See the show is over, behind the red curtain you can't see me cutting up my fingers using my blood and tears to pick up what's left of my heart. We're done, been done…we were over before we could start. Some ***** you are....some *****, filthy, manipulative, sneaky, overbearing, cold hearted, insensitive, ***** of a ***** you are. Some ***** you are….some charming, loveable, selfless, funny, intelligent, creative, artistic, handsome, good **** slangin'……perfect man you are. Prince Charming, you used your sword, on the one you for swore, that you'd love me till and beyond the day that I'm dead. Unfortunate mistakings……burn me at the stake, but first it's off with my head. Charming and flirtatious, so easy to fall in love……but it's being so charming and flirtatious that's got me trying on OJ's gloves. I'm the witch and you're the townspeople secretly fascinated but you'll never say. I'm still in love with you, let's just swallow our pride and give each other's the time of day. I'm still your weakness, you believe I'm that gullible and I don't know at all……because I stuck my pin through your Voodoo corpse right in the heart, and then you gave me a call. I heard the sorrow in your voice and I know you sensed my tears, with the so unslick cracks in my voice and sniffles flooding your ears. I'm yours, and you're mine, last time I said it was the last time……but you're the love of my life and even if we're not together that'll last a lifetime.

"Go and talk to your son!". It seemed lately that every arrival at home, in the old section of Glasgow, began with "Go and talk to your son!". "Why?...what has he done this time"...answered Angus' dad. "What trouble did he get into now?". "None...so far as I can figure" answered Mary, mother of the aforementioned Angus.

"Then why am I going to talk to him?". " He's not selling autographs again is he".
"No dear, he's not...you should just go and have a wee chat with him...that's all."

"Alright, I will"...."will I need some hobnobs as ammunition, or should I be okay on me own?".
"You should be okay without them, but, then again, a wee plate of hobnobs never hurt anyone...least of all our Angus"

Dad, poured two glasses of cold milk, set six hobnobs on a plate and ventured up to himself's room. He knocked twice, just above the "No gurls alowd" sign that Angus had put up after last nights arguement with his Mum, over carrots. Angus refused to accept the arguement that carrots gave you better eyesight...while his Mum said they did. A snicker from Dad at Angus' response almost got him banished to the sofa for the night himself, with his own "No gurls alowd" sign going up in the living room. He remembered Angus standing up from his chair, and stating "If carrots give ye such good eyesight, how come so many rabbits get hit by cars at night?". Then he stormed off.

He knocked again, and Angus opened up the door. Angus was still in his blue school shirt and grey pants. "Can I come in?" asked his father. "I've brought milk...and hobnobs".
Angus stepped back and let his father enter the room. The walls were covered with posters, of cars, footballers, horses, bikes, cartoon characters....so much so, there was barely any space left for anything else.

"Yer mum said I should talk to you...son...do you know why?" "Nope"...said Angus..."do you?" "That's why I'm asking you lad....she told me to come see you...do you know why I'm here?"
Angus tilted his head and answered "because Mum told you too?".
It was clear they weren't getting anywhere with this, so Dad asked "How was school today?"

Angus was now in full time kindergarten at St. Martin's in The Fields Primary School in Glasgow. The school was old, dank, smelled of age and was one of the finest in all of Glasgow...for it's age. It was famous for having had two members of The Bay City Rollers as students, one for about three months and the other a little less. They never graduated from St. Martin's, but, it was something to hang their hat on.

"I got all my Christmas Cards taken away today Da." said Angus. "I was giving them out to everyone, and the teacher, Mr. McDonall came and took them away.".
"Why would he do that boy?"...."Where were you doing it?'
"I was outside before school started giving them out...." , Angus sniffed, "and he came over and grabbed them from me".
Dad, remembered Angus working away for the past two nights, printing everyone's name on the cards, as perfect as he could. It only took 43 cards to get the necessary 21 Angus needed for all of his young classmates.
"Why would he do that?"..."did he tell you why?". "No Dad" said Angus through the rapidly increasing flow of sniffles and snot that normally accompany a crying child.

"I didn't find out until I went to the office to see the Principal afterwards".
"You went to the office for handing out Christmas Cards?" . "That doesn't make any sense son, are you sure you weren't doing anything else?"
"I was just handing out cards Da, that's all", said Angus as he grabbed another hobnob, which he quickly stuffed under his pillow for later. He would get in trouble for that one, but, it would be worth it.

"The Principal said something about Christmas Cards that say Christmas on them, can't be given out at school anymore. They can only say Happy Holidays. If it doesn't say Christmas on it, how can it be a Christmas Card Dad?".

"I don't know boy"...."but I am **** sure gonna find out"....and "you'd better eat that hobnob under your pillow before Mum sees it"...smiled Dad.

