I'd like to think that she's thinking:

"How far have I fallen?"

As she sits on the corner of her bed,

Listening to the soft buzz of his battery-powered toothbrush.

I imagine her,

Running her fingers through her clumsy, coagulated hair.

Glancing at her chipped, crimson toe nails,

Then looking to her class ring,

Made entirely of imitation ingredients,

Wondering when is the proper time to trash it.


When she was still a friend of mine,

I never saw her wear make up,

I never saw her show off in tight jeans

or low-cut tees.


But as he spews the toothpaste into the sink,

Skinny jeans lay tussled on the floor,

Next to the side door

that leads to his sister's side room.

The make up she wears

is from the night before.

It's skewed and shows evidence of running,

Like a wasted watercolor.


I'd like to think he isn't that handsome,

And that he's obsessed with Paul Walker.

I'd like to think when he re-enters the room,

He's in grey sweatpants,

He's wearing a black tank top,

With a Confederate flag backdrop,

With two barely dressed babes looking ******

in the foreground.


His hair, unwashed and greasy.

He rubs his belly,

And bears an idiot grin

on his face.

Looking like he just learned how to smile

at this pace.

"Did it feel good?"

feel good.

After he asks, he scans her body,

Beginning at those crimson toes,

And Ending at that clumsy hair.

Every second he scans,

He still wears that drawn-on

Idiot grin.


I'd like to think at this point she thinks of me.

Of my warnings and prophesy.

Her eyes start at the chipped toe nails,

Course over her tanning bed-inspired legs.

And finally reach the only thing she has on,

A t-shirt that belongs to his sister.

A t-shirt, when given by him,

It was mentioned, "thanks, mister".


Though she didn't satisfy all his redneck intentions,

During last night's expedition.

He still paid her back with a morning

one-sided session.

"It felt good" she says.

In reference to the ten minute *******,

When her body was strummed and plucked,

Underneath his sister's Terri Clark T-shirt.


As she sits in the filth and the ****** fallout,

On a bed that is six days *****,

While he is grinning,

Being everything but wordy.

I'd like to think she's thinking:

"How far have I fallen?"

First I would like to thank everyone for being here today to pay his or her respects to my grandfather Robert Sohm. He would be pleased to see so many of his friends and family here today. Whether you knew him as a husband, father, grandfather, or friend, you probably had the same level of appreciation for him that I did.I would sincerely like to thank all of you on behalf of our family.  While we know that Grandpa is deeply deserving of the love you’ve shown, the outpouring of support we’ve received in recent months, weeks, and days has been truly overwhelming

He  lived a full life and had four amazing children and Seven grandchildren one being myself

His wife Pat is a great women. My Grandpa and Grandma were the ideal team.  I’ve often thought of them as the original power couple.  They were inseparable, and took care of each other for 50 years.
She is a huge part of our family and I hope she knows that we will always be here for her. Sometimes I’d wonder how either of them would ever manage should one go before the other, but over the past few days I’ve come to realize and appreciate that many of you will help take care of my Grandma through the tough times to come.  I know she is in good hands.
I know I'm not alone when I say we are always here for you and we love you
and respect you so much. If you ever need anything please do not forget that.

My Grandpa might not be a super hero, but he's my hero.
He's a soldier who had to conquer many battles in his life.
He's a fighter and someone who loved with all of his heart.
He's the "claw", and a best bud
Someone who may not function like everybody else but is able to bluntly tell it like it is and go the extra long mile to get stuff done one handedly
I wanted him to be the one who walked me down the aisle on my big day.
God has made other arrangements for him.
It's hard loosing someone who's your fatherly figure,

He was a caring person but he knew how to stand up for what he believed in and I think everyone here has a good memory of grandpa that they could share. I think we have all had a piece of us taken away but we can rest easy knowing he is in a much better place. My grandpa was a great man. When I think about him the words that come to mind are: my best bud , the claw, caring, humorous,  storyteller, and family man. These are just a few words that come to mind, but it is impossible to summarize how great a person he was in words.

He was a shoulder to lean on, a friend to rely on, and a rock for our whole family. I think about family values and how they aren’t the most important thing to people anymore. My family has always been close and always stuck together. My grandpa's pride and joy was his family.

My earliest memories of time spent with my grandfather are living at and visiting his house when me and my sister were kids. We would hide in the back room and wait for him then sneak out when we thought the coast was clear and he would come chase us pretending to be the claw.

He might have been stern with us, but Grandpa loved us kids. Family brought joy to his life — and he brought joy to us, in his own, sometimes grumpy, way.

We say that he has gone to a better place — but Grandpa will never truly be gone. He is always with each of us who loved him. It is not for us to think of him as if he was lost from our lives, but rather that we continue forth with him as our companion, celebrating and honoring his life. So I’ll think of him with every class that I take because I knew how much he wanted to see me graduate. Remember how he use to always say how someone wasn't so bright, always making sure I have a jacket when it's cold  yet be the one outside on the deck tanning when it's hot and him betting for football games. I'll always remember how much he loved going to Vegas and seeing his favorite saxophone player Carl. I will Be comforted in the memory of his smile… He’ll be in the small things and the quiet moments, forever by my side. I will miss my Grandpa, and will always be grateful for the time and warm memories I have of him.


We little knew that day,
God was going to call your name.
In life we loved you dearly,
In death, we do the same.

It broke our hearts to lose you.
You did not go alone.
For part of us went with you,
The day God called you home.

You left us beautiful memories,
Your love is still our guide.
And although we cannot see you,
You are always at our side.

Our family chain is broken,
And nothing seems the same,
But as God calls us one by one,
The chain will link again.

Where you were once my sunshine you are now my stars

GUNS
Tanning
Karate*
Outrunning storms on 40
Outlasting my compatriots full of toxins
Yawning after afternoon
Delight and coffees.

I'm going to miss her like hell
When I expatriate,
Her and these simple road signs.

the thick frames surrounding
my prescription perspective,
are the curtains to the ceaseless show.


the same charade everyday.


it's a 4-15 minute drive from my apartment to the campus.
4 minutes if the dark-humored, aliens that control stoplights are kind,
15 if they are looking for a laugh.


my feet hit parking concrete outside of classrooms.
it's rhythmic yet mundane.
but it's a game we all play.


i fall into line, the slow parade of apathy,
that leads us to lectures each day.


the professors project views of wicked youth,
we like white, pull-down sheets,
sport whatever image they insist,
so easily.


it's branded boys
and
tanning bed-inspired girls.
it's blind acceptance and
weightless regret.


i want to change lenses.
pull the curtain,
and start all over again.

And it's difficult to remember something as the very name of Eisenhower
Or flowerbaskets
And tired movies made of silicone and
Aftersex
Or sixteen candles echoing out of an imaginary suite with cigarettes at every table
And green lawns
Barbershop conversation
The reflection of the sun in special trees
Or my best friend Jesus Christ
Or the smell of the theater that one day with the cynics who just got back from a tennis match and barbwire still laced delicately around their thoughts and
Nihilism
And automotives
And priestess Jane or Henry's gloomy doppelganger who reads alternative magazines and loves the aesthetics behind broken glass
And fine tuned musical instruments

It's difficult to remember
Lonesome Fridays smoking on a park bench trying to finish the puzzle
Or synagogues you've never been in
Or insurance
Or newspaper articles detailing the misadventures of Mr. City
(Of course of course! Take your shoes off at the door and make yourself at home)
We're tossing all our sewage into the ocean
that's far from clean as it
LOOKS anymore these days
That's anything
And everything except for the glowing mountains seen faded and wintry behind Apartments and the
"Glorious Mexican House of Spices"
Never been in there either

