I'm a drama
queen
one with the utmost tastes
and forlorned lusts
an animal by any other name
a hair, a haunt, a thimble
a willaby
a tuts
tut tut
tuts

Jakarta, 31 Mei 2008

Alunan piano mengarungi ku
Melantunkan ayat-ayat indah
Penuh harap atas ridho-Nya
Enggan berbuat yang tak sempurna
Ragaku gemetar, Serasa
Aku mulai menyentuh-Nya
Padahal ku tekan tuts-tuts nada
Alangkah terkejut saat kau berkata
Laksana Tuan menasehati Hamba-Nya
Enggan berbuat tak sempurna
Music terus ku mainkan
Bagaikan hidup yang kekal
Akankah sekekal masa?
Niscahya indah hidup di Surga
Gembira rasa hati hidup bahagia

What if I fell in love
With a broken down *******
Not because I needed to fix him
But simply because I wanted to revel in his beauty
The maddening craziness
Of a life
A life that didn't need to be maintained with perfection
A life where you could just knock down pillars that you didn't need
Destroy friendships that weren't beneficial
A life where one could disown one's own mother
Without the whole neighbourhood offering their tut-tuts
And their 5 cents too many
About how to trim your garden
What if I fell in love with a life
Who let their weeds grow
And created a garden out of thorns
A **** patch that would make those neighbours shriek
What if I fell in love with chaos and disorder
Not to right the tables
Nor to order the shelves
What if I didn't attempt to prune the garden
But I let it grow into a forest
And then laughed when I stepped on a thorn
What if I let the sun shine through the madness
What if I opened my arms to the destruction
What if you sung me a lullaby out of tune
And I asked you to sing it anyways…

***** and butts
****** and *****
parents and "tut tuts"

shimmies and struts
primps and cuts
falling, falling into ruts.

The delighted shrieks of kids as they play marbles on the cobbled sloping streets,
A Ramadan pleasure while adults sleep off the heat of the day.
Men watch with quietly stirring stomachs as we stroll past, ice-cream in hand and flip-flops clicking on the pavement.
A woman tuts.
We are foreigners here in this foreign land,
Lending our British gaze to the hill-top view.

Let's go back there, me with you,
To the town of white and blue.

It dances and shimmies and leaps.
I jump and howl and weep,
While the tail-less lizard tuts in dismay,
"Oh dear I'd never dreamt of this day",
Wiggling away to the deep.

"My heart beats so strong, you can see it through my shirt"
I wanna feel that beat moving up my skirt
And my body with my skin
Tingling
Pace, pace, back and forth
"Your heart feels fine girl, no worries, what's the worth?"
A big strong boy with Polaris eyes
I can feel your body tense
Thinking about mine
Beat em up baby, there you go
I'm sorry I woke you up last night
And the night before
Always bringin my girls, what a world
In your room  
It's the safe place
To come back and party
When babygirl is throwin up,
And I need to feel okay
You just let me do it, go with it, always
I know when you're mad, when it hurts,
You press up against the couch and the clouds come down
From their place in the sky,
Of your eyes, they pour
Harder and harder, now my hips are sore
Cause I told you more, I told you "more!"
And when you moan its like a lions roar
You're the king of here, breathing in my ear
Down my neck in the bed
You taught me everything I know
How to control a boy, destroy his soul
But you're a catch, got it bad
Think I finally met my match
Now when I'm making em shake
I'm thinkin of your hands
Coulda never been such a good lover
Such a good sucker and *** shaker
Such a "Please don't go baby, come back, *******!"
I wouldn't have learned how to **** around  
If it hadn't been for you, tuts

Kyra is a painter, but she's colorblind.

She makes someone else's world colorful but hers is grey.

Whenever she draws in the middle of spring afternoon, she tends to whispers to the singing bird on her shoulder.

"For whom I draw still hasn't been decided, and I wish to meet my muse soon after the season's end."

Two days after spring.

She's being asked to attend her friend's rehearsal.

A pair of her brown eyes is glued to the pianist as his melody hits her right. His fingers gracefully dance in tuts, faster than anyone's breathe, but not so fast compared to Kyra's hand sketching him.

"I find my muse." She whispers in happiness. Gaze falls to the quick sketch on her hand.


She asks her friend about his name, eyes sparkles with love, so pure, so honest.

"His name is Will. He's special like you."

Her brows furrow in confusion as she skips a heartbeat.

"Special? Like me?"

"He's a pianist but he's deaf."

every emotion has its shadow enrolled
in an ad on the six o'clock news

Science of virility, once
quackery, now proven,
Rhinohorn substitutes and such,

mere hints of unspoken rites in clawfoot tubs
at sunset.

Relieving, reliving
recall the pain

products pitched at every pain.

A pill, a plan for any pain,

for each

and ever y
dis comfort or dread.

Oft fear's the trigger
symptom,
fear of one name or another;
we gotta pill
f'that, phobiabout it.

tell y'pusher y'got it, step by step,
somnambulism. Doctor, Doctor

Am bein' sorta vague, y' see, a need
how to', tuts t'see

Doc say, on TV, 'tween the lines,
pull
PTSD , he say,
we can all do that now,
better 'n carpal tunnel in the eighties

Hey, opi-oid whistlin, fishin, re
min-iscing

Back in the day, we wusht f' nut'in' t'do,

now, me 'n' them voices in m' head,

do nuthin', ala time, jest watch.

Meditate, cogitate, take thought, fret not,
nothin' t'do but wait. Seeds gotta grow.

Snow is melting in patient drips, the theory
is that water's where idle words wait,
and as the axis ice recedes,

those idle words return to the cycle and
rain phrases worthy of heed, in theory,
the secrets frozen since God knows when.

Cognitive troubling knowns
have been loosed, to flow, and shift to
spirit once mormorphing back to
fluidity on a speck o'the highest dust of the earth,

growing an anti-bubble, a water balloon
rain drop,
remembering everything. Imagine that.

Water remembers everything. I heard. Somewhere.
That's another the or y.
Ys are odd alone.

There are thoughts not even mathmaticians
think they can know,
within mortal realitification
as mortal minded men imagining
times and time and half a time mean anything constant,
any fixed weight worth, wor-th,

methinks we know less of worth than those who sell.

Don'cha hate a false balance?
what scale, Libre, eh, Claws of Scorpio, y'know,

how many words to or from God does it take to
tip the scale of

Just is?

What ruler is here that
we might use right, to measure
what'samatter?

Is life broken? Is ignorance killing truth?
Is there no way where there seems no way?
Who wants to know?

Trow ye not,
We could do better, we could
pay. We sapiens aspiens augmentatious
could
buy the golden
rule,
tried in fire, drossless,
at our own expense, in a sense.

We can stand up under knowing good and evil,
inside out, leaning into good as good can be,
living edge-wise balanced. Being
confident, doubleminded, sapient sapient augmentedus being,
paying life attention
for all we are worth. Okeh. That's all I had to say.

I am right, I am wrong
I am Yin, I am Yang
I am a day, I am a dawn
I am the Spring, I am the Fall
I am the sun calling for the moon
I am the wind, I am the storm
I am the past, I am the future
I am right now, I am back then
I am a saint, I am a sinner
I am an angel, I am a devil

I am the faith, I am the fear
I am the good, I am the bad

I am alive, I am dead
I am the sweetest lie, I am the painful truth
I am the unexpected Hello, I am the disappointed goodbye
I am the strings, I am the tuts
I am the unwanted smile, I am the desired tears
I am the love, I am the lust

I am a champion, I am a loser
I am the painter, I am the canvas
I am the happiness, I am the sorrow
I am something, I am nothing
I am the daughter, I am the friend
I am a girl who lost a soul

-Erika C

Touring the cities of England and the UK
Back of a transit van, rocking up to anywhere that paid
The brothers Grimm and their trusty cohorts
Bonehead on rhythm, McCarroll on drums, Guigsy up to all sorts

That gig at the Wah Wah, King Tuts to be precise
Glasgow you beauty, **** the next show up in Fife
The man that found them, a mister Alan McGee
A Britpop revolution, all great memories

They came and most failed, that one gig on Top of The Pops
Menswear to Mansun and an array of rank haircuts where the seagulls did flock
We had the trendies in Camden all hanging around on their scooters with parka’s
Noel or Liam and that fella from Echobelly, anything to be famous and get on the telly

But then the times must end and it all turned a little sour
A few trudged on with an album or two, the Manics to Cast and the lyrics from John Power
Patsy and Liam had that cover on the front of Vanity Fair
Draped in Britannia, divorce on the cards, strange how no-one now cares

Good times they were without a worry in the world and a now gone era
Euro 96, Southgate’s miss and those goals from Teddy and Shearer
A time well remembered and days I’d love to see back
If not only for the music but for the not caring and the unforeseen great craic

Not to hate the now as times move on
But a day in the past, served at seventeen and to claim you were the one
Not to be asked I.D. and sneakily drink that Stella
laughing at the bar, king of the blaggers, not to be served again by that same fella

Before the phone and the apps, we used to meet face to face
Girl at the bar, a bit of blarney and a home number to suit, always up for the chase
Do you ring tomorrow and who’s going to answer
Her mum might be alright, but her dad could be a ******!

I couldn’t imagine doing it all again now
Swipe left to say no or right to give it a go
Seems inhuman to me not to spark up a chat
But maybe that’s just me, stuck in past, I’m just old hat.

JJB

Jimmy returns from a grand escapade
Bruised and bloodied and laughing,
His smile too wide and a glint in his eye
“How proud and wild a figure I cut”
He wears the thought like armour
Because he’s a charmer, a rogue,
A brave renegade.
Fuelled by laughs and tuts and praise
Of those he loves, he’s blind
To their concern.

He sees the sighs, the rolling eyes,
The cries of ‘classic Jimmy’
But to him they’re just his just desserts;
An ironic awe. Reserved for he who flirts
With danger, uses outrageous behaviour
With a smile and a wink
So that this charmer,
This rakish renegade can get away with ******.

Oh no!
Here comes Billy
See Billy’s a bully and Billy thinks Jimmy’s a c*.
Where Jimmy is eloquent, Billy is blunt.

Now Billy, this boorish bully,
This hulking brute, leaves Jimmy's flesh untouched
But he creeps upon our hero still,
A pat on the shoulder
A warm tone of voice
He whispers in Jimmy’s ear.
At the sound our hero frowns, but continues to entertain.
He can’t quite push aside
That shiver that climbs his spine
At the memory of sinister whispers
And the pain he had to feign away
With smiles that never quite
Reached his eyes.

See, words from the mouth of Billy cut as good as any knives.
They linger first, but soon
With practiced deftness, cut at the straps,
The leather tendrils that keep Jimmy’s armour in place.
Until it falls, with a clatter, to the floor
And where, not a minute before,
There stood a God resplendent
Now cowers a boy.
And this ugly, naked,
Whimpering wretch gazes up in fear and hope,
And now all he can see are the sighs behind the smiling eyes.

And now every time he laughs too loud
Or unwittingly draws attention.
With every look just a little too long
With every ‘what?’ or ‘huh?’
He feels knives digging into his back
And sags a little lower.

…

Until one day, they’re gone
The whispers are far away
And Jimmy finds he’s come up for air
To a place where things are bright and fair
And laughing means more
Than just a social game - a display to spare feelings.
And there are things to love and cherish.
The sweet taste of wine; the brush
Of a pair of soft and willing lips.

The racing of theories and thoughts
And the meanings of things; shocking
In the clarity of their colour.
Fattening the soul in shades of cyan and amber.
Filling this bedraggled wretch with the glowing warmth
Of a crackling fire. Shooting through his limbs and trunk
Until he expands and stands on legs of iron.

As the furnaces of joy are stoked
A grin begins to spread.
The flames a glitter to light the eyes;
Quenching fears put to bed.

…

Yet still, deep down he knows, that every
Time he comes back up
And dons his shining armour,
He feels just a little weaker.
And the armour hangs a little looser.

and sometimes magic, a scene from the book
of genesis, chapter verse whatever,
buying whiskey and beer in a supermarket,
the cashier, Tara, knows me,
she's my gym coach,
she tut tut struts and tuts when i buy
beer telling me to keep the beer off -
i told you alcoholics are mobile,
we go sightseeing most of the time,
on a double decker bus we bemuse and
lipread: and here's the Elizabeth tower (formerly
known as Benjamin "big ****" Disraeli -
the English by the French after the 100
year war: if they're not retards, they're perverts) -
****! that ****'s brushed off on me! am i a *******
if i hold dear a British passport? phew! no? yes? huh?!
i must be a Mr. Khan in waiting...
no, but seriously, a scene in the cave of an iceman,
5 lasses buying wine lonely,
me my beer my whiskey,
i get a lemon added / ****, i told you it was a lime not
a lemon on the conveyor belt -
i get a lime, lucky Adam got an apple
and one asking, i'm doing double-up fevers waiting
for Saturday night with Paris, Hilda, Venus and Hera..
Adam gets an apple from smooch slick Eva
naked and i get a ******* lime on a conveyor-belt
in a supermarket while buying whiskey...
Jonah! call the whale! i'm sure we'll both
be calling it Noah's ark when tomorrow comes;
**** you not, we'll be boarding dry-land at
Arsuk - ****, send a message to Columbus -
we discovered North America via Greenland
like you discovered the same via the Caribbean Islands,
ha ha! call it dynamo of Erik versus Kristopheren;
i just got a lime on a conveyor belt in a supermarket,
Adam was handed an apple in Eden -
i guess that's worth a 50 50 chance of coincidence
with my ***-starved libido and the English "roses":
not that i'm guarantying anything good either,
it's not like i'm a vacuum cleaner based guarantee -
but **** me, the ******? **** wrinkles and all,
bamboozle clad the salutary march for applause -
and the fainting bearskin trumpet-brigadier at
the ro- -yal parade onto Buckingham Ponce;
n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah.

“If you need water
Just ask”
But what I really
Need
Is pen and
Paper because
I’m bleeding
Words
Run faster
Than my mind
Can think
And your
Stone cold needle
****** find
No blood left
Inside my
Fingers
Clenched up
Holding on to
All that’s left of
Sanity
I never had

Tonight

Still you want
Blood?
Open up my mouth
And draw it
From my bitten
Tongue
Look inside my
Head and
Shout for the doctor
To come stitch my
Thoughts
Back together into
Someone who makes
Sense and
Sees light
At the end of

This tunnel

You offer Band-Aids
Trying to
Patch together these
Holes in my hands
And ask how
And who and when
“I guess you won’t
Do that again?”
Chuckling softer than
The ticks of the
Clock I’ve been
Watching
Counting down
All my words
Are slipping out
Of consciousness
I’m holding on
To grains of sand
Blowing away in
Winter wind
And
The mattress is
Soaked in the
Sweaty truth of
Words
You
Were too busy
To hear
To see
To ask

“Why?”

So bandage me
Up with your
Perfect prescribed smiles
Tsks and tuts and
“What would your
Mother think”s
And I’ll try to
Fit the pieces
Back together
By myself
With pencils
And napkins in
Your waiting room
While a cab comes
To carry me
Away

"Home"

So you cheated, which is something I honestly expected.
Doesn't mean I’m not destroyed, I'm really quite affected.
I was hoping it wouldn't go this away, and together we would be great!
But at the end of the day I was your cheap thrill, a way to increase your heart rate.

Because i need a break from you, girl worried about getting to the next base,  
That is, before I escalate the situation, punch someone in the face.
An interesting experience, and I hate to sound cruel,
But your breaking my heart Tuts, i hate being another's tool.
And your best friend assured me you cared a whole lot.
“Yeah, I'm sure.”  I said after, just wanting to smoke some ***.
“No, she really does, and loves you, this is all a big mistake.”
“Yeah? If it were truly like that I would be great”
I think a better word there is ecstatic.
But my imaginary friend was back, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

I loved holding you, and I'm sure you felt the same.
You were my Peach, in this stupid game.
But you took the game too far, why oh why.
And now the other boys are busy, making, a Peachpie...

Some like to scream, and others just love to pray…
Me? I just hope I don't get in the way.
But you, you proved my hypothesis right…
Do remember when i said i loved you, late that night?
Then you broke my trust, dashed me into pieces.
So here am, righting yet another thesis,
Against the name of love, put Cupid to shame,
******, I’m liar, here I go screaming your name.
Beautiful Peach, you wound me so…
And now, I’m completely out of ammo.
Do i ever want to see you again, i don’t know.
But you made a man into a shadow..

So in conclusion.
Not a single man, woman or child, should be deluded.
If I take you back, will be your last chance.
But, I’mma need 50 in advance.

The Ifs and buts and sighs and tuts
are all that fill my mind
the why's and when of now and then
have burned my poor eyes blind
the would and should and if I could
have broke me by design
the have and have not and I forgot
that you were never mine

I caught a glance of a fashion
Out from a face of hands
Its crime its greatest passion
It tuts in its demands

It speaks garish and fast
When I listen in intent
Its first word is its last
Its message often bent

When I look away he creeps
Slow and on the prowl
Often when I turn he sleeps
And hides all 'neath his cowl

He knew me back when I was young
He'll know me when I'm old
He's let me off and he has stung
He knows all things grow cold.

So when I saw him glancing
I turned and gave my thanks
And also reprimanding
His insistence on his ranks

I told him life is more
Than numbers on your face
For moments you can't store
On your hands or any place.

Leave me, I told him
I have no need of you
My life is not your whim
I tell you it's not true

I closed my eyes and held them tight
To let him heed my call,
But as they came back, took the light
The clock was still there on the wall.

1. After last night's dinner you poured mint tea into a porcelain cup for your dad, and he laughed, saying, "Daughter, the last time we did this you were four." You replied seriously, "I'm living my dreams, Dad."

2. You go to counseling once a month and have been doing so intermittently for the last 10 years.

3. But when you were four years old, you had conversations with imagined dinner guests and poured water from a plastic tea *** like scripture from a pastor's mouth. You'd never had real tea, so you imagined it with lumps of sugar. From ear to ear your smile was real.

4. Five years ago if someone told you that your family would be sitting at your table eating your food on Easter, you would have laughed because you didn't have an oven or a table.

5. Five years ago was when you chose life, and everyday you keep choosing it--like painting over a crimson stain in white.

6. You like church because you feel like it's one of the few places you can cry, and everyone else seems to understand.

7. When you were little, you would say, "I want to go home" even if you were already there. You knew more then than you know now--that home is not a place, but a feeling.

8. Every Easter you wonder how the Son felt coming home to His Father. Sometimes you forget how heavy the stone was when it rolled away.

9. Your dad is the strongest man you know. He has bushy eyebrows; when he ruffles them he looks like a horned owl about to take flight. Your mom tuts and tells him he looks like he's going to fly away. And he has, several times around the world.

10.  Sometimes you want to fly away too, just to see what your hometown looks like to a bird, to fit your piece of prairie to the rest of the puzzle. To see what your dad saw when he flew through the sky. To see what keeps bringing him home.

shadow men speak to me
he says i'm safe
he says i'm perfect company
and i offer him my mind
for i am scared
simply because he is there
and he is real

a rainbow paints the sky
and kisses my cheek
she says i am the beauty
that she reflects
and i offer her my skin
because i know i am the ugly
that coats her gray skies

rain drops speak to me
he says he understands my woes
he says he cries for me
and i offer him my pain
for i want to be one with the bright
simply because i am hurt
and i know that i will never be happy

sunlight shouts into my room
and grasps my hand
she says i am the light
that she burns
and i offer her my hair
because i know fiery red
makes yellow an earth shattering orange

gray clouds speak to me
he says i'm beautiful
he says he's sorry he never came sooner
and i offer him my hope
for i know he needs the innocence
simply because he is dark
and i want to give my purity a chance

a sunflower coats my ceiling
and holds me in her outstretched petals
she says she loves the light in my eyes
and i tell her i gave it to the clouds
she says she loves the wild in my hair
and i tell her i gave it to the sun
she says she loves my pain and strength
and i tell her i gave it to the rain
she says she loves my simplistic beauty
and i tell her i gave it to the rainbow
she says she loves my racing mind
and i tell her i gave it to the shadow man
she says she loves me
and that what i gave away
was not all that i had
and i ask if she would like the rest
but she shakes her gold halo
and tuts
and she sings with a voice that glides
down my throat like warm honey
i do not want what you are made of
and she wraps me in her petals
and leaves
and she smells of everything wonderful
in the world
and when she is finished
she is grey and drooping
and she says
now you are one with the bright
and she leaves me to ponder
what i have really given away.

The man in the raincoat tuts and mutters
stares at he puddles that form in the street
that splash up upon his cold angry feet
from the gathering streams that flow in the gutters

Tomorrow s a time like far away
and memory a knife like ice
and hope a sun to sink again
when London winter clips the skin

He turns again the pavement then
spins up glaring like a grimace
and thinking of some fonder place
he ascends the creaking stairs to the kitchen

Water boiled for tea and heat
he hates the furniture and tends
to wait for some fair-weather friend
the window rataplans with wind and wet.

Murdering a cigarette
in the saucer filled with ends
They say that God is always good
so howcome  it rain on weekends ?

Copyright London 1990

She awkward steps back kitchen-side
This pan-lapsed food-fond alchemist
To where her latent joys reside
In flavour-labours sanctified
    Through boils, in bakes, on roasting
Her last cooked dinner, holiday
Before her dear one took their leave
Too painful kitchen-time replay
So, pots and mixers stored away
    Lost joy of home-heart toasting

Now humming with slight body quake
Full fear of fast descent in tears
Yet realising the heady ache
Was no impending weep-long lake
    But simple mess frustration
In truth the galley, clean enough
But who put all her tools away?
No soldier knife line, shining tough
No pin for shortcrust, brush for puff
    No decorating station

Crisp tuts for every tool misplaced
With tiny sighing shoulder arch
Utensils that could not be traced
Like grieving that could not be faced
    Rough substitute located
While losing whisk, sieve, spoon, and knife
With larger pieces from her past
In working through small kitchen strife
She found her hiding zest for life
    In crusty pastry braided
    Joy-cooking reinstated

I always had a way of romanticizing my life
Which sounds really lame and probably
A little childish
But I didn’t leave my dress up shoes behind
When I started my period or
Grew into a new body  
In fact now saying it out loud
I don't think I could leave behind those
Pink, plastic Cinderella shoes
I mean honestly
Just that intangible item makes me think
That ill never really GROW into who I really want
To be
And it's not that I'm trying to victimize myself for
Making the choices that I made
See
I gave up my innocence the moment
I let a man undress me
Who would never be my knight in shining armor in
Fact he wasn’t even a frog  
Or much of a charmer
he was the epitome of my
Self doubt
And thats where those fairytale ending got it all wrong

"The Princess Saves Herself in This One"  
Is a nice title but I don't want to save myself
Because if I fall while doing that
Im afraid the cement won’t catch me -
Like seriously I struggle to just put a book
Back on the shelf
And my apartment is never neat
and at the same time I call myself a clean freak
I feel like my head runs a million miles an hour
And at the same time I cant even decide what time of the day to Shower
And speaking of that don't get me started on my workout
Routine I have almost an entire novel written in my
Head about how I want to be seen
And ill never be seen like those
Girls in the pictures
"You're losing weight"
But
"Honey you just look sicker"
I want to scream and cry but at the same time
Be up at 6am to go work at a job
That I physically cannot stand
My rings never close
But hey I'm always on time
Because maybe if I get there early
I can go run and hide
In the back where nobody will see me
Because I don't have Cinderella shoes or a Gucci bag
To carry at my side
I have ***** converse sneakers that I wear everyday
And half of the time I just want to give up
Because if I catch myself in the middle of a crowd
I need to know how I'm going to get out
Or else I feel like I will crumble
In front of everyone around me

And thats not the way a lady should act
You need to keep your chin up and
Arch your back
You need to
Present yourself well and always smile
Because its unattractive
To be "CRAZY"
And you ask me why I'm hostile?
And make sure you run that extra mile
Because if my thighs touch while I walk
The knight in shining armor will have too much grab
Be sensitive and kind and for Gods sake
Hide that flab
And listen those
Converse sneakers need to be retired
Because in the eyes of a proper woman
Those would never be admired
I guess this doesn’t really sound poetic right?
But it would just be so be pathetic if I didn’t write
About that girl that I think about
Who played dress up everyday
And wonder how I let her slip away

Because I know theres nobody really there to save me
Im not someone to be pitied I was
Handed a silver spoon the moment my mother
Took her last push and
Let me into the world as a proper lady
And another day will start and maybe just maybe
It’ll be the day that I throw out all the chocolate in my cabinet
And not spend 40 dollars on drug store makeup
To make me feel more compassionate
About myself and the little girl who’s dad told her she was beautiful everyday
Maybe it will be the morning I can look in the mirror without dismay
About how my stomach sticks out just a little farther than I want it too

So thats why ill keep romanticizing my life
Ill keep telling myself that a morning routine will fix all my problems
And ill stop reading all the magazine columns
About celebrities that I really don't even give a **** about

Maybe when the sun rises tomorrow
I won’t care about how many calories I eat
Or switch out my bread to whole grain or wheat
Like really maybe I'll finally clean up the crumbs
I keep stepping on every time I walk into my door
To remind me that who I am is so much more
Than a pair of ***** converse shoes
That ill never throw away because I don't want them
To to waste in a landfill where my pink plastic
Cinderella shoes probably still lay

And I think its funny that more than ever
I can rearrange words in a sentence to make myself sound  
More clever and cover up the hurt
That I might feel for not being the brightest and best
and no ill never forget those little tuts and my dress
And the knight in shining armor can finally see
That his princess wears
***** converse shoes
And maybe then I'll finally feel pretty
I don't need to be what everyone says I should be
Because truly theres bruises on my knees
From falling so ******* the cement by myself
And I promise I finally put that book back on the shelf
But for now I just want to lay down on the couch
And not think about my little smooch pouch
Ill never be what society wants to see
But the little girl
In cinderella shoes
Will choose to be happy
For now and  
Until tomorrow
Ill romanticize my life
And stop wallowing in self pity and

Cinderella’s sorrow

I know him so well.
Too well,
He keeps me well.
Toxic self awareness.
As he hoovers up another line,
And allows the warm wash
Of the cure for wellness -
Pill form happiness
To rush down from brain to shoes.
Waterfall of wellness.
Lips turning blue.
Hot ice
Face turning to soft cheese.
Cheesy grin.
Roller-coaster rambling.
What a ride, let's not collect the photo.
He tuts and sighs.