The pair ventured downstairs for dinner, neither discussing what went on in the room where "No gurls were allowed". Dinner passed in silence, with Mum looking from one to the other to get some sort of reaction. Once, Angus started to talk, but it had nothing to do with what went on between Father and Son, so she continued eating. She would find out later after Angus went to bed.

After dinner, Angus went to the park with his friends for an hour to play football, and tag, and swing on the swings for a while. Mum, took this chance to corner Dad...and corner him she did...."What went on up there? What did you two talk about?" "He won't say anything to me...what did he do?"
"Nothing....he did nothing wrong at all, so as I see it....Angus didn't do anything wrong".
He kind of smiled at that, because normally after being told "Go talk to your son...", Angus had always done something wrong...this time...it was The Principal.

"Tomorrow, I'm staying home in the morning and taking himself to school....I'm going to see The Principal". "What for?...if he didn't do anything wrong, why are you going to see the Principal?".
"Well, what time of the year is it?".....asked Dad. "It's Christmas silly, you know that...why?"
"Well, apparently it isn't Christmas at St. Martin's in The Fields...at least not as far as himself's teacher and new Principal are concerned. It's now Holiday time....not Christmas Time, Holiday Time. Our wee Angus got in trouble for handing out Christmas cards at Christmas. Does that make any sense?"...said Dad.

The next morning at breakfast, Angus looked up and asked "Dad, shouldn't you be going to work? you'll miss your train.". "I'm taking you to school and going to see your Principal, son". "Why?" asked Angus. "Let's just say I'm going to give him a Christmas Card....have you seen my bible?".
"It's on the sideboard...but, why do you need that Da?"...asked the boy.
"Let's just say...to make a point.".

Mum smiled as the two men, both wee and tall, walked together hand in hand down the drive towards the school. Upon arrival, Angus went off with his friends, while Dad, went into the old, intimidating looking institution. He could smell the old wood soap and mustiness as he waled down the hall, past the class pictures and the old trophies that get hauled out and cleaned every year for games day, only to be put back again after the awards presentations.

Upon arriving at the office, he announced "I'm here to see The Principal.....where is he?".
A pair of beady, spectacled eyes looked up from behind the front desk...and in a thin, reedy, voice asked..."And who might you be, sir...to come in without an appointment?".
"Ah'm flippin' Father Christmas, that's who I am....I am Angus' Mc Dougalls dad, and I am here to see the ****** Principal. Now where is he?"
"Without and appointment.." she started, quickly stopping when Dad, walked past the desk to the door marked M. Dingwall, Principal on it.

"You can't go in there"...screeched the reedy voice..."not without an.." "I know..." said Dad..."not without an appointment.....well, I've got mine right here, and right now..." he said, waving his bible in needle noses face. He continued in to M. Dingwall, Principal's office....and sat down.

M. Dingwall, Principal...looked up from the papers on his desk, which incidentally had 5, yes...5 Christmas Cards on it, and asked Dad..."and who are you to come into my office..."...."without and appointment"...finished Dad. " As I told your chihuahua out front, all bark and no bite by the way, I am frigging Father Christmas, who I see on 3 of the 5 cards you have on your desk. That's who I am, Father Christmas !!!"

"Well, Mr. Christmas, what can we do for you? " asked a clearly shaken M. Dingwall, Principal. "I'll tell you what you can do for me....you can apologize to my son, for a start. My wee lad Angus, came here yesterday morning and was sent to see you for handing out Christmas Cards, at Christmas. What am I missing here?".

"I remember that....yes, he was disciplined and told no more Christmas Cards, it's against the policy of the school board...it's a religious holiday, and we are not allowed, with all of the various religious groups represented within our walls to favour one over another. So, no more Christmas Cards in this school. That is the policy.", said M. Dingwall, Principal.

"That's nice...then what are those 5 cards on your desk....the ones that happen to have Christmas on them and Father Christmas and a nativity scene, which if I know the book I am holding here, is a religious representation, and the reason we have Christmas in the first place. "...asked Dad.

"Those are private, they were given to me by staff" said M. Dingwall, Principal. "I don't care if they came from Jesus Christ himself " yelled Dad, crossing himself in the process, "They don't fit in with the policy you gave my son a reprimand for yesterday."  He looked about the office, and saw a small, four foot tall tree in the corner as well. "Is that a Christmas tree or a holiday tree sir?, which is it?"

M. Dingwall looked up and said, "It's a Christmas Tree, of course, haven't you ever seen a..." and he stopped. He looked at the tree, and the cards, The eyeglasses out front went back to whatever it was she was doing before Father Christmas arrived. "I see....". "You see what sir,?" asked Angus' dad, looking at the tree, and the cards and ignoring the eyeglasses with the reedy voice out front.