It's difficult to remember
Times of Mr Twin Sister
Or Joan Jett in the hallway
In a highschool who's psychology classrooms have become a time capsule in the ground/
Or the gentle skinny ******
Wearing Broadway makeup and
Kafka tattooed on his shoulder
I like his hat
He looks at me suspiciously
Or the guy who is yelling his order at the counter when it's quiet here anyways
Or the mariner who has a hobby of the saxophone
Or 1970s *******
Or the sheepskin bikeseat fad that's yet to come but I'm predicting it now!
Or two dollars and twentyseven cents at the beginning of Allen Ginsberg's America
"I've given you all and now I'm nothing"

It's difficult to remember
The Oriental
Sacramento flies
Midnight Moon
Quarter to four
"The Immortalization Commission"
Remodelled hotels downtown
Where mandalas on the floor became a
Tiger lily luminous
And the kimono is yesterday's painting/
Dearest Darling
When I was feeling down!
A staircase in reverse (??)
The sound a kiss makes
It's difficult to remember
Colleen's earrings
Or Washington State
Or air conditioners in Bali
The Indian ocean's daybreak hymn
To Seminyak
Or whatever happened to Steve from the Airplane out of Taiwan
On 3 days awake
Hello Kitty nursing stations
****** (Kubrick's version)
Cardboard taking up half my bedroom
It's difficult to remember until I jot it down and then its a sudden forever
Sunshine Superman in a cafe spontaneous
drawings with someone I just met who has some ******* attitude/
Who hops fences and has feral ideas
People! En Masse! Te Amo!
You're all in wolven liberty
And vague postulators
And holy prostitutes for the dollar
Sad eyed intellectuals
With undergarments made of breakfast cereal/
Seaferry poetry is different from
Trestle in August poetry
Or henna handshakes
Or the Napoleonic era
Sweet Cherry Pie
The tulip's tongue
Garabajal
Cloudy first day of July
Was hotter yesterday
But not too hot

It's difficult to remember
Antiquity
The pale horse Studebaker outside the clinic
With a glossy red trim and **** I wish that was my ride
Andy Warhol's exploding plastic inevitable
Nearsightedness
Angels and their ability to shower with a a snap of their fingers
Distant harp music
Better him than me
Bananas almost ripe
Green aquatic
Reclusive junkies
Palomo's appliances
Questions for the next time
How much I like what you like and how I like that you like what I like
Ahh that's not my bus
I'm trying to get to the city!
That one quote Socrates is known for about knowing nothing as true wisdom
Supermarkets being built on top of liquor stores burned down a while back
Monopolies
Tragedies
"No Love Lost"
THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL
Your guess is as good as mine
Never tried to eat Asian food in Asia
It was all pasta and good cider that tasted like pineapple
Rain hitting the window and I'm
Drowsy again
God Save The Trees!
Curly hair looks good on boys
Torn up blinds
Queer as a three dollar bill
If Bill costs 3 dollars I'm sure he's caught something better safe than sorry
Sage advice
I'm the very model of a modern major general
Golden yen and international currency
Incense in the bedroom and how good it smells
There's my bus! Applying for a better job than the one I got now
But that's how it always is right?
Chasing satisfaction
1007 apt
Porch ornaments
Unique names
Unique style le style
The extra charge on foreign ATMs
Cordoroy polo shirts
Flooding in New York!
When someone's face screams *******
"Slippery when wet"
Dine N Dash
Grass gone yellow
Confidence in dyed hair and capes as long as wedding gowns
But less expensive
Doors that always seem to be locked and I'm wondering 20 year later what's behind them?
Albino animals
White thoughts as clouds or
Abstractions
Weathers nicer in Florida but who cares
Festivities this early in the day
Automatopeia
Do sad orphanages still exist?
Just like the movies
Midnight in mirrors
That sick puppet at the shoe shop used
To know how to really hammer it down
And now he's weak and forgotten
Never heard the words of a true prophet only Oceania
Or the private temple near Apollo Bay
Like Japanese gardens behind that gate
Will I ever see it
Make a proud example outta ya misbehavior
Form without function
Exhausted spiritualism
*** Kettle Black
negative photographs of dark rooms
And there's laughing coming from SOMEWHERE
Essays on kleptomania
Had a bad dream I became a cliche
Surrounded by other freaks and there was a lovely ***** I fell in love with her
We married in Oregon by the sea her name was rosy
***** rosy
Check your mailbox for nails
And what you don't wanna hear/
If you were a vegetable you'd be organic!
Empire
Satirical bubble gum
Satori
Linda Lovelace and her special party trick
That's someone's fantasy
Diamond in the rough
Mister guy with two black eyes frequents the adult playhouse
Hes fully stocked on fishnet leggings
He's too proud to put them on himself but
Has nobody else around
Boo hoo
Swigs back the whiskey and trips down the stairs getting a third black eye in the process
Marion came by with her dog the other day
Wanted her box of clothes back but he loved to sniff them to remember her
But she wouldn't have it

"Honey I'm going to call the police!"

"Ah they don't give a **** they have bigger things to worry about"

"Yeah you got that right shrimp **** enjoy my unwashed *******"

And she never came back again
He started losing the vertebrae in his spine 1 by 1 and you know where this is going
I won't say he was a poor man because he had it all coming to him the *******
But he coulda had a better start if you ask me.

It's difficult to remember
And even more difficult to forget
After the fact

Seagull opera
Giganticism
Portrait of the artist as a young man
Losing one's pencil when the best idea of your life drops down from heaven and into your sorry head
Signs graffitied to have funnier meanings
Cruelty
Impassive
The Loyal Lioness
And Bangladesh has too many kitchens
And not enough dishes
When I was young I used to say Island as "is-land"  
Which is true it is land
But the Europeans probably stole it from somebody else anyways/
I left my future behind
And objects in the mirror are closer than they appear
Im no illusionist
I'm terrified of the cracken
Father feels the same way about
Hotels
Why bother/
This has been going on and on for a while are you tired yet
Is your patience being tested
Mine isn't because this wasn't an all-at-once kind of rambling
It's extremely important to laugh at least
Once a day
Otherwise you'll find yourself a politician
In no time at all
Rockefeller
(         ) Quaint home to die in
I think
Trains create great music
Float on
Sink into yourself
Roses in a crooked alley
That's people
Busy busy busy busy
Let's describe a situationist
I'm not a fan of bright colors on clothes
Your best shade is blue
Bricklayers transcription of Don Quixote to a skyscraper
Rocket thyme
& Garden
Erratic children's
Insomnia
The doorbell repeatedly
Vancouver riots/ I saw that live on the news!
Pictionary with the surrealists
N Dada TV set MC Escher
Antenna
You're in the Twilight Zone now
Dear Ramona
I'm trying to make it up to you
With a brightness only seen when you're ready to see it so please for the love of God don't blame me when it's not appearing
The tapestry hidden
Keep your blankets clean
And avoid hospitals unless you're fine with fishbowls & the halogen
The water gestapo
Storage lockers full of unacted plays and
Antique microwaves
Emitting the nostalgia of the cold war era
And what a waste of time that was /
Walter Wanderleys presence in Autumn universities
The opening of Vivre sa Vie
Salvador Dali's pluvial taxi
Lightbulb epiphanies
Aquariums and their protestors
Zebras in the shade
Two wrongs dont make a right
Elizabethan theater
Saloon shootouts in a fever dream
I lost and bled out all over the rustic wooden floor
A maiden reached out for me and El Paso did play I woke up and pretended nothing happened/
Funerals for bad People who did bad things
My first memory of a cat beneath the mattress
Hello Dolly!
Auditory learning
Psychotherapy
Lillian the landlady lost her ladle and labeled little Lyle as a lair
The Black panther movement
Reading symposium some years ago and
Making note that Phaedo was still my favorite dialogue/
Zen Buddhism
Xoxo xoxo
The day Gypsies were replaced with
Surface ****** appetite
And not the real thing
Newspaper clippings
Hypnotism when all other options are out
Mystical visions of sidewalks
And the love of your life stepping through a door you've never seen
Maybe Yes No I Don't Know
Creature comforts
Che Guevara's problem is that his beard made him too easy to recognize
(Also that little hat!)
Chinese cough medicine didn't work
For long I still wheeze sometimes
Domestic violence thru the wall
Ceiling fan probably doesn't even work!
Dimpled laughter
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
In skytrains to Commercial
Bermuda in her mind
And courtesy in her voice
I'm no Arthur Rimbaud
But you already knew that
Alcazar of Seville
Filling up the shipbottle
Here's your paradise
Now relinquish it as it is
False!
Hare Krishna
Nowhere Fast
El Diablo and the
Portofino loaf left rotting on the countertop
Latin children speak of the sacred viper
You'll hear of it after this but we'll never see what the ******* meant
Heads alternating round the social current
Of my lively city
There's a dog soaking up the rain
And songs are made in honor of
Recent catastrophes
Trials are dealt
Cards cast to the gutter
New York quiets down for the news of another war
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Skeleton key
Ballad of the last wailing zoo
THE ATRIUM
Complexity in simplicity
That's how Brainard got me!
Elderly overcoats
Hiding purest LSD
Is a fan of Hawaiian T shirts
And a communist
What if I was a Freemason
Or owned a tanning salon
Faint crimson
What did Marv look like again?
"You're surrounded by people who love you"
Coffee when one needs it
GOODBYE BLUE MONDAY
Tattoos on the wandering man
Oriental chimes and the people who own them
Bus stop regulars
Vines overtaking power lines
The hypnogogic state
Strawberry light softening
The mind
Sister Ray LOUDLY PROCLAIMING
doitdoitdoitdoit
Passing the graffiti n Pluto neon
Halal wide awake another Saturday
Where's the Karaoke
Flashing by here
Those who find comfort in a bridal scavenger hunt
Or expensive beer
And here comes the hooded clown
Clamoring about his favorite
Loudspeaker
Telling me my time is soon and the noise
Drowns out the drowsy bliss
After hour spirits the perfect time for
Writing and trying to read distant Chinese
Indecision on the tip of the tongue
"NOW WHO IS THAT KNOCKING
ON THE CHAMBER DOOR?
COULD IT BE THE POLICE?"

I'm completely off the topic
And into Apartment lobby photosets
Low battery phone calls
Confessions
Nauseated reverb
Trying to see the attachment people got with bingo halls
And moving companies
Ah no luck again
Eve is at it with her showtunes
Halfway methodology
Triage
Paisley headbands left
Distraught on the quivering
Heater
Dwindling sunsets
We're truly disciples of the moon spirit which grants us more energy
(This is according to a drunk I met one night)
Or ***** old men
When the horizon is engulfed with
A winking cinder
Suitcase at the door
Last time
First time
Magician never reveals his fetishes
(They all have to do with bags under your eyes)
Employment office dramas of my friend the one who blinded a social worker
And the one who blamed Islam
And the one whos philosophy entirely consisted of Spooky Action at a
                                            DISTANCE
Parisian riots
Queer youth
Didn't make the team! Jester
'cross the hall who's beard suggests
Ishmeal n car battery n expired vegetables n rain which crosses the line n
***** cranberry n
Poorly fitted suits n
Harsh pigment n incense shops n
Bocca     secret towns
With churches more beautiful than any you'd find in your own city
n the cultural market
Xylophone ear to ear
Soul cleansing starting at only
$89 (with a 6 month guarantee)
Sophie's birthday and her picnic at Victory Park
The nearby bums trying to sell tea mugs and
Loose wires beside gated convenience stores
I'm an Island away attempting a poem
And never bought a scratch n win
Or heard the same song more than seven times in a row or been in a column
Or escaped the washhouse
Invested in a birdcage for next year
Been to a palm reading
Visited Oasis
Smoked salmon
Told anyone else about Montana
Screamed the things I'd like to scream
** Word of the day
Or kissed a lunatic or swallowed the corpse of yesterday
I keep her on my neck until
I'm too anxious to let go
Counting streetlights
Jeans worn in and faded to be sent off to
A lonely caffeine addict
Christmas Eve I'll be reading a postcard from San Francisco
Asking the same questions
My imagination is made of a different material than last week
Now it's the same color as your hair
HEY that's a good pickup line to use in the heart of the Canadian Embassy
Drinking discarded music resembling a sweater you may have said YES to if it wasn't so unsure of itself
And now Mr. Acker Bilk ascends thru the window of an August home
Like a lazy hornet
I'm still lost without identification
Or a nice belt
As happens when one uses a quality item too casually
How did uphill suddenly seem so downhill?
I'll claim a waterfall
For SALE that inevitable Indonesia
Greyhound O another greyhound O another greyhound
I'm fretting too much about not enough
Delayed the Airport and the yellow question

????

II

What if I knew how to read the curb?
Or translate drunken droll
What if I was never tired again and could
REALLY do anything I set my mind to?
What if I was the first cigarette that cured cancer instead of caused it?
What if I could end superstition
And walk underneath any ladder I wanted?
What if I could make it with a young Audrey Hepburn!?
What if I stopped pretending to be a microphone and got on with "it"
What if the grocery store closed later
And I opened earlier?
What if parking lots werent so sad
All the time?
What if gravity simply had enough of exotic birds and specifics?
What if we stopped trying to recreate what is truly lost?
What if foreign children embraced
Wasting time instead of
Midnight starry bicycles
And the antics of a monk
Disguised as a romantic?

There are those that worship God
And those who worship the Sun
And those who worship nothing at all
But I suppose on the last bus
We're all the same exhausted
Voice who can't wait for next pay day
What is an empty bank?
Or authenticity
What is there to prove anymore?
I hope I don't die tonight and regret
Being impulsive for once
You're a smart shadow
And a dull character
Pushing the last of the daisies
Get the lamp to turn on again
Give the pavement something to look forward to with your walk
Be consistent in being inconsistent
If there's a word there's a ***** and a poem for it!
We all oughta worship
Nothing at all except
Clarity
Compassion with ones neighbor who either forgot the pay the electricity bill or couldn't afford to
We're a swimmin

Sunflowers can be compared to everything. Hope, love, life, happiness.

Here, let me show you.

           Imagine each petal
Gracefully touching your lips, traveling all over your
Face, stopping at your twinkling blue eyes.
                            Love.

  The Yellow of the petals is the sweltering sun,
Beating down. Warming your insides and tanning your skin.
The seeds being Laughter, Tickling the insides of your mouth.
        Happiness.

           The long green stems growing too mountainous
Heights, spilling over running children and smiling adults.
Life.

The scent filling your vivacious lungs,
Propelling you forward,
Content with this.
             **Hope.

Moles is essentially an epidermis disorder prevalent to be able to kids, yet Many individuals will occur to prospects at everyone. Most about moles will be innocuous, but also in hard to find conditions, many individuals could become dangerous. A lot of us can be smooth or perhaps elevated. They sometimes are on spherical or possibly oblong and also smaller than your pencil eraser fit and healthy . Most people have among 0 as well as 40 of them flesh-colored, light red, tanners, and / or brownish zones on the epidermis. Brand new most individuals can be into mid-adulthood, also, since moles carry on approximately Five decades, some most individuals might fade away once you years. Keeping track of most individuals along with other colored pads is really a help the diagnosis of cancer of the skin mbt shoes clearance outlet, in particular dangerous melanoma. But not almost all melanomas acquire coming from pre-existing many individuals, quite a few come from or simply next to a fabulous skin mole or other dark appropriate your skin mbt shoes outlet. A lot of us are overgrowths within the skins coloring tissue (melanocytes). Many of us have them. A lot of us will not be usually provide located at beginning although can be purchased in younger years not to mention first teen years. With the time of 20 years Melbourne young people provide an average of greater than 55 moles. An important epidermis (as well as melanocytic naevus) is usually an unusual collecting color muscle present in the pores and skin. These kind of solar cells are melanocytes. Skin moles are really normal. So many people are given birth to with a bit of most individuals and also acquire some others during their life. Causes of Moles Melanin can be a natural and organic coloring which offers your body it has the colors. It is really manufactured in tissue called melanocytes, in some of the best core on the epidermis (skin area) or maybe the outer layers with the skin's secondly stratum (dermis). Melanin may be transported into the outside solar cells of the epidermis. Routinely, melanin is distributed evenly. A lot of us usually are complexion pigmentations and be dark-colored if come across the sun.

Many individuals would possibly not occur in to start with you receive already familiar with ultra violet rays, it's accounted from the time that you aquire subjected up until present. Perhaps you waken within a day that you really got many individuals within your body. Skin moles furthermore surface because of poor improvements brought on by puberty or perhaps gestation. By far the most being held responsible on your dangerous of experiencing a lot of us could be the sun's heat. The powerful Ultra violet rays the fact that lead to pores and skin sun burn accumulate on the skin area through the adolescence to offer leading to dangerous most cancers. Attending tanning saloons not to mention sunshine bed frames were proposed to cause a lot of us. Risking potential cancer cancer is definitely observed as soon as your skin color socialized in another way to discontinued mbt. Find out if your epidermis coloration ranges whenever a several colors. Your many individuals should really be not higher than 6 millimeters in proportion. A line of your most individuals has to be simple instead of tough brink.

Techniques for Healing Many individuals are ) Normally skin are usually simple in addition to protected not to include as well as doesn't will need treatment plans ) Sporting a good sunscreen lotion as well as minimizing also stops numerous a lot of us A few) Get rid of removal. On this solution, a family doctor numbs the vicinity about an important epidermis after which it operates on the all smaller sharp edge so that you can shave off that skin color mole all around skin. A number of) Put biopsy. Health care provider may take off a new pores and skin having a smaller incision or maybe deal biopsy procedure, using a compact cookie-cutter-like apparatus. Your five) Excisional surgical treatments. skin color mole together with a surrounding perimeter in nourishing body are actually restrict surgically
Relate Articles:
http://www.mbtofficial.com

I am a person of colour

Whose simple presence can cause outrage
they use their tongues as swords
and slay me with slurs
Whilst there are others who pretend to be my ally
but I can see their disgust in their eyes
their uneasiness in their smile

I am a person of colour

Whose beautiful traditional garments are cherry-picked
and woven into a disgusting replica
brandished on “Designer labels”
and mocked as exotic

I am a person of colour

Whose skin is secretly envied by them
they exhaust their expenses on tanning salons
and “bronzing” creams
Yet simultaneously they spit on my “darkness”
and promote their products with the so-called beauty of “lightness”

I am a person of colour**

I shall not hide my anger at their ignorance
I shall wear my skin with pride
Because being a person of colour
No matter what I do or how I conform
They will never be satisfied

A porcupine skin,
Stiff with bad tanning,
It must have ended somewhere.
Stuffed horned owl
Pompous
Yellow eyed;
Chuck-wills-widow on a biased twig
Sooted with dust.
Piles of old magazines,
Drawers of boy's letters
And the line of love
They must have ended somewhere.
Yesterday's Tribune is gone
Along with youth
And the canoe that went to pieces on the beach
The year of the big storm
When the hotel burned down
At Seney, Michigan.

Ignorance is bliss,
really,
more like Stupidity.
an aspect,
benefiting a person,
like cold sore,
irritating,
an annoyance,
peevish to your life.

Face it, honey,
you’re as fake,
as your personality.
You’re plastic,
I could melt you,
if I truly desired,
setting a lighted match,
to your artificial body.

Please, take some advice,
lay off the make-up,
you look like a clown,
maybe a *******.
Tanning is acceptable,
but looking dark orange,
is outrageous.
There is no need to look,
like you just rolled in bag of Doritos,
that’s Snooki’s Job.

There is more to life,
besides appearances,
waking up like P. Diddy,
sweet heart, don’t like be Kesha,
it’s ******.
Partying is enjoyable,
but not necessary every night,
consisting of drinking,
frat boys, jocks, pretty boys,
saying “oh my god”,
or “I broke a nail”,
and precarious ***.

I know you were raised with Barbies,
but you don’t have to be one.
Barbie is a piece of plastic,
containing no originality,
with an unfeasible body,
and isn’t real,
much like yourself.
Stop with the act,
no one wants to be,
around a person,
who is often intoxicated,
narcissistic,
and a ditzy *****.

You can be a girly girl,
but be genuine,
stop being a follower,
if everyone jumps off a bridge,
then you’ll be splattered,
upon the ground with them,
no use to anyone.

My words are probably useless,
going right through the holes,
of yours ears,
attached to the plastic head of yours.

Anyways, I tried,
as excruciating as it was,
to reach out to you,
who are living this life,
of alleged greatness,
more like a travesty,
in my eyes.

Hopefully, you’ll change,
wake up from this social stupor,
become yourself,
regain your individuality,
and cease to be,
a Barbie doll.

Skin.
Skin by definition is a thin layer of tissue forming a natural outer covering of the body.
Skin is for people to tan, to clothe, apply make up to... to touch.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Mosquito bites.
Mosquito bites by definition are the itchy bumps that appear after mosquitoes use their proboscis to puncture your skin and feed on your blood.
Mosquito bites are for people to feel, to itch, to bleed, to scab and repeat. The entire cycle.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Summer.
Summer by definition is the warmest season of the year.
Summer is for t-shirts, shorts, exposure, swimming, tanning, skin, skin, skin, skin, skin.
"It's Summer, put on some shorts."
"It's Summer, why aren't you wearing a t-shirt?"
"It's Summer, let's go swimming!"
Summer is a time for these questions, these statements, these words to fester, to breed like muosquitos, to sting like the bite of a bug.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Dermatologist.
A Dermatologist by definition is a doctor that treats diseases, in the widest sense, and some cosmetic problems of the skin, skin, skin, skin, skin.
The Dermatologist tells me to use this and to use that. Lotions and potions, as my mother would say. Slather, rub, treat, swallow.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Skin care.
Skin care by definition is the range of practices that support skin integrity, enhance its appearance and relieve skin conditions.
Get up, shower, sterilizing soap, body oil, steroid cream, medicated lotion, drink water and repeat the process before bed. My daily cycle.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Seesaw.
A Seesaw by definition is to change rapidly and repeatedly from one position, situation, or condition to another and back again.
Seesaw, to push off the ground, into the air with a sense of victory and joy, only to fall hard to the ground with stinging ankles and sore calf's.
This isn't a playground anymore.
The Dermatologist says that if I don't get better, they'll have to put me on the pill.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

The Pill.
The Pill is an oral treatment for my condition. My eczema.
One pill every morning at seven AM with food and an entire glass of water.
The risk associated with the pill- Osteoporosis,  Muscle weakness, Mood and Behavioral changes, Increase in chance of developing cataracts,  Stomach Ulcers and Liver Failure.
One pill every morning at seven AM with food and an entire glass of water. The daily cycle.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab.... **** it.

I would rather my liver fail and my bones go brittle then to be stared at on the street!
"What is that?"
"Are you okay?"
"What's wrong with her?"
"Is it contagious?"
"Don't touch me!"
I itch, my nails dragging over my scarred skin and pulling at wounds. I bleed, the welts that crack and leak drops from the red river that flows silently beneath my skin. I scab, leaving horrible lumps of ugly, hardened flesh to coat the once smooth area. I repeat....

Well, I don't want to repeat! I want to be able wear the clothes I want, to walk the streets with out the judging and questioning eyes of the passersby on me, to be held and touched by a significant other without the fear that their fingers will fall upon my skin and recoil in disgust!

Without looking in the mirror and wondering when I can finally begin to love myself.

I decided that today is the day! No more Itching! No more Bleeding! No more Scabs! It's time to break this ******* cycle.

The sun
Is glad to see your face,
Your unseen grace,
Your Hidden space,
Your
Silhouette now covered in sun beams.
It seems
You've been
Packed away for a very long time
Its almost a crime how you've
Shielded yourself from his hydrogenity.
The sun
Is glad to see your smile
Your pearly whites
And colorless lips
Soft,
Too cold,
needing,
Craving,
warmth.
His
Golden fingers graze your cheek
And Bring life back to your pallor.
Who knew
Living as a recluse would make you so blue,
So unidentifiable?
He Brings you back from the dead
Pulling your soul back out
into your flesh.
Fresh
And healed,
At least Temporarily
But it
is enough,
His touch,
To liven your now tanning skin
To Make you akin to his own:
A sunflower
Trapped in the dark
3 inches tall instead of 3 feet
Now starting to grow beyond skyscrapers with his aid,
if his light is what's causing you to
Stand up straight
His heat is what is reviving your heartbeat
A Crescendo from silence to a slight pitter patter
Almost as soft as rain.
Almost as if crying.
If you listen hard enough,
You just might hear it wimpering, waking up from it's hibernation.
It
Wants to go back to sleep
But he
Refuses to give up his efforts of recesitation
For he knows it isn't for naught,
For he knows that it is working,
Your heart stirring
Beating
Louder as you step further out of the door frame
Let him
Cradle your soul with his firey hands
Let him
Bring you back from the dead.
You Look so much more alive when you let him work his magic on you.
The world
Has missed you.
Looking around,
Your mind starts whirring,
Analysing The outside world.
The Green of the grass and the
Blue of the sky,
All Graces of the solar angel shining over you,
Shining into you.
Giving you sight,
Giving you life,
Giving you the things you couldn't have before.
Let his
Golden happiness seep into your freezing bones,
And,
Turn them into torches
And burn brighter, in the daylight
Than you ever did in the darkness.

Calf augmentation => silicon implantation
Endoscopy, otoplasty, baby
Mentoplasty, rhinoplasty, scalpel
Juvederm at 4, Starbucks pit-stop right after,
pop some xany's and go

Chemical peel, dermabrasion
Dr. Unknown PhD. meet patient Montag XR3.
Brain stimulation, kneecap replacement
Doc, I'm starting to miss the table, is this a complication I should expect?

Fat grafting, bone grafting, mystic tanning
(what really is natural nowadays?)
Chin reconstruction, laser resurfacing,
(what really is me anyways?)

Consultation with your post-op pain,
It's gonna be "Ouchy" for a month,
but worth it in the end.
Self-esteem scan shows a cancerous tumor and growth
Yuck
And here I thought plastic was
"cancer-free"?

as the time suggests,
even wearing sunglasses
will not ease me
into being a cat
of loathing the sun;
i sometimes have to
raise my hand and block
the sun,
capture it, feel its warmth
cupped in the hand,
so i can use my eyes to
peer into the screen;
indeed the moon
is an easier orb to appreciate;
you can't find anyone
tanning in its light.

Now swarthy Summer, by rude health embrowned,
    Precedence takes of rosy fingered Spring;
And laughing Joy, with wild flowers prank’d, and crown’d,
    A wild and giddy thing,
And Health robust, from every care unbound,
    Come on the zephyr’s wing,
      And cheer the toiling clown.

  Happy as holiday-enjoying face,
    Loud tongued, and “merry as a marriage bell,”
Thy lightsome step sheds joy in every place;
    And where the troubled dwell,
Thy witching charms wean them of half their cares;
    And from thy sunny spell,
      They greet joy unawares.

  Then with thy sultry locks all loose and rude,
    And mantle laced with gems of garish light,
Come as of wont; for I would fain intrude,
    And in the world’s despite,
Share the rude wealth that thy own heart beguiles;
    If haply so I might
      Win pleasure from thy smiles.

  Me not the noise of brawling pleasure cheers,
    In nightly revels or in city streets;
But joys which soothe, and not distract the ears,
    That one at leisure meets
In the green woods, and meadows summer-shorn,
    Or fields, where bee-fly greets
      The ear with mellow horn.

  The green-swathed grasshopper, on treble pipe,
    Sings there, and dances, in mad-hearted pranks;
There bees go courting every flower that’s ripe,
    On baulks and sunny banks;
And droning dragon-fly, on rude bassoon,
    Attempts to give God thanks
      In no discordant tune.

  The speckled thrush, by self-delight embued,
    There sings unto himself for joy’s amends,
And drinks the honey dew of solitude.
    There Happiness attends
With ****** Joy until the heart o’erflow,
    Of which the world’s rude friends,
      Nought heeding, nothing know.

  There the gay river, laughing as it goes,
    Plashes with easy wave its flaggy sides,
And to the calm of heart, in calmness shows
    What pleasure there abides,
To trace its sedgy banks, from trouble free:
    Spots Solitude provides
      To muse, and happy be.

  There ruminating ’neath some pleasant bush,
    On sweet silk grass I stretch me at mine ease,
Where I can pillow on the yielding rush;
    And, acting as I please,
Drop into pleasant dreams; or musing lie,
    Mark the wind-shaken trees,
      And cloud-betravelled sky.

  There think me how some barter joy for care,
    And waste life’s summer-health in riot rude,
Of nature, nor of nature’s sweets aware.
    When passions vain intrude,
These, by calm musings, softened are and still;
    And the heart’s better mood
      Feels sick of doing ill.

  There I can live, and at my leisure seek
    Joys far from cold restraints—not fearing pride—
Free as the winds, that breathe upon my cheek
    Rude health, so long denied.
Here poor Integrity can sit at ease,
    And list self-satisfied
      The song of honey-bees.

  The green lane now I traverse, where it goes
    Nought guessing, till some sudden turn espies
Rude batter’d finger post, that stooping shows
    Where the snug mystery lies;
And then a mossy spire, with ivy crown,
    Cheers up the short surprise,
      And shows a peeping town.

  I see the wild flowers, in their summer morn
    Of beauty, feeding on joy’s luscious hours;
The gay convolvulus, wreathing round the thorn,
    Agape for honey showers;
And slender kingcup, burnished with the dew
    Of morning’s early hours,
      Like gold yminted new.

  And mark by rustic bridge, o’er shallow stream,
    Cow-tending boy, to toil unreconciled,
Absorbed as in some vagrant summer dream;
    Who now, in gestures wild,
Starts dancing to his shadow on the wall,
    Feeling self-gratified,
      Nor fearing human thrall.

  Or thread the sunny valley laced with streams,
    Or forests rude, and the o’ershadow’d brims
Of simple ponds, where idle shepherd dreams,
    Stretching his listless limbs;
Or trace hay-scented meadows, smooth and long,
    Where joy’s wild impulse swims
      In one continued song.

  I love at early morn, from new mown swath,
    To see the startled frog his route pursue;
To mark while, leaping o’er the dripping path,
    His bright sides scatter dew,
The early lark that from its bustle flies,
    To hail his matin new;
      And watch him to the skies.

  To note on hedgerow baulks, in moisture sprent,
    The jetty snail creep from the mossy thorn,
With earnest heed, and tremulous intent,
    Frail brother of the morn,
That from the tiny bent’s dew-misted leaves
    Withdraws his timid horn,
      And fearful vision weaves.

  Or swallow heed on smoke-tanned chimney top,
    Wont to be first unsealing Morning’s eye,
Ere yet the bee hath gleaned one wayward drop
    Of honey on his thigh;
To see him seek morn’s airy couch to sing,
    Until the golden sky
      Bepaint his russet wing.

  Or sauntering boy by tanning corn to spy,
    With clapping noise to startle birds away,
And hear him bawl to every passer by
    To know the hour of day;
While the uncradled breezes, fresh and strong,
    With waking blossoms play,
      And breathe Æolian song.

  I love the south-west wind, or low or loud,
    And not the less when sudden drops of rain
Moisten my glowing cheek from ebon cloud,
    Threatening soft showers again,
That over lands new ploughed and meadow grounds,
    Summer’s sweet breath unchain,
      And wake harmonious sounds.

  Rich music breathes in Summer’s every sound;
    And in her harmony of varied greens,
Woods, meadows, hedge-rows, corn-fields, all around
    Much beauty intervenes,
Filling with harmony the ear and eye;
    While o’er the mingling scenes
      Far spreads the laughing sky.

  See, how the wind-enamoured aspen leaves
    Turn up their silver lining to the sun!
And hark! the rustling noise, that oft deceives,
    And makes the sheep-boy run:
The sound so mimics fast-approaching showers,
    He thinks the rain’s begun,
      And hastes to sheltering bowers.

  But now the evening curdles dank and grey,
    Changing her watchet hue for sombre ****;
And moping owls, to close the lids of day,
    On drowsy wing proceed;
While chickering crickets, tremulous and long,
    Light’s farewell inly heed,
      And give it parting song.

  The pranking bat its flighty circlet makes;
    The glow-worm burnishes its lamp anew;
O’er meadows dew-besprent, the beetle wakes
    Inquiries ever new,
Teazing each passing ear with murmurs vain,
    As wanting to pursue
      His homeward path again.

  Hark! ’tis the melody of distant bells
    That on the wind with pleasing hum rebounds
By fitful starts, then musically swells
    O’er the dim stilly grounds;
While on the meadow-bridge the pausing boy
    Listens the mellow sounds,
      And hums in vacant joy.

  Now homeward-bound, the hedger bundles round
    His evening ******, and with every stride
His leathern doublet leaves a rustling sound,
    Till silly sheep beside
His path start tremulous, and once again
    Look back dissatisfied,
      And scour the dewy plain.

  How sweet the soothing calmness that distills
    O’er the heart’s every sense its ****** dews,
In meek-eyed moods and ever balmy trills!
    That softens and subdues,
With gentle Quiet’s bland and sober train,
    Which dreamy eve renews
      In many a mellow strain!

  I love to walk the fields, they are to me
    A legacy no evil can destroy;
They, like a spell, set every rapture free
    That cheer’d me when a boy.
Play—pastime—all Time’s blotting pen conceal’d,
    Comes like a new-born joy,
      To greet me in the field.

  For Nature’s objects ever harmonize
    With emulous Taste, that ****** deed annoys;
Which loves in pensive moods to sympathize,
    And meet vibrating joys
O’er Nature’s pleasing things; nor slighting, deems
    Pastimes, the Muse employs,
      Vain and obtrusive themes.

Meadows surround me.
My hair catches in the breeze,
You whisper but I don't hear you.
The wind whips my dress.
I feel free.
And complete.
There is existence around me,
But I don't see it.
All that's left in this moment is me.
Flowers have sprouted and birds fly past,
But I can't tell you about them.
Because I am free.
And complete.
I turn my face to the sun and soak up the rays.
My skin tanning, the warmth enveloping me.
I sigh.
I feel free.
I am complete.

I've got to tan but the sun goes down.
I should get gas but I'm focusing on saving a life-
Yet here we are in the parking lot chatting about new plans to lose our minds.
You smile back thinking that was clever
and then you slowly fall behind.
I drive away from never ever,
all the while running out of time.

70’s 80’s, 1890s 1900s 1900s. 1910 1919, 1920’s 1930’s 1940s. 1940’s, 1950’s 1960’s, 1970’s 1980’s, 1990’s, "hour-glass" (i.e. [3] A a about afford African, after After again all all.”[3] along also among an and anorexia, any appear appearances around As as Asian, at At athletic attempted attractive away back back-combing, ballgowns, bare be beauty became because become becoming been Before beginning behind being between Between binding blonde blonde. blow-drying, bobs, bodices. Bodies bodies Body body body.[5] boots, ***** braids, ******* bright budgets. but by came cancer, capes. cardigan-jacket celebrities century changed changing, Cheaper chemise. class. cleavage Cleavage cleavage. clothes clothes. clothing Clothing color. colorful. colors colors, commodity conservatism considered constructive contouring, Contrary corset cosmetic cosmetics Cosmetics could created crimping, crop” cultures curled curled. curls current curvaceous curve Curves cut cuts, day. decade decade, decade. definitive delicate, demand design desirable did dieting disco disorders dividing done dresses dresses, drive dubbed due During during early eating Edwardian emphasis emphasize emphasized emphasized, emphasizing empire era era, era. era”.[4] essence etc.). ever every exotic Experimenting extravagant extremely eye eyebrows. eyelashes, eyeliner eyes eyes” Face factories. fake false famous fashion fashion, Fashion.[4] favored, female First fit fitness flared flat floppy focus, focused For for French frizzy. from frosted frowned fur Fur Gateau, gave geometric give gloss gogo Grace gray great grown hair Hair hair. hairdresser, hairstyle hairstyle. hairstyle; hairstyles hair”.[3] has health heavy heels, height high history ideal ideals illusion image image. images. importance In in in. incandescent, included incorporated increase increasing individualism, individuality. industry influence influenced information interest into introduced involved iridescent is it it. jewelry. Kelly, knowledge lack lacking large Latin-American, layers, leg legs less like line line. lip lips lipstick long long, look look. looking looks loose loose, looser low made main mainly Makeup makeup Many many Marcel Marilyn masculine, men Models modern Monroe more most movie much muscular, nail Natural new nineteenth no Not now of Older on on, once one’s other our out outrageous pads, painting, pale pale, pants, peasant perfectly period period. perms Perms, personalities Physically platform Platinum play popular popular, popular. popularity practical Practicality practicality practiced products public.[3] punk pushing putting rather rationed real reasons. refinement” research resembled resources respects revealed revolutionary. revolved rise saw scrutiny seen seen.[3] shades. shadow shadow. shape shape.[3] shapeless shapeless, shearing shimmering shoes, short shoulder showing showing. silkiness silk”. simple simpler; simplicity skimpy skin skirt. skirts skirts, sleeves, slightly small smock so social society socks. softness. soon space sporting sporty sporty, spotlight star stars starting statement, stilettos still stockings suits sunscreen.[3] surgery sweaters swept tall. tank tanned tanning tattoos. techniques than that The the their them there These they thick thin this This thus tight tighter time time, time. time.[3] tiny to today, toned toned, took top top-knots translucent travel trend trends trends. tunic” turn type under undergarments.[3] uniforms unless up upon upon. used usually versions very Victorian visible waif-like, waist waists, war War war, war. was wavy, way way. went were westernized when where which while wide Wigs wild With with without woman.[3] womanly Women women women, women. women.[3] work working World worn young, younger younger”.[3] youth.[3] youthful “barrel “Egyptian “Eton “femininity “Gangly” “Madonna” “mini” “practicality, “softer “Suggestion, “S” “The “waif-like” “watered

My daughter will not crawl from crib to tanning bed.

She will learn
the terms “unnattainable beauty standards” before she learns the alphabet.

She will never compare herself
to anyone.

She will never compare herself to Britney, Christina, Selena.

She will never compare herself to Cinderella, Ariel, Belle,
Hell. No.

She will never aspire to be the sultry *** kitten taking seductive showers in shampoo commercials.
No.

My daughter will be named Venus.
The goddess of love, beauty, fertility,

The most beautiful woman I ever saw.
She is plump, fullfigured barebreasted wide hipped with curly hair covered mons

Goddess.

My daughter will grow up to be ******, poisonously beautiful

With long locks of goldenrodred hair, like her mother.
Greyblueblack eyes and shoulder freckles, like her father.

And if I can never become pregnant,
my sisters daughters will be my daughters
skin the color of cinnamon or chocolate, or vanilla ice cream
and just as sweet.

Men, women, boys, girls will pine over her, fall in love with her radiating skin
that will never look photoshopped, but always real.

As if the sun came down from the sky to give her the glow of all the light in the universe.

She will love her body the way that my mother taught me to love mine.
I will show her pictures of Whoopi Goldberg and America Ferrera and Margaret Cho and Marilyn Monroe

And she will know that beauty
is not a synonym
for skinny.

Beauty
is not a synonym for
****.

Beauty is not defined by size
or color
or texture, no.

It is defined by how she distributes
her love
and light
to everyone she meets.
no exceptions.



and she will never doubt that she is lovely.

I live in limbo.
Suspended somewhere between towering
Steel Titans and
an ocean of corn.
It's that time of the year again.
I know where I need to go.

I sit in traffic, start and stop.
This line stretches to the main road.
I'll be here awhile.
I close my eyes and I'm there already
My quarter mile square of peace
that shouldn't be peaceful.

A car horn blares behind me,
urging me to scoot up fifty feet
just to stop again for another five minutes.
I just want to get there and away
from this fight,
away from these angry people.

I know they're just anxious
to get home after their
daily nine to five
in the city.
They keep inching West, like me.
But I'm not going home.

Finally at the light.
I turn up the radio.
It's clear the stiff in the three piece suit
in the next lane
is not
a fan of Van Halen.

I return his surly glare
with one of my own.
Past the light and
I keep rolling on.
Past the restaurants and
tanning salons.

I stop at the grocery store
and pick up some orchids for her.
I pick the purple ones
because I think maybe,
she might have liked purple.
But I have no idea, not really.

Breaching suburbia,
where I pass housing developments
that someone had the audacity to brand
with snooty names reminiscent
of high end golf clubs.
Who do they think they are?

As I go, the houses get bigger,
further apart.
The windows down,
I take a cleansing breath.
The air, a little cleaner
than before.

Coasting into rural territory,
I glance at the equestrian farm
and abandoned barns,
ripe with decay,
that might crumble
at the slightest touch.

On and on,
just trying to get
to that place,
where few go but me.
That peaceful place
that really shouldn't be peaceful.

I pull up to that familiar octagonal STOP.
Look right to the llama farm,
Left to the empty bean field,
Straight ahead at the sign: Plain City - Georgesville Rd.
I think maybe they call it Plain because
It all looks quite the same.

Over hills that send my stomach into my lungs,
Past the Canaan Community mobile homes
Which is apparently "A nice place to live."
I know its up here on the left,
That old gravel drive that
no one else sees when they pass.

One more hill and I'm here.
Pulling in under the archway that reads
FOSTER CHAPEL CEMETERY.
I turn down the music,
slow the car,
turn off the engine and listen.

Birds, slight breeze,
the occasional passing car
that sounds like a jet plane out here.
Sinking sun sets this place ablaze.
Wish granting dandelions and silk flower petals
strewn by the whispering wind.

Cars pass by, they don't look this way.
I imagine if they did,
they would marvel that a red Grand Am,
and a living person were there where
hardly anyone ever goes.
This is a place for the dead.

I sit on a cracked stone bench
and watch a monarch
flutter and rest on someone's resting place.
I come here when I can't breathe at home.
And sometimes I'm awed by how
beautiful it is here.

How peaceful it is in this moment.
Then I remember why I came today.
A hundred yards of hundred year old
headstones that have since been
weathered illegible.
A few, I can still make out.

Six feet under,
the bones of people I never knew.
Sometimes I wonder about their stories,
the things they might've done
when they lived.
Bow my head for the ones who died young.

On my way to the back,
I look over one I've read a dozen times.
"Jonathan Alder
First white settler in Madison Co.
Taken by the Indians in 1781,
Returned to his mother in 1805."

So much history here.
People who were buried here
after death.
And of course there's her.
The girl who died here
at the hands of a very bad person.

Incongruously dead among
the dead who belonged here,
she was gone before my birth.
I never knew her,
never knew she was here before
I found this place by accident one summer.

Took the second time I came to notice
the wooden cross wired to the fence in the back.
"KILLED HERE MARCH 17, 1991"
It makes me sick to see it.
But still, I lay down the bit of life
I plucked from a bucket in the store.

I always come a month after
the anniversary of her death.
I imagine it might be sufficiently awkward to run into
her family, who may wonder
why a girl who never knew her
would lay flowers in her memory.

There was some rumor years ago
that she haunted this place.
I don't know about that.
But if her spirit still roamed here,
tormented soul, I'd like to think
that she is glad for the company when I come.

For I come more often not in April,
but when I'm angry
or can't clear my head.
I find peace in the beauty here,
and wonder in the extensive history,
and a reminder.

She reminds me that
she never had the chance at life that I do.
She reminds me to appreciate
the life I was given.
Reminds me it could be taken
from me any day.

Some think it strange to find peace
in a place of death and tragedy.
And I must agree.
But this is also a place of rest.
A quiet place for the dead to sleep,
or maybe wait for company.

I don't always do right.
Don't always say the right thing.
I can be volatile and childish sometimes.
And I come here when I know I need to be humbled.
And I wonder to myself,
Isn't this a strange place for peace?

In their blind bid
To become westernized,
They lost touch with reality
Created shadows of themselves
Despised their own intrinsic values
Embraced a twisted dress sense
Of fallen pants and revealed underpants
Idolized everything they're not
The good, the bad, the ugly
They birthed dual personalities
Picked up foreign accents
On ****** home-based passports
The American Dream, they call it,
As they wear winter jackets
In scorching African sun
All in the name of fashion
Trading our simple hues
For complex shades unknown
Bleaching skin and hair
Trading natural black for artificial white
Unaware the very gods they adore
Are tanning theirs to look darker
Insecurity drives them mad
Inferiority complex overtakes them
As they ban mother tongues in offsprings
Placing exotic tongues on pedestals
At the expense of our cultural future.

This is not an attempt at poetry
This is wake up call to Africa
Be bold, be proud, be black!
You are BEAUTIFUL!!
You are AFRICAN!!!*


© Raphael Uzor

it is all rather insincere and futile
when you’re old and almost senile
to try doing a few  new things this late
on the premise better late than never
you will learn much to your chagrin
how your remorse and deep regret
fail you and there’s no peace ever
lesson for us all dear fellow wayfarers:
‘isikhumba sigoqwa sisemanzi’
‘tis best you tan a hide in its freshness

Sirens and drunk laughter
outside my window
burnt ciggerete butts
Empty cases
outside my window
no flowers grow
outside my window
only people peeing
outside my window
***** ***** **** traffic
no white fence
outside my window
a group of lowlifes
junkies and *******
outside my window
wouldn't mind seeing a garden
or a hot girl tanning
outside my window
Walk outside
****** and drunk person
puking
outside my window
moving soon moving soon moving soon
where ill see a backyard outside my window

there are some things,
that just smell so good:
corn freshly shucked, potatoes roasted in campfire coals, carrots fresh from the ground, then washed   and stovetop roasted
basted with butter
and lavender honey.

the nape of my toddlers neck,
that clean fresh hopeful little boy smell.
coffee, straight up, freshly brewed
caramel warming,

passionfruit, strawberries, citrus any type, zested. freshly planed fennel curls, mint crushed for a mojito, roast lamb and rosemary gravy.

the smell of planed wood in the palms of my man's hands as i kiss them. frangipani, coconut tanning oil,
earth newly rained upon. popcorn popping, chocolate melting,
jasmine, orange blossoms,
a grove of pine trees.
warm gingerbread and mulled wine.

salt tang on the morning breeze.
the smell that lingers after the lovin.
garlic and ginger in a hot wok.
salt tang on the evening breeze.
prawns all sea salty and
a crisp cold beer.

sandlewood and citrus aftershave lotion on your smoothed cheek.

nectarines, apricots,
a yellow juicy peach,
freshly bitten.

apple scented shampoo daphne & lilac my nana's smell,
bay *** newspaper print and palmolive soap,
my pop's study.

rose petals crushed.
earl grey tea,
toast just before burning damper and cocky's joy
crisp fresh linen warm from the sun.

so many scents, so many smells...
these are my favourites please feel free to add your's, as long as it's clean
and above board.

The call me...Captain Swurve.
They call me Captain Swurvey
They say my heart's half gone
As it's plagued with rot and scurvy!
They said I'd chase the sunset
And drink us all to drought
I said nay boys, I'll follow the tides
And leave no liquor-starved crewman without.
Now, as the legend rests
Just like the setting sun
I'll dream of pretty wenches
That did my poor heart shun
And raise my flask o' whiskey
And tip up my old gun
And wish that it was ***.
Surrounded by the sea
Of people looking over me
The captain that I've always wished that I could have the ***** to be,
Is not exactly what he seems.

I'm the captain, sodden and somber.
I own no land, and I owe no man no man's land, which is a place I've chosen to wander.
Take that as you will, I take wasteland as a million metaphors, dried up, littered on, desert that used to be a golden shore. Back then Bikini Babes would just come to right up you and ask you to rub tanning lotion on their backs, and you somehow didn't even have to flirt to feel attractive.
                                                     ­             This place doesn't exist.
                                                      I made it up. That beach never had any water.
There was no such thing. Like perfect pitch, or total bliss or uncontrollable mental disorders.        

Yeah, I owe barrenness to y'all. I'd never get any peace and quiet, or the zen of a much needed vacation
                                           without that feeling you get in a crowd of total isolation.

It's hummmmmmming....of a million minds, a crowd of buzzzzzzing bumble *******, deciphering my metaphors.
**** metaphors, listen to what I speak, when I'm not up on a pedestal.

You know I used to want to be an astronomer? Just a fun fact.
Not because I never had enough tact to be an actor,
Just because I was always rather apt
                    to just sit back
                                   and watch the
rapture.

Bowl of popcorn over here on the left.
Bottle of **** right here on the right.
And the most beautiful woman God could create, raining down her fiery scorn on me, loving every minute of this cataclysmic *******.
I am Captain Swurvey       and       I        like      to      ****.
Everything beautiful is useful to me,
Everything else just *****.
And whether I want you to or not, you'll probably believe every word I say.
STOP.

I am Captain Swurve
And I am sailing swervingly
Unsettling the neighbors and uprooting your search for worth and immortality.
I do it because people with a purpose make me nervous,
Looking only at the surface
                                           You never go much deeper
                                            And I'm skimming along on that surface,
                                             But all I ever yearned for was the chance to dive overboard
                                               And drown myself in the deep end of your ocean.

I'd like to see your coral reefs, and be swept up by all sorts of riptides, and undercurrents, and
maybe
just maybe
I'd really love to see the bottom before I die.

I imagine all beautiful lights. That no one has ever seen. It's another world down there. And well...

                                                        ­                                          You know I've always wanted to see your Marianas Trench...

Switch around, we're in space, I'm sailing through the sun storms, desperately reaching as far out as I can only to crash on the rocks of your atmosphere.  Reeling off, and spinning past millenia, knowing there would never be enough space in the universe to keep us apart for too long. You couldn't hear me scream, but if you'd let me in there...you would have heard the battle crying inside me. If your brain's synapses are stars, then your heart is one insignificant little planet amidst the skies that by some stroke of hell managed to create life as I know it.

That metaphor
has been done before
I'm used up
i'm not original BUT
GOD
**** IT
I can't be the only person who's ever fallen in love.         I wouldn't ever want to be.    
Because then you wouldn't see much in me. Without these seeds... It'd be kind of like a wasteland.
But *******,
I am so glad
That humans learned how to plant.


Talk about self-absorbed, this kid writes a poem about his own celebrity persona which he pretty much invented! Well, there have been some modifications I can't take credit for.

You choose what you want to believe about me.
But I am just a person
My name is Captain Swurvey.

...

The sound of small plastic wheels
On the ridged metal lip of an escalator
Bookends each trip between home and birthplace.

The first two uptempo, eager
To race to the smell of marble and leather,
Perfectly cooked fish and pastries with blueberries
The next two, piano, as I cross back,
Result of exhaustion, arms full of clothes and sorting small bottles into bags.

But on exit
Not due to vents, air conditioning, or the sensory assault of shopping under halogens,
Home smells of rust.
Of dirt and smoke - burnt.
Home smells more damaged and ****** up than its neighbour
And it's apt position on the map
Behind our back
Peering over the shoulder of the small ursa, overbearing and controlling.

But it's not the smell of burning petrol and tissue in glass,
Nor riot shields and plastic armour,
And only slightly of over emphasis on Northern Irish poetry during exams.

It's the stench of friendships, bouquet of break-ups,
Awkwardness and overconfidence,
Fake tanning and too much tea.

And like bonfires and cigarette smoke,
Burnt wood and tobacco embers,
It's the one perfume I can't get out of my clothes.

The oceans breeze flows gently towards me. The salty air stings my breathless lungs. The sand between my feet moves at the slightest pressure. My parents are smiling and waving at me, my sister and her friend are already in the water. But for me, this trip is not for playing in the water or tanning on the beach. This is for building My Kingdom of Sand.

I watch the land and prepare for construction. Watch the way the air and water battle effortlessly around the sand. Watch the way the sand builds up between the cracks. Watch the way the grains nestle between my feet. The land works itself. Natures finest workmen are the wind and the waves, crafting every beautiful detail into the painting like beach. Nature built a wonderful Kingdom of Sand.

The sun is high and the time is right. I reach my hands down into the sand, pulling towards myself a glob of sand. Each grain telling its story, each grain preaching its own tale. I begin crafting My Kingdom of Sand. With each sinking of my shovel into the ***** sand, the land bends in my favor. I manipulate the beach to do as I please, just as an evil king moves his hand to **** whom he pleases. The evil king built an evil Kingdom of Sand.

My first tower is built and my walls are up. I look up into the sun and close my eyes, letting the fiery globe fill my heart again. The city looks beautiful and I pour my heart into its people. All of my time and all of my energy is used creating this beautiful world, where all of my needs and all of my people love me. All that's needed is love in My Kingdom of Sand.

Soon the city is finish. The towers and walls are all safe and secure. The roads are clear from invaders and the earth is safe again. I stand up and smile, as now my tiny utopia is finished and all is well. As my eyes wonder towards the ocean, something catches them, like a little boys favorite toy. I see it clearer than I have ever seen anything before. I have seen a beauty. A beautiful girl whom in my very eyes is staring right back at me. Like only a dream can manifest I run towards her and she towards me. We embrace in each others arms and our eyes share that loving glance. Never once do I think of My Kingdom of Sand.

After a day of love in the ocean, she walks into the sunset from which she was born. I smile and wave as I watch her walk away. When I can no longer see her sun kissed skin or her ocean blue eyes, I turn back to the grim reality of My Kingdom of Sand.

What pleased me and kept me so very entertained has now, by pure circumstance, been turned into a thing of the past. I walk past it and kick down the main gate, knowing I will never see beauty like that again. I very slowly think of the panic of my citizens who's gate has just been knocked down and how they are free to be attacked. My sister runs past me, hits me and says "Tag!"and I smile and run after her like all is well. My mind would never flee to the women I met. My mind would never recall the hours I spent in My Kingdom of Sand.

Foggy days in absentia
Caught in the ripples of a memory
The sparkling bay laps the sand
Soaking in the love
Tanning in the brightness of a smile
Living behind closed eyes
Where the heart is full
And the soul lives with its mate
In that bliss, glowing red
That is where eternity continues
Bliss found in a gaze
Perfection in a kiss
sigh, foggy days in absentia

I imagined we’d grow gray together
and take winter sun holidays
somewhere we could warm our bones

cut out coupons from newspapers
stacking up in a jam jar
next to the fruit bowl

you’d rent guidebooks out of the library
and I’d take evening classes
so that I could understand
black tied waiters

you’d find it cute and impressive
and you would hold my hand tightly
during take off

the plan was that we’d walk around
foreign supermarkets and guess
the contents of the cans

they’d be faded beach towels
and the sticky scent of tanning lotion

our antiquated skin would burn easily
if we didn't smother it

but I’m not sure it matters
anymore, fretting over factors

we already have tumors
growing like doubts in our chests

we have nurtured them,
tended to their hungers and thirst
until we have none of
our own