north and south, east and west... whether it's heliocentric of geocentric, the compass concerning letters and how they revolve and transform, akin to the later stages of summer and the earliest signs of autumn - or the nomadic paths of man, but simply, on a page.

indeed mathematics breeds a different
type of genius,
                                                  as i already said
mathematicians resound to agree:
we're not drafted to do arithmetic -
                we're not sprinters
   or the world's fastest at: 1 + 2 + 47 - 90 + 1056...
because our phonetic encoding
is overburdening and too much
akin to mathematical symbols -
              B and 8
                                     l or I and 1
             6 and b
                                            3 and E
              S and 5
                                           0 and O
   if the Greeks built and Empire
that spanned into England
                               the Barbarians
would have never adopted the Greek
alphabet -
                          but since it was the Romans
that did so... the Barbarians exploited
the latin alphabet -
      as they did...
                                    it takes a different
way of thinking, we're not talking
etymology, we're talking things like:
organic chemistry's electron movement
   diagrams... what is positive in Latin
  and negative in Rune? or... what is missing
in Latin and necessary to remember Rune?
             in between the disparity between
  >                     and                )
or (                    and              >
               we have the resurrected sharpening
of encoding reminders: accents,
              namely called diacritical marks...
         or a game of matchsticks...
from the barbarian crude or chequered
flints in terms of chipped away curving-edges
into talking smoothed-marble buttocks of statues...
   Bukowski was wrong... Caesar won
in the end...
                     Caesar cared less for world
power, his ultimate maxim was:
a sudden death...
                              and he won... he got
the sudden death...
                                 he didn't say: death in
my sleep, but: sudden death...
                  he won, in the end.
         i never stick to rules, me? a minor
anarchist, in terms of the Nato alphabet,
it's Rome rather than Romeo,
perhaps even Rodeo...
             and it's Jules instead of Juliet...
   Aardvark rather than Alpha
         etc.,
                                 or like refining crude oil...
the crude version is written as
     ᚱ but the civilisation of the times wrote
R...                 odd.. they kept only
               U    in crude form          , they actually invited these
northern conquerors because, as one
chisel-labourer said:
                           the elder alchemist
seeking a golden fern leaf
             to turn stone into papyrus
and a chisel into a quill...
              for all the shortcuts i could
have written, i was told that only U as in V
                      was the only available
aesthetic pardon...
                                      thanks to bureaucracy
so many wars were waged,
because they were expected to not be
overly-eager in their duty,
   but make shortcuts, which they didn't exhibit
because they ****** the thumb of power
till the bones appeared... bones i.e. runes...
    all but a little empowerment
                            and the dictator complex
              comes without armies
but pages of paper, and filofax dilemmas
              of schedule;
             and what became a revelation
of excess shortcuts: ᚱ into R
                    ᚹ into P
              ᚾ into ł (orthodox Christians
make the sign of the cross: forehead,
           chest, right shoulder, left shoulder
amen, or: the glue of the trinity -
         liberal Christians make the sing of
the cross: forehead, chest, left shoulder,
right shoulder, amen; the orthodox
wear their marriage ring on their right hand
the liberal on the left hand, as with the
wristwatch... monogamy is so time consuming)
           nonetheless adapting shortcut
chiselling in either stone or wood
                     and the need for the Roman term
beauty: curvature... invited
                       the barbarian adaptation
to the alphabet... as i already said,
had the Greeks moved that far north,
the Greek alphabet would have been erased...
            primarily the problem of ᚦ  and  θ
          ᚠ and φ         (or the liturgy behind
           the silent twins of the tetragrammaton)
                                                 cut each letter
open... entry point of later adaptation of
what the barbarians said: but we also have
crude elementary accenting of the approximates...
   evolving the > into a ) will not do enough
justice!             how easily F can be translated
   and poured into the eyes...
the mystery lies in something that has no
archaeological prospect of artefact...
            mentality lost in how phonetic encoding
evolved is what modernity calls:
                  concerns for mental health...
we can't simply resurrect the mentalities of
the fathers who revised runes into
                                 Latin appropriation
                 by saying: we're ill because this
was never recorded, or that they were ill
because they were ferocious at the time
   and spilt blood...
                                 these hysterics trying
to see how one came into being from the other
is impossible... i just know that
    it took a lot of straight lines
                       curvatures of similarity in Latin
and the ****** of chisel-worked in Rome
who said: quicker zigzag the runic R like
our pedantic variation of U in V
                    but what if i had to chisel in
the word pulverise? V L V?
                                            comes out in
arithmetic - there are idiots either side:
    I + IV + V = X...
                                   i.e. ᛞ, Norse for day,
    or simply d.
                           idiots either side...
oh just because the Arabs gave us numbers
we have saintly camel jockeys?
                                       idiots either side...
some things correlate, some things don't...
             but nonetheless Greek empire building
would have failed had it reached even Gaul...
        let alone Britain...
     i start my history here...
not with the big bang, not with Darwinism and
the monkey... here... among *these skeletons...
                           it was always going to be a collective
project...
                          which resulted in
revising the Rune ᛟ                         from the Latin o
                         but also adding the marriage
with ö...                  among other examples
come to think of it... looks like a crude upside-down
version of ω                       - of north
             and the hardened determination
(in intellectual pursuits) -
          of the south and beauty, of papyrus
                                   and the awe-ratio
                                                                    composed
of ?                                   as that case
              for democratically asking,
democratically not solving, and passing on
              intellectual inspiration
                        &n

