1
she taps he hand, twice.
across the room,
he stares, thinking
into empty air.
others, scattered
tap pencils or fingers
on desktops, booktops
and phone keyboards

the balding man
with black hair:
combed backward
and to differing angles
so that his head is split
vertically-
stands, above the room
his back turned

his words,
meant for the crowd
reverberate only
along classes fringe
but still take precedence
over nothing
even to them-
academics, outcasts


2
back of the room
reveals everything
to the observer
trying to see

blue-eyed brunette
glares vengefully
at no one,
just to glare

he looks up once
to watch
as another
pulls up
drooping jeans.
she laughs
at conversation
unmeant for,
and inaudible
to her


3
today, she smiles
and lets her lip fall
begging, like a puppy
But when they
lose eye contact,
she glares, again

he leaves footprints
on parallel desk
from lounging
then fires himself
to his feet
using stored energy,
and sugar from gum

words bounce along
the walls in the back,
and isolated eyes peer
towards the screen
but hide the fact
that they care


4
two week vacation
has left their minds
full of everything
except math,
so they listen
to him, while he speaks

but travel backward
in time, with
those closest them
while he creeps,
silent, around the room

she concentrates hard,
on her work
glaring at the page.
he sits a desk forward
feet on floor
neighboring desk full
today, but only physically

blue hat rests
on sketchbook,
its border
barely covering
closed eyes

blond head
implants itself
jokingly, into
smooth shining
white wall
with enough force
to collapse
accidental target

a hand raises
attracting gazes,
awestruck,
at her interest
in forgotten
material
of future tests


5
only a few eyes wander
from blue lined notebooks
though the left flank
still chatters, embodying
either a secretive chipmunk
or the breeze which starts the storm

storm clouds appear slowly
in sketchbook, blue hat bobbing
rhythmically in response to active pen

perched above the flock
reminiscent, split headed
papa bird scans the masks
of his shockingly silent chicks

random lecture breaks the silence.
Her eyes aren’t the only ones
Fixed into a steel laden glare
But the chipmunk wind ceases


6
his questioning glance lands
on uninhabited space,
exhibiting a yawn
which traverses through,
and twists, the faces of
those otherwise engaged

lecture ends with a question,
the scent of nuts blows through
mentally empty classroom
turning desks to predetermined
positions and swiftly inhabiting
three-quarters of the physical class

his steel glare has replaced hers
the latter’s eyes now soft as an infants

within five minutes, his voice
undergoes  a brutal, complete cycle
pleading, congratulating, yelling
and as always, lecturing


7
pre-test:

preparations for misery-
mundane chipmunk chattering,
jokes and laughs from random
oddities appearing everywhere

blue hat rests in intervals.
Blue coat rearranges
essay for another class

The girl in the sunny plaid
Rolls an orange along her hand

He points at nothing and asks
Nobody something without answer

The left flank, as always
Is turned away, conversing

A sigh rings outward loudly
Everyone glares, nervously,
Everywhere, reward of concentration


After my test:

First paper in, he scans lightly
Sets it down with a scowl
and yawns, twice, breaking the
silent shroud of heavy fog
which is hanging overhead

wandering free eyes witness
down-turned heads concentrating
as much on tests  as on moving
their hands wildly, excitedly
trying to communicate non-vocally

others have yet to detach themselves
from their seats and stride upward,
hopefully more triumphantly
than their sole predecessor

one shuffles now, slowly toward him
his hand shaking as he releases
that  paper, he turns away as it flutters
onto the desk- he replants himself in his

twelve others walk forward
smiling, shrinking, sometimes speaking
and always he glares, triumphant
knowing his success at our failure


later:

his near-sleeping form            
finds distraction, in waking
dreams, jumping back suddenly
breaking from his plank-like state
without speaking. excitement
for approaching weekend is
communicated in the left flank

two girls break the silence
running in from outside            
he glares at them, but laughs

everyone breaks into groups
after the conversation about
mysteriously nutty discarded sock

he runs to the forefront
forehead folded, finger on mouth
no-one notices, but still he glares

8
he smiles and glares at the floor
his legs swinging back and forth            
tan slacks rustling softly

exaggerated scores bubble in ears            
as they search for their destroyer

in front of forgotten faces falls
the page of a forgotten tome

several yawn, hoping, understandably
that their stretched lips
will pull themselves far enough
to barricade ears from his droning

he kills himself, twice, bumbling
into half-thought chastisements
of the  flittingly flirtatious students
intermingling hoping behind him
causing waves of whispers, laughter
and slightly strengthened chatter

he re-aligns his thoughts quickly
and rambles on again, always

9
he speaks to her softly
from across a sea of desks
she looks up, panicking calmly
distracted from distraction

in silence, blank eyes turn
surprised at the non-withering
state of her barely living corpse

he asks a question, looking up
a single answer is given
unemotional and short, buy ending
heavy hanging awkward silence

how talented the teacher
who gives his lecture while
still addressing unrelated
student self lectures

the still silence given
in his questioning lull
hangs so loudly the whispers
traversing the classroom appear
silent as finger wiggle
and pencils trace zeros

his extrication, caused by
distractingly thunderous voice
is met with a comment
causing a wave of laughter
starting at his mouth
and extending to inhabit everything

10
half the time gives
twice the attention
as they concentrate
on keeping him on
the undying topic
of the work we
have already done

they admit defeat
as dusty tome opens
spreading a nutty cloud
causing heads to turn
and words to leap.

from opens lips,
mischievous gremlins
sprout, dancing on
tables and chuckling
away from the sigh
of his down-turned, split
shining, globular mind

he scratches pink ear
with bone pale finger
reading unrelated words

in the center of the room
both mentally and physically
he sits, momentarily quiet
as dark eyes glare past
rumpled pink nose,
concentrating

blue hat rests on open palms
above dust covered open page
he slips into sleeping state
but picks himself up
and stares though thin borderline
toward shiny rambling forehead

a shutter cord flies forward
the hand at the end pulling hard
but with no affect to the shutters
neither lowering the physical
or raising the mental

the color of non-color pencils
interrupts the class momentarily
as she strides forward to compare
and then criticizes his care

he just sits, smiles and stares

11
eleven desks lie empty
of one form more than usual
amplifying the arm movements
of the ever ticking seconds

his obscured mouth flings seeds
which sprout into words
before even meeting the worn
blood-colored carpet below

in the main room, sixteen
sit silent, sketching, sleeping
or siphoning the last minute

12
those left awake, and alive
have come to understand
the numbers on the screen
this being their specialty
in a nutty shell, of course
splitting, as we are, large
crowds of numbers, and us
being teenagers, isn’t that
how we think, in numbers
and ratings of everything
and, sitting in the central
crowd are the talented
crowd-splitters
flattery-spitters

13
the silence of half absence
is pierced, as always by vocal
anomaly, centered around
rows of shining wood
bookrests, but only one
set of hollow, dark-rimmed
vacant eyeballs watches
well-welcomed interruption

he lets us work, standing.
Someone somewhere opens
A large container of nuts
Entire class starts stuffing
Handfuls into puffy cheeks
Absorbing sensations into
Eternally ravenous minds

The apocalyptic mix of noises
Is split again by central
Nutcracker, and those in corners
Glare, smiling, rubbing shadowed
Acne scarred faces
with raw-bitten nails

14
balding papa bird speaks loudly
transforming his voice, becoming
vocally legendary cartoon duck

the wave of resulting laughter
ends in un-given nut-break
spreading, without speech
the understanding that his
comedic digression will not
meet a quick extinction

we greet the weekend
by rising early
our excuse: competition
to devour the worm

15
three heads are downturned
peering into textbooks
as the tsunami breaks

the days end starts
and beady eyes peer
in the direction of his
moving head, colored
gothic gargoyle in the
dim cloudlight streaming
through dust coated
slit windows

the room transforms
becoming triumphantly,
grumpily, repeatedly
conversational

artificial silence
spreads like a wave
from right back corner
to left front corner
leaving behind
the half of the room
hidden behind the wall
of troublemakers
who will eventually
cause the wall to topple
with the sheer force
of assorted nuts

16
blue hat is scrunched
under the of a fist
pounding on his head,
result of the decibels
consumed, and produced
by the embodiment
of the thoughts around him
which fall from stuffed
cheeks. Bounce off tables
and spread a sickening aroma
as their shells split
exposing, revealing
nothing

17
red face glances upward
as harsh words split
the widening sea of snickers
his words stop, first time today
as whispers spread wildly
of his speed in delivering answers
seconds later, room is silent
as statement ends and lecturer
turns back to him, offering
as always, another wave
of deep felt, anger hardened
quietly whispered, criticisms

thunderous-rush-voice leads
out of habit and necessity
the minutes following
his behavioral digression
each word stabbing split-headed
pointy-nosed papa bird, their
form a walnut-wood spear
crafted from drifted thoughts
of those sitting nearest him

18
on his back lies a pile of nuts
professor’s earthquake
shoulder shaking causes
eyes to open, back to rise
and with a tremendous roar
both physical and meta-physical,
it topples to worn carpet
and the laugh-track plays on

19
silence- pierced into being
by shrill, violent, mountainous
rise, and fall, of thunderous decibels-
hangs, heavier, louder than
the quick gone loudness replaced
or, in all actuality, displaced
mere seconds before being scrawled
into eternal memory
of those whose noses
sniff, daily, nutty clusters
of letters, which exclude
always, the ever-present x
the destructive π
and that y, which of course
flies as high as forgetful
nut-bearers




