Diving into bath salts, raving flue that is as sicking as math, at least that is what I conclude from my findings presented to the court. Objection, objection, sir I don't see the connection, maybe your rhyme scheme needs perfection. Maybe it does, but ***** it, I'm blessed by God; baby please sit down and take a chill pill and just enjoy this buzz. Busting off, so back off, bout to prove my case like I’m Ace Attorney, oh and I know it’s off topic but if I lived in America, I would’ve voted for Bernie. What the **** am I on? Came to save the digital world you can call me a digimon, you bet I’m a champion! Serendipity dear deputy; I’ll be typically wittingly searching for some tranquility. What is the validity of this vicinity as I only accept notability and won’t let this become a liability!

Pathologically paraplegic hypochondriac with insomniac who be popping poems profusely perfect; while whimsically worm's try to be strategic, but sadly choke and lose it. Miles set apart; it certainly is not a strut in some park, but everyone has to start somewhere before they engrave their mark. Don't reside yourself to just being a silhouette, nor be one to toot your clarinet. Two sides to every person like Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde; be careful to not let your pride turn into carbon monoxide. For pride will always lead to your downfall, so please take off your iron curtain and tear down your Berlin wall. Improvident incongruous incredulous confidence; underwhelming astonishment of such fundaments of these heinous and callous acts of deceitfulness. Trickery of thy decadence; why art though jittery when you are full of benevolence? So used to getting what you want I bet; well this situation can not be fixed by dough, so I see why you are in a cold sweat! Fake confidence won't help you here especially when one lies; you made a mistake and will face the consequences and I am not one quick to forgive no matter how much you apologize.  

Don’t have time to consider your sensibility, because my life is going a twitter with too much hyperactivity for me to deal with your stupidity. Befittingly that I’ll be building up the intensity, to infinity and beyond goes this creativity of this anomaly. Not going to prolong this phenomenon, I’ll be going off like a Molotov over this intercom, yeah you better not ever underestimate this underdog. Lackadaisical are these other rappers; they’re so replaceable and incapable to be educational. Incomprehensible is this loop of hip-hop now a days, why can’t we be inspirational or is it to late because we left morals and substance back in the olden days. Can’t afford to be anchored anymore, I’ve poured in too much time to be just be locked behind some door. I refuse to be ignored and be left ashore; I am not worried about going into the storm; because you are bound to come across some things that need some work like chores. Spinning the wheel, reminiscing of how it felt when I no longer concealed who I was and my self-image had been healed.

Used to be reclusive & convinced myself that I was a duffass, but now I’m exclusive to being a smart ***. This is the new era, this is a new fire; it’s time to spice things up so better pull out the sriracha. Leading the revolution like I’m Che Guevara, I’m light as feather whatever the endeavor even if my life story doesn’t end up as pristine as Cinderella’s. Why so infatuated by worldly wants? Why so decorated when you can't hide the fact that you're the same basic *** font? Trying be something else, striving to be someone else, wanting to be anything else. You are who you are, if you think it will make things better you cucu, because in my eyes you are really a star. You have to expand your interpretation and perspective of life, you have to demand without hesitation a piece of that collective pie; because I believe everyone should be equal in this life.

Calculated bullets that go straight through my cranium; manufactured outlets that show great things but have also turned us into brainless aliens. Complicated hookups that grow irritating and become as unstable as uranium; what was once sacred has become as spontaneous as going to a gymnasium. Confiscated trinkets cast away and leaves those affected very irritate; while also simultaneously making apathetic souls that have gone through the same thing be able to understand, help or relate. Cultivated rebellious culprits that don't take the memo of being cooperative, instead they choose to be provocative and opposite of the other conglomerates. I’m so fascinated by this fabricated segregated supposedly liberated and sophisticated community; where-as some so foolishly stupidly amusingly think that everyone has the same equal chance at opportunity. Moderated, regulated and orchestrated where some are situated; if you don’t think that it has something to do with be affiliated to a certain demographic then maybe you never got educated in the affairs of those discriminated. It’s a good thing then that class is in session; so viewer or listener  please use discretion when taking time to witness or hear my position. Deafening out all ill whims; wrestling with these unsettling menacing fears and guilt from all of my sins.

Yeah no need for hallucinogens, all I need is two hydrogens and one oxygen. Rocking in my moccasins; so you can bet I am not one to drop my promises. Native honour who is also a innovative scholar and who was created not to falter. I may not be good with numbers, but I'm good at making sure you never slumber on my words; because I work on them day and night in my 36 chambers. Beware the pretender, they are manufactured by the vendors to keep us from being together. Defend your heart; be wise who you befriend and who you pick for your counterpart. There will be hurt and affection can be perverted, so know your worth and never ever let yourself be distorted. It is not your fault, it is not my fault, so then who is at fault? Is it just life in general? Is it because of the being who lives eternal? Is it all of the above? I don't know, but we shouldn't judge and instead choose to accept and love!

Pardon me Martin, but if this class were a prison I’d be the warden. I make the rules here and I took the tools given to me to get me here. So listen, please listen to my lesson that I have to present to you as class is still in session. Loading yawl with ammunition to be able to transition to be able to complete your goals or missions. No I’m not tripping, I’m driven  by a higher force to break away the old ways of thinking such as division. This is not the prohibition anymore, so please open your minds and join me on this expedition. Going into the unknown, so here’s to hoping you get through this, as time goes on and be able to look back at it we may feel like this was no more than a tiny but important milestone.  Achieve, believe, conceive, receive, intrigue, and succeed because I think you are unique. You are the only you in the whole galaxy, don’t let agony turn into tragedy; ***** anxiety; yeah and never let your dreams just be some fantasy.

Outro: Sit down class ain't over yet, forfeit those frowns or fake faint or try to jet. Lastly remember what transpired today; don't go hastily and forget about it on December break okay? For though class may be over, more days or years to come until its finally over. Though education ends, one never stops learning even on vacations with family or friends.  I hope you can look back with fondness, I hope you can stay on track in the future if you truly take the time to just focus. Is there truly an end or is this just the beginning to a new bend.

A Poem in 3 Parts by Sara L Russell, 4/6/15; 00:51am*

I

There is a grey area between
this world and the next.
People can be foolish; they dabble in ouija, in
dowsing, in automatic writing;
and - wittingly or unwittingly,
they may open a portal
to the other side.
That is how they enter.
Beware of inviting them in.

Shadow people are there
where needle pierces skin; where the ******
sits, glassy-eyed, on the precipice of oblivion;
they lurk in unholy places where godless
politicians declare themselves to be
speaking for God;
they haunt the dreams of drunkards,
schizophrenics, junkies
and the paranoid.
But they are not spun out of dreams,
they are real.

Shadow people were there
when the ancient pharaohs of Egypt
were interred, with all their gold;
they took them to Hades
for also burying their wives
and servants, alive.
They were there
in **** concentration camps,
sitting on the left shoulders
of those who blindly carried out
orders of death and torture.

They subsist in underworlds of catacombs,
they lurk in the spaces between
our conscious and unconscious minds;
In blackened mirrors they seek out a vortex,
My friends, be the light that
keeps out the darkness,
Do not seek to question the dear and foregone,
No matter how much they are missed;
for there are others lurking in the shadows.
Be not the portal inviting them in.


II

Did I see you in Bohemian Grove,
smiling at the Cremation of the Care?
Were you there,
and did you have more than one shadow?

Did I see you in that Great Hall
with chequered floors,
where the Eye of Horus
watched over a pyramid of gold?

Did you lift a cup of
the good red wine,
did blood brothers drink each other's health,
gazing through a glass darkly?

Did we toast the Cremation of the Care,
and how many others were there?


III

Sometimes we visit Hell in our dreams,
though we may fervently pray before sleep.
There is no shame in sleeping with the light on.
Wear a cross, if you think that it will help.

Sometimes the citizens of Hell visit us,
in that stasis between sleep and wakefulnes;
they are only ever seen at the outer periphery of our vision.
It's never a good idea to look at them directly.

Sometimes they venture a little closer than the rules allow.
Sometimes the line between their domain and ours is blurred.
Occasionally, the breeze seems to whisper your name -
only, it's not the breeze.

Be vigilant.
Always try to see them first.

I wonder about,
the human beings;
Why they don't
think twice, about someone's mistake?

Haven't they any time
to think twice?
or Are they
very evil?

Mistakes aren't done
Wittingly;
Mistakes are
just MISTAKES!

If human beings begin to think twice
about mistakes, one day,
The whole world
will be a fiesta.

Bath times as a child were
a mixture of joy and fear,
Lulu remembers, rubbing
her neck dry after her bath,
holding her long hair out of
the way with her spare hand.

You must wash under the arms
and your neck and between
your legs, her mother said to
her as a child, leaning over her,
pouring hot water over her head,
feeling she was drowning, she
remembers, sitting on the edge
of the bathtub, almost seeing
her mother standing there with
her usual critique and that wet
hand slapping her legs or hand
if she missed an area of skin.

Lulu rubs under her arms, raises
her hand upward as if reaching
for the moon or stars. As she
leans forward to rub her feet,
pushing the towel between toes,
she recalls her putting her feet
into her mother’s lap as she dried
them with harsh rubs, pushed
the towel between toes roughly,
causing wittingly or unwittingly
the long after remembered pain.

Her mother, hard as granite,
with reddened hands and stern
stare, cursed in the bed of her final
days, glared at Lulu as she blanket
washed her mother in the last weeks
before death came for her and carried
her off with her foul words filling the air.

Lulu lays the towel over her lap, sitting
still she leans her elbows on her legs
and hides her face in her palms, wishing
her mother could have gone out not
with curses or swear words, but psalms.

together we sit and scan through pages
searching for knowledge of savants and sages
apart by wires and  spaces deemed cyber
together in some places besotted by  desires

for that which you seek and that which you share
your hasty interests  may lead you to stare
into the abyss of the nets'  unending
the maelstroms vortex you'll soon be winding

going ye here and going ye there
hopeful your meanderings
shall leave you fair
for within some sites there's the inveigle snare
ultimately constructed to leave you bare

go wittingly into the all- electric  fray
some sensitive toes you'll invariably  belay
don't fret over words harmlessly mislaid
to err is only human, short-circuits  allayed

8 minutes they say, minutes before we would know, 8 minutes of blissful ignorance 8 minutes with that wonderful glow.  The warmth and light still there with us, even if the source had already run low, gone out given up the fight. It would be the same way I never heard the crack, never saw the act that would break me. Never saw the thoughts, would it be different if I did see. All the while my 8 minutes ticked, I was unaware in blissful agony. Walking on with my life as if things were the way they were supposed to be. I knew not that I strolled to the headsman’s axe, that just around the corner lying in wait would be the bait that would reel me in. On to dooms fisherman to be stabbed  and laid to rest to be devoured by sorrows lips with some nice fish dip. No I was unaware, I wasn’t scared, I held a false belief which for but 8 minutes I thought was true. Like the sun I felt the warmth, saw the light, within this knowledge I took some pride. Not noting the ever small change, that the end of my rope approached, and I ever wittingly encroached upon my own dismay.

That is why it hurt so much, why the fear the panic took such a strong hold. For on false confidence I had become bold. The glass I stood on broke and it was the end of my world. Floating, as darkness hugghed my eyes, pressing them down like a forced lover, my ears only hearing the thundering rhythm of my failing heart. My skin tingling with pin ****** from a thousand kisses or a thousand licks from a cat named fear. Off balance and falling, falling down to the bowels of despair swallowed whole by betrayal. But even as I fell my mind went back out of my hell, into those sweet glorious 8 minutes where I was free. Where I could be who I wanted to be, go where I wanted to go. I lived a lie, a falsehood, an over drawn good bye. And yet did it matter I was happy, filled with glee, hopping and skipping as joyous as could be. And in the penultimate moment I begin to think and see. Is it better to live a lie let everything go as you wish it to be. Or know the cold cutting truth, bleed with the knowledge, know and rue the day you were born. Is reality truly better than fantasy is does the moment we live in matter if it is made up. And yet In my final moments of clarity I see so many others falling with me. Yet then I note that they smile before they are smote. Even if it is for a little while they continue to in ignorance smile. Unable to change their fate, for it has become far too late. They choose to live in their 8 minutes. Choose to make out their own seconds. And that I realize isn’t as bad as it could be.

Maybe we will be together someday, when I have moved away, and when we have become strangers once again.


    Maybe I can manage to conjure up the words to once again speak to you, and maybe we will have small talk; you will say you're fine, and I will lie and say I am too, but in my heart I know i will still hurt for you.


    Maybe I'll walk by your shop, and you will be standing outside-smoking a cig, watching and wondering if we could've been something big.


     I remember the day I met you, it's still as vivid in my mind, you drew a picture of a bird with a clock, you asked me what you should title it and I wittingly replied. "Time flys."


     Just like a bird, with a familiar tune, our love and our life flew by, all too soon. That picture entailed how it would end, it meant that one day, you would just be an old friend.


     I'm no scientist, or mathematician, but the only thing I know is true is this: every 7 weeks, your red blood cells die, and new ones form; eventually I'll have a new body that you will have no longer touched.


     So sip your tea, and splurge in your wealth, one day you will look back, and wish you had changed yourself.

You can feel my wistful and grateful looks
Following your silhouette along Boyukshor
In one of the dreamy days, we'll abruptly meet there
Very deeply I believe and I am sure.

Ah, my lake, I see you through her shiny eyes...
She loves you and I love both of you in turn.
I feel I was a bit late to love the life,
In revenge, my feelings it'll wittingly burn.
  
The last joys are shining out in a glow,
Is there a chance of constant unity?
Just virtuous Boyukshor always stands by
At least for calling up dreams of you and me

Having three lines and points of feelings,
I tried to match them from any angle.
Among me, Boyukshor and your existence,
I could not create a triangle.

Either me - standing lonely on its shore,
Or just you - wandering along by your own
And Boyukshor can't see us together just yet
One of us incessantly has to feel alone...

gOd put a smile on your face
      your eyes (half-thrush like two beings in the dark
and a gladiola of light spurns to chide in its bickering excess,
    birds, birds of morning and paradisiacal streets half-wittingly
       fork to single-handedness, a star is uttered and altars sing
           rarely-beloved, a dance-song of soul) and their parenthetical
    rush to what continues to live suddenly as if to say its conscious
       death is a room without flowers.

She is the Flower Amongst the Flowers©

Like her fellow kind she is graceful as her petals reach for
the morning sunlight
Soft and gentle in the cool morning breeze she sways
In that moment there is calmness that belies her truth
For she sheds the morning dew drops like the tears of someone
you hold dear
Her long slender neck carries the heavy load which grows
with time and maturity
If she had lips one would need to be cautious for she is
laced with thorns
Thorns that can stab you whether wittingly or unwittingly
and make you bleed
The cuts sharp and piercing and not something to be taken lightly
They will leave you in pain like a heart that has been torn
Her beginning is like most from a small acorn of a seed,
she begins to sprout
Only a glimpse of what she will ultimately become shows
in those early days
But one day her long stem like the legs of a shapely woman
will be firm and supple
Time will pass and she will outgrow many of her family
She will be more popular and hold a special place
When selected for meaning in people’s lives
Like the moods of a woman her colors are varied
And carry with them the potential for an array of emotions
The deepness of meaning representing the well of life
Sometimes half full and sometimes half empty,
but always refreshing
Each color part of a spectrum and the bounty
of feelings it can bring
The folds of her blossom are complicated and intricate yet delicate
From a distance she stands out to your eye,
her beauty catching your breath
Her shapeliness recognizable on sight like a familiar friend,
relative or lover
She is the flower amongst flowers
She is the rose

Andreas Simic©

Your hair is longer than before,
Mine is shorter than the last time,
All our dyes have ran out,
Into our natural brown.

Your a little taller now,
With a head,
not hanging as low,
A tighter spring in your step,
As you wittingly walk toward me.
I hated waiting,
But I've never stoped.

Eager, I can not help becoming,
In the shadow of our showdown.
Modest mercy is all I ask from you.
As we fire our double barrelled Deringers,
Bullets that shoot tangible mementos,
Pierce worthless wounds you have opened before.

-Jamie F. Nugent

At one.forty-five, anti meridiem
I blink, half-sit-half-lie and squirm
in a cartel of intricate inquiry.

He must be hurting inordinately
to wish me death and calamity.

Who and where is he?
How and why does he?

Simple five-word questions
seeking conclusive resolutions
for well over a millennium.

Frazzled and woefully sapped
from this anarchic, chaotic task
I turn for the promising refuge
of my orderly book-rack.

❋

Over and over again,
I read the masterly treatise
and really try to take it as a guide.

❋

The book has foresight.

It says there is no death

which my friend has wittingly wished me
in his anguished wrath.

Life is eternal, infinite.

Only the spirit changes over
to some other wardrobe
or maybe transitions
to another dimension
purgatory or paradise.

❋

We never really die and likewise
the loved and the not so loved
also survive.

❋

But life often defies explanations
not to mention all expert expositions.

I feel sadly feeble and disillusioned
to see

an orphan having the nose
hard against the grindstone

a spouse lonely and forlorn
fighting it out all alone

a disconsolate father
devastated by the departure
of a youthful son......
or a blooming daughter.

a dashing soldier
who somberly carries the cadaver
....the cold inert clay of a dead comrade

a pining sibling.........
a friend irredeemably lost.........
the poor dead without
and ****** with the ***......
a zealot who lost the plot
or martyrs who bravely fought.....

❉

The book says they are all here
and we still find them nowhere
at least not as companions
in our worldly sojourn.

The author exhorts -
those who are gone still see us
feel us.

And I smile wryly, a little ruefully
at the still living, stranded passengers
in one too many crowded lanes
on this gross, physical plane
devoid of all succor even from a ghost

slippery yet subtle.

If only there was a real life Whoopi †
we all would be as lucky as the demure Demi
and Patrick Swayze would do the reel drill
in real time indubitably.

Alas!!!
celluloid existence is pure imagination
.....just neat fiction.

And the impeccable book.....
though elegant
seems utterly untrue.

❋

I therefore can not take heart
from the prophesied fact
that the dead are not really dead

not ever, or at least not yet....

Yes, they may be right beside
but unless we cross over to the other side
or they someday decide to travel back in time

the living will always be somewhat dead somewhere
and the dead will always be somewhat alive somewhere

accidentally meeting.....
sometimes......

from across the great divide
in a nebulous twilight

but mostly waiting, waiting....
for the wait to end

and to be terminally united
either fully alive
or completely dead.


† Reference made to the 1990 film 'Ghost'. More information at:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghost(1990film)

The river was,afraid you see
That it wasn't destined for the sea
So the sea replied wittingly
"I am you,and you are me."

No matter how wittingly you phrase it
I'll never laugh
At your demeaning
My sexuality
Even though
Society always will

I have heard the word as a condemnation
by a religious hierarchy
which meant a severing of ties with a wayward sinner,
ostracism the worse thing for
one interested in staying -
this loneliness and pain desired by the keepers of the norm.

But I think of those with whom my communication is ex.
Al, my former close friend who turned his norms onto me
Jackie, a good and loving woman now gone
James, a man who no longer wants to have lunch with me.
There are a few more
who’ve wittingly or not
closed the door
but in every case a kind of sad weight
abides near my heart, a pain that literally aches
with tears just behind  my eyes.

Ode to a Cough
😷
Ahem!

Oh cough, that small expression of relief
an echo of congestion in the throat.
A hack, ahem, that passes through our teeth
Emotion swells a lump that I may choke.
What calls thy siren to my attention?
A blockage thus, of phlegm, a chesty rasp,
or narrowing of passage void of breath.
The air about you holds itself agasp
I fear you are brought into contention
and brought about a certain kind of dearth.

A cuckoo lays an egg within your nest
and harbours you a master of disguise.
You tickle and tease, leaving me to guess
the nature of your lyrical reprise
To fear or not I ask you to discern.
They flee, they flee, at what you may become.
Such power, I can only show respect,
lying low, to elude your stealthy roam.
Who are thee to show such little concern,
to all the lives you wittingly infect?

Your path floats on an air of discernment,
moving forward a mutant in our midst
that begs me to doff my hat, your servant
and smell the poisoned scent that you have kissed.
Are you thus a never-ending terror?
What distance do you give for me to make?
Will your repertoire ever be enough?
The future holds such chances there to take.
I cannot hide my face from you forever
because sometimes we cough, sometimes we cough.

They're a lot of sick people out there, lonely people, homeless people, hungry people, hopeless people, people who drink lots of alcohol, sniff *******, shoot ******, swallow amphetamines by the handsful, starving children, children who are captured and forced into the worldwide, multibillion-dollar business of child *** trafficking, billions of people who are still treated brutally because of the color of their skin, the slant of their eyes, the religion they practice, people of color who are disproportionately thrown into squalid, for-profit prisons for years, victims of all kinds of inequalities, iniquities, and God knows how many rich people, mega-rich people, who wittingly and unwittingly promote, participate, and prosper in these malevolent practices abetted by known and unknown people who are never caught, never held responsible for their evil deeds, their complicity in these atrocities by people and politicians and presidents and potentates and despots and kings. And so many of us turn away from all these horrors, watching sit-coms on TV, playing the back nine, cheating on their spouses, making gobs of money, going to their houses of worship and mouthing chapters and verses, remaining unconscious of the implicit duty we all share in helping our fellow man and woman and child. Shame on us all.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

The Man Within the Corpse

Seldom- Very, truly seldom and steadfast, Had the dreadful illnesses corrupted my senses. Proving it's very method to madness. Though my sinister health and very feeling of utter imagination left me accused. I witness to many of things which were not at the time, present, and heard Unspeakable things the shuddering truth which could only be heard from the grave. Though the world would fancy me mad I am in no such business to pertain to madness. I was a very methodical man. In life, I held order.  I had always been a man of great humour.  And had I savored every last second of this event.  As the depths of Hell held me in their clutches, it came down to Act Or Die logic. Ordinarily, I was a man who would bite his own tongue, raising my voice, rather than my own hand. I reserve to incline any to all ill mannered accounts of wrongfully accused rumour bet against the condition of my well being. In life and death I remained subject to such gruesome  and  selfish consequence. I hold no fancies of any form of the after life, for the things I ever so witnessed, in life, had truly proved a fate far more worse than Death. I will tell you how stealthily, how quickly, and wittingly I had planned the venture of the old mans passing. I was a man of vengeance and grave punishment. The old man, never bade me harm. Rather it was his dreaded illness, which was to be taken into account. The cancer was slowly feasting on his own being alive. Though I doubt if I could convince the world that the deed committed, was an act of sheer love, and was committed honorably and favorably. I loved My friend. It was not in life, that I knew so well of my friend, but in death. For now, he and I had something in common. No, the old man was not at fault, I think it was his deceitful  nephew! An indecent whelp! At every move he did make, would cause my blood to boil. A cold shiver down my spine, though I was never made aware of its existence. I was not Mad I was Patient! Tried and true. My passion held the late passing of his nephew. Though the old man's curiosity would prove fatal. Though once convinced, I was at the point of No Return. I would not leave the old man in his final hour. Though if you take me for mad, then I am not at fault. For madmen Have no sense! If I am Mad, how would I have carefully, methodically, and sensitively planned this on my own? HA! HA! I will rightfully take all credibility  for sheer wits and creativity which I had been true to the blade. The only matter at hand was when. Timing, and order is efficient. I had all of the time in the world. I would waste not another second and deprive demons of such lethal and treacherous conduct that which was rightfully theirs. By the grave I saw such casualties.  Otherworldly occurrences which failed to make their presence  known. As I sat, deep into that darkness waiting for anything remarkable to happen to break the dreadful silence! I could hear it! My senses sharpened and heart ever so beating with rhythm of the quickly  passing clock! The time had finally come to do what must be done long ago! The Great  Voices of Hell forbade me otherwise! Heaven held not its glory for me. Troubles came forth revealing its name to me in full. Through darkened swarms and high waters...I went there alone in no consolation to rid of the potential threat. Doubting my faith as it had been tried, by the hideous creature which was reality. My heart heavy and soul ever so stricken with grief. The stark horror presented itself along with the dark figure presented as death. I stood at his door for a matter of minutes in shuddering disbelief. Though I did not ensure nor  did I suppose any form of threat. For his limited vision was no match for my wits as I well hid them from the rest of the  world. Deep into the darkness, he there lurked a demand, as if he was begging to be well rid of. I had every intention of granting his wish. I gave a slight knock that August Night. Through the distant clap of thunder I heard the old mans  constant groaning and cries in the darkness. I gave a slight knock once more. Here I opened the door.

Versus me
(chilling as an outsize ego freezer)
profusely perspiring
and heavily panting
experiencing one after another
stuff whet dreams are made
frolicking in autumn mist
(think Maxfield Parrish painting)
while skirt chasing
and playfully tackling,
a gamesome gamine with verve
mercilessly coquettish ingenue
"precociously seductive"
overgrown ****** wannabe.

Solitude and introvertedness
mebbe made more manifest destiny
courtesy severe nasal notable twang
(otherwise known as split uvula)
yours truly wittingly drew taunts
and unutterable pang
to escape being bullied as scapegoat
entering magical world
of mine imagination
fostered learning about
all creatures great and small
by age appropriate books.

Logophile lusts ever stronger after
twenty six letter combinations
(analogously surrendering to mistress)
that yield an estimated 171,146 words
currently in use in the English language;
according to the Oxford English Dictionary,
an additional 47,156 obsolete words exist.

I luxuriate engrossed
with choice reading material
and out of desperation
to slake insatiable thirst
(to discern syllabification)
yours truly doth read aloud
intently hearing cadence
of vowels and consonants.

Up until I entered six grade
(at Henry Kline elementary -
a one classroom per grade - school)
classmates bullied, derided,
and feigned to hammer -
jabbing leering, nasty
pimping ragout as a rule
which boyhood self of mine
availed a perfect bullseye target
with combination of diminutiveness,

being painfully quiet,
essentially remaining mum the entire day
except when called upon to answer question
thence utterance emanating between lips
produced and emitted
a strong nasal sound to boot
grist for the mill
sans malice meted, mimicked,
and mocked mashup
of mine warped congestion

ah, twas only by a fluke conversation,
whence a speech pathologist
informed my parents about
the Lancaster Cleft Palate clinic,
where oral an examination
revealed minor birth defect
identified as a submucous cleft palate,
which explained the severe pinched twang
somewhat mitigated by wearing
a removable prosthetic
fashioned by Prosthodontist

Dr. Mohammad Mazaheri MSC, DDS
fastened with clasps to upper teeth
whereby a makeshift miniature
plastic protuberance closed the gap
so air would be prevented
passing thru my button nose
and thus gentle and soft as a shutterfly
shunted air out thee oral opening
though congenital defect disallowed
returning merchandise back to sender
nor could blame be affixed

at either father nor mother
who both harbored the genetic mutation
now such admissions
re: aforementioned impediment allows,
enables and provides boasting rights
if in a mood to temper
any curiosity or satisfying a rumor
whispered down the alley,
whence I said “ah”
left nagging nincompoops
as if pie hole filled with a gobstopper.

We're all sales-people -- don't you agree

wittingly or inadvertently?

being visible defines our identity

to be left out eradicates us completely