"I see your point....It's Christmas, not holdaymas, or xmas....it's Christmas, and I followed policy that I myself am not following myself. I will change that right now....imagine, it took a visit from Father Christmas to get me to see the light..." laughed M. Dingwall, Principal.

"My boy Angus, will be in class, expecting to be told that he can give out his cards to the rest of his friends as he was yesterday...am I understood M. Dingwall, Princinpal?" asked Dad.

"Yes sir, the mark will be stricken from the record and his cards will be returned....I appreciate you coming in to clear up this little misunderstanding...even if you didn't ..." "I know...have an appointment.". M Dingwall stood to shake Dad's hand as he left, and as Dad reached the door, he said "Merry Christmas". Dad thought a bit, smiled at what he had just accomplished and said to M. Dingwall, Principal...."and yes...It is A MERRY CHRISTMAS".

Our first kiss was in my basement, one year,
and three hundred and forty-seven days ago,

his lips tasted like the saccharine double chocolate chunk ice cream
that he licked off my spoon just minutes ago, beard
brushing against the soft bottom of my chin,
                                                           ­                   his hand slipped
into mine as we walked away from yet another birthday celebrated,
it’s been seven since we first became friends

and his hands have finally stopped trembling.

Her eyes convey concern as her head slowly rises up from mine.

“This is a bad idea.”
In her face, against the lightly accented string lights

I see his eyes, tears welling up,

I know I can’t do this, I can’t kiss her, I can’t lose her

I can’t betray him.

I know this is wrong but

I love her and as she leans back down our lips crash together,
hers are plain, soft, safe,

When he cries, he sniffles more than he sobs, when I see him sad, powerless,
my heart cracks, I made a promise in my basement to never be the cause of this suffering,

my right hand runs through her soft hair, twirled between my *******
left hand resting on her cheek, I can feel that under her eyelid she is helpless,
I feel powerless, captivated by the twinkle in her eyes when she laughs,

I feel as though I am held hostage in her arms, yet a wave of freedom washes over me,

I don't know how I feel all I know is I don't yet want this to end,

we both want this,

yet I tell him it is my fault, I hold him close to my chest, my fingers run through
his wildly curly hair,
                     she pulls me closer as we continue to fight rationality,
and in this moment, we are breathing in synchrony, I taste nothing saccharine,

only feeling her soft lips and a bittersweet moment

We all bear scars in one way or other.
Some from loving someone too deeply and some others from losing someone or something that you cared too much for.
Some scars are intentional while some others exist for stupid silly reasons.
Some we are but some we are not so proud of.

I have scars all over my body.
All over my mind and all over my soul.

I have scars on my brain due to over thinking and over analyzing incidents that haven’t even happened yet.

I have scars on my eyes for shutting it more often, for being blind to things that should’ve been taken care of.

I have scars on my nose from all those endless snobs and sniffles from my horrifying past relationships.

I have scars on my mouth from speaking the truth, only the truth and nothing but the truth.

I have scars on my neck from getting choked up on false love and fake proposals.

I have scars on my shoulders from lifting up responsibilities that I was accustomed to from an early age.

I have scars on my hands from holding onto things that weren’t supposed to be mine from the very start.

I have scars on my chest from my ice cold heart that has been stomped over and over multiple times.

I have scars on my lungs from the “occasional” stress buster cigarettes that I am addicted to every now and then.

I have scars on my stomach from one too many butterflies that flew when we first met.

I have scars on my legs from running, miles away from people and that place I used to call home.

I have scars on my skin from the many tattoos I got done that helps me reassure my self-worth.

I have scars on my soul from trying hard to pull myself together, calm me down and compose myself through the rampant storm that’s been raging in my life.

I have all these scars. All of them.
And they don’t scare me now even though they hurt like hell, at times.
They’ve become a part of me and looking back, they are just reminders of who I was, what I have been through my life and the person it has made me become.
They don’t scare me anymore because they define who I am now.

A survivor.

corinth picked up the ball and tossed it up into the air as high as he possibly could. the energy it took for him to do so left him gasping and his muscles stung a little, but to watch the ball arc high above the sky, black against blue, was worth it. when the ball started to sink back down, he ran after it, bumping past athens who had been watching mere inches away.

the enclosure was a backyard to a white building surrounded by concrete walls that cut open hands when rubbed too hard or when scuffles turned sour. in the corner, there was a patch of green grass. the rest was stained yellow from lack of water or from too much sun.

sparta sat in the dust, his hands red with dirt and blood. the stains wrapped around his fingers and wrists and spiraled up to his elbows. he rubbed the pads of his fingers along the dirt, picking up small twigs and stones along the way, as he drew circles around the bird. the bird was dead, long dead, but its brown and grey feathers still stayed in its skin most of the time and the blood was drying so sparta’s hands wouldn’t be red for too much longer. the cracks of flaking blood opened like wounds on small boy's hands: palms big for holding bigger hands and fingers short to keep everything close. sparrow feathers and tears smeared comets into the dust while he cried for his mama even though his mama never came.