©Brandon Webb
2012

Change

Verse 1
It starts right deep inside of me, a true grasp on identity
The present moment is the place to be, regardless of who's watching me
It’s plain to see, comprehensively, no real gain comes easily
Whether to the left or right of me, time in motion, truly free
To persevere is the truest reward, ride this train be truly on board
This right here to truly afford, come together, one accord
A single mind retrain able, good grades are attainable
Accomplish the impossible, you can be unstoppable
A single step to take, of directions moving on
Keep it moving in forward motion, articulate my song
With an aim of harmony, we can but soldier on
We must create a place, with a feeling to belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

There are challenges that are facing me, complex to simplicity
Teams move forward socially, share discussions vocally
To stand as one, it’s just begun
Separation can’t become
A team with victory truly won
A united cause, brought as one
Determination is the real deal, certified replacing the seal
Energy the people can feel
A new beginning, fresh appeal
A brand new chapter practical
Solutions that are workable
Greatness is achievable
Concepts are conceivable
A new journey to take, whether short or whether long
Keep on moving forward, embracing a new song
With amicability, we all will progress on
Let’s create a place, with a feeling to belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Chorus
There is ever present change, many thoughts to rearrange
Together we can change the world, let’s rewrite the page
There are many forms of strong, yet we all must soldier on
Together as one, together as one
For each and every fight, is a chance to so unite
Every lesson in the wrong, it can be rendered right
There is opportunity, be the change you want to see
Let’s set ourselves free, let’s set ourselves free
In time, beyond the impossible
Breaking through every obstacle
By faith from the intangible
Objects, they are exchangeable
Yet lives are irreplaceable
Real change is attainable

Verse 2
To offer forth a helping hand, notions yet to understand
To be welcomed in a foreign land, disharmony is sinking sand
It’s clear to see, comprehensively, operate more tactfully
With wisdom understandably, let the innocent be truly free
A greater love that can’t be defined, to comprehend the passage of time
Appreciation truly is mine, reverence beyond the sky
Of nature undeniable, progress transformational
Advancing the responsible, of wonderment sensational
A single step to take, cultivated going strong
Keep it moving in forward motion, can we all just get along
With advancing harmony, on a road that may be long
Let’s now create a place, with a feeling to belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Advancing with a point of view, discernment of what’s really true
Comprehension of what’s true for you, of new horizons to ensue
With a faculty of proficiency, movements of efficiency
With complex capability, time in motion, skillfully
Experience that can be applied, universal always onside
Letting go of innermost pride
Truthfulness, no need to hide
Application practical, let your goals be reachable
In him all things possible, passionately powerful
With awareness to awake, with weakness rendered strong
Keep moving in forward motion, articulate my song
With all tranquillity, uncover what is wrong
We can now create a place, with a feeling to belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Chorus
There is ever present change, many thoughts to rearrange
Together we can change the world, let’s rewrite the page
There are many forms of strong, yet we all must soldier on
Together as one, together as one
For each and every fight, is a chance to so unite
Every lesson in the wrong, it can be rendered right
There is opportunity, be the change you want to see
Let’s set ourselves free, let’s set ourselves free
In time, beyond the impossible
Breaking through every obstacle
By faith from the intangible
Objects, they are exchangeable
Yet lives are irreplaceable
Real change is attainable

Verse 3
Let actions be effectual, real change be perpetual
Creative with the intellectual, let guidance be instructional
Be rational, co-operational, shared ideas are practical
Measuring the mathematical, alignment formational
Aiming high reach for the sky
Given standards you can defy
With courage here the aim is to try
Moving forward, mystify
Far from the undesirable, feelings unreliable
Testing the improbable, reality is changeable
A bolder step to take, of directions moving strong
You can always go beyond the place that you came from
With realised clarity, we gain sense of the wrong
Let’s now create a place, where we can all belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Change may be uncomfortable, let fear be inexcusable
Steer from the reprehensible, payback is repayable
To so forgive, inexhaustible
Of oneness that is plausible, the broken rectifiable
Connected, relational
Associate and we can relate, don’t waste time, a pitiless state
Memories that we cannot retake, in position, get in place
Abundance that is plentiful, examples observational
Joyfulness obtainable, experience the seasonal
Of actions yet to take, we’re keeping the game strong
Keep moving in forward motion, wherever you came from
With avid harmony, we all will soldier on
We can now create a place, with a feeling to belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Bridge

With mind-sets evolved, there is true insight
Let’s create a place, to truly shine our light
There is wisdom to release, to regain our inner peace
Together as one, together as one
Compassion in the land, with a heart to understand
A true united force, let’s lend a helping hand
With due simplicity, re-establish harmony
Let’s set ourselves free, let’s set ourselves free
True change may be uncomfortable
Yet it is unmistakeable
New steps that are approachable
Of thoughts from the conventional
Mindful and relatable
Hopeful and aspirational

Verse 4
To go beyond, no greater time, reclaim your light it’s time to shine
In relaxed mode we will decline, natural gems can be refined
Branch of the vine, be aligned
Masterpieces of design, purposed for potential prime
Stand in line, for such a time
Become a part of the solution, let’s create a revolution
Educate the institution, truly merge into a fusion
Reduce the confrontational, join the inspirational
Movement motivational, achieve the aspirational
The journey will be great, endurance may be long
Keep moving in forward motion, can we all just get along
With solid harmony, a team can become strong
Let's now create a place, with the option to belong
Of problems to be solved, of all the games to win
If the foundation is laid, by then we can begin
A sense of harmony, let's take the vision on
Let’s now create a place, where the people can belong


Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Chorus
There is ever present change, many thoughts to rearrange
Together we can change the world, let’s rewrite the page
There are many forms of strong, yet we all must soldier on
Together as one, together as one
For each and every fight, is a chance to so unite
Every lesson in the wrong, it can be rendered right
There is opportunity, be the change you want to see
Let’s set ourselves free, let’s set ourselves free
In time, beyond the impossible
Breaking through every obstacle
By faith from the intangible
Objects, they are exchangeable
Yet lives are irreplaceable
Real change is attainable

Written by Geraldine Taylor ©️

Friday, August 01, 2014, Buttes-Chaumont Parc, Paris, France.



Why do I need feminism? We all have our reasons. We all have our stories. Let me tell you about my day:



I was sitting on a hill in the grass at Buttes-Chaumont park, a lovely historical area in Paris. I wanted to be relatively by myself so I could write in peace and smoke without drawing attention to myself. I’m sitting, book in my lap, a pen and cig between my fingers, when I am approached by a man. My main concern was determining whether or not he was the po-lice, but he had no characteristics of cops. He appeared emotionally stable and had good hygiene so I wasn’t too uncertain, (isn’t it kind of bad how we judge people on that stuff?), still, I wondered what he wanted, dreading having to talk to someone when I was merely trying to write in peace. I figured he was going to ask me for something to smoke.



He didn’t. Instead, he asked if he could sit by me. I look around and scan all the other vacant spaces he could sit instead, making it obvious that there was plenty of room to sit instead of right the **** next to me. It’s a pretty big park. “Si ca ta derange pas?” I wasn’t planning on staying long anyway, but I knew he wouldn’t be dangerous as there were many families and couples and runners and walkers, old friends and young kids playing. I felt safe enough, and he seemed harmless. I figured if anything, I could practice my French, which was always nice.



I said okay. He sat, and for a moment we sat in silence. I made myself a sandwich with baguette and cheese and offered him some. He politely declined. We started talking.



I asked if he was Parisian, and he told me he lived there for a while but was from Afrique. I didn’t catch which country, but I don’t think he specified which region. He asked about me, and I told him I was American, born in DC, but I came to France every so often and it was my first language. We talked about travel. We talked about the chaos in the Middle East, and how it was prophesized in scripture. He told me he was Muslim. I told him I wasn’t religious.



I told him I acknowledged the importance of texts, but I believe our ability to think has evolved in 2000 years and we have more information now than we did then. I told him there was too much life and I could not fit it all into one magic being which sprinkled glitter and said “Let there be” and we were created. I told him I really liked the Asian philosophies of Buddhism and Daoism. We talked about peace. We talked about Human Rights and the beauty of diversity, and how marvelous it was people could live among another in peace.



I said it was cool, and I even said it was cool that even as a black man in Europe and an Arab-American woman, we could talk freely without hostility and social division. We talked about closed-mindedness and Conservativism. I explained cognitive dissonance contributing to conflict, generated by opposing views and resistance/reluctance to consider new ideas. We talked about Psychology. I told him I was a writer and I told him about Cabaret Populaire in Belleville and the poetry community in Paris. I told him I love Paris. We talked again about travel.



He told me he was in Germany last weekend, and I told him I was in Langen Tuesday night. He told me he always wanted to go to the U.S.A. We talked about immigration. We talked about the American Dream. We talked about money. I told him I was proposed to the last time I was in Lebanon. We talked about reasons people marry. I reminded him today was the first of August, which meant I’d been with my boyfriend for two months. We talked about love. We talked about monogamy, polyamory and infidelity. We talked about Islam. We talked about racism.



We were sitting there talking for an hour or so, which I was especially grateful for, because besides having an interesting conversation I was able to speak in French for all of it, as he did not speak English (apparently he spoke German, though). I stood up to leave and told him “Enchanté,” but before I started walking off he motioned for me to look at his phone. I was wondering if he was trying to add me on Facebook or follow me on Instagram or something, but I am instead confronted by a picture on his screen of him laying on his back on a bed, with an ***** ***** as the focal point.



