"unintentionally" poems
Sitting on my bed
Gazing out at the view
Laptop in lap
I wonder
Being of mixed race
The truth of my origins
The blood coursing through my veins
Goffle they would say
But iv always believed a man's skin colour doesn't define who he is
Kwabulawayo
A place where he is being killed
Home of the Ndebele
My hometown
Built on the ruins of a Royal town
uMzilikazi ,Leander Starr Jameson ,Lobengula ,Cecil john rhodes
Men of courage
Black and white
Fought struggles
Years before my birth
Mater Dei Hospital
My journeys beginning
My grandfathers end.
Joy and pain
My hearts memories
From Primary
Whitestone
Green fields
Where i spent my childhood
Life's little joys
Clay-yaki
In the rain
Barefoot.
Speargrass
How it stung
Running through the grass
Taller than i was
Forts
Built with shoelaces
Marbles
Fights in the sand
Afternoons spent picking mullberyys
The girls dormitory
Offbounds.
Matrons
Got me the cain
Thursday Nights
Prefects Priveleges
Sports
Cross country
The houses of Tuli, Shangani, Shashe
lifelong friends made
A place frozen in memory
Home of the best years of my life
Tears streaming down
Every Sunday evening
The way back
A boarders sentiment
Lasting 5min till reunited with friends
Tuck shared
Eskimo Hut
The Green Mamba Or Pink Panther
The food hall
Quiet
Till dessert came
Mr Haworth
Everyday
"The queen would be disgusted if she saw u eating"
The tide of his time
Wandering around my childhood
I bumped unintentionally into
Maturity
Starless nights
First kisses
A little bit older i was
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 8:34 AM UTC
I kissed the dying orchid.
My loving intentions dedicated
Towards the withering flower.
I smelt its perfumed essence.
Sent it off with a blessing.
Now the twist hits me.
I feel like I brought love into me.
What I intended to give
To that dying orchid,
Was breathed back into me,
Unintentionally.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
to me,
love was always a mystery to me. i never truly understood what it was.
though, i like to think that i did and sadly, i thought everyone else knew what it was too but just like me, it was a mystery.
as someone who grew up without knowing what it truly meant,
i always thought it was something you can look for again after it's gone, something that will make you feel better on your bad days, something that will complete you.
i have loved so many times, or so i think i have.
but honestly, aren't we just a bunch of people throwing around the word love thinking that we know what it means? unintentionally making someone else feel special, not knowing what the consequences of using the word love really are?
now that i am older,
i think i finally understand.
that love is something no one can ever talk about without mentioning how much it actually hurts. loving someone meant truly wanting them in every way possible. most of us cannot handle how imperfect a person may be, and we will try our best to change them because "we only want the best for them." love is not finding perfection in someone's imperfection, but instead it is accepting the imperfections in someone and learning to love it as well.
i know i still can't tell you what love really means but i have found someone who helped me understand what love might be.
i loved every bit and piece of him, i loved everything about him. all his flaws, his appearance, his heart, his personality, his tantrums, the way he talks over me when he gets excited, how he tries to see eye to eye with me even when we have completely different point of views, **** i loved everything. everything that i never thought i'd like, i did anyway. i didn't only want him, i needed him. he did not complete me, but we go so well together. i never wanted to change anything about him even though i wanted to see them do better. i was willing to go through it all with him, good or bad.
is this what love really is? the fact that you know someone's bad side and you still love them anyways?
you see, no matter who i meet in my life and maybe, just maybe i might love them but i will still be able to pinpoint their flaws and maybe those are the things i won't like about them or the things i wish to change about them no matter how much i love them because i am selfish.
but with him, it's different because i loved it all. i still do. i never wish to change anything about him because that wouldn't be the person i love anymore and that's just something i can never do with anyone else, i can't love someone else like this.
he taught me how to be patient, kind and accepting.
but most importantly, he taught me how to love.
sadly, this love is only meant for him and no one else because love is not meant to be thrown around like how we did to others before we have met each other.
i guess your last lesson was teaching me that love also means wanting to see someone obtain the bigger and better things even if it means doing so without you.
i can finally say this to someone and mean it,
i will always love you, no matter what you do, where you go and who you meet in life.
thank you, my love.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
Something different in your eyes
Isn't it a fire?
What are you prepare?
Then why do I care?
It can make me melt, I wouldn't dare.
You introduce me to our river
So I can see you clearer
There's a poison and water
Unintentionally became a power
A couple things I compare
Between you and the scripture
A couple things I aware
When you and me already perspire
It's strange, we bring our bodies to suffer
Why don't wait until we sober
And we can start over.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
In life we tend build bridges
But not all are meant to last
Sometimes we burn those bridges
To keep us from what lies beyond
Everyday we meet new people
Have fun and make new friends
We form bonds and links; as such
We end up building bridges
Throughout our lives we go about
Being scared - in fear
But when we overcome the fear
We grow - we build our bridges
As time progresses - we age
We move on to do so much
We gain property and wealth
And at this very stage
Grow a family - get married
And go about our lives
Ease into reality
And we tend to then build bridges
All the time, things happen
Positive and bad
But we must overcome our problems
And learn from our mistakes
Take lessons from our failures
Know we don't cause success
And as we grow and learn
And as we learn and grow
We form more tightened, strengthened bonds
We tend to build up bridges
Memories are formed
And memories are kept
Stored in many forms
To remembered for being great
And as time passes us by
It brings with memory
As we add to vast memory
We reinforce our bridge
But not all stories flow
Like that of a fairy tale
In life we hurt and get hurt
And ******* seems to break
And when the key stones crack
And are shifted out of place
Our bridges looses and fall down
And our lives with them
And after all the pain is felt
We pull ourselves back up
And what remains after the storm -
We burn what was our bridges
People leave, people die
These things occur in life
Once they're gone, we break down
And are burning our bridges
Another reason why
We burn down our bridges
Is Friends who do us harm
And it's safer if we're apart
Instead of succumbing to evil deeds
We rather stay away
Refrain from any contact
And set ablaze those bridges
When trouble hits us hard
We lose our wealth and money
We hurt all those around
Unintentionally burning bridges
No memory can replace
The presences of a loved one
Instead of mourning forever
And hurting others too
We try our best to rid ourselves
Of memories and reminders
And as we force-forget
The things of our past
We end up sick of flames
Yet still burn down our bridges
In life we build and break
Many weak/strong bridges
Of a lifetime's worth of loved
memories and people
But this cannot be helped -
it is but human nature -
We build up what we love
And burn it 'cause we love it
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
The reason why I apologize
So profusely over the tiniest of things
Is because I always feel as though
I am a bother and annoyance so
I want the person to be aware that
I am truly sorry for the mishap
I may have brought about or the wrong words that may have come out of my mouth
Because in the past I had to apologize again and again
A million sorries I must have said
Just to get the point across
Just to assuage the anger I unintentionally caused
I apologize repeatedly
Because I fear not being taken seriously
When I say sorry I mean it with all of my heart
I apologize even when people say I am not at fault
Because in the past I was always the one guilty
I was always in the wrong
Because when that rage came up and rolled along
It rolled right over me
And so I said sorry
I said sorry to the steamroller for being in its way
And for the broken bones and bruises on my heart that I carried for days
I apologize for apologizing
Because I know I must sound so repetitive and annoying
But I feel as though I can't apologize enough
To make up for and cover up
Whatever sin I may have committed against the one I am apologizing to
Because when you say it’s okay I always fear it’s not true
Because in the past those hiccups and bumps
That weren't even my fault were held against me for months
No matter the amount of times I said sorry and meant it
And the number of times I tried to fix
The mangled mess that wasn't mine but that I was still apologizing for
It was like going to war
But I waged it and gave my best effort
To stitch and sew up the jagged cuts
Of long angry nights and an alcohol filled gut
But failed and then apologized when the seams ripped and tore
Because no matter what I did was going to restore
What used to be
Or repair the damage that happened before me
And so I am sorry for that
That I couldn't make it better because I lacked
Whatever it was you were looking for
But that constant state of feeling guilty is what sent me out the door
And I am free of that weight now
But I still feel the need to say sorry for every little mistake now
Thanks to you I sound like a record stuck on repeat
So I’m sorry that I say sorry too much
But I never know when enough sorries are enough
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
Serendipity
A hidden beauty,
If only you look,
then you shall see.
The hidden gift, that you receive.
A beautiful seed, hidden underneath,
To one day grow into a beautiful tree
Lost in the layers,
Lost in time.
The beauty you unintentionally find,
The beauty that is yours to keep
The beauty, unintended to seek,
The beauty you shall receive..
She is..
Serendipity
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Under the tree of the university
A shadow was gruesomely cast.
The branches made too much shade
And there grew no grass.
No one would lie under its wood
Down beside its trunk;
It wasn't essential, there was no potential,
Claimed the revered monk
But late at night you'll find him lying in the dirt
Wearing a Paisley Poplin Shirt
The click of the gears define his years,
A cycle on a chain
A cloud of sand thrown by his own hand
Hones forth his pain
He blows seeds of dandelion weeds
****** a ****** field
And he pretends that he intends
To reap this horrible yield
Because unintentionally he subconsciously convert
To one who wears a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Covered in rust, a blade he adjusts,
His mind remains unwrung
The words to speak were too **** bleak
So he cuts off his tongue
He'll be finished when he's diminished
These humanly sights
If there's no vision at the end of his mission
He'll gouge out his eyes
And Helen Keller takes one of her old ragged skirts
And fashions him a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Why must we be obsessed
With the unseen
When we know we cannot
Make something out of nothing
And to those of you who think that you cannot be hurt
Stones go thru a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
The professor said
"Family therapy is like a Pie Graph
Everyone in the family contributes their own piece of pie.
When people leave
there's a chunk of pie missing
and the other members of the family
have to take on some of those roles to fill the pie."
Here's my theory:
Everyone in the family has their own whole pie.
Categorizes each housemate as a piece of it.
how they view them in their family.
how they relate to them,
Imagine a home
Mom and her four daughters.
Step dad, his daughter and son.
imagine three bedrooms.
The adults taking up one of them.
let's look at the Mother,
Her four daughters
all with different fathers
she knows how to raise children.
The daughters all know how to
Be
Children, be
Sisters, be
older or younger than each other.
The step-father knows how to have
A Wife,
One Daughter,
A Son.
Well Step-brother leaves the house.
Susie has a child at fifteen.
what does
her pie look like now?
She used to have a boyfriend,
four sisters,
a mother, father.
Now lost a brother
gained a baby.
She only knows how to be a child.
let's look at the mother.
She hasn't learned: Grandchild
but she knows how to raise a baby.
lets look at the step-father, lost his son, gained four daughters,
what's another one?
The sisters, lost their brother, a role model.
Exchanged for this this new baby.
another sister?
everyone's pie is empty in some parts.
judging by some other
dead white guys theory
when who you are doesn't line up
with who you see yourself as,
that's when people develop
Mental illness
Well I wouldn't call it ill, but let's count the bruises.
That baby is going to grow up as her mother's sister.
Suzie is going to seek the comfort of men.
Her sisters are going to constantly fight between calling themselves auntie
and Big Sis.
like tossing themselves on either side of the barbed wire fence is cause for death.
The farther we go back in each family member's backstory
the more slivers of pie we find
Georgia has autism,
Carley diagnosed depression,
Rosie an abusive relationship of 10 years.
Clover is quiet.
The Brother, schizophrenic, autistic, bipolar.
Any number of names they can slap on him.
He doesn't live there anyhow.
isn't human.
Muffle the sister that says she miss him.
hit her, cut her, lock her up.
This was a case study.
I lived with this family for four years.
unintentionally filled up parts of their pie.
I was Son.
Older brother.
Boyfriend.
Father.
When I stopped being a fly on the wall
Stopped seeing how their story was developing.
I didn't have any pie left.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
I think perhaps as a writer, we seek the adventure, the unknown, the destructive, not only to know we are alive but to know what it is to live. We live fast, we love without restraint, with impulsive desire. Are we the tortured, the wounded, the broken, abused. We have lived a thousand lives, loved a million times. We dream, we idealise, we fall in love unintentionally, we make mistakes, we endure deep suffering and we fall to the hands of lust within a heartbeat. We choose to show our ******* our ***** our hearts or our souls. We refuse to sell our mind, to which we must always remain held to. Our body is a vessel, one of productivity made victim to abuse. It's such neglect, despair, that leaves us enveloped in patterns of trauma and deeply embedded psyache. Once touched, our bodies remember as an elephants mind always will. We are tainted, scarred, stained by another's love, lust, cheating, lying, crying, kissing, losing, dreaming. We are the risk takers, the ones who dare step into the unknown and often don't adhere to rules and regulations of societal ideals. We crave love. We crave endless excitement. We crave the adrenalin rush of a new lover. We don't settle. Wanderlust writes us. Each journey shapes us, choosing a new direction, experimenting with style, fiction, autobiographical tones. Landscapes colour our pages, pollute the rooms with a myriad of paints, smoking out those who don't endure, slaves to the written word, a pledge to keep reading pages of paper, dusty from step ladder high book shelves. Finding joy in limited first editions, autographed and locked behind glass doors. Fairy tales whispered by Hans Christian Andersen - The Snow Queen in a pop up book laced with glitter and scintillation. Falling into stories, Alice's rabbit hole, lost to liquor saying drink me. The young ingénue, naïve and shy, her first role acting, embodying the spoken word through the masters written script.
© Sia Jane
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
bespeckled, blotched & blokey
feminine in aspects
only little ****** hair patches
two chins,
or rather a sloped one
the front evenly declining to the middle of the throat
a gradual slope from the tip, for juices to run if his manner and situation allowed him to be as casual and sloppy as his laziness chose,
torso without form, so there was no curvature on the buttocks or the fly region.
a mass
a blob of bulges on spindly legs
he leans on the wall
stubby in hand he balks
(he means jovial but unintentionally he vocalises mockery)
at the suggestion that the Pies will do better
& that Eddie is a clever man due for thanks, who has done his club well (apparently a straight Aussie arrow tried and true!)
the man ***** his head back & cackles
(the trebly popping bubbles of a gala crackle outwards as the man cackles)
& decides his arms need a rest,
(a long day of up and down they have had indeed, they deserve respect, or rest (or a benching))
so he places his beer down
on a sloped surface,
& therefore it slips down….
he sees it plummeting, he stretches toward it's tragic trajectory,
…..but he is too slow
it smashes
on his foot (the shards) the beer bottle it transfigures,
and the shards they impart their misery on his toes.
The shards they intrude on his relaxed state of wellbeing, they intrude on the security sanctioned within the casual footwear of a man at a barbecue; taking it easy.
he swears and hops, reaching in indignation for his bleeding toes
he holds the wound cursing; resisting the impulse to begin convulsive throws
(an oscar worthy performance from a usually suburbaly urbane individual)
the moisture feels degrading
(as it would within a man's pants)
the pain from the cuts it is worsened
by the smirking gazes of others about
he hobbles, disregarding his thong in the wreckage of the scene
off to retrieve a band aid
to mend his ego
and his foot
simultaneously
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
The elegance of her ardor
Captures you and lures you into her clean hands
But living in this cynical world, with overflowing grimace
Many souls lack to understand
Why her stride is full and incandescent
She posses a sweet force were every murmur she whispers pushes you to listen
A voice fully soft spoken
It's a gentle breeze through your ears
In the absence others' may make you feel
In her presence, you are here.
The quantum she share is as petite as her frame
Longing for more, she makes it impossible to maintain
Straight forward.
Her ratherness for avoiding the curves and steeps that one can provide
Would leave you at a daze with desire
A fire inferno
Burning inside of your eyes
Seconds and affection she hardly gives
Made her a tenacious woman in twenty-one years
But the love that she gives.
Oh.
The love that she gives
Is more sweeter than honey in a tomb of one thousand years
Seeing men fall into her deep dark abyss
From their own creation and temptation they couldn't resist
Attempting to crawl back into reality, after losing themselves
You would think she's a Black Mamba
A hunter
Looking for a prey to lead astray
But she's only a sweet soul that God humbly perfectly made
A gift that many fail to contain
That makes every Man yearn and kneel to pray
There is No woman like her
Her ineffable felicity you will not find
Her Respect, you'll give
Or you will not live
Unintentionally,
She posses the power to take over your mind
With every thought you feel
Her time isn't wasted on pleasures and life's immorality
She's the meaning of a blessing
She fails to degrade her self down to worlds level
You'll fall in love with her originality
Some would go far as calling her stuck up
A *****
But a deficient mind wouldn't comprehend
She's a woman of God
Of wisdom
And your respect she demands
Perfectly sane
To me she's a courageous lady
Some men call her dangerous
But Me,
I call her Shady
Copy Right 2013
©Patty Ann
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
I act like i hurt terribly but deep inside,
trust me, i dont give a ****
Point out my mistakes that i did unintentionally,
were really not fair.
Enlighten me if i did that,
and correct me if i'm wrong.
I should just shut the hell up after this,
and dont you dare to ask why.
**** off.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
(For context, I went to...)
British Kindergarten in England,
French Elementary in Switzerland,
International MS in England,
French HS, then Int'l HS in Korea,
(And then completed...)
Undergraduate studies in NJ, USA,
9-month gap year in Hong Kong,
Graduate studies in QC, Canada.
------------------------------------------------------------
I have shattered my identity.
Frequently. Involuntarily.
I have undergone assimilation.
Socially. Psychologically.
I have encountered discrimination.
Directly. Racially.
I have endured isolation.
Grievingly. Impotently.
I have ill-wished on others.
Subconsciously. Unintentionally.
HOWEVER –
I have learned to be human.
Individually. Collectively.
I have discovered empathy.
Emotionally. Compassionately.
I have gained knowledge.
Culturally. Geographically.
I have acquired expertise.
Intellectually. Linguistically.
I have become a citizen.
Locally. Globally.
Perhaps we who are born and meant to move,
Are intended to, and exist to locomote forever,
Walking lands, sailing oceans, mastering the world.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
i saw you in the frozen food isle
unintentionally thawing everything out
making the manager mad
i wanted to stop and talk
and tell you this joke i heard about a pharmacist's daughter
but i hadn't seen my own reflection in fifteen minutes
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
Depression
Enveloping darkness swallowing wholly
Confused family hurting daily
Unhappy memories haunting mercilessly
Concerned friends worrying quietly
Prospective future slipping quickly
Oblivious teachers grading harshly
Low self-esteem dropping endlessly
Understanding lover comforting gently
Frigid emptiness bellowing angrily
Lively peers ignoring unintentionally
Selfish
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC
*We’ve always
learned in school
that if you were found
to have written
something that
someone else wrote
(even unintentionally)
you would be
reprimanded.
But even then
I've always wondered;
out of the billions
how could I
possibly
be so unique?*
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
If you had been a musician, it would be impossible for me to tear my heart away from yours
However you still managed to play my heart strings,
You innocent fingers unintentionally plucking, prodding, pulling my heart in so that it could never be separated again
They say that heartbreak is when a part of your heart is broken, however
I think that when people are in love, the heart melds completely with that of the other person.
I am him and he is me.
When we lose them, our hearts are torn apart
leaving them raw,
gasping for the other half
Pumping
Pumping harder and faster
Pumping
Like my brain when I can't sleep pouring out the memories of you
Pumping
like a faucet running clear and pure then becoming ***** so no one will drink it's filthy waters
Pumping
Like the fiery engine on a train heaving burning embers, whistling, whisking it's passengers far away from home
Pumping
Like the thick blood throbbing through my thin veins, every time I think of those eyes
Pumping
Like the ghost of the beat in your chest next to my ear drums beating,
beating
as I fall asleep
My blood is pumping out of my body with no second heart to hold it, my love pumping out of me, wasted and forgotten
Pumping from an infinite pool of love for you that will continue rushing
If only, you would care to accept it
If only you could be mine and I could be yours and we would hold each other under the stars and see their lights in our eyes, the universe above, around, and in us, filling our entire beings
If only you would hold me.
Your lips on mine my hands in your hair your hands on my waist forever entwining
like two vines
Growing
The longer they grow, the more entangled they become, the harder it is to tell where one starts and one begins
I have forgotten where I end and you begin.
But you are gone, your vines have slithered through my soul, disappearing
leaving empty tunnels
creating crevices until one day it will finally
collapse
But for now, your invisible vines remain, and I convince myself I am whole
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
Although I missed you, I didn't miss the yells
And all the times you made me feel unwell;
Whether it was physical or emotional,
Your love was harsh and you made it seem personal.
Your huge hands to hold me, you used to hurt me.
Your warm smile you used to spit fire.
Those hazel eyes were made to captivate me,
And they did just that, in a prison cell was where I resided, forcefully.
Your loud, beautiful laugh was used mockingly,
And the way your words flowed showed me who I was, accidentally.
Your big, warm heart was charred- it beat quietly,
and you passed on the black smoke, unintentionally.
It filled up my mind, my lungs,
And with every breath I took I became even more numb.
Maybe this is why I look for you in every man,
It's all I've ever known.
And although it wasn't the most ideal plan,
Black was the only color I was ever shown.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
The world isn’t as it seems,
on paper and in theory life is but a dream.
Ink fades, ideas drift away, and forgot is the lost paper.
Unaccounted factors effect the words as does the current of a stream.
It never stops, it drifts it’s own course unintentionally,
This water feeds the roots, so sprouts the gnarled branches of the crooked tree.
It is an endless cycle, one falls, but sewn is it’s seed.
Mar 13, 2010
Mar 13, 2010 at 6:51 PM UTC
I've never been a sentimental person
but too soon did the
smell of salty air,
the sound of waves gaining
and receding
endlessly, reliably
become dear to me.
My memory betrays me
long enough to drag up the
sound of your laugh
(the unintentionally honest kind
that still raises goosebumps
on my skin)
along with the feeling of
Normandy sand beneath my toes.
No matter how much I want to let go,
I'll keep the jar of sand
on my dresser
and the image of you
with your arm around me,
our hair and our hearts wild,
in my mind forever.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Fluctuating back and forth on the idea of how to relieve
The theme of cynicism throughout your life;
Tough like nails: too stubborn to let go of whatever
They were hammered into; the hits we take
Make us unstable and unmovable from certain aspects.
You chose to Stitch your eyes up
With a thin piece of cynical string and a metal needle.
Threading the idea of light and dark in each vessel,
Causing your body parts to glow and show
Off the direction of ideas, in out and down,
But never up, for the sake of falling for the
Instinctual trust and hope humans so conveniently thrive for.
Conquered and obtained the conflict from your child
Hood, fluctuating on the idea of morally right
And morally wrong. Cough, cough, cough. Right
Lung punctured by stale smoke, your lips twitch in
The environment. Blood swells in your veins, forget
That women’s ******* are to feed her children.
Wipe the grin off the old man whose sipping warm
Whiskey, tell him his wife is six feet under and partying
With the demons he drove her to acquire.
Like water, you are the universal solvent
Cleaning, clearing, conquering and
Creating a new symbiosis with human beings and
The world they are submerged in; We take it for granted.
Cynicism in brevity, is beautiful for the fact that it claims to be
Open and calm like ocean waves during low tide
Or a baby child’s gaggle and coo. Fluctuating between calm
And ignorant, more so unintentionally rational to the point
Of tearing your human anatomy apart and dipping the
Soon to be suffocated air in heavy smoke.
I’m afraid
Humans just can’t handle the **** truth of reality.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 6:23 PM UTC