whole foods white wine
gluten-free sugarless ambrosia
2.99
or 49.99
silver spoons & china glasses
or Burger King™ waxy wrap

matters not in the end
it all turns to
****

I'm going out for a bit
No, just up the hill
I won't be long
Don't worry
I know it's dark out, but I'll be okay
I can see the house from there

Of course what I mean is

I need a break from my family
No, I'm just going somewhere quiet and dark
I'll take as long as I need
Leave me alone
Yeah, of course it's dark, that's why I like it. Just shut up and let me be
I'm not even far away, you're overreacting!

Six missed calls, but I have my earbuds in and my music blasting
The same song on repeat
I came to write poetry, maybe some song lyrics
This is the pen I stole from the library
I scribble with it but the stupid thing won't write
It's freaking Broken
Now I know how He felt
He stole my freaking heart just to find out that it was already Broken
I hate being Broken
All I wanted was to come here and write
But I get lost in the tune
I finish drinking my sugarless chai tea that I brought with me
Every time I tip my head back to take a sip, I see the stars better
Forget writing, for just half an hour
Forget life
Forget school, and work, and deadlines and everything
Just forget it all
Let it go
Look at the beautiful stars
Pulling up my knee high boots
I get over my paranoia of being watched, or stalked
Nobody is hiding behind the tree or in the shadows, waiting to pounce
No one is going to attack me while I'm sitting on this bench in the darkness in the late evening
I'll be fine
I watch the winter frost along the tips of the grass sparkle and shimmer
The stars are so magnificent
I put the same song on repeat
A song that doesn't tell a clear story, but I can relate to any situation
I've listened to it since elementary school
And here I am years and years later
It is still saving me from myself
I am feeling broken and hollow
I hate myself, I hate life, I hate hating my face, I hate feeling so worthless
But forget that for a minute
I stop checking the time and I ignore the strange looks I get from the residents in the windows of the houses surrounding this little park area watching me and wondering why I'm out here so late all alone
I'm ugly, I'm cold, I'm stupid, I'm a waste of space
I don't deserve life
I don't deserve to talk to anyone
I don't deserve to annoy anyone with my existence
I don't deserve respect, or love, or loyalty or happiness
I think this daily.
I feel bad about freaking cars having to go to the trouble of stopping for me even when I have right of way at a crosswalk
But I have on my black comfy leggings
My black tank top,
My black slouchy cardigan
My black knit tuque
My lips are still slightly stained a faded red from this morning
My eyes are heavily outlined in black
The black is comfy for me
It makes me feel safer
I blend in with the night
I feel happier when I put all the black I have inside, on the outside instead
It's always better to externalize the darkness
Somehow, even though it looks pretty depressing, it helps
I stand up and begin pacing
I turn up the music and inhale, deeply
The winter air bites at my lungs, stinging my skin with its bitter icy fingertips
I let the cold seep into my breathing
To freeze all that burning self-loathing
I force a smile on my face
Somehow, in this dim starlight
I can see Peace so much better than in the sunlight
I breathe so deeply in until I can't intake anymore air
My lungs are at their limit
The smile I'm forcing stops being forced as the winter air and the music's melody washes away all those horrible Broken feelings
A strange feeling overtakes me as I wander around, pacing in spirals with my head tipped upwards, my eyes dancing along the constellations and the shining moon
Maybe the moon isn't whole tonight, but it still shines bright
Maybe I'm not whole, but that doesn't mean I can't shine bright
My phone is ringing, but forget that.
I can't stop smiling, I'm walking around in curvy lines my eyes staring up in wonder, my arms slightly spread
I'm happy
Oh my gosh, I'm happy
I almost laugh, I can't believe the burden is lifted.
The car pulls up, and I realize I've been gone longer than I meant
They've been searching for me.
They're angry, but I'm inexplicably happy
I smile and nod, then saunter home, my music still playing
The Happy feeling doesn't linger too long, but even when it fades out,
For the rest of the night
I'm left in a neutral state
Not *my neutral state, which is just sadness,
But a happy person's neutral state
Truly not unhappy
Peace.
That's all I wanted.
And I got it, tonight.