Furious, I asked him “Pourquoi tu ma montre ca?! J’ai pas demande a voir ca!”



The stupid smile on his face disappeared and was replaced by a look of slight hurt, confusion, and surprise.

“Bordelle! C’est dommage—mais c’est ca—des hommes et femmes ne peuvent pas parler normalment, vraiment!”



And for the vile words I wanted to spout, I scoffed instead, too much of a lady to shout or get emotional, but I made sure to call him out and stand my ground, exuding negative energy and making it clear with my few words that that was not okay.



I gave no impression of interest in seeing his ****, so why did he do that? Even if he thought I might want to (hell never) he should have heard me ask or vocally say “yes, you can do that.” However, I did not ask; there were no prompts, hints, innuendos or even suggestive, flirty phrasing that would serve as an indication of ****** interest on my behalf.



I don’t want to be cynical and assume all guys are perverts and avoid any conversation because I’m not a rude person (generally). I’m not sexist. I value conversations and friendships with people without emphasis of gender importance. I try not to assume that everyone is sketchy or has ****** up motives. Some people just want to talk.



I wasn’t going to blatantly ignore or dismiss him because he was a man, nor because he was black, foreign, or Muslim. But where the hell is he from that he was socialized and thought that was appropriate or wanted?

I did not ask. The worst part is that he seemed like a genuinely alright person, but then he had to ruin it by whipping out a **** pic. Gross. What’s even more gross is the sense of entitlement he had, thinking it was acceptable to do that. You are a stranger. And I don’t want to see your ******, you disgusting *******.



I really don’t like assuming **** about people or making generalizations. I’m not going to assimilate one ****** with every group they are assigned to and stereotype against every person of that respective group. But fuckkkk. It’s annoying and disappointing that what I thought was a pleasant talk and exchange of ideas with a friendly stranger was actually a plot to show me his ****. ****.



The moral of this story is to say why feminism is needed, because this happens to people every day. If you still need further assistance understanding, please allow me to elaborate:



1)      I need feminism because it allows me to stand up for myself and feel confident about stating that I’m uncomfortable with unwanted behaviors and I’m not going to tolerate them.



These behaviors include, but are not limited to:



1)      Showing me **** pics

2)      Assuming it’s okay to show a girl you met not even an hour ago a **** pic (Do not even say it’s because of a culture difference, because I know of Frenchies who don’t do that)

3)      Approaching me because I’m sitting alone (I accepted that because I assumed he wasn’t going to violate my mind like that (good thing I don’t have photographic memory) but I didn’t wave over and say “Hey, you look friendly! Come over and talk to me!”)

4)      Asking me how serious things are with my boyfriend

5)      Asking me about my bisexuality—only to invalidate it

6)      Assigning me behavior expectations because of my gender

7)      Trying to control the way I do or do not reproduce

8)      Expecting me to behave a certain way because of my sexuality

9)      Judging me based on my sexuality

10)  Openly discriminating against people and expecting me to be okay with prejudice

11)  Using racist terms… because you’re a racist

12)  Dehumanizing the oppressed





Because I don’t know what you studied about it (wait—most people who disagree with feminism haven’t and are completely misinformed) but:



Feminism is about equality, and it doesn’t feel very equal when I show someone respect but I get no respect in return. And if you associate feminism with fauxminism and misandry, please educate yourself. (If I had Tumblr still, you better believe I would’ve already posted this). To quote the great words of Jay in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back: "Remember, don’t whip your **** out unless she asks."

i started smoking cigarettes
with my ex fiancé (olé!),
after i started smoking ****,
aged 21,
i was so anti smoke
that i remember my tobacco stink
clothes being aired
after a night out at the disco (ha ha,
oldie, discotheque quack -
albeit disco tech', not disco phi reek
of sweat and elongating cheese limp
limbs doing the dance of pharaonic
irony to banana ram boom bomb la la lamb),
so i moved to the quickie of all addictions,
as one jazz fem soul said:
a cigarette is the most satisfying dissatisfaction,
in a span of five minutes...
so i see the young poets mention coffee...
where's the cigarette though?
oh right, you left it at the gym, on the treadmill
along with don quixote? i bet.
so i started smoking aged 21...
vocally i went from angelic soprano
among the mule smog thickening over cities
to a personal base baritone of a personalised
exhaust engine...
but when i reached the reach of the rhapsodic
thespian choking on his own ***** of
un-originality i started sounding like darth vader
playing the didgeridoo -
i know the smokers' cough tuberculosis,
but lack of nicotine does that,
and active ingredient missing, head spinning
carousel of carbon monoxide...
as they say... take in the carbohydrates...
off the top of my head nietzsche said:
god is dead... yep... true that, esp. now...
and the replacement? diet...
centimetres of calorie intake:
drain the fat from yoghurt and fix it up
with sugar tax...
you do that while i relearn brushing
my teeth, once a day,
with a pea sized dollop of fluoride paste,
~20 seconds of brush and rinsing,
my teeth don't look like worthy of
twice a year visit to the dentist to get the nicotine
stains off my mandible bones - clean as norwegian
rain... shame the beetles didn't write a song
about norwegian rain of acid, export from
old coal england on the industrial complex
pacified without a warring-industrial complex just yet,
awaiting u.s.a.
otherwise it's a compositional irony,
i like walt whitman, i do, i like ****-****** literature,
but then walter becomes pompous bombastic
when writing about a *******: the damnation
of all homosexuals: i.e. writing about prostitutes -
spare the details of your identity... tell me
the parts where you squeezed the orange out
into goose pimpled juice.

Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit

back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack,
blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication,
dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin

of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s
skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist
some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics,

******, exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a
handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap,

gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles
and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we
were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.

Bone of the future lord enters his word and the way he handles his strangers is very tough, very real. You asked yourself the question of what it meant to be an "artist" and the shackles bore through your skin for' the night was young in both of our eyes, the streets never clearer we are alone now and yet you say not a thing from the way you move and the whispering phantoms of the clicking tombs with crumbling moss covered keldoscope membrane lobe counterparts BUT YOU KNOW NOT A THING OF THE WORLD screamed the fifty nine year old writer who's mother wrote better letters, held more wit for the coughing fit allowed death to TAKE HIS PICK lo' the experimentation of the HUMAN MIND, release oneself to technology for the dystopia is VERY REAL and we will of course TRY TO STEAL the thunder from the God's but they will clap and churn and spit ancient guts and fire brimming stone from world's unknown and mother and her eternal nature will smile because she enjoys it when it is nice and quiet and the foreign tides were never foreign to HER low and ye' fathers call thee to the streets, the crumbling yellow painted majesties of the artistic and culturally autistic evolution where form and forever are forced to live within the confines of the MATERIAL WORLD, the rambling retards of the revolution of lore is upon the meek streets filled with actors and technicians of their own human mind unable to dine at ARBY'S or DENNY'S for fear of catching the black plague of common middle class mediocrity. Tie the black tie tighter so the head of the "gifted" allows no more air within the mind so to cut him off completely. Last night was the night I fell in love and in the morning I awoke another man. Complete is not the word I would describe myself, I would say to a dear friend I am met. Naked was the night, dressed in an infinite white of dotted stars that I share with every common man that knows no age because He knows there is no such thing. We pass by the windows of the jewlery shop. She needs none of those silly materialistic things - he breathes vocally - at last the war of the ego is dead - but maybe I'll just take one. A shot is fired. A man takes her in his arms as the women does so with him; an afterthought of admiration for the glossary of grammar which, when blown upon, fumes up with grey and brown dust causing the one's who stand around it to cover their eyes indefinitely.

He said we'd be happy, in love- together forever.

His Forever was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

His Forever was me waiting for a love that wasn't truly there, a loyalty that only I gave,
empty words- promised after your battery and being choked out.

His Forever was me with many lonely nights and calls of concerned &my; ears listening to you laughing,
saying "i love you woman" yet its not me you've said this to, that was,
10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago.

He said we'd communicate & work things out, be faithful, loyal and always devoted forever.
His Forever was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

His Forever was me being an attentive house wife,mother to his children lover and intimate companion,friend, plus budget keeper and everything else he'd might of needed,
That was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

His communication was speaking about me in a disrespectful way just to get sympathy from whom ever would sway his way
His communication was lying to me, lying to our children and everyone it'd seem- about everything,
from his wear about the newborn child and the money we, me & his children went with out,
we struggled when we never had to just so he could court a woman who apparently already has a man.

Sharing things with her and doting on her son, given her what should of been the promises he failed to keep with me.
His Forever was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

His Forever was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,
Where he said he'd do anything in his power to make things better,
but that was 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

For Better become For Worse after only 3 to 4 years of marriage.

Until Death Do Us Part, was the death of what could of been something magical.

His Through Sickness& In Health was carried out by his DWI, and me continuously~ standing,supporting him & sticking by.

Yet when I needed him and stuck in the hospital there was no through sickness or in health.

His Forsaking all other, well that was the year before 10 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago,

Within the first year everything seemed perfect the illusion's of what we or I've striven to achieve...
If you're confused that was, 11 years, 8 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, and 18 sec ago.

I remember holding hands and laughing for sometimes no reason at all,
Walks in the park sometimes down the street just to enjoy each others company.
Laying in bed gazing into each others eyes,hands entwined.