SHORTCUTS




"I can count to 7!"
she announces proudly
"Wow!" I am amazed




as she can't count
up to 3
just the other day




"Ok!" I say
"Sock it to me!"
"7!" she declares




"Oh and I finished
all of the book!"
"Wow!" I wow again




seeing as she
can not as yet
read a single sentence




"Yes!" she confirms
"I've read all of
the full stops!"




my daughter
delighting in
shortcuts

I have seen your arrogance,
dictate and control the legion,

driven by fear,
you tend to lie just to save face.

Create shortcuts,
play fancy with your people

Controlled by public opinions
one makes no room for humility

the master of the blaming game,
does not build the team,

your arrogance ruins people's mind,
their past, up to their midnight dreams

I get stuck too,
because
sometimes
I wonder
what to say
when I
myself have not finished my waiting,
my obsessions, my doubt, ...
and when I finish it,
how will I be able to advise you?

How I can be sure?

When, still, all my obsessions
and commitments
go hand in hand.

I don't know,

Honestly,

Sometimes,

If these words are not superfluous,
Forgive me for announcing you
That you have your own life,
Wait for it!
As she waited for you …

More than just mounds of muscle galore
A curiosity where one must experience in explore
A body composition from before to present
The use of weights in repetitions
These are the forces in bodybuilding’s condition
Bodybuilding is about construct
It is all about proportion if one decides to compete
You must be committed and not take shortcuts known as cheat
Yet one’s physique must be complete from the shoulders to the feet
Lifting heavy weights is like Hercules in a feat
Intensity will play being the determination all the way
However, one must understand how much intensity their body can take
Yet you must have good health conditions in exercise before attempting any heavy training you decide to make

Bodybuilding means having a goal and what you want to achieve
Never listen to anyone about enhancing drugs, as it is a deception for you to be deceived
Bodybuilding is about bringing and contouring all the muscles together
Being a true destined Bodybuilder like no other
The mystique will be one’s desired physique
I have met Bodybuilding champs in their day such as Arnold Schwarzenegger, Serge Nubret, Harold Poole, Leon Brown, Flex Wheeler, Kevin Levrone, Mike Ashley and many others
They had assurance and confidential in being determined to win
Mr. Schwarzenegger became the top ranking Mr. Olympia
Mr. Olympia being the highest honor throughout Bodybuilding

Those Bodybuilding champions mentioned had their plan from their beginning from when
The new breed of Bodybuilders are following in their footsteps and making their mark
Bodybuilders in general are thinking from their own fitness from then
They put determination in making it a can
Bodybuilding is truly about how your body can respond to certain exercises and how it can be shaped
The training principles come together in how they are relate
So you now know how Bodybuilding functions
A masterpiece constructed from sculptor with a posing stand
The array of applause under the spotlight
A determination in the Bodybuilder become the step out pose
The thinking of revelation I suppose
But Bodybuilding is about the flex and not become perplexed.

Quest along the beaten path -
Rite of Passage;
Cheerfully pay toll -
Your Fair Share of sacrifice.
In return,
Earn
Falsehoods, hollow&unholy;
Silhouettes of acceptance
Virtual applause
Manufactured smiles,
Which guide like tracks,
Revealing shortcuts to sunlight
Passing predators' dens
...
Lustful leeches
Latch on with thirst,
Flesh swells
Veins burst-
A familiar love
...
Still travelling
In figure 8s -
Hypnotic lemniscates,
An infinite conflict-
Self-reliant cannibal
Indulges in
Structured insanity.

Seven lessons I've learned from math
1) we all will make mistakes but still
Hope you spoke in pencil
Because someone once said that words when spoken and hearts when broken are the hardest to repair
2) remember people as well as remember that one plus one is two
Because what meant so much to them could be little to you
Even if you flew by and continued a line on the plane of life
The mere point of tangency may have pulled them from strife
3) never judge a person on the outward complexity of their problems until you have factored completely
It is only when you have seen all the parts that understanding can come freely
4)no matter how far two numbers may seem the greatest common multiple with come
Even if it's one
5) its not a matter of whether or not your ti-84 can perform the task easier
Its if you can do it better
Because accuracy matters and there are many shortcuts to take
But be careful of the choices you make
6)you won't always be the best
or do good on the test
but don't let any of it make you forget the rest
Of the amazing things happening right underneath your nose
Because you will need help from time to time
So forget all the angles formulas and cosines
Just breath
Because not every part of life can be described in numbers or proofs or even words
Some just need to be lived
7) you can find a lesson in everything  
From books to a song you love to sing
From a sunrise to an unbeaten path
From butterflies or maybe even math

She was done not fully being herself.
She realized she was the only self she could be—and not being unapologetically true to herself was a disservice to her soul and the world.
She was done listening to the noise of the world. She realized the quiet voice of her own soul was the most beautiful sound.
She was done questioning her motives, her intentions, the call of her soul. She realized questions seek answers, and maybe she already knew the answers.
She was done striving, forcing, pushing through and staying on the hard path. She realized toughing things out might be a sign to pick another path.
She was done with friends that admonished her to be more light and breezy. She realized they didn’t understand she swam in the deep waters of life, she felt at home in their dark depths and died if she lived on the surface.
She was done with the distractions, the denials, the small addictions that pulled her away from the true desires of her soul. She realized that strength of character came from focus and commitment.
She was done not following the desires that yelled out in her soul every day. She realized if she did nothing about them, they died a quiet death that took a piece of her soul with them.
She was done with dinner parties and cocktail hours where conversations skimmed the surface of life. She realized the beverages created distortion and a temporary happiness that wasn’t real and disappeared in the light of the day.
She was done trying to please everyone. She realized it could never be done.
She was done questioning herself. She realized her heart knew the truth and she needed to follow it.
She was done analyzing all the options, weighing the pros and cons and trying to figure everything out before leaping. She realized that taking a leap implied not fully seeing where she landed.
She was done battling with herself, trying to change who she knew herself to be. She realized the world made it hard enough to fully be herself, so why add to the challenge.
She was done worrying, as if worry was the price she had to pay to make it all turn out okay. She realized worry didn’t need to be part of the process.
She was done apologizing and playing small to make others feel comfortable and fit in. She realized fitting in was overrated and shining her light made others brave enough to do the same.
She was done with the should’s, ought to’s and have to’s of the world. She realized the only must’s in her life came from things that beat so strong in her soul, she couldn’t not do them.
She was done with remorse and could have’s. She realized hindsight never applies because circumstances always look different in the rearview mirror and you experience life looking through the front window.
She was done with friendships based on shared history and past experiences. She realized if friends couldn’t grow together, or were no longer following the same path, it was okay to let them go.
She was done trying to fit in—be part of the popular crowd. She realized the price she had to pay to be included was too high and betrayed her soul.
She was done not trusting. She realized she had placed her trust in people that were untrustworthy—so she would start with the person she could trust the most—herself.
She was done being tired. She realized it came from spending her time doing things that didn’t bring her joy or feed her soul.
She was done trying to figure it all out, know the answers, plan everything and see all the possibilities before she began. She realized life was unfolding and that the detours and unexpected moments were some of the best parts.
She was done needing to be understood by anyone but herself. She realized she was the only person she would spend her whole with and understanding herself was more important than being understood by others.
She was done looking for love. She realized loving and accepting herself was the best kind of love and the seed from which all other love started.
She was done fighting, trying to change or not her accepting her body. She realized the body she came into the world with was the only one she had—there were no exchanges or returns—so love and acceptance was the only way.
She was done being tuned in, connected and up-to-date all the time. She realized the news and noise of the world was always there—a cacophony that never slowed or fell quiet and that listening to the silence of her soul was a better station to tune into.
She was done beating herself up and being so ******* herself as if either of these things led to changes or made her feel better. She realized kindness and compassion towards herself and others accomplished more.
She was done comparing and looking at other people’s lives as a mirror for her own. She realized holding her own mirror cast her in the best, most beautiful light.
She was done being quiet, unemotional and holding her tongue. She realized her voice and her emotions could be traced back to her deepest desires and longings. if she only followed their thread.
She was done having to be right. She realized everyone’s truth was relative and personal to themselves, so the only right that was required was the one that felt true for her.
She was done not feeling at home in the world. She realized she might never feel at home in the world, but that feeling at home in her soul was enough.
She was done being drained by others—by people who didn’t want to take the time for their own process and saw shortcuts though hers. She realized she could share her experience, but everyone needed to do the work themselves.
She was done thinking she had so much to learn. She realized she already knew so much, if she only listened.
She was done trying to change others or make them see things. She realized she could only lead by example and whether they saw or followed was up to them.
She was done with the inner critic. She realized its voice was not her own.
She was done racing and being discontent with where she was. She realized the present moment held all it needed to get her to the next moment. It wasn’t out there—it was right here.
She was done seeing hurt as something to be avoided, foreseen or somehow her fault. She realized hurt shaped her as much as joy and she needed both to learn and grow.
She was done judging. She realized judging assumed the presence of right and wrong—and that there was a difference between using information to inform and making someone else wrong.
She was done jumping to conclusions. She realized she only needed to ask.
She was done with regrets. She realized if she had known better she would have done better.
She was done being angry. She realized anger was just a flashlight that showed her what she was most scared of and once it illuminated what she needed to see, she no longer needed to hold on to it.
She was done being sad. She realized sorrow arose when she betrayed her own soul and made choices that weren’t true to herself.
She was done playing small. She realized if others couldn’t handle her light, it was because they were afraid of their own.
She was done with the facades and the pretending. She realized masks were suffocating and claustrophobic.
She was done with others’ criticism and complaints. She realized they told her nothing about herself—only informed her of their perspective.
She was done yelling above the noise of the world. She realized living out loud could be done quietly.
She was done needing permission, validation or the authority. She realized she was her her own authority.
She was done being something she was not. She realized the purpose of life was to be truly, happily who she was born to be,and if she paused long enough to remember, she recognized herself.*