corinth ran after the ball, his breath short and his face glowing pink from exertion. as he ran, his hand running along the concrete wall, he started coughing. catching up with the ball started the initial coughing fit that turned into a rattler. he held his hand against the wall, clinging to it with white knuckles, as he hunched over to cough and cough so hard he could feel his throat start to stretch ragged, could feel lunch starting to come up. athens kicked corinth's foot gently before backing away a few feet while corinth continued to cough. when corinth's lungs and throat settled, he stood up straight, grabbed the ball, and threw it up again, this time out of anger rather than play. the ball went sailing backward and athens ran in order to try and get to the ball first, having had a head start. corinth was still faster and managed to shove athens away with a rogue elbow to the ribs in order to claim the ball again. athens didn't argue against the bone.

play continued until the sirens sounded. sparta stopped crying, corinth dropped the ball, and athens picked it up. all three of them hurried quickly and clumsily inside the bunker, shutting the door behind them. as they crawled down the narrow passageway, sparta started to hiccup, a leftover symptom of crying. corinth stopped and glared, and sparta murmured an apology before wiping his sniffles away with the sleeve of his shirt. corinth led the way until the three boys dropped inside the hollowed out room. it was round and the walls were mixtures of concrete, dirt, and chalk drawings. they each had to hunch, especially athens, as the ceiling

they sat in a practiced circle around the center of the room. after a few moments of quiet, hushed breathing, athens began the processions.

“we all here?”

the other two boys raised their hands. sparta’s fingers trembled while corinth raised his arm as high as it could possibly go. his ******* scraped against the ceiling in his earnestness. the three then began the tradition discussion of their names. sparta, forgetting conduct, almost gave away corinth's name, but corinth shut him up quickly. sparta apologized quickly and shoved his fingers in his mouth to keep from saying anything more. dirt and blood mixed with saliva in his mouth, and as he swallowed he ended up choking and gagging on the combination. he coughed and coughed, and corinth slapped him on the back. it didn't help, and the more sparta tried to stop coughing, the harder it lasted. eventually, he had to turn and face away from the other boys as hot bile slid up his throat and onto the floor with a small splat. athens grimaced and edged away.

"alright… show your lungs. everyone."

all three boys began the process of reaching under their shirts and pressing the smooth button under their ribs that unlocked the hatch. the hatch was a small door that ran from the bottom of their ribs up to their collar bone. when they found the smooth button, no bigger than the pad of their thumb, then a small click allowed them to open up their skin. underneath their torsos was a small plastic box that kept everything inside. it helped protect their bones, their heart, and, especially, their lungs. their lungs were frequent targets for doctors; they needed to be accessed quickly. fewer and fewer doctors came by to see the boys recently. corinth wiggled his shirt until he could shove most of it into his mouth, opening his body up and showing gray and green lungs that expanded and collapsed with every breath. his lungs were swollen behind his rib cage, and he experimentally reached in to poke in between his third and fourth ribs. the muscle that was there had been replaced by plastic, and had come loose when he'd pressed the button. his lung shuddered underneath his touch, but he felt the odd relief of pain swoop over him. two blue shirts tumbled to the floor as sparta and athens decided to take off their clothing and help each other find the buttons to unlock their hatches. the boys clung to the small moments of touch when the effects of their touh felt so alien, even after all those years after the surgery.

athens’ lungs were pink and perfect. he coughed and corinth couldn’t help but watch the way his diaphragm moved as he did so, and he felt jealousy pang in his stomach. sparta’s lungs were purple and blue, bruised and small, and they merely fluttered.

“lungs in order,” athens said quietly after a quick inspection of everyone’s insides. sparta immediately closed his hatch, flinching when his finger got caught initially between his inside and his outside, and started to put his shirt back on. corinth stole athens' shirt and slipped it on over the one he currently wore, his other hand slamming shut his lung hatch. athens blinked but let corinth stare at him greedily as he quietly shut his own hatch.

as they waited for the background noise of wailing sirens to disappear, corinth hugged his knees and athens started to draw people in the dirt with his forefinger.

Illness
Early in life,
     it's an
          interruption:

later in life,
     it's an
          omen.

Early and late
     the mortality worm
                    chews.

Early or late,
     it will have
          the last
                    bite.
  - mce

Dark nights where pain resides
No where to run, no place to hide
A young child, a boy of only five
A young child, a boy of only five

Giving chase were the foreigners
Hunters, killers, demons alive
No where to run, no place to hide
In this place where pain resides

"Pull the trigger... Now."

