I don't know man. It just has been different lately, you know?

No not really. What do you mean? Like, explain it.

Okay so you know how you do it and you feel everything dissolve? You know? And that warm fuzzy light fills you up and the back of your head sags all the way to the floor? You know how you can't stop smiling? How nothing matters because everything is going to be chill in the end? You know?

Yeah? So what's the issue?

Well recently, and I mean very recently, I just got this feeling. This ******* feeling for two hours and all I want is for it all to be over.
The thing is - I know that everything is fine. That it's all chill and that I'm just geeking out, but still, the way it makes me feel. I can't do that anymore.

How the hell does it make you feel dude? Jesus can we get to the point sometime soon?

Right, my bad. It's my heart first. I feel my heart going at a thousand ******* miles a minute but when I check my pulse or heart beat - everything is normal. But still I feel it in my chest yapping like a dog at the front door and I can't convince myself that this is chill. Then it's my chest. You know how Jesus died of suffocation on the cross?

I thought they stabbed him before they suffocated?

Whatever, you know what I mean, how people on crosses couldn't breathe because of their arms and lungs and chest or whatever? Well I get this feeling that my chest is thinner than a sheet of printer paper. That every single time that I inhale it's never enough. Then I get this electricity in the back of my head. It creeps up from my sternum, through my throat and then to my brain stem. Like an itch you can't ******* scratch no matter how many layers of skin you go through?

Jesus dude.

Then I convince myself that I can't move my right hand. Convince myself I'm partially paralyzed. Only I'm watching my right hand move. But I feel like it has to be an illusion, because how the hell am I moving a paralyzed hand? It's all gotten so ******* twisted that I don't know which sense I can trust.

Well are you sure that that's the reason? Why don't you take a small geeb or something? For the sake of the scientific method?

Listen to me you fool. There is no method to this. Just madness. But I suppose, in the name of fairness, I should do some more research. Maybe just this one last time. Just to be sure.

Exactly... So you wanna smoke some ****?

Yes. I want to smoke some ****. Just for science and all that. I kinda have to. It'd be unamerican to not smoke, right?

Right.

You’re a thorn in my side, but at the same time that
You’re stabbed into my skin,
You’re also making my sides split in laughter:
You’re so funny when you remind me that
I’m the one who forced you  into my side,
That I could very well pluck you out and throw you down but
I’d always go back to that spot on the ground where I dumped you,
Picking you up and pricking you back in
As we laugh together at my pain.

Loudly it sounded,
The horns message clear,
The gods had been warned,
The giants were near.

From Jotunheim to Midgard
To Asgard they came,
Their intent was clear,
Their purpose the same.

Loudly they shouted,
They yelled, and they raged,
The gods and the giants
Were battle engaged.

Thor with his hammer
and Vidar with shoe,
One would think battle
Was all that they knew.

Tyr with one hand
And Frey with no sword,
They should have stayed back,
But of their own accord

Into battle they leapt,
Into battle they ran,
Against the giants
To make their stand.

The moon and the sun,
Luna and Sol,
Went into the bellies
of Hati and Skoll.

Tidal waves crashed
all over the world,
Out of the oceans came
The serpent of Midgard.

Thor ran at the beast,
The great Fenrir Wolf,
But he was soon
In snakes coils engulfed.

Thor pounded away,
He hammered the snake,
But he did no damage,
No dent did he make.

The great Fenrir Wolf
Rushed at Odin,
The god stabbed with his spear,
But the great wolf did win.

Vidar rushed at the beast
With his big heavy shoe,
Kicked in the jaw,
The Fenrir Wolf flew

Away from the battle,
away from the fray,
In the depths of space
The Fenrir Wolf stays.

The gods and the giants,
The battle they fought,
And in the end
it was all for naught.

They destroyed each other,
Each and every one,
And out of the darkness
Came a new sun.

In the sun’s warmth,
A great green was spread,
The great land had died,
And was back from the dead.

Two gods were left,
The young sons of Thor,
They were spared because
they were good and pure.

The gods met with two humans
Who had lived through the strife,
And together they planned
a new and better life.

And for this reason,
The Norse people say,
The gods stay in Asgard
To this very day.

But if in the future
The giants attack,
The gods will come to Midgard,
And they will attack.

The word scars has always had a negative connotation behind it. A common name for Mental or Emotional injury is referred to as mental scars or emotional scars. Medically speaking scars or scarring is a step in the natural process your body undergoes to heal. Even though the healing is happening when a scar appears it tends to leave behind what some people see as an unattractive mark or area. Emotional scars and mental scars follow the same rules; a broken heart, the death of a friend or family member. All of these things can give us scars of some form. Having many scars myself I can relate with the desire to cover up or be rid of the unattractive areas on my body or in my life. It can become increasingly frustrating when those scars don't fade over time, or take longer to vanish then we hoped for. However this doesn't have to be a bad thing as quoted by a musical group AA-" How Stubborn are the scars when they won't fade away, or just a gentle reminder that now are better days".

I've had my fair share of "scars" whether emotional, mental, or physical. Each one has a different story, each one is riddled with wouldas, shouldas or I wish; but like the choices I've made to obtain them they are permanent. A Great example of scars as a story is the process of tattooing. Tattooing is the process to scar the skin by injecting ink into the second layer of skin causing it to be stained in the patterned it was scarred. People are in most cases proud of their tattoos, yet try to hide the natural tattoos of life. The body is a blank canvas when you’re born. Through trial and error we have been painted with life experience. Where I’m from scars are worn like the patches on a jacket. “I've been stabbed here or I've been shot there" is a badge of honor. Maimed knuckles were on the hands that lead us to adulthood. We grew up believing that our scars were how we were defined. If my face wasn't torn or my legs weren't spotted from the bruises then I’ll never fit in. Although it’s looking beyond the superficial, I was convinced we still were missing something. We were missing the beauty of those distorted knuckles, the grace in that scraped up knee. We never stopped to realize that we were actually bonding over our flawed skin instead of boasting about, "You should see the other guy".