Love letters handwritten of all the lustrous and love felt feelings expressed where words vocally couldn't express,
A wedding day that made him cry and i watched 1 single tear fall from his eye as he said I do.
He didn't and never been that type of man since.

Fist on my face, slapped down choked and ****** assault, lies and stealing what little i had,
jail became his best friend, where he learned to hone his abilities to deceive.

But truth is,
I blamed me for a lot of it until I realized I gave all I can and did my best.
It wasn't me it was him and i had to leave, taking the children with me.

I can say all in all I've learned a painful lessons...

I'm only sad it took me,
10 years,
8 months,
2 weeks,
4 days,
12 hours,
32 minutes,
and
18 sec!*

Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright ©
Ayeshah
K.C.L.N 1977 - Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved ®

Poetry, the reason we are all here.
Writing words that we hope someone reads and hears
Hears in the sounds of the words, them coming alive
Vocally there is a potency to written words
Say them out loud, hear them, feel them form in your mouth
Soulfully continue this aged tradition of story telling
Poetry, is known globally, it transcends diplomacy,
it reaches souls, hearts and minds.
Like a minority,poetry is seen as weak and bleak,
but then life is not a bed of roses, there are thorns.
Reproachfully it is scorned, 'poet? Try writing a novel'
Wrongfully seen as the poor man to a novelist, poetry
at its best conveys, more in a few verses than a thousand
pages of a novel. Lonesome is the poet, that sees truth.
There is merit in poetry, the continuation of odes told by
the fireside, Viking, Persian, Celt, all historic bardic civilisations.
Purity in poetry leads down a path least travelled these days
but tales of yore still prevail, and Beowulf still roars.
Canterbury tales still elicit smiles, cries and woe.
Shakespeare, Dante, Poe, Neruda, Thomas, Petrarch all Poets with soul.
So, you tell me, and all of us poets are we the novelists poor relation?
Or, just reclaiming our station in life as the purest storytellers?

I sit on the edge of my seat,
as I hear the soft whispers of lost souls
and the confident moans of relief,
as sturdy men and women pass on their longevity,
blessing their kin to enjoy their final piece of peace.

I **** in the sorrow,
the sadness that pierces the air
like a cold blade into the stomach of summertime,
and my soul weeps almost vocally,
depressed with the weight of ancestral burdens.

a note before i end the pending poem.

i know i'm not writing anything "in the groove"
or whatever urban tonguing i should use to invent
the new form of glue: to stick with the trends.
                    when people read candyfloss
literature i read lead literature,
  that's how it goes, i find too many poets
angry shouting down other people's throats,
i find them in positions where they think
they empower people: but rarely do.
   i write for the sole purpose of a demographic,
a democracy of sorts, i never want to hear
my voice regurgitated back at me,
i find it prickly, apart from the half-digested content
i am actually opposing being fed it...
  i can't explain why i don't entertain,
write one poem every two years either, apart from
the fact that: well, writing a poem and then
performing it? performance doesn't really do much
for what's an ongoing voyage, performance to
the art is like a Moby **** moment:
   you get to tell the adventure of a shipwreck,
rather than the proof that the earth is not flat.
the additional benefit, you get to see how your
thinking interacts with symbols, and how these symbols
will never betray the tongue that doesn't speak them...
   you get to do x-ray upon x-ray and find that
stuff like this: is actually equivalent to a bone in your
tongue. as with the moment: when artists are quoted
as having said: words are meaningless...
     i guess there comes a time when, with that said:
punching someone dead means more.
   oh this pithy sentiments that only empower politicians
and the media... i might have said
    a baby's gluttonous gaga drool and you'd be like:
yay! happy days upon us!
                      when poetry isn't performed it continues
into the nether region of thoughts: it's not jeopardy
of suddenly fizzling out into a state of a stale champagne
bottle... the residual power is confiscates from speaking
it retains a close proximity of actually writing it,
on the basis that it becomes prolonged, and more concentrated,
it cannot be allowed to diffuse into the open,
into a crowd, for a democratic hurrah on we go.
  i wanted to simply see poetry as an optical exploration,
rather than a vocal necessity of the art,
      philosophy was clogged up in too many truths
and untruths, and basically too many paragraphs,
   i wanted to make frank the medium that abhors paragraphs,
and by the looks of it: punctuation marks.
well, it's all about pedantry to be honest,
               but then i never desired the urban lingua
of keeping with the zeitgeist... i see how keeping up
with the times is enshrined with materialism and how
fickle it all eventually becomes... you can never reach
a status of cool reaching for the obscure,
but that's what all attempts at fame end up being:
a quiz show, trivia, obscure knowledge, 0 points
means the best points available, and after that, the realisation
that all is empty, and that attempts at fame
become questions in a quiz show where the aim of
the game is to: name the most obscure answer possible...
oddly enough the same show invites celebrities to
take part in the quiz for charity... *pointless celebrities,
first word, yep, that's the name of the show.
oh no, i don't shun television, i do admit that watching
a brick wall is more entertaining drunk than television,
but the sober me has to do something from time to time.
so poetry: a medium that's opposite of vocally necessary,
a medium to explore the bone inside the tongue
that writing invokes: ****** stalemate...
      would i care to say why every word has a meaning?
unless you can speak hundsprechen i'd say only this,
that sort of reasoning is dangerous...
            we wouldn't get anything done is units of language
was meaningless... (hold on, i'm going to create
a crescendo for this point)...
you can say language is meaningless when you're
singing... vocalising language from these depths of
what would otherwise be known as the graveyard of surds
on the pure basis of optics and all cognitive parameters...
      sure, from these depths into an angelic gospel choir
you can get a meaninglessness: because it's so ******
    pleasurable... you can't deny a good song, you
can't compare the use of language in singing to the use
of language in lecturing some obscure topic by simply
talking... for thus words are sounds, and not the dreaded
pluralism of conventional talking: i.e. meanings.
              unlike the Chinese who have a certain capacity
to remember about 3000 ideograms, we have a much
bigger capacity, but our words are shrapnel and what we
don't have that the Chinese do have is:
                 a capacity for the multiplicity of meaning.
i can't imagine any ambiguity with Chinese ideograms
in the range of 3000 symbols... but there is clearly ambiguity
in our system...
                      obviously we can say words are meaningless
at times when rules of using language are lax given
the lies of politicians and the media roulette:
the fact that media is not state owned is even worse,
shadow brokers and a tarantula venom disorientating people.
   singing is an escape route from the socio-political
conventions of using language, hence the ambiguity trail
of what's deservedly called: socially-acceptable mode
of conduct, something that doesn't receive the ****** frown
of what would probably look like a lemon smiling.
  yet, if language doesn't give you a chance to see a labyrinth
then you have the shallows of singing... mm, yeah, mm, boo...
         ye-ha! ******* cowboys the whole lot of them...
but it's what it's supposed to be, something to be sung
for someone else to hear... it's not something written
down for someone else to see... and subsequently maybe
think about... oh how dreaded that statement seems in
English, a bit like denken scheiße / shy-se!
          people only make statements about the meaningless
of language when they sing... but that's the point:
you're making sounds, akin to the rhythm of my heart,
hence i don't think and subsequently go into a moshpit
or nod my head with some pigeon-like "cool" approval...
language is a bit like Shrek talking about onions...
it has layers, "spooky" other dimensions, oooh oooh...
Casper asked for a weener so he could invert necrophilia
and ghost-**** that ***... it has layers...
         somewhere between the Antarctica and the Arctic,
perhaps in the tropic of Capricorn, but who knows?
but i'll tell you one thing... it's not a white guy thing...
i finally understand why i don't like rap...
a bit like saying: a crowd shouting at a football match
is not an onomatopoeia of whatever is **** sapiens worthy...
   i think that classification actually predates
the expression of it... it's out there, but on the fringes...
         it's like this standard of protestantism with the concept
of predestination: we might just get there by Sunday
in the year 2099, but who knows?
        now i do understand why i don't like rap...
never liked it... couldn't stomach it...
   then i come across a beauty... so all those things i said
before, it culminates into this...
    Akua Naru, ring a bell? probably not,
3mil is nothing in today's celebrity cut-throat backstabbing...
     http://tinyurl.com/lt8ayhg... now that's entertainment...
that's what i love, how every instrument is
actually heard... the bass kicks in to set the tone
with the tickly percussion accents...
                       she's baking a cake...
she's layering...
  it's unlike that ****-culture music of pounding pounding
overly rhythmic and for every band these days
   it's one guitar = 20 violins of an orchestra's worth...
                  this is the new-jazz, or what John Coltrane
insinuated with the words: a love supreme, a love supreme.
            i don't know if it's poetry...
                                   a weak message on a stage might
always require a backing band, like a weak voice
might require a backing band... but this little critique doesn't
necessarily mean i can appreciate it,
   and is the reason why i don't understand rap, and never will.

Which position this time, who knows.
Who knows.....
Do you know?
Babe...You push me onto the
bed and move in behind me.
Pushing your pulsating "Shapes"
against my behind.

Teasing me....

Tempting me....

Making me....ting-alleeee...

Now...
You push harder against me....
To make me know how much you
want me.
You wrap one arm around
under my neck...
shoving your fingers into my mouth.
With your other hand you grab
firmly on my ***.

Your breathing is heavier now...
My darling...
There is trembling when your moving..
I can always feel it when your
nearly there..
Which you and i both love to
hear so we share.
With each other vocally of course....