4.
Patterns of sugarless fairytales:
Field of reeds
Beckoning strings,
Robots in the garden,
Theory of the crows
Favorite lunch spot
Right in front of the window
Where we sit and drool
Our later years away.

24.
Amusement parks on fire,
The new improved hypocrisy.
Amusement parks on fire,
The science of imaginary solutions.
Amusement parks on fire,
The masses in line for the ride.

They have chopped down that tree
And the bees rush to my balcony,
Dad has cut down those pink roses,
But there are mosquitoes from Aleppo
Flying around my bedroom fan.

I sat on our study table with fairy lights
While my roommate put on her running shoes,
Mosquitoes waltzed around her sugarless tea,
Drank my blood below the knee and flew-
Away to Aleppo, far away to those dead roses.

and i fear when seasons
and anything in particular
changes
its rooted far from rational explanation
reason removed, because i know
change is good
and those things that come with it
i know, i know
twelve thousand fold
for how long have i been told
fearing of change
is folly
when life is change
odd and strange
as paintings by dali

ridin' wild with the broken down trannies in zoot suits n' water pistols aimin' to capture the sun from ten feet underground i swear it's darker than my gut insides crawlin' around in the glitter and filth i caught me diseased wealth heartache and small pond fame i caught me a sugarless daddy and a stage name i caught me a gutter and a song but still i wonder  how to walk but i can sure sweet talk sssssssslither love

In a Bluebird toffee tin
Are a hundred letters –
Most of them doodle-stamped and
Delivered by hand.
Unlike the letters I sent to you
They do not smell of spritzed cologne,
(A trick that I learned from Grease)
They are not messy
Or tea stained,
But perfect powder blue
And allowing for small extravagances –
The Cursive of the Obsessive,
Cursed by neatness and perfect hearts.

I pick one out at random,
A casually cruel one sent from Rome –
I imagine you blinking on a balcony
With dazzles on your collarbone,
A teeny tiny sugarless coffee
At your side,
And a pen tapping your knee.

“I’m not a **** at all –“ you wrote,
"It’s only that you are gregarious
In the most DISGUSTING way.
That’s your problem not mine -
Your optimism won’t catch you.
(Cynicism won’t catch you either,
But it has the courtesy not to throw you.)
I’m stopping now,
By the time you get this
I’ll be back home.
What pointlessness we endure for one other.
I miss you, as you say,
‘ever so’ –
Bedtime here is a source of misery.”

And then you signed your name,
Tiny,
Small,
Impossibly graceful,
Just like yourself.

You were always nasty
When you missed me.

In a Bluebird toffee tin
Are a hundred letters –
Most of them doodle-stamped and
Delivered by hand.
Unlike the letters I sent to you
They do not smell of spritzed cologne,
(A trick that I learned from Grease)
They are not messy
Or tea stained,
But perfect powder blue
And allowing for small extravagances –
The Cursive of the Obsessive,
Cursed by neatness and perfect hearts.

I pick one out at random,
A casually cruel one sent from Rome –
I imagine you blinking on a balcony
With dazzles on your collarbone,
A teeny tiny sugarless coffee
At your side,
And a pen tapping your knee.

“I’m not a **** at all –“ you wrote,
It’s only that you are gregarious
In the most DISGUSTING way.
That’s your problem not mine -
Your optimism won’t catch you.
Cynicism won’t catch you either,
But it has the courtesy not to throw you.
I’m stopping now,
By the time you get this
I’ll be back home.
What pointlessness we endure for one other.
I miss you, as you say,
‘ever so’ –
Bedtime here is a source of misery.”

And then you signed your name,
Tiny,
Small,
Impossibly graceful,
Just like yourself.

You were always nasty
When you missed me.

It was Monday, June 20th, 2022. My roommates and I are in Paris to see Olivia Rodrigo (in two days). But tonight, I was doing a favor for my great uncle Remy. Taking my elderly great-aunt Yvonne to the airport.

In RL this all happened in French but I wouldn’t do that to you - but just so you know.

“I’ve always thought of Anais as a granddaughter,” Yvonne said too loudly into my phone, which she had picked up and I was afraid she’d drop. She kept trying to hold it to her ear.

She smiled at me with her old lady dimples. “That’s sweet of you to say,” I lied. She doesn’t fool me. She’s not innocuous. She’s as mean as a snake and she doesn’t like ME at all. How did I end up doing this? I asked myself.

“No Aunt Yvonne,” I said as I gently moved the phone away from her ear. “This is a CAMERA call. Hold it out so they can SEE you.” She’s saying a final goodbye to Remy and letting a cousin know her arrival time. As the Facetime call ends, I pocket my phone with relief.

Lisa’s with us (I told her not to come) and she doesn’t speak French. So for her, this whole task is an awkward pantomime. Charles, our escort, drove us to Orly airport and he’s circling in wait to pick us up.

Yvonne walks at a glacial pace, and it took forever to clear security. Lisa and I have special tags allowing us to escort Yvonne to her gate. I offered to get her a wheelchair, but NOOOOO.
“We need to hurry –,” I began, but she interrupted me.
“Why are you wearing that skintight nothing?” she barked loudly, irritatedly, “if I had YOUR figure, I’d hide those tiny *******” (“minuscules seins,” in French, loudly). Heads turned. As I flushed with irritation, she cackled like a witch.

It’s 8pm in Paris and 30.5°C (87°F). I’m wearing a sports bra and two tank tops. Sue me. I wasn’t planning on doing this at all. We were staggering slowly through the terminal when, like a gift from God, an Air France courtesy tram pulled up next to us.
“Get on,” I demanded, “or we’ll miss your flight.” She did - as slowly as humanly possible.

When we finally got seated at the gate, she sent me for bottled water, a sleep mask, a neck pillow, sugarless lemon drops and a Paris Match magazine. “Thank you, my dear,” she said upon my return, baring her teeth at me in what I suppose was meant to be a smile.

“You should come and visit me (in Libreville, Gabon, Africa),” she suggested, “I think there are things I could teach you.” This is like that gingerbread-house invitation we read about as children.

“I can’t,” I said, with feigned regret, "I'm in school,” (I wouldn’t go there if she lived with Timothée Chalamet).

I heard a familiar voice, and I looked up to see my Grandmèr arriving with her usual entourage of 7 or 8 lackeys, a couple of frazzled Air France employees and two gendarmes.
“Yvonne,” she said, pointing to the two Air France employees, “these people will see to you. Say goodbye to Anais.”

“Goodbye dear,” Yvonne said in a fake, fragile voice. I gave Yvonne a half-hearted Paris bises (two kisses on each side) and my Grandmèr shooed me away with a hand gesture and an impatient, “Go, GO.” I’m afraid uncle Remy’s in trouble.

Yvonne and her branch of the family are the slimiest people you could ever meet. They’re billion-heirs (not billionaires - billion-heirs) who (theoretically) stand to inherit handsomely when my Grandmèr dies (I am NOT in that grubby lineup). They’re liars, cheaters and scoundrels who’d stab you in the face for an olive to put in their martinis. They're legal reasons my Grandmèr has to put up with them from time to time - but every interaction is fraught with phoniness.

About fifteen minutes later, Lisa and I are in the car with Charles racing back to Paris for dinner with our roommates. As I texted them to expect us in 20 minutes, Lisa said, “I got bad vibes from that old lady - the way she LOOKED at you when you weren’t watching..”

“YOU,” I said with a chuckle, “are very perceptive!”