The first shot rang out,
The boy loses his left arm which held  his prized possession

A bamboo stick, shaped into a doll
Now sitting in his right fist

The second shot rang out,
The boy loses his right arm and his bargaining chip

He sits on his last two limbs,
He cries out in pain and anguish

Two more shots ring out,
His right and left legs burst out

From right underneath him,
Giving way to the soft ground

Soaked in his blood and his tears,
As he sniffles and goes into shock

The soldier steps closer in fear,
And then the boys face was lost

Another soldier asks them
"What the hell have you done?
He was only a child, a boy,
Why is this the outcome?"

At this moment a man turned a corner

His grocery bags fell to the floor

As he laid his eyes upon
The torso that lay in an ocean
Of blood next to a bamboo doll
That he had made 5 short years ago

He slowly said, "My Son."

Raindrops fell from the sky.
I tried to look away,
But my eyes I could not pry.
Staring down the clouds.
I watch a hand reach out.
Fear had struck me.
I stood still in my place.
Disbelief clearly on my face.
Not a single soul was around to see.
I tried to speak out.
But the God's ignored me.
For I am one being,
And a god is many.
Gold raindrops covered the streets.
I heard a loud cry.
That's when I realized.
These were not raindrops but tears.
They continued to fall from the sky.
A voice boomed with a defying sigh.
I couldn't imagine a god cry.
This was something out of the ordinary.
You never realize what burdens they carry.
Out of sight out of mind.
You never see how they portray mankind.
For this is the sniffles of the gods.
Defined against all odds.

Eyes frantically searching the room,
symphony of sniffles,
shoulders hunched,
muscles flexed
as thin hands clutch thin arms;
keep it together man,
just a few hours left.

I have the sniffles
Because i didn't take precaution.
I have several sweaters
But they didn't sell in auction.
So I ventured outside
into the frost an'
got the sniffles
because i didn't take precaution.

1.When you walk, don't look in the shop windows. There's nothing really to be seen except a disappointment you've been hiding from and a sense of self you're afraid to feel. Sometimes you'll get curious, you know, and that's okay. We all slip up from time to time. Just remember those deviations from the plan will knock you right back to where you were. You will remember then, and you won't slip up again for awhile. Bring music, or have a song stuck in your head. Never let you mind wander.

2. While you're shopping turn around so you don't have to watch yourself change and struggle into the new clothes. Instead, just turn around to reveal your new look. Then, while ******* turn again. Once more, you will slip from time to time and think perhaps the worst is behind you and you can handle this sort of thing now. It's just you after all; the you that you've fed bathed and breathed with for your entirety. There's no secret that lies in your skin you're presently unaware of. But this slip will cause a prolonged stare, a staggered heart beat, and a couple sniffles. You won't deviate for awhile after. Pro tip: just ignore reflective surfaces in general

3. But if you must look in the mirror, use one that only reflects the shoulders up. Sure your face has gross, brown spots and plateaus all over but that's nothing an unmatched Neutrogena foundation can't fix. You'll feel pretty good. Pretty great actually, as long as you don't let anyone touch your face, or hug anyone's white shirt. It'll begin to feel like that's what you actually look like and your confidence will exceed its greatest peak in the past, before you begin to feel you're fooling everyone around you.

4. And then you'll forget all of these things and you'll go to college and you'll believe in love still--for some reason-- even though every single moment in the past 18 years has told you otherwise about its existence, and because you believe in this thing and you love to write and you love to love you'll start to believe someone could love you and this feeling will eat you alive when it never arrives
5. Soon after you'll begin to realize how mundane you are and how much you blend in. You're not that girl that catches someone's eye and they think about it for days at a time
5. You're the girl blocking that girl


6. So you stop wearing makeup because what's the point you know
If you can't get someone to care about you in a heightened, better state it doesn't matter if you look like your worst, natural you
7. So you walk in the rain and listen to mitski and don't care about the fact that your hairs getting wet even though black girls are supposed to care about that sort of thing
8. And you look in the shop window of that café and feel a sense of self you've been trying to avoid
9. And you start the cycle over again

today i was hidden behind change
behind little things like
nail polish and a hair cut
(everyone says the hair cut is a big thing)
but tomorrow what can i hide behind
besides lies and a china doll grin
and sunglasses to hide when my eyes
get watery from feeling too much
and i can hide behind my bangs and my hands
but i am still there
and i can still be found
i can hide in the ceiling because someone in it cares
for me
but i am hidden behind a wall of demons
of sins who keep people out
of my heart and soul
and mind
oh my mind
if anyone found the true thoughts in my
mind
they would send me away
again
and i would no longer be hidden
i would be in white
not in the darkness i call home
and all the time people would stare at me
and poke and **** and pull and push
like that man who hides himself
in a stuffy room
in nightmare ville
that place that smelt like the ocean when it rains
and blood and sweat and insecurity
and sounded like sniffles and muffled shouts
and screams but only i heard those
and it tasted like sadness and fear and electricity
and it felt like a blanket a wet blanket
that suffocated me
they'll poke and **** and push and pull me like
the man who hides there did
if i come out of hiding
so i wont.
i will stay hidden
i am hidden
except for now. now i am showing, but now i am leaving.

r.c.

