1970 Odysseus visits cousin Patsy in New York City she introduces him to her best friend Lauren’s older less attractive more reclusive sister Tanya Mulhaney extremely wealthy family father founded corporation manufactures pinball machines which years later develop to video games then casino empire he favors and spoils Tanya but dies suddenly her envious sisters and mother gang up on Tanya is pale skinny flat-chested copious brown bush Odysseus sits in bathtub with Tanya and he probes in a way they hits it off maybe no boy has ever touched her in that way her complexion is so fragile slightest fluster prompts pink blotches on her cheeks neck chest back he admires her book smarts he’s attracted to her refined strangeness he thinks her bush and flat-chest are **** she laughs shyly offers to take him around the world he accepts Odysseus tells his parents Mom goes crazy yells into telephone what are you a ******? you father and i work like fools to send you to the best schools so you can make something of yourself you’re going to throw everything away to be a ***? i tell you we’ll disown you you won’t have a home to come back to do you hear me? we’ll disown you! she sobs how can you just walk out after all we have done for you? you ******* kid! Odysseus takes leave of absence from art school he and Tanya take Iberia jet 12 hour flight with stopover in Iceland to Belgium Tanya sinks into one of her moods swallows several pills to help her rest sitting on other side of Odysseus is curly haired skinny talkative musician claims he has jammed with Miles Davis and other jazz greats Odysseus says yeah right and i’ve shown with Johns and Twombly where exactly are you heading in Europe? musician answers he is a scientologist on his way to visit L. Ron Hubbard in England Odysseus does not know what Dianetics are and wants explanation he asks many questions and musician talks for hours they enjoy each other’s rapport as jet descends in Brussels they exchange home addresses in the States 9 months later when Odysseus returns to America a friend notices scribbled address while skimming through his travel journals Odys! how did you get Chick Corea’s address? do you know him? do you realize how brilliant he is? he’s a keyboard virtuoso! Odysseus questions Chick Corea? who’s Chick Corea? he looks at journal page then says oh that guy i sat next to him on the jet to Europe so he really is a famous musician huh? wow!

in October 1970 Brussels is damp chilly Tanya wears hip-hugger jeans black turtle-neck top North Face shell she huddles her arms around her chest smokes cigarettes looks through hotel room window out into gray overcast sky speaks in defeatist voice i didn’t bring clothes for this weather she picks at her plate in hotel restaurant glumly vacillates later in bed after refusing *** decides they leave tomorrow fly to Canary Islands for several weeks to get tan before traveling through Morocco during winter months Canary Islands are laden with Swedish tourists including bikini clad young girls many not wearing tops Odysseus is thinking about how to swing some of that Swedish free love once Tanya gets drunk succumbs to Odysseus’s ****** overtures it is good  one day while returning to hotel from beach 2 Spanish police stop and question Tanya and Odysseus police order to see their passports then command them into squad car police bark in Spanish rifle through their daypacks point a finger Odysseus can smell alcohol on their breaths Tanya and Odysseus are terrified police drive off main road to remote location abandoned ruins no one is around police order them to step out police drive off laughing Tanya’s complexion is crimson she sobs they could have murdered us no one would know who we are or where to find us we’re lost where are we? Odysseus looks around replies don’t worry we’ll be all right i watched where the driver was going we’ll retrace their trail

they fly to Tangier travel south by train Tanya is irritable insisting Odysseus carry her backpack Casablanca is ***** 3 men peer from sunglasses act suspicious wear tattered trench coats Tanya and Odysseus snack at cafe which provides hookahs for smoking hashish Odysseus scores several grams Tanya laughs suggests they rent car drive south travel to sandy beaches of Diabet for 6 weeks in the morning she paces around French hotel room with cigarette in one hand ashtray in other like she is sultry 1940’s Hollywood actress she stays in room and devours Penguin Classics Tolstoy Stendhal Proust Huysmans Zola turns out Tanya is sexually frigid she buys Odysseus anything he wants but does not put out they take train Marrakech it is sun drenched with blue skies mountains in distance Odysseus wants to go out explore get ***** with the natives he visits Medina daily witnessing many bizarre scenes he does not understand a woman squatting over an egg a man with no legs dragging himself through marketplace holding up cigarette butts in his hand he meets a professor who is out of work because king of Morocco has closed the universities due to teachers’ strike professor explains woman squatting over egg is fortuneteller and man dragging himself has been offered crutches many times yet makes more money playing off pity of tourists cigarette butts are for sale the professor invites Odysseus to visit Berbers in mountains Odysseus persuades Tanya she reluctantly agrees the 3 travel by bus in first-class front row seats vehicle filled with lively families chickens pig bus driver has assistant who lugs people onto bus or shoves them out door at a midpoint bus stops in little town everyone exits bus then men women children urinate in street local venders sell trinkets snacks Odysseus buys nibbles shish-kabob that later professor informs is roasted cat and dog they reenter bus wait suddenly butchered lamb flank is flung onto Odysseus’s lap a man climbs aboard bus stairs then grabs large carcass and heedlessly walks to back seat Odysseus wipes blood and slime off his jeans Tanya demurely giggles bus climbs mountains arrives at small Berber village professor leads them along narrow winding street of shanty huts sheltering merchants open kitchens professor tastes from various steaming iron kettles finally decides on one they are directed to rickety roof where they sit wait a boy comes up with plastic bowl filled with water and small box of Tide following professor they wash their hands then minutes later proprietor brings up simmering *** of couscous serves it with scratched raw plastic bowls no eating utensils they eat with their fingers Tanya seems bothered declines to partake she withdraws into silence after meal she becomes irritable complains of headache says she needs to return to Marrakech she remains standoffish on bus all the way to French hotel

after Marrakech they take boat trip to Italy while onboard Odysseus meets Italian Count who has an eye for him Odysseus wears Jim Morrison beat-up leather jeans Bruce Lee t-shirt scraggly whiskers Count wears thin manicured beard tiny red Speedo swim trunks Tanya grins amused Count offers Odysseus and Tanya to be guests at his villa in Milan city flourishes with stylish clothes loud lively restaurants classical sculptures covered in car pollution following several weeks of aristocratic wining and dining amazing 11 course elegant soiree Odysseus botches compliance with Count’s desires they are asked to leave Tanya laughs hysterically they board train to Germany based on Tanya’s tour book they find historic hotel with wind rattling windows coin operated hot water bath in Munich Tanya stays in room Odysseus goes to dance club meets brown-hared pale skinned German girl neither speak the other’s language he pays for hourly rated room they play German girl in animated gesturing warns him as he is going down on her but he does not understand until several days later scratching beard finds ***** seeks A-200 lice treatment German version leather pants disposed Tanya knows but says nothing she buys Volkswagen they drive through Black Forest Tanya wants to visit King Ludwig’s castles Odysseus does the driving mostly they listen to the Who’s “Who’s Next” and Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” he follows Tanya’s instructions not knowing who King Ludwig was eventually he learns Ludwig was colorful character built extravagant Disney like castles and friends Richard Wagner Bavaria is cold gray brown deep forest green scenic Swiss Alps visible in southern view they drive from Neuschwanstein to Linderhof to Herrenchiemsee then Freiburg lodge in bed and breakfasts Tanya grows restless by all the driving decides to ditch car along road in northern France as Odysseus unscrews car license by road side several cars stop French people concerned they need help Tanya is anxious hoping for clean get away from abandoning vehicle they board train to Paris Tanya speaks a little French in spring of 1971 they are backpacking in search of hotel on Left Bank it rains all morning sky is overcast Tanya reads “Pride and Prejudice” Odysseus draws in sketchbook at sidewalk café sitting next to them are older Parisian couple man detects they are Americans he turns to them expresses in English his contempt why can’t you Americans learn from France’s lessons in Vietnam? Tanya and Odysseus don’t look up they feel like dumb ugly Americans within days they leave Paris

cross English Channel by boat they find temporary apartment in Earl’s Court in London it is overcast almost every day within a month they move to larger place in Chelsea with backyard with run down English garden Odysseus weeds garden plants tomatoes lettuce carrots radishes flowers Tanya stays in her room smokes reads at night they go out to ethnic restaurants one night they visit Indian restaurant a very proper English woman sitting at next table orders exotic fruit for dessert Odysseus asks waiter what kind of fruit waiter answers mango Odysseus has never seen or tasted mango English woman delicately eats the fruit with fork and knife Odysseus orders mango for dessert he attempts to imitate how English lady proceeded fruit slips around on plate finally out of frustration he picks it up in his hands bites into it he is aroused by how luscious mango is sniffing with nose scraping fruit’s skin with front teeth then ******* the seed Tanya makes a face suddenly the seed slides from his grasp shoots across table Tanya’s cheeks neck turn scarlet voice raises stop it Odys! you’re disgusting! are you intentionally trying to embarrass me? why are you doing this? he replies i’m not doing anything to you i’m enjoying the most delicious fruit i’ve ever tasted who cares what it looks like? later she laughs about incident offers to buy more mangos promises to take him shopping at Harrods tomorrow he goes along with their arrangement until it all seems like pretty background scenery to an empty intimacy missing all his friends back at art school he writes about his loneliness he feels trapped in Tanya’s web several times he sneaks English girls into his room when Tanya jealously confronts him he admits he has had enough and wants to go back to Hartford she suggests at the least they fly to Bermuda for several weeks to get tan before returning he declines on June 30 1971 Odysseus returns to Hartford and Tanya moves to San Francisco on July 3 Jim Morrison overdoses in Paris

a self inflicted isolation
all to avoid the confirmation
    that I simply don't belong
a lonely standoffish girl
forced into a community world
     silently screaming 'this is wrong!'
the future isn't worth the shame
     no ones even asked my name
and it would be weeks before
     they'd notice I've gone

It was not, by any means, a loss of faith;
Indeed, her devotion was a boundless, unfettered thing
Beyond proscription, beyond rote chant and catechism,
And what she found as a novitiate
Were shuttered gates and gossipy confessionals,
Standoffish priests, pig-eyed and pinch-lipped
Sisters who thought life’s commerce
No more than mechanical prayer and spotless linens,
The whole enterprise
Smacking of the exclusion of Heaven’s bounty.
So she demurred when the time came to take her orders,
And she returned to the world of pavements and lesser pieties,
Free to seek God on park swings and barstools,
In pleasures of the pastoral and the profane,
Though her faith is no Dionysian walkabout,
As she is passionate to the cusp of maniacal
When it comes to the Book of James’ admonition upon works;
She is often found among the sisters she once tiptoed alongside
At food pantries and clothing drives
(She is scrupulous about ministering to only secular needs,
As the Bishop is not happily disposed towards those
Who choose not to take the veil,
And the specter of excommunication is a prospect
Too awful to contemplate)
Afterwards clambering onto some vaguely roadworthy MTA bus
Back to her studio apartment in Green Island,
Where she often walks down to the Erie Canal lock nearby,
Praying for those who have travelled  near and upon the water,
Convenience store clerks and ragged Irishmen fleeing famine,
Feral kittens and insufficiently mourned mules.

Nancy is a new generation of computers programmed to respond biologically she has built-in human shortcomings including conflicted feelings uncertainty sense of soul pre-installed parts of her are dying she can feel it after elaborate shower focusing on specific body selections underarms feet ****** *** face allowing other anatomical regions to retain natural biotech oils lathering scalp with premiere restructuring shampoo conditioner she dries applies fastidious refined moisturizer emollients to forehead eyelids mouth neck areas vigorously massages special mousse treatment into brunette hair cut medium length brushes teeth rinses with spearmint mouthwash lightly rouges face with extra fine powder mist meticulously paints eyes lips with conventional colors finally adding distinctive subtle scents behind ears neck décolletage wrists thighs derriere toes tonight will be 2nd date with Rick handsome successful options trader who has no idea Nancy is extremely sophisticated complex doll meeting at catch.com on their 1st date Rick has too much to drink possibly owing to his nervousness or shyness around Nancy who possesses regal beauty bearing yet infectious smile laugh he spills 3rd drink then orders 4th drink Nancy becomes courteously standoffish

Bob’s LG electronic 27.5 cubic foot French door refrigerator’s water filter ice system located on door is malfunctioning spewing out brown fetid ice chips onto extremely intricate decorative parquet (palace style) floor consequently leaking into downstairs neighbors custom design ceiling dwelling to make matters worse Bob’s smart phone is on the blink his internet connection down due to unpredicted wild winds he is beside himself in isolated frustration compounding this calamity is foreboding realization Bob highly trained biotech computer programmer may have miscalculated tiny chip link inside Nancy’s cerebellum stem

as Nancy is about to open door for eagerly waiting Rick holding small gift box in hand with note that reads thank you for giving me a 2nd chance something quite irregular unforeseen pleasure fear motor impulse tenses snaps inside her head she reaches for door handle while other hand grasps butcher knife

There's something to be said about a whole lotta nothin',
but I'm not about to say it.

a self inflicted isolation
all to avoid the confirmation
    that I simply don't belong

TLDR

Posted up on a bar stool, I noticed the instant he walked in.
Blue eyes beckoning. I was listening. Hard.

Liquidly courageous, delightfully obscure and entertaining,
I bewitched him in conversation.
Filled his empty pint with my pitcher of Yuengling.
Stealing and donning his sweaty hat.
He had just finished art school.
I was studying journalism.

He kept finding reasons to touch me.
Blocking me from human traffic.
Keeping me close and safe physically.
At one point, some drunken, oblivious, d-bag tried to holler.
He moved between, cockblocking.
Unwavering in eye contact and speech with me.
I can’t remember what we talked about, only how it felt.

He got my number, and we stayed until the bar closed.
And as all the carbon contents poured into the back alley,
he grabbed my hand.
I remember the sweat and energy on his slender fingers.
He was pushing past palpable trepidation.
And in the midst of a hundred swarming,
he yanked my hand toward him and kissed me.
People started cheering.
It was perfect.

Except, I freaked.
Froze. Stopped breathing.
Pulled away as far as his hand would allow.
He reeled me back in for another try.
When I brushed his lips, the panic devoured.
So I pulled away harder, breaking free from his fingers.
Fleeing, scurrying through a sea of drunken bodies.
I shimmied like a silver lure dangling in his face.
Then shot him the-****-down. Twice.
Instinctively.

He never called me. But pocket-dialed me the next day.
Left an unintended voicemail. Heard him bemoaning, *I felt SO stupid…
Called him back a few minutes later. Didn’t leave a message.
I could have called again. I didn’t. Ever.

I thought about him every day for months,
inspiring one of my better poems of that era:
A Roller Coaster Ride Ending in Derailment.
Years later, I friended him on MySpace, sent a generic message.
He didn’t recognize me. And I never said anything.
Like a ******* coward.

How is it possible to excitedly charge in a cardinal direction,
only to smack abruptly into:
I-gotta-get-the-****-outta-here-NOWWWW?!

I’ve had a little time, say 14 years,
to reflect on what made me me run,
and I think it was this:
as soon as he was facing me,
with unadulterated adoration,
all I could feel was terrified and ugly.
It was so good. Far too good for me.

I was afraid. Afraid he would eventually see.
That I was hideous. He wouldn’t want the real me.
I didn’t think I could live up to the look in his eyes.
When he saw I was only a spunky, confident model on the cover,
and an insecure shitshow amidst contents inside, he would leave.
A fragile little girl so afraid she is unlovable, unworthy, ugly.
When he saw how uncomfortable I could be in my own skin,
he would let go.
I didn’t like me, so why the **** should he?
I ran from connection that night, after tilling it for hours.
Hauling *** with windows down,
I slammed the brakes and careened. End scene.
He reeked of bliss and impending heartbreak.
So I abandoned him before he could leave.

I’m frightened of anyone who truly stirs me.
It makes me feel big, scary feelings. They straitjacket hug me.
Skewing all my outward signals. I come off standoffish.
Pushing away the very thing I want and need.
I’m not good at expressing intense feelings in real time.
Except in ink. And bed.

I get locked up inside. Feels like I’m gonna die.
A fight-or-flight ignition by erroneous head triggers.
I project my unlovable feelings onto others,
in the face of blatant evidence to the contrary.

I’ve done LTRs, just not with the required equipment.
I know the gears are sabotaged out the gate,
but I go for it anyway. It’s safe (or so it seems). And empty.
I crave intimacy, but I’m terrified of showing up entirely.
In front of someone with eyes that can see.
I quickly sense who is capable of meeting me,
and thoroughly **** it up for myself,
by not feeling free. Not authentic. Not open. Hiding.
Editing. Hot fish, cold fish. Rotating masks. Blockades. Running.
Constantly scanning the environment for signs of rejection,
that I’m not enough, indeed. To validate my own self-worthlessness.
I wanna be right.
I’ve only done long terms where I can remain alone, bored and/or dead.
No real intimacy. No full disclosure. No BAMF duo status.
No seeing to the back of each other’s skulls.
No blasting through the cosmos.

I freeze and evade in the face of what I crave.
Shunning delicious plates I’ve just ordered and ravenously drooled over.
I have more examples, but this is the most concise and blatant...

Except, this one time:

I told my gut to shut the **** up,
while I cosigned utter inner *******.
Denied the eyes of my own soul,
as it floated into my periphery.
It took all of my focus just to breathe.

He didn’t turn around,
just looked over his shoulder.
At me. Up, then down.
And drifted away.
Electrocuting my cosmic antennae.
Leaving me reeling. Still tingling.

I almost called your name,
but doubt surrounded fear mountain.
Plus, I thought I was jus straight trippin, err, trollin.
Going crazy. Weaving my own alteration atop reality.
Pretty pro @ that yuh know...

We push and pull and run and chase,
because it feels safer pursuing what’s out of reach.
Until it turns around.
Or looks over its shoulder...

With eyes that can see.

Favorite excuse: I'm tired.
Works like a charm.  
Everytime.
Ninetypercentofthetime.

I am tired from lack of sleep
I am tired of being soft-spoken, shy, unsure, standoffish, rude, ******,
I am tired of people talking behind my back
I'm tired of talking behind their backs
I'm tired of being speechless; not knowing what to say,
                                                                                how to say it...
                                                                                       when to say it.
I'm tired of talking to myself
[I like to think I'd love some company]
I'm tired of beating my brains out.
Tired of trying to spend time with people who don't want to spend time with me.
Tired of trying to find new friends [how many people live in the world? why am I alone?]
Tired of fake and fumbled attempts at fostering flailing and failing friendships.
I'm tired of being in a room full of people who see me but don't really see me;
who know me, but only a little.  Hardly.
Who either hate or love what I am now
Who wish I'd go back to the precious, less-scary, much-more-approachable girl that I used to be.

The baby that they ooh'ed and ahh'ed and cuddled into this mush.
A mush that they could mold into anything
they wanted.
They pulled
my arms and stretched my legs.
They smoothed
and straightened "Ooh, yeah, that looks good," they'd murmur under hot, concentrated breath.
But after all, I was only a mush.
Not a tangible and workable [fixable] medium.
Not sugar, not spice, not everything nice; certainly NOT what little girls are made of.

I can hope
that the door I open
shuffles the words
I want to say
in the right order
at the precise velocity.

Somehow barely
pinching phrases
stretching and minimizing
rectangle ideas that will reflect the standoffish modesty of perfection.

Syllables fly fly fast and aren't heard.

I am standoffish scar. Armfuls of hurt worm through this spar, this whisper no longer here. A thread of then, turned lead now. Eater of blue. The glib is winning. It's too much. It tires me. I'm always tired. Why? I'm never ever going to be me, again. I am lined with lines of lies lied, ******* and gagged with ballnchain blame games. It's easy to lay me. Sleeper of sleep, pulling my sleeve into childish reveries of when nothing was anything but that was ok. I know it wasn't really actually ok, but the thought of good times haunts the line dividing me between the wake and sweet release. I let it **** me

It was very standoffish
back in the forties
still
I wish I'd been there.

Not so different today
just a new way of being
in and seeing things in
a different way.

*****
a torpedo
from
Saucelito
killed time in
the winery

a fine fellow he,

but down there in the canyons
loose cannons
abandon
all hope.

I am one,
In a trillion,
Significant enough,
With standoffish movement of air,
Of any velocity.
I will furnish you with an upchucking sensation,
In your solar plexus,
And move your heavy head,
Round and round,
Round and round.
Outdoing the darkness,
Above and beneath,
I will emerge cold-eyed;
I will emerge cold-eyed,
And hit the strong,
And bold,
And black boulders.
And sprinkle moisture droplets on your pale face.
I am one,
In a trillion,
Vying with my facsimiles,
And similar ones,
For reaching the untraced,
Unknown,
And unfrequented coves,
With puissance,
And robbing the possessions,
I will recede.
I will recede,
And submerse everything with me,
And what awaits me,
On my way.
Come,
And dunk yourselves,
Thinking I will wash all your transgresses,
Come,
You puny creatures,
I will,
But wash only your grimy,
And filthy bodies.
Advance farther,
And you will be another meal,
To me.
I am one,
In a trillion,
Significant enough,
Roaring monotonously.
I am a wave,
In a humongous ocean,
Busier than a bee,
Rising and falling,
Forever,
Growing old,
And working harder,
Than ever.

I'm having doubts again. See, I don't last very long with a good thing before I overthink and over analyze and over anticipate and overwhelm and suddenly it's a poison that's eating me alive. I felt alive and that was all that mattered, feeling love and loved at last, after time and time again where my heart and brain teamed up to destroy my iridescent hope and it was so good that I didn't even see the flaws, looked through them like glass. Except now, his glass is half empty-- but only for a split second before its half full and then totally full-- and he's not a mean drunk but he drinks so ******* much that it makes me sick and I'm sick of my own hypocrisy because God knows I drink more than I should but I'm not throwing my life away with every shot. I know we have a shot at fixing our problems before I let this love spiral down the drain but I just can't seem to make it out alive because self sabotage is so much easier. Maybe I should stop looking around, maybe I should wear blinders when I walk so I don't see potential replacements with "no flaws" and of course I know they're all flawed but... But... I didn't lose my train of thought I lost my conscience because how can I look elsewhere? I spent so much time wishing I would be loved back and now that I am I want nothing more than the freedom of watching a different back walk out my door whenever I want. It's just a real chin-scratcher, how on one hand I want forever with him-- his drinking problem and his floppy hair and his long distance and his standoffish-ness-- but on the other I want out.

He always wears longs sleeves
And anyone who tries to be friendly to him
He pushes away
He isolates himself
I've never seen him with friends
I gave him my number
He didn't text me back
I wonder if there is a reason behind it all
Why he likes to live alone, in silence
I'm going on the same trip as him
Late in the year
Should I try to get into his head
Try to talk to him
And unravel him?
Break down his walls?
I'd like to try
I'm not afraid
Of finding his inner demons behind the walls
I have my own
I'm not afraid
But I'm afraid
It isn't my place
Or that he will be angry with me
For trying to melt his steel walls
If I fail
If he doesn’t let me in
Is it worth a try?
Will it seem too stalkerish
If I try to break down his walls?
It never hurts to knock
But it hurts if they open the door
Just long enough to hurt you
Then shut you out again
I don’t know
What do you think?




Please comment and let me know your opinion. I need advice on that.
He is really attractive but beyond that he fascinates me. I liked him the moment I saw him. He plays violin and basketball and I really want to get to know him but I am scared and I am worried he will freak out that I am being creepy and insistent after I gave him my number and he didn’t text me back. (Although it is unconfirmed that he owns a cellphone and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t) I have heard of other girls who tried to talk to him but he was pretty standoffish and they all gave up on him. Should I give up too?

There is no home in my home town.
I try not to let it get me down.
There is no train on a homeward track.
There’s nothing there to call me back.
No love ever bid me stay in town.
No block back there is hallowed ground.
Nobody really asked me to go away
But nobody has missed since that day.

Home was just an address
And not something in my heart.
Not something I longed for
When we were many miles apart.

There are few good memories or ghosts
Just a long history of mysteries at most.
It wasn’t that people threw rocks at me
But there were no going away parties.
It was more like, “You’re leaving? Goodbye.”
A zip code full of staunchly dry eyes.
I don’t know what I expected it to be
But, that was not my choice for reality.

Home was never a place
I rushed back to at night
And even as a young kid
I was sure that wasn’t right.

I run through an inventory of events
And I did not betray any friends.
I didn’t steal or tell big lies
But didn't collect pals after may tries.
Something must have happened to me
That made me standoffish naturally
For people to not recall I was there.
So I left and then nobody much cared.

Home was just an address
And not something in my heart.
Not something I longed for
When we were many miles apart.

Cats make me laugh, the selfish gits,
They prowl through life, not taking ****,
We humans are just staff, to them,
Our independent feline friends,
Standoffish, surly and downright rude,
Very fussy with their food,
They change their minds just like the wind,
Very often gourmet food is binned,
And then they stalk into 'their' house,
And disembowel some poor mouse,
There is one thing you must never oughta,
Try to wash your cat in soapy water,
The outraged cat will then go wild,
You will then know the devils child,
On the coldest the winter nights,
Cat approaches, purring, right?
Jumps on your lap with kneading paws,
But one false move, you'll feel their claws,
You can never ever own a cat,
They own you, now that's a fact,
Our intelligence they have surpassed,
They've worked out how to lick their ****,
One thing deserves a generous pardon,
They at least crap in neighbours gardens,
I cannot help respect these beings,
I'd never wish to hurt their feelings,
And so I for one will doff my hat,
Towards our Royal highnesses , the cat.

My god, you've finally done it.
I'm lost for words.
Me! Lost for words!

Words have always been my friends,
My tools,
Working for me when they would work for no one else.
I'd pluck perfect prose out of the air before me
Words curling luxuriously like cats around my writing hand
They seemed standoffish to others
But I was the Cat-whisperer of creative composition
My magic was language
I have personified pain
Allegorised anger
Sensationalised sadness
But when it comes to your love
I must use the words of another
For I cannot heave my heart into my mouth.

Why?
I want to give you the gift of my words,
For they are the only thing I have left to give,
My heart was always yours, even before we knew
How well we fit.

When talking on any other subject
I find it hard to stop
But when it comes to you,
My silver tongue turns to lead
Because you are the one thing I cannot articulate
How can I explain that when I look up to the sky I search for the colour of your eyes but I can never find it
That falling in love with you was like falling in love with a sunset
That the way you look at me feels as if, for the first time, I am a girl worth writing a story about.

People have put these sentiments into much better words than I ever could
And I love you always seemed enough before
But how can that crescendo of emotion I feel-
And the constant gentle waves that lap the seashores of my mind,
For what is love if only felt in passion not in anger-
Be summarised in three short words?

You know me.
I like to compartmentalise,
Categorise,
Have a name and a meaning for everything I do,
A consolation prize from society-
Sure you're weird, but others are too,
From my sexuality to my star sign
My life is neatly noted
With post its and labels
An explanation for everything
An Oxford dictionary definition for anyone who sticks around long enough to care
I like to pretend I don't do it
But I do.

You were the first person to make me realise:
There are some things
Beyond language.

I am tired and confused
Insecure and self-abused.
I am awkward. I am shy.
I am goofy, I am dry.
I am grateful, overjoyed.
I am selfish and annoyed.
I am clumsy. I am lazy.
I am laid back. I am crazy.
I am loyal. I’m betrayed.
Sensitive and so afraid.
I’m uncomfortable and lonely.
I am real. I am phony.
I am overstimulated.
I am loving. I am hated.
I am overwhelmed and stressed.
I’m anxious and depressed.
I am ugly. I am sad.
I am innocent. I’m bad.
I am cautious, disappointed.
I’m standoffish and disjointed.
I am curious and caring.
I am strange and overbearing.
I’m mysterious and pained.
A free spirit and contained.
I am sick and I’m distracted.
****** and unattractive.
I am angry I am friendly.
I am boisterous and deadly.
I am laughing. I am crying.
I am funny. I am dying.
I am trapped and I am free.
I’m ****** up, but I am me.

I traverse these curses
like a standoffish simile
writing i still luv u, k? to metaphors torn
between your reality and

mine.

The simple pirouette of "less is more"
Is itself a palimpsest
When you are you.
My deep divers fail to resurface. Truth.

Instead of being alongside you --
Apart yet with you --
I am stupidly fixed on
being all the way inside you --

Bodies twisted and twisting,
as your thighs ride into hips, and
mine into necks,
gaunt, spent, hung.

PAINLESSLY PASSED ON
With the world watching a virtuous soul is now presented, porous as a sponge  blindly absorbing life
Simple cause taken on without the applause ,not self seeking but more a fellowship of thinking
helping others to decrease a possible pressure ,naturally obligated by their own inward beauty hiding self righteous strife
Lifes progression played as simple evolution ,also reasoning with simple goodness coming naturally with no blinking

  Many brought into redemption even before conception, playing life as a parable will be good for their soul
They build natural wealth by not showing favor. walking tall, facing forward taking a stand while not being standoffish
Fellows with friendship easily find kinship in what mutual aid there is to give away ,freely  taking on any role
Normal folks with nominal means paying penance , providing blindly for others ,giving rather than being selfish

Humans acting coarsely can be part of the picture ,further testing each others  humanity
While many of us show promise & always perpetuate common courtesies ,fewer show perfection with gratitude
without showing An outward goal not freely recognizing their basic role not to become enveloped in the vanity
Not blind but with blinders ,risking without being risque governing of their morality is now their internal attitude

  Always having lived in a spiral ,the living sphere the bountiful bowl adjusting ,making room , to arise above the gloom
Not anointed,never seeking personal gain but truly absorbing fellow peoples pain,passing it on in a progression of kindhearted folk
Simple as an up front demeanor paying a cost for freedom ,karma ,day by day ,pay to stay ,sweeping ALL  the corner to sleep in the room
Melding fortunes of anonymous humanity is brick by brick helping good fortunes stick ,solid marks on humanity they did invoke. R.C

The Storm Siren Theory is thus:
There are persons whose very presence can bring forth the storm within your soul, their own hearts constructed and built from lightning bolts, that blue gray that can only be described as eerie and deathly and beautiful, and humid winds that make your coat billow behind you as though it'll take you far, far away from that mindset that's slowly destroying you.

And even in the darkest depths of your mind or your calm,
They'll call upon the rains within your veins
And they'll touch parts of you that you've long buried and long forgotten.

They come as destructive tsunamis
That destroy you entirely and force you rebuild yourself into some halfhearted something,

Or they come as necessary hurricanes,
That blow through and show you things you've never known,
Whether it be through destruction or rebirth.

It is up to you to be thirsty ground,
Anxiously awaiting your chance to be given a glimpse at this way of life,
Or to be prepared for what chaos it will bring.

I never said I'd be calm/able
I only ever said I'd be here/stable
And I trust you to make me love the rain again,
Because I'll open up to you the parts
That were burned into ashes at the hands of others,
And maybe something better will grow out of my vulnerability
Than ever grew out of being cold and standoffish.

I don't want to love a storm-chaser,
But somehow you found it in you
To love the siren behind the churning clouds.

Jericho, at fourteen
Lifts heavy the light snuggie around his arms
Forgets some of the women standoffish with his numbness
Beaten into a craggy duff box

As an old man
Set free every morning in the dream door, sleep as empty and  numb
Drowning in light
Out and up from the heights
To the glittering spires of an exalted city

    To a raging wildfire slowly snuffing itself out around the edges

    Then, a young man learning the back of his head and what people called him

His death then was a shiny new pane of dark frosted plastic
    His nights then much organized plastic
    Dull as dirt 'neath the evening moon
    Each star hungry for sun to give it brilliance, something for us all to forget
     His thick toes gun for a thousand

None
Carving his face in the dirt with water
None
Stalling for a long time while away from him
None
Scribbling content hieroglyphics to forget her lying eyes
None
Descending ever deeper, reaching for the nets
That are hopelessly out of her reach

He rubs his fingers along the smooth surface of the tumbler once a year
   Against hope and hoping against a chance to ignore her face
   And he won't eat anymore from the split pig
   And stay in the oxygen town and stay awake for weeks at a time
   As if the hoot owl didn't have enough songs to sing.

It is difficult to express emotion;
to society, I appear standoffish.
I keep my feelings locked securely;
they are safer in a bottle.

Whether to comfort a friend with soothing words
or partake in cries of delight,
weak and bruised with invisible scars
strangled by fear; my emotions continue to hide.

Frequently with the crack of a smile, the lid is ajar.
As an emotion slowly rises over the edge
other emotions start to rush to the surface,
I mentally take hold; firmly tightening the cover.

A gentle hand is needed
to loosen the temporary shelter.
Someday I hope to open that bottle
and let the emotions flow.

I reek of new living
the silence of sobriety is deafening
Can't stand my heart beating
Chest rising, finally breathing
Falling together at the seams for the lack of grieving

Jump out of my skin at the sound of my name
Hearing a whisper of enthusiasm scares my wandering brain
I am standoffish but I'm not timid nor meek
You say you're here for me but I'm not who I seemed
Am I better because of my brand new living?

No, I am not new in the least
I pretend in my imagination but I'm the same old me
Weak
Time to stop writing
Time to go to sleep

Sometimes I'm the flood light drawing flies
Sometimes I'm the shadow fending off the night
Polished , debonair and inquiring
Repugnant , standoffish and dying
Counting the stars on a flag
The panels on a wood floor
One day a publican
One day a mannish *****
I feel like one day the gun will be loaded-
when I decide to test immortality
I long to leave this pile of corrupted flesh
Follow the sun west then disappearing over someone's
picturesque horizon* ..

"Alone in my city"

It is a silent night
I'm Standing out here on a reddish black lavander,
I'm Lonely and lights are creepy bimming,
The pleasant breeze of Gikondo
Are smelling like blossoming roses,
And i glance at the scattered
Low glimming lights of Nyamirambo,
And eye a surreal joyful avalanche.

I grab my phone and start swinging
around the front balcony,
recording my voice singing one of dualipa's songs,
My voice sounds ridiculous
and i hate it,maybe i have
to train it out In the rain.

And i'm Longing to dance like no one is watching,
Because nobody's around for me,
It makes me feel bored and anxious,
And i can't help but lock all the doors
And every familiar window,
my white short,brownish black jumper
and dark red nike sketchers are ready
i need to step out for a while,
And have an ounce wander down my city.

Hot teens of my age are here,
I'm not standoffish,i do some cares,
Beautiful girls with black hairs
and pile black eyes are wandering here,
With skinny ripped jeans
fitting their big sized hips
And my eyes can't help but stuck on
Their cleavage and woow silently,
My city is really too serene and surreal.

Hard times are nothing to brag about
Thirteen years old
Kitchen knife sellotaped to torso
I reminisce on that being the worst of it

Soon it'll be a whole year since you left
   well I guess I left but really what choice did I have
Some nights I'm sleepless I no longer miss u I'm just still burnt over what u did
I'm ok I breathe, I smell blood and my heart beats in my chest

Victim complex no longer my priority
I believe it's better I believe this is how we get happier
I've said goodbye so many times and surely I'll say it so many more
Goodbye my love, goodbye
But truthfully, now I am bored

Why romanticise a mess when there's no longer any need to adress it?

Late april
I was going to do a redraft of my suicide note
But truthfully, my handwriting is too messy
I think the action says enough.
But truthfully, I've got cats u gave me I can't leave.

Thank you,
     I felt stupid for being sad and missing you all last month
But I don't anymore,
  thoughts swirl, moods crash and people collide or grow cold and standoffish
When too familiar.

Dumb ***** chipped teeth lies lies pleading i need you please don't cry i want us to last like our words promised
But like-- we were kids and like-- I've already
      went over all this in my head;
Again and Again;
I swear I force myself sad sometimes just to feel something.
It's all finished and all so boring now
You both look cute
Your aimed posts are cringe-inducing but I don't think either of us have ever been thought to be stable
     beforehand.
I'm happy for you I hope you are happier but hopes only come true with care and care comes from home
You were home once
And I've had to leave so many homes in the last few years
    yet with my heart beating in my chest I will never be homeless again.
I do not care anymore.
What my life amounts to--
I do not care anymore.
What I'll do tomorrow--
I do not care anymore.
I should not sleep I have things to do--
I do not care anymore.
Whatever we didn't say made up what we did--
I do not care anymore.

Just Cassie and I, sitting on the large granite steps of the city's library, reciting poetry in fake accents and recounting the woes of our unrequited loves.

  Just Cassie and I, wishing there was more to life than warm Summer days and standoffish boys.

   Just Cassie and I, eating ice-cream, riding our bikes down to the creek, crying over sappy love stories.

   Not once did we realize how different we were, how quickly everything could change.
  
For that Summer was the last, the Autumn dividing us with school, and work, and we realized only then that paradise can never last forever.

   Sometimes I still sit, by myself, on those large granite steps, reading the November day away and wishing things could have stayed the same.

   I would never know, she did the same.

Dear one,
Another day has come and nearly gone. Yet my body is lighted, pledging for an embrace.….. that laughter. I picture your soul so vividly, It's hues are unconcealed and vulnerable. There was a time I lost you in the horizons that surmounts all. What if? I gather courage and all there is and make that move. Will I be stumbled or murmured on. It's not that I can't do it, I truly do. However, I cant gauge your standoffish insight. Or is it my mere misinterpretation of what is felt and unseen.

You are ethereal, an old soul of some sorts. There is a time in the olden days when all seemed to be sure. When the world was on our side. Far beyond any topography and race, none of those expectations bore it. At times when my soul calls and recalls you, you seem to stand in front of me. How I wish you could read these words. See my sincere thoughts deep within, those that like words that echo in the deepest forest range. Those that look like all the beauty that you bear.


If there were April rains, I would stand there with you and awash the whole I bear. If there were three words then I will say " I love you". So when the night draws and the moon winds as it wanes. Look up to the stars and see your form embodied in there. Only there I will be, finding my way in the dark to you. At the mid point of it all, our electric essences will uniform. As always, as we do in another dimension. How I wish you could recall and find my way to me dear one. I will write until you find your way to me.


Yours,
J

dog's worn out
so are we
social buttrfly
and social bee
not our schedule,
not our cup of tea
but the golden boygod
has now discovered
the mystery of girl meets
boy ...and then runs away
only to dart back ..."wanna play"

new year new school...needs
new mates..so we opened up
the gates ...
the tuxedo rex
chose discretion, the pup
absolute valour, followed
by adoration of the...***
these little humans will
play with me,  a lot, kind....
whoopee!!!

we made nice with new faces
some wanted to play,
we be the Jones'es races
some played aloof and standoffish
those with aspiring social graces
a few came in all bluster and huff
but with first words called their own bluff
then there were those comfortable
in their skins, those who chatted
and engaged, they were not here to win,
just to meet and greet begin to know
the parent of those with whom,
their kids will grow
those who's kids come first,
those kids all running ragtag
fit to burst with energy and joy
hopefully they are the ones
that the golden god boy
chooses to team up with
for this stage of the game


but when the dust settles
and he makes his way
we will be social with who ever
cause at the end of the day
we have our friends  
made on many such days
our team is big...
if some what greyer
than when we started
his is newer, brighter
and he gets to choose
win or lose..
part of the learning

as for today, all went well
no major meltdowns
no social  hell
just a family  worn down
and tired excepting the cat
who is now inspired
the anti social thing:
to sing  to us the
"song of his people"
in an earsplitting key
and will only stop
for a sardine...or three