Tracing the Synapses of Spirituality

Above the influence under the guidance

Resulting publication phantasms of the living

Private institutions funded by unnamed sources

Don't ask the telling

Loneliness laughter between the physical realm

You can never go back when your not alone

My nervous pulses pleasantly awaken me

Overdosed fear looking straight dead at me

I couldn't move or ask what's happening

For my speech motor controls were still hibernating

My multi dimensional body was slowly forming

I tripped on cosmic junk and fell back in my body

A mere second of realm walking

The natural effects of the human being

Silent sleep inside powerful dreams

Sugarless green tea after theta wave sitting.

leads to hyper-    
active hyper-                                        
dependant
carbo-
fffffffFFFFIIIIiiiiIIIIIZZzzzzzZ
                             zzzzlleeee     pOP
               aggggaachugggggggaaaNGGGulp.
-nated
people
who fin
d
it hard to face the
sugarless silence

roses are black
thoughts are dark
look what has become of this little girls soul

rainbows are gray
unicorns are magicless
dreams are nightmares
lollipops are sugarless

this little heart is crippled and laced with scars
from all the times it was abused and hit by cars

a soul once so bright
has now become so dark

when people see it they run in fright
afraid of what they might come to fight

oh look at this fragile little soul
*could you be the next to feel its toll?

This website has led me to believe,
If a poem is too long it's not worth a read.
So i'll make this short and simple.**
~
Tasks that are reason-less,
Words that are meaningless.
People who caress , but do not love.
People who love , but do not caress.

Cold, harsh words spoken to the person who merely said yes.
No kisses for the Mrs, No love for someone to digest.
Fickle fondness from the blunt,
and the word ****.

Long silent pauses, and a deafening alliance.
Awkward movements along with zero improvements.
Teenagers riddled with anxiety as well as sugarless quiet tea.

Poems that lack meaning and definition.
Why don't you show him a poorly guided nation?
Appearance with zero quality. The word lame.
one last thing, groups of people dressed the same.

tell me love confessions
of how you miss me
and love me
and are doubtless
then your words
materialize
a sugarless sweet
calorie free taste
and there is but no
sweeter satisfaction

You are the prettiest
You are the cutest
If I had to invent a new word
I would call you beautifulest
You are the most charming
You are most intelligent
I have never seen someone
Who is so elegant
You are the girl
That every guy desires
Baby, I love you a lot
For you, my heart is on fire

 

A sense of euphoria grips me from head to toe
When I think about the memories we share
Right from the fun times to the vulnerable moments
My innermost feelings, to you I’ve laid bare
We’ve been through a lot, we’ve come a long way
I have no regrets, I’d do it all again if I had to
Regardless of the bumps and bends
Because in the end it’s just me and you


 
being friends with you
Made me sore
Right from day one
My heart wanted a lot more
Just like how absence of salt
Makes food tasteless
Your absence in my life
Would take away all the happiness
Just like how dessert tastes bland
When it is made sugarless
Without you, everything I do
Would be utterly useless

I love you

Atif

Dread is what I feel when I force conversation to escape my lips

Dread is what I hear when I hear your voice, or any memory you narrate in my head

Dread is what I taste when I taste sugarless coffee, bitter and desolate, always how you liked it.

Dread is what I see, when my minds eye looks back into the nights I held you near. It's what I see, when I see your half dead eyes faking joy.

Dread is what I smell when I get into my car and smell a cigarette or a perfume that resembles yours.

My life is nothing but dread. Every night is a funeral and every morning a death.

But there's still Breathe, so most would say I'm alive. It's as if they forgot our nature and what it is to strive.

My senses shackle me to this cross, which faces a movie screen of terrors. I watch and cry, continually suffering with widows and beggars.

Shut it off, I wish I could, you see, but another fear that holds life dear, Will not set me free.

It's as if my brain holds my chain and dangles above the key. It won't let me out, with the painful doubt that I will cease to be.

But it doesn't add up, this is what I want?  An expensive life, a beautiful wife, something I can flaunt.

The hypocrisy, is like this democracy which binds us to despair.

You used to stand by and cover my eyes, give me a rest from the pain, but my wounded flesh and my horror cries left you with disdain.

So then you left, what did I expect? The world shackled you not, so I'll just remain up here, shackled with fear, watching this eternal plot.

lemonade mouth taste, sugarless lemonade
thought we were past this phase but i guess
i was wrong again this time. my heartbeat is
breaking my rib cage, diaphragm disappearing
leaving me breathless and bleeding. you smiled
again today so i started digging my own grave:
six feet deep, shovel clanging like your laughter,
making me torn between slowing down and
working faster, eager to hear it over and over
but hesitant to let it be over. it’s a bittersweet
symphony, and you’ve reduced me back down
to cliches again. i wish that i knew how to just
be your friend, neptune and jupiter and nothing
more, but your eyes are just so warm. how can
we not be venus and the sun? i’m spinning,
reeling backwards with you at my center,
the planet of the goddess of love-- i’m mercury,
one day with you feels like two years (would
two years with you feel like one day? probably)
and my mood swings so drastically around you
because i’m too close to have any kind of
atmosphere, always running too hot or too cold,
no middle ground-- but who am i to talk, with
you and your solar flares, your cold spots. how
do i get into the goldilocks zone with you? just
right for life, just right for evolving into something.

It's another Tuesday afternoon,
The stench of gloom in the air overpowered,
By the smell of sugarless, herbal tea.

I should be on my way soon,
I look down, the eyes of a coward,
Surrendering to words that escape me.

"I’m leaving, on a hot air balloon,"
"I won't be back till the hills are snow cowered,"
"Lifelines of white, against a flat lining sea."

"But I'll be back soon,"
I say, but she's gazing skyward,
"So this is the night, He promised it to be."

"Too many months of June",
"Has my poor heart encountered,"
"It is time for her to be free."

"And if this shiny moon,"
"Were to be crimson and flowered"
"Wouldn't make a better goodbye, than this is to be."

So the birds sang a tune,
We looked back, staring forward,
One final time, we took our first sip of tea.

"If this is to be,"
"Our last cup of tea,"
"May it be with sugar, grandma,"
"Two spoons for you,
Two spoons for me."

Sugarless ideas sleeping furiously
Wake my every week badly obviously;
No sugar, no sweetness comes to me kindly,
I am just rolling my days down tastelessly, blindly.

If alcohol is a crutch for one's brain
then narcotic pills are a candy cane
not if you're looking to manage pain
(although those intentions can change)
but to hop on the sugar rush train
just know once the pez dispenser is drained
you'll have to walk all the same
after the sugar train sugar crashes
and you must escape the sugar ashes
of a powder overload
that people confuse with blow because you explode
once your sweet tooth is exposed
you can barely speak because that's all that's left of your teeth
and your only way of relief
is atop a pixie stick peak
surrounded by a cocoa ocean
perpetuating turbulent motion
so you look for sugarless lifesavers
like that's asking a light favor
after you spited neighbors
over candy flavors
but now you need their help to walk
they'll think you're nothing but talk
because you thought your cane was the kind used by pimps
but take it away and watch how you limp.

Sugarless ideas sleeping furiously
Wake my every week badly obviously;
No sugar, no sweetness comes to me kindly,
I am just rolling my days down tastelessly, blindly.

Chattering of monkeys;
The child likes it, melodious;
Sugarless coffee!

I have torn countless pages off of my copy
These hands do not dare rub the words
Every orphan paper a cup of sugarless coffee
Pencil morphs to shield, eraser be my sword

The room resembles a scrambled puzzle
However insignificant they all have a role
Silent yet powerful like guns with muzzle
Broken to the naked eye but contribute to a whole

You were my first happy thought when I had my sip of coffee
Now you're still my first thought only I can't finish my coffee
Not because it's sugarless or has no milk, I thank you for that
But because I ******* it all up and I've got to live with that
Call it premature but now I can't finish my coffee cause with each sip I realize
Just how much I really did love you
Who am I kidding, I still do
But here I sit still with my coffee by my side
It's getting cold now cause I don't care about my coffee
I want you by my side
It's a reality I can't seem to face so now I've gone away
Propably not for the best, knowing me
Never the less, I hope to have coffee with you again one day.

Now There’s A Proverb That Says...

That......

“A Speaker of Truth,
Doesn’t Have Any Friends !”

Or Words To That Effect... !!!

And It Seems To Be Correct...
Because The Truth OFFENDS...

LIARS And Their FRIENDS... !!!

As Well As Those...
Whose Truth EXPLODES...
When They Are Found...
To Be The Type of Clowns...

Who Hide Their Thoughts...
Until They’re FORCED...
To Let Them Out...
When They’re Made To FROWN... !!!

Due To Lies They’ve Told...
That Become EXPOSED... !!!

Because They’re Weaker...
Than The Truest Speakers... !!!

In Fact Their Meeker...
Than ******* Preachers...
When They’ve Been Found...
To Be Using Their Mouths...
In Ways That DISGRACE...
The Faith That They Claim...
To Choose To Embrace... !!!!!!

You See It REALLY Is...
A... DANGEROUS Thing...

To Be A TRUTH Speaker... !!!

Because You Get Left...
Out On The Bleachers...

Or That’s Right...
The CHEAP Seats... !!!
By Those Who Are Bereft...
of........... HONESTY....

So Are Quick To DENY...
Simply Being... REAL... !!!

And When It Comes To **’s...
Or So Called... “ Ladies “...

You’d BETTER BELIEVE...
That The Truth Will Draw NO’s...
And Keep Their Legs Closed... !!!!

Because They Don’t Like...
To Deal With Guys...
Who WON'T Tell Lies...
To Make Them Smile...
And To Spread Their Thighs...

Truth Speakers Need...
To Have BIG MONEY...
To OPEN UP *******... !!!

Or Have Those Looks...
That Get Girls Hooked...
Like ******* Lines...
That BLOW Their Minds... !!!

Now It’s Mostly Pretty Chicks...
Who’ll Spread Their Lips...
For Guys Who Are QUICK...
To Make Them THINK...
That They're The Hottest Thing...
That They’ve EVER SEEN... !!!

When The Sun’s Above Them...
And Is SHINING BRIGHTLY... !!?!!

You See TRUTHFUL Men...
..... Are A RARITY..... !!!

Like Truth Being Used...
By Political Crews...
Or Gangster Dudes...

Truth Speakers Get Told...
To Keep Their Mouths CLOSED...
When It Comes To Folds...
Where Power Is Used...
To Make Strong Moves...

So Don’t Get It Confused...
Truth Speakers AREN’T Viewed...
On Your Daily News... !!!

Or In The Homes...
of These Famous Folks...

Because Many Have LIED...
To Live The FAST Life... !!!

And Many Have Deceived...
To Get To Where They Wanna Be... !!!

And Have Joined Fraternities...
That Let LIARS Lead...

Who Then Open Doors...
Where LIES Are The Source...
of Providing A Course...
Where Fame Is ENSURED... !!!

For... ACTORS And LIARS...
Who Are NOT GOOD Friars... !!!

The Truth Is NOT HIRED...
It’s... QUICKLY RETIRED...

Or In Other Words FIRED... !!!

Like Apprentices DUMPED...
By The Likes of Donald Trump... !!!

Or... Sugarless Bums...
Whose Speakers Run Gums...
To Get What They Want...
Like Deceitful Chumps... !!!

So TRUTH Speakers RUN...
From Joining Their Club... !!!

But The TRUTH Is THIS...

There Really AREN’T Many...
Who Are TRULY Ready...
To STICK To The TRUTH... !!!

And The Proverb Proves...
That What It Suggests...
May Well Be CORRECT... !?!

A Speaker of Truth...
Really Doesn’t Have Friends...

They’ll Find A Few...
Who’ll Try To Play...
That The Truth Is Cool...

But When It Reflects...
And EXPOSES THEM...

They’ll Quickly Make Threats...
And Show Their Ignorance... !!!

And In The END...
Tend To Leave Them For DEAD... !!!

Those Who Are REALER...
Than Deceitful Teachers...
... ******* Preachers...
And Todays False Leaders... !!!

Who... UNLIKE Them...

Are REALLY Dealers...
... In Being...

.... “ Truth Speakers “....

On the lavender sheets
we sat under wood carvings
behind taut-curtained windows
the white paint slightly smeared on the glass
next to a bowl of orange hard candies
sipping the hot,
sugarless earl grey
bitter as the cold
and fell in love