I can still recall
The oddest things
About our embraces

The warmth of her blotchy cheeks;
Swollen like water balloons
Beneath my fingers

The scent of tears and perfume
A salty fume of womanhood
Swirling in my nostrils

The clogged up tone of her congested sniffles
Vaguely feminine snorts
Bouncing around my ears

I can still recall
The oddest things
About our embraces

They were all
So
Sad

An unexpected virus came
Diabolically and odiously.
Sniffles like missiles;
We will cough
Green-brown phlegm
And seaweed;
Eyes itch with sweat;
Throats sound guttural warnings;
Muscles ache from making
The sign of the cross in European monasteries;
The tentacles are spreading, grasping, holding hard;
A boy lies face down on the firewall
Like a tethered goat,
Invasive, infectious and deadly.
The body politik has been exposed,
Vulnerable and fallible.

Flowers surround his tombstone
His epitaph is short
It reads Rest In Peace
Rest In Peace to whom?

Sniffles are heard throughout the eulogy
Dressed in all black to mourn the loss of him
Fake tears coming from all.

He was killed
Killed from the demons inside his head
He was driven to the point of insanity
Lived for 16 years, yet he felt dead his whole life.

A brother, son, and friend.
Lies.
They’re all lies.
He didn’t have anyone, nor did anyone have him.

Mistreated, Beaten, and Abused
That’s who he was.
No one knew a single thing about him.
Thrown out, never loved.

A suicide.

The world was against him
He was forgotten by everyone.
Forgotten when alive, but remembered when dead.

Rest In Peace

The Trouble with Dwarfs!

Not snow white in fairy gaffs.
Bashful indiscretion.
Happy has a smiling face.
Every now and then.
Grumpy in the morning.
When alarm says up you get.
Off you have to go and play.
Snow White, well she wants sweet sleepy's head.
'Hi **, hi **.
It's off to work you go.'
He said!
***** was once really ******.
Till Doc he came along and moaned.
Sneezy had the sniffles.
Perhaps he was allergic.
Wanted no more fairy gaffs.
Only wanted lots of laffs!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

He is very low to the ground
He snuffles and sniffles and waddles around
He makes his home in a tree
What on earth could this creature be?
He has spikes and stickers and quills galore
There's a hint if you didn't know before
If you really stop and search your mind
You'll realize he's a porcupine

Seren-dip-me-pity,               (she was self-accepting failure,  bad luck wannabe, wears black and sniffles)
the ardent opposite
of Seren-dip-i-ty,       (she was an accidental discovery, no recovery needed, awe, found objects, in the     
                                                                                    moment)
they are part of the
seven sisters Seren,

wherein lies the rub
Saran-wrap, was third           (caught up on herself, clean and air tight, fresh as the day, tough like teflon)
in line, (changed the spelling of the family name - to be sooner alphabetically)
Seren-ate,                         (she sings she dances, she eats, she sings some more, she waits for applause)
does not speak or gesticulate
unless she performs in song.
Seren-ade, used to sing well           (jealous, performance orientated, sometime for love, lately for money)
as well but when the other came
along and did it better she got bitter
and moved in to retail sales        (lemonADE, pomADE, calvacADE of arcADEs, you get it,                                                                  ­                                                      everything ­became a parADE)
And as for the twins who
are always fighting Seren-ity    (lacks calmness, lacks peace, wants a piece of you, uneven temper)
Seren-e                                         (more easy to be obscene, like evening air with a heavy chill, not bright).

The seven sisters of Seren,
who were always preparing
for a fight to the right to
the next beau to knock
on the door, but soon they
all stopped calling,
they were
no longer falling,
over one another,
as the Seren-ities
were now old biddies,
no longer remained a
worth-while dowry, befitting
sitting silently as the seven
sisters of Seren squabbled
soiling the solitude of the soul.