Adrienne Pieroth

I'm trying to find a path.

The one that leads to sleep and straight into my dreams.
I'm thinking that if find it, quantify it, and twist it enough, they might become reality.
I might be able to run past the nightmares and the conflicts and the insanity.

My path is indestructible and it attracts my feet.
I don't have to think
It's like the ground is moving beneath me,
like a black strip of ground is moving beneath me on repeat.
Everyone is suddenly walking on a path
Everyone is on different pieces of ground,
on their own black path
moving beneath them
so they don't have to think.
If these paths don't touch, they don't make eye contact.
They are all together physically,
but they're in their own worlds...

...Who am I kidding, we're all in our own worlds!
And here I am trying to decide which way to go when
I realize it's already been decided.
I'm moving forward on this stupid black path that never changes.
I find myself looking around at the blank walls, the blank faces,
the plugged in faces! The darting eyes avoiding contact.
There's something wrong here.
It hits me every time, full blown.

There's a reason why I avoid the gym.
I'd rather run outside and let the world
take me in.
I'd rather be able to jump if I wanna, or sing,
or say something to the people around me.
Or escape the people around me!
Find a place where I can truly be.
On my own.
So many people are afraid of being alone.

I want this generation to see, to explore, to fall
and get up
and all the things like making forts and traps and seeing
off the top of a mountain -
from outside your car ...
Guys, there are stars in some places.
I'm telling you, there are things worth seeing out there.
I'm telling you what needs to happen.
You need to get up off your seat, unplug your eyes from the screen,
and go discover for yourself where you end up one day.
**** this path of perfection, **** all the shortcuts
and technology and craziness,
this culture of disconnection is
literally
driving
people
insane!
Start asking yourself questions and you'll realize Wikipedia can't tell you everything.
Peel away from your text and you might notice a blossoming tree.
The world changes.
Daily.
It will change, daily, for the rest of your life.

And I don't know about you, but I'd rather not let it pass me by.

The boulevard knows I don’t care
My hair’s messed up sometimes
These cobble stones remind me
That roughness has its charm

I turn a corner, find myself
In a whole new street of dreams
The fountain whispers to the wind
That nothing stays the same

As I wander unknown alleys
Each junction poses questions
Every showcase I walk by
Displays what life could be

Each passerby’s a promise
A sample story to be lived
The hilltop view reveals all
Of the possible paths to take

Strolling squares and avenues
I am searching to get lost
To find what I could never find
Where shortcuts are the norm

The cathedral proves to be the x
On my worn-out treasure map
The stained glass lays a mosaic
Of nuances on my heart

The arches paint perspective
Into my constricted reference
Their majesty lifts up my head
Compels an upward glance

The wideness resonates a truth
That shakes me to my core
The carillon sings an anthem
That accompanies new strides

Night Lights.


At midnight her heart, a vulnerable spark,
looks for some warmth for fire.

There is something warm, warmer than herself;
something to keep her alight.

She speaks in shortcuts; '***!'s and 'LOL!'s,
and in pictures; smileys and stickers...

Hoping he will  love her quicker;
Hoping he will love her at all.

But at midnight a heart, vulnerable spark,
is tired of looking for fires.

There is nothing warm, warmer than herself;
nothing can keep her alight.

She'll fizzle and freeze into cold blue hues
and shortcuts and pictures will fade...

But he had just loved her slowly;
In hoping she'd love him at all.

Every body playing me so close.
Use to cheer, now they kicking out the chair.
Guess they just showing me the ropes.
So, I do things my way,
and only keep a small circle.
So when things come around,
its all relative.
Cause backstabbers,
use relations; for shortcuts;
like it's relative.
What hurts most;
them using,
slow pokes and
different strokes.
The whole time,
they cloaked like we folks.

You stay where I live—
no I live where I stay, as livelihood is doing in my head.
Girls with pictures—pictures with girls, so few
left in my phone. These are just running thoughts,
as I’m chasing dreams; as a working mind in them.
Skeleton hours; dead in the night, as it’s just another shift.
But it slips in these grinding gears, like winter rains slipping on
the road.

Under the cold whispering of previous night’s wind,
reminded of a cold world out there.
Be it truth to live by—amongst liars to speak such is dare,
and quite frankly rare. But I’m none impressed by trends,
tread your grounds carefully of where you walk.
Don’t slip up on your feet, bruising your knees on the
winter rains slipping on the road.

A side note of my love to rhyme...
by second nature to plan the ending word to second line.
Bringing it back this time to the starting rhyme,
and referring to the second rhyme by the fourth line.
Words slip easily off the tongue, dented like
winter rains slipping on the road.

This poem inspired was inspired by my walk
through shortcuts to work. Black wet tarmac,
holes in every direction. Back and forth, cars roam and go.
My breath visible in this morning cold. A sight in dilated
eyes; towards the sight of the winter rains slipping on the
road.

This winter is cold.

Allow me to inform you of a road less traveled
The road our minds ignore in fear of being rattled
Simple, yet this road we won't walk out
Too afraid to confront and rarely talked about.
The TRUTH is it's title and it's not sought out
Lies become shortcuts and more common routes
Why does the TRUTH have so many confused?
The TRUTH hurts, so the lies become abused
"Honesty is the Policy," that statement only exists in Utopia
Our would consists of people suffering from a TRUTH phobia
We tell ourselves the wrong things that seem better
We wake up and our moods are decided by the weather
This makes it hard for us to acknowledge the TRUTH
Some will travel, work, or go to college for the TRUTH
To discover it and uncover it
Seeing what it's encumbered with
A gilded body, because the lies numbers win
I'm a weary soldier walking fatigued and intrigued
down the road where the TRUTH was conceived
In the midst of discovery I'm confronted with a lie
Unsure and uncomfortable I ask the TRUTH "Why?"
I find out the existence of the lie I cannot deny
So I face the lie looking it in it's eyes
I state, "Before I believe you I'd rather die"
Holding my head high, I walk into battle
A protector of TRUTH on a road less traveled

All Hours of the Night
there's a war going on inside us all
don't get up...
I brought a storm chaser to deter the turbulence
I know the effect of a lightning strike
that's my love smeared everywhere
If I could channel the glow that powers the well
where beautiful grows in the eyes of of a girl
who believes in a boy
that digs her mind more than her behind
til it's pipe time...
between me and the walls
I need a big score
I could double down on the underdog
everyone leans on the longshot
false hope
false God
I bet on love... I always bet on love
there are no shortcuts
you believe in ya boy like smart is ****
I wanna stand
with more than my mishaps in my hand...
an educated man
before your open book
and scale the pages in braille
with my big imagination
what does it say in there
about mind ****** before marriage
I'm not settling on secondhand joy
If I could just channel the glow...
and if I could recall the way to its light source;
love is the one thing
no other divine thing persists without
All Hours of the Night
there's a war going on inside us all
don't mind me...
I sleepwalk  around in my sin
every mortal moment and again
that rust colored stain on the corner
is what's left of my lust;
can't be rinsed away
a trick I should have never entertained
any ****** could tell
it's always love
streaming live in hi-def through your brown eyes
if I could direct the energy
that mains the intensity
it takes to unbreak a guiltless heart
the bass would pulsate like saintly drums;
biblical horn sections
don't get up...
His Majesty will find you
between me you and the walls
I need a big score
more than pipe time most mid-mornings
I could have gone against the odds
if the purse were the purpose
I'm not a gambling man
I'm not afraid of being the favorite
or favoring one thing
love is the one thing
no other divine thing persists without
you are my one thing
All Hours of the Night
our glow powers the well
where beautiful grows in the eyes of a boy
who believes in a girl
more conscious of his brilliance than his abilities
I believe in us. Smart is ****
this book is about you
all verses in cursive and indelible ink
the master key
the last and only link to the hilltop
I bet on love... I always bet on love
your lifeline is the way to its light source
no shortcuts
my world in the palm of your hand
your touch alone
is why I know the effect of a lightning strike...
there's a war going on inside us all
less settling than white noise by now
I've learned to ignore the static

What is born of this land?
Nothing is born,
Nothing grows
In this desolate land.

I want to wake up the neighborhood
To hear my screams at dawn
But they do not hear anything,
Do not listen to anything that happens in the morning.
I play my music in the streets,
All my poetry and clichés
But they do not understand anything,
No one understands what happens at dawn.
I walk the streets looking windows,
***** children in their rotten rags
And I cry with those who are hungry,
I do not know who cry or love…
I embrace the poor in spirit
And hear all your stories poor,
These poor and pathetic poor souls
It is my right meeting this cold morning.
I go through the streets and alleys damp and dark
And I hear a child crying…
A repetitive and child crying wretched
What is the worst of all choruses?
I see people and their hurried footsteps
Everywhere, everywhere…
I'm afraid to follow my tracks
And I hasten my steps through this city.
I hear the sirens screaming in the streets
Mixing the sound of nightclubs crowded
And the sound of twisted metal
Creating a new contrast, another type of cry.
I sing with you almost every night
And sometimes I wonder: where are you
He left so early and left me here...
Now I’m alone! I’m alone!
God, I try and cannot understand
Reason to justify this life.
I am a pawn in the game you do not see
Every dawn until dawn.
Something touched my whole being,
Something I do not understand and do not try to understand,
Something that comes up every day when I wake up
And after me until nightfall.
Something happens,
Something moved,
Something incomprehensible,
A new friend?
They say that being is almost live
And living is the limit of what you can want.
In fact, something happens that one wants to be here,
However, not all this desire craves.
Nothing is enough
When no longer feels the aroma of flowers,
When the color no longer thrill
And they cannot be sold to look.
Gave me such rare moments
Feeding the future although at present,
But waking I do in all my steps
Get me the taste of things even in thought.
In my noble and poor land I wander
And I feed the memories of liars,
Get drunk me with joy and gladness
And insistent way in the land of lepers.
In my humble vacant land,
Time is proud, ignorant time.
Hunger is rampant around me,
The flesh is weak and soul idem.
I ask as much as the worst of sinners,
Wasting a time that no longer have,
Not differentiate right from wrong,
Share supper with my detractors.
I do not feel the taste of wine,
I do not recognize a smile,
I do not remember the hugs,
I'm finally alone!
I weigh my conscience in the balance of a butcher
And the butcher tape me with ravenous eyes,
There is no any agreement on the price of the meat,
Nor is the first or second.
God, you who are owner of the ages,
Give me the hours its final minute
And cause the whole world to know
That left miserable after all.
Grant then that desire
And finish time with this work,
Free cities this unfortunate
Who insists on knowing what nobody knows.
When there is fever, it makes no difference,
There are times the blood is poison.
Red is the color of anger and sin:
The poet knows when he is sentenced.
If there is even poetry these avenues
As equal in different cities,
To be recognized
For the sake of pursuing life.
Burial in the deepest memory
The giant concrete towers,
The grotesque glass structures
That mimics a new artery.
A new artery,
A new lifestyle,
A new company
And an early cardiac arrest.
As the cars kissing the avenues
Meeting the perfect companion
That tells me in the ear:
"Accept me as the only one"
Finally, fear runs through my veins
And feeding a forgotten feeling,
An absurd desire to see the next day
And try another outlet.
All the streets are congested.
A whole shantytown has just been set on fire
While some locals try to save
What remains of an entirely bankrupt life?
There is a twist
Around this humble heart,
A carnival,
Almost a provocation.
All veins are old and weak,
There is melancholy at all.
Even without poetry,
Without free will, there is life at all.
This city is just brick,
Metal, sweat, concrete and glass,
Cement stuck to feeling
Often beautiful and often ugly.
This city is sand,
Concrete and feeling,
Sorrows and joys,
Poetry thrown to the wind.
Some people learn early, some not -
Live life day in and day out.
Some dance to the song,
Others are lost before the chorus.
Some are always right, some not -
Many are lost in illusion.
While some running, others sleep
And all seek some direction.
Some dream rock bottom,
Others dream of the river bottom.
Some seek independence,
Others are the exception.
Some people win,
There are people who are lost,
Some people becomes the problem
And others think is the solution.
Digress weather
What about the "types" that encounters in this life.
I lose a second in this lost time
And even with so little sense, how rare is the time!
If you have no idea, nor do I know.
Maybe the hunger that consumes me consumes you too.
Perhaps the addiction that affects equal
Is something that arises only between abnormal?
I addiction with its tapas
And in each sip of his cup,
Each exaggerated affection offered
In exchange for a few bucks.
I ***** me with your lies
And assimilate water from your gutters,
I learn new shortcuts in every way
And erase the traces of my own steps.
I chase you in every church and every home
I swallow my irony,
Visit each elderly
And make friends with the hospice house.
Far reaches thy wickedness
And how many hugs another's grief?
Can evil be so inspired?
The point of the very surprised to be expected?
Life bleeds leaving the left chest
The children of the world that the world does not want,
Spread the news that sadness has hair
And more brown eyes than mine.
I notice refinements of cruelty
In this urban masochism
Where poverty has older
And the lie became just a vanity.
I transform
In all more abhor,
I emerge in the mirror
As my own killer.
I suffocate and tie in the dark of my room
Little souls endangered
And throw in the trash the dreams of those who
He believed devoutly one day be part of reality.
I still feel the skin marked by fire
The brand that hurts the brand of truth
And I pray that one day cease searches
And everything becomes futile.
The happiness of fuel
Corrode and fades away slowly
Gradually me satisfaction
With the balance that sustains me.
When I look at my own face, it hurts.
I exhale the body the rest of fear
And I try not to see how strange the line of truth -
Seeking the path that leads to freedom.
Disguise my desires
And repress my absurd,
Hug each nightmare
And hide my darker side.
I try to see something beyond the abyss,
Find something else beyond the walls,
Transcribe all longings
Hidden behind every dream.
I am eternal,
Sinister,
Land and fraternal
While the world lasts.
There is this chest a divided heart
Created almost between two worlds,
The world is inside the abyss
And what one sees behind the walls.
My corner is stumped
As well as the small voice and uncertain
From the little that is hidden on the other side,
My other side of that wall.
What have other corners?
They also have these sides
But what counts in these corners
Also rhyme in other valleys.
Bright lights bother many people.
Darkness feeds inconsequential.
High walls with brass railings gleaming
Are contrasts in painting a colorless screen?
Urban flowers are so amazing
And this depression is so exciting.
Smiles are bitter and needy
And the pain married to vows of love.
These buildings are so interesting,
Where the wet streets at night shine like diamonds,
Where transiting the fair and honest
Munching vanity and rancor.
The cars pass and illuminate so many people,
Whites, blacks and children without color.
Poets are so tucked the irreverent
Assimilating the pain and all that is.
I see lives that trace the same plane,
joy of generations by mistake ,
Marks of time that are pure desperation
Charting together a colorless future.
I see faces full of hope
Burning in public because of their color,
Those who live without even realizing it,
A cold paint drips without why.
Bodies dancing high parapets
Almost always go so early
Challenging theories and concepts
And ignoring all kinds of love.
My steps are so slow
And so intense movements,
The faces are always the same
And I hope again the sunset.
Justice who is in charge of giving clemency
The presumed innocent
Transiting the streets
Spreading hope and love.
I want to have a chance to see the birth of Venus
And the annunciation in the middle of spring,
I want to be like St. Augustine
And read the scriptures by candlelight.
I want to be like Van Gogh and paint sunflowers
Even in December the ink is red.
I want to have new flower garden in the backyard
And the kiss out of my lips is never accidental.
Just want something passionately
Even being so blind and alone?
That goodbye is worthy
And everything to return finally to dust.
The idea comes suddenly
To celebrate as an illiterate,
Prepare a table and invite
Only those who are hungry.
All this turmoil,
All this protest,
All thefts
This legion inside me...
Melancholy has always had its place,
Love, sadness and bitter returns,
Feeling alone and be like shadow in the crowd
And embrace the darkness itself.
Find it romantic suffer
For pain that recognizes pain that always sees
It is more than a disease, it is a love affair
For all that hurts and causes pain.
I let them think I was defeated
With the unexpected attacks
Of those who cry shouts of victory
And they forgot to be buried.
I leave them to play in my back
The guilt of all blame,
Let it burn my entire story,
It does not matter that much.
My lips run on search words
And my eyes run in search of beauty,
Drawing liar’s feelings
That shut all the bells around.
Words come out like blades
In hoarse voice coming out of my mouth
This other me who hates me so much
And all challenges at first.
In the spring mornings leaves dance
Rehearsing his ballets from the rising of the day,
Is this life?
It’s this they call life?
I want to find the lost word
Among the tasks of the day to day
What is so profane?
The prohibited!
I want to meet a new season
Bring me a sense of relief,
Find what they call happiness
And maybe learn what it is.
An epidemic,
Leukemia,
Rimes illustrating
An eternal melodrama.
You cannot have everything!
Not always beautiful are our days
And we keep waking up.
Roses do not speak, but are also alive.
There is hunger for love!
There is hunger and what will?
There is hunger in this home?
If there is hunger, then there.
There is time for everything!
There is time to smile,
No time to cry,
There is time to leave.
I want to run away from home without a warning,
Running between the wheat fields
And let all afflicted
Trying to understand what had happened.
I want to cause confusion,
The same kind that I bring in my heart.
I want water all around
With the storm inside me.
I want to wake up the sleeping
And those who never agreed,
I want to find out who they are
And spread about us.
Lovers of this pain,
Thirsty without knowing
Where else to enjoy,
Where else to call "home".
I shift my gaze
With all the hatred of this world
Of all the ragamuffins and vagabonds
Who recognize me in a second?
I want to break these chains,
Scratching walls,
Promote anarchy
And imprison noon.
I want rain penknives
While tear my clothes,
I cut my wrists
And count all the drops.
A day can be
Something happens
And make to cease this endless grief
And everything changes, anyway.
So lose the naivety
What remains this morning?
I envision the absurdity that all I see
Is still something to be remembered?
Maybe one day
Poetry is done singing
And the light breeze the corner
Everywhere!
I want to get a perfect world,
I want to love what is defective,
I want to explore my own room,
Make another deal.
I want to shake you violently that coffin
And show where all the mice,
Ignite old blankets
Which now they were pretty.
I want to show you I love you
And I hate you,
I can live alone,
But also not live without you.
My madness is productive
At the same time, destructive:
It satisfies the crowd inside.
I refuse to be part of the pack
Strolling in supermarkets,
Feigning patience as immoderate
The suffered.
I like debris,
I collect dust,
Make enemies,
Cultivation dreams.
I constantly change identity
And lose track of reality,
My state is ill
And I'm terminal and disposable.
I participate in this game,
This novel in decline
This disgusting theater of horrors
Where only the blind are honest.
I am thoroughly enslaved
While deprive me of the privilege of choice,
Burying our will
In the deepest pit.
The wall that separates us is low
And we walked jumping from one side to the other,
Often both exist
And others, only I exist.
We are a nun and a *****
Plotting an eternal dispute
Between the two sides of the coin
To decide who runs and who fight.


As simple as saying your name
Spell out the pieces of your body.
I want to understand what God's grace
If your body will never be only yours.
Your body exudes the morning sweat,
Clouds hid the principle of pain,
Pain discovers a new form of pleasure
And the pleasure is expensive to you.
Your blood runs nearly everywhere
And a new world opens up suddenly,
Frighten the fleeting pain
And wait with his only love the sunrise.
I wipe the sweat oozes from you,
You wipe the tears falling from me,
If you can be in the world some endless love
The only certainty is that there was never before such love.


I want to wake you up
To hear my screams at dawn,
Show you what genuine despondency is
And not left me anymore.
I want to recognize me
And take me to your bed,
Not left with nothing
In addition to beating in his chest.
I want to be part of its history
And I want to be a constant presence in my,
The world spit their prejudices
And the fire that also burns in the heat.
I want to break the mirrors
And heal our sickness,
Assaulting what kills us
Every day, forever.
Serene and calm give you what remains
With my last breath,
What's best in me now rests
And rest my mind.
My sweat is true
It is also all the pain.
Blood is final
And it goes to the last vows of love.
The entire storm inside me
Now relax my heart,
Soothes My Soul
And feeds the reason.
I walk by this peaceful land
And growing a new crop of wheat,
I do a incognita a new partner
And the fear is not definitive.
I harvest hope
Where before there was only bitterness.
I am ashamed
And regret.
I accept the entire cross
And fight against the serpent.
I heal my wounds.
And my success is violent.
Time is short
And I want to scream that entire plan,
There is still a flame inside
And only her surrender.
What was misery,
What was despair,
What was hungry,
What was fear…
What was pain,
What was love,
What it had value
And when there was time…
What is born of this land?
Nothing is born,
Nothing grows
In this desolate land.


What is born on this land?
What grows in this land?
Nothing is born on this land,
My private wasteland.