This is just number 2 of my fave positions of *******.

I wonder if I can write a poem with two voices?
Don’t know mate, maybe you can.
Who the hell are you?
I’m your second voice, you muppet.
Ah. But will they be able to tell?
Well, skim readers might miss it.
Oh.
But if they read “vocally” like you do,
It should be okay.
What, even when I go
Onto a new line?
Reckon so, just about. In any case,
Some websites will format it differently,
But we’ll get away with it.

Is it still poetry though?
Could be, mate.
Really?
Well, it depends on the wording I guess.
So we need some flowery language?
Yes, like the dogs of war are gathering,
As two adversaries square up,
For gladiatorial combat.

MMM. Well, I’d prefer to write things like:
The sun is streaming over snow-capped mountains,
To greet the summer
As we awaken from our wintry slumbers.
That’s okay too mate: it’s all poetry.

But should I really be seen,
Talking to myself?
They know you’re mad already, friend,
No worries there.
That’s okay then:
Let’s get this thing posted.
Yes, go ahead.

Paul Butters

the mangled silver
  (her humeral jousts bangled a glimmering
charming wreck)
dancing lively wrists
jouncing purposelessly
   in the havoced quarters
(the shopping mall fooded court
                                                         )
she pasted me vocally inquiries
           i'd not answer
                                        dreaming sweetly           of her most
and
             naked
    whispering

Leong's watching TikTok on her laptop (as always) and she asks Lisa (a NYC girl) “Are you familiar with the the “downtown girl” aesthetic?”
Lisa’s dismissive, “Yeah, it just looks like Urban Outfitters grunge to me.”
Leong explains, “It includes headphones and it’s supposed to be a Lower Manhattan style.”
“Yeah,” Lisa snorts, “Because Greenwich Village and the Lower East Side are SO cohesive.”

Lisa considers herself an Uptown girl (like the song) even though 59th Street, where she lives, is the border between Uptown and Midtown Manhattan. I’m learning that these distinctions are culturally key to New Yorkers.

“And,” Lisa adds, “why would someone wear, and lug around, giant, clunky headphones when you can use AirPods??”
“Amen sister.” I proclaim and even Leong nods in agreement.

“Later, Sunny, Leong and I are on a study break, eating salads and talking about who we hope Yale invites to the next “Spring Fling” concert. We aren’t being realistic; we’re covering who we wish would come. I’d named Charlie Puth, “Kat-Tun!” Leong squealed (A Japanese boy band - apparently Chinese girls LOVE their boybands) and Sunny countered with Ed Sheeran.

“I don’t like Ed Sheeran,” I mumbled, making a yuck-face.
“Why no Ed?” Sunny gasps with shock (She’s a big Ed fangirl).
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “he’s a star by all measurable metrics,” I admit, “but,” I fade out.
“You want my theory on Ed hate?” Sunny offered, “He’s beyond talented vocally - whoever your favorite artist is, Ed’s probably not that far behind. He’s a stellar song writer and he’s making hit after hit; do you want my theory?”
“Too basic, too popular?” I guess.
“No, he’s not appealing to the gaze,” Sunny states.
“The gays?” Leong questions, stepping back into the conversation.
“No,” Sunny corrects, “the gaze - G-A-Z-E, he doesn’t try to look pretty all the time.”
“Ha!” I snort, “Gaze, I thought you meant gays too,” as Leong and I chuckle together.
“No,” Sunny laughs, “nothing like THAT. Ed’s just not trying to be a heartthrob, he knows that’s not his core strong point - and that’s why he’s discounted.”
“Like lesbians don’t comb their hair or wear makeup and wear pajamas to class” Leong observes, “they don’t want to attract the male gaze?”
“No, we’re not imbued by the male gaze.” Sunny states, “Ed just wants to lowkey.”

I've never been one to read too heavily into signs,
But Good God you have been everywhere these last few weeks,
Except where you should be,
Which is out of mind.

To begin I see your face every time I happen to see my best friends Facebook page
(He's the man you're now dating).
There you are, staring and smiling right back at me,
Happy as I could ever have hoped you could be.

Then of course he commented on some post you made so it gets put in my newsfeed.
It's just so strange all the places in which you are appearing.

Before that I had a dream where you had the same habit of appearing
In all those places that you least should be,
And despite my best efforts to evade you,
My luck - which normally runs exceedingly to the good -
Found the propensity for tremendously letting me down,
Rounding every last corner to find you already there.
Regardless how long we've been broken up, you've decided to comeback and haunt my sleep.

Next was an injection of even more instability into the already unsteady,
As my now ex-girlfriend talked to my best friend - yes, again, the man you're now dating -
And upon hearing how well things are going between you two
Realized just how unstable, just how rocky, things were between her and me
(And just so you remember, you two used to be friends before everything,
Back before you and I had started dating).
So now she decides to approach this subject, something to me seemingly out of left field...
A tear-filled, weepy approach, and she had trouble trying to vocally broach the subject,
That is, all up until once I figured out it was you, it made perfect sense on the heels
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                       Of that dream.

To cap off all the unreality of your presence in a life
That is otherwise utterly free of you - or at least that's how it should be -
Came only a short while ago... once again, completely out of the blue.
I was searching on Facebook for my buddy Johnny, though I think he's now going by John,
So I figured
                     John would do.
When the results came up, what the hell, holy crap, this is too bizarre to be truth,
Johnson came up as the first result I might be looking for - yup, that's you -
Someone I'm not even friends with on this social media nightmare,
Strange that it wasn't one of half dozen or so friends named Johnny or John.
No, it was you.

It might be finally time to take this to a psychiatrist, because,
As stated before, this ****'s getting too bizarre to be true.
Leave me in peace and leave my mind alone.
You've gotten your final revenge as the girl who replaced you and I have finally broken.
Things between us are over and I'm single,
While you are happily off at school in a budding relationship.
What must I do to rid myself of you, to be free of you
As you are obviously free of me?

You're most likely asleep and dreaming peacefully at this moment
While I sit here awake under one dim lamp wondering and writing about you,
Wondering if I actually want sleep, hesitant that it might bring no respite,
Rather only more thoughts of you, whereas you are free of me.

First kiss at the psych ward, strap me to the gurney
Deliver me from evil, tempt me eternally
Lucifer’s hellhound is space bound like my mentality- Venus.
To be great like em-inem I bet he has a big (rocket ship)

Alliteration, pronunciation like Smash Pan-
Alley where we used to fight about it.
Drinking king cans by the river
A blimp of a memory drifting endlessly

Listen to your voice emanate synchronicities
Haunting me vocally as I condemn myself to his servitude, I’m holy
Saint of the church like Mother Theresa, pray with my rosary
For forgiveness.

Undress me slowly, ripe for the picking
A flower blooming seductively under duress of the past atrocities committed upon me
by trauma
I own that ****, I’m a sinner.

Repentance for misdirected animosity
Be who you are
And love endlessly.  

©rhetoricalcuriosity

Lost in the single thing that complicates more than I could know.
Confused as the silent zephyr blows my emotions to and fro,
but my steady gaze cannot be averted even by the beauty of the skies
because I've found something more beautiful in the depths of your eyes.
This hoping, longing, burning for something more than the mundane
has now been quenched to the point that I can't find reason to complain,
and the smiles that were once so hollow are now filled with bliss.
Never could I ever wish for something more than this peacefulness that persists.
With only a glance and a smile you have driven all the doubt from my brain,
and if I could forget everything else, then only this moment would remain.
Even though I can't vocally explain how I feel inside without it coming through
I know that it doesn't bother me when I"m standing here with you.
You've caused me to feel some things that I've been fighting for so long
and no matter how hard I fight them it seems that the feelings are just as strong.
So as I give in and fall collapsed at the mercy of the world and its harms,
I relax when I realize I'm being held up by the support of your arms.
As the dark night continues I find this simple notion to be true,
That as much as you are holding me up, you're relying on me too.
The idea that seems so simple stands like stone in the blowing wind
and that thought lingers on my mind until time forces the embrace to end.
So as I drift into the darkness of midnight's fast enveloping shroud
I know that to feel all of these feelings is more than should be allowed,
but the single greatest battle that I doubt I shall ever win
is to leave this place without wishing that I were in your arms again.

I told myself to write forever so that you will find every word that I've included in my poems about you in every place you'll go. For the past few months, the air around me lingered with nothing more but the memory and essence of you. It haunted me for so long & I don't think I could ever get rid of your essence completely. Every night I struggle with the hand of guilt that chokes me and the only way for relief is for me to admit vocally that everything that happened between us was all my fault. There were countless nights that the image of you runs tirelessly in my brain, keeping it awake. And just like the poison that you are, you release the dangerous chemical that makes me believe that I'm not tired yet. I struggled to get you off of my system, I struggled so hard that I found myself at the edge of the rooftop. The things that I wish I had said echos in these four walls, bouncing back and forth but unlike the normal echo, the volume increases the more it hits my ears. For days, I did nothing but destroy my body because I thought I wasn't beautiful enough for you. It's always my fault, isn't it? I guessed I charged up too much negativity in me that it radiated out of my skin.

I've grown a friendship with the moon and the stars from the countless nights I spent hating myself. I hope the night lingers in your daylight and I hope the sun never bother to shine your way. I hope love and romance hurts so bad that you'll spend the rest of your night drowning in the thought that you'll always feel cold for the rest of life. And if someone did wrap their arms around you at night, I hope they'll be gone the next time the moon rise. I hope my words gets plastered at every wall you'll set yours eye upon and I hope each line chokes you until the only way out is to verbally admit that you were also wrong. I hope the clouds will never be in your favor and even if they did, I hope the sun while shine so bright that you'll finally see your wrongs. I hope love walks away and slams the door.

I write these stuff so you stop listening to only yourself. I write these stuff so you hurt and you learn. This is your torture.

Where the hell is humanity
All I see is insanity
Focusing on wars and vanity
Speaking up gets people mad at me
Nothing on this planet is flattering
People starving and freezing; teeth are chattering
Police taking blankets from the homeless
Even in the places where snow is
People are so violent and shameless
Is there even a way to tame this
Or do our efforts further inflame this
It's time to collectively claim this
Look at all the problems that we make
By blindly following the side we take


Politics and money are one in the same
Why must we think life is all about fame
We have so much more that we can do
Like question why the sky isn't blue
What are those lines that expand all day long  
Is questioning their safety so ******* wrong

Everything on this planet is basically toxic
And people wonder why we're all so sick
Plastic, chemicals, metals, and poisonous water
Feeding processed foods to your son and your daughter
When the aquifers are empty, what will you think
You're going to rely on toxic water and oil to drink?

I swear to God you need to look around
In the sky, at the world, and what's underground

Did you know that bees are life and so is clean food
If the elite continues to rule, we're all ******* *******
False flags, terrorism, furthering their plan
For a one world government, that rules all the land
We're already slaves, but it will get so much worse
If we continue to forget that we all come first
Nobody should get left behind or feel like they're stuck
Let's show each other love and actually give a ****

Selfishness and narcissism run rampant in our world
Walking around like we own the place, our lips slightly furled
Looking into each other's eyes but there's not much there
I see shallow complacency, that infamous fluoride stare

The world is going down, unless we turn it around
Look at Syria, Palestine, and all areas that surround
Fear, violence, and terrorism is life
No husband is safe, no child, no wife
They're eating the grass
And rotten food from the trash
Starving and freezing throughout the winter
They can't even leave their towns, they're stuck in the center
They've been targeted by rulers of this sick twisted place
The banksters are evil they don’t belong in our space  


How can they be so far removed from the rest of the planet
If anything benefits us they make sure to ban it
LSD, mushrooms, cannabis, and DMT Anything good for cancer: B17 and CBD
Essential oils are what's next on their list
I swear if they take my lavender I'll be so ******* ******


Alternative energy is more than suppressed
The need for clean energy should be more vocally addressed
But when it is, someone intervenes and hides great inventions
Laws and patents are created to stop our intentions
For a clean world and a safe place
The elite couldn't care less about the lives that they waste
They build on the dark side of the moon or possibly Mars
They're preparing themselves a new world, while they **** up ours

I only feel solace when I look into space....
Why must it be so hard to save the human race?

Now When It Comes...
To Poetry That I’ve Written...

It’s Written With A Rhythm...
That Deals In Exorcisms...
That Expose REALISM... !!!

NOT Just Within My Thinking...
But About Things In Our Vision...

A Talent That’s God Given... !!!

So Remember Folks...
My Verse Is Meant...
To Be Expressed...
In Ways That Flow...

So When You Read...
Read It... RHYTHMICALLY... !!!

Because Then You’ll See...
How... MELLIFLUOUSLY...
It Flows RHYTHMICALLY...

And Should Really Sound Neat...
Just Like A Sweet Symphony... !!!

of Spoken Words...
And Poetic Verse...
That... When It’s Heard...
Should Sound Like Birds...

That Sound Rhythmically Complete...
When They Choose To Tweet...
Harmonically And Beautifully... !!!

In The Morning Time...
When They See Sunshine...

It’s A Rhythmic Vibe...
With Which I Write...
Just Like Dark Knights...
Whose Rhythm Fights...
To... DENY Crimes...
Like Poetic Lines..
I Write About Life...
That CAN’T Be DENIED... !!!

Because They REFLECT.............

The Rhythms of STRESS...
Fed By Governments...
That Have Led To Protests...
... Time And Again... !!!

So Their Rhythm Defends...
Avoiding Pretence...
And The Ignorance...
That Now Has Spread...
To World Continents... !!!

By Those Known As FEDS’...
Whose Rhythm Now Tends...
To Plague Like Black Death...

Did You Catch What I Said... ?

Plague Like BLACK DEATH... !!!

Because That’s A Line...
With A Rhythm That Finds...
... Historical Ties...
To The Loss of Life... !!!

Because of Things That Left A Sting...
Like Muhammad In The Ring... !!!

Can You Hear The Ding Ding...
I’m Just... JOKING...

But It Is... NO JOKE... !!!

The Way That My Words Flow...
And... RHYTHMICALLY Show...
That The Way That I Write...
When Recited... RIGHT...
SYNERGISES With Bass Lines... !!!

Even When They’re Recorded...
At... DIFFERENT Times... !!!

Cos I’m A Spoken Word Guy...
Whose Mind Is The Kind...
With A Rhythm That Finds...

Varieties... That RHYTHMICALLY... !!!
Let My Poetry Breathe...
Through Spoken Word Speech...
That Flows EASILY...
So Is Cool To Read... !!!

It’s A Writing Technique...
That’s Used By Emcees...

Who Use Rhythms To Show...
How Their Use of Words Flow...
When It Comes To Live Shows...
Where Their Vocals EXPLODE...
With... Bass Lines In Tow... !!!

While Mine Are The Type...
To... STAND ALONE... !!!

Because My Vocal Tones...
Require... NO Notes...

To SHATTER Mind Zones...
With Rhythmic Quotes...
That Whether Written Or Read...
Are Rhythmically Bred...
To Garner Respect...
From The Type of Poets...

Who Are Now Impressed...
By My Writing Talents... !!!

And The Rhythm With Which...
I Connect My Lyrics...

That Many Now Deem...
To Be... EXQUISITE... !!!

Because They Sound CLEAN.....

When... VOCALLY...
My Spoken Word Speech...
Is Heard SONICALLY... !!!

Cos’ I’m A Rhythmic Breed...
... MOST DEFINITELY... !!!

So As I End...
This Piece of Lyricism...
Please DON'T FORGET...
That It’s Built For Spitting...
With Rhythmic PRECISION... !!!

And To Also Be... HEARD...
Because Words From Big Virge...

Are The Type of Compositions...
That Are Written With A UNIQUE...

... SIGNATURE...

....... “ Rhythm “.....

So unsure of the thoughts we think,
Yet, so confident in these masks we flaunt,
Day to day we play the part,
But not just quite! yells out our heart.
When the crowd disappears,
When its late at night,
So late that you envy the birds chirping,
The ever rising sun mocking you,
Is when you feel at most like you for that's all that's left.
It's when you feel at home,
Like your worn out feet can rest.
As an old time projector shows,
Your mind plays scene after scene,
But you know it's always just a showing for one.
Of wins, losses,
Love, lovers and well again, more losses.
Night is the decider and the one to always listen.
No advice or judgments made,
No words are needed because theres no need when silence tells you more than any sound could,
Because the night is when you meet the side of you,
The side that you keep locked away for all those around you to be sheltered from,
The side that you fear what really means,
But forever the side of you that understands it all,
But in all realization comes a restraint, thus is sleep,
In sleep the reality and truth is presented then promptly thrown away.
Dreams, with a hand on your shoulder then show us the door,
But only allow us the peep hole and through that even, we begin to make sense of why it all is, of who we all are.
But, dreams always vanish just as they are to open this door,
We're given the pleasure of looking in briefly,
But a gave never suited with enough time to take that first real step in.
We know a gilded idea of who we are, and even those around us.
We hunt for this partner who upon meeting, can't put together our puzzle but leaves them with a burning feeling to find out more,
They'll show no shame in looking to us for help for they too will feel that brand of unbridled trust and understanding that can only been told by the other's eyes.
The ones that ask for help in a way that we, in a childish way hope that they can because it's been a game running for so long that you just want a winner to move on to the next chapter with a whole new struggle,
But at least a struggle you can share, a struggle that teaches you the meaning of compassion and love. .
This reveals the help to solve the formula, the key, everything that shows that you actually are you,
And I, actually me.
A someone who will look you in the eyes and ask the same.
We as outsiders and those in search of anything want a challenge,
We want to finally believe in what we no longer know after years of becoming jaded, and hardened to the magnificence around us,
To believe in what we so painfully crave exists somewhere even when we've written all off and came close to settling.
We want something free of normal,
We want something free of what we think or are told we "want",
So there I look for you,
Here alone in this twilight hour,
I bleed into my consonants and vowels,
Hoping in some miracle out there you sit too,
Staring into the cool night, which is soon to be morning sky,
Not feeling sad, depressed, or off center,
But rather you're just staring into the quiet that is being alone,
Simply because it allows you to just be alone.
You'll be staring right into that alone and you'll stare at your hands,
In vision will become those the scars, imperfections, lovers and friends alike, stories and most of all mishaps of lost days that are almost beyond reprehension and alleviation,
The pain is not being able to fix a single part of any fully.
And you'll pick at those scars as I have done.
You'll pick until you feel yourself bleed into what it is that translates your soul in front of you,
You'll bleed all of whatever you can handle showing what's really inside,
Showing what you're actually made of where it matters.
You'll bleed just to know someone lives besides you,
And it's not just a painful feeling inside;
As that blood drains and the weight is lifted,
You notice another line,
Another stream that looks just as yours, just not quite the same
A stream of blood feeling just like yours, but oddly you get scared.
Not scared of this stream of feeling and pain for it's something you recognize and know so well,
But you're scared because you finally see you're not actually alone
It approaches where you let it all go and you can see it,
You, with eyes locked in watch the thick, the release,
Flowing from a source unknown to you,
A symbol of another place that to you feels like home;
Of the true pain and confusion towhere that blood came from,
Of the dark definition of the world that blood was made.
But as this all happens, and while deep inside of you,
From top to bottom; nothing makes more sense than to want to leave,
You can't help but to crave this new found blood's feels.
Just as it hits your stream, and words come alive to your wound,
Giving every scratch, cut, release, and openness a meaning,
It gives it all form.
A form and meaning that after sometime it's realized;
The blood and need for release you find exists and it's not just you.
This blood is red, warm, and once alive, just like yours.
This blood searches for more of itself to find function and purpose,
Just like yours.
Its's warm and reassuring like home after a long absence.
The two streams meet and slowly unite,
Yet never losing one another's form.
Never losing that piece that makes it unique,
That makes it special.
There they lye two different streams running dangerously close together,
Two different stories and collections of scars gone that had been picked open and let free.
They come to a slow stop meeting and almost battling for space after a long journey,
The streams clearly find comfort and hope in another,
Yet the fear of opening up and allowing for full crossing keeps them nearly one but still divided and mange to  stay at a precauciouos distance.
The two different types and shades of blood take affect.
While they never truly become one fluid stream,
They brush so close they are almost one,
Almost a perfect blend of synergy.
Though, many of the borders actually intertwine showing a unification of the two.
These borders finding common ground, similar feel and a greed purpose find the ability to unite together,
If not to make one but to take two and make it even stronger with the help of another.
It brings the two streams to be one yet after some time in a perfectly off tone brand of way,
They are two halves of a beautiful stream now as they grow together.
As you lye there and watch your stream become part of another,
You notice how beautiful it really is, how strong and full it looks,
You start to feel how beautiful two separate streams can be when given just through just enough similarity to naturally find each other,
Given by two perfectly dissociated powers who wanted something more,
Something real and sustainable but furthermore,
How this act of freedom and vocally silent streams,
Running at their own will and with nature's predestined track,
become something that neither stream was looking for but found fullness in finding.
How we'll find that these crossings can become something that balances our lost minds and spirits,
How it can be something that feels real and feels worth being a part of,
Not just for you,
But for someone else.

I sit letting my pen bleed my truth and the ink runs from the paper,
I smirk as it travels off into a world unknown on a path it chooses itself,
All I hope is out there you, whomever you may be, are sitting there,
Staring at your scars and growing tired of so much stream built behind your finger tips,
So much so that you pick the scars,
You study what's beneath them and then just like that,
The scars are open and you can witness your stream try and watch it also find its way home.
It flees from your release because the stream is no longer for you,
The stream is the part of you that you let go in hopes that another will find a way to deal with your stream as you with theirs.
For every stream there is a purpose,
Even if that purpose is simply to find and understand its truly not alone,

All I can hope, is that when the eye wanders from the vast sea we must battle and decipher,
That will turn to look and see a stream,
Running from both sides,
Connecting you,
And me.

These are my people
This is my family
We sit around write words on paper
Speak fluent emotion
We automatically know one another
Despite just meeting each other
Paper binds us mentally
Vocally our words flow together
Like two rivers meeting at a bend
We are strange in the eyes of outsiders
But genius to each other
Our words moving one another
Shifting our views
Our voices chasing actions
We are a group of wonderful individuals
We are poets
And these are my people
This is my family

Her mother used to always buy her notepads-- ya know diaries and journals, anything affiliated with paper. And a couple years later she switched from stories to poetry, soulfully but vocally humming the same tune mostly while she unpacked the groceries. And as she grew older she began to bring pencils with her everywhere. Occasionally jotting something down and re-reading it in her head and then looking out at the rain and then humming that song again. But soon enough she stopped, and her mom never though much of it so for Christmas she bought her a journal and asked, why don't you write anymore- and her eyebrows furrowed, her shoulders dropped, she put her hands together and let out a deep sigh. And she looked at her mother and said

"Whenever I'd start to write a piece, it was like a sudden release from all the ticks, all the constantly changing things when I'd listen to this symphony. And I know it sounds stupid but I'd try to feel the music and use it to help me write about whatever I was going through and it would work it was something about the decrescendos and how the instruments would blend that would make my hands shiver until I picked up a pen, see whenever this track would play I'd write my heart out but mom, when I saw him, it was like hearing a brand new song, every single time. When it rains, and you're dazed in the car driving on freeways. Do you ever notice how whenever you drive under a bridge, the rain stops, the car is silent and it's like for a moment everything is still? That's how he is or, more so how he was. He asked me out six times behind the bus, I said yes the first time but he kept going, he kept going and I kept hearing medleys every time he spoke, when he'd tell me he loved me i'd hear the guitar and when I'd say it back I'd hear the violin. there were nights when it would rain and we'd video chat in dark it was a little bizarre but I always loved the way he talked about my eyes, he said they were stars, like an Orion of some sort. And excuse me ma, but I can't rhyme anymore. See as time went by and we were on the phone when it rained he'd fall asleep and I could never sleep cause the thunder the the drums were so loud so instead, I'd listen to his soft breathing and every now and then he'd say something in his sleep with my name he'd be like Kae I duh duh duh, and Kae duh duh duh. I thought it was so sweet, I'd lay back and listen to his solos and even though I all I could see was the flashes of lightning, spiking and gleaming through my windows, I'd close my eyes, and the drums come in tune with his solos and is whisper to myself how he's this and he's that and he's that and this and that and I'd make so happy but there were times where the song was wrong, there were times when the he wouldn't sing his solos and the drums didn't bang on the right cue, sometimes his guitar wasn't tuned so when he strummed some of the stuff he said just did not add up but I didn't care Mom, I didn't care. Cause when the drums did not bang, I'd tap a metronome with my bow, when his guitar wasn't tuned I would pluck my violin for just enough time for him to get his **** together but as time went by, the strings on his guitar, began to wear out. His strings broke and I said baby I can get you new strings, I can play for us until you can get new strings but he said no, he did not want them. He did not want new strings, he started saying this was a mistake, but how could this be a mistake, when he was the only song that did not drive me to a pen. This could not possibly be a mistake, I know our song isn't perfect but it is still our song I cannot bear the though of finding someone else. Please do not make another duet because she will not tolerate it when your guitar isn't tuned, she will not tap in place of the drums she will not pluck her violin to keep the song going please do not go but he took his guitar and left with his broken strings. Mom I had a few rough days after that and I could sit here and tell you how God took away my sadness or how I woke up and got some kind of epiphany but the truth is I don't know, I don't know if he's out there kissing someone else or if his strings were ever or will ever be fixed all i know is the music stopped, and every morning I leave my violin in its case."

And when her mother saw that she was finished, mom didn't cry, mom didn't hug her. Her mother said, "How long has it been since Phillip broke up with you?"

"Mother, you asked why I don't write anymore. Well there's nothing left to write about."

*8/14/15 - 9/8/15

I smile, run, jump, happy, shudder, cry FLY FLY
Don't want to learn to do anything else
Have no reason to do anything else
If no one else does, that's there problem
But never again am I going back over those mountains
The mountains that keep those insane, flames from reaching these shores and trees and birds
Beautiful birds
Physically and vocally overflowing onto everything around them
And why would I want to be away from that
A place where that golden mother up in the sky is never hidden
I will never ignore you or hide from you behind my ceilings and grey
I will never try to ***** you out with smoke
You are all I need
Protecting me from trying to understand/undermine your glory
These shores are ours
And every morning when you wake up and illuminate as far as my eyes can I see
I will show you gratitude by diving deep into the blue

My DEFIANCE of Compliance...
Is A... Poetic Science... !!!

So REJECTS TYRANTS...
Who Seem To Be Reliant...
On Embracing VIOLENCE... !!!

Instead of Environments...
Where PEACE And SILENCE...
Deal In... KINDNESS... !!!

My Defiance Rides...
With The Type of Vibes...
Where Poetic Lines...
Work With Bass Lines...
Where Compliance DIES... !!!

My Defiance Is NICE... !!!
When It Comes To Writing Rhymes
Where The TRUTH Is Outlined... !!!
And Words For The WISE... !!!
Are Those I've Designed... !!!

That DEFY What’s TRITE...
But Instead Shed LIGHT...
On Humanity’s FIGHT...
Against Compliant Guys...
Who Wear Suits And Ties... !!!

That’s Right The Type...
Who DEFY What’s RIGHT... ?!?

Because Their DEFIANCE...
of Encouraging BRIGHTNESS...
Makes DARKNESS SHINE... !!!
Into The EYES And YES The Minds...
of Those Who TRY To Yes DEFY...

Compliant Wives...

When ABUSE Is What Rides...
In Husbands Inviting...
A World of Black Eyes... !!!

I... INVITE Them...
To Be... BETTER Men... !!
And To Show MORE RESPECT...
To Their Women... !!!

You See MY DEFIANCE Is ONLY Violent...
In Rhymes I Write That... EXORCISE...
Like Religious Guys Whose Collars Are White... !!!

But I ALSO DEFY... !!!
Religious PAEDOPHILES... !!!
And Do Wonder WHY......
They ABUSE YOUNG CHILD... !!!

So Sometimes SUICIDE...
Deals In DEFIANCE...
of Being COMPLIANT...
With A PAIN FILLED LIFE... !!!

So These Days I Find...
That Suicide Complies...
With How I Feel INSIDE... !!!

And Now Believe...
That It ISN’T As WEAK...
As Is Suggested In Speech...
By Those Who COMPLY...
With The Life That’s Now Seen...
In Our... Societies...

That’s Right GLOBALLY... !!!

Where It Seems That A VIRUS...
And The FEAR of DISEASE... !!!
Is Breeding COMPLIANCE...
That Now SADLY WREAKS...
of A LUST For MONEY... !!!
And Compliance That Breeds...
A... NEW SLAVERY... !!!

That Now DESTROYS Dreams...
of Humanity TRULY... Being Free... !!!

of... Political FIENDS...
Who Feed FALLACIES...
Through Presidencies... !!!

And YES Some Poetry...
That Now Leaves Me Feeling...
As If Some Are REELING...

From Reliance DEFIANT...
of... NONCOMPLIANCE... !?!

With The Type Of Teams...
Who Feed FALSE Beliefs... !!!

It's A SAD INDICTMENT...
of How MANY Now Be... !!!

While I'm A Verse LION...
Whose Words Breed Verse RIOTS...
Just Like That Group CYPRESS...

... Know What I Mean... !!!

Through Concertos Seen That Musically...
Are Those That TRIUMPH...
Because of The NICENESS...
of Their Melodies...
And Hip Hop Type Beats... !!!

That Allow TOP Emcees...
To Be VOCALLY FREE... !!!
And To Deal In FREE SPEECH... !!!

Like This Poetic Piece...
of... DEFIANT Verse...
From ME YES... BIG VIRGE... !!!

... A DEFIANT Breed...

Who REFUSES To Feed...
Like These VAMPIRIC Breeds... !!!
That Count Drac’ DOESN’T See... !!!

My DEFIANCE LEADS... !!!
So Does NOT Concede...
To Following Sheep... !!

Or Those Who Are Meek...
When It Comes To Police...
Or New CANCEL Armies...
On... Internet Feeds...
And YES In The Streets... !!!

My Defiance Believes...
That What We REALLY NEED...
Is To Now Work TOGETHER...
To...... REMOVE MP’s...... !!!

Congressman And The Chiefs...
Who Define PRETENDERS...
Who Form POLICIES...
That... Do NOT BETTER... !!!

But ENABLE Them...
To Utilise Systems And Judiciaries...
Pretty Much HOW THEY PLEASE... !?!

So... Now You All See...
My Defiance Runs DEEP...

So... Touches Psyches...
of Those Who Are RIGHTEOUS...

So... DO NOT FEAR REALITY...

OKAY So THAT Line...
Means That It’s About Time...
To END This Piece of Poetry...

Cos' It’s Time For RETIREMENT...
of The Type of Environments...
That DEMAND COMPLIANCE... !!!

So My Final Words of Poetic Verse...
That I HOPE You’ll OBSERVE...

Those of You Who Have Read...
This DEFIANT Poem... !!!
That Makes THIS REQUEST...

Folks PLEASE USE Your HEADS...
And... DEFY Systems...
That Are Those Being Lead..
By CORRUPT Governments...
That Cause Us PROBLEMS... !!!

That Give Them And Their ******...
... A WHOLE LOT MORE...
Than The Masses And HOARDS...
Who CLEARLY Get LESS...
Than Their DEVIOUS Friends... !!!
Who Want Your COMPLIANCE...

And Form An ALLIANCE...

That's STRONG And SHOWS …
These Leaders And TYRANTS...

UNITY And......

... “ DEFIANCE “...

i panic a lot.

for me, life has served nothing but anxieties in the form of a single phonecall, speaking up, ordering food, deadlines, crowded places, traveling, etc.. my heart hammers against my chest in hazardous rhythm of messy drumbeats over the simplest, everyday things. but nothing scares me more than the future.

i am terrified of thinking about what lies ahead of me. the inevitable stress, worries and insecurities that ties with growing up leaves me with nothing but quickened breaths, trembling fingers i hide under tables, and a mind that screams just breathe, just breathe--and it's not silly than it is disheartening that i can only imagine the worst, a flaw i've been working to get rid of.

i'm turning eighteen. and this ******* scares me.
i wish i was excited to grow up. i wish i can say i am ready. i wish i was one of those people who can throw all caution to the wind. but i'm not, i'm never ready, and i just can't. not just yet.

but i did enjoy being seventeen. it's without a doubt my favorite age. i got better. i've learned to love myself, fully and unconditionally. i've loved better, more openly, more vocally. i've seen the glass half-empty and i've seen it half-full. i fell in love with the life i have withered in the soil for.

and while it's true that my anxieties can very much crush me, my uncertainties can add unnecessary weight to my shoulders and the unknown simply scares me, but i'll find comfort to the fact that i'm breathing, i'm still living, i'm still alive. right now, that's all that matters.

i'm honestly glad i've reached this point.

so 18.
bring it on.

Rosa, some heroes doesn't know hen they will becomes one.

Malcolm, just by knowledge and wisdom you provoke others to think.

Martin, simply by concentration you contributed to changing a nation.

Charles Drew, some still within the medical profession to this very day owes you.

Dinah Washington, what a difference a day makes? When you left a trailblazing path behind.

The Ink Spots, long before others became vocally known.
You once ruled that throne.

Leona Horne, Dorthy Dandridge, Ruth Brown you left a massive history.

When you go ahead and plant your heart upon your goal.
God let's your greatness just flow.

Although I've seen, I still do not know.
I could recall but at that very same moment I would become vocally lost.
Connecting to a thought in a world where things are said but randomly heard.
Questioning the matter of things experienced one at a time whether than whole.
Here lies simplicity, fundamental in it's purest form.
Fruit slices that present a good mouth feel, the total embodiment of placing something where nothing once existed. Or was thought not to.
It still invokes thought,
Reason to where, why.
In a different perspective, am I the fruit and you the mouth.
Is there truly a difference in perspective, there isn't a false pretense to either way point. Generally speaking,
discovering a new way to see something seen as natural. Invoking a sense of feel,
This longing that draws us closer to togetherness.
A practice of longing to indulge in desire.
Consistent in nature, pleasant in thought
Constantly looking for things that cannot be found,
As it already exists.
This love that manifests into something seen, or heard.
This piece of fruit couldn't begin to fit in our mouth the way it is,
It's only sensible that it's cut into pieces to digest more easily.
Here lies greed, mistaken for need.
Seeking only because it's there.
Which is you, which am I.
An basic urge displaced in misconception.
Wanting only because it's there

Gifts, flowers and various cards.
Why bother sending them?
When I can vocally express my love.

Yes, why bother?
Why?
Because love should be expressed in various ways.

Sure, to some it barely important.
Sure, to some it's vital.
So I say it to you every hour of the hour.

Why bother worrying about others opinions?
When your focus is upon your love interest.
And it seem others just butting in your business.

Yes, why bother?
When they probably has no one to love.
And seem highly jealous of yours.

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Come and take me,
My misery's attacking me,
You don't have to save it,
Just destroy it so it's gone.
I look at myself and think,
I should just purposely ***** up more.
If it's easy for life to **** me up,
Then surely I get to go further.

Nothing's okay,
There's just always a facade,
To satisfy the rules,
Because the world will keep turning either way.
Of course I'm not going to sit and complain,
Vocally every second of the day.
When I'm socially active around others,
What they see is normal,
For me at least,
Even if in the background I hear screaming,
Of my thoughts never sorting themselves out,
So instead I welcome more:
Everything that eventually "left me",
Why don't you come back for some more?
If destruction's where life is taking me,
Then why shouldn't I join in,
Just another bad habit,
Won't bring the end that closer,
If anything it will make myself see,
How much I know this is getting,
Too tough for me to be.

I know how I'm acting,
Even if you do not,
I know I contradict myself,
I can't just tell you the truth,
I need to do what it is I want to prove,
Although that disproves what I assure you,
By about a thousand degrees,
From before I hear my own last screams,
As I once again ignore my very own beliefs.

Never going back,
They're so sure that's the truth,
Most of the time I have been too,
I know how to convince,
After I finally gained trust back.
The issues are almost irrelevant to me,
Because I've taken to just concentrating,
On exactly what I'm doing now,
Because I gave up the effort of relying on the aftermath.
I know the next time,
That this comes to light,
It will probably just be even worse,
Maybe it's half why I need my secrets,
To pretend they don't happen,
That they don't matter,
Because I'm back to believing that's true.

Don't save it,
Just take it.
I'm finished with trying to preserve it,
I've found there's no use,
While looking for something else without a clue,
Because everything's just impossible,
And I don't want to have to,
Get to where I cannot reach,
Maybe other people do see things in me,
Although I'm often self-positive,
In general terms,
I still don't see the point in being,
When I show up places,
It's not like I have a choice,
I've just always mostly been obedient,
If you dismiss the scratches I have made,
They won't forget the indentations,
Because they felt it too,
They felt me drop, crack, break and watched me,
Pick myself back up again,
So going back downstairs is silent,
Avoiding the inevitable from happening a second time:
Prolonging my pain,
Deafening this angry silence from them,
To lengthen out the disappointment,
They must one day receive.