We shouldn't hide behind the outcome of something that happened but instead smile that we learned from it. It took me a long time to realize just how special each blemish I carry truly was to me. When I look at my shin I don't see I fell and it was painful; I see my wife and I playing soccer and she juked right pass me scoring the winning goal. Something my grandmother always said to me, “You’re only as interesting as the scars you can smile at". For me that sums up things beautifully. Bad things happen to everyday people and even when that scar doesn't fade just remember that now are better days. I can successfully say I’m smiling because now these are truly better days.

I have been cruel
and unrepentant,
and on my knees
yearning for certain
benevolences
people promised
good people
get.

There is I suppose
a logic
to why it is not so tragic
I don't get when I didn't give
'cuz I was too busy
wanting
the best.

My conscience woke
when I stabbed a man
in the heart with barb
again.
After hours or regret
and notes that confessed
I burnt it down for I knew
nothing changes.
I am still
upset.

Your parents don't tell you what it feels like to be shot or stabbed when you're born.
They don't have to, because there isn't really any way to describe it. You can't know how it feels or describe the pain if you haven't felt it, lived it.
But why would they tell their precious baby boy or girl how that feels? Scaring them before they've actually lived. Triggering fear before they even know what fear is.
No, you can't describe how it feels to be stabbed. When it happens it just happens, it's so painful you can't even say you're in pain, because you're eyes are always so shocked that pain like that even exists. Your body goes numb at the sight of its own blood.
No one wants to be warned of that image, just like they don't want to listen when they're warned about falling in love.

twelve

         If i could write a letter to my twelve your old self, i would mention the pain your about to face, with self loathing and mental health is far worse then the years before. I would mention how when you wake up wipe the sleep from your eyes and read this letter and find two people you loved gone from your life forever. When you leave your plastic car framed bed you will find an empty room in the basement. The first loss is not death but abandenment leaves no answer to the sting a heart can feel when your older sister meant to guide you has ran away.  She has left, and to what you shall soon find out, left you to your death. The second loss has less thought to the idea of why? but still i did cry. It was my great grandmothers time. Her slow pace death lead to suffering till one week to the day after i turned twelve.  Emotional asking questions why, three days later i tightened my silk tie putting on a suit and ending the night seeing the casket of one of you. To think of you as dead eased my head for a while but still have to replace my frown with a fake smile. After all i lost a sister, when i needed someone to talk you were never there. Instead i just found myself cutting and dyeing my hair.  This is the year you feel your fathers strong hand as you tremble below it. This is the year you tremble in fear this is the first year you want to die

Thirteen

      To my thirteen year old self, im sorry life doesnt get better. im sorry that this is year your parents admit they don't care.  Im sorry this is the year you hear the three words no one wants or deserves to know their pain. Even though the words "I hate you" Were uttered in vain. Im sorry no one was there to hold you in there arms, im sorry of how when looked in the mirror every morniing after you showered  telling yourself its a new day and the pain is past. Im so sorry of how you found out how long the pain really lasts. Look at what you have achieved though, this is the year you win first in all categories invited to Kick Canada to again win. You achieve a bronze as a group, silver in your weopons, and gold in kickboxing. With you feeling weighed down your still weightless, with your amazing place and the smile on your face to look in the croud hearing the aplause. Somethings missing though your parents no where to be seen. Im sorry they wernt there to say good job im sorry your dads hand still strikes strong. This is the year you say enough though, you say no and strike back your foe. He stands stunned for a minute and walks away, the bruises faded away from the surface, but inside i still see them.  It is the night of my birthday i fall asleep praying tomorow will bring a better year.

Fourteen

     Im sorry this is not the year it gets better, your father never lays another hand to your dismay doesnt matter for his and your mothers word fly freely. This is the year they make you cry, only to insult you further "your nothing, your trash" there tounges did lash me. Til  i crashed under hate to my untimly fate, your mother is sick and you walk into the room as she slashes the blade across her wrist, you watch her bleed amd scream for help but she pretends u dont exsist she  spends the next year and eight monthes in psycitric care. Left in a house with nothing fair in the air my invitation ti nationals came and past i did not go in fear of leaving my mother would effect her more vast, past her yelling at ke eberyday i walked in the light blue room with the curtains always closed filled with gloom . While my mother on her last heartstrings looked for strength from her groom . Only to be filled with hate she saw me as a reminder he exsists and how he doesnt visit but i did. I walked the long path every **** day to see my mothers face still i wasnt good enough but that is just my luck. It is my last night of this age. The house is empty amd quite but still remains okay just praying thiis new year brings joy to the now broken boy.

Fifteen

     This is not the year it gets better neither, but this os the year your mother is released. It took a week for the smiles to wear away. Then i saw once again the skin tare from her flesh. Soon hate took over the tone under her breath and malace mixed with spite is the only thing left of my mother i once knew. This is the year you once again face death, you and your mother are in a car driving counting breaths singing along to eminem, reciting robert frost. when suddenly a car passes us and my mother is crossed the mid age lady on her phone swirving around, not paying atention to anyone or anything i still see her frown. She ran a stop sighn without a thought hit by a garbage truck in front of our eyes now i know the cost of when her cellphone conversation stopped. This was the first time i watched someone die. Still shocked  my mother had to call the abulence as i and the garbage man saw the damage in case she still did breath. In the end blood filled the scene as me amd the garbage man covered the front window with a sheet to protect what is left of this womens dignity. This is the year you fond a little blue pill that not only eases your pain if snorted aslo goves you a thrill. This is the first year that you almost sucsessfully kil.l... yourself going to sleep for this living hell praying next year could be better aswell.

Sixteen

     This year is a self medicated blur, this is the year you forgot who you were. T3s replaced with perks and shots only to be soon replaced with oxys in your black box crushed and lined one at a time up your nose the powder glides. The first night you try an 80 you overdose nearly comitoce as you spew a frothy white  fluid from your mouth but my freinds saved me to this day i dnt know how called said i passed out and cant drive home so my parents could never figure out how i lay on the tiled floor back from death after this a pill is never again accepted that is your debt 2 days to your birthday that cursid day your sober but that was just babby steps and i promise little soilder babby steps you would not regret.

Seventeen

      This is the year you stopped praying for help thinking you did this to yourself i promise it wasnt you. How could it be your still just in youth. This is the year you watch your father fall. You find the trail of debt 100 thousand dollars owed mine aswell of been a million for we can barely live so how would you like us to pay it back i finfd him stealing money from my backpack. This is the year you find out your dad is the same worth of a rat and you dont have to take his crap. This is the year he snaps and instead you help him back up. He was in achoma five days as you stayed never slept jus sat beside his hospital bed praying this did not mean death. Death came in a different way with your cousin brit stabbed to death by her husband on febuary fith.. this is the year you wished you diddnt exsist.

Eighteen

     This is the year.... you found the courage to see you will always be...good and thats enough for me.

Once Love found Hate in her bedroom;
her breaths short her cheeks pale with gloom.
Her skin bruised wanly with despair;
her eyes redd'ning like a fire.

In front of her spread a suitcase;
th' wooden one with four blue wheels
She packed her clothes in a blank daze-
scarfs, tights, pants, coats, and pretty heels.

Love stormed swiftly into th' room
Begged her to explain her doings
She turned around with shades of gloom
and suddenly stopped her packing.

'Why might thou want to know?' she said.
'I am to mount a carriage,
next to th' sea and pebbled shores-
leaving thee and t'is parsonage,
as I canst but love thee no more.'

Love start'd to plead and kneel by her.
'Part with me not, o, my darling!
Life without thee is like graveyards,
wherein my soul'd lie like a stone-
soul t'at's fond'f thee innocently!'

Love grabbed Hate's white wrist and kissed it
Tried to distract her with his wit
She icily frowned and flitted
Ran to her suitcase and yanked it

Off th' bed 'till 'tis on th' floor.
Clenching it she walked off to th' door.
Yet she turned once more onto him.
Staring at his blue eyes, she seemed.

'Thy heart what has hath ruined thee.
Detest, thy plant with scrutiny.
When I suffereth thou wert here not.
Thou just want'd to share what I got!

'For her thou locked up my feelings,
for her thou mocked away my smiles.
On her name thou scyth'd my flowers-
and painted my cards with remorse.'

'For her thou tore 'way my kisses,
for her thou pushed away my hands.
Put astray the blush of my cheeks,
ran naked at night into her charms.'

'Thou dreamed of her with dear passion,
and glared at me with aversion.
Thou praised her grace and affection,
and cursed me into damnation.'

'Who says love is like a fountain?
I find it replete with hatred.
Who thinks love resembl's a mountain?
It's soul as wicked as a *******!'

'Vileness t'at hath conquered my heart,
and torn my whole kindness apart!
I'm not an object of thy lies,
no more to watch thy sins and vice.'

'And I wish thee but one goodbye!
To 'nother world I shalt still fly
Like a bird or young butterfly
And seek thou not until I die.'

'But bless be with thee, o, darling!
Hope God still descends His mercy-
onto t'is happiness of thee-
And th' day of thy own wedding!'

'Invite me not, for Heaven's sake.
As in my moonlit den by t'en
Shalt I be writing my own fake
A story of fond childhood friends.'

'T'ey wert but I and thee, my dear,
before we becameth Love and Hate.
Within t'ose times I hath no fear;
of falling in love with my mate.'

'But I didst, eventually!
Thoughts of thee began to haunt me-
at my thirteenth birthday party.
T'at night of thee I wrote poetry!'

''Ah, t'is piece of writing t'at I loved,''
Hate pushed out a worn handkerchief
with breaths of an old deep relief.
"Keep it as thou dearest treasure!"

'On t'is blissful night of azure,
of her love thou still needst be sure.
Chain her to thee by'a happy knot,
have a wedding in one week short.'

'Saileth shall I deep into the sea,
a book and its poems be with me.
Littleness makes my heart merry,
abundance sends my nerves weary.'

'And by thy bliss shalt I hath gone,
when thy heart she'th finally won.
But it no more be of'a burden,
as thy joy makes my soul gladden.'

'And remember me not, whilst I'm none-
o thou who wert once my prince.
As I am just trivial like a stone,
when pain bites me still not I wince.'

'Cherish thy vic'try, o my love,
for today shan't be repeated,
like t'ose innocent young green groves-
who smile at th' wild, gusty winds.'

'And weep not, o, on my leaving,
for in death we'll be uniting.
As the heavens even howl not,
whenst I travel from dot to dot.'

'But pray to God, I canst tell thee
so thy sins shalt soon be atoned.
And from stains thy soul canst be free
as thy shoulders from pains t'ey'th borne.'

'And depart now I, o, my king!
Canst I watch now th' waves swirling
and th' ****** boat beside me-
wait for me to mount 'em in glee!'

With a grin on her faint red lips,
fall didst Hate on th' bed's blue sheets!
At first her eyes still bright, cheeks red and warm,
but minutes pass and her breaths fleet!

Sink didst Hate's head to her shoulder-
No matter how hard Love woke her!
And didst stop her heart from beating
Into silent death she's shrinking.

Love groaned and wailed 'till th' morn came,
but emptiness still frost'd th' streets.
No-one came in to bringst a flame;
except th' storm in graying fits!

Love sobbed 'till his eyes caught a knife
Laying nearby in th' kitchen.
Dart'd he forward in one long leap-
and seized it with his hands barren!

Stabbed it didst he into his chest,
with screams t'at pierced everyone's ears.
And fled they off from t'eir bed rest-
'fore thumping on into th' scene.

And th' two lovers nearly dead
Their heads laid straight by th' stabbed knife.
Despite his pain, Love smileth instead-
whispered 'I loveth Her' to his wife.

Wedded they wert at t'eir fun'ral
Amongst th' sobs of t'eir parents.
And even the lady, Hate's rival
was seen clearly 'midst th' currents.

"And blessed by Lord, is t'is couple"
Father Smith read his wan prayers.
"Both in their lives and now in death,
in t'eir Heaven walks and rambles."

And didst t'ey leave th' silent graves
'pon t'at farewell in th' churchyard
Where dwelleth th' lov'rs in t'eir new caves;
'nwhich no more love betrays t'eir hearts.

But on th' brown soil laid one poem!
Written fiercely by Love himself
Th' day beforeth Hate planned to move-
and showeth th' tale she wrote herself.

Th' tale t'at is now but buried;
with t'eir eternal love forever.
Beneath all th' soil and deadly stones;
of th' days t'at hath now been gone.

But how true words shalt never die;
and even in death still triumph.
So t'ere is no use of say'ng goodbye;
'fore winters to fading autumns.

'I love thee 'cos thou art my Hate-
th' devil side of my being.
Without thee incomplete my fate-
and mirthless is all my knowing.'

'I love thee 'cos of thee I'm made,
if I am King then thou art Queen.
Loving thee truly by my side,
I care no longer for her then.'

'I love thee 'cos thou art my breath,
if I'm anger then thou art wrath.
If I'm joy then thou shalt be glad,
when I'm angered thou shalt be mad.'

'But I love thee 'cos I just do!
And without thee my life is blue.
It's with thee I hath no more fears,
in joy and grief, in laughs and tears.'

Shimmering fire roar like lion in it's den,
The brute force of a single swing cut like doubled edged sword.

Such is the might of the great leader stand firm,
And the their voice solid like anvil,
while exuberance protrude with their sharp tongue.

They are the primal males who would rule,
And bend or shape all things into a form!

For all those leads must clear the rough edges,
And some edges will cut so deeply.

So deeply the edges cut even the royalty to bend their knees,
And like Achilles with arrow in his heels limp.

To the den the lion crawl with roar dimming of radiance,
And fire of the candles seize just as he draws the final breath!

Why is this still happening?
So silently, yet still reported;
At great lengths they will go
- to make sure its reported.

Although the Government are in denial,
We are grateful for those who report
The ongoing slaughter of innocent people
Men, women, and children are caught.

Journalists themselves are risking their lives
To tell the world whats happening;
There can be no more dangerous a place
From which to report the sickening.

So where is the world?
The situation is dire -
And unless action is taken
...its going to catch fire.

People are still leaving,
For Tanzania,
A country now turning them back
Back home to face their fears.

But where are the World?
What is holding you back?
How can you just sit there
And ignore these attacks?

For I for one cannot,
And I have no power to act,
All I can do, is spread the word
And hope someone...will act.

Yes there was a time,
When a hundred thousand were killed each day,
That is hard to comprehend,
Not just for me - but for locals who got away.

It may not be happening quite on that scale,
But the fact that it is still happening,
Surely is warning enough.....
And the Government is in denial...

I am worried for Burundi,
But why is no one else?
How can you just sit there
- are you leaving it for someone else?

The attacks are still happening,
Day after day after day,
Bodies are still being found....
Before being rushed into the ground.

Such brutality is hard to stomach,
And I have the stomach for much,
But when I encountered the plight of Burundi,
That was just too much.

I dont know if I will finish this poem,
Because the images I now have are horrific,
So what must it be like....
For those having to live there with it?

Imagine the fear,
The total despair,
And the feeling of more
- that the world doesnt care.

It can be no wonder
That this little country
Is the unhappiest on Earth,
It is so clear to see.

Or for those who choose maybe
To see what others refuse,
Or ignore, or belittle,
Cover up- whatever word you use.

Each day there are reports,
Women and children found dead,
Their throats have been cut,
Bodies lay with no heads

They are *****, they are tortured,
For hours, days, or months,
There are forced disappearances,
- those run into the hundreds.

A machete is no longer an agricultural tool,
It has become a symbol of terror,
It is used to slice, tear, stab, torture;
It is a symbol of ******.

What must go through these peoples minds,
When they see someone with a machete,
What was once a necessary tool,
Now been used to butcher so many.

The genocide may be over,
And few even know it took in Burundi,
But the torture, the butchering continues
It continues horrifically.

I am a strong person,
I have read about, seen, and stomached a lot,
But there is nothing that even comes close
To how this puts my stomach in a knot.

The info is there if you seek it,
And please do - its risky to report;
I wonder how much more blood must be spilt
Until someone decides those responsible must be caught

The images they are many many,
The videos they are there too:
But why is it just me seeing this?
Where are the rest of you?

The day I saw the video,
I will never forget,
After what I had suffered myself,
Again I will never forget.

I do not regret what I saw,
For I believe it to be necessary,
Necessary for people to see,
But - those in Government - not me.

Now I have to be careful,
Because of what I saw,
That video put me in hospital -
It triggered something in my core.

It is spread through desperation,
To get a message to the world,
But I was one of only 3 to have seen that,
Maybe rightly so, but also absurd.

Pictures are horrific enough,
Sometimes missing parts are "shaded",
But then comes along another
The shadings not there, its a person beheaded.

But it it not the effect on myself,
Which pains me so much,
It is the fact that this is still happening,
And the world is so out of touch.

I now have to be careful,
But I will not stop,
I wont stop spreading the word,
Until this killing in Burundi stops.

The graphics are hard to put to words,
The testimonies harder still,
But I have tried to help you see,
Without making myself more ill.

The Imbonerakure,
The youth wing of the CNFDD,
Even seeing that word now..
Makes the panic rise within me

For they and the security are responsible,
For the majority of the brutal killings,
The ****, the torture, the unthinkable,
People are not even safe when leaving.

They come out at night,
The raid peoples homes,
**** entire families,
While others watch on.

They harass in the streets,
The harass at the borders,
They are everywhere,
Butchering as they are given orders.

The President thinks he was put there by God,
This is nothing shocking I know,
For for Burundi it means a lot,
It means he may stay for ever, death will be all they know.

There are memorials built,
To the many genocides to take place,
Each containing thousands of skulls,
Cracked where the machete went through the face.

Thousands and thousand of skulls lined up,
Of course there are no bodies -
From "Ear to Ear" was how the saying went,
As each head was cut from its body.

It has become so common to find someones head,
Something that for us here would cause fear in itself,
That now in Burundi there are proverbs and sayings,
School children quote wise words from these heads themselves.

Headless bodies float along the river,
Headless bodies dumped in bags with the *******,
A machete taken to the throat and then to the torso,
Ripping flesh, drawing blood, organs pulled out of the body for show.

For this is a living nightmare,
Blood flowing down roads and rivers,
Finding a hand, a head, a liver...
Would make many strong people shiver.

People are literally hacked to death,
Occasionally they are shot,
If I ever found myself in that position
I would outright beg to be shot.

The person I saw die in the video,
Took way more than 10 minutes for sure,
As hit throat was cut, he was stabbed, his skin ripped,
His blood spurted violently across the floor

I refuse to go into more detail than that,
For thats the one that triggered me,
I will never watch it again,
But I do want those in power to see.

Will someone please help Burundi?
I feel I have not done it justice with this poem,
The machete, the blood, the horror...
Please help... we all know who is to blame.

We all know....

you always complained
that you were a dandelion
in a garden of roses,
a pest, a **** --
something unlovable.

and maybe you weren't perfect.
maybe you were a bit
rough around the edges
with a crack
here or there.
maybe your seams had come undone
and, if you still insist on being a flower,
maybe you had lost a petal or two.

but what you failed to realize
is that every rose
has thorns.

so maybe they didn't have
as many cracks as you,
as many tears as you,
as many rough edges
as you did,
but god,
they were nowhere near as pure,
nowhere near as lovely
as you were.

we wish on dandelions, dear,
because we trust them.
nobody's ever wished
on a rose,
now have they?
no.
they're too afraid
they'll get pricked,
stabbed,
betrayed.

so maybe you were
the dandelion
hidden in a garden of roses.
maybe you were the outcast,
the misfit,
the odd one out.
maybe you were just a little bit unloved,
and unfairly forgotten.

but what you failed to realize
is that i would have gladly picked you
over the brightest rose
in that silly little garden.

(a.m.)

As much as I would love to say that the world is full of good people and pretty plants that bloom every spring, I can’t. I cannot say that because I know it is not true. The brutally honest facts is that no one is perfectly good and sometimes flowers don’t grow from the stem of the plan they were born from and they remain dormant. The sun doesn’t shine brightly every day and birds don’t always sing. I am not saying that the world is a hell hole and we might as well give up on a life that is going to end in failure anyways. However, I am saying that there will be bad days. I would say that my mind is pessimist but my heart is one hell of an optimist. My brain tells me that life isn’t fair and everyone dies eventually, but my heart tells me to power on another day because I am an incredible human being with so many things to offer the world. If I was an optimist, I would never be honest to myself and would allow myself to lie and say everything is okay when it isn’t. if I was an optimist, I would walk through life being stabbed and never stop to heal the wounds. However, if I was a pessimist I would never be fully happy and eventually the negativity would drag me down to a place not even the biggest optimist could pull me out of. If I was a pessimist I would walk through life being stabbed and stopping to heal my wounds. I think life is easier as a pessimist. It allows you to never get hurt. You’re always thinking of the bad that could happen and you avoid it. So maybe, I’m scared of getting hurt. Therefore, I admit that I am a pessimist.

Why so pretty, sad girl?
Your luscious locks gently wave
Your tears are all you gave...

Why so pretty, mean girl?
Your emerald eyes stop boys in their tracks
Your anger has stabbed oh so many backs...

Why so pretty, lonely girl?
Your handsome body attracts them all
Your bitter heart is your downfall...

Why so pretty, selfish girl?
Your silky tan draws attention
Your greed is all they mention...

Why so pretty, fake girl?
Your smile brightens the day
Your two faces follow the way...

Why so pretty, when your soul is hideous?
Why so pretty, when you're so insidious?
Why so pretty, when it does you no benefit?
Why so pretty, when all you do is pout and sit?

My love, walk into the real world.
Show your "beauty" to the blind man.
See if he will take your hand...

With a beautiful smile
She stabbed my heart

Its started to rain
Red raindrops
Fell on the ground

She saw the love
Dripping from my heart

And left me bleeding
With my broken parts.

of them all
you were the one
I least expected
to stab me
with a piece of my own heart

Scars

One. If I could, I would nail these hands to the edges of sky. I would sacrifice this body to the earth, hoping to resurrect someone that doesnt have the heart to  care about you anymore.

Two. Staple me to a table. Pierce my side with your broken promises and I will bleed all the pathetic reasons why you deserve one more chance.

Three. Loving you was the last thing that I put my all into.

Four. You wanna know how I got so bitter? Well, I ripped every last piece of you in my heart and soul and all that remained was regrets that you didn't care.

Five, I whispered you into my dreams.

Six, I spoke you into my heart.

Seven, I dipped my hands in a future that didnt exist, I touched you until you were imprinted on my very soul, treated you as if you were the only molecule of oxygen I needed ; I was good to you.

Eight. You wanna know how I got these scars? Well, I cut out my pride and then it crawled it’s way out of my mouth and I begged you to make me happy.

Nine, I realized that I was never really your girlfriend, I was just your ******* convenient-temp.

Ten, I hope your next girlfriend gets stds.

Ten, Yes I said stds.

Ten, I really hate you.

ten, I never want to see you again.

ten, I still love you. Wish I didn't.

ten, it’s hard for me to keep count when I get emotional.

Ten I heard that over 90% of human interaction is not verbal..so.. I guess the signs were right. You don't want me. You don't need me.

Ten, if I could, I would tie your arms to a wish and then auction you off to my best and worst memories. To the random girl who will start dating my ex boyfriend two days after we broke up (yes, I know you're going to move on real fast.)
When I realized that you were in a relationship with the one guy that I thought I would someday spend the rest of my life with, I broke into a million pieces. I said to myself, “Kevin Hart would say he wasn't man enough for you. Or you weren't good enough for him."
I swore I would never love again, it was all a joke to you. Some twisted game you won.

One: Everytime I see you with girls in a picture, I want to take my entire arm, shove it inside your phone and smack the happiness right off of your face.

Two, if I ever see you around me, I’m probably going to punch you in the throat. Or forget I ever knew you.

Three, I apologize in advance. And I know, I know that it makes no sense to have this much anger toward a man that I love with every bit of me,but my definition of love isnt being stabbed in the heart over and over as you watch me bleed out and hope that this time it won't hurt. There is nothing
logical about putting the most important parts of yourself inside hands that can't support you and shake, tremble, and drop you.

Four, there is nothing rational about love. Love freaking hurts. It lies. It leaves you wishing you had never met the person who makes you fall over and over and breaks you till you are a mess that can't be fixed.

Five, you're ******* irresponsible, and I’m tired of you using me for target practice.

Six, I was told that time heals all wounds. But what exactly should I do on days when it feels like my clock stopped cause you're gone?

Seven, you always said I loved you too much. My mistake.

Eight, I think I’ve seen you somewhere in her dreams. Like I’ve heard you talking to her and being happy together in her laughter. I’ve smelled your cologne on her thighs. Cause am sure you will be all over her like you can't be for me. I bet if we dusted your heart for fingerprints, we would only find hers. I wasnt the love of your life.Nine, you see I have this envelope in my head and heart.it’s full of all the butterflies I felt the first time you touched me, kissed me, admitted you loved me. It's full of memories for when I thought we had a future. Most of them are still alive. I can still feel their wings through the paper. Guess it's my hope. Here, am giving them back to you. I suppose they belong to you, too.

to be honest -
lots of penises
lots of them
worked out sort of

stepped on a jellyfish
stabbed myself on a broken mirror
by accident
ate a lot of donuts

pet a dog
hung out with cats
hung out with good people
a few of them
hung out with bad people
lots of them

ran away from a boyfriend
complained about nothing
got a lappytoppy finally
complained about trump

cut my hair and its still annoying
me with its definition
fell in love with a girl
then immediately regretted it

that sort of stuff

If it's him and not me, go. 
Please go. 
Don't make this any harder. 
My heart has been through tornados and tsunamis,
But nothing could prepare it for this. 
For you leaving. 
For this heartache.
For you are choosing him over me. 
Over 
And over. 
Again
And again. 

If it's him and not me, leave.  
Take your bags and walk out the door.
But don't you dare look back,
You've left me before. 
Without a doubt in your mind,
And I was a fool to let you back into my heart. 
This time was the last time. 
This is your choice. 
You choose.  
It's him. 
Not me. 
So go.

this
poem
started off
intending to be the shortest poem in the world
nay,
more aptly
in the whole wide, wide open uni-verse
but ambition overtook it
and it aimed to stretch far and wide
an Aristotelian hubris, you know
like the ambition of Macbeth
going beyond what Mrs Macbeth intended
and so this ambitious little poem of ours expanded
starting meek as grass
growing zealous
and went beyond itself and its kind
this
poem
that
had such humble beginnings
that dared to want to be the shortest poem in the world
but turned out loquacious
and it could go on, it said,
beating all length, breadth and dimension
and would have -
but it got into convulsions and fits
and shock
when it had gone beyond its shortness
and it couldn’t even spell
couldn't even get words right
floating in a soup of red lines in Word or in Mac’s Pages
and so it took its own life
or someone stabbed it like they did to o’erweening Macbeth
or to our poor, poor misunderstood Rasputin who being a Saint was thought a Devil
but was all humble
as the shortest poem in the uni-verse

I once wondered what the Devil reads before he goes to sleep in Prada sheets
I found he wears white but feeds the least hungry

Go ahead and eat he told me, it’s food for thought food for death
I can’t catch my breath or brain they brought me here

One dance with the Devil done by 12 I feel so lucky
My bet with Judas just jarred the line call the ******

He stabbed the Devil’s back too but this time for a quid
We left to ***** and loot like teens with stolen credit cards

Maxed out and blacked out murderers with no trust
****, I must be Satan’s rebellious son.

Now reigning in the fire I bring the flames higher
Than they’ve ever been but my back wont be stabbed like his.

"Kami na ni A"
Or in English
"Me and A are official now"
Exact words you told me

Those were the most
Hurtful, painful, distressful words
I have ever heard from you
And I don't know what to say

I don't know what to feel
I know I'm happy for you
Bc finally she answered you after a year.
The long wait is over for you.

But my tears
They fell, escaped, from my eyes.
I was not able to help myself
I am literally crying my eyes out right now

Maybe you are currently jumping in joy
But what you don't know is that
I am in pure agonizing pain right now
Like someone stabbed a knife in my heart

The evil witch is after the 11 year olds


Once upon a time there was an evil witch,, and this witch was like no witch i n any fairy tales, no this witch was pure evil, you see she took pride in grabbing 11 year old kids avid locking themselves in the basement to eventually chop them up and put them in an oven, to give herself a feast, the first kid was young a 11 year old boy named Tommy Kinarfis and he was on his way to school and he was just minding his own business when this black car pulled up and before Tommy could run away, the witch grabbed him and shoved him in the boot of his car and being as scared as he was, Tommy really didn't want to die, and tried to bang the the walls of the boot to show that he has been kidnapped but nobody heard him and before he knew it, he found himself locked up in a cage being fattened up, so the witch can eat him up, and after about 12 hours Tommy was dead, and the witch was happy, the next kid was 11 year old daughter of president Frederick Leonardo, you see this president was so conservative and everyone was too scared to do anything bad to his kid, but one day when the presidents daughter, who was named Terri was waiting for her body guard after school when this car turned up and this man got out pretending to be her bodyguard one day, and after 2 hours of driving Terri realised that she has been kidnapped, and then the bodyguard took off his nice disguise and when Terri noticed it was the witch, she tried to escape but soon enough she was locked in her cage being fattened up, so the witch can enjoy her feast, and the presidents daughter Terri was dead and the president had a little burial for her.
The next kid was 11 year old Peter Vernin and he was a kid who loves sport, especially the AFL, because that was a boys sport, and Peter had it in his mind that because he played AFL, he will he invincible but as he was going to footy training, he had to walk because his parents had to work, a ******* car pulled up and this man pulled up and asked Peter if he would like a ride, and Peter, being only 11 said yes thinking he was being treated like a kid that everyone liked, but then he found himself chained up in the witch's basement ready to be slaughtered at any given time, you see because Tommy had muscles, that was enough to make him be nice and tender to eat and when the witch finds out that he had suffered enough, then the witch will cook Tommy up and before he knew it, Tommy was just a corpse and the witch was feeling very happy and this made her feel she can slowly get rid of each child as soon as they reached 11, and she was feeling like nobody will ever stop her from accomplishing this feat.
The FBI are having a hard time trying to find there missing kids because they just vanished without a trace, but they had every officer and forensic investigator in to try to catch the witch and make her pay, mind you the FBI were unaware that the persons responsible is a wicked evil witch.
The next kid was Raymond Terrestal, an 11 year old who was in a broken home and every day he went to the local shops to buy milk for the family but also he would occasionally steal a chocolate bar and also a few flavoured milks, and the witch said to herself that this boy needs to chopped him up and watch his shiny white legs slowly turn to very tasty meat. Even though Raymond put up a fight, saying you can't chop me up, fella, I am a sports boy and I have heaps of muscles, but the witch told him that the muscles make him even more tastier, and she wants to have Raymond to really taste nice so he can really get away from any way of being a sports boy, and as Raymond was cooking, he is yelling and yelling, saying, let me go, I am a big tough sports boy, I like playing footy, I don't wanna die, let me go and leave me alone old witch, but the witch said heh heh heh hen heh, no buddy you ain't a cool kid, all the other kids are tough, but you Raymond, no you are all mine, and Raymond was screaming, please save me from the wicked witch, And he also said why me, why me, why me, and the witch said, no mate your not like us,mate
You are still a little shy boy, and I am just doing what The Lord wants, you see Raymond, The Lord wants me to cook boys up when they turn 11, because then they are even more tender because they are mature enough so I get a good tasty bit of human flesh, and eventually Raymond died and the witch continued on her journey to rid the world of kids right till they turn 11 years of age.
The next kid was 11 years old Naomi Roberts who was a really family and friends type of girl and she very rarely strayed away., but one day she and her friends played outside the witch's house, because it was a pretty good place for kids to play in but unknown to Naomi that her friends were playing a trick on her and had planned to get her stuck in the bushes near the mail box and when the witch went outside to see what the noise was, she saw Naomi stuck in the garden trying to break free, and the witch used her powers to make her look like a nice old lady and brought Naomu inside to keep her safe, then the witch showed her true colours and told Naomi that she will never escape from her, and she also said she is hosting a dinner party and Naomi is the main course and from the moment she said that Naomi started to get scared and screamed and screamed for the witch to let her go, she also said it's not she that the witch wants, it's her friends, who stabbed Naomi in the back and the witch said, no they are young women and I don't want to **** young women, it's you, who I want, little girlie, and you are never going to ever escape from me, and Naomi said no Mrs Witch, you will be with me till my dinner party and then Naomi you will be no more. You will leave this world never to return little baby little girlie, Naomi is very scared and starts to feel like her perfect world is about to end because the wicked witch has her right where she wants her.
Naomi was trying to scream so loud that the witch's neighbour would hear and come and rescue her but nobody can hear her and Naomi starts to get very scared, so scared in fact, she tried to fight her way out of the cage but it is closed so tightly and Naomi is starting to get scared because still the FBI have no leads on the whereabouts of these kids, and despite being bullied by the parents of the missing kids, they feel tempted to give up the search till they get a lead, simply because there is no point in trying to find a needle in a haystack, but the parents wanted them to find their missing kids, even if it means they have to become vigilantes and defy the law and find those kids themselves, meanwhile the next day in the witch's house, the witch was starting to cook Naomi up so they can have their dinner party, a nice tasty little girl for dinner, heh heh heh heh heh heh heh, and when Naomi was slowly dying the witch kept of stirring and stirring to make Naomi really suffer, you see for the witch, well, she took pride in torturing kids as soon as they turn 11, and then Naomi died and the witch was happy and said that is another 11 year old under our belt, heh heh heh heh heh
The next kid was 11 year old Pat Roberts, who was a cool boy who loved to tease so much that he would take people away from their families to do so, unless they do as they do and one day he gave up playing football with the tough boys to tease a boy who he hates very much, and stop him from being a family person and also brainwashing everyone into thinking a family person is supposed to do as they are told, and one day the wicked witch who really wanted to keep taking these boys decided to go after Pat Roberts and cook him up and then she will get rid if this boy from the would once and for all, but getting rid of Pat Roberts will be a hard thing because this boy is so hard to catch, because he is ever so smart, and it will be a battle to get rid of this Pat Roberts because of that, Pat Roberts would say, no mr witch, you can't catch me fella, you can never catch me for as long as you'll alive, and you are going to die soon if you keep catching kids anyway, the next day on the witch's quest to catch Pat Roberts, she decided to use her ***** magic to try and lure him to his house but Pat Roberts is too smart for that as he kept himself inside saying no witch is going to get me, if you are going to catch me, you'll have to get past my father and I can guarantee old witch that my dad has the power to put you right in her place, you are mrs witch, you haven't got the power to overcome me, so come on wicked witch, just you try and catch me, but you won't get me, I can make you suffer of you try and get me ya wicked witch and the wicked witch straight away thought maybe one day I will catch Pat Roberts, I will try and take some other 11 year olds and the next 11 year old was Gordon Gullet and he was a boy who was a bit of a black sheep who went on a mission to **** the wicked witch but when the wicked witch captured him, but she had no plan to cook him  up, actually she planned to try to get him on side to catch Pat Roberts and when Gordon said, I won't tell you where Gordon is, I will never tell you where he is. Just let me go ya old cranky wicked witch, and because Gordon was talking too much the witch put her hand on her mouth, she eventually had to put sticky tape on it and then the wicked witch said, if you don't tell me where Pat Roberts is, you'll suffer, and I mean you'll suffer, mate, suffer forever mate.
The next day when the witch got up and saw Gordon trying up escape and the witch said, mate, you'll never escape from me, no you'll never escape, until you tell me where is your friend Pat Roberts, and Gordon said no, I won't ever tell ya, you will have to **** me first, Pat Roberts is a friend, no, I will never ever tell you, ya wicked witch, and the witch said no I ain't going to **** you, I just want you to tell you where Pat Roberts is, why won't you tell me, I will be your friend forever, and Gordon said, no, I won't tell you anything you old fucken witch, and you can do to me anything you want, I will never ever tell you, you mean nasty old witch.
The witch then said, ok, you will stay there in that cage till you tell me and when you are ready to tell me where your friend Pat Roberts is, I will make you suffer, even if I don't **** you, you will be suffering without anything to make you keep your mojo in tact, you will suffer Gordon, I will make sure of that, so unless you tell me where your mate is, you will suffer, and be kept there until you tell us of the whereabouts of Pat Roberts because I want you and him to cooked together and eaten, and if you don't tell me, I will keep you here for the rest of your life, so Gordon are you going to tell me and Gordon yells out with a loud voice, which went,  NEVER, my mate Pat Roberts wants to tease people who are trying to work to hard and push themselves into breaking point, and I want you to let me go, because I am tougher that you, cause you are a mean nasty witch, who should burn on the planet Mercury and the witch said no, mate, say hell, you see you are still a little Christian boy, and while you have your beliefs that you will die one day, you are like us, but if I find out that you are keeping the whereabouts of Pat Roberts from me, I will hold you at knife point and force you to tell you and Gordon said no, I will never tell you, never, I will prefer to do die myself, rather than tell you where he is mate.
The next day the witch went out to try and catch Pat Roberts and then Pat's dad said to Pat Roberts that he will protect him and when they heard a strange noise outside their house and it was the wicked witch, who was lurking about outside and when Pat Roberts went outside, the witch put a hand over his mouth and said I have you mate and then the FBI came and despite a desperate fight to get herself free, the FBI took off to Salem to get burnt at the stake and Pat Roberts and Gordon was safely going home with his family and the witch was reincarnated as a pig and then a tiger and after that a deer, she suffered, especially when she will be constantly bullied by hunters.

Elizabeth and God exist in a sunflower grave. Her mother and father slit her stomach open and watched the contents pour out like
spaghetti confetti.

Tommy, Elizabeth's boyfriend, rode his ocean blue Huffy, until the tread on his tires grew bald and until the grips were blanketed by dead skin. Looking for her, panoramic views of the horizon leapt beside him. Silhouettes of his legs, churned and kissed the orange and caramel dusk. With every tear in his hamstrings and calves, the **** in his sky grew and swallowed the memory of Elizabeth Mendenhall, Honor Student.

Margot, Elizabeth's twelve year-old sister, was an idealistic soul. Taking a Sharpie, she wrote on her sister's wall, "Liz, there is no death greater than the loss of self, and no life greater than one where we continuously search for what self is." Margot struggled with concentrating and frying eggs - but focused on the sunflower garden, dangerously and perfectly.

Hilary and Brendan were thirty-five and thirty-six years-old. They stabbed their daughter thirty-seven times. They don't know why they did it, they just couldn't think of a reason not to do it.

She begged for her life. The yellow petals of the sunflowers caught blood-drops and, after enough struggle, floated down to kiss and lay on Elizabeth's slow-twitch body. Hilary looked at Brendan and said, "What does this mean?" Brendan shrugged and said, "This is new to me."

The garden was an oven, and digging her grave was like pulling back on a cheap, plastic latch. Elizabeth had pale, pre-cooked pie crust skin. The slits in her stomach looked like peeks into a cherry stuffed filling. Crinkled lips looked indented by a stainless steel fork, back and forth, side to side. And the soil rained upon her like the reversal of hot vapor, returning home.

Elizabeth and the Sunflower Garden.

the cold crawling of a sharp knife,
tasting your blood bitter than truth,
yet
sweeter than sin,
whispering gently
amen.

ripping apart your look for tomorrow
filling your eyes with glasses of sorrow
how does it feel,
ending it all at once,
and yet painting your beliefs
with the color of the blood you bleed?

but don’t worry one stab cannot be that bad,
please, don’t be mad,
pull yourself together and
the warmth inside your soul
may survive;

it could.

but the knife fell again,
not intentional,
a small mistake,
carving a name
on the back of your
heart,

did anyone survive?

I had a dream last night
that my sister was deaf
and my brothers tongue was salted
that the male figure id been searching for
took my identity
no one remembered his name
and every time I tried to recall it
no one paid attention
but maybe my sister just didn't listen
and my brothers words were just burned
that no one had control over me
except myself.
because I was the one who
stabbed his mind and made him bleed
was I ever really abandoned?
after all,

** it was just a dream.

Yes, everything stabbed me in the heart,
gut
core
Everywhere.
It's so ****** painful
I'm not nattering away
No
I will not and
am not
a nuisance who talks tosh.
You killed me.
It killed me.
A bunch of scrawled numbers killed me.
Everything
every ****** thing
is killing me.
Did I not try?
Did I not place my full brain and heart into it?
And why am I getting ready to get my brain chopped off under the falling axe?
Why, oh why
the sullen faces
blood-sworn glares
the rising temperatures in my body
the cold tears
that pierce the very layer of my cheek
What did I do to deserve **** like this?
Came Monday.
Monday blues
with the very lovely scores indeed ?!!
that kicked me out of the list.
Came Tuesday.
Far worse sight.
More numbers.
Numbers determining my barren life
And so will tomorrow come
with much angst
And so do I now cry or die?