Fay's crying
by the pub

I see her
on my way
to Baldy's
for shopping
for Mother

she's pretty
standing there
in the blue
cotton dress

so what's up?
I ask her

she looks down
towards home
the tall flats

my dad's mad
and angry
and punished
me just now

why was that?

because I
got the names
of our Lord's
apostles
incorrect

O big deal
I don't know
the guys' names
I tell her

she sniffles
wipes her eyes
looks at me

but I should
she tells me
I’m Catholic
and the nuns
teach us things

nuns and buns
I tell her
forget that
Saturday
is for fun

Dad told me
to learn them
she mutters
she sniffles
her eyes red
I’m done for
if I don't

we'll learn them
together
I tell her

so we go
to my place

my mother
gets us drinks
and biscuits
and brings us
a Bible
an old one
black covered
red edges

Fay sits there
next to me
on the brown
wide sofa
cold leather
with cushions

her fingers
turn pages
here's the page
she utters

I watch her
her finger
very slim
run through names

I nibble
a Rich Tea

she recites
a few names
in order
we repeat
and repeat
till they stick
in our brains

she nibbles
Custard Creams

I drink tea
then more names
repeated
repeated
like a game
name on name
Peter john
James Andrew
and others
and others

I nibble
Ginger Nuts

she nibbles
a Rich Tea

got them now?
I ask her

I think so
I hope so
she utters

she shows me
her red thigh
her old man's
hand mark there

I know them
she tells me

we both do
I tell her

we sip tea
in silence

nearly time
for the kid's
cinema
I tell her
can you come?

don't think so
Daddy says
it's sinful
to watch films
of violence
and kissing
and killing

she looks sad
nibbling
a Rich Tea
her red eyes
searching me.

To know or not to know that is the question. I mean; I already know, I took it once. Yet that once was back before the continuous onset of diarrhea (which could have been caused by the accidental switch up of my stir fry or the unending pastries I filled myself with), before the sniffles and the sneezes (caused by the cold wearing a too thin jacket to the gym), before the exhaustion (wack sleep schedule). I knew before all of that. And even then, that know was a rapid test (but still a test) which could’ve been wrong. So, should I? Should I take it again? Or should I go about my day, and attend dance practice with none the wiser?

…still there? Hey, where’s she gone?

Oh, she’s at dance practice.

A quick wipe of her face
Evidence of the stream
Now gone
A deep breath and a few sniffles
Clearing herself up before going back
To Them
Have to remain strong for them
Put the veil over her tiredness
Camouflage her hurt
The distress and heartaches are abundant
Yet for them
It is of no issue
She’d continue to show face
Give her very last breath
All for them
Their happiness, smiles
The very sound of their laughter
Yea...that’s all that matters to her
All that makes sense in her world
All that ever would
So
.
.
.
Deep breath, few sniffles
Clear face
The little loves of her life awaits

Mother Nature
that wise woman
threw a storm the other day.

It nearly took out Florida
with its raging rains and
tempestous winds.

She's been a bit tempermental of late,
what with the radiation pouring out of Japan,
the plastic clogging the Northern Gyre.

Coral reefs dying off are really
rocking her boat.  The rising carbon dioxide's making her itchy,
just look at how she's growing that poison ivy now.

Monarchs are starving.
Bats are dying off with the sniffles.
She's **** near had enough.

Makes me tremble in my boots,
just thinking what she is truly capable of
if she decides enough IS enough....

Cars shriek in gridlock,
anger gnaws at my chest,
and I *******
in saltwater and sweat.

With wrinkles and claws,
anxiety squeals in the city
within my sanctity of
hounds-tooth and cotton.

Welling up with tears,
the sky, muggy and thick
drips and sniffles:
a heavenly tantrum.

He gently creeps into her room
to rest tenderly near her side
while thoughts of melancholy zoom
in ~ of his once vibrant bride
she's been there for him
so many, many years
he sniffles~and tries to hide
the sorrow and the tears
she has been injured and hurt
but has lost the fight
she will not make it through the night
she will be in paradise by tomorrow's day
he reaches to sniff her best skirt
holds it tight~ it smells of her perfume
he drags over to the vanity to spray
her familiar scent around the room
he cradles her head within his arm
then musters an adoring smile as he whispers in her ear,
"Time travels fast, and I will see you in a while, my dear"
He provides her warmth by stroking her hair
he wants to capture this image of her there
he wants this moment painted on the wall
so that he can always,always recall
how peaceful she seemed while adrift somewhere.

This one is for the doctor who called me “delicate”
I think I missed that word in the thick textbooks about disease I’ve seen
This is for the lab technician who lost not one but two vials of my blood
Because I really wanted to help that new nurse figure out veins again.
This is for the stupid slogans on the walls
A fichus with the word peace under it, I'm cured.
This is for the geriatric room with the low table they always put me in
An arthritis patient means elderly woman, right?
This is for the negative tests and endless questionnaires about my health
Checking how often, how severe, and how much I care.
This is for the four empty orange prescription bottles sitting neatly on my desk
Red pills, and yellow pills, and white ones, oh my!
This is for the loud groan of pain in the morning I make before I even wake
Because why shouldn’t my roommate wake up when I do?
This is for the symphony of my cracking joints and creaking bones
Because violently trembling when you walk up stairs is so very ****.
This is for the manic googling at 4 AM,
Does this symptom mean anything? Is it just a quirk or side affect?
This is for WebMd, bless their hearts,
Who think that sniffles mean polyps and headaches mean cancer.
This is for the flights upon flights of stairs I climb each day,
Cats are considered ****, is panting like a dog?
This is for the cramping and shaking hands everyday
Because as a writer and artist I never even use them right?
This is for my mother
Who’s waited patiently with me through every doctor’s visit
This is for my best friend Lauren
Who missed three classes to take me to a clinic
This is for my nephew
Who is too big for me to pick up without grimacing now
This is for the wine I drank
And the bedroom basement I climb out of
And the backpack I heave around
And the school lunches I leave in toilets
It’s for the nights I have to stay in and the ones where I make myself leave
Because the only thing tough enough to stop me
Is me.
And I’ll tip my hat to myself for putting up such a good challenge.
It’ll just make it even more satisfying when I knock it the **** down.

This poem, well more like a free write, was inspired by the song Amazing by Bruno Mars   *Oh & this is a true story.Enjoy. :)





I hear the words as I drive in my car.

My thoughts take over my body as I

feel the sting begin in my eyes and

my face gets red hot. I start thinking

about my life and those lyrics.

When was I going find someone

to tell me that I'm amazing? When was

I going to find someone to tell me that

I'm beautiful JUST the way I am?

That they would never change anything

about me because I am the epitome of perfect

in their eyes.

As I pull into my driveway, I turn off the car

and cry softly. The silence made my sniffles

sound deafening. I couldn't hear myself

breathe, I thought I stopped.  I took

my time, thinking about my past, present,

and future. I've been so stuck on finding the

"one" that I haven't found myself.

I immediately stopped crying because

I realized I have found someone to tell

me all of those things, and she was

staring at me in the rear view mirror.

                            **ME.

Not rewriting my history,
I’m literally illiterate.

Incredibly inconsiderate,
this hypocritical little *****.

Pitiful for a minute when,
it took me years to fiddle in,

addiction being sickness,
self acceptance well equipped with it.

My father always told me,
I was gifted as he lit his hit.

I doubt that I should blame him,
for years of being mixed up with,
*****, ****, and pills
that lead me to these distances.

The people that I miss the most,
are missing from my Christmas list.

They’re dead or still so livid with,
this monster that they’re living with.

Imagine how I feel,
feeling nothing when I witness this.

I can peel an onion
and not tear up with the sniffles when,
the layers are discovered to be
years of unforgiven sin.

I pray the lord forgives me,
but the price of his forgiveness is,
giving up the only life
I like, so what’s the difference?
****.

As anger grew inside,
I threw aside a written list,
of empty, broken promises,
scripted by lost innocence.

squinted eyes, sparkling
a bright smile
dimples
the clear sound of joy and excitement
gasping for breath, playfully
you're amused
something is so worth praising
with your beautiful laugh

squinted eyes, reddening
a detached frown
sniffles
the soft sound of frustration and sadness
gasping for breath, helplessly
you're upset
something is so worth condemning
with your beautiful tears

| / / | \ | \ \ | \
/ // / | \ | \ | / |
/  / / \ \ \ | / / \

Storm is gone
and all hypes  have settled down
i go straight to that one place
for that much awaited
cleansing...............and freedom
i strip myself of clothings
on the surface
and those underneath my skin...

Under the shower
i am bare
as a newborn babe.  
sighing....as i surrender myself
to the trickles of water sliding
                                            down
                                                   my
                                                         body...
I turn around once...
                              twice...
                         ­           thrice,
                                            to spray the wetness
                                                     all over me...
...i turn the **** gently....for more water
...close my eyes  
...as countless thin drops flow out, touch my head,
                                                           ­     i let them trace
                                                           ­             the countours
                                                       ­                          of my face...
Mouth opens a bit
i drink in some...to quench my thirst
let go of some...and retain the rest
be overcome by the coolness of the tap water,
.....take time to reflect...to ponder...
....while wet eyes give way to sniffles
....blending with those refreshing trickles,
...........erasing muddy stains of fear
...................and dried marks of tears
................sighs, of fatigue...and regret
.............these, i most often neglect...
.....under the shower, they'd be quashed
..........i'd let them all be awash
......................save for my personal friends,
..........like grit........and good ole common sense.

As water saturates my whole being
...a few expectations and dreams
..........go down the drain
.......while others.....stay
........and dwell within.

Some feelings just cannot hide
...some, refuse to surface, and stay buried deep inside.


Sally

Copyright October 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan