"volunteers" poems
Volunteers, PSGs, Staffs
Executive Directors
And higher task allocators.
People pass by
Mic's were off
Facade was the banner of hope.
Voices all over the provinces
All with the same goal
Rightly urged with own reasons.
Two faces were present
Painted with grimace
Or with broaden smiles.
*The screening was stern and severe
Camera rolls on with Level 2
"Next," "Give me another song"
The voice sounds no roughs of plead
A voice pushing rivals
To their very own frontiers
I was startled
So this is how they do it
Selection, great screenings
There're expectators
There're hope hurtles
Dreams will sooner be pulled of.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
I want some strange man to brush up against me
Just deliberately enough
That my heart starts to race
And then he just
***** off
I want the neighbor's
Disgusting husband-
The one with the hacking cough
The one who kept stealing glances at my exposed, chocolaty midriff-
To give my ***** sloppy kisses
In the laundry room
In the middle of the night
I want you to remember
That I'm a person
And I'm lonely
And I'm ~starving~
And it's really okay,
Isn't it?
I want you to know
The whole story
But you couldn't love me
Through the half of it
So that's that.
I want you to run your nails down my back
And then gaslight me
By pretending it didn't happen
As I get on my knees
To clean up the puddle on the floor
I want to ***
With hot human flesh
In every
Single
One of my holes
I want you
So badly
That I
Can't
*******
Stand it
I want to yowl at the night sky
Until someone volunteers to
Shut me up
I want to feel
The lust
Pouring off of you
Drowning me
Before I choke on your ****
I want to stop
Feeling the need
To wear crop tops
In front of my neighbor's
Disgusting husband
I want someone to notice
When I'm not okay
And I want someone
To love me
Enough
To be there
Every night
Like a raft
In a storm
I want to get ****** so hard
That I forget everything
For just a *******
******* second
I want to be used
And reminded
That I'm just a toy
For your amusement
I want you to **** me in the pouring rain
After so many deserts
And so much heat
And so much time
I want
So badly
To be seen
And to be ******
And to be free
I want you to know
That this isn't really about you
I want so many things
I'd make a terrible Buddhist
May 5, 2025
May 5, 2025 at 6:43 AM UTC
Hospice is the rest stop between heaven and earth
They care for you for all your worth
They are with you in your final days
Taking care of you in so many ways.
Relieving many burdens, and helping family and friends
Consoling them till the end.
The care givers are with them thru their pains
And they don’t do it for fortune or fame.
Finding care at the end of life
For a husband, sister, brother, or wife
Or a family member who may be alone or in pain
When needing help there is no shame.
They are health professionals and volunteers
Who help the dying from their fears!
It takes a special kind of person to help others
In their hours of need, and on their help the dying do feed.
A little smile, a kind word, a gentle hand
Are things that they understand!
Let them leave this world with a mind full of memories
And a heart full of love, given from you as they travel above.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
I hate labels.
so you may ask me why do you compulsively put words and purposes and dates and times on everything you have.
I hate labels but I love organization.
The problem with labels is they rarely tell the whole story.
Labels are short, just a snapshot of the essence that the thing or person boils down to
but I don’t believe anything can really be that simple.
Labels can make everything easier.
You get the main point, the thing that stands out, FAST.
but that’s like starting a story at it’s ****** you get no previous information and that high point that holds so much meaning if you've read the entire story turns flat.
A flat character doesn’t grow or change or feel all that much but they usually have a label.
Labels turn real multidimensional, complicated, interesting people into flat characters.
He is not gay.
She is not a cutter.
and He is not transgender.
They are real people and you cannot possibly fit a person into a single worded description of the thing that stands out about them or makes them different.
That is not enough for me!
The gay guy likes ice cream and romantic comedies, he's afraid of commitment, that scar is from his own blade and he volunteers on Wednesdays.
The cutter is seventeen and she lives with her grandparents. Almost everybody shes loved has walked away.
She has hair the color of sand at the beach and she wants to work in security at the airport so she can finally have control over who leaves and who stays.
The transgender man never felt trapped in the wrong body, the world just told him that his body was wrong. He’s a freshman in college and nobody ever told him how hard it would be. He calls his mom every night because he knows she worries and he cares. He has skin the color of caramel and he desperately wants to get married.
I hope you now understand that a label is never never enough.
You could argue that I’m afraid of being defined and of defining others with just a word,
but if you ask me a fear of labels is a very legitimate, considerate, and justifiable fear to have.
Labels are simply not enough.
And that's why I hate labels.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
When I lost my marbles,
My dad would always say:
"Don't worry, you'll find them
When you just stop searching."
And it sounded stupid,
But every time I stopped,
Yeah, I found my marbles.
I grew up; my dad died,
Seasons changed, so did I,
But the rule stayed as true.
One day, I'd given up
On that romantic stuff,
And,
Resigned to die alone,
I walked into a big
Ol' Shakespeare conference,
To watch Othello die.
Well there, they were taking
"Volunteers" for Juliet,
"Lucky men" Romeos,
And I was one of them.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
dear me,
this is you.
me.
get up.
the ground is your reward
it will hold you when
you are done
hold you with all force
you
are not done
put a silencing finger
to the singing
of all fat ladies
this is not over
real in all finish lines
steal the sound of the
metal ringing hanging in the air and
put back in the bell
one more round we go.
get up.
there are sunsets that need
to be signed off on
snowfalls that need your approval.
starry nights like sad
lovers who's beauty
has gone unnoticed in the glare
of television sets
they are looking for
volunteers to notice them
raise your hand
step forward
you will not be chastised
for staring some beauty some beauty
wants to be seen
get up.
as if the simple act of
standing has brought you closer
to the cosmos as you
have ever previously been.
as if all the stars you've seen
busy looking back
taking notes and keeping track
of which wishes need granting
they heard you ask for
strength
show them you havent wasted it.
..
s.d.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
Pastels and pretty pictures,
I lean back in the couch,
The elephant in the room,
She'll never know about,
How the critics wail over the way the paint falls off her brush.
I would rather drop-dead,
Than ever talk about
That night back in 07'
Teeth flying out my mouth,
But I think you would've liked me better then anyhow,
I'm curious...
I'm curious...
...I'm curious....
..Cause
I
just
wanna
see
what
makes
you
tick
Each year he writes a note
and leaves it in his room,
Key lime pie, Saturdays at the zoo,
Reminiscing flashbacks of better fast food,
Dead the day,
He scurries home in the dead of night,
Dragging his will, whats left, shaking off the frostbite,
Volunteers to play drunken clown for another night,
I think of their eyes and everything that they've seen,
Nothing that I see could ever be unique,
So don't you lie and say you see it shining in me.
I'm curious...
I'm curious...
...I'm curious....
..Cause
I
just
wanna
see
what
makes
you
tick
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
***** feet
***** of them ache
they're dry
all dried out, moisture to face and digestive tract make little difference
but comfort a little sort of; maybe
subdue to replenishing
skip the pain with a drink fucken, fucken drink fucken
dust lingers in the brain, it swirls
a cloud of ground envelops the shape of u
u become covered
u have a layer,
salty,
and dry
and 'organic'
(surely bio (though im not sure what is or why are))
full city boy, suburban boy, not particularly gritty boy
along side hippies
and volunteers all tripppy
and unwashed, and un plastic
yet forcefully hemped
drunk of micro beer
and burnt brown and blotchy red
and wire-y
and dry
and matted
as if nothing really matters except for principles
misguided and randomly enforced
feel like a husk; peanut shell
insides swallowed by the mouth of the party embodied
a monsterous sweaty man tanned and thickly bearded
and beered
fat dreads fall around and surround u; a forest of hair
a circle encroaching of fuzzy pillars in fibres
entrapped inside them; feel their lingering time matted hold
a wealth of effort to become unkempt; they are bars
they are walls
and the FACE!
……………………… ………………………………… oh
looming down, wafts of armpit vapour cloud; a looming puft that surrounds
engorged by the scent as it circles u, the mouth that lowered onto u
chews u and spills bits of u
chomp chomp
protein for vegetarians; u; ur rigour ur vigour ur guts
eaten in a flurry of chomps and slurps and it crunches
and it grates
like the rocks on the ***** of ur feet it grates
u are digested
and reused
as they would like
but for them; for a collective u dived into
for fun
2 days to peddle ur wares
to progress ( admittedly through some days of regression…)
for all humans, and Humans; for fun
on monday we will repent
for the damages waged on the inside of the body
and the outsides too
for some gain
i guess on this which we settle
for always for display for fun
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
People of peace walk gently
People of strength never be stilled
Abundance awaits those with courage
RW Dennen-
Stay out of Iraq the spirits
pleaded...
Eyes wide opened, boots and shoes lined up in order
in almost perfect straight lines in Philadelphia July 2005
Symbolic death shoes of civilians out of synchronization
in a war of soldiers
Under a small tree meticulously placed
we're children's shoes in a perfect solid circle
I read o months of age on tags
I read 8 years old on tags
I read 12 years old on tags
And on and on the children's lists grew,
as wisdom must have waned
and common decency
was once cherished
These shoes and boots sadly became
the dimishment of human beings,
horizontal and vertical rectangular
snapshots of once smiling faces
all in the name of war, they vanished all too soon
And I saw running tears and tears being held back
and I felt lumpy throat feelings in unison
with the rest but in cemetery silence
Touching deep feelings so overwhelming
is to touch a false bent flower and flowers
and pictures of deceased soldiers and civilians
and letters once presented at doorways
throughout America
America cried its sadness and disbelief,
the vanished breathers of life giving air,
Our sons, our daughters,
Our mothers, our fathers,
Our sisters, our brothers,
Our relatives,
Our close friends,
All perished, like a vampire that ***** away the life blood of
the once innocent
I noticed mostly tourists coming in droves from Market Street
towards us volunteers who were located adjacent to the
visitor's center side entrance as silence like before still prevailed
And like before the atmosphere prevailed even stronger
as these boots and shoes became tombstones
And tender hearts became tombstones
broken into small pieces
Passions never changed into loud speech
And the green turf
rolled down towards the sidewalk
like a green carpet holding all those boots and shoes
like a quilt interwoven with boot and civilian
shoe memories about days that should never
happen again...
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
.
So you snuggle in to your bed
as you hear mid-winter calling.
The cold north wind is blowing
as the last of Autumns leaves are falling.
Did you ever stop to think
as you pull up your blankets tight?
That out in the doorways of the city
desperate figures shiver in the night.
Crowding around the soup van
blue hands grasping for the heat.
Hallowed eyes and frightened expressions
as the rain turns to stinging sleet.
The concrete pavements are hard and cold
the bridges provide scant protection.
The hot food and volunteers words
stir memories into recollection.
Once they were people of society
with homes and jobs and cars and love.
Now they fight behind the charity shops
for clothes and coats and hats and gloves.
So as you snuggle deep in your bed
and your fire starts to burn low.
Remember the people of the streets
as the sleet begins to turn to snow.
Pagan Paul (Dec 2008) ©2016
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC
Visitors pass from empty bed
to empty bed, like Royals,
silently soaking up the dread
atmosphere with remote respect.
Examining clipboard histories,
rehearsing their medical soaps.
Volunteers answer questions,
the front line troops in trying
to raise our war dead back to life.
Have a care John Willie was not
just a private, not a number,
nor a diagnosis. He was
a person and a brave soldier.
Old photos frame soldiers' pains,
they're wearing posterity masks,
hiding feelings and memories
that lurch back again and again.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC
Twenty or twenty-one. All volunteers. Barely women.
Straight from school in a thousand small towns.
Straight into the mud and blood and madness.
We dragged our dying to their open arms.
Twelve hours shifts; often more. Wreckage of violence.
Round eyes. Smiles that healed. Hearts that broke.
Girls treating boys. Telling the necessary lies.
You're OK. You're fine. You're going home.
Valor danced in their faces. Lips that spoke hope.
Old now or dead. But forever young and alive
in the memories of 150,000 wounded soldiers
they saved and sent back to the world.
~mce
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 8:56 AM UTC
1
Her thick dark eyebrows did cast a spell first,
they are stuck there like vampire bats,
they both symbolize a sinister plot, kept secret,
with a 'come hither' prompt, none can resist.
She attracted artists in hordes, crazy moths,
never did they look above her face,the serpents,
lay tangled and acted as if it's smooth coiffure.
Wicked lust,aroused by bitter past,
made her move with keen intent
an invisible net she carried behind her back.
She attacked at opportune moments, pretending
she is a lover, with insatiable lust in boil.
2
All crafted lies, simultaneously,she artfully solicited,
colored moths, in her slow fire, they burned, one by one,
but one remained stuck there for life, fearing rejection every moment.
A crop of heads she reaped , wherever she went,
a kite was ever ready to fly her victim-hood colors higher and higher,
that made admirers **** in their breath and stoop,
before her to her advantage, she had no dearth for volunteers any time.
Burning words made her chants fly like fire works,
her collection of heads turned stones by admiring her
increased, as a huntress she was an ace
stuffed in her cubbyhole of a heart, heads of stone languished.
3
Medusa,you don't have sisters,
I count it the luck of those unborn
how beautiful, you once were I still remember,
though no sun visited the north you spent your childhood.
Run, run my feared beauty, to the sun, before your heart
get charred by the heat of hatred, you bear in the Gothic interiors.
4
I hate Perseus, don't you fear your Nemesis?
Every Athena you wrongly think your foe and fight,
all your hair turned serpents, still I thought, love would work,
without coming upfront, I kept my flame burning,
but all in vein, you could never love anyone, legitimately or otherwise.
Your blood, all of it, has turned venom, you spit it, slowly
its beauty amazes, even the victims on the line next...
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
Last night I reached my hand out to the monster under my bed whose eyes usually glow scarlet and whose teeth typically gnash and snap but this time had the same deep brown eyes and average teeth that I do
Last night I pulled my skeleton out of the closet and we danced to the blue jazz that floated through my window from the sax player below and then we played never-have-I-ever and watched SciFi TV on Netflix
Last night I asked the mermaid down the bathtub drain if she'd like to come up for a swim and we laughed and splashed and sat on my roof in the star light talking about love and sushi recipes and where to get a really good haircut
Last night I called out to the werewolf who roams these parts as he called out to the silver globe of a moon and I gave him some salad because he's a vegetarian and he showed me pictures of his pet bunnies Morningglory and Killer
Last night I covered the mirrors and opened the shades for my vampiric friend Velma, a quiet girl who volunteers at the animal shelter and soup kitchen
Last night I said good night to my nocturnal friends and went back inside to turn off the lights and make sure my dog was inside who I call Albertius Rex but was previously known just as Cerberus
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
why keep people in prison
for their whole life wasting away
when they could be going through
mandatory flight training
for a one-way trip to deep space
who wouldn't want to do that?
people would commit felonies
just to be chosen; & everyone
would understand: like, why did
he **** his whole family? -
he wanted to go into space; oh..
no volunteers will be accepted:
[I've been trying to get into solitary
for years, but they won't let me;
seems u can't just walk up to a cop & say,
I'd like to go to jail please; doesn't work;
u might get into the nut house,
which is okay for bed rest, narcotics & casual ***
but if u want to relax & just read,
it's annoyingly rigid;
solitary confinement would be more spiritual;
isolation, darkness, light, self, emptiness;
living inside a stone cube, just meditating;
day in day out night after night of pure consciousness -
one-way space travel would certainly build character;
if u want to live;
& not self-destruct;
the longer u're out there
the more advanced earth technology becomes
until one day when u're so far out
u can't see the Milky Way, a Space Agent arrives
to check up on u & bring much desired supplies;
"What's **** look like now?"
"What?"
"How much time has passed on earth?"
Temporal equation: the mechanical man speaking
in computer code replies: translating light
into quanta, distorting time so the curious prisoner
can see in virtual 3D artificial reality; so much time
elapsed he can't understand a thing; language purely
visual, people silent;
moving & not moving
but drifting in & out, coming
& going; transient shadows
indistinguishable from the
advertising background;
back in the comfort of cramped life-support,
wide electronic-data screen
windows, mechanical man implants
the virtual reality device all creatures
have now; download completely liberating
the body from mind functioning in its own
sphere; ****** functions taken over by
nanocurcuitry imparting semblance
of spacial autonomy, electrified zombies;
as one after another pulls his plug.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
Timmy Ray, poor boy from Kentucky.
Football scholarship.
Degree in Business Administration.
Respectable job, bored.
Enlists with best friend in Marines as a macho trip.
Vietnam, what a crock.
This ain’t football. And it ain’t fair.
Schemes to get out,
ignores an order to go out on patrol,
******** mission, but the friend goes,
gets shot up bad.
Timmy Ray runs out to help the friend, is shot.
It’s all blood and mud, man, blood and mud.
Friend paralyzed, Timmy Ray okay.
Court-martial for Timmy Ray, discharge.
The friend takes an overdose.
“No moral here,” Timmy Ray says. “My
war story. That’s all.”
Timmy Ray makes sculptures, big metal things.
No people.
“The human body’s been done,” he says.
Downtown Detroit in front of an office
he welds a pile of globes,
names it “Love” so he’ll get paid
but he says it’s really “Moose Brain.”
These days, Timmy Ray’s hand
trembles. He volunteers at a suicide
hot line. No moral there,
either. Moose brain.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
*I urge you not to trust a magician
Leaves you in disbelief,
makes you question without permission
Perception is everything,
intercepting your understanding,
patience is wearing thin
I promise you
I was a victim of trusting
someone who’s double faced
Showing me tricks, and
they had me begging for double takes
A bitter pill that I always had trouble swallowing,
please heed my words
as I warn you about the following:
I paid to see* Fate The Fantastical
*Showing sketchy tactics and
very far from magical
Stuck in your life and you're seeking help?
He'll try to convince you
that he's the monster who played
the hand that you were dealt
A "one-way" in your journey never existed
so throw those cards back in his face,
tell him “don’t get it twisted!”
Then leave the show and get your money back,
fill your money bag quick
while making your own plans
with money stacks
I saw the power of* The Spellbinding Heart-Breaker
*He promises forever but claims he’ll see you later
I caught him backstage
rehearsing his apology
illusionist at heart
and a student of escapology
A Houdini whodunit level of disappearance
Shackled by love and commitment,
begging for interference
And my advice is that
you crash his performance
Reveal him to the audience,
damage would be enormous
The mental menace known as* Doubt The Diabolical
*The worst of the bunch since
he’s demanding and methodical
He has the gift to convince you
To give up on your dreams,
Taking the stage with volunteers,
“voices” sing his theme
Enticing suicide, heartless,
and pushes you aside
Signals your sayonara by
serving you soothing cyanide
So boo him off the stage
as loud as you can!
Steal his thunder, change the world
'cause I’m one among your many fans!*
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC
I’m sick and tired of people rabbiting on a load of ****
About their ******* duty and fighting for freedom
For the fat ugly patriotic selfish folks "back home"
And pathetic ****** neo-fascist ******** like that
And gabbling on a load of sentimental horsedung
About giving their all for their ******* useless country
When honestly they’d rather be at home in some ugly provincial hick town
Patting their nasty mongrel dogs and groping their neighbours’ wives' arses
And eating mumsy-wumsy’s over-cooked meat and stodgy apple pie
Whilst ensconced on the sofa watching sodding Celebrity Big Brother.
How can a soldier nowadays say he didn't want to be there?
Are people so ******* thick or blind or moronic not to realise
A person volunteers to be in the armed forces in most countries nowadays?
There’s no ****** press gangs or ****** conscription any more;
People become soldiers because they choose to do so
(exceptions include filthy ******* shit-holes like Israel
where the young men queue up to **** Palestinian babies for fun) .
Therefore soldiers DO want to fight, they DO want the chance to ****
And they willingly risk their own ugly unwashed redneck necks.
So they have no right to whine and bellyache when they get asked
To earn their daily state-paid bread and do a spot of killing
Instead of sitting on their overweight arses at MY expense.
Or course, they could show some real guts and resign instead,
But what the **** why pass up on a chance to do some
Legalised ****** and get paid handsomely at the same time.
Just in case you think I forgot, I am totally and fully aware
That 'he' includes 'she' in this context now that women
Have an equal chance to have their military buns blown off pointlessly.
So don't whinge or expect sympathy when your body parts come home in a bag.
Personally, I am of the belief that the only good soldier is a dead soldier,
And the more the merrier. RIP military thugs and up yours.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
where would we be
without our community volunteers
those wonderful people
who are there in times of need
the blood donor
gives a pint of blood
to keep a soul alive
the only payment he takes
is a cup of tea and piece of cake
the carer
who looks after a neighbor
who has no relative around
to assist with showering
and household chores
the Lions Club member
out on the street collecting money
for a wheelchair
to be placed in a hospital ward
there are people
who've an altruistic bent
out in each of our communities
daily assisting others
if these people
didn't come forward
to offer a helping hand
for free
the community
would be the poorer
without their kind deeds
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC
An Angel and a Demon, above the world, filled with chaos and destruction. Debating over saving humanity or letting it fall into devastation.....
*This world is worth saving,
You see the good ones down there,
Praying and helping?
Good beats evil, every time.
Letting things fall apart would be a crime.*
**My angelic friend, you're too high in the sky,
Grace us; come down from that ivory perch.
It won't take much to see through the lies,
Not much at all, to see what they're worth.**
*Dear demonic soul, don't you know?
Their worth is not in question.
Their value is more than our weight in gold,
Have some more appreciation!*
**Right--between war, the crucifixion and ****
These humans are just such lovely things.
They aren't filled with a single ounce of hate,
Oh, come now! See the atrocities they bring!**
*The things you say may be true,
But there's so much good down there.
Remember Noah and the Renaissance?
The missionaries and volunteers, they still care!*
**Oh, goodness! Yes, how could I forget?
********* Priests with their souls to sell?
Rich lead the depraved farther into debt?
Your precious world is going straight to Hell!**
*No, you monster! How dare you talk like that!
These are human beings, not toy things.
They'll prove you wrong, peace is coming.
Go tell your puppet master to cut his strings!*
**Don't PREACH to me of puppetry, fairy!
Whatever happened to your God's free will?
Compared to Earth, Hell isn't that scary!
**** rat race! *** money, egos, and thrills!**
*I'll preach what I have to, to save these humans souls,
Spineless creature.. You're wrong on so many levels!
I can't wait to dance with glee, while you unravel,
Dragging your worthless shell back home to the Devil!*
**I guess the horrors before you aren't enough,
You must want your sandbox to turn to doom.
These aren't falsehoods--this isn't a bluff,
Say what you will; Hell's running out of room!**
.... And there Angel and Demon bickered, for what seemed an eternity. Purity prospered in parts, where death and deprivation brought others into declension. At odds and ends, they both returned home, leaving Earth to fend for its own.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
heart: THAT IS IT! THAT IS IT!
ENOUGH I SAY! IT STOPS NOW!
THE LINE IS HERE! I DRAW IT IN THIS STEEL FLOOR! NO PASSING THE LINE!
brain: we've been floating for 5 hours. Do you want to go back?
Heart: FLOATING?!? I'LL TELL OF WHAT FLOATING IS! Never more can a seed bear stem if it has no subsidence to sustain it's sacred geometry! The growth of one that is physical is the same as one that is emotional!
Brain: .. so yes, when an apple is ripe it volunteers it's nutrients. When a woman is ready she will open her heart, yes?
Heart: AN APPLE CAN HEAR ITSELF BEING EATEN! WHAT OR WHOM WOULD INDULGE IN SUCH A SOUND?!
brain: a man gives a woman his trust, just like a woman gives her trust to a man. Who would want that thrown in their face?
Heart: are you saying an apple can be compared to a human in this sense then?
Brain: apples are inanimate and without emotions heart.
Heart:........does that mean they want to hear themselves being ATE!?!
brain: it's science. Just because a tree is technically alive, doesn't mean it perceives it.
Heart: ENOUGH! This time is different brain. If a human doesn't want to be hurt why should the apple be hurt.
Brain: apples don't have nerves heart.
Heart: so what?! You're saying they can HEAR themselves being chewed and it isn't painful????!!!!
Brain: ....... yes....
Heart: ..ya?... hahaha? Why.
Brain: I don't truly know.
Heart: HA!! then HOW?!?!
Brain: science.
Heart:..............I forgot what I was talking about.
Brain: she dumped you. You did your best. Even to give her a pat on the back although you wanted to give her a talk of a century. You let her go because you love her. She didn't feel the same at the end of the day, even if she did at the beginning. She is complex, and causes pain suddenly to avoid pain long term. You are a soilder. And would rather take the pain to what ever end to get to what you are trying to believe. You believe in love so much that it isn't tolerated when you get broken again. Because of your intention. And you know what? Your intention shows. Because instead of showing your pain to her, you wished her well, like a bad *** Then came home, got drunk, destroyed your bedroom, and started talking to me, looking for sympathy... but you should know me by now.
You are so refreshing heart. I can't remember if I've ever felt a thing.
But out of all my knowledge, I'm still unsure as to if you have a mind of your own or not.
Heart: and what gives you this authority over me? Huh?
Brain: 42
Heart:....................so you THINK you're all that eh?????
Brain: I know buddy. How do you FEEL?
heart: D*MNIT BRAIN!!!!
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
I dream of traveling
To northern Syria or Iraq
To join the YPG
Or Peshmerga
Peshmerga means
"Ones who confronts death"
To fight bravely
Alongside them
Knowing each day
Could be my last
Although it has been
Many years
Since I have fired
A weapon
(It was in an indoor range
With A Springfield M1903)
I just need some practice
I dream
Of fighting
With the YPG
In their just cause
Their way of life
Being threatened
The U.S. Government
Does not condone
Volunteers
From our military forces
Going to help the Kurds
That's fine
I just have my limited
ROTC training
I could train there
I'm fit
And I'm able bodied
And there I will finally
Be part of a community
The YPJ
Strike fear
Into the hearts
Of Daesh fighters
They fear they will
Go to hell
If they are killed
By the YPJ in battle
The YPG and YPG forces
Are courageous and strong
They fight a war against evil
All year long
You defend your homelands
Kurds of the YPG and YPJ
You did not choose war
It was forced upon you
Long live the YPG and YPJ forces
I pray you will one day live
In peace and security
And although
Many will
Not understand
If I die
At least I die
Fighting with
People I love
For their right
To live peacefully
Can you hear
The Ululation
Do you listen
To the YPJ's cry?
Long live the Kurds
Daesh fighters must die
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
FRIDAY
1:00 – 3:30
I swept the packing area.
Three neat piles of duct tape,
plastic wrap, saw dust, dumped
into a trashcan. Made
another mess while packing
toys into boxes for the
community’s Angel Tree.
MONDAY
11:15 - 12:45
A self-proclaimed alcoholic
asked me for a cigarette. He
preached to me with an unsteady
tongue and hollow eyes. I met a case
worker named Maria and alphabetized
children’s names and Christmas wishes.
2:30 - 4:30
Stapled $7.00 price tags
to shirt collars, pants pockets,
working alongside a man
who served ten years in
prison. He finished loading
a shopping cart and I pushed
the items into the store.
I put cracked ceramic plates,
dusty books, and twisted wire
roosters onto an empty shelf.
TUESDAY
2:30 – 3:30
Maria turned the wish forms
into Captain Smith. I went
to the Captain’s office and
entered Christmas wishes
into a database. Captain Smith
tapped her fingers on the desk,
hummed along to her Christian
radio station and talked about
the importance of volunteers.
3:45 – 5:00
The yard on the east side
of the store needed to be
cleaned. Plastic wrap blown
into the barbed wire fence
surrounding broken computers,
archaic metal heaters, and
miscellaneous types of scrap.
After we loaded the trailer
I swept the packing area
and smoked a cigarette.
WEDNESDAY
11:15 – 1:30
I finished entering the
forms into Captain
Smith’s computer
while she was out
at lunch. I walked around
outside but I didn’t find
the drunk. Captain
Smith signed my
completion of volunteer
service sheet and joked,
“I guess we won’t be
seeing